Boo'd up for the Weekend Pt 3 of 3

SUNDAY

I'm immediately agitated as I rolled over and feel air where "Rocky" should be in the morning. I'm cursing him for ruining my sleep as I hear what would appear to be someone scrambling what I assume is eggs in the kitchen. The sizzling of something on the stovetop lets me know that I haven't been completely abandoned. My baby was making me BREAKFAST! I stumble into the kitchen to lay my head on his massive chest and breathe him in. He scolds me for getting out of bed but wraps his arms around me and kisses my forehead.

TLC2, the weekend early-bird had already woken me up two hrs prior for his breakfast of french toast sticks. So, with nothing else to do, I climbed back into bed, and waited for breakfast to be ready. I watched "The Fabulous Life of "Paris Britney Lohan" " on VH1 until "Rocky" walked in with steak–n-cheese omelet and pepsi in hand. I ate and watched the show, smiling at the knowledge that all the money, baubles and $200/1oz jars of face cream in the world couldn't buy the happiness that I was feeling at the moment.

We finished eating and "Rocky" went to get dressed for church. I have been slacking in my classes damn near all semester and Sunday was my cram day. He left out and I showered and put in my "Study Enigma" clothes: shorts and tank top.

I set TLC2 up with Spiderman 3 and Go-gurt in his room and cracked open my Calculus book so that I could take my exam online. I spent the next four hours sucked in the world of Calculus, Verizon, Tila Tequila and The Hills. (I realized that I had no virus protection on my computer and wanted to order some. Unfortunately, none of the idiot, human or computer could help me)

Two hours into my work, I started dinner – pot roast, roasted potatoes and corn on the cob. "Rocky" called me from his mom's house to check in and make sure I was doing what I my work and gave me kudos for finding a way to fix a static problem we'd been having with the phone.

I watched my recorded episodes of "The Real Housewives of Orange County" as I folded the clothes from the previous day.

"Rocky" called again a few hours later from his cousin's house just as I was finishing eating dinner.

Rocky: "Babe, remember that night we were going back and forth with the riddles?

Me: "Uh huh . . ."

Rocky: "What's that one you told me that I liked?"

Me: "The one about the rabbit? What's invisible and smells like carrots, that one?

Rocky: "No, I don't think that's it."

Me: "The one about girls who work at Hooters?"

Rocky: "Nah, My cousin just told me that one, it was another one you'd said."

Me: (laughing at the mental image of these grown as men telling each other these silly as jokes/riddles): "I don't know hun."

Rocky: "Alright, don't worry about it. I'll be there in a little while."

Me and TLC2 try to watch the rest of Daddy Day Care, but decide we don't have or want to. He escapes to his room to watch Spiderman for the 89th time that day and I make chocolate chip cookie dough for later. (Usually I just buy the ready-made Pilsbury ones, but with the Betty Crocker "just add " one, I can take some of them damned chocolate chips out.

"Rocky" comes in, TLC2 takes a bath, we read two Spiderman books (he's obsessed I tell you) and I put TLC2 to bed and jump in the shower.

I bake the cookies and "Rocky" and I eat them as we watch Family Guy.

He gets up get us a cookie refill and asks if TLC2 had any cookies. I tell him "No, because he didn't finish his dinner." I turn the volume on the tv down as I hear TLC2's door squeak. Minutes later, "Rocky" comes into the bedroom looking guilty.

Me: "You gave him a damned cookie, didn't you?"

"Rocky": Huh? Nah, babe. . why you say that???"

Me (getting up to go check myself):" Cause I know you"

Sure enough, I look in on TLC2 and he's munching away on a cookie

I come back in the room shaking my head, knowing my son and what will happen next.

Sure enough, five seconds later, in walks TLC2 looking for his cookie pusher for his next fix.

"Rocky" tells TLC2 that he gets no more snacks because he didn't eat all his food. TLC2 concedes, but I know the battle will finish tomorrow. "Rocky" wins (for now.)

"Rocky" and I spread out on the bed for a few minutes before I suggest we play "I declare War". I know I have to work tomorrow but I try to prolong sleep for as much time as possible. He kicks my ass in record time and we give up on cards for the night. He tells me I need a Scrabble dictionary so we can play that. He knows I don't have one, but is aware that my mom does.

Him (reaching for the phone): "You need to call your Moms"

Me (bluffing): "Call her yourself. . .(201)­­___-____

He dials the numbers, asks for her and proceeds to have an entire convo. I ignore it for the most part, just knowing that he did not really call my mother, who has a clue, but no proof that I'm actually with someone seeing as how I've been refusing to confirm or deny any rumors concerning such that have been going around my family for weeks. Also whom he's met only once or twice (FIVE YRS AGO) and wouldn't know him from Bob down the block.

Ha ha, the jokes on me, he DID call her.

She and I speak briefly as I hear my Step-dad in the background with his Barry White-voice and laugh to match. "Tell him he gotta do more than just call the mother. We wanna know he treating our baby alright!"

(This sentence in itself is disturbing seeing as how my stepfather has never refered to me as "our" anything. Growing up it was always, "Wilma, your daughter down there trying to burn the kitchen down" or "Wilma your child and her friends in there tearing up the living room." But never, EVAH, has it been "our baby". Not that my step pops doesn't love me/us. But he's just not that warm, fuzzy, family type. Or at least he wasn't. That is, until TLC2 was born, then he started getting all mushy and shit. . . I guess preemies have a way of doing that to people. But I digress. . .)

Me and Mother hang up and I look at "Rocky" in (pleasant) shock. I do not believe he really called her. Guess now I've got to share my secret. Not like I'd been hiding him. It's more like protecting everyone. My family gets attached quickly and shit doesn't always end pretty with me and guys. I'm still mad that my sister asked my HS sweetheart to church years after he and I had separated on bad terms.

They just don't know how to let go like I do.

I'd been planning on bringing him to "family" Christmas anyway . . . from the sound of my mother's voice, now I don't really have a choice but to. Guess it's time to stop being stingy and share my man with my family.

We lay down again and he gets a comb and combs my wild hair gently.

Him: "When you gonna braid your hair, Babe? In the morning?

(Every few months I give MY hair a rest from the weaves, braids and perms and live by half-wigs for a few weeks as I am now. I cornrow my thick-only-manageable-after-hours-of-attention-a-few-inches-passed-my-shoulders-lengthed hair throughout the week and take cornrows out during the weekend. Since it was Sunday night and my hair was unbraided "Rocky" was concerned.)

Me (eyes closed): "Yep"

"Rocky" (sitting up): You already be running late in the mornings. Get up.

I comply and sit up to see him sitting on the edge of the bed, comb in hand, waiting for me to take my seat on the floor between his legs.

I get a pillow to sit on and lay my head on his knee as he parts and cornrows my hair.

When he was finished, I went to sleep and dreamt about the sun's reflection on the water

Damn, I miss feeling like I did in December 2007....

Boo'd up for the Weekened Pt 2 of 3 (Myspace throwback)

ENIGMA'S NOTE: remember...this is from December of 2007...I AM NOT TALKING ABOUT OBAMA

SATURDAY

TLC2, the weekend early bird, woke me up at 9ish looking for breakfast. After getting him settled with Lucky Charms and Nickelodeon, I crawled back into "Rocky's" nook.

"It's your turn" he mumbled, trying to protect me from his ferocious morning breath. "Is nooooot", I sing, not wanting to do anything by stay where I was.

But, we had to eat.

He suggests eggs, grits, corned beef hash, sausages, pancakes. . I'm not making no damn pancakes and you gotta make the grits and toast. Fine . . . I had egg, hash and sausage duty and he was the designated grit-maker.

I put the maple and honey flavored sausage in the oven as he rolled a chair into the kitchen. He started the grits as I cleaned out the fridge. Would you believe I still had turkey in there from my stint as hostess on Thanksgiving???????

My kitchen window faces the backyards of two of my neighbors. Both houses have dogs – the house closest to me has two pits, One white, a girl, one tan, a boy. The house on the other side of that one has one brown dog, not sure of the breed, but he's crippled with a short hind leg. About a week ago I adopted them. They were outside howling and seeing as I never see either neighbor caring for them let alone a dish where food/drink should be, I took it upon myself to make the howling stop. (me on the phone to "Rocky" that first day. . . "Babe . . . can dogs have ham???") And so began my title as foster owner to three dogs.

As I went to throw one of the leftover turkey legs to the dogs closest to us, "Rocky" informed me that "dogs enjoy hot food too, babe". So I put both drumsticks in the microwave. I threw one to the tan pit next door. . I don't know where the white one was, hopefully she's ok, and stepped aside as "Rocky' with his ability to throw like a boy, threw one to the brown, crippled one farthest away. I was able to also give them a Tupperware bowl filled with leftovers that I had forgotten to take to work with me for lunch from the previous week - baked pork chops, yellow rice and green beans. I threw the cut up chops to them as "Rocky" put the rice and vegetable in a plastic bag and threw it over to them. "They gonna fuck that bag up trying to get to that food.", he said.

Once we were done cleaning, feeding and cooking, we settle in to eat our meal and watch "Slow Burn", a movie the lady at "The Spot" had assured me was "good as hell". ( it was aiight . . .)

About an hour into the movie, my sister called to swindle me into watching my nephews for a few hours. I guess so?

She dropped them off about twenty minutes later and TLC2 was in 7th heaven.

We finished watching the movie and "Rocky" went to get dressed. His friends and family will say that I've been holding him hostage for the past few weeks, but I just call it us taking our time getting reacquainted. (we met about five years ago and had lost contact here and there). Either way, I knew I had to stop being selfish and let him go for the day to show his face around town so people would know he was ok.

I drift off into an 'itis* slumber as he goes about getting dressed. I'm awakened a short time later as TLC2 and my youngest nephew (3 yrs. old) burst into my room. Apparently, "Rocky" had made them popcorn and DJ, the oldest (7 yrs) had hogged it and ate the last few kernels. "Rocky" intercepted and handled the "crisis" as I tried my damndest to drift back into my slumber. No such luck. Just as I close my eyes, the house phone rings. It's "Rocky's" mom. I get up and bring the phone into the living room where he's sitting at the computer. So much for sleeping.

My sister had guaranteed me a few hours to myself once she was done with her errands, so I figured I'd get some laundry done while she took the boys bowling later that day. "Rocky" and I watch the boob tube in the bedroom as I start sorting mine and TLC2's dirty clothes. Another crisis has arisen amongst the terrible threesome.

TLC2: "Mommy, DJ's eating his boogers"

Me: "What do you want me to do, hun, they're his boogers. He doesn't have to share them if he doesn't want to. You can eat your own boogers if you like."

TLC2 walks away looking as if he's had an epiphany. I just know he was thinking, "All this time you mean I coulda been eating my boogers?????." I know if was wrong, by I had a belly full of grits and my mind had shut down an hour prior. Sue me.

Rocky: (shakes hi shead at me and laughs then calls our to my son): TLC2, if you eat your boogers, you're going to grow up and look like a booger and no one will play with you.

Problem solved. All booger eating stops.

Within an hour's time, both "Rocky" and the boys bounce, leaving me to either put up and go to the laundry or shut up and get back in the bed... I grab my sweats, bag up the clothes and the cart and head for the laundromat down the block.

I spend the rest of the night washing, drying and stuffing in the bag (cause ya'll know I don't fold shit until I get back home). TLC2 is dropped off at about 9. He and I watch Daddy Day Camp until his little snores let me know I've been abandoned to watch that crap alone. I put him to bed, eat a drumstick (the ice cream cone), watch "Ugly Betty" and talk to "Rocky" on the walkie-talkie here and there until I dose off. "Rocky" rings the bell at 2-ish I let him in, we snuggle in. Then it's Sunday.

* Ever get the overwhelming urge to sleep after you've eaten a big meal??? That's the "itis!

Boo'd up for the weekend Pt 1 of 3 (A Myspace throwback)

Enigma's Note: This was written in December of 2007 for Myspace. Most of you will remember "Rocky" from my "To Catch a Cheater" posts. I thought about this series after reading Suga's article on black woman and their relationship requirements. This blog and the two that follow chronicles one of mine and "Rocky's" first weekends together from Friday-Saturday. Enjoy!

After spending most of Friday bored shitless at work, I was anxious to get the fuck outta dodge come 5pm SHARP.

I arrived at TLC2's (my son) school at 5:15 exactly with 15 minutes to spare to speak with Sister Such-n-Such about the school's upcoming Christmas show before the after school teachers kicked my baby out of class.

After securing my duties as a newbie stage mom, I grabbed the munchkin and we jetted to the grocery store to rack up on supplies for the weekend. I had been planning my weekend all day and I had big plans in store for us. I'd had visions of movies and comforters bouncing in my head all day, and the only thing I needed to make it come to light was to make sure we didn't run out of juice, tissue and food. I could do that.

As we walked towards the direction of the store and home, "Rocky", my boyfriend (yes, I said boyfriend . . . let's not make a big deal of it though, K?) called me on my cell. I informed him of my planned mission to search for sustenance and gave him my ETA (estimated time of arrival). Once he and I hung up, I spent the rest of the walk explaining to TLC2 the difference between pedestrians and drivers and why Santa Clause sleeps during the day (that particular convo was actually a continuation of one we'd had that morning. He asked me why the inflatable black Santa that was on our neighbors' front lawn was never fully blown up during the day and only at nighttime. I told him it's because Santa sleeps during the day so that he can make toys and deliver them to the kiddies at night. Of course all of this was for naught as at the end of the conversation, TLC, in all his infinite wisdom looked up at me and said, "But it's really all just pretend, right Mommy?") I love that 'lil boy!

Finally we get to the store and, as I'd expected, it was packed with people. One of the few things I love about living in the hood is this particular store. The grocery store itself is huge and reasonable priced, but the best part of it is the many little stores that surround it. There's a bank, a furniture store, a florist and a we-got-it-all store that sells everything from "LV" bags to the latest hood literature and . . .the greatest and hoodest of them all. . .the "Spot". That is the name that I have given to the little room located at the entrance of the grocery store. In there you can get the latest movie (ones that have come out and those not yet even in theaters, the latest cd's (mixed, club, R&B, you name it) and . . get this. .. coats, retro Jordans and Timbs too. Yep, gotta love the hood!

After copping us Spiderman 3, Daddy Day Camp and Slow Burn, TLC2 and I head in to get the rest of our provisions.

One of the things I've noticed about being in new relationships is all of the oldies that start calling once word is out that you're taken. Usually I just ignore the calls until they get the hint and lose my number. But, being 25 for the second year in a row, I'm trying to display some maturity. So, this time around, when the old guys started sniffing around and calling out of the blue, I took the calls and told them straight up that I was no longer on the market.

One guy in particular to that news exceptionally hard. Apparently he'd had big plans for US, unbeknownst to me and me having a man after being single for a year and some change had clearly fucked up his plans (though I hadn't heard from him in months and had only known him for 9 days before he got locked up for 9 months). Apparently me ignoring his calls through out that entire time had only convinced him even further that we belonged together. (huh?) But I digress. . .

Anyway, who should we see as we rounded the corner onto the pancake aisle, but the jokah in question . . . who proceeded to follow us around the damn store. You have got to be kidding me! So now as I shop, not only do I have to keep and eye on TLC2's wild ass (who buy the way often has to be reminded that we have to pay for stuff before we open them) but I have to try to dip and dodge this fool too. After professing his undying love for me and letting me know how special I will always be to him and how I broke his heart by having a man, he finally vanished and left me to finish my shopping.

Once at checkout I realized that I gone a bit overboard. I had only intended to get a few things but I was leaving out with at least 3 heavy bags worth of stuff. Unfortunately I had already assured "Rocky" that I'd be ok getting home, so he would no doubt be ass deep in cleaning up the mess TLC2 and I had made earlier in the day looking for his homework book. Plus, if I called him to come meet me, I'd have to hear a big, stupid speech about how I'm not Superwoman and I need to learn that I don't have to do everything myself anymore. . yada, yada, yada. I ain't wanna hear that shit, so

I put on my gloves and made it happen.

As TLC2 and I walked up the block, who is walking towards us but "Rocky". He knows me so well . . . he just looked at me with a smirk as I relinquished the bags over to him. TLC2 grabbed each of our hands and we made our way to the house.

I stepped into a house that was cleaned form top to bottom smelling like Indian fruit incense. As TLC2 got settled in, I showered my job away and put on my "weekend Enigma" uniform, his shirt. I lay in his arms as we debated on dinner. Chinese? Nope, had it for lunch (me). Pizza? Nope, not in the mood for it (him). "You know, you could always walk to Barshay's for some burgers. . . (me batting eyelashes and stroking his back. Him, not falling for it. Fuck it, will you make me a grilled cheese? Yep, problem solved.

I watched my recorded episode of the latest "Grey's Anatomy" as "Rocky" hooked up grilled cheese for us and hotdogs for TLC2. Loving my new situation, I smiled as he bought me my first one. He preferred cooking in the pan that could only hold one sandwich at a time. Since I wanted two, he bought me the first one as soon as it was ready, rather then both at a time so that they wouldn't be cold.

Once we were done eating, TLC2 shut his door and entered the world of a 5 year old and we played cards, "2000" to be specific. He'd taught me to play less than a week ago, but I had gotten good at whooping his ass. Later we snacked on York Peppermint Pattie Klondike bars and talked and laughed for hours about nothing specific and everything in particular. I laughed and snuggled until I was waking up and it was Saturday morning.

Emotionally Unavailabe {DiAl mY hEaRt}*

Sorry, lovey-dovey Enigma can't come to the phone right now. Your calls for weekend getaways and trips to the circus with 'the kids' will not be answered at this time. I'm not available for long talks about your dreams of our tomorrow. I woke up a long time ago. . .your sleeping and dreaming alone, my dear.

Your calls for love and marriage cannot be completed at this time. Please, check the number you are dialing and try your call again. . .when the memories of past calls are not seared into my brain and when my voicemail box is not so full. Oh. . .did you think you were the only one dialing my number????? Sorry . . .I get calls everyday from people just like you trying to sell me dreams without sending me something in writing. . .yes, right now your in the same league as those damned telemarketers. .. trying to sell me something I don't want or need right now, just to fill your own quota and agenda. . .not today. I'll try to get back to you at my earliest convenience, but now just isn't the time.

Yes, I know that I have free-incoming. . .I'm only 25, so it costs me nothing to hear what you have to say... time is on my side. But, in all honesty, I don't want to waste my voice-mails on any unsolicited calls. . .they just confuse me. Perhaps you can draw me a picture and mail it to me since you can't reach me by phone. I'm much more responsive when the actions are shown as opposed to told to me. Yea. . .draw me a picture of that house that you'll buy me with the picket fence and 'the kids' playing in the yard that you just mowed. . .cause without that in front of me, I. just. can't. see .it.

Maybe you should just hang it up, and try your call at a later time. As much as I'd hate to have you forget my number. . .or decide that I'm not the woman you want to call. . . I'd understand. We have different long-distance services that need to be met, and frankly, all I'm doing is burning up your daytime minutes.

So, a word to the wise, try me again when you have the minutes to spare, b/c I don't want to be the reason that you miss out when a more-available woman tries to reach you. Please, don't get me wrong, I'm not saying that I don't want to ever speak to you, but when I'm ready, I'll call you. But until that time comes, don't be suprised if I'm emotionally unavailable.

*Originally written for Myspace on May 21, 2007

Introducing: "Ex-fiance"

*Written for Myspace on 4/18/08*
***************************************

I'm a snitch.

I am.

I'm the youngest of four daughters, hell, for the first few years of my life, snitching was my only source of income. One of my sisters' boyfriends had a nosy ass moms who used to pay me for dirt on them, And me, being the eager entrepreneur, provided her with all the dirt she could shovel. That is, until my sister got a job. Sorry Mrs. B, but inflation's a bitch and she was talking big dollars plus candy. So, I switched teams and began getting paid not to snitch.

Some things never change.

Here I am, damn near 10 years later and I'm still getting paid not to break up happy homes (Read: tell on niggas.)

SMH

Fucked up part is, I don't play fair. I never have. But I make it a point to let muthafuckers know this from the door, "I tell, nigga!!!". And I'm picky about what I tell. My thug addiction has left me open to witness first-hand some things that are just wrong, immoral and yes, got damned illegal. But I don't tell on my boos.

But my neighbor, the one with the dog that he neglects and that I adopted and that was barking in the back yard all night for three fucking days straight? Yes, that nigga got the cops called him. Those little bad ass crooks-in-training who thought they could steal a car and hide out on my block like my neighbors and I wouldn't think four 12-yr-old, rusty-nail smelling bastids driving around in a Honda wasn't odd. Yep, dialed the cops from my cell as I stood in front of one of them giving him the death stare that I'm famous for. "Lucifer" who thought he could move to another state and start a new family while being thousands of dollars in arrears with child support and then send my baby a post card saying "Hey". Yep, took that return address and went straight to child support with it. And lastly, guys who know that I know that they have a girl/wife/baby momma that they shack up with and yet still insist on being up in my face. .. yep, I tells on them too!

But, as I stated before, I don't play fair. So yes, I'll entertain them and take what ever they give and let them try their best to wine and dine my panties off, all the while believing that I will be the down ass side chick who's just cool with them going home to someone else at night.

Until I get bored and/or she calls me.

Then, it's fair game. I'm telling 'errthing. Fuck I gots to lie for? Especially if my only real crime is taking advantage of the kindness of strangers stupidity of cheaters?
My ex-fiancé {he is only called this because he bought a ring and proposed. We never had an actual engagement and you'll see why in about 5 seconds}, a man who left me for another chick, proposed while he was still with said chick, (priceless!) and continued to call and profess his undying love for me even after the two of them moved in together, produced a child and all that other ghetto love crap, learned of my snitch status the hard way.

Recently, after about a year or so of us not speaking or seeing each other at all., he resurfaced. Since my Mr. is currently unavailable (I put that as a link so that you lazy bastards who have yet to request and subscribe to my other page can do so now and get the full story). I entertained the ex-fiance when he called a few weeks ago. He called out of the blue one night and rather than cutting him up the entire time like I usually do, I took a different route.When he went throught the "How's my lil' man doing?" crap that he usually does ( I shouldn't really call it crap though seeing as how he was with me when TLC2 was born and for the first two years of his life and has been more of a father financially to TLC2 than "Lucifer" even after we split, but I digress)

Anywho, when he started asking about TLC2, I played the "Lord what is I gon' do?" card and started bitching about tuition and T-ball fess and uniforms, rada, rada, rada. 3 days later, tuition paid.

Now, his girl friend and I have the same relationship any 2 females in our situation would have. In the beginning, I hated her for being a home-wrecking skank whore and she pitied/hated me for being the bitch her man kept running back or, as he his version went, the "crazy ex who couldn't let go". Then, as I began to get him out my system, I hated her for being a clueless skank whore who couldn't keep her man on his leash and she hated me for being the bitch her man kept running back to. Now, I'm amused by her for being a dumb, enabling skant whore who still can't keep her man on his leash but now is worse because she has to know that he really ain't shit but she's so afraid of losing that second income that she plays dumb like she don't know he's still a whore and couldn't possibly give a fuck about anyone but himself and his daughter and who is getting exactly what she deserves because she should have listened when ppl said "the way you get him is the way you lose him". And, in return she hates me for being the bitch her man keeps running back to who really doesn't even want him anymore but is willing to take his money and make him pay for being the sole reason that the winter of "03 is but a blur of tears and Tylenol pm.

So, long story short. She called me.

Her: Who dis'?

Me (laughing a hearty laugh and knowing exactly who it is since I'm with "Rocky" and I know it bet not be a bitch about him because I will gut a bitch like a fish if it is): Umm. . . Tasha, I think you have the wrong number.

Her: What? Who the fuck is this and how you know me?

Me: It's me Tasha. It's always me. No matter what you do . . . he just insists on keeping in contact with me. I tried to tell you. . .

Her: I know this is not no fucking "Enigma".

Me: The one and only. Now, what can I do for you?

Her: Just tell me if ya'll fucking.

Me (laughing): Oh no, we're definitely not fucking.

Her: So why the fuck is he calling you?

Me: Damn, funny how the tables turn, huh? Remember back when it was me asking you this and you said "Cause that's my dude", all the while fucking his brains out? Wow. . .

Her: So if ya'll not fucking, why is he calling you so much. This number is in here like ten fucking times.

Me: I know right? That nigga be beat as hell calling me all the fucking time, You need to get his ass a chew toy to keep him busy while you at work, shit!

Her: Alright look, I know we did you dirty back then, but the game is different this time around, we got a family and shit.

Me: silence.

Her: Hello?

Me: Yea, I'm here.

Her: Did you hear me?

Me: Yea, I heard that bullshit, I'm just trying to figure out why we're still on the phone.

Her: I just need to know what's going on.

Me: I'm not sure what you wanna know. I already told you I'm not fucking him. My days of sharing that dick with you are long gone. Trust.

Her (sounding defeated and truly confused): I just don't understand why he keeps calling you. He said ya'll were thru and that he didn't give a fuck about you. So why is he still blowing up your phone and shit?!?!?

Silence

Her: HELLO!

Me: Uh uh. . see now. . .don't start wit' that yelling shit cause you will get off this phone with a bruised ass ego. I already told you, I don't know what you want to hear and frankly this convo ain't nearly as amusing as I initially thought it would be so. . .

Her: Alright. Just tell me this. Have ya'll gone out or anything?

Me: "Out"? Hell to the naw, my boyfriend would choke the shit outta me if he heard I was walking the street with some nigga. Hell no!

Her: So why . . .

Me (actually starting to feel kind of sorry for the girl): Listen, he just checks in every now and then to see if me and my son are alright, that's all.

Her: Yea, I figured that, but why??? Why the fuck he worried about your house when he here. It ain't his responsibility to be looking in on ya'll like ya'll his family. That's not even his fucking baby!!

Me (taking a deep breathe, any trace of sympathy now gone because for some reason that shit hit a nerve): Alright listen, whether you want to acknowledge it or not, dude still sees us, me and my baby, as his family. And I doubt if he's going to stop trying to take care of us and make sure we're alright anytime soon. Now if I were you, I'd be less concerned about figuring out why he's still checking in on me and really try and ponder why it that your rent for this month is going to have to wait to get paid until next payday and what he did with that $930 instead.

Her: What? He gave you money???

Me (realizing that I have my own man and issues to worry about and frankly getting tired of holding the phone and kinda mad that I'm now going to have to rewind and start the episode of "Dirt" all over again cause this bitch can't control her emotions): Tasha I gotta go because I don't even want to compromise being the bigger person by rubbing shit all in your face as some kind of revenge. I'd be dead ass wrong for pointing out how ironic it is that when the two of you started fucking around, you made it a point to rub those funky ass air force ones that he bought you in my face and now here you are, 3 yrs later with your heart all invested in this nigga, a kid and still no ring and a late fee for your rent cause your man want to be paying tuition bills for kids he ain't even make and shit. I gotta go. But be sure to tell him I said "thanx" when he comes home.

Click.

She called back but I didn't answer.

He has since called to. He left me a message saying that he knew it was going to happen because even though he knew better than to store name and number in his phone, her seeing the number sooo many times and it not being stored was what tipped her off. He apologized for her calling and said it was fucked up that I told cause I could've just hung up on her. Apparently, he's going to let shit cool down for a few weeks before he tries to call me again, but I can just email him if me or TLC2 need anything and that it be easier for him to get shit to me if I would just be cool if she ever called again. (Cause apparently he has no plans on not keeping in touch with me)

SMH

Some niggas never. fucking. learn. . .


Fin.

And I wish I never met him. . . .

*Written for Myspace January 9, 2007


I'm not sure if it's the knowledge that the dreaded Valentine 's Day is but a mere month or so away and I have yet to secure a patsy or that it is one of the few things noticeably absent from my comfortable, almost-perfect life right now. But whatever the reason, LOVE has been on my mind more than usual these days.

Now I'm not talking about the LOVE I reserve for my child, my Mom and my friends and family. I'm talking about that I-cry-when-you-hurt LOVE. That let's –run-our-errands-together-cause-we-don't-wanna-be-apart-for-too-long LOVE. You know . . . ROMANTIC LOVE.

Now, as I mentioned, currently my LOVE life leaves much to be desired (oh,don't cry for me Argentina, my sex life, however, is alive and kicking!). But, I've been decidedly out of LOVE for a little over 5 months now. The crazy thing is that despite the nasty, heart wrenching break-up, I never thought that I regretted the relationship. It was hands down the best relationship that I'd ever been in. In fact, if there is such a thing as a soul mate or a true LOVE, I know that my ex was/(is?) that person. It is for that reason that I was grateful for having even met him. So much so that during a rough patch in our two year relationship, instead of bitching and moaning about what a f*ck up he was, I wrote in my journal and thanked God for allowing me to have met my soul mate, even knowing at the time the he and I would not spend our lives together.

At that time and even for a brief time following our break-up, I truly believe that it was better to have LOVED and lost then to have never LOVED at all. Now I could sit here and write paragraphs and pages about how enchanted our relationship was but, honestly, I feel that doing so would only bastardize what we had. But what I will share is that my ex is the one person that truly knows me and not one of my many representatives and characters that I use to communicate with those around me. He knows Enigma, not hood-Enigma, or college-girl Enigma or the fully-loaded, I-don't-give-a-f*ck -Enigma . . . that man knows ME. All of my many faults and weaknesses that I guard from the world, he knows - and at one point in time he loved, accepted, understood, and could relate to them all.

It was my belief that just knowing that there was one person in this world who really, truly knew me . . . and LOVED me . . . unconditionally . . . despite my imperfections . . . was enough for me. Just having had the opportunity to experience a LOVE and connection of that caliber with someone was all that I needed. That is, until the days turned to nights, and the nights turned cold and then the parade of clowns started to plague my Friday evenings. Anyone who's been there knows that the dating scene in itself sucks. But to feel as if you're wasting your time looking for Mr. Right because you've already met him, and lost him.. .it's hard to not be discouraged.

On one hand, I now know that there is such a thing as a "true LOVE". But, on the other hand, as I lay in my bed alone at night I know what I'm missing. I know that my "soul mate" is out there, he's just not with me and he and I will never be together. Is it any wonder that sometimes I wish that I didn't know? That I didn't have the memories of our time together seared into my brain?

It's not possible to miss something that you don't know exists, but is it really possible to truly exist when you miss something so much? Is it really better to have LOVED and lost than it is to have never LOVED at all?

It's really not what you think

*Written August 30, 2006 ( and still very relevant)



IT'S NOT THAT I'M INSECURE
It's just that I've been hurt and played so many times that I'm not willing to compromise myself anymore. Trust is something that you earn, and, until you do so, I have every right to label you and your actions as "suspect".

IT'S NOT THAT I'M A BITCH

It's just that I have a very low tolerance for the games that some people play. I don't play games. I say what' s on my mind at all times and you can either take it for what it is, or pay me no mind One thing that you'll never be able to say about me is that you didn't know how I felt about you. Good or bad, I let you know.

IT'S NOT THAT I'M A TEASE

It's that I told you I wasn't gonna sleep with you when the night started, but you didn't believe me. I told you it wouldn't happen and yet you wanted to kiss and lick and suck and turn me on. I'm not a tease. I'm a woman with with morals, willpower, and a battery operated, disease/drama free buddy that I can pull out at any time.

IT'S NOT THAT I'M CONCEITED
It's just that I finally know what I'm worth. *Yes, I've always had an uppity attitude, but that was more my status as baby girl in my family than anything else.* But now, my arrogant air comes from me finally knowing what a commodity a woman like me is. I deserve more, and so I demand more. People either love me or hate me, no in between. And I'm cool with that.

IT'S NOT THAT I'M BITTER

It's just that I'm tired. Tired of being lied to, cheated on, bamboozled and led astray by these half-assed men who claim to be real. I don't regret anything or one from my past because everything/one has made me the person that I am today. And I love who I am right now. Do I hold all men accountable for the actions of one? No. But, I do expect for you to prove to me that your different. If your not willing to work to get me, you don't deserve to have me.

IT'S NOT THAT I WANT TO WEAR THE PANTS IN THE RELATIONSHIP

It's just that dealing with boys has made me have to be a stronger woman. I need a man who understands that my strength does not indicate his weakness. I need a man who is secure enough in his manhood to handle my take charge attitude and who is solid enough for me to let go and lean on him.

Yes, bitch, I told Harpo to beat you.

So, in light of the Rchriahhnais (what? not all power-couple name-splices are cute, ppl), I decided to dig in the crates back over on da S'pace and pull out a blog I wrote regarding domestic violence against woman. Now this was written May of '07 and I cannot say that my opinion on this has changed. Regarding Rchriahhnais specifically, I say that Chris Brown needs to be charged and get his ass wooped by a couple of men. I've played every scenerio in my head of what could have went down and each time he comes out looking like a big 'ole saggy, smelly pussy. (yes, I could have made p-word all pretty and put 5's instead of S's or something, but you will soon learn that this just isn't one of those blogs. Plus I am forcing myself to not be afraid of that word anymore.) But yea, he's a big 'ole douchebag. I'm saying, a backhand or something would have prolly sufficed to at least calm her down if she was wildin'. But 'ole boy waa-aa-aa-aaailed on dat ass! That shit just ain't right.

SMDH

Anywho, the blog is below and it features Mr. Big (he's the one I slapped, not the one I bit)

 {Sidebar: Didn't that last sentence make me sound massive badass??? lol}

___________________________________________________________________________

Since the end of my semester I have had the thought of abusive relationships on my mind. I hesitated in blogging about it because I am fully aware of the fact that my view of some cases of physical abuse aren't the most popular. But then I realized. . .when have I ever given a damn about someone disagreeing with me????

Anywho, those who know me are already familar with my stance on men hitting women: It is absolutely wrong and bitch-like for a man to even think about beating a woman. And doing so should lead to him being confined to a tiny cell with a Big man who likes other men for a looong time. That being said. . .I don't buy into the whole "It's never right for a man to hit a woman. . .blah, blah, blah." shit

Say what you want about woman being smaller and weaker physically. . .but c'mon. . .some of these chicks are just begging to get hit. {Sidebar #2: if ur feeling tight all up in ya chest already, please refer to the heading of my blog page* That's right, I said it. . . .some. women. ask. tobe. hit. Case in point, remember the scene in Baby Boy. . .when he was trying to leave but his girl kept trying to hold him and was hitting him and shit? Remember how he backhanded her ass? Yup, she had that one a comin'!

All I'm saying is, women who do shit like that. . .and provoke men and try to prevent them from walking away and putting space between each other should fully expect to get the taste smacked out their mouth. Please don't get me wrong, I'm only talking about these woman, not the ones that are getting the life beat out of them for no.damn.reason, other than the fact that their men are nuts. No, I am only talking about the woman who will go so far as to hit the man first and then be confused when they wake up 30 minutes later on the ground. Now mistake me not, I have done it myself. I smacked the taste out of my last boyfriend's mouth after I found out he'd been cheating. But. . .please understand. . .despite his size, I was FULLY prepared to fight that man. In fact, i smacked him just so that he would know I wasn't playing with him. He was fully aware of how I felt about women who hit men and I needed him to understand that i was ready to get it poppin. I still think I could have taken him if he'd hit me back. Only because i was that mad. . .being that angry gives you a superhuman strength like no other. He must've seen the crazy in my eyes cause he just walked out and didn't look back. lol That was the only man I've ever raised a hand to and even then, I would have been ready for whatever he thru at me as a result on my actions.

I truly believe that the fundamental difference between men and women is that women tend to be very v o c a l. They wanna talk shit out all day and all nite. Guys are more like "give me a minute to think, damn!". Plus, they're, for the most part, not too big on the whole arguing thing. So for a man and woman to be arguing heatedly and to have the woman physically prevent the man from leaving or even raises her hand to him? Yea, I can totally understand why she'd get her jaw tapped.

Now I know what some of you are think. . ."how could she condone that?" "You can't say something like that if you've never been in the situation" " Why must we always blame the victim?". To you people, I say. . .you are absolutely right. No, I have never been hit by a man, but I have had a boyfriend that thought it was ok to grab me, hold me somewhere against my will, pop up at my girlfriend's house to "take me home cause I was taking too long", the list can go on and on to the break of dawn with all the crazy shit he did in the short time we dated. Now this dude was 6'5", weighed 200+, stayed working it out at the gym and could pick my ole' chunky ass up with absolutely NO problem. But even with his size and strength being so superior to mine, I reacted ev-er-yyyy time he got out of hand. The most relevent time being while we were at his house and he tried to stop me from leaving to catch the very last bus home after he and I had argued damn near the entire day. He was grabbing me and was pinning me against the wall (and not in the good way schm). Then, as he had my hands pinned above my head against the wall. . he tried to kiss me. As if that situation was turning him on somehow. Freaked out by that, I did the ony thing I could do and BIT THE SHIT OUTTA HIS LIP. He yelled. Blood splattered. His female cousin who had been in a back room heard him yell, saw the blood, watched me gather my shit and then dropped me home on her way to taking taking his big dumb ass to the hospital. Yea, it was that bad. He had to get 7 (even though I am quite certain it was more like 11) stitches in his bottom lip. What can I say? I freaked out. And he paid the price for manhandling me, dammit! hmmph.

Plus, I was well aware at the time (I think I was like 19 or 20) that my mom had been abused by TWO of her husbands. That was not going to be me. So I had to make it clear to him that shit like that would not be tolerated. That ended us as a couple, and gave me a very good story to tell future boyfriends to come: I will fight to the death to defend myself and my offspring. It is my natural right.

It is because I feel this way that I also don't understand women that stay in abusive relationships. I know the general belief is that many women stay due to their lack of income, education and general ablity to support themselves independent of their spouse. I am also fully aware that the second assumed reason woman stay is due to lack of self-esteem. Bull! with all of the resource sthat we have these days, it is VERY diffucult for me to grasp the concept of "no options. In 2009? Word? (again, guess I just can't relate)

What do you think, is it as black and white as "Boys don't hit girls" or are there some hues of gray?