Yet another conversation in texts.
Curious: Wat up sexy are u free to talk
Me: Yes, call me
Curious: It would be nice to be thought of or called sometime
Me: (No response)
Ok, first off, it is sad that I am still communicating with this clown after his little sexting stunt. Apparently, he could not tell by my unresponsiveness to it that that bothered me. But furthermore, why do the few and far between guys that I talk to try to put me in a position to court them? Again, am I not the girl?! Yes, I am a feminist, but there are some rules that are unchangeable. Boys initiate. That's what my grandma told me, and that is the rule that I live by. Point blank: we both can't be the female. If it bugs you to have to show interest, why should I?
Showing posts with label Sorta Beau. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Sorta Beau. Show all posts
Saturday, July 10, 2010
Friday, February 19, 2010
Sins of the Mother
It would take too many posts to catch you up on the Sorta situation. I know, I know, I said that he was out of the picture posts ago and he should be. What can I say to defend my stupidity other than I like him?
We were supposed to meet up in New Orleans during my visit. He got the days off work and everything. We were supposed to chill. Long story short, he stood me up, claiming that he got sick after eating something on Canal Street. Two things: of course you got sick eating something on Canal Street and I'm not sure I believe him. I want to because he has been honest in the past, I think, and again, because I like him and the hassle of finding a new beau is just overwhelming!
Fast forward to yesterday. The doorbell rang and my mother ran to get the door. This is odd, seeing that my mom is 45 with the knees of Father Time and the back of a field hand. So yes, seeing her run up the stairs aroused my suspicions. Who was at the door? Why it was Al. Yay.
For lack of a better term, I call him my stepfather, for there really isn't a phrase to define a man who never married your mother yet fathered her other children while reigning Hell on your childhood. I'm being kind when I call him pathetic. But I will leave the treasure that is Al for another post. He is not the point of the story. The point of the story is how my mother runs to this negro, still, after years of him shitting on her and her children.
Watching this grotesque display got me to thinking about Sorta. How many times do I have to be slapped before I realize that I am being mistreated? My mom is still getting slapped. Brownie told me I deserve better. I agree. What happened to my mom that she didn't care to look for someone better? Did she just get tired like I am now? Whatever the case may be, the whole sight kicked some sense into me, because even though I don't want to be alone, I don't want to be my mother.
We were supposed to meet up in New Orleans during my visit. He got the days off work and everything. We were supposed to chill. Long story short, he stood me up, claiming that he got sick after eating something on Canal Street. Two things: of course you got sick eating something on Canal Street and I'm not sure I believe him. I want to because he has been honest in the past, I think, and again, because I like him and the hassle of finding a new beau is just overwhelming!
Fast forward to yesterday. The doorbell rang and my mother ran to get the door. This is odd, seeing that my mom is 45 with the knees of Father Time and the back of a field hand. So yes, seeing her run up the stairs aroused my suspicions. Who was at the door? Why it was Al. Yay.
For lack of a better term, I call him my stepfather, for there really isn't a phrase to define a man who never married your mother yet fathered her other children while reigning Hell on your childhood. I'm being kind when I call him pathetic. But I will leave the treasure that is Al for another post. He is not the point of the story. The point of the story is how my mother runs to this negro, still, after years of him shitting on her and her children.
Watching this grotesque display got me to thinking about Sorta. How many times do I have to be slapped before I realize that I am being mistreated? My mom is still getting slapped. Brownie told me I deserve better. I agree. What happened to my mom that she didn't care to look for someone better? Did she just get tired like I am now? Whatever the case may be, the whole sight kicked some sense into me, because even though I don't want to be alone, I don't want to be my mother.
Tuesday, November 24, 2009
Sorta Stressed
God, I never thought that I could be so stressed out by not really being in a relationship with a guy who does not even live in my state!
OK, so this is the official Sorta Beau update. Remember how I felt like the main barrier in our kinda relationship was that he had gotten some other chick pregnant? Well, a few weeks ago I called him to see what was up and he was, to say the least, sad. Apparently, this baby is not his. She told him this after eight months of accepting money and baby gifts from him. She also told him that she did not want him in the baby's life, and she was gayly taking his dough and gifts elsewhere to prepare for her labor. Shitty, right?
So he was crying and mad and stuff. Of course, I did not really know how to address the situation, seeing that I have never had to ease the pain of a kind of boy toy before. By the end of the conversation, he was apologizing to me for all the drama and feeling sorry for himself. It was a whopper folks. I decided to give him time to figure things out.
Fast forward about three days ago. I called him to see how he was and he did not sound like himself. He sounded like an asshole. Cursing for no reason. Being belligerent. Sounding a bit mad. I literally thought I was talking to another person. He was not old sweet and nice Sorta at all. He rushed me off the phone and that was that.
...Until I talked to a guy friend about the situation who told me he was probably hurt and I should try to talk to him again. Allow me to be blunt: caring about others is NOT my strong suit, especially when they are rude. But I gave it whirl. I texted him the next day, telling him that I missed talking to him and although he got crapped on, I didn't want him to block me out and that's when he did the unthinkable...he exclamation pointed me!
What is that exactly? That is what it sounds like, pretty much yelling at someone through a text, sealing the deal with an exclamation. This is a major pet peeve of mine. I almost hate it as much as CAPs texting. How annoying.
This whole thing is my fault for not clocking out of this nonsense in the beginning. I mean, where oh where is my constellation prize for sticking with him after he did me dirty? Wasn't I being the girl rappers complain there aren't enough of? I have been talking to this dude for almost a year with nothing to show for it. Now his heart is broken, similar to how mine was when I got the original baby call, and nine months of texts and calls gone down the drain. He's got some shit to work through, and I can't say I want to wait for him to, even though I have no other prospects. Needless to say, I sorta won't be talking to Sorta Beau anymore.
OK, so this is the official Sorta Beau update. Remember how I felt like the main barrier in our kinda relationship was that he had gotten some other chick pregnant? Well, a few weeks ago I called him to see what was up and he was, to say the least, sad. Apparently, this baby is not his. She told him this after eight months of accepting money and baby gifts from him. She also told him that she did not want him in the baby's life, and she was gayly taking his dough and gifts elsewhere to prepare for her labor. Shitty, right?
So he was crying and mad and stuff. Of course, I did not really know how to address the situation, seeing that I have never had to ease the pain of a kind of boy toy before. By the end of the conversation, he was apologizing to me for all the drama and feeling sorry for himself. It was a whopper folks. I decided to give him time to figure things out.
Fast forward about three days ago. I called him to see how he was and he did not sound like himself. He sounded like an asshole. Cursing for no reason. Being belligerent. Sounding a bit mad. I literally thought I was talking to another person. He was not old sweet and nice Sorta at all. He rushed me off the phone and that was that.
...Until I talked to a guy friend about the situation who told me he was probably hurt and I should try to talk to him again. Allow me to be blunt: caring about others is NOT my strong suit, especially when they are rude. But I gave it whirl. I texted him the next day, telling him that I missed talking to him and although he got crapped on, I didn't want him to block me out and that's when he did the unthinkable...he exclamation pointed me!
What is that exactly? That is what it sounds like, pretty much yelling at someone through a text, sealing the deal with an exclamation. This is a major pet peeve of mine. I almost hate it as much as CAPs texting. How annoying.
This whole thing is my fault for not clocking out of this nonsense in the beginning. I mean, where oh where is my constellation prize for sticking with him after he did me dirty? Wasn't I being the girl rappers complain there aren't enough of? I have been talking to this dude for almost a year with nothing to show for it. Now his heart is broken, similar to how mine was when I got the original baby call, and nine months of texts and calls gone down the drain. He's got some shit to work through, and I can't say I want to wait for him to, even though I have no other prospects. Needless to say, I sorta won't be talking to Sorta Beau anymore.
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