Sunday, June 16, 2019

YOU KNOW ITS OVER WHEN HE SAYS....






It has been a while since I have been out here unpacking my shit for anyone to read.  I have totally regretted not blogging because in a way it was kinda therapeutic.  I started telling my tales to the universe many years ago because it was too much in my brain at the time.  I was going thru bankruptcy and extreme brokenness, and I was sadder than I had ever really been in my life.  I started the blog to help me get thru some thangs.  Back then had time to write because my life was a bit slower, mainly because I had this brainless job where I could blog during the day.  Then after I got this new career and a long-term boyfriend, I took an unexpected hiatus from the blog.  I really wanted to get back to writing but I just couldn't pull it off.  I was just managing too much.  It was like I had a child when I got into this relationship, and apparently, I am not good with grown ass kids.  It also seems that I don't have the ability to be a good girlfriend.

So now I am back.  Mainly because today was so freaking epic and shitty, that I had to sit down and unload this weight.  Today is my own Juneteenth, as it marks the beginning of MY NEW NORMAL.  My seven-year relationship is dead, and I have a mix of feelings about it.  I am sad, relieved, insulted, and disappointed....all at the same time.  So instead of cutting off my hair (yet), I am contemplating changing the name of this blog to mark a new beginning.  I was thinking of changing the name to the Diary of a Confused Woman, or to the Diary of a Fucked-Up Woman.  Then I said to myself, maybe I am still a Broke-Ass Woman, except now it's not related to money.  It's related to a lack of morals, respect for others, and me being a weenie punk for allowing people to do the shyt they do to me.  







When all of these traits intersect, the end result is an epic mess.  The culmination of it all happened tonight when my boyfriend told me to get the fuck out of his apartment. Even though I was starting to head to the door anyway, he wanted to be in control by sprinkling some disrespect on my exit.  He hollered GTFO as he slammed the door behind me.  HARD.  



Seven years.  Done.  Just like that.

As I drove back to my apartment, I kept the radio off and rolled up the windows to keep the din of the NYC evening out.  I only heard the tires hitting the uneven streets as I silently blamed myself for the deterioration of my relationship.  Mister and I have had many arguments, but today I know was THE END.  I was so certain about it that I even blocked his number.  When a man tells you to get the fuck out, that means to get the fuck out of his life too.  At least for me anyway.  You get one time to talk to me like that.  ONE.

I will admit though that a majority of why his head is fucked up is my fault.  Even though I was falsely accused today, I do know that I had a big hand in his insecurity and paranoia.  It is too much to write in one post, and I have to unload this in succinct parts so that I don't go all over the place.  Today's post is part one of me rewinding the tape on my days as a so-called "girlfriend".  After I do this then maybe I will have more clarity on understanding why I got this treatment tonight.    

But first lemme say this, I didn't DO ANYTHING that he could prove.  In fact, I have never been CAUGHT doing anything.  Yet I was accused of side activities because he saw some dirt on my dress? I kid you not. 

"You're lying!" he hollered, "You went somewhere else."    

Then he asked to see my phone.  I refused.  Why?  Because although I ain't dealing with nobody on a relationship or emotional tip, I do have some male friends that I may say hello to here or there.  Not like a "Hello Mr. Penis..." kind of hello, but a hello like "What's up homey?  How is life?"  These dudes don't even live in the state or anywhere near me, but these are people that I knew wayyyyy before Mister.  I keep telling Mister that ain't nobody checking for me like that no mo', but yet we keep having these same conversations about me and other dudes!!???  I am no longer a PYT, don't you see???  So at my age do you really expect me to stop talking to people I knew BEFORE you became my man?  I'm sorry but I think that is ridiculous.   Maybe some don't think this way, but I do.     

Let's start with today.  Today is Father's Day and I bought some tickets to take Mister to see a comedy show.  The plans got ruined because, on the way to the show, I realized that the tickets were for LAST NIGHT and not TONIGHT.  So I lost $200.  Of course I was bummed about it, but what was interesting is that Mister never said sorry or tried to console me.  I know he was disappointed too, and he stayed stoic and annoyed.  I mean what could I say?  I screwed up.  If the scene was flipped I would have been more supportive though.  I would have probably given him half of the money back too (typical punk shyt that I do).  


Plan B was to get something to eat, but there were so many people out in Brooklyn today and we couldn't find a parking spot.  Eventually, I said let's just pick something up to eat and go back to his place.  As we got out of the car to go into the restaurant, Mister noticed some stains on my light gray dress.  I don't have a period anymore after my surgery, so I know it wasn't THAT.   I was surprised myself but tried to play it cool so that everyone wouldn't start staring.  I told him that the dress was a little wet when I got in the car, so maybe it picked up the dirt from the car seat.  I mean no woman wants to hear that they have a stain on their dress, but I couldn't understand why he was interrogating me about it.  Instead, he just keeps asking, "Well how did the dirt get on your dress?"  Over and over and over.  I asked myself, "Does he think I shit on myself or what?  What the hell is going on?"  I asked him for his shirt to tie around me, and he acted like he didn't want to give it to me at first.  After some back and forth, he eventually gave me the shirt and I walked back to his place.  I washed out the stain but decided to leave instead of eating the food.  First, you give me no sympathy because I lost $200, and now you interrogate me in the middle of the street about a stain on my dress?  Nah.  That was it for me.  When he came back to the apartment with the food the argument started.  He told me I was lying about how I got the stain.  As he yelled about his crazy theory about the dirt on the dress, I knew our situation was hopeless.  The look in his eyes was frantic and crazed.  I told him he was wrong and I went thru every minute of my day with him.  Then he said that he would apologize if I let him see my phone. 

I calmly said no because I already knew it would have made zero difference.  I said no because ANY dude I speak to will be a problem for him.  Family friends.  High school friends.  Especially this ex-boyfriend I have that now lives in Mexico for good.  I knew him long before Mister and he is my friend.  He is a non-muthafuccin' factor, and I have told Mister that REPEATEDLY for the past seven years.  But yet, he still brings him up.  

Again I have never been caught messing with any other dude.  It's all about this phone shit.  He gets mad if I am on Facebook.  He gets mad if I don't post pics of him on Facebook.  He gets mad if I don't call him right out of work and tell him I am going to meet friends.  Even today, I made a plan to see some friends for brunch and he got mad at that.  Why?  Because it is Father's Day and I was supposed to make the day about him and me?  What the hell?  You got a 19-year old daughter and that kind of complaint you should be taking up with her.  My dad ain't even alive to take anywhere.  Who says I have to treat you to a Father's Day anything?   Just ridiculous.  I always felt that he would show his ass if we ever broke up, and today he proved me right.


Maybe I made him crazy?  I am too independent and no man will ever be my sun, moon, stars, and quasars.  I told him long ago he needed someone who wants a man to be her purpose in life.  I ain’t never been that kinda chick.  I also said I ain’t interested in fkn dudes like that anymore.  STRAIGHT UP.  I am good without dyck lately.  In fact, my $13 dollar Calexics bullet does me just fine.  It don’t sweat on you, pound on you like a gorilla, and I ain’t gotta try to go pee foreign fluids out after it’s done and over. 

Anyway man. Like I said, today marked the beginning of my new normal.  And I got a LOT of unpacking to do.  Seven years was a long time.

As for the new blog name?  I think I got it now.  How does "Diary of a So-Called Girlfriend"  sound?  

Yeah…I think that might be a winner.  


Thursday, March 8, 2018

GETTING COINS, STACKING CHIPS, and MAKING SHMONEY





Before I get to the topic at hand, I first want to say that in celebration of International Women’s Day, I finally waxed my coochie after like five months.  It was so out control that when the gal looked at it she was kinda speechless.  That’s a pretty bad reaction seeing that her JOB is looking at hairy coochies and men's ball sacs for a living (it's a rainbow friendly salon).  Anyway the situation was handled (painfully) and I treated myself to a lovely lunch at Panera Bread to celebrate.  Damn I forgot to ask if she saw any gray hairs, but who cares!  They is gone now!

"IT'S NOT GRAY HAIR GIRL, IT'S PLATINUM HIGHLIGHTS"


Anyhow taking care of the bush was not the only thing that I have been neglecting.  I have thought about this blog just as much as I thought about getting a wax.  Which was almost every time I got naked.  


NYC life was just getting in the way.   When I logged in I was scared to even look at my follower's list out of fear that it had dwindled down to nothing.  Although the list hasn’t really grown a lot, it is still about the same so that is okay with me seeing that I have been sooooo raggedy.  Even though there are barely two-fiddy followers on my Blogger roll, it appears that some folk MIGHT be still interested in what I have (or had) to say!! So thanks y’all for still riding with me.  I also truly thank my pal over at Black Girls Are Easy for the redirects too.  I need you baby!!!  

Me and this blog are like a couple that keeps breaking up and gettin back together.  But every time I do come back after a long hiatus, I feel like I need to explain what I have been doing for alla this time.  Since it has been almost foevahhhhhh since I last posted, I will just summarize things into bullet points to make it easier on myself.

I have been….


  • Working and apparently pissing people off; quitting jobs over things like bias, favorites, and jobs fucking with me general.  
  • Becoming a major wig addict and not giving a rat’s azz what anyone says about it
  • Talking a lot
  • Traveling
  • Dealing with annoying girl body problems
  • Thinking about breaking up with the dude and finally doing it
  • Thinking about dating women but wondering if that will be just a different headache
  • Appreciating the hell out of my ‘toy’ because it doesn’t require any conversation, obligation, or vaginal pain
  • Trying to get along with my mother, but realizing that it ain’t gonna happen unless I win the lotto and pay her off
OK that’s all I'm gonna say on that.  Not really fascinating stuff except maybe about the toy, which unfortunately is wearing out on me dammit.  Time to reorder.

Now getting back to the post…“GETTING COINS, STACKING CHIPS, and MAKING SHMONEY”?

Whatever words people use to describe how they get their money, we all know that people will do and put up with almost anything to get it.  Since my money situation is a lil’ bit better now, I feel that I don’t have that mindset anymore.   In the past couple years I have walked away from a few decent paying temp jobs, but that was solely because the management were assholes and I didn't feel like dealing with it.  Since I'm older now there is only so much ish I can put up with.  I'm like that like in the Three Billboards movie.  When I stop giving a fluck there is no fixing it.  

*singing*

I don't give a fuck, I don't give a fuck
I don't I don't I don't give a fuck
Bitch, I don't give a fuck about you or anything that you do
Don't give a fuck about you or anything that you do

But the way people around me talk about money though, I’m starting to wonder if I am I weird because I don’t seem to go that hard for money like they do.

Yo like am I a dummy for quitting jobs that have been unfair and shitty to me, even though I am being paid well? 

Should I have stayed and stacked paper anyway, and let it pass that they were undermining me and making me look like shit?

It’s kinda messed up that I am even questioning myself about this, but it has been heavy on my mind.  I play Russian Roulette with sooo many jobs and it's kinda gotten to a point that its becoming questionable.  
  


Although I was brought into this world without having any say about it, I feel forced to live embody this mindset that society says I am supposed to “have” which is to work, make money, have kids, retire, and die.   But if I choose to live for different reasons why is it sooooo hard for folks to comprehend that?  It seems that the more I express how I feel to others, the more isolated I become.  I either get these strange looks, or the person just starts talking about making money again as if I what I said didn’t register in their brain.  One psycho coworker even told me once that something was wrong with me because I didn’t want to make as much money as possible.  Say what???  Of course I want to make money, but I don’t wanna work 70 and 80 hours a damn week for it!!   Especially if I have to put up with mental frustration, bias, favoritism, and other types of work environment bullshyt.  I don’t put up with work nonsense for too long because I know from experience that once people think they can treat you any kind of way ---- 
THEY.DO.NOT.STOP.  It's like dealing with a bully except you getting a paycheck for the abuse.  You can try to fly under the radar all you want, but once they put you in the BOX you stay in that BOX.  Ain't no getting out.  So because I don’t allow myself to be treated like shit for paychecks, I rather quit than have a mofo keep fuggin’ with me at work.  For real.
  



So does this mean I am weird?

Although my temp jobs can pay pretty well (“sometimes”), they tend to attract a LOT of money-focused people.  These people are mostly snakes, assholes, and no integrity-having bastards. And just like in school, these punks fck up the curve for everyone else.  Because the work is often productivity based, these snakes stay cheatin' and doing poor work to keep their numbers high, while the QUALITY oriented people (like myself) get the constant side-eye, are micro-managed, or have to constantly explain their numbers.  It’s like the Wolf of Wall Street movie, and these people get praised and celebrated for their big fake ass numbers!  Funny thing is that most times after the snakes have made a boatload of money and are long gone from the project, their work gets audited and is found to be horrible, half done, or a goddamn mess. Because everything is about money and numbers, it breeds an environment of evil and corruption.  At times I feel surrounded by people who have no soul and are living pieces of shyt  --- especially these attorney mothafuccas.  Even their friends are pieces of shit too.  It’s stifling.  But yet these snakes stay winning to the point that I have come to believe that integrity counts for shit at most jobs.  These jobs don't seem to give a fuck about your good intentions or quality work.  NOT AT ALL.  At least in the financial world.




I know money makes the world go ‘round, and in no way am I rich.  Hell I dream about winning the lottery just like most people.  But I have to ask, what is life really about?  Is this why I was brought here, to work and stress for coins?  Is this why we have babies?  To have them grow up and continue a legacy of a miserable existence of bill paying and commuting?  To so get old from chasing paper until their body is so twisted and used up that they can’t even enjoy it?  THIS IS NOT LIFE.  At least not to me.

After saying all of this, I do realize however that I can only control me.  So I seriously have to ask myself,  "Do I keep running away from the bullshit, or do I take the easy street and follow the others who seem to stay winning?" 

So why is it weird when I say that I choose me? If I feel like you’re shittin’ on me for pleasure or being unfair to me -- I’m out.  Period.  Is that so wrong?  People can call it silly or stupid if they want; I just feel that is exercising my freedom to choose my situation.  Like I told one employer once, I am not lucky to have their job.  We are lucky to have each other.  I do my best work and you pay me for it, so it ain’t no damn charity happening.  Therefore don’t ever feel that you’re doing me some big favor by giving me a job.  I can get a paycheck from somewhere else.  Even if the pay is lower, at least I’m not around you or helping your azz anymore.  I OWN ME, and if that's being weird then so be it.  I’m gonna be dead a long time so why not live my life now?  If moving on from these shit show jobs is a way of being in control of my freedom then I'm fine with that.  

As for the coworkers who live in fear and wanna talk about money all the time, I’ll just start keeping my opinions to myself because I already know that the conversation will go nowhere.  We are just on different wavelengths and we just don’t mesh on this particular subject.  I simply have to stop getting annoyed at these people and keep it movin’.  I am a work in progress...

Main thing is I just don’t want to be a slave to anything I guess…a job, money, bills or a man.  I just wanna be free.
  





Tuesday, June 21, 2016

CRAZY LADY DOES IT AGAIN.



I resigned. And pissed everybody at the FT job off.  Then later that day we have a meeting at the money-making job and its gonna be over sooner than I thought.  Damn.  Damn. Damn.  Like on Let's Make a Deal...I chose the wrong door.



Like I said in the other post -- Russian Roulette.  You pull the trigger and hope you don't die.  Oh well...I guess I need to update my resume because the pool is about to become real damn crowded.




But it the meantime I booked a two hour session with the therapist because I read that this indecisive thing is kind of a personality disorder!