Timing is Everything...

Through high school and into college I had a close friend that knew a lot of my secrets and I knew hers. When we graduated from high school we both thought we'd go off and meet new people and make new friends and lose touch. We even had one last hoorah before I left. Instead we grew closer in our first two years at college. I think the process of having to get to know new people made us appreciate having someone "back home" who already knew us pretty well.

One of the things this friend watched unfold was my relationship with J. From the outset she never liked him and he never liked her. As things progressed between he and I during my first year in college, I found myself telling her less and less about us. I grew tired of her obviously disliking our relationship and her constantly telling me that I "could do better."

The summer after freshman year of college was a really bad summer for J and I and this friend was there for all of it. She convinced me to have the uncomfortable talk with him about where our relationship was going. Unfortunately that conversation, though necessary, threw J and I into utter turmoil for most of the summer. I never blamed her, but he certainly did. I did find that though I was going through a lot emotionally with him, she was much more fun to talk to when we weren't talking about that and so I all but quit speaking about him to her.

By the end of the first semester of my sophomore year, J and I had reconciled and had decided to get back together. I was elated but knew I wasn't ready to tell my friend. I wanted her to be happy for me, but I didn't trust that her happiness for me wouldn't come with reservations, so I elected not to tell her. Ironically, a few weeks prior she called me to vent because her cousin, with whom she was exceptionally close -- they were much more like sisters than cousins -- had finally admitted that she had started dating her ex-boyfriend again. My friend didn't particularly care for this guy either and so she was obviously upset, but she told me that what really upset her was that her cousin had been dating him for months and everyone knew but her. So when I decided I couldn't tell my friend about J and I, I decided I couldn't tell anyone.

Eventually, after a night of partying and drinking with some friends, I did tell her. I remember that I called her from the bathroom of a club I was in and it all spilled out of my drunken mouth. I emphasized, even in my drunkenness, that I hadn't told anyone -- which was factual. She was rather understanding (possibly because I was clearly drunk) and told me that while she wasn't terribly excited about the fact that I was a month into a relationship with J and hadn't mentioned it, she could rest a little easier knowing that she wasn't the only one I had kept in the dark.

I learned that night that there's an art to secret keeping and it has a lot to do with how everyone finds out. You see, the thing about a secret that most people really hate is the not knowing part. It's amazing the information people feel entitled to have (especially with the boom of social media) Just like the time the then-BFF complained to me that her ex boyfriend was dating a new girl and I told her I already knew. Big mistake. She was more upset with me for knowing and not telling than at him for telling me first. Thanks to those two incidents, and seeing others make the same mistake my M.O. re: secrets is if it's not a secret I can tell most of my close friends, I don't tell any of them and if it's a secret about a close friend that they didn't tell me, my lips are sealed permanently. Loose lips do indeed sink ships, in more ways than one.

The Moment I Knew I Was Dying

I'm not sure what made me think of this incident, but I like to share it with people to demonstrate that even I have been known to write checks with my mouth that my ass can't cash (and therefore know what I'm talking about when I encourage people not to).

I was about 15 or 16 years old. Right at an age where I was smelling myself (to use a nice country old people saying). I was closer to legal independence and was experiencing this odd thing most high schoolers go through where they have to balance all of the responsibility they're given by school and family with remembering that at the end of the day, they're still underage and relative know nothings. Of course the whole point of being a teenager is not knowing that you don't know anything.

Almost 10 years later I remember not what the argument was about, but as had become the norm, my mother and I were engaged in a heated battle. I'm sure it was some nonsense where I wanted my way because I'm an all knowing teenager and my mother doesn't want me to have it because I'm a smart ass teenager.

At some point I got in her face. I clearly remember thinking "she's probably gonna swing on me, but I'm about as tall as she is and I got a little weight on her, I'll be aight..." She did that "calm before the storm" warning where she eerily tells me that "I need to back up..." and I keep on going, because I'm big and bad and she warns me again and then... she snaps.

The first swing on me misses and I get a little upperhand on her. I'm in control and smelling myself when suddenly, I'm flat on my back with my mother's hands around my throat and she is SQUEEZING.

I very clearly recall doing 3 things: 1) grabbing her wrists movie style and trying to pull them off, 2) kicking with my feet hoping to kick her or get leverage to get from under her and 3) not breathing.

I was looking in her eyes and that wasn't my mother. I thought "this woman has no idea she's literally choking the life out of me, but surely she's going to stop" and as things progressed (the seconds that felt like hours) I began panicking because it seemed like she wasn't going to stop until I stopped breathing and then it happened... my foot went through the wall.

Remember number 2? Well, all that kicking on the wall only served to break the wall, not save my life and in that moment ladies and gentleman, I prepared to go see Jesus. I'm not playing. The lady wasn't stopping and I wasn't breathing.

I guess hearing her wall get a hole put in it (or hearing the sound of money leaving her bank account to fix it) snapped my mama out of it because she stopped squeezing the life out of me and got up. We didn't talk about this incident for years and when we did, we didn't -- I told the story to some family and she laughed along with them as I made light of the fact that one time, my mama almost killed me.

In case you still don't get that my mama is a G, when the handyman came to fix the hole and asked her what happened she said, "Ashley was acting a fool and kicked a hole in..."

What was I gonna do? Right. Not shit.

Left in the Snow

I randomly remembered this story and I like to share stories, so here we go...

Shortly after the crazy blizzard in early 2010 that hit the east coast, I stumbled my way out to the street and my car to begin the terrible task of digging it out from under 20+ inches of snow. I had never had to shovel snow before this blizzard and while this particular day wasn't my first go and shoveling, it was my first time having to dig a car out.

A few things to know: my car was (is) a 95 Honda Accord Coupe. The doors on the car stretch back fairly far on the body of the car.

After being stuck in the house for what felt like years, I was definitely ready to spend all day outside shoveling my snow clean, if all day is what it took.

10 minutes into it, however, I recognized that I'd do myself a favor to make good use of physics, or chemistry or common sense and find the easiest route to getting my car out. I had taken stock of some of the other folks also shoveling their cars and noticed many of them only shoveling enough to maneuver their car out, so I figured I'd do the same. All I had to do was clear from the front of the car to just past the passenger door. With that plan, I had a snow patch a foot wide, 3 feet tall and 2 feet thick to get through. Nothing I couldn't handle, but by this point, I'd been outside working at it for close to an hour. My energy was dropping.

Just about that time, a car that was rolling down our street (why any cars were rolling down side streets at this point was beyond me, but I guess they wanted something to do too) slowed down right behind my car and a man got out.

"You need some help there young lady?"

Now, I gotta be honest with you. I wanted to give him the side-eye to end all side-eyes, but I was getting tired. "Yeah. I suppose I wouldn't mind-"

He cut me off. "Look, if you'd just shovel enough to open the door, you'd be fine. You can drive the car out from under the snow," he said as he grabbed the shovel from me. He added, in his best 'I know everything' voice, "you're doing more work than you have to. Here. Let me show you."

So I, as I always do in these types of cases, stepped back to let him do his work. He stuck the shovel in the snow with expert force only to find, just as I had, that the snow didn't give as easily as one might think. Of course 20+ inches of snow doesn't fall overnight. That takes time. And during the day the snow would melt on top and at night freeze over. So what I, and everyone else, was digging through was both snow and ice. It wasn't as simple as sticking a shovel in a few times.

Mr-know-it-all took a few more stabs at it before a car pulled up behind his, also wanting to get through. The man looked up and then promptly handed me my shovel back. "Here, let me go find parking on the other block and I'll be right back," he said quickly. He hopped in his car and headed down and around the block -- or so I thought.

I returned to what I had been doing before Mr Helpful arrived, but with a little less fervor. I didn't want to do too much of his work, of course. About 7 minutes later, I was pretty sure he wasn't coming back.

Guess the snow was a little too much for him.

Another Moment

I stress over the topics like this. I want to give you guys good pieces into who I am by giving you good moments in my life that I think are integral to who I am in this time of my life. I have so many moments that it's hard to pick just one. However I think I've settled on a good one...

When I was a teen, church, specifically my youth group, was a big part of my life. I loved going to church and spending time with my friends in the youth group. We were really like family. Our youth pastor, his wife and the other adults that worked with us purposefully had us participate in activities that were intended to force us to grow as a unit. One body. I learned SO MUCH about myself in those 6 years; lessons I use to this day and I'm eternally grateful for that time.

However, I suffered from the same conflicted feelings in that group that I did in many of my friend groups at that time in my life (and sometimes do even now). I felt outside of everything. like I toed the line of being on the outside looking in all the time. It was like I was just window shopping or a voyeur in my own life and in my own relationships. It's an odd feeling, for sure. These feelings ran right up against knowing that my youth group liked me. I was always included in outings outside of church activities and a few of them even called me frequently for advice or just to talk (I told someone recently, I've been a counselor all my life...).

Every year our youth group spent a week at camp. Camp was always intense, lots of bible study but lots of team building activities. We were with each other 24 hours a day from midday Monday to midday Saturday and all of our weeks culminated with a night spent sharing what the week had meant to us. Each year the how of sharing differed. The 4th year we went to camp, I was a junior in high school and most of the folks in the group that I'd grown up with were seniors and preparing to graduate. The year had also been a hard one for me -- I was beginning to feel especially outside of everything -- all that teen angst was really hitting its peak and I'd even begun to have conflict with some of the adults working with our youth group -- this was a major thing because I was the only teen the adults included in on some private meetings/information.

Bracelets were a big deal in our group. At one point I think I had 3-4 bracelets all signifying various ways I was dedicated to the youth group. The way they decided we would express what camp had meant to us that year would be to give each other beads for our bracelet. We were given 7 beads and we had to give one bead to the 7 people who helped us through camp the most. There being 30+ teens on the trip, and with the sorts of all-hands-on-deck activities we participated in, it was absolutely numbing to think I'd have to only peg 7 people who helped me the most. In the back of my mind, I was also anticipating how many beads I might get -- I felt like if I got 5, I'd be happy.

As we all walked around a small room giving each other beads, I took beads from friends and shoved them in my pocket. I was amazed at the things people told me I did that helped them that week. Little things that I didn't remember doing or felt like anyone would have done really spoke to people. Some people were more broad and commented on how I'd helped them the entire time they'd been in the group while other people could specify the very moment. I was absolutely shocked at how many people noticed me.

At the end of the night, I pulled the beads out of my pocket and counted 17. Over half of the group felt like I was one of 7 people who helped them significantly in some way. I really was touched and so thankful. That moment did a lot for me on a personal level and really made me want to go out and a)continue to do those little things that I think most people never notice I do and b)be more cognizant of those who do those little things for me.

I've had moments similar to then, since. Many moments, in fact. But that was my first time and it really changed a lot for me in terms of my expectations of others and of myself. I love for knowing that I've been a positive impact on someone -- even when they don't say it to me directly, it does something to know that my existence made someone else's existence better. However, I also get a real kick out of doing things for people that they never notice. I really just love knowing the people I care about are being cared for. Ya dig? ;)

No New Orleans

I guess since Hurricane Katrina in 2005, we've become desensitized to lower levels of natural disasters in cities.

Or maybe we only care when it looks like you can make a sexy political story out of it.

Last weekend it began raining in Nashville, TN and it didn't stop. More than 13 inches fell in 2 days. That's about 30% of Nashville's annual rain fall in 48 hours. The great city of Nashville sits on the banks of the Cumberland river and the river rose and flooded a lot of downtown Nashville.

Additionally, the Army Corps of Engineers was forced to release water from 2 dams and this water flooded other areas of the already super-soaked city. There were 20+ deaths in Middle TN (which doesn't only include Nashville), many families have lost everything as the vast majority didn't have flood insurance. The city is reporting over $1 Billion in damage.

One might think the national media would have jumped on this. Another major natural disaster in a large city (Nashville has a larger population than Atlanta, and ranks as one of the biggest Southern cities) with almost no recognition from the outside world.

You'd be very wrong if you thought that. Sadly wrong, even.

I don't expect national coverage to the extent that New Orleans recieved in 2005. For one, this flood wasn't that big or wide-reaching and for two, there were many other things at play outside of a city being completely under water. I don't want to get into a situation where we compare this to what happened in New Orleans in 2005, because for the most part they're not comparable.

But the question remains -- who's going to Volunteer for the Volunteer state?

Ironically, apparently only the state itself. All the stories you hear now are about neighbors helping neighbors. Which is great. And the state is recieving federal funding. The President called the Governor and the both agreed his presence, with all that is required, would take away from the relief efforts, for now.

But where's the national media coverage? Nashville could use the help of every state in the union, not just every city in the state.

On a larger note, I think the media ignores the South (except for Atlanta) all the time. I think that point has been proven in light of this.

If you go to CNN.com now and search Nashville, all sorts of videos will pop up. But those videos we distinctly remember of Anderson Cooper in New Orleans as the city flooded, CNN doesn't have because they, like their other major outlet counterparts (and I don't mean to make it look like only CNN ignored this for almost a week) didn't pay much more than a footnotes' worth of attention until now.

I'm sure someone will say, and rightfully so, they're there now. Yes. They are (interviewing mostly country stars who have been effected -- thank God for Kenny Chesney who pointed out that he will be able to replace things, while other families will not). Nashville will come back, it will be fine and that will happen regardless of whether or not major media outlets notice. I'm just put off by what it means when newsworthy things are happening and no one cares.

Bug-A-Boo Part II

Read part I

I felt my phone vibrating in my jacket pocket. I pulled it out and saw a text from a local number that I didn't know. I flipped the phone open, prepared to rattle off the digits to my friend incase she recognized it, but gasped instead...

The text message said:

"How's my beautiful lady doing tonight? Maybe you should give me a call and let me hear your beautiful voice."

My friend immediately looked at me. I showed her the text message and a sly grin crept across her face.

"You didn't tell me you had a new boo..."

"That's cause I don't."

"Well, have you told him that? Who is it anyway?"

I quickly gave my friend the lowdown on Cecil. I told her that when he gave me my phone back I never checked the address book to see if he'd actually put his number in. It appeared that all he'd done was call his own phone. I had forgotten all about Cecil the Security Guard and now he was texting me. My phone vibrated again. It was Cecil. Whatever the text said didn't matter. I deleted it as soon as I opened it. If I ignore his texts, he'll get the picture eventually I reasoned with myself.

Cecil text me off and on for the next couple of weeks. Once, I responded to his texts to see how far he would go (and because my friends made me feel bad for ignoring him). It appeared, based on what he said to me, that he lived at home, didn't mind letting me know he was "juggling a few women" and had the conversation skills of a 12 yr old (which considering all our conversing was done via text, speaks volumes). Once I realized that he wouldn't be impressing me enough for me to continue talking to him, I saved his number as "DNR" (for Do Not Respond) and tried to leave well enough alone. The last text I got from Cecil showed he seemed to be picking up what I was putting down.

"I see how it is. You think you're too good to talk to me. I always gotta be the one to reach out to you. It's whatever, though. Your a** wasn't that pretty no way."

I could only laugh.

4 months later I had a new phone and as I did my customary "numbers transfer/clean out address book" I ran across my lone "DNR." I had to jog my memory to remember who this was and immediately laughed when I remembered Cecil's last text. I don't need to add him. He's done with me I said to myself. I did, however, keep my old phone within reach for the next few months so I could figure out numbers that popped up that I didn't recognize. 3 months later, though, I was sure anyone who's number I needed was in my phone and so I didn't always keep the old phone within reach.

Early one morning, I woke up not to my phone's alarm but to a text message. Mentally, I cursed out whomever it was texting me so early in the morning. Why in the WORLD would someone be up trying to get in contact with me at 7am?? I rolled over and fumbled for the phone. My hazy vision (it was morning AND I didn't have my glasses on) managed to decipher that these were numbers and not letters. Whoever it was, wasn't in my phone. At the time, I was in a temporary job and had all kinds of people calling and texting whose numbers I didn't know. I sat straight up and slid my phone open to read the text.

Hey pretty lady. Long time no talk

I had no idea who it was, but my readers are smart so I know you know exactly who it was...

I don't know why I hesitate to ask people "Who is this" when I don't know, but I do. I usually engage in conversation until I figure it out. It was 2 days later, after intermittent text messages that I recalled Cecil. I hadn't even considered him because of his last text message. The problem was, I had very stupidly revealed to this unknown person what city I was in and how much longer I would be there. I waited all day for Cecil to text me but he never did.

2 weeks later, I was lying on my mom's couch when my phone vibrated.

"Hey. I wanna see you".

"Cecil. Don't text me anymore."

"What? Why?"

"Look, I'm sorry. I didn't know it was you at first. I thought you didn't want to talk to me. I lost your number. Lose mine."

"All you b*tches are the same. Crazy as hell."

"Maybe next time you shouldn't make someone think you won't contact them anymore and then contact them. Looks like I'm not the only crazy one."

It's been a year since that last text, but I'm still waiting on an unidentified text message that begins something like Hey beautiful. When will I see you?

Bug-A-Boo Part I

It was important to me to find a version of this song performed by the ORIGINAL Destiny's Child. I still think it was a publicity stunt gone awry. LOL.



My last semester in college I lived off campus with my BFF. I also lived fairly close to a wal-mart, so I spent a fair amount of time there; it was nothing to just go 'cause I thought up something I needed.

One night, I decided to make a quick run to wal-mart before I went home (after being "home home" visiting my mom). I wandered around the store -- I did need a few things, but wal-mart, I'm convinced, is designed to make you buy all types of things you don't need. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed a security guard staring my way. It was the corner of my eye, so I couldn't tell if he was staring at me or not. I dismissed it.

A few moments (and aisles) later, I saw the same security guard, and this time I could tell he was looking at me. He looked to be a good 3 inches shorter than me and mostly average. Certainly not my type, at least not from one look. I quickly averted my eyes because I wasn't in the mood to make any "new friends" and didn't want him to think I wanted him to come talk to me. Too bad because I guess the full on eyeball I gave him was all the invitation he needed. Though I saw him walking my way, I kept going as if I didn't see him. I don't know if it was just the way it worked out or if he peeped my game because he walked directly in front of my buggy (yeah, buggy...) forcing me to stop.

"You're pretty."

We already are having problems, because while that's a nice thing to say, it's also very awkward. "Thanks."

"What's your name?"

"Uhh... Ashley."

"That's nice. My name is Cecil."

"Hello Cecil. Nice to meet you." awkward silence "Ok, well I really need to get going."

I maneuvered around him and kept going. I actually saw him again on my way out, but was able to skidaddle fast enough to avoid him.

A few weeks later, I was back in wal-mart, having completely forgotten about Cecil. I was there, this time, because the BFF and a friend were at the crib, hungry and I had promised to cook. I have one dish the BFF loves and that's what he wanted, so that's what I was making. Of course, though, I had none of the necessary ingredients so a quick wal-mart run was in order (plus, we were out of paper plates/cups/napkins and I wasn't interested in cleaning up the kitchen after all of us, again).

Because I was on a mission, I was pretty focused. I didn't allow wal-mart's well-placed mid aisle items to distract me and had made record time. As I was rounding the last aisle and headed to the cash registers, I heard a familiar voice.

"Hey. I know you saw me. You gon' act like you don't know me."

I thought about ignoring the voice, but the volume alone let me know I wasn't going to be able to sneak away. I slowly turned around and saw Cecil grinning in my direction. I got a little nauseous and immediately began plotting a way out.

"So you think you could give me your number this time?"

"Uhh... I don't know if that's a good idea."

Cecil started coming closer and I started panicking. "Just give him your number, stupid." I thought. Of course we can all sit here and think up 1,001 options I had, but only 5 seconds prior, I was focused on my buggy (yes... buggy) full of groceries and making sure I wouldn't have to make another run out to Wally World. A "quick getaway" plan was the furthest from my mind.

"You planning on cooking tonight? You got a lot of stuff there."

"Uhh yeah. Got a few people waiting on me to get home; they're hungry."

"Well perhaps you could cook for me some time." and there was that damned awkward silence again "Ok. Well, here. Let me just put my number in your phone."

Cecil reached out his hand for my phone, which of course, was already in my left hand. He put his number in my phone and of course called his own. I quickly grabbed my phone, paid for my items and drove home.

About two or three weeks later, I had put the unfortunate incident out of my mind. As I came out of an on-campus event with some friends, I felt my phone vibrating in my jacket pocket. I pulled it out and saw a text from a local number that I didn't know. I flipped the phone open, prepared to rattle off the digits to my friend incase she recognized it, but gasped instead...

Read part II

Coping Mechanisms

After you read this, head over to The Outlook and check out my commentary on Lincoln Heights.

Damon did a bit of a rant today on This May Concern You about Steve Phillips' jump off mistress and the attacks on her looks. An excerpt:

If your significant other were to ever cheat on you, wouldn’t you want that other person to look better than you? Wouldn’t that make you feel better?

When it comes down to it, I wouldn’t care what the other guy looked liked or what he did. I’ll admit that there was a time — long ago — when that type of stuff may have mattered some. But at this point in life, it’s inconsequential. I see stuff like cheating and adultry in black and white. That said, I don’t think we should be paying that much attention to Hundley’s looks and comparing them to his wife, either (But this is America. She looks terrible and this is what we do).

Here’s why: Comparing oneself — be it looks, education, earning potential or social status — to the competition is one of the most frivolous things we do as people. When you start trying to understand why someone decides to go outside of his/her relationship, the primary place you need to search is the guilty party within the relationship.

Too often people get caught up in that game of “How could he go there with her when I am/look 20 times better than her?” when the question mark in the query should come after the word “there.”

Before futher commentary, first a story.

I've already mentioned that after our relationship ended, J began dating a guy. Go back with me...

It was about 4am when I heard my phone buzzing on the table, near my head. I hadn't long been asleep and my first instinct was to ignore, but something (probably the fact that I'm unable to ignore my phone, all the time) made me grab it. It was from J, whom I'd spoken to earlier. We'd actually had a good conversation which, at that time, had become fewer and far between. I had gotten off the phone because I had a play date with some friends. J asked me to call him back when I got in, but I warned him it would be late. "I don't care. Just call me," he responded. I had no intentions of calling him back, though -- I was playing a game with him then, that I would never play with anyone now. I needed to prove that I was getting over him (we weren't officially together).

Confused and concerned about why he was texting me at 4am (but assuming he was upset I hadn't called him back) I opened the text. It was 4 pages that amounted to, "I'm gay..." I re-read the text message to make sure I was reading it correctly and then I sorta went numb. I had no idea how to feel or operate, but anger wasn't an emotion I considered. While I was extremely upset that he chose to text me something like that, the rational side of me (surprisingly) was the louder voice and it wanted me to try to be supportive.

A 2 hour phone call ensued and it did not go well, at all -- the details are for another post, but in the end he called me names, threatened to kill himself and hung up the phone. The next morning I found out that he'd gotten into a car accident and was in the hospital. Within a month, his parents had sent him to rehab out in California and that began a whole new chapter of issues for us, the details of which, again, are for another post.

In the meantime, I had to figure out what to make of the fact that J was gay. He attempted in the early portion of our phone call, and in subsequent conversations and e-mails to convince me that everything had been real and that he did love me. I wanted to believe him, but I quickly began realizing that everything had not been real. So much so that some things J wasn't even sure what had been a lie and what had been the truth. I needed some coping mechanisms.

At first, I attempted to just be the bigger person. I tried to be supportive of him all the while trying to make sure I wasn't going to crack. Eventually, I gave into the bitter side of me that wanted to make J hurt. A year later, though, I still wasn't over it and so I resorted to convincing myself that no matter what he was saying or doing, I still had been a better match for him than his then-current boyfriend. I sent a friend to his facebook profile (I had long removed him from my friend list) to scope out who she thought might be the new beau. The e-mail I received had a picture titled "yuck" and the new guy was not a looker. I was actually surprised as he was nothing like what I imagined J might be attracted to (but then again -- how would I have known?) and so began a host of conversations with friends that, at some point, included the phrase "Wow, the least he could've done was get somebody better looking than you..."

That was the way I was coping with things I hadn't yet figured out how to deal with. I had put up quite the front for my friends, pretending that J's revelation didn't really shake me to my core like it had and pretending that I'd moved on; I hadn't. I was still trying to wake up from the nightmare. Going to them to just talk about what I was feeling didn't seem like a viable option, but laughing along with them at J's new boyfriend did seem to work.

Our coping mechanisms don't always make much sense, but I don't think they're supposed to. If we understood how to truly deal with the issue at hand, we wouldn't need coping mechanisms. In the long run, I really had to be honest with myself that no matter what I said, I wasn't over J. Despite his sexuality, I still had feelings for him (compounded by his inability to decide if he was really "just gay") and I needed to figure out if I could live with that or if I couldn't. That wasn't an easy thing to do, but once I did, I found I no longer needed those ridiculous and silly coping mechanisms. There was nothing to cope with.

Sometimes we need to reassure ourselves that we are "worthy" and there's nothing wrong with us and we use other people's shortcomings to do so. For the most part, we'd frown on someone doing that, but when it comes to being cheated on or left, we seem to accept it. However you have to feel better about yourself is how you have to do it, we seem to think. We should want better for ourselves; we should want to deal with issues so that we can move on. Coping mechanisms are temporary fixes for our ego; we should be looking for permanent fixes.

I Hate Your Boyfriend

I'm very protective of my friends. If I were honest, I'd admit that I'm overprotective of some. I've long said, and in fact did list as one of my "30 Secrets, 25 Random Facts" that I'm more protective of my friends than myself. All of this usually means that I'm the chick men hate. I have a lot of guy friends and they all tell me they hate their girl's friends and I'm the chick they hate the most (ok, they don't say the last part, but I know it's true). In fact, in recent years, I've attempted to not be so critical of my friends' boyfriends. I did a post on what to do when your friend is dating someone you don't like and I decided, in the end, to keep my mouth shut and, in the words of a clever commenter, "stay out of grown folk business."

Today, one of my most favoritest bloggers, OneChele did a post on domestic violence. Make sure you read it, her stats are incredible (and not in that good way). In the comments I shared about a friend who's boyfriend is a punk.

I met my friend Katrina the fall of my freshman year in college. She lived down the hall from me in our freshman dorm and we found out that though she moved away, we were from the same city, knew a lot of the same people and even had lived in the same neighborhood. We became fast friends. A few choice decisions on Katrina's end put her a year behind me in school. The summer after our second year she was in summer school and got to know the rising star on our football team; the quarterback. I had already met Patrick and I never got a good vibe off him so when she called to tell me they were seeing each other, I'm sure my reaction left much to be desired.

Fast forward a semester and she and Patrick are hot and heavy and living together in an off-campus apartment. Our schedules kept us from seeing each other quite as much, but through some mutual friends I began hearing that she and Patrick were having a lot of problems. I began making greater efforts to see her to let her know I was still around and she took the opportunity to try to help me get to know Patrick. There was something about the way Patrick didn't really look at me when Katrina was around and the way he never spoke to me when we saw each other on campus that left me with a bad taste in my mouth. One night, Katrina said to me, "Patrick says he thinks you hate him." I laughed and responded, "I don't know him enough to hate him." Katrina quickly said, "I know; that's what I told him." I could tell things about their relationship were amiss, but she seemed happy so I didn't see it as my place to make any comments.

Finally someone told me what was really going on: Patrick was beating her. He had broken 3 of her phones, left marks on her face and was intimidating her. I knew something had to be done when I found out one night she was hiding in a mutual friend's closet. A few days after that night, I was finally able to get ahold of her. We spoke and she confided in me that she was ready to leave. She hadn't been back home in a full day and when she left, Patrick had gone into such a rage that she said everything that could be broken in their apartment was. I grabbed my BFF and we drove Katrina over to her apartment to get her stuff since she figured he wouldn't be home. We pulled into the parking lot and she immediately spotted his car. I told her I was more than happy to go in with her, but she was afraid my presence would upset him. I told her that if she wasn't out in 10 minutes, I was coming in.

10 minutes later, she text me to say they were talking, he was sorry and she thought she should stay. Knowing the unfortunate cycle of abusers, I immediately got out of the car and went to the door. Katrina anticipated me doing that and met me at the door. While I was far from convinced that everything was "ok" I knew I couldn't make her leave with me.

The next week was full of similar situations. Finally, I grew tired of the cat and mouse game and I quit answering the phone. I told one of our mutual friends who Katrina was also confiding in that when Katrina was ready to go she could call me, but that I was done playing games. In the meantime, Katrina began confiding in another mutual friend of ours who she had had a "thing" with prior to Patrick. Joseph started giving Katrina money thinking she was trying to save up to leave, and he bought her another new phone when Patrick broke yet another one.

One night, the BFF and I returned from a road trip to find Katrina sitting in the lobby of our dorm. The three of us hadn't been together since the first night at her apartment and so we decided to go to Waffle House for a late night meal. I called Joseph and he agreed to go. We all met back up 20 minutes later and were headed out when Patrick came downstairs. Without a word, Katrina disappeared and it was all the BFF and I could do to keep Joseph from killing Patrick. That night, I decided I was really done. Katrina had used me, Joseph and the BFF. We were all done.

Fast forward to now. Katrina and Patrick have a beautiful son who I call my nephew and are not together but still living together. Katrina understands that if she ever truly gets ready to leave, I'm here, but until then, I don't care. Patrick knows, as I've made it clear to him that if I ever even THINK he's put his hands on her in front of their son, I got something for him and I will make SURE he gets it. That's the decision I've made for this situation. I have to say going through this has helped me understand better the thinking that makes a woman stay; I still think it's crazy but I better understand. I still hope that Katrina will get real about leaving him, but I know that their son makes that harder.

Domestic violence is one of those things I never thought would happen to any of my "strong, independent, black female" friends but it has and I've been surprised both at her and my own responses. I prioritize keeping my friends safe and I have to say at times I felt I'd failed her. Now I'm just focused on making sure my nephew grows up healthy and happy even with a loser for a father.

Hi. I'm Still Here....

I was reading Joey's blog post on the Swizz/Mashonda/Alicia debacle. Her post reminded me of quite a few incidents that happened with me and J.

We would argue all the time about whether or not our waitresses were flirting with him. He would swear up and down that they weren't. Eventually he admitted that he knew they were flirting with him, but he didn't want to admit it to me because he didn't know how it'd make me feel (that he didn't shut it down...)

I wasn't the insecure/jealous type so mostly my irritation at the waitresses was more on a "can you please be more professional" level than anything else. I wasn't actually worried that he'd take their bait.

There was the waitress who wouldn't look at me when she came to the table. She'd walk up, look at J and say "Is everything ok? Do you need anything?" Even when I'd pipe up that I needed more Coke (because though she'd been refilling his beverage, she hadn't touched mine) she wouldn't look at me. At the time, J swore he didn't notice -- but he couldn't argue with me when the check came and on the back she'd written her name and number.

There was the waitress J was able to flirt with to get alcohol. He was underage and I'm sure she knew that, but he was also a charmer.

But probably my favorite story happened after he and I had broken up and he was in a new relationship. We met up for dinner once -- we hadn't seen each other in at least 9 months -- and decided to go to some rinky dink place. We really just wanted to talk. J happened to be wearing a cologne that I had bought for him (I say "happened to" but I doubt it was accidental). Our waitress noticed and commented on it. I had already checked how she was flirting with him and ignoring me, but it didn't matter to me very much. She kept complimenting him on the scent and he was nervously laughing and sort of looking to me for a little guidance. I just shook my head; on some level her desperation was amusing. Finally she asked him where he had gotten it from. I knew he knew where I bought it from, because he liked it so much he'd asked me repeatedly where I'd gotten it. This sneaky grin came over his face and he looked me in my eyes and said, "Baby, where'd you get this from?" I had to bite my tongue to keep from laughing. The waitress's face got very red and she immediately turned to me and said "Oh! You bought it?" I said, "Yes, I got it for him as a Christmas gift last year. I got it from Rue 21." She didn't talk to him much after that, and I noticed my beverage stayed full.

It boggled my mind the blatant disrespect many of the women felt free to show. I'd be lying if I didn't admit that it bothered me a little that J would rather ignore the problem than speak up on it, but he made up for it with that little gem.

Story Time...

Telling the story of Rachel and Jenna yesterday reminded me of something else that happened during our planning of this trip. Actually, it all unfolded the day of the trip.

Rachel, Jenna and a third girl who we'll call Nicole all played basketball together in high school. Nicole you'll remember from a previous story. Nicole and Rachel were friends because of proximity moreso than because of compatible character traits. As a result, post-graduation, Rachel didn't do much to keep up with Nicole.

This trip occurs 4 years after our high school graduation, and at least 2 years since Rachel and Nicole last had contact. In the interim 2 years, Nicole and I had very infrequent contact (and of course we were facebook friends). Jenna and Nicole had remained friends and spoke frequently.

As Rachel and I discussed who she wanted to come on the trip, Nicole flashed into my mind, but being very aware of Rachel's opinions of Nicole, I never asked. Later, Rachel would say she thought about inviting her, but decided against it and the events that unfolded the day we left seemed to prove Rachel's instincts correct.

Like I said, Nicole and I had infrequent contact. Mostly random text and facebook messages. I arrived in our hometown (our meetup city) before Jenna did. I went to Rachel's apartment so we could go get the rental car. We had hoped Jenna would call us to say she was in the city about the time we had the car, but she didn't, so we went back to Rachel's apartment to wait on Jenna's call.

At the time, Rachel was living with her boyfriend and her 2 year old son, Jason. I remember thinking it would be very wierd if Nicole called me or text me, but I had no reason to think that she would. I figured eventually she would find out about the trip and I knew she'd be upset she wasn't invited, but I also figured that by the time she found out, it'd be old news and she'd get over it. I'm pretty sure God heard my thoughts and needed a laugh because my phone began ringing and when I looked down, it was Nicole calling.

I knew if I didn't answer, she'd keep calling and I really didn't want her to call while we were on the road, or out together so I answered.

Me: Hello?
Nicole: Hey what's up?
Me: Not much. What are you doing?

About this time, Jason, who I'd been playing with, ran up to me and screamed something.

Nicole: Who was that?
Me: Uhh....
Nicole: Are you at home? Was that Rachel's son? Are you with Rachel?
Me: Yeah, I'm at Rachel's house.
Nicole: Why? What's going on? Jenna told me she was going home this weekend too. Are ya'll hanging out?

At this point, the details of the conversation are fuzzy, but eventually it came out that we were all going to Atlanta. Nicole was instantly pissed, said a few choice words and hung up on me.

Rachel asked me what happened, so I relayed the details. She rolled her eyes and said, "Figures. Everything is always about that girl. This is exactly why I didn't want her to come. I don't want all the drama."

Oh God I thought. This isn't over.

I was right. About the time Rachel and I were heading over to pick up Jenna, the text messages started. All of them conveyed, in not so nice words, how disappointed Nicole was, how hurt she was and how upset she was. Including her infamous "I thought we were better than that..." line (in reference to her relationship with me). Eventually, I just called her back because I couldn't text and drive. I tried to explain, without throwing Rachel under the bus, that it was her birthday, her choice. Nicole wasn't hearing it, but she didn't hang up on me and she did thank me for at least calling her back.

That night as we were all drifting off to sleep I heard my phone buzz on the nightstand. I grabbed it and flipped it open wondering who was texting me and why. It was Nicole. She'd obviously been steaming about the incident all day and had to get one last reiteration of her hurt, disappointment and anger in. At that point, I had to laugh at the situation to keep from crying about how frustrating it was. That was the last time Nicole and I spoke, until the incident I mentioned in the story I told about her last year.

There's a follow-up to that story. I'll share it with you soon.

One Sweet Day...

Keith's post today inspired me as to what to say in my first real post in quite some time.

The story he tells reminded me of something that happened about a year and a half ago.

One of my friends, we'll call her Rachel, wanted to go to Atlanta for her birthday. She wanted it to be me, her and a third friend who we'll call Jenna. The three of us were friends in highschool, Rachel and Jenna played on the basketball team together. Rachel informally put me in charge of working out the individual logistics (making sure everyone knew where to be and when) while she found the hotel she wanted to stay in. We all agreed to split the cost of the trip 3 ways. This included a rental car, gas and the hotel. About 3 weeks before the trip, I called Jenna to try to confirm some things with her (primarily that she was still going). She was sorta all over the place. She told me that the week before our trip was her Spring Break and she was going to Panama City. She wasn't sure she'd have money for our trip. I told her that was fine, but to let me know as soon as possible whether or not she went to Panama.

The next weekend, I called her and asked if she'd gone to Panama. She said she hadn't and that she would go with us to Atlanta the following weekend. The morning of the trip, Rachel called to say that the rental car company needed her to produce utility bills in order to use her debit card for a rental. She asked if I'd be ok renting the car, I agreed. That afternoon, when we picked Jenna up at her mom's home (I drove down from my college and Jenna drove down from hers, to our hometown where Rachel still lived) Rachel told her how much money she owed each of us. Jenna told us that she had not gone to Panama City for Spring Break, but had actually gone to Destin, FL. One of her relatives had promised her some money for the Spring Break trip, but hadn't come through. She was sure, however, on this Friday afternoon, that he would put the money in when she called. As we drove the 2 hours to Atlanta, Jenna made repeated calls to this family member asking for the money. When we got to the city, Jenna didn't have much money and so Rachel ended up buying at least one meal for her, all the while, Jenna promised she'd get us some money.

The next day, one of Rachel's friends called and said she wanted to come down but had no way. I agreed to drive back up to pick up this friend. Jenna asked if we would drop her off at home so she could leave some of her clothes for her mom to wash before she got back and to get some money from her mom to pay us back. An hour after we had been back and just as I was headed from one side of the city to the other to pick up Jenna, she called me to tell me her mom was not letting her go back with us because she (her mom) would not be lending Jenna any money and Jenna couldn't pay us back.

The problem was, however, she had spent at least one night in a nice hotel that Rachel had paid for, and she had ridden down and back in a car I rented and on gas I paid for. There was no getting out of it by staying at home, now. She should have stayed at home before. Rachel quickly got on the phone and demanded her money. "I want my money when I get back, do you understand?" Rachel asked. Jenna said she'd have it for us when we returned; we had to bring her the clothes she left in the hotel.

The morning we left, I text Jenna that we would be back in 2 hours and she should be at home to get her stuff. She said she would. When we pulled up to her house almost 3.5 hours later, there was no one home and there had been no word from Jenna that she wouldn't be there. We left her stuff on the front porch (though Rachel was an advocate for keeping it as collateral) and left.

16 months later, I've forgiven Jenna though we've not ever spoken about the situation. I was horridly disappointed in her response -- not returning phone calls, continuing to promise the money but never sending it, etc... -- but I learned my lesson. Rachel, on the other hand, hasn't spoken to her since the last time she asked for her money, which was 15 months ago. This is a long-time friendship that is, at least for now, dead over money. Life is too short for all that.

2 weeks ago yesterday, my ex-boyfriend, the one I've talked about ad nauseum here, killed himself. I'd long known he was depressed, but actually thought that in the time we'd been a part, he'd found a healthy relationship and was doing better. He never made me think anything different and so I was surprised and saddened to hear of his death. I had a friend commit suicide in high school. The ex was there for that, as well. He and I had many conversations about suicide and we didn't agree on it. He saw it as a gift, I saw it as selfish. Like I said, he battled depression for a long time. It was so hard to watch.

There are countless things I planned to say to him in the next few weeks. Things I wanted him to know but wasn't sure he was ready to hear. I was ready for us to try a friendship again. I was ready for us to put the past behind us and move towards whatever sort of future we had. I had literally just forgiven him, truly forgiven him, for all the stuff he did to me when his mom called me to tell me he was gone.

Life is too short to forget how short it is. I truly thought I was doing him a favor by letting him enjoy his relationship without the added confusion of us trying to be friends again, though he had told me I was wrong about that, before. We all know we shouldn't think we have forever with someone, because the truth is that we don't, but that is a hard lesson to put into practice. We let so much other stuff get in the way.

Like Keith said he learned in his experience, as I learned when my friend committed suicide 5 years ago, as I've been reminded in the death of someone I loved more than even I seemed to realize, life is too short to think you have forever. The breakup of a long-time friendship over a couple hundred dollars sounds reasonable until you put it into perspective. Money can be repaid, life and time can not be recovered. I hope that Rachel and Jenna resolve their differences, but I'm more focused on being sure that I don't let life or time slip through my fingers over things beyond my control and things that, in the big picture, just don't matter...

#InHighSchool

Anyone who's not up on twitter... whatever. Keep moving.

Those who are, a)Follow Me and b)did you keep up with the #inhighschool trending topic yesterday? Luvvie suggested everyone post them on their blogs. I thought it was a great idea, so here we go...

#inhighschool...

-My nickname was Smash and I have no idea why...
My advisor in 10th grade (yes, we had those in my high school) was the head football coach. He started the name and the name stuck; it even followed me to college. I have no idea why he picked that name (he had a daughter with the same first name as me and he called her that, but it made sense... she played volleyball...) for me but hey, I've heard way worse.

-I learned that white people and black people are alot alike. But in 11th grade I learned they threw way better parties!
Some of the best parties I've been to, period, were thrown by white folks. I don't know what it is about black folks but we get uptight when it comes time to party. We get worried about who's gonna be there and how we look and all that to the point that we suck all the fun right out. White folks party to let loose and have fun. Don't get me wrong; I know black folks know how to have fun (hey, my family reunions are the business) but social gatherings of friends/people you kinda know are always better when the white folks throw 'em (maybe it's the free alcohol that entices me, I don't know).

- One of my friends said to me: "Don't think cause you're the VP I won't assassinate you"
I was elected VP of the student body for my senior year in high school (I later went on to become President when the elected President was relieved of his duties... more of that amazing white people partying....) Right after the election results were released, I was walking to class and passed this friend. All day people had been congratulating me and I was sorta getting tired of saying thanks (though I truly was appreciative). He probably said something to me and in turn I had a snarky response so he said that... 6 years later and I remember it and still laugh. In fact, I included it in the yearbook as one of my favorite quotes.

- I had my first drink
Self explanatory; by the time I got to college, I was all over the whole drunk thing.

-I had 2 BFFs and I thought we would all live happily ever after; then life happened
I spent my entire junior and most of senior year in a 3 person group that became known as the 3 Musketeers. Everyone called us that, even teachers. If we were seen without one (or seen alone) we were always asked "where are the rest..." Shortly after graduation, one of them quit talking to me. She wouldn't respond to my phone calls or texts and I quickly realized that she had washed her hands of me (as she had done our other friend a few months earlier). Even today, I can only speculate as to why. The other one and I still speak and remain close.

-I didn't always make it to school on time (during jr and sr years) but I always made it for lunch.
My mom was a little too trusting (but hey, my grades never suffered, I was popular and very involved so she clearly didn't make a mistake). She'd come into my room some mornings (I left, if I was going to school on time, before she did) and say "why aren't you up?" I'd make up something about having a free period or a late day and go back to sleep. I never skipped a full day (except for Senior skip day) without a good reason. I'd usually be on campus by the period before my lunch.
The crazy thing was we had to have re-admit slips to get back into class. You had to bring a note signed by your parent to the dean's office and get a slip to have signed by all your teachers who's class you had missed (this showed them that you'd been okayed by the dean for missing class). If I even bothered to go get a readmit (which I rarely did) the note was forged. Most of us had done that at one point or another and during graduation one of my classmates admitted this to the dean's assistant. Her simple reply? "I know." LOL.

-I was uber involved
My senior year I was student body President, held two senior positions in our community service program, sat on a panel of teachers and students (all chosen by administration), president of the largest club, and I'm sure I did whole lot of other ish that 5 years later I can't remember. I was OVER-involved is a more accurate expression of what I had going on, but you know what, I loved it, even when I was stressed... I felt super connected to my school and like what I said mattered. The flip side, though, is I was burned out by the time it was all over. In college I was a bum and by my high school standards not very involved at all.

-I used my position to get some of my friends out of trouble.
I also used it to get myself out of trouble. One story that comes to mind is when a friend of mine (he eventually became my b/f then my ex and I've talked about him ad nauseum here) was accused of mistreating one of the kids we worked with at our community service sites. At my high school, comm. service was a HUGE deal, so this could've had major repercussions. I went to bat for him and argued that the whole thing had been blown out of proportion and that I would monitor his behavior. He escaped the axe that day, but I wasn't around to help him out when it came around the second time. He deserved it, though.

-I fenced
Yes; I did.

-We had a big screen tv in the student center that was always on SportsCenter in the morning.
Umm... self-explanatory. All of us had to do an afterschool activity and for most of us that meant a sport (I did service)... so it was acceptable to the vast majority of us.

I Need to Get Out of this Box

This morning, my status says:

Don't put me in a box. Give me a chance to be different than I used to be and make choices I haven't made before (though on occasion they may just be actions and choices you've never seen me do or make).

In high school I had a friend who hated being predictable. She got some sort of joy out of knowing that she led you to think she'd do one thing but ended up doing something completely opposite. It seemed she enjoyed this so much that she would go out of her way to see this happen.

The problem was, in a lot of cases, she was predictable -- perhaps because I had gotten to know her pretty well. I figured out that if I told her I knew what she was going to do, she'd always switch it up; if I left well enough alone and especially if I acted surprised at her doing exactly what I thought she'd do -- my predictions usually came to fruition.

Now, these weren't out of the ordinary things. It wasn't like I was predicting her life; they were simple things like me following up her telling me she had done something with "oh, I knew you'd do that..." or if (for example) she walked into class and I handed her a pen saying "I bet you don't have one..." -- those types of things seemed to really irk her.

I never understood it and found it extremely frustrating feeling like I couldn't express how well I felt like we knew each other. I feel like we're all looking for people who can get to know us very well and know the things that make us tick and make us happy; the things that bring joy to our lives as well as frustrate us.

This morning, as I was getting ready for work, I start thinking back to a conversation I had yesterday. In that conversation a friend made a comment about my future, definitively. This morning it occurred to me that I didn't like how she put me in a box; how she used a few choices I've made in the past to tell me what my future would look like; essentially I didn't like that she wasn't leaving it open for me to change and be different.

As I started thinking about how I might turn this into a blog post (because we all know, I'm looking for my blogging steeze) I remembered how I felt about my friend who didn't like being predictable -- but I still felt like my issue wasn't the same as hers. It doesn't bother me when my mom calls me while I'm packing for a trip and asks "did you remember to pack socks?" because she knows I usually do forget.

I started a new school in the 8th grade. During one of my first weeks there, I walked up on a group of students and joined their conversation by asking them what they were talking about. One of the girls said, "Oh, we're talking about a band you probably wouldn't know about..." From her tone of voice, I could tell she didn't really mean anything by it, but I was still slightly offended. Give me a chance to tell you what I do and don't know, I thought. They band they were talking about was Fleetwood Mac and because I had an unhealthy obsession with all things VH1 at that time, I knew a fair amount about Fleetwood Mac. Years later, after this girl and I had become really close, I reminded her of this story. She denied it, probably having a hard time believing that she would've ever doubted that I had a knowledge of music that crossed stereotypical boundaries.

My issue begins when people don't let me be new. We're all learning, everyday, and sometimes we're lucky enough to realize that what we've been doing, be it for a few days or a few years, just isn't working and we're ready to do something else. I want to feel like no one's got me pegged for anything -- that's how we miss out on opportunities to try something new -- it's bad enough we box ouselves in, but aren't our friends supposed to be the ones trying to open our eyes to new possibilities?

Whining, Cell phones and alone time

I've been in a funk today. I feel like I'm suffocating in the negativity of my friends and all their issues. It gets to me sometimes. But then I read one of my friend's new blog posts and I had to put it in perspective...

Bottom line: I may be in a funk, but I can't be for long because there are too many things in my life to be excited about.

One of my twitfolk posted a tweet that mentioned they couldn't find their iPhone and they weren't upset about it. Reminded me of...

Story time boys and girls...

I got my first phone in 2003. I've had a new phone every calendar year since then. Fear not, one day I'm sure I'll feel obliged to share what each one of those phones were. But I won't bore you today.

In the summer of 2007 I had a phone that I'd wanted for so long. A Motorola SLVR

I also had a job that involved me spending the workday outside. All day -- riding around in a pickup truck (one day we'll also discuss my LOVE of pickup trucks). I was in and out of the truck, climbing up on it, around it, on trees and poles all day. After one of my escapades, I got back in the truck and realized I didn't have my phone. It had fallen out of it's holster (something that happened a lot -- I'd told myself I needed to go find a better holster for it). I panicked. I drove back to every place I'd stopped searching frantically for it. I couldn't breathe -- I could only imagine all the text messages and pictures and videos and EVERYTHING I'd just lost...

I drove straight home to report the phone stolen. I went back to work, still panicking inside.

It was a Friday afternoon, so the fastest a phone would get to me was Monday. How would I stay in touch between Friday and Monday, I wondered.

When it was all said and done, those were the best 2.5 days of my life. Once I got over the shock of not having a phone, I was able to relax. No phone calls, no text messages.... nothing. I went to bed earlier, I got plenty of rest and I felt liberated...

Recently I repeated this -- I turned my phone off, laid it on my bed and didn't touch it for a week. The first couple of days were odd, but then I got used to going to bed a realistic times and not having the stress of everyone else's life on mine. It was BEAUTIFUL. Maybe another break is what the Dr's ordering right now.

I Win. It's What I Do

A few nights ago I said:

what i'm saying, in very simple terms, is that i like to win and if you're going to associate yourself with me, you'll also have to like to win. We always win. Why? Cause it's just what we do. And so, we don't speak in terms of things not working out because they always do Why? Cause we win. Now if this winning concept is foreign to you, let me know. I can explain it.

It all started in college when the BFF and I realized we're winners (<<<---tongue in cheek, guys). Anyway, I share this with you to tell the following, light-hearted and purposeless tale:
On Monday afternoon, while cheering on co-workers at a softball game, my phone:



started up with it's usual b.s., moving slowly, not responding -- being a jerk -- and I got upset... pushed a little too hard... and felt the screen give way under my thumb.... the crack spread out like a spider web and my heart was crushed....

My heart was more crushed because I knew that when I called the insurance company for a new phone, it'd be my second claim in 12 months and I knew that would be a problem.

Now, as an aside, my screen is not as bad as this picture. In fact, it's just the LCD screen on top that's broken, but I still can't deal with the fact that my precious phone is marred. Not to mention, my life runs on this phone (and other gadgets, I'm such a gadget whore) and "I got no patience and I hate waiting..." My spirits were lifted when the fellow behind the counter informs me that they've discontinued making my phone, and the new one is a phone that I vaguely remember seeing blurbs about on various techy boards I frequently lurk. The HTC Fuze:



I go home, disappointed that I must deal with Mr. Cracked Screen another few days, but excited about a new gadget... I've had this one since August and did I mention I'm a tech whore geek? So the thought of having a new toy excited me immensely.

I note my phone call to the insurance company is interesting. There are a few more prompts than last time, and there's also the part where I'm reminded that if I'm filing a false or fraudulent claim I could be prosecuted...

I give all the information to the nice lady who is also breathing funny and clearly reading from a book/screen/manual. She pauses in awkward places and generally sounds odd. I try not to laugh.

Then she informs me she'll transfer me to a customer service rep (wait, is that not who I'm talking to right now?) who will complete my claim. This nice lady deflates and stomps on my spirits. Deflates by telling me that I will in fact recieve yet ANOTHER AT&T Tilt. Stomps on my spirits by telling me I'll need to submit a notarized affadavit, proof of purchase, copy of a photo ID and probably promise of my first born child, but I refused to continue listening to all that.

That evening I began pondering my options. Trying to get an affadavit notarized was not high on my priority list, so I was thinking of ways around it. I was also a bit flustered by needing to submit a proof of purchase. Hell, they sent me this one -- surely they know it's a legit deal over here. Not to mention, I continue thinking to myself, I've paid them $5/mo since November 2007 (I learned the hard way the importance of phone insurance)... the least they could do is accept my claim without all this extra.

I wake up the next morning 30 mins earlier than normal and it hits me (Jesus comes through in the clutch er'time) I had been planning to use my mom's upgrade for my own personal gain, so why not use it now? Sure, I won't get the (new) iPhone I want in June, but I can use this new phone to carry me and my gadget whore needs through till January when I can upgrade my own phone to an iPhone.

I get to work and immediately begin doing some quick research. I know what I need to about the old Blackberry and it was the other smartphone I was deciding between when I upgraded to the Tilt (I always err on the side of "originality" when I upgrade). The Blackberry 8310:



was my cheapest option with an upgrade. I didn't really want the red one, but hey -- what can you do when you're in a bind?

It'll be here tomorrow and I am very inpatiently awaiting it's arrival.

She's A B*tch

I've always said that if one song played when I entered a room, it should be

Missy Elliott "She's a Bitch"
Uploaded by SBorrmann.

Timeout -- remember when Hype was THE MAN when it came to music videos? Then he did Belly and that went, well... belly up...

I've been called a B*tch a lot. To my face and behind my back (I'd always prefer it to my face). Sometimes I've not deserved it, a lot of times, though, I have. There's a line Tyler Perry's character Madea has in Madea's Family Reunion: "It's not what they call you, it's what you answer to..." I sometimes wonder how much of this is a self-fulfilling prophecy: I am a b*tch (sometimes) because I call myself one, not the other way around...

Story time, boys and girls...

My junior year of high school, my BFF (at the time) broke it off with her long-time on-again/off-again boyfriend (wait, what's "long time" when you're 16?). Shortly thereafter, she and a long time male friend, RJ, began secretly dating. The problem was, he was a)her ex-bf's BFF AND was kinda in a relationship with his long-time on-again/off-again girlfriend, Liz. The only people who knew about this "torrid affair" were myself and one other girl who rounded out our three-musketeer trio (no, seriously, everyone at school called us the three-musketeers...). Eventually the BFF ended things, citing the fact that he'd been involved with most her female friends. Unfortunately, by that time, most everyone else had begun suspecting something was up, including ol' boy's on-again/off-again girlfriend.

My friends and I spent a lot of time in one particular faculty member's office because it was conveniently located in the student center. There were chairs outside the office that we would often sit in. One day I was sitting outside in these chairs when Liz came up. She looked through the slim window into the office and saw the BFF inside with a group of people. She sat in the chair across from me and began asking me about the nature of the relationship between the BFF and RJ. I explained to her that there was nothing going on and that everything was fine. Liz wasn't dumb, she knew I wasn't being 100% but that I also wasn't going to rat the BFF out. I tried to flip it around and make it about her and RJ but she wasn't having that. Eventually she stood up, looked through the window again and walked away. When I got up and walked into the office, it was clear that the people inside the office, my BFF in particular, had their own opinions about what was happening outside. The tension was thick so I just left, not feeling the need to explain myself.

A few minutes later, class began and it was the period that the BFF and I shared. The tension was still there. We sat next to each other in the back of class and often passed notes. The note passing began and I could see from her short responses that she was pissed. After class, she and I had it out. No words were spared. She shut me down when she said, "You know, I'm always sticking up for you because people are always calling you a b*tch. I'm always telling them they just don't understand you. Apparently they do."

I wasn't stupid. I knew that was a perception of me, but it hurt that a friend of mine called me that, indirectly and if I were to be completely honest, it was one thing to know in my mind that people were saying that about me behind my back; it was another to hear it said aloud.

Ultimately, the BFF and I had a "come to Jesus meeting" and we hashed it out. We got over it, we grew up, we moved on -- but that incident stuck with me.

Since then, I've sort of accepted this label. Less as a truly accurate description of who I am and more of the perception. I'm usually the one who will say what no one else will, or say the things no one wants to hear. It seems to be human nature to attack what we don't like or understand.

Two days ago, I was searching through old e-mails for something when I came across one I'd sent to a friend at the end of my freshman year in college. As I re-read the e-mail, I admonished myself for the harsh tone. I felt I was overly aggressive, rude and, well... a b*tch. I re-read it to another friend and she agreed; a third friend, however, said she didn't think it was all that bad. I don't recall the circumstances that prompted the e-mail (though I vaguely remember being hurt by something) but I kept saying that I would never send such a biting e-mail and I would definitely have such a conversation via phone. I think I've grown since I was 16 and 17, into my b*tchiness. That is to say, it's not reckless and it's not without purpose. It's never meant to demean or hurt and sometimes it's just about protecting me.

Throwback Tuesday

Funny story involving this song...

I have a friend, we'll call her CiCi, who is VERY smart (and I don't say that about many people, truly). But there's something in her brain that misfires and from time to time she can come across as an airhead.

One night, in college, I was at a table in the dining hall eating dinner with a handful of friends. CiCi happened to come in about that time and she saw us so she stopped to talk. She told us she had been out running some errands and looked at me and said "OH! I heard a THROWBACK in the car tonight."

Me: Oh really? What was it?
CiCi: It was "Candy." "Candy Rain."
Me: Was it "Candy" or "Candy Rain?" Those are two different songs.
CiCi: Oh. Yeah. "Candy Rain."

We continued with our conversation, CiCi, myself, and the group. At some point I over heard CiCi singing a song... "storms will come, this we know for sure..."

Me: Ay, is that the song you heard in the car?
CiCi: Yeah!
Me: Girl, that's not "Candy," OR "Candy Rain!" That's "Can You Stand the Rain!!"

A third friend, TB, looked at me and said "after that first exchange, I never would've thought that the song she was singing was the real song she heard!"

Let me just say I have PLENTY of stories about CiCi and the ditzy things she's said over the years. I love her.

Anyway, on to the throwback!

Soul 4 Real - Candy Rain
Uploaded by hosni9201

Um... You Have a What??

True story, happened to my friend. I heard all about it all day, today. Names have been changed and shortened not to protect the innocent (for there are none) but to expedite the telling. :)

B met JP at a restaurant one night while she was out with the girls. JP was out with his cousin DJ and two other friends, one of which B was immediately attracted to. It was JP's number she left the restaurant with, though. B and her bestie hung out with JP and DJ just once after the initial meeting. Both guys seemed really cool, but B wasn't interested in either one of them like that.

JP would randomly text B -- mostly simple things like "Hey, just checking on you..." and B would respond. Then they were speaking on the phone. Finally, they made plans to hang out. They really enjoyed each other's company. On one of their "kick-it" sessions, JP asked B if she saw a future for them. B revealed that she had a boyfriend that she was committed to and really loved and that while she found JP attractive her focus was on her relationship. JP seemed ok with that.

Shortly after that conversation, their contact fell to just phone calls and texts, then only texts. Eventually, the texts became fewer and far between until they stopped all together.

A year and a half later, B happened past JP's number in her phone and she sent him a text to say she was thinking about him. 3 days later he responded that he was glad to hear from her and that they should get up with one another some time. The spoke on the phone once, but their primary way of communicating was text messages. More often than not, B would text JP and he would respond days later.

Then one night, JP called B in a seeming panic. "I'm so sad right now. Where are you?" he asked. B told him she was away from home, out with some friends. JP told her that DJ had been shot and killed two nights previous and he was having a rough time. B rushed home and met him outside. JP came in and it was clear to B that he was drunk. She consoled him and sat with him until he seemed sober enough to drive home.

2 days later, B awoke to missed calls and text messages. All from JP. The texts said that his girlfriend wanted to speak to her and he was hoping she'd take the phone calls and tell the girlfriend the nature of their relationship. B was shocked. JP had never mentioned a girlfriend, even when she'd mentioned her boyfriend.

Unsure of what to do, she ignored the texts hoping JP would work it out on his own. A few hours later, she noticed her phone lighting and looked down. A number she didn't recognize was displayed on the phone's screen. Concerned, B didn't answer. The caller called back immediately. B ignored the call. Feeling like the number was familiar, B scrolled through her phonebook. She stumbled upon a number that was only 2 digits different from the mystery number. That number belonged to JP.

B sent JP a text that told him his girl could call her back, but to be warned that she was planning to be honest about them, including the fact that he'd never mentioned her.

MG called B shortly after. She was cordial on the phone and asked B to explain her relationship with JP. B was honest and forthright, including that had she known he had a girlfriend, he would've sent him home to her instead of letting him cry at her place. MG dropped yet another twist to the story. She wasn't JP's girlfriend, she was his fiancee and they lived together. B's mouth fell open in shock as she recalled asking JP if he lived with anyone and his emphatic response, "no."

While staying calm, MG shared that she didn't trust what B was telling her or what JP was saying but she appreciated B's time. The conversation ended and B just shook her head trying to understand what game had just been played.

April 13, 2004

I’ve told this story countless times before. But I’m interested in seeing how a fresh tell of it will look.

Before I get into it, let me say I wanted to post this yesterday, but I was still on my “runaway” (instead of “getaway”) and had very limited internet access. I’m a little disappointed I couldn’t post this yesterday, but hey… we don’t always win.

Five years ago yesterday, a lot of things changed for me. The night of April 12, 2004, a little over a month before I was to graduate from high school, I found myself on the phone with my boyfriend unexpectedly. He called me while I was asleep. My phone never used to wake me up. No matter how loud it was, or how close it was, it never woke me up (wish I could still say that). I took the phone waking me up as a sign. He had told me that he was stressed about an upcoming test and I thought he was calling to relax.

The conversation never went to his history test. We chatted about mundane stuff at first and then he told me something odd was going on. He could see the lights of an ambulance at a nearby dorm (he was an on campus student). He put me on hold while he tried to figure out what was going on. He came back to the phone and said “Something’s wrong with Kris. I think he tried to kill himself…”

I stopped breathing for a second, but quickly smiled thinking of how I would go visit him in the hospital the following day and give him a hard time for scaring everybody like this.

Kris was a year under me and had, in the previous 3 years, become like a little brother to me and moreso to my BFF at the time. He spent every weekend at her house and her parents had adopted him as their son. However, Kris suffered from severe depression, but his relationship with the BFFs mom, who was also a faculty member at our school, got him the quick attention and appropriate medical support he needed. So for the rest of his freshman, all of sophomore and most of junior year, Kris seemed fine.

My boyfriend was silent for a moment and then said “I need to go. I’ll call you back…”

I immediately dialed up the BFF sure she had heard the news and would be able to confirm for me that Kris was alive. She answered the phone bawling. I was shocked she was taking it so hard. “So I guess you heard about Kris” I said with a little chuckle. I think my psyche went straight into denial mode because imagining anything other than Kris lying, very much alive, in a hospital bed was too much.

I heard shuffling and then the BFFs mom was on the phone. “How’s Kris?” I said, not wanting to sound too worried. The BFF’s mom quizzed me on how I had heard and then said, “Kris is gone…”

Have you ever seen a movie where a character learns bad news, a lot like someone died, and immediately cries out “No, that can’t be…” and if you’re cynical like me you think “Well why would they say that if it wasn’t true?” But I said “No, that can’t be… I just saw him…” 5 years later, and I remember those words so clearly because as ridiculous as they were, as non sequitur as they were, they were the last bits I had.

Earlier in the day, I’d spoken to Kris for the first time in what felt like forever, but really had been 3 days. Normally Kris spent the weekend at the BFFs house and we, much like older sisters, tried to keep him out of the room and the car when we were trying to have “girls time” or go somewhere. That weekend, though, he didn’t get leave from campus and didn’t come over. Monday morning, it hit me that I hadn’t seen him and when I asked the BFF she simply said that he hadn’t gotten leave. I found out later that morning that he was going to represent our school at a conference at the local college. I saw him briefly as he was preparing to leave. I can still see his bald head bent over as he tied his shoe. “Kris!” I shouted, “Why do you keep shaving your head?” I hated his bald head… I thought it was so awkward. He looked up at me and grinned.

Then the next day, Tuesday, I saw him in our student center. I grabbed him and told him not to move because I wanted to talk to him. I went back to listening to a friend and it seemed that in the same second I turned to Kris but he was gone. I whirled around the other way watching him wave to me as I called his name and he walked out of the door. That was the last time I saw him alive.

I called a few friends to tell them and every time I had to say it, it got more and more difficult to do. By the last person, I was crying uncontrollably. I thought I might cry all night, but the next thing I knew, my alarm was going off.
I could feel the sadness in the air as soon as my front tires hit the long driveway down into my school’s campus. No one knew what to say or how to feel. The only thing we could think was “why?” We all played the “What if…” game. I thought about what if I had called him later that afternoon, or sent him an IM like I thought about doing. I know that none of that probably would’ve changed what he planned to do, but I occasionally play the what if… game now.

Kris’s death still bothers me and 5 yrs later, I’m still not sure I’ve accepted it. I didn’t go to his class’s graduation because I found out they were saving a chair for him and I thought that would be too much. My mom wouldn’t let me go to OH for his funeral and in some ways, I think that’s added to me being able to pretend like it didn’t really happen.

That was a lot for a 17 yr old to experience. It did bring my friends and I closer. I found that we would call just to check on each other, sometimes.
After his wake, my friends and I were sitting in the student center joking to keep from crying and talking about how much we’d miss seeing him slumped over in a chair, covered in his black puffy jacket, asleep, as if he didn’t have a bed less than 100 yards away. One of my friends said, seemingly as an after thought: “I hope I don’t forget what he sounded like…”

I think that’s been my goal for the last 5 years, not to forget what he sounded like. Yet, I have – and so now I just want to remember him. I want to remember Kris so that his story doesn’t have to be anyone else’s story; so that my story doesn’t have to be your story.

To see a previous incarnation of this story, go here.