I am growing a bit tired of myself. Every single day of my 30s it seems I am subject to experiencing something—even if it’s a minor occurrence—that has the potential to upset my world and rock my little foundation that I so carefully put together in my self-righteous 20s. For example, just last night I was perusing a love and marriage blog out of curiosity and boredom. After reading an article about the concept of “soulmates” (romantic or otherwise) I realize that I don’t believe in the idea of soulmates and the hype that goes along with it. Coming to that realization was a little surprising to me and one my friends even said, “Really? You being more of a free-spirited type I would think that you would…”As it turns out; NOPE

Does God really predetermine our lives and place us in the position to receive/meet this soulmate(s)? Or along our path, are we given the free will to make the choice of who to love and how much we will allow our bond to grow and endure with that person? I am not sure. I remember my two most meaningful relationships feeling as if the universe sanctioned our coupling. I felt the satisfying “this is where I belong,” and “this is where God wants me to be” emotions but in the end I feel like those same feelings made the breaking up process that much more difficult. Those very phrases turned into “Why would God do this to me?” and “Now we are not together where do I belong?” In the long run, I ended up fighting so hard for relationships that were not meant to be—and that’s not because the stars didn’t align the right away or I was outside of God’s will—but because it was time for me to choose better and move on. The action and effort that went into moving on emotionally from persons that I believed to be my true soulmates ended up being one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to do in my life. It nearly killed me.

I still remember sex and intimacy with these men that I felt I was destined by God to be with. It felt impassioned and frantic, exciting and maybe a little scary. On some level, which I could never identify at the time, it felt out of my control. I am only 31 now but I feel I’ve gone through some things; as far as my romantic relationship goes I feel more settled. I am a willing part of intimacy and it is not cosmic forces and divine intervention. Love is not happening to me, I am not falling but I am making the choice to leap. Closeness and sexual acts no longer feel like a chaotic smorgasbord of unbridled emotion and sensations and love is not a place to belong. I always have a place within in me that I can call home. Life is all the more better with him in it but were I to lose him, were we to lose each other, I believe we would be able to find survival in the homes that we built inside of ourselves without missing the remnants we may have left inside of each other.

Regarding love and relationships, all of the things I thought I had such passion and belief in are so far behind me. The special wounds and empty spaces in my heart I never thought would heal or fill are an afterthought. I don’t have a soft spot for these past “soulmates”; I was able to move on and love again. I was able to choose love again, and I am happy that I didn’t succumb to the despair of my past thought processes that maybe I didn’t have much choice about who to love and how. It makes me wonder– what other ideals have I always used to define myself that have since fallen away…?

Urban dictionary

Soulmate: A person with whom you have an immediate connection the moment you meet — a connection so strong that you are drawn to them in a way you have never experienced before. As this connection develops over time, you experience a love so deep, strong and complex, that you begin to doubt that you have ever truly loved anyone prior. Your soulmate understands and connects with you in every way and on every level, which brings a sense of peace, calmness and happiness when you are around them. And when you are not around them, you are all that much more aware of the harshness of life, and how bonding with another person in this way is the most significant and satisfying thing you will experience in your lifetime. You are also all that much aware of the beauty in life, because you have been given a great gift and will always be thankful.

The Price of Slapping A Bitch

W Brady

My aunt slapped a bitch once, and because of it she will forever be my hero. The woman she slapped completely deserved it and there were plenty of witnesses around to nod their heads and confirm, “Oh yeah, that bitch just got slapped!” Unfortunately, due to an egregious miscarriage of justice, my aunt had to pay thousands of dollars in lawyer‘s fees just to stay out of jail after the woman pressed charges. How could this have happened in this day and age? Sometimes people need to be slapped and I just don’t get why it’s not an understood American right.

This thought stems from an incident from this morning where someone tried my patience. Long story short, JW’s neighbor has beef with him about typical neighborly disputes—therefore she has beef with me as a frequent houseguest and witness of disputes. For whatever reason I believe in giving people the benefit of the doubt and I’ve been trying to establish some sort of peace in this chaotic rivalry between them but alas, she had to try me. I leave his apartment this morning and drive halfway home only to discover there’s a note on my windshield. Why, who could it be leaving me a nice little love note to take home and cherish? The note was addressed to Bobbi Kristina—which I suppose is funny but kind of missed the mark because:


Not bad looking at all…

  1. I don’t think BK is a terrible looking woman. I actually think she’s cute. Our feminine egos would love for our celebrity doppelgängers to be perhaps more glamorous or sexy but I really don’t care and I’ve been called this before and even nicknamed this by someone and it left me with an overall feeling of “Meh”. (I didn’t even think the neighbor had seen my face enough to make that kind of association).
  2. If it was supposed to be some sort of jab about my gap teeth she’s about 15 years too late. I can’t remember the last time I’ve been made fun of for something that is obviously not a big deal to 99% of the people I meet. Also, life is too short for me to be particularly bothered about not having perfect teeth. I have bills to pay and children to rear!
  3. I am perhaps mean for mentioning this but I have to—the woman who wrote this note is morbidly obese. She is not thick, she is not phat OR even fat; she is a walking heart attack. This woman is so large that she can’t even put her arms down at her sides. I don’t want to be cruel about her health problems because I am a woman that struggles with weight issues as well—but I also would not be so foolish as to leave a threatening note on anyone’s windshield and dare try to tease them about their appearance when I am clearly not placing in any beauty contests myself. It’s just Womanhood 101. Making fun of people with your friends and anonymously on the blog is great fun; but to do so in person reeks of petty high school one upmanship and I’m just not about that life.
Proud GA

Proud Gaprican American and Grown Ass Woman

Anywho, the note was basically the petty kind of stuff you would expect someone to say if they were trying to provoke you, concluding with a nice threat to take home and meditate on. I do not take kindly to being threatened and don’t know too many that do. This animosity between the two neighbors has now become my problem and I am livid. Because I use words like “livid” I’ve heard more than once, “Oh, you don’t look like the type to be a good fighter.” Listen,  my fighting abilities don’t even come into play here; I don’t need to fight—I just need to slap a bitch. It’s so easy and really all that’s necessary to solve this whole dilemma. However, because of silly little words like “assault” and “jail time”, I am not able to do what I need to do to nip this whole thing in the bud. I truly believe that my hands have healing qualities and I would be able to slap the crazy right out of her and she would probably even thank me for releasing her of all her foolishness.

Seriously, what is happening in my life right now that I’m even dealing with this sort of thing? Trying to discuss it with JW is only resulting in us fighting amongst ourselves and I have to say; I really resent this woman and the position she has put me in. I want to support my man and take it to the streets with her—but the onus is on me to be a lady in this situation thus my hands are tied. Becoming the rowdy “hold it down” chick just can’t be on my list of amazing qualities because I have children and a career and simply cannot afford to spend time in in jail AGAIN! So here I am, typing this and taking the high road. The adult thing to do is to defer to my man to solve his own issues with his neighbors and to stay the hell out of it and disregard her note entirely– hard to do without feeling like a little punk.

As nice as it would be to slap a bitch (even only once!) there is  simply too much risk involved. The high road to mature adulthood officially sucks ass…

TD High

To slap or not to slap….THAT’S the mofo question!

Guess Who’s Coming to Dinner

I forget about it—and that’s my fault really, because how do you forget something that’s actually kind of a big deal? Also, lately I’ve been functioning really well because I haven’t really had the time to be sad or feel depressed—but dammit it really creeps up on you sometimes. I was JUST ok, then I spoke to JW on the phone and I couldn’t stop crying. I managed to get away with disguising it as sleepiness but something punctured and I just can’t get back on track. I feel I’m running from something and I’m feeling the need to escape but from what, I don’t know…  This is it, right? My life is going well, I am trying to find balance and there is nothing wrong with me enough to be feeling this way right now.

It’s going to drive a huge wedge into my relationship—I’m sure of it but I can’t stop it. I’m on the deck of the Titanic staring that huge iceberg in the face.  As humiliating as it was, I tried my best to explain to JW that sometimes I’m just not right and I still don’t know the trick to getting better and functioning like an emotionally healthy adult. I basically felt like I  was saying, “Oops, I forgot to mention that sometimes I’m just crazy and I have no control over when it’s going to happen…good luck!” This is every man’s worst nightmare; thinking everything is moving along just fine then being bamboozled with a random problem that is virtually unsolvable.

Mostly, I am just so fucking embarrassed. Poor me, right? Grew up middle class, and my own poor decisions led to bad relationships and unhealthy thought patterns; now waking up and living everyday has become my most difficult accomplishment. And it’s not really that I want to die…I just don’t want to be hassled with LIVING. I’d love to lie in bed and stare at nothing for the rest of my life. I imagine it’s what heaven must be. I would categorize it as laziness but there’s a debilitating sadness that comes along with it that I just can’t shake. I force myself to keep moving, keep pursuing, keep trying but I’ve hit a wall and everything is happening underwater now. I can’t move—I don’t want to, but I have to. There is nothing going on in my brain, but too much and not enough all at the same time.

I don’t want to write about this, I don’t want to be this way. I don’t want to be the surprise at the dinner table; eating in silence, not knowing what to say and pretending to be present when I’m really functioning in white space. I don’t want anyone to talk to me while I’m eating, I don’t want to pass anyone the bread, or laugh at anyone’s jokes. I just want to drink all the wine and eat all the food in silence fighting my own battle to finally not think or worry about anything at all. I don’t want to have to let someone in– and I’m aware those metaphors don’t make sense.

Dialing It Back: Part III


My best friend is dealing with a lot of emotional stuff right now and her go to phrase to describe it is, “I feel all the things!” I always laugh and respond with, “Oh mama knows”– but mama really does know, dammit!

I keep this blog so I can kind of keep a handle on my emotions and try not to hold back the details of how I’m feeling no matter how bizarre they can be perceived. It’s getting more and more difficult to express without feeling well…silly! It is 2014 and the overall world motto, to me, seems to be “Fuck your feelings!” Ok, then. What is a girl like me to do with that? I am the girl who will meet you at your ugliest yet only think of you at your best, or will lock eyes with you across a room and immediately want to consume and devour. I want to feel all of my things and your things, too until I combust with emotion and have to spend days in my room crying to release the tension before I can go out and face the world again. The world is telling me to have several seats.

My only problem is that I cannot find the space between feeling everything and nothing. I say dialing it back but really its not a volume button for me, its either on or its off. I don’t know how to curb my feelings and properly guard the heart I wear so openly on my sleeve. I try not to let my perceptions become reality, but I do also function under the philosophy that reality isn’t all the harshness of murder, decay, and unrequited love. I function under the philosophy that reality is who we are when we peel back the layers, its unconditional love and its just a bunch of wandering souls doing all the crazy shit that we do to quell our desire and longing for SOMEthing that resembles real to us! But the world says to me, have a seat. Your feelings, your ideals, your sheer ridiculousness is not welcome here.

So, here I sit humiliated and disappointed that I can’t be free to believe in everything. I have to change and dumb down and pour myself into this mold already laid out for me. I need to quell my emotions and come to the realization that some things are ugly and shallow and unfair no matter how you slice it. But if I lose the ability to seek out the beauty in the ugliest of things who do I become? It’s a catch 22! My heart is soft, but not strong enough to withstand being laughed at by the cynics and by those who think of me as a stupid girl in over her head, wasting time on the worthless. I used to believe that everything was worth it.

“Fuck your feelings,” says the world. Ok then…as you wish.

I Know How I’m Going to Be Murdered



So, I live in the hood. I don’t care too much for the terminology but I suppose if I had to describe the environment I live in that would be it, so it is what it is. I like where I live very much….it’s off the bus route, there are 3 grocery stores within walking distance and about 8 liquor stores in walking distance. However awesome that sounds, I know I’m going to be murdered here and how and why.

My biggest pet peeve of all is the random black woman attitude. Yes, I myself can be bitchy or rigid if you cross me but for the most part that’s not my normal disposition. Just yesterday I proclaimed that I needed to work on my temper and I feel I’m doing very well because I managed to not punch this woman in the face, thus avoiding an assault and battery charge.

So, I clamber on the bus all disheveled and disoriented as usual because morning. As soon as I pay my fare the bus starts moving– because God forbid the bus driver lose three seconds of travel time waiting for me to sit down–and I swing into a seat next to a sleeping woman. I think I said excuse me but in retrospect I don’t know and don’t really care all that much. Why? Because this particular bus is crowded every single day, especially in the morning so I have no patience for the self-centered assholes who store their bags in the seat beside them OR, in her case, store their bag in between  her and the wall which meant she was sitting well into the middle of a two-seater! Anyway, I swing my ass into the edge of the seat as far as it will go and grumpy bear wakes up complaining in the deepest voice I’ve heard on any woman, “Damn, can I scoot over first?!”  
Me: You sure can.
Her: You didn’t even say excuse me! You just–
Me: OR maybe I did, you just can’t hear me with your headphones on. It’s early in the morning ain’t nobody messin with you! Shit!
Her: *pulls out gun and shoots me in the face*

Ok, the last part obviously didn’t happen, but it will if I don’t learn to curb my smart ass mouth. I thought about just switching seats, but I’m a grown woman—that’s where I wanted to sit so I should be able to sit there. So I sat there, all the while entertaining violent thoughts of just smooshing her stupid head against the window and eating her snacks she had lying on top of her bag. (I don’t know why I would eat her snacks—perhaps that kind of violence makes you hungry, I would imagine…) It’s December 31, I still have some time to turn over a new leaf, and I can only pray I don’t get murdered for being a jerk in the meantime 🙂

Identity Series: Weight, What?

Vocabulary words for the day:

Potent- short for potential bf; love interest

Suburban- hot male at least 6’ or taller, over 200lbs

I’ve decided to make eating right and weight loss my latest obsession. Unfortunately, I have a short attention span so I have to make myself become obsessed with it in order to try to take it seriously and see results. Furthermore, I think I’m going to make a deal with the devil and join my local gym (booooooo!) But the main reason behind any sort of diet plan that I’m involved in is: looking good naked.


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The Right Fit: Going through the list of exes, and potents it’s clear that I have no rhyme or reason about size and fit. For a brief stint I went through a “suburban” phase because awesome. I am 5’ 7” myself and even at my smallest size I am not a tiny girl SO, of course it’s nice to curl up next to a strapping Suburban that can throw you around and still tower over you when you wear your 6” stilettos. However, lately I’ve found myself reverting back to my high school tastes—the little guys are just doing it for me now!

Not long ago, I went to meet a friend for drinks in the city and, like a true mom that doesn’t give a damn, I threw on yoga pants, a cutoff sweatshirt and still had on that morning’s makeup to complete my “look”.  I got a couple beers in and on one of my many trips back from the bathroom I notice a gorgeous young man sitting in the once empty barstool next to mine. As I returned to my seat, he looks me up and down and says, “Hey, Beautiful”. HAHAHAHAHAAHAHAHA–sorry, that was my initial reaction inside of my head. I gave him a tight smile and quickly turned my back to him. Yeah.right. This guy was way too gorgeous, way too young and he was about my height and looked like if I tried to sit on his lap he would snap in half. What the hell? Anyway, fast forward to me being in a particularly friendly mood and this guy actually ended up becoming a potent. Later I had to ask him why he would even dare hit on me while I was clearly WEARING PAJAMAS IN PUBLIC. His response: “Your ass was just so phat and it was hanging off the barstool—I just had to talk to you.” Wait, what?


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Mo’ Booty, Mo Problems: Somewhere in the land of crazy black dudes this all makes sense to them! I can put on my tightest dress and walk by a group of 6 guys; 4 will whistle and comment that I’m “phat as shit” (good) and the other 3 will shake their heads and consider me just plain fat. (And I’m not bad at math, I know 4+3= 7 not 6, but when it comes to checking out women there always seems to be one straggler that joins the crowd and wants to insert his opinion, too). For whatever the reason, the more weight I gain the smaller the guy I attract. The greatest thing I have to fear in losing weight is losing my sex appeal…wait, what? While it is great to put on a few pounds and still get male attention, I know that I can’t be the only one confused about this phenomenon. There’s a joke I read on Twitter the other day: I hope to one day have as much confidence as a plus sized black woman. Plus sized black women are simply confused individuals, so the safest thing to do is to at least be confident about it…I say this speaking as one myself. Though I still buy regular sized clothes, so I don’t really consider myself one—but I’ve had other women refer to me as plus-sized. I’ve had guys refer to me as thick, or on the lighter of side thick, or phat or WHATEVER! I really just…don’t…know. But I do know that my ass and boobs will shrink back to their normal size and with it will go this newfound mojo I’ve discovered with hot, lean guys. All those lanky bones, flat stomachs and sinewy physiques—sighhhhhh, but I DIGRESS!


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Confidence is Close to Loveliness: What I do know is that my confidence and self-esteem is at an all time low. In spite of all the extra attention I have been getting from males, the fact of the matter is that I am no longer comfortable with my body at this current weight. I appreciate that there are men out there that don’t mind that fries and a four-piece nugget come along with this shake, but the fact that I’m not happy means I need to do something about it for ME. I suck at discipline but I am going to try…and I’ll try not to sob when my friends look at me and ask, “What happened to your ass?”


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