Thursday, December 29, 2005

This Too Shall Pass

Okay, so I know I've been slacking on the entries. According to Michelle in Michigan it's starting to "smell like old folks in here," so I think it's about that time for me to get back on my job. I've gotta keep all 10 of my fans happy.
Well the holidays were cool. I got a week long break from the shrieking harpee that is my boss and made my way back to civilization (i.e. New York City), where I promptly indulged in all of the things that I've been missing living out here in hell, sorry, I mean Michigan. Of course, one of those things that I just had to partake in was The Idiot Who Made Me Cry. Now before you get your shorts in a knot, there was no quality time spent with him and his current flavor of the month. I learned my lesson on that after the last time (if you don't know what I'm talking about, please catch up). So anyways, we happened (well it wasn't totally accidental, but that's not the point) to be at the same party on New Years Eve. I'm not gonna lie and say that I didn't feel a mild pang seeing him pressed up against some cutsie little munchkin chick who stopped growing in sixth grade. However, when midnight rolled around, the only person on my mind was The Guy Who Shouldn't Make Me Cry, who was nowhere around. So this is what I've figured out: I'm pretty much over The Idiot and not nearly over The Guy.
The interesting thing about guys who shouldn't make a girl cry, is that in being human they often do that exact thing. I don't think The Guy meant to make me cry, actually I know he didn't, but it still happened. So we decided to take some time apart almost two months ago, so he wouldn't have to hear my craziness (read this for clarification) and I wouldn't be perpetually disappointed. Well two months have gone by and the feelings are still with me and I miss him like crazy. Let me tell you, it truly sucks! We still talk, but now it's just as friends. Right now I'm at the point where I'd rather have him in my life in that capacity than in no capacity at all. But here's what I've noticed, while I seem to be struggling with this whole situation, he seems oddly at ease and has seemed so for a while, which makes me wonder, is he already over everything? And if he is, how in the hellin did he do it so quickly.
In a case of serious liking and deep caring, it's difficult to shut those emotions off when things don't turn out as initially intended. When it's all over the only thing that's really left are those feelings, and with nowhere to put them, they can eat you up inside. All the could've beens, would've beens, and should've beens could drive a girl to drink (and the strongest thing I order from the bar is a cranberry and sprite). The only thing to do is get over it. But damn it, that's a lot easier said than done. Getting over someone is like having a big ball of shit weighing you down and trying to get out but being stuck by forces beyond your control. I guess what I'm saying is that it's sort of like constipation. You know you gotta get the shit out, but when you try, it hurts like a mutha!! The more you push the more it hurts. After an hour of breathing, grunting, straining, and pushing only the tip of the iceberg has been moved and you're left a sweaty, frustrated mess. It seems the more you try to purge someone from your system using all sorts of different methods (avoidance, immersion, distraction), the harder it is to get past them. After a while it just seems easier to just keep the shit inside (no pun intended) and live with carrying it around with you. But the problem with keeping it inside is that it's toxic and infects everything in you it touches. That's no good. While riding the 2 train from Harlem to the North Bronx I had an epiphany. Just like passing that pesky turd, in order to get over someone, you've gotta push past the pain. Basically like my boy Ursher said, "Gotta let it burn." And somewhere during all that hurt, progress is made and finally when you can't hurt anymore it all comes out in one big dump (no pun intended again). Looking at the process in that light, I now know why it took me three long, excrutiating years to get over the Idiot. He was backing up my system and most of the time it hurt too much to do the hard work of expelling him. So I just kept it inside and basically was infected for a very long time. But now that I've dropped that 200+ lb load I feel a million times lighter.
Now thinking about the whole process, I'm trying to figure out how someone who felt the exact same way I did, can be handling the demise of "us" so well, when I'm a freakin mess. It ain't fair, and it ain't right, and honestly I don't appreciate it. If I'm going to be miserable, he should at least have the courtesy to be a despondent wreck as well. I was perplexed about this, and then I had a conversation with my dear friend Chesty LaRue. Now let me say that Chesty is even more adept at finding Broke Ass Niggas than I am. I mean this woman is a Broke Ass Nigga magnet, and can pick them out in a crowd of a thousand men. Anyways, she had recently ended things with Broke Ass Nigga #1569203983865738 and couldn't get him to stop calling her. Broke Ass Nigga #1569203983865738 kept wondering how she could be so cold and be totally over everything with him so quickly. So she was venting about his incessant phone calls when she said, "He's not over me yet, but I got over him while we were still together." Hmmm, that's interesting. So later on I got to thinking about the idea of getting over someone while still in the relationship. On closer inspection, this is probably the reason why people get dumped. Their significant other was already past all their feelings when they ended the relationship.
Thinking isn't a good thing for me to do, but I couldn't stop myself. I got to thinking that maybe The Guy is okay with everything now, cause by the time we crashed and burned he was already over me. In my head, I can't wrap my brain around that. He vehemently denied that his actions (or rather inaction) was the result of a change of heart. Maybe I'm stupid, but I know him and I know he wasn't lying to me, or just trying to make me feel better (he's not the type to just tell someone what they want to hear). It's not a very nice feeling to think that at the end of everything you were the only person who cared. Jon B said it best when he sang, "Ain't no fun in lovin' if you're lovin alone/ How does it feel to be useless?" Not cool, not cool at all. If I could just get a glimmer that I'm not alone now (at least in what I'm feeling) and haven't been alone for the last three months, then I'd feel better. But then again, maybe it doesn't really matter how he feels or doesn't feel or when he started or stopped feeling that way. Maybe it's time for me to just let this one pass. The very idea is a pain in my ass.

Wednesday, December 21, 2005

48 Hours

I know it's the season to talk about family and giving and crap like that, but I'm not in the mood, so I won't. My family left me to go halfway around the world, so for me Christmas doesn't count this year. But then again, I get to skip the motherly disapproval of my hairstyle, wardrobe, and life choices, so it's not a total wash. Love you Mommy!!

Anyways, the other day a friend of mine, let's call her Flatty Girl (no ass, just a back with a crack), calls me up in a panic because this guy with whom she's been parlaying hasn't called her in 48 hours. Obvious state of emergency there. We start racking our brains as to what she possibly could've said or done to make him stop speaking to her and come up with nada. Of course she can't call him because if he's not speaking to her for whatever reason, she mustn't show any desire to want to talk to him. That's how the game is played. So the only thing Flatty is left to do is simply go to bed and wonder why.
Fast forward 18 hours later. I call her up to see how she's doing and she can't talk to me cause she's on the phone with old boy. He called, she's happy, all is well. When I asked her if he'd given an explanation for the disappearing act she told me he said, "I was really busy and didn't get the chance to call. Besides, it was only 2 days." This got me thinking, "only 2 days." "Only 2 days"? In the grand scheme of things, 2 days doesn't seem very long. Maybe Flatty Girl had overreacted.
Two is a small number. 1, 2. See that, it doesn't take too much time to get to the number 2. So why was Flatty Girl so stressed? Why didn't I tell her to relax, it had only been 2 days? Why have I bugged out in similar situations? And why do guys look at chicks like they're crazy when they trip cause contact hasn't been made for 2 days? I think I've got an answer. Women don't see 2 days, we see 48 hours. 48 is a whole lot more than 2. Actually it's 24 times more than 2. It takes a lot longer to count to 48 than it does to count to 2. 48 hours is soooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo much longer than 2 days.
In all honesty, the fact that Mr. Way Too Into Himself flirted with another chick right in front of me on Valentine's Day two years ago wasn't the only reason I cursed him out in front of a club that evening. He had also committed the egregious sin of not calling me for 48 hours. He couldn't figure out why I would be so upset about that, since, it was "only two days." But that's the thing, for me it wasn't only two, it was 48 long hours. 8 hours at work, 6 hours of sleep, 3 hours of television, 2 hours of step practice, another 8 hours of work, 5 more hours asleep, and more lost hours that I can't remember. All those hours added up and in all 48 60 minute increments my phone didn't ring once. Well, at least not by him. Each hour that passed was another hour for me to think. Every guy who has ever dated me has always said that's something I shouldn't be allowed to do. When given 48 hours of unregulated time, it's truly amazing what my brain can come up with. I can drive myself into a state of rampant paranoia in 48 hours and imagine all type of problems where none exist. And I'm not the only cause Flatty Girl did it too.
I don't know where the perception difference comes from. Personally I don't care. All I want is for a guy to see things my way. I could try to look at 2 days as "only 2 days," but I can't. I've been waiting by my phone for 48 hours and this bastard still ain't called me back.

Tuesday, December 20, 2005

Tag, I'm It

Honestly, I probably wouldn't have updated my blog today if it hadn't been for the Cranky Prof. I got tagged, so I've gotta be it now. Here goes.

Four jobs you have had in your life: Newspaper delivery girl - papers were at everybody's door bright and early at 10 a.m. every morning; McDonald's - I got fired; "research assistant" - work study is wonderful; Cheerio Pusher - I deal Cheerios by the gram to school aged children

Four movies you could watch over and over: 10 Things I Hate About You - indulges my inner white girl; Coming To America - Sexual Chocolate!! SEXUAL CHOCOLATE!!!; Sixteen Candles - I love Molly Ringwald; Pretty Woman - made me wanna be a hooker

Four places you've lived: Latham, NY - nothing to do but watch the grass grow; Bronx, NY - for a summer; Minnetonka, MN - bullshit; Grand Rapids, MI - even more bullshit

Four TV shows you love to watch: All My Children; One Life To Live; General Hospital; Sex and The City; Desperate Housewives, Grey's Anatomy; Making the Band; Real World/Road Rules Challenge; The Bachelor; The Apprentice.... that was four right?

Four places you've been on vacation: New Orleans - Mardi Gras 2002; Cameroon; I don't really go on vacation, I'm broke

Four websites you visit daily: Nappturality; Facebook (it's like crack); The Brain Dump (if I don't visit myself, who will?); GMFCU - gotta see how my funds stack

Four of your favorite foods: Chicken - I'm black so that's a no brainer; French Toast - but just from Real Food Cafe; Pizza Hut Pan Pizza with Exkra Cheese; Chocolate Chip this why my skinny jeans don't fit?

Four places you'd rather be right now: NYC; NYC; NYC; The bed belonging to the Guy Who Shouldn't Make Me Cry

Four bloggers you are tagging: Da Corner Bruhz; Random Ramblings; WTF; Frank Leigh Speeking

Wednesday, December 14, 2005

Do You See What I See

I know, I know, I know. I've been lackadaisical with the blog thus far this month. I can't even claim to have been incredibly busy, cause I'm not. I've had time. And I won't lie and say that I couldn't think of anything to blog about, cause I've had a lot of crap festering in my brain. Honestly, the reason why I haven't posted a damn thing this month, is cause I ain't feel like it. Point blank. Now, I've had several requests in the last two weeks to update this thing and I do appreciate that people actually want to read what I've got to say. But then I got to thinking about it and besides my "fanbase" from the Friendster days (does 5 people constitute a fanbase?), most of my readers are just plain greedy. Why do I say that? Because there are over 30 entries in this blog. There are 20 some odd posts in the archive that folks have never read, but they clamor for new entries. My momma always told me that I couldn't get seconds until I finished what's on my plate. Same thing applies to my blog. If you haven't read my letter to Star Jones, the rules for befriending an ex, and my neverending issues with the Idiot Who Made Me Cry, then you haven't earned the right to ask for anything more. And you know how I know those archives aren't getting read. Big Brother is watching, readers. I got Sitemeter. That beautiful tool tells me who visits, how often, how long, and how many pages they view. If you only view one page, and I see you entered on the main page, then I know your ass is greedy. I feel as though I just give and give and give, and people just take and take and take. Well I refuse to be your Patsy any longer!!! This blog is officially shut down, until I see at least one comment (well thought out and intelligent) in each and every post on this blog. Don't ask me to write if you won't do your part and read. Or maybe not. I forgot, I blog for me, not for you. But I still want those comment.

Now, on to the actual point of this blog. I've been watching a lot of TV lately. Well I guess you could consider 25 years to be lately. I've noticed a really disturbing trend. On the Making The Band 3 season finale, Diddy sent the girls home for 3 months and when they came back, how come three of these chicks came back with something resembling a drowned beaver glued to their heads? That wasn't the most disturbing part though. These girls had a photo shoot, and the hair stylists actually let them get in front of the camera like that!!! The next day, I decided to feed my intellect so I turned to 106 and Park. Remy "please don't ever touch a mic again" ma was on there introducing her new video. There was some sort of lopsided blonde in front, jet black in the back, back length hair that obviously once belonged to a Korean on.....

We interrupt this post to bring you this special report. After three months, one week, and three days of silence from the Idiot Who Made Me Cry, contact has been made. It wasn't me. I just picked up the phone. And the only reason I did that was because I didn't recognize the number on the caller ID. I erased him about a month ago. What did the Idiot want? NOTHING!! But the interesting thing is, I don't want anything either. Aahhh, progress! Now if the Guy Who Shouldn't Make Me Cry would follow suit, life would be a dream. Now back to your irregularly scheduled post.

.....her cranium. The worst part was when she had the nerve to give her hairdresser a shoutout for hooking up her do. Obviously, vengence belonged to the stylist. Beyonce (man stealing tramp) is the worst offender. That dried up mess she sports looked so much better on the horse she stole it from. Now I have no problem with weave. It's an effective styling tool and keeps the hair from being damaged. But damn it, couldn't they at least get something that looks believable instead of beweavable. Visible tracks with an invisible hairline is NOT cute. Nor are matted roots with straight ends. Are decent weaves that hard to come by? It's not as though they can't afford it, especially Beyonce's multiplatinum ass. If Ashanti could find a weave to fool the masses, then surely B could do the same.
The part that's funny to me is that these women are surrounded by handlers who actually tell them that shit is "fiyah." People actually encourage them to present themselves to the public looking like they spent the day at Hair Magic Beauty Supply's wig station. Ironically, on America's Next Top Model, Bree had to do a photo shoot without being able to see herself in a mirror, and her hair was fierce. If that's the best B, Remy, and company could come up with after spending hours in the mirror, I'm seriously questioning their sanity, judgement, taste, and intelligence. Shit, even Stevie Wonder could see they look a hot ass mess.