Total Control

I laughed so hard my side started hurting. It was unreal to me at first. Mentally, I knew I was ok but my panicky side tried to kick in because I wasn't breathing and what I was experiencing just wasn't normal. I was laughing uncontrollably. It's quite possible that I wet myself a little bit.

Why?

Because he wants Total Control.

It doesn't read as funny as it sounds in my head but I promise you that it is.

I have control issues. This is not a secret.

Yesterday, a good friend asked me if I found myself in relationships with weak men because I am so strong and forceful. I told her "No" and that's the truth. I don't find myself in relationships with weak men because weak men don't have the courage to approach strong women. I find myself in relationships with strong men who perpetrate weakness thinking that it will appease me.

There's nothing I hate more than to ask a man where he wants to go for dinner and to receive "I don't care", "I don't know", or "You pick" as the response. If I had wanted to pick, I would have said, "Let's go to such-and-such for dinner" or "I feel like blankety-blank". Because the same person that tells you that you're an overbearing bitch who won't let him be a man is the same person who defers every decision (major or minor) to you.

I can't "let" you be a man. Either you are or you aren't. And if you were the man for me, we wouldn't be having this fight.

The best relationship of my life was with a complete and utter asshole. I loved him inside and out for all that he was and all that he offered. I trusted him with every fiber of my being. And it was only because he could make a decision. When J said something would get done, it got done. When he wanted to do something, he made it known. If he was unhappy, it was expressed. There was no moping around being sulky and passive-aggressive; I don't have time for that anyway.

I didn't trust J at first either. I lived through a lot of bull shit before I met him including a broken engagement. He watched me swoon over Sofa Guy and when he'd had enough of my whining and complaining he said, "Oh dear God! You're not his girlfriend! You're just some girl that he's f*cking!".

It's safe to say that I lost my shit all over him.

I told him to get out, get lost, and never come back.

Two weeks later my phone rang. I picked it up without uttering a syllable and he said, "Was I right?". I told him he was. "I didn't wanna be". He told me that he wanted to be with me. That nothing and no one else mattered. J said that if I could manage to get my head out of my ass I would see that he was in love with me. This is not the stuff that movies are made of but it's the kind of love that I need.

He knew that everyday with me was a test. I was waiting for him to make a promise that he wouldn't keep. I weighed everything he said hoping to find a lie. But he never let me down. And when I finally let myself, I fell so head-over-heels-bluebirds-singing-come-on-get-happy in love that giving him control came easy. I wanted to please him because he made me happy every single day. I knew that if I fell he'd be right there to catch me and in the off chance that he missed, he'd be there to pick me up. Who could want more than that?

Am I saying that we never argued? No, of course not. But he always stood his ground and sometimes we'd walk away angrier and with nothing settled but at least he let me walk away.

So many men are so possessive and afraid of losing me that I want to run away. There's something powerful about a man that knows I'm coming back. Sure, I'm angry. Sure, I'm leaving the room. But don't you know that I want you? How many ways do I have to say it/ show it/ live it before you really believe it? J always believed it. His belief in me, in us, made me believe it to.

These last five years without J have made me a much harder woman than I was before. Trusting doesn't come easy and my love doesn't come cheap. There are more steps on the path to Total Control. But if you really think you deserve it and you really think I'm worth it, quit your bitching and get on the trail.

I Swear To God We Are Not Related

Check this company out. They have some awesome designs including these for t-shirts.

Mr. T has a problem with letting Nat have her own things. He likes to think that everything is "ours". Normally, I would say, "Bravo!", "Indeed!", "Right on!". But I can't because it's hard to see them share everything when everything belongs to Nat. The living room furniture is her half of what she and I purchased together in 2005. The bedroom furniture is what she collected on her journey through college and life. The kitchen utensils are all the things Mom and I set her up with when she packed up and went to art school. The car is her car that she will have paid off in April. Even if you don't do a detailed inspection of what has been categorized as "ours" it's easy to see that nothing of Mr. T's made it into the pile.

This has Nat on edge. Which put me on edge. A much sharper, pointier edge than I should have been on when my Sister Day got encroached on. Yes, encroached. Because Mr. T felt that Sister Day should be Sibling Day and called both of his sisters and invited them to our gathering. Which he neglected to mention and we only found out about because Little T (his youngest sister who's 17) blew up Nat's phone wanting to know where we were then, where we were going to hang out, and who was driving because we were going 5 deep. And then Middle T (the middle child and oldest daughter who's 19 and in college) went on about how excited she was to have Sibling Day because "we've never hung out with just the sibs" and this is gonna be "super great!" All I'm saying is that I haven't had a night out with just my sister since she met Mr. T because apparently he has no friends. Which we will address at a time when I'm not angry or distracted.

So we go out - the five of us - and hit up a downtown spot that's known for their whiskey. Middle T orders a beer but I give her the Mom face and let the server know that she's 19. Mr. T calls me a hater. I remind him that I volunteer at prisons I don't reside in them. Whatevs. That's when Little T decides to tell us all that she's pregnant... again. Because she already has a one-year-old. I. Lose. My. Damned Mind. I told her that this was unacceptable. To get pregnant once was a mistake but now she is being careless and disrespectful to herself, her son, her mother and the rest of her family. She obviously has learned NOTHING by being a single parent because if she had she would not have been so careless this time around. What's worst is that it's a completely different individual from her son's father and can't determine if she conceived by her current boyfriend or the guy she cheated on with him.

Mr. T tried to stop me but I told him that I blame him as well. As her older sibling it is his duty to hold her to a higher standard, to expect more from her, to ensure that she was motivated to continue her education. Instead we find him enabling her, fabricating her excuses, and shrugging it off like she didn't just take a dozen steps backward. I told Little T that just because she comes from a family that expects nothing from her and her life doesn't mean that she shouldn't expect more of herself. I implored her to get her GED or a part-time job. I challenged her to rise to the occasion and to use this time in her life to begin the path towards better opportunities for herself and her children.

I should have said it all in Italian because she still would have given me the same blank stare but I would have at least had a chance to practice. (Rosetta Stone is expensive. We want to make sure it's working.) I shoke my head in sadness and mumbled about how they are an entire family that doesn't believe in consequences. Mr. T thought I was being too hard on his sister and overstepped my boundaries by far. I told him that someone needed to say it and he only thinks I was too harsh because I'm nice to him. He was under the impression that I was nice to him because he's good to my sister. So I told him what I really think. That he's not good enough for my sister. That he has nothing to offer her and until he brought something to the table he would - in no way - be in my good graces. I told him that I think he's lazy, entitled, and flat-out ridiculous. When he met my sister had neither car nor job nor place to lay his head and I find that completely unacceptable. I told him more about him than he could ever dream of me knowing and that of the twenty or so people that I've asked about him NOT ONE has been willing to vouch for him. I told him that I'm letting him bide his time but the next time he brings Nat to tears he will be dealt with. I let him know that under no circumstance was I supportive of their union but I will always be supportive of Nat. And that as long as he makes her happy, he'll be allowed to stick around. I told him that he thinks Ashton's mom makes his life hard but he would find out what hard really is if he were to put Nat in the same position.

In short, I put my claws in him so deep that I think I still have remnants of his sack under my nails. I don't know if he's scared and I don't really care. But like I told him... it's in his best interest to believe everything I said because I'm not known for lying.

The Times They Are a-Changin'

Pic found here

Dear 2010,

Fuck you.

You were an absolute horrible time in my life and I'm glad that you're gone. The part of me that is optimistic and looks toward the future is so glad that we will never meet again. If I had a time-travelling knife, I would cut you right out of my life.

Confused? Let's discuss:

January - Plagued with constant illness

February - Paid money to find love only to be matched with complete ass hats with chihuahuas sticking out of their t-shirts or fantastic men with an inability to move forward. Priceless.

March - Damaged someone else's vehicle, was bailed out by my brother, and had a major row with my sister. And I didn't get the one I wanted.

April - Hit an all-time low in my emotional life

May - Got majorly offended and embarrassed my sister in a huge way

June - Gramma fell outrageously ill

July - I lost my baby

August - Gave this asshole my number

September - I had this day which was promptly followed by this dream

October - This post was distributed because people like to start drama. No, I'm still not sorry I wrote it.

November - I had a week-long battle with my mother and managed to fail at a meme

December - I realized that I'd lost a good friend and am having a war with a colleageue

You did nothing if not keep me humble. Everytime I tried to make a positive progression, you made sure to put me firmly back into my place. I am only so hateful because I had such high hopes for you. You and I were going to take on the world together. We had endless possibilities. Then you ruined it with your constant negativity.

Even the moments when everything was going as planned were draped in doubt and uncertainty.

I wouldn't take back any of your days because for every three blows you dealt, you were kind enough to offer me a day of solace.

With that, I look forward to 2011. It really doesn't have a choice but to be better. Because I am not afraid to punch a day in the face.

Iiiii Wanna Sexx You Up!

Ed Note: Please do not pretend like you don't know this song or this "band". I never realized how lame I was back then until I looked at this picture and was all, "Ha! These guys are a bunch of douches! LOL". I feel like this guy. Wishing I hadn't just spent my morning watching the ridiculousness that is Color Me Badd videos.

This morning whilst in the shower, I took a look at my gams and was all, "Holy shit I need to shave!". But I didn't. Because I am super awesome. And I want to find a cure against cancer. So, I decided that the best way to do that was to be a part of Movember. Secretly. I'm not like this guy, putting my biz out on the innet (yes, I know and we will get to that later) for the whole world to see and get all judgy about.

If you think that I'm all pissy about my legs being hairy then you don't know me well. I'm upset because my leg hair is patchy. Like high school freshman patchy. There are openly bald spots on my legs. And a wayward follicle that seems to represent a cow lick.

All I could think about was how glad I was that I decided to forgo shaving my legs and not my pits. I'd never get laid if my pits looked like this! But then I remembered that I'm not exactly getting laid anyway. Which only made me more upset. You know what they say. Sex is like air...

So now I'm fantasizing about that time I was hitting the streets every weekend and should have been getting paid for my valiant efforts. Which made me think about my sneaky days when I still lived at home. Which made me think about the time I witnessed my mom having sex. *vuuuuurrrrrpppp*

It's not my fault. It was my boyfriend's fault. I was so young and impressionable. He was older and on the football team. And he was all freaky and wanted to do it in my parent's bedroom. I protested but then he looked at me all melty-eyed and I forgot my own name.

But then we heard the front door slam. And there was so much banging and thrashing about. My parents were home! And we were in their room. So he jumped into the closet and I went about trying to straighten up. He leaned out and grabbed me right as they burst through the door. Undressing. Kissing.

I wanted to scream but my boyfriend put his hand over my mouth and whisper-yelled, "Shut up!". There was much silent crying. The boyfriend was fascinated by mom's agility. I was trying to dig out my eardrums with her stilettos. We both just sat in the closet and waited.

It seemed like it was three years later when they finally let up. And I thank God every day that my step-dad is a dirty whore who doesn't shower and change after sex. But I can never seem to forget that day, not even with intense therapy. Couple that with the time after her divorce when Nat and I walked in on her humping a Mexican and you can see why I take prescription meds.

All that to say, my Mom's a freak. And I was preoccupied with that thought when I went out to pre-heat my car this morning. I was fully clothed sans overcoat but the guy standing by my dumpster had no shirt on and looked like the kind of person that would not have his wireless connection password protected therefore allowing me to pilfer his "innet". He had back boobs, jelly rolls, and... a hump! A bonafide, oh-my-gosh, that-can't-be, am-i-sure, it-so-is-a hump. Right over his tail bone.

Horniness - 0. Trauma - 2.

Oh! My! Gaaawwwwwddddd!!! LOOK AT THIS!

Bigotry: A Phone Date or Why Black People Shouldn't Play In the Snow

I called him back a few minutes after 10p. This was before I knew he was crazy and bigoted so you can stop judging me.


The conversation started off simple enough. He talked like we were in high school. Like he really wanted to know me.


Rollback: "What's your favorite color?"
Me: "Teal."
Rollback: "What?"
Me: "Teal."
Rollback: "Huh?"
Me: "Blue."
Rollback: "Oh, OK."


See? He's well beneath me. And I know what you're thinking. "Gosh, she thinks highly of herself!" but he really isn't worth the pages in the history of my life that he is currently taking up. When he asked if I like amusement parks and I told him yes, he gave me the run down on why he doesn't like rides. No matter that I like rides because there's only one reason to go to Six Flags (God forbid he go to another amusement park) and that's funnel cake. I am a funnel cake purist. I like it with powdered sugar. He told me how he likes to pile his high with ice cream, strawberries and whipped cream. And then when we go to Six Flags that's how he's going to get my funnel cake so I can try it because once I try it I won't go back. I'm sure I told him twice that I won't eat it because it's too much. But he couldn't hear me over his constant exclamation of how that's "ALL I KNOW!".


Funny thought here. Can you learn something new if you won't shut your mouth long enough to hear it?
All that aside, he finally asked me a burning question. Do I date white guys? I told him I date all sorts of men. I really don't care how "he" comes along as long as he comes in a suit! I explained that my last real relationship was two years ago with an Australian (my gaaawwwddd did I love him. His eyes, his accent, his tongue, his hands, the magic he worked with the latter two. Yeah. You know what I'm saying *eyebrow waggle* Right? Right? Yeeeeeaaaaahhhh.)


Can I say that my response didn't go over well? You know what? I can't. Because that would be the greatest understatement in the history of the world! He LOVES his black people! How could I want to mix myself with men whose nature it is to dominate? How could I want to desecrate our heritage by blending with them? He would NEVER "play in the snow"! He loves his black people.


He hates white men because they view black women as exotic. "Animals are exotic!"


Did you know that my parents would never date outside their own race? Funny, because I didn't. My dad's new girlfriend is Italian. And my mom's husband is half Irish. When I told him that, his response was... wait for it... you're gonna love this... "I don't believe you. You're lying. My generation would never have that much disrespect for our people". (I know, right!)


Did you know that there was a black stock market but the white man burned it down? No, you didn't, liar! But now that I know the only question I ask is, "Why didn't they rebuild?". You can burn a building but not an idea.


Did you know that the most dangerous race are white people? (Lumped together, of course. Wouldn't want to allow a massive group of people to be defined by their ancestors individual countries of origin) Why? Well, I'm glad you asked. (Queue deep thinking voice of revelation) You see Nate (his one white friend), told him that blacks walk around with guns and knives to kill each other. But if a white man wanted to all he would have to do is create a biological weapon that would wipe out a whole country.


And you know what? That got him thinking about how dangerous white people are. You wanna know what else? It got me thinking about how ridiculously stupid he is. I asked him why a black man could invent the lottery, the stop light and open heart surgery but not biological weapons. Did he not see that he was pigeon holing his own people? My bad! I wasn't aware that black people don't have that much hatred in them. Except for that one time they sold each other to white men to be slaves, but other than that...


After being told that it was my duty, as someone who got out of the ghetto (let me interject here and say that I was never in the ghetto. I don't know what it's like. I lived in the same suburb as JC Chasez. But Rollback doesn't know that because he doesn't listen.) to come back to the hood and give a helping hand to those are still lost in the system. What The Fuck! Negro, please! I don't have it in me to give hand outs. But according to him that's just wrong. How can I not give a hand?


I was told that black people hold 5% of America's wealth and that if we would all just go back then we could rebuild this country and stop the corruption. I was adamant that I'm not going to Africa! There's nothing there for me. My inheritance is here, in America. I'm a fourth generation American. He's so concerned with "them" testing my DNA and classifying me as an African-American and I made it clear that I don't care what other people think of me or how they choose to classify me. The truth is that I'm part Dutch, part Native American and yes, part African American. But I choose to represent myself without the hyphen. The hyphen indicates that I hail from there and am able to possess dual citizenship. The hyphen would insinuate that America is not my chosen home. But it is. I am an American. He? Is not OK with that statement.


I asked him what his plans were for his life. How he presumed to take action since he knows exactly what needs to be done. He is going to record an album and bounce between New York and Los Angeles all next year. He's waiting on God to call him to preach and lead a congregation. He's going to expose Creflo Dollar and all other preachers who teach prosperity. What ever woman chooses to spend her life with him will have to be there through death because he knows that "they" are going to kill him when he begins to expose "them".


Finally, about an hour later when I was done listening to him go on incessantly with his nonsense. When I had had enough of being told what the truth is because he read it in a book so it's a fact. When I'd grown silent because I didn't desire to express my views knowing they would be discounted. After I told him that I respected his opinions and was interrupted and told again that they are facts and he has the books to prove it. As I reached the place where nothing he said actually sank in. When he was sure that he had managed to change my mind (and I told him that I was steadfast in my beliefs and our differing opinions would have to coexist [then I had to explain that the statement means we will just agree to disagree]).


That's when he asked me to marry him...

I'd Pay That To See You Behind Bars

Normally, I like to speak about all of the things that I am rather than what I'm not. Tonight will be no different.

Let me start by saying that I lost my phone during a series of shananigans on Saturday night. I spent the better part of Sunday re-tracing my steps, calling my phone, trying to locate it. Finally, yesterday, I reported it lost and filed to get a replacement from the insurance company. It arrived today.

Less than 2 hours ago, I received a phone call from Saturday's cabbie. He has my original phone. He told me that I could meet him somewhere and that I would have to pay my cab fare at that time.

I reminded him that he took and ran my credit card for the fare. He tried to convince me that my card was no good. What he did not know is that I had been made aware that someone else paid the fare in cash in full. So, I confronted him with that.

That's when he tried to backtrack and tell me the fare was to get my phone. See, I should call when I'm downtown again and then he will come and bring me my phone… for the low, low fee of $15. I told him for all that he could throw the phone away and that I know extortion when I hear it.

But after thinking a bit more - and talking with CBS111 - I decided to call him and tell him that I'm willing to meet to recover my phone. Tomorrow I AM calling my insurance company and I AM reporting the phone as stolen and in his possession. Then I AM going to call the cab company to report him for extortion. And I AM going to see if I can report him to the BBB (I only have a first name).

Finally, when I'm done with all of that, I AM gonna have a great time at Cedar Point. Have a good day, everybody!

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This is Your Face...

This is My Fist. This is My Fist hitting Your Face!


That is how the new guy makes me feel.

For those of you who don't follow CBS111, you don't know about The New Guy. TNG is here to replace this bastard. Now I know what you're thinking, "Oh J-Bird, cut him some slack!", "He's only been here for 5 weeks!", "Giiiiiirrrrrrllllll, don't hit him! You'll get jail time!". But I'm here to tell you that he makes me so frustrated that I actually "Mommed" him. Yes, y'all! Mommed.

He has pulled from me my inner parent and I actually forbade someone from helping him. Why, you ask? Well, why what? Why did I Mom him? Because the fool don't listen. Why did I forbid him from getting more help? Because I'd already given him explicit, written instruction on how to accomplish his goal. And that was AFTER standing over him and watching him open all necessary files and forms AND THEN walking him through it AND THEN writing down the final steps including the information for the woman who receives all the information he has collected.

That's why he got mommed!

Because if I didn't mom him then I was gonna slap the taste out his mouth. Do you know he had the audacity to suck.his.teeth.at.me. I heard him! I wanted to get my ergonomic roll on and karate kick his ass.

He's a rude, arrogant, SOB that doesn't have the knowledge to work an excel spreadsheet. Like I said to him earlier, he can second guess himself all he wants but I'll be damned! if he second guesses me. I don't tell him things because I like to hear myself talk and I don't tell him things that will get him in trouble. I tell him things because that's the way that they're done. And the sooner he realizes that the sooner I'll stop wanting to kick him in the teeth.

And he thinks he's going out with me? Amongst my friends? You see what he thinks is: that he'll be invited and magically "forget" to call him "friends" and then I'll have no choice but to let him hang out with me and mine. But what he doesn't know is that I will embarrass his no-friend- having ass in front of everyone I know. Reference.

I'm sorry. To put that last paragraph in perspective you need to know that he texted me on Friday night wanting to know if I was going out with my friends. He wants me to let him know the next time I go downtown so he can come and hang out. I can tell you this much, he doesn't want to act a fool around you when I'm drinking. It won't bode well for his self-esteem.

Can't You See I'm On My Knees for Mac 'n' Cheese?

I like to cook and that's a good thing because I just so happen to be damned good at it. Actually, I'm mediocre at best but quality cookware from The Pampered Chef and fancy pants ingredients like Gruyere make my food damned good.

My food is so good that at some point in your life, should you be blessed enough to partake, you will be acting all inappropriate at the dinner table what with the moaning and licking of your plate. Don't worry. It's cool. I'm so used to it by now that I just figure that I can live and let live. Besides, spontaneous orgasm has the be THE greatest compliment e.v.e.r.

Every so often, I become obsessed with certain food categories, like casseroles, stews, and currently, fritattas. When I was in my casserole phase, nothing was sacred. If I could put it in a dish with something else and wow you then that's exactly what I did. I took regular dishes and turned them into culinary masterpieces, complete with an inter mixture of flavors that danced in tandem along your pallet. You like that sentence? That's $30k worth of education right there.

One day, when it was really cold outside and hot chocolate just wasn't enough to make it better, Nat said, "Mac 'n' cheese would be so good right now". Obviously, it was a challenge. So, I break open Mom's cabinets to pull out the basics then rolled to the store to get the good stuff. You know the stuff: aged Parmesan, Gruyere, saffron; the foods of the gods. I blended these into a sauce worthy of unaccompanied ingestion. And then covered it with a buttery crouton topping and let it bake its way to happiness. It was ready to eat just in time to sit in front of the fire. Mmmmmm...

You see? It's good right? I told this story to Big Poppa and he said, "My mac 'n' cheese is better". I scoff at him because this fool must.not.know. How can his possibly be better when he only uses standard cheddar cheese? Of course, his defiance brings on an adjective war. I know I'm gonna win when I use "orgasmic". But alas, he claims his mac 'n' cheese is like hitting the "G-spot" and showed me exactly what he meant.

Imagine if you will, that you're sitting next to a close friend of over three years. And while he's talking to you, he takes his left hand, thrusts it into the air, extends his index and middle fingers together, bends them ever so slightly using their natural curvature and then commences to wiggle them. All to illustrate his point. Kinda like this:

I felt dirty. I felt mentally violated. I felt wet from having dribbled water down my front. It was hilariously menacing. And the best part was that he was in a G-spot trance. I was laughing too hard to get words out and finally had to force his hand back to his side.

Big Poppa,

Of all the things you and I have done together and of all the times we've shared, this will always be my favorite. Thanks for the memories.

P.S. ~ there's no way in hell I'm ever gonna let you live this shit down so don't even ask.