Who Is Really In Love Here?

Wow, I have never gotten so many emails about one of my posts before. Y'all really went to bat for dude. I'm mean? Give dude a chance? Well shit, if y'all like him so much, you date him. Nah, lemme stop. Seriously though, why should I?
My life, just like everyone else's is one episode of experience after another. Some wonderful, some notsodang good. This happened to be one of the less fun episodes. Besides the fact that I love attention and I love writing just about anything, I enjoy sharing what goes on in my so called life with people in Ames, Iowa because I know there's no way in hell it's as interesting as New York out there. If I lived in Buelah, North Dakota I'd read this blog since watching the wind blow can get pretty boring. So when I read "your stupid blog" in the email he sent, the switched flipped and so did I.
I'm not a bad girl (somewhere someone that knows me just busted out laughing). Actually, I'm pretty good. I will bend over backwards, sometimes literally, so that my chosen and I have fun. I want those that deal with me to be happy. I want us to be satisfied. I don't think I am asking for much. I never do. And I think that's part of the problem.
As a woman I can say that many of us set the bar too fucking low. If a dude calls when he says he will call, we're all aflutter. If he buys us some little trinket or says something nice, we want to throw the motherfucker a parade. Fuck that shit in it's entirety. I'm not giving out medals to dudes anymore for doing exactly what they are supposed to do when dealing with someone they care about. Reverse the situation? Shit, I have made myself downright uncomfortable to please someone I'm with. I've given more strikes than there are in 9 full innings of baseball. I have gone out of my way, spent my last, dropped everything and gone running pell mell for someone else. I don't just want that consideration back, I fucking damn well deserve it. Fuck always having to be the one to reach out. Fuck supporting efforts like I'm some kind of human I-beam. Fuck being patient. Fuck being on call. Fuck playing my position and being considerate of someone else's goals and dreams. Fuck all of that. And the worst part is, I don't play that shit when it comes to most people. My patience is thinner than Mary Kate's left arm. You say or do some shit I don't like I will let you know about yourself. And not just on my "stupid blog" either. I'll say what I have to say to a person's face. My big mouth has gotten me into and out of more shit than an outhouse vat. I can smile at you today and turn on you like you're a dirty old man on a street corner if you rub me the wrong way. But for some reason when it comes to someone I care about, I put up with bargefuls of pure d grade a shit. Not only do I deal with it. I make excuses for why I do.
Fuck that shit.
I'll tell you what. This year has not been easy. I quit my day job to freelance because I want time to write and chase my crazy dreams. Needless to say, I've been rubbing 2 pennies together for so long Abe Lincoln's face is friction burned into my broke ass. I have cut off people that care about, male and female because I bring enough "next shit" to my life to not need theirs. As a result, there are more people I 'know' and less 'friends' in my life and it gets fucking lonely at times, but I deal. My Saturn has returned and lodged his big foot all up in my ass, forcing me to deal with years of episodes I swore I left behind. I have spent more nights alone with a cold rag between my legs than most people would think I have. Them: You are gorgeous. I know you have a man. Me: *insert disgusted snort here* Somehow, I've managed not to take up residence on a bell tower with a high-powered assault rifle. Each day I get a little stronger, and although that is great for me, it does not bode well for anyone trying to half-step in my waltz. The other night, I did something I haven't done in years, and it made me feel good.
I stressed and fretted. muMs and I fussed and fought. Margie caught the ugly face more than once, but in the end, it came together. So together that it justified the sleepless nights and heart palpitations. It let me know that people will respond to my words with more than just a comment or an email. I had more than one woman walk up to me and say "your poem gave me goosebumps because I've been there." I'm still glowing. Walking on air. Floating on a cloud. And all that sissy shit.
I have people that I didn't invite because I wasn't sure if it would suck. People that are furious with me right now. I kept my invitee list down to a select few that I wanted to be there for good or ill, because I counted them as people who cared for me. People who would hug me if it was good or it sucked. Everyone else showed. But him. Fuck that shit, right in it's ass. It's not as if he was struck by some incurable disease on the way downtown. Nobody's house spontaneously combusted. It was raining hard? Please lord, tell me that's a joke. I told my besty about it and I was asked if I were dating a gay man. Then to hear the lame ass excuses just put the icing on the cake. Fine. He did what he saw fit. And so did I. No one should get mad when blast goes on the "stupid blog". I'm not the one that pulled the dick move, he did and as such should deal with whatever the consequences are. Don't be sorry motherfucker, don't let shit happen in the first place.
I want to thank the 19 different people that wrote in to plead his case. You made my afternoon. "Just yesterday you were all lovey-dovey". Yup I sure was, but let me hip you to the mind of Mala:
I could give a fuck if I was getting tea-bagged by my husband on national television an hour before, hubby miss my shit and it's Divorce Court ahoy. I don't even want half, just get the fuck gone. I don't know what's happened recently, maybe it's some kind of weird inner growth, but judging people by the strength of their character has become easier. There are no pedestals left littering my front yard.Somehow, I've managed to put even those that I love in almost the same category as everyone else, with just a foot or two more rope. It's hanging season. No shorts. No prisoners.

Anyway, I was gonna write about the night but now I'm off to go get in trouble with Negro. I spent the yesterday and today chilling with the girl and he didn't get a chance to celebrate with me.
I'll get to it at some point.
Maybe Monday, because I'm sure hanging out with Kelsey Sunday night at R&R for his performance with The Sick List, will give me a few more episodes to write about.
'Til then

- & I'm out, catch me if you can
P.S. I may be fickle, but that doesn't change the fact that I'm not having it. Put that in your mouth and chew it.