@TipsForJesus this is seriously one of the coolest things I’ve seen. Wow.
@TipsForJesus this is seriously one of the coolest things I’ve seen. Wow.
“Strangers are the Prelude to friendship” … ”This e-mail is a prelude to an episode of Snapped” – Pretty One (Sunshine Dickerson) #SunshineDickersonIsNOTMyName #YouTriedIt #WeCantBeFriends #InMyNormalVoice #HashTagAbuse
Over the last month I’ve
loved liked and lost … And won a little too. But mostly I learned to be grateful for the peace that comes along with making good decisions for myself. Decisions that remind me that being alone doesn’t make me (or anyone else that’s single) “pathetically lonely,” so take that Kelly Clarkson. Decisions that remind me that the past can be an excellent predictor of the future. And speaking of the past …
Take Pocket Beau, my tiny ex boyfriend who instituted “The 18 Days of Pretty,” a gift for the number of days leading up to my birthday. I’ve never really discussed him. At 5’2″ he was a glorious little guy with a heart of gold and the tenacity of a slug. He shared an 8,000 square ft. loft with Ellie Mae, his psychotic ex girlfriend from
Deliverance rural Alabama. Instead of putting her out, he passive aggressively moved into my 627 square foot flat in an effort to “smoke her out.” Wrong. We parted ways a month into his move. *In my Gram Gram’s voice* “You don’t have to go home, but you couldn’t stay here doll.”
And how could I possibly forget Lights, Camera, Action, my hot ex who got white boy wasted on something and called my favorite Uncle “Black Ceasar,” the 70s pimp and drug lord. Well, turns out he’s sobered up and did a complete 180. You might recall I ran into him at the market a few months ago with Artemis, his 6’1″
Titan Glamazon girlfriend. Well guess what … The Glamazon wears a size 13 shoe is pregnant! Isn’t that a steaming hot f*cking mess super exciting?!? My point is, Lights, Camera, Action was never incapable of committing. He was just incapable of committing to me. See the difference?
And while we’re on the topic of “differences” let’s discuss Straight Eye for the Queer Guy, my
super gay tri-curious ex who couldn’t decide “whether or not he liked boys or girls.” You may remember he shared that little nugget with me while we were looking at engagement rings. Well guess what … He’s getting married … to a girl … with a vagina! TF!!! Hooray!!! So I guess you could say in the end vaginas love won.
Historically, impossible relationships were one of my special gifts. And the last few months have been the rule and not the exception. I was never the girl who fell for the Nino Browns’ or Dylan McCays’ of the world. In fact, I was always the girl who ironically fell for their attorney or perhaps their good-on-paper best friend. But this isn’t about the attorneys or even the non-attorneys I’ve dated. This is about me embracing the old adage “What’s dead should stay dead.” And yes, that is a quote from Pet Cemetery.
To celebrate this I’ve decided to compile a list (in no particular order) of the 33 Reasons that WE Are Never, Ever Getting Back Together. Enjoy!
33 Reasons WE Are Never Getting Back Together
1. You have a heart like Hitler. Yes, that Hitler. The one with the tiny mustache. That guy.
2. You’re a taker. A living parasite. It’s who you are … and what you do.
3. You put the “FU” in dys”fu”nctional.
4. You’re a one trick pony. #SexualSnoozeFest
5. Your favorite person is You! You think you’re amazing!! *Spolier Alert* You’re not. Sorry.
6. Absence makes the heart grow… independent. (I read this on Huffington Post earlier today and it reminded me of you).
7. The majority of your ex’s don’t like you.
8. Those weird Science shows you watch. Pass.
I think you might be You are a borderline an alcoholic.
10. Your hands are unusually small for man. I don’t know how that would translate to our children. #BabyHands
11. My sisters and my friends don’t like you. At all. Not even a little bit.
12. That thing you do when you isolate yourself in
the wilderness your flat to menstrate “think about things” you conveniently NEVER bring up again.
13. Your life lacks balance. There are other people who do what you do and still manage to have healthy functioning relationships.
14. I don’t trust you because you’re not trustworthy.
15. Your inability to show up … like ever.
16. You’re really grouchy in the morning. Really grouchy. Get over yourself.
17. Even though that other guy is more obnoxious, he’s wayyyyyy more fun (and everything that implies).
18. I couldn’t see a future with you.
19. I’m happiest when we’re apart.
20. You’re the least romantic person I’ve ever known. A bleeding ulcer is more romantic than you are.
21. Oral. You should try doing it more often.
22. You’re rude. To everyone. Stop. I’ve apologized to servers at restaurants we’ve eaten at together for the way you spoke to them.
23. The way you speak to me reminds me of the husband from “Sleeping With the Enemy.” That’s not a compliment.
24. You don’t really know who you are or what you want.
25. You don’t get me. “Well, maybe it’s time to be clear about who I am. I am someone who is looking for love. Real love. Ridiculous, inconvenient, consuming, can’t live without each other love. And I don’t think that love is here in this expensive suite, in this lovely hotel, in Paris. It’s not your fault. It’s my fault. I shouldn’t have come here.” – Carry Bradshaw
26. You think #25 ^^^^ is stupid and unrealistic. And if you ever read it you’d roll your eyes and sigh and make a joke about it because that’s what you do.
27. You’re always comparing yourself to “Next Man” or “Ex” man. Maybe if you spent more time thinking of ways to please me we may have had a chance. Then again … No, no we wouldn’t have.
28. Our love languages are different and you never cared to learn about mine.
29. Your Ex.
30. You’re afraid of change.
31. We bring out the worst in each other.
32. If loving you is wrong, I don’t want to be wrong.
33 You’re so vain … I bet you think this post is about you.
Look me in face … I ain’t got no worries
Amir, my Persian neighbor is beautiful. No seriously, he is take-your-panties-off … throw caution to the wind … there’s pretty much nothing you could say (or do) short of blasphemy, to make me think you’re unattractive in any shape, form or fashion –beautiful. The man is a sex god. That’s the good news, or rather the news. The bad news? Amir is not only beautiful, he is a beautiful disaster and by “beautiful disaster” I mean “cluster f*ck” and by “cluster f*ck” I mean he’s Nike wind suit, drink the Kool-aid, Waco-compound insane.
Last weekend, I went to dinner with Triple Threat (not his real name), a mutual friend who happens to also be roomies with Amir. Triple Threat is also Persian (and handsome) and dare I say “normal.” Normal in that the only thing he and Amir share is a 2,000 square foot living space and not the same school of thought. But I digress …
It was after dinner and several grapefruit margaritas that Triple Threat suggested we head over to his place for a few of my favorite things, hookah and jasmine tea. “Amir’s home just so you know … you still in?” I knew what that meant, *Cut to an hour and a half of meaningless political babble.* Alas, decisions needed to be made.
“Uhmmm, ok” Did I mention Amir is super hot?
The moment we walked down the hall towards their flat I heard Amir’s voice. ”Legit! Legit! If everyone was open and honest about their rights, the world would be a much better place.”
I walked into the living room where he stood perched Tom Cruise style on top of the sofa. He returned to his seat as if he were coming out of character #AndScene. A bead of sweat making its way down the side of his chizzled Prince of Egypt jaw line.
I looked at Triple Threat and gave him the don’t ask, don’t tell smile. Amir’s Spidy Senses must have turned up because he immediately turned to me and said “If I have sex with a woman, I have to make sure she knows her rights.”
“I can’t have sex with anyone I’m not married to. Women have rights.”
“But you’re not married?”
“Not right now, no.”
“But, you’ve never been married-married. Right?”
I mean I just met him last December and outside of a few exchanges in the elevator and that ditsy bar tender I hadn’t seen him with any women. Of course, my name isn’t Pearl and I don’t sit on a stool overlooking 227 all day either. In fact, we hadn’t been neighbors since I moved in July.
“No, I’m not married. I do an agreement.”
“An agreement of what exactly?”
I wasn’t sure, but I wanted to make sure I wasn’t being set up to be sold into white slavery. *Spoiler alert* I’m not white, but I was curious. I also wanted to make sure I wasn’t entering in to one of his “agreements” by listening. Think what you want, but I watch the Discovery Channel.
“In order for me to be intimate with a woman, she has to be aware of her rights as a woman. And if she isn’t a virgin already, she can have sex with me as my wife for a pre-determined amount of time and in return I have to provide for her – basically whatever she asks.”
“Your agreement sounds a lot like heauxing to me.”
“No, she’s not heauxing if she’s my wife … <Insert psychotic babel here>
For the sake of literary symmetry (and time) I’ll run you through what Amir’s “None Heuxing, Heauxing Agreement” might look like.
“A Non Heaux-Heauxing Agreement”
A Brief Description of Your Rights as a Fake Wife
What you get, otherwise known as “Your Rights”: You get to make sex with your “husband” for a predetermined number of days. During this time, should
pregnancy, herpes, syphilis, a random vag odor, common cold, crazy ex anything happen to you, your “husband” is responsible for Olivia Pope’ing the situation. And, if you play your cards ”rights,” right, you may be eligible for Showcase Showdown quality parting gifts. That’s right, you could be eligible for a New Carrrrrrrr!!! or just a car. But wait, there’s more … If at any point your “husband” decides he’s just not that into being your “husband” anymore, he can leave you. And the best part is, you don’t have to ask him to pay for a fake divorce lawyer! Horrrayyyyy.
His agreement sounded as practical as using heroin recreationally.
“Essentially, you want the benefits of marriage but not the responsibility?”
“Not at all, it’s about knowing your rights.”
There was no arguing with him, so I didn’t try. We were clearly on different ends of the monogamy spectrum. His “agreement” sounded like a deleted scene from “American Pie” or an amendment to the “3 Date Rule.” It was a sophomoric attempt at imitating love and marriage and commitment.
“Casual” exchanges does not a commitment make. Committed relationships MUST have reciprocity & real commitment requires an investment. There’s a reason Bentley and Rolls Royce don’t advertise the same way Kia and Hyandai do. Bentley and Rolls Royce don’t want every Tom, Dick and Amir driving their cars. Sure, they’re all cars; however, Bentley and Rolls Royce are not common cars. Consequently, they hold their value as such.
They’re not the kind of cars you feel comfortable hopping inside of with a vat of chilli cheese fries and a large cola from In and Out. You don’t want the ditzy bartender leaving her glitter body spray residue on your seats or Mr. Bo Jangles, your Gram Gram’s cat Freddi Krugering the leather. Why? Because chances are you’re not going to invest in a car that cost more than most homes only to funk it up to all damnation and trade it in a few weeks later. And even if you did do that, unless you’re a member of the Royal Family you probably couldn’t afford it. The reason you wouldn’t do this is because the car is more valuable than your everyday, run of the mill vehicle. And this is a car!!! A car.
So why then, would you feel comfortable treating a living being this way? More importantly, who agrees to these agreements? Are you as a human not worth more than a new clutch or a few meals at heaven forbid – The Red Lobster?
If I may, propose a new agreement …
Know Your Worth Agreement
Agreeing to Not Be a Stupid Chick
What you get, otherwise known as “Your Rights”: You get to make really, really good decisions for yourself. And the best part, you’re not putting yourself at risk for heartache, sleepless nights, some crazy a** dude who is probably thinking of an exit strategy, instead of new ways to make your life easier or worst of all, a stinking vag! You might find that you’re occasionally lonely; however, you’re never desperate enough to loan out your lady bits for a purse and some shoes, that let’s face it … you can probably purchase for yourself. Lastly, when you do meet someone worthy of your time and energy, he will want you to be his real wife, not his “fake wife.” Because unlike “fake husbands” real husbands – know that wedding bands make her dance – really, really nasty! And those guys aren’t going anywhere. Horrrayyyyy.
Take Your Panties Off or not.
I haven’t written in sometime now … partly due to the fact that I am 72% positive that I either A. Have a Tape Worm or B. Am experiencing a false pregnancy, as I am ALWAYS hungry and tired (and not in that order). But I digress …
As you know, in the past impossible relationships have been one of my special talents and the summer of 2013 has yet to disappoint me in that area. Earlier this year I thought I’d finally rid myself of the recurring and ever obnoxious LLF (Little Lord Farquad). Turns out that was a lie. After an awkward exchange that ended with me fast walking to the car during a Keith Sweat concert (yes, the 80s R&B Heart throb, that Keith Sweat) to the tune of “Don’t Stop Your Love.” We managed to not speak for several weeks until running into one another at the corner of Sexual Catnip and Six-Degrees-of-We-Live-in-the-Smallest-City-Ever. Oh, and did I mention we currently live four short buildings away from one another? True story.
Alas, this entry has little to do with LLF and everything to do with me continuing to distance myself from toxic relationships in general. As a result, I managed to form a rather unlikely friendship with let’s call him “Gulliver’s Travels” or “Gulliver.”
Gulliver and I met five years ago through a mutual friend who weekended as a part-time event promoter (during the week, he was an ER physician). Gulliver’s attractive, cultured and has traveled to nearly every continent (minus Antarctica) for work hence the name “Gulliver’s Travels.” At the time, he had a girlfriend and I was dating the Dr. Feel Good and well … timing is everything. **Cut to present day**
A few months ago, when the weather changed I began taking my dog on long brisk walks through the City Center. It was on one of these walks that I spied Gulliver, which was interesting because the last time I saw him he was en route to Emirates for a project.
“Gullllllliver!! Gullllllliver” I shrilled. “Gulllivverrrrrr!!”
:..::Crickets…::: Not a creature was stirring, not even a obligatory hand wave.
Well this is super awkward. Maybe it’s not him. What do you mean? Of course it’s him. Quick, pretend like you’re screaming Gulliver at the dog. She’s deaf … she won’t know the difference. Just as I was about to scream “Gulliver, Gulliver!” at my little deaf angel. He shouted “Pretty? Is that you?”
Whew. Nice save by the defense. Way to go Spartans!
“Oh hey!, my dog is so crazy … her name is Savannah-Claire, but we call her Gulliver for short … and she likes to eat Pop Tarts … so anyways enough about her, what are you up to?” I ramble when I’m nervous. #Quirks Our conversation was brief, but just long enough for me to be intrigued. A few weeks later, our paths crossed again at a birthday party. We got reacquainted over Fire Ball shots, which P.S. if you have acid reflux (I do), I would highly not recommend. You’ve been warned.
Several bars and fire ball shots later, we found ourselves hugging good bye and I did what any
a-little-bit-drunk woman classy lady in my position would have; I got the hell outta there! As the clock struck midnight, I gave him a sweet kiss on the lips and bolted like I had a mice pulled pumpkin coach and fairy God Mother waiting for me outside. No exchanging of the numbers … no call me if you want to hang out. No nothing. I’m not sure why I did it, but part of me thinks that I enjoy those random encounters. The other part of me … the part with the unfertilized 33 year old eggs thinks I’m crazy for running out on a guy whose genes would mesh perfectly with my own. Did I mention he’s 6’3 with perfectly Egyptian bronzed skin?
A few weeks passed and No Gulliver. Until, a chance meeting at a baseball game. I was there with a mutual friend of ours and guess who we end up sitting next to? If you guessed Gulliver, you’re right! *Cue the Showcase Showdown Theme Music*
Gulliver, who happens to be on a “hang” with a soft talker (this is important) is a box of nachos and a soft pretzel away from me. As a general rule of thumb if a man is entertaining another lady I’m not one to pull a “The Bachelorette” can-I-steal-him-away-from-you. I hate those women. However, when Gulliver and mutual friend bromanced their way back to the concessions for Blue Moons and more soft pretzels, soft talker has a Dr. Phil moment and tells me in the two years she has dated her boyfriend, she’s never been to his home. “Do you think he’s married?” Uhmmmm, pretty much? *I shrugged* “I mean, it definitely sounds suspicious for sure, maybe you already know the answer.” Translation: a deceased Helen Keller can tell you this dude’s married. TF.
Once “Who Let the Dogs Out” came over the loud speaker and transported us back to 2002, I missed the second half of her denile is not just a river in Egypt speech, so I just nodded and alternated “That’s crazy” and “Are your serious?” Trust me, both lend themselves well to the dramatic pause. Thankfully, once Gulliver and mutual friend returned things were briefly normal again … until they weren’t.
Soft talker is soft talking to Gulliver, I’m talking to mutual friend about something, close to nothing when Gulliver shouts … “TAKE YOUR PANTIES OFF?” Wait, what? Did he just say take your panties off? Yes, yes he did.
So I turn and look at his face which is equally puzzled in disbelief as if he’s trying to solve the age old riddle … Which came first the awkward person or the awkward moment?
Soft talker continues talking and Gulliver struggles to read her lips. “Are your serious?” I say.
“Yes” she whispers. Soft talk … soft talk … soft talk … doctors appointment … soft talk … take off.”
“Ohhhhhhh, you said you’re taking tomorrow off?”
Soft talk … soft talk … head nod, yes.
Gulliver who at this point is doubled over laughing looks up at me and mouths “I can’t understand anything she says.”
I smiled. “I knowwww” I mouth back. Are we having a moment? My non-date, date completely oblivious to the entire exchange. He was enthralled with French macaroons he’d eaten earlier in the day.
When the game was over, as fate would have it Soft Talker and Mutual Friend were parked in the same lot and Gulliver and I, another. He offered to walk me to my car and I, not wanting to be abducted and shoved into the back of The Zodiac Killer’s work van happily accepted.
“Soft Talker is nice” I said. “Have you guys been dating long?” I was fishing.
“Actually, we’re neighbors. She’s never been to one of the games and I had an extra ticket so …”
“So, you suggested she take her panties off?” I laughed. “You don’t waste any time.”
“Man, she is a really soft talker? I couldn’t understand anything she was saying.”
Before I knew it we’d been talking for an hour and a half. He suggested we grab a drink at a local pub. And then hookah … and then waffles. It was the perfect impromptu non-date, date. The kind that makes you want to come home and write a blog post about it. And the best part … I never even took my panties off. Smile.
Stay tuned …