Category Archives: MEN AIN’T SHIT

This doesn’t apply to all men, of course. There are pockets of honest, faithful, openly communicative, and trust worthy men. But, some of ya’ll Ain’t Shit!

BLACK FEMINIST

I will never understand how some people can love one part of a person’s anatomy, but when people organize and ban together to support that shared anatomy, it becomes the most hated thing in the world. This thing is pussy-power, AKA feminism, or for my specific purpose BLACK-FEMINISM OR BLK-FEM. 

I’m a member of various social groups, so I witness the human unfiltered audacity on a daily basis. I get to witness the shit that most people wouldn’t say in mixed company, but behind the safety of a screen, these people feel emboldened to express their toxic opinion as fact ¬—Welcome to the digital age! — And when this happens, I feel it’s my duty to set them STRAIGHT!

A few weeks ago, I entered a back-and-forth debate with a keyboard-gangster on the topic of feminism. He posed the question, why do black women support feminism when the movement wasn’t originally for them. I responded with, the same reason why black men support patriarchy and the nuclear family, despite both being pillars and symbols of white supremacy. —He did not like that.—  We went back and forth a few times, then he blamed feminism for why the black family is broken and they don’t care for black women. That’s when I had to hit him with the facts.

For those who are unfamiliar with the origins of the feminist movement, he is correct. In the 1920s, the movement was predominately for white women to gain some semblance of independence from their white husbands. To achieve this independence, they joined with black women (strength in numbers, AKA pussy power) to push for change. We marched together, lobbied together, and when some of the battles were won, they closed the door on black women issues. As the movement continued to grow over the decades, the feminist movement as an ideology continued to focus on white issues, ignoring those issues that affected black women. 

Despite decades of fighting, it wasn’t until the 1970s and 1980s that black women started to draw a line and call out the fact that white-feminists had, for decades, dismissed black issues. But, the damage was already done, and black women began forming their own organizations that focused on issues that plagued black families. We saw a new wave of feminism that wasn’t white-washed. The new wave was UNAPOLOGETICALLY BLACK —BLACK FEMINISM—

Feminist ideals, at their core, are universally about fairness and equality. I sincerely believe that if you lay out scenarios of what feminism fights against, most people would fight for those same things. But, mention the word F-word, and people go running.

1. Your daughter/sister/mother has a job, and they find out that their salary is $20K less than their male co-worker, even though they do the same exact job. 

2. Your daughter/sister/mother graduates top of her class, with honors, and goes for a top company job to get turned down by a man who lacks her credentials.

3. Your daughter/sister/mother is sexually harassed at work, and they take the issue to HR, and HR dismisses and minimizes the case. 

4. You want your daughter/sister/mother to have ownership over their bodies and what they can do with it.

5. Your daughter/sister/mother is getting abused by their male spouse, you’d want them to be free and safe to press charges for their safety. 

The above issues are about fairness, equality, and safety. None of them are about casting aside men (especially black men), as some would push you to believe.

It’s difficult for people to consider the fact that some women don’t want to have kids. I mean, it’s been pushed down our throats since birth that our only goal in life, as females, are to get married and have kids. It is okay if a female wants the above for herself. But feminism makes it clear that if you choose to not have kids or get married, that is also okay. There is nothing wrong with a woman that wants to work instead of having kids. It’s her body, so it’s her choice. 

While all the above is fine and dandy, black feminism kicked in the door waving the four-four, screaming, “Hold up! Wait a minute!”

Black feminism shines an even brighter light on all the issues that affect black men, black women, and thus, black families; while also calling out those female-women who don’t acknowledge our problems because they don’t see through our glasses. 

Yes, we are in an era where black men and women are making more money than ever before (minus the pandemic). From black CEOs to black COOs, we’re doing the damn thing. But the reality is we are still earning less, even within our highly decorated fields. The order often goes White Man, White Woman, Black Man, Black Woman. My race and gender shouldn’t correlate to my salary. If I do the damn job, pay me my money. 

He argued that feminism tears down the black family dynamic, and that liberals are the problem. This is not the first time I’ve seen (what I consider) weak men use this argument. They, and those women who are also anti-feminism, often refer to the old-school nuclear family ideology. This was when the husband would work and support his family while the wife stayed home, and dinner would be on the table by 5pm. That vision is lovely, but as stated before, it’s very white and not realistic for the world we currently live in. Even higher earning working-class black families, with no kids, need two incomes to survive, depending on where they are. And our original cultural upbringing was more ‘a village to raise a child’ than ‘every man for himself.’

He then blamed welfare and black feminist women for black men not being in the home instead of looking at the real and undeniable data on systemic issues. 

He didn’t mention the lack of black male presence due to gun-violence, drug-use, alcoholism, spousal abuse, mass incarceration, and the fact that some men simply don’t want the responsibility of being a father. He ignored all the above, but make feminism his focus of animosity. Because of his animosity, he didn’t care to learn that the new wave of black-feminism is in full support of the black family (despite the lies that others push).

When a black son or husband gets locked up, who do you think takes on the family’s financial and emotional burden? Who do you think is the person putting money on his books, answering his phone calls, and making the visits? The black woman.

He didn’t care that black-feminists are actually the women marching on the front lines for so many of the black lives lost at the hands of law enforcement and random gun violence. Their marching is for black lives and black families.

He didn’t care to research the fact that many black-feminists, for decades, have been pushing for criminal justice reform, to altogether abolish the prison system. We know that people who go to prison, have a higher chance of becoming repeat offenders. Prison does not rehabilitate the person: what it actually does is put a scarlet letter on their back while making it harder for them to get back on their feet after they have been released. Add to that the over-sentencing of black men compared to white offenders being under-sentenced. This disparity creates years of broken black families. And black feminists, by fighting these injustices and if they succeed, can restructure and restabilize black families.

He didn’t care to research that black-feminists call attention to and are combatting the systemic injustices regarding health. He brought up the abortion rate amongst black women as a tactic, completely disregarding the black woman’s choice. But he remained silent when I brought up the fact that black women are 4x more likely to die during childbirth, and black children whose mothers experience trauma during birth have a higher infant mortality rate, which directly impacts black families. He also didn’t know the numbers that show black women are often diagnosed with more aggressive types of heart disease and various cancers, while the many ailments that affect black men (high blood pressure, colon cancer, heart disease) cause them to die younger than their white male counterparts. 

These are all pivotal issues for black-feminists, as these issues don’t plague the white community like it does ours. And this is just the tip of the iceberg of the matters that black-feminists fight for. 

Another follower expressed his disdain in dealing with difficult feminist women as justification to not support the (black) feminist movement, which I found amusing. Black women continue to support black men. We support and fight for the same black men that verbally, mentally, and physically assault us, day in and day out.  We put our feelings aside because we know that we’re fighting the injustice that may be forced upon them, and that’s not okay. 

And as with any group pushing for change and equality, there will always be some extremists. But the same way we don’t paint a broad-stroke and hold a grudge against all black men based on the actions of the few, we should receive the same support. And the actions of the few should never overpower the truth of the movement. 

So next time someone tries to make you feel bad for being a feminist or black-feminist, do your job and school them with the facts.

WHAT IF…

A few years ago, I found my first herpes support group on Facebook, and on the façade, it seemed very supportive. Messages of “Keep your head up!” Be strong, you’ll find someone!” and “It wasn’t meant to be.” seemed to flood the daily feed. Even though I knew I wasn’t the only person living with herpes, it was great to finally see and hear other people’s stories. The overall morale of the chats was positive and uplifting, which for a newly diagnosed individual can be essential. However, every so often, I would come across a post asking for advice and support.   

I feel terrible, and I need your advice. Last week, I was drinking, partying, smoking (whatever) with my friend. Things got out of control, we had sex, and I forgot to tell them about my herpes status. I feel terrible, and I want to tell them, I just don’t know how to.  

It didn’t take long for me to realize that once the comments have been disabled, it was safe to assume that the poster was virtually attacked. Similar posts often bring out, what I like to call, The Bully-Brigade. The Bully-Brigade is the barrage of people that come together to virtually bully anyone whose actions and views don’t align with theirs. With comments like, “You’re a terrible person.” “How could you forget…” and “People like you should be locked up!” — The Bully-Brigade has struck again.  

The comments and attacks vary, but the one that sticks out the most is the one of blame. It’s the person that says, “You know, many of us wouldn’t be here if our partner had told us. If my partner had told me that they had herpes, I never have had sex with them. You should’ve given them a choice.”   

This one always bugs me, because they so conveniently forget that they, in fact, did have a choice. To have consensual sex, without knowing your partner’s sexual health status, was a choice. The power to control the sanctity of my body is my responsibility, and the same for your body. Do you not eat when you’re hungry, drink when you’re thirsty, or sleep when you’re tired? So, why when it comes to sex, is it only the other person’s responsibility to protect you? I don’t say this to point blame, I say this to take accountability.  

Think of your body as a new car you just bought. You wouldn’t give the keys for your new car to a person whose driving record you didn’t know and whose license you haven’t seen, would you? No! You wouldn’t! But if you did, and they crashed it, was it not your choice to hand your keys over to them, in the first place? We don’t take that risk with material things, but we assume that risk with our bodies every day. From the moment I laid eyes on my partner, once I know I want to have sex with him, the responsibility to ensure my sexual health is mine, and mine alone. It was my responsibility to make sure that he posed no threat to me, and the choice I made to not verify his status was, in fact, A CHOICE.   

Over the years, I learned to stop arguing with The Bully-Brigade; because they had already made up their mind that their positive diagnosis was someone else’s fault. What I try to do now is pose the question, what if…  

You say — “If they had told me they had herpes…” I pose the question — “What if you had asked…?”  

What if they told you they were clean, because the test they took didn’t include herpes? Therefore, they had no way of knowing they had the virus.   

What if they had the test that included herpes, but because they recently acquired the virus, the antibody test came back negative? (It took 9 months for my antibodies test to detect herpes).  

What if you had used condoms? (I used condoms when herpes was transmitted to me).  

What if they told you they had a history of cold sores? Marketing doesn’t make it clear that cold sores and herpes are the same virus. Many people don’t think that their cold sores are herpes or that they can impact their partner’s genital region. What if this information was made clear to the masses?  

What if doctors did a better job of educating patients before, during, and after their diagnosis? What if they pointed patients to support groups after their diagnosis, instead of giving them a prescription and sending them on their way?  

What if sex education was clear and transparent, and inclusive of all sexual behaviors, sexualities, and sexual health? What if consent and boundaries were mandated? What if the stigma was never able to exist because people were educated on the truth of all sexually transmissible and non-sexually transmissible viruses?  

What if testing were made easier for all to access? What if when I asked to be tested for everything, I was tested for EVERYTHING?  

What if we stopped shaming sex, sexuality, and people with STD/STIs?  

What if you’re herpes positive, you disclose to your partner, but you don’t ask to see their results in return? (Is that not, once again, handing someone the keys to your car without checking their license, all-over again?)  

What if asking about a person’s sexual health was as easy as saying hi? What if asking to see a person’s test results (and getting them), was as easy and pleasurable as having sex?  

What if they never assaulted me?  

What if the dad, the aunt, the uncle didn’t kiss the toddler, and pass them the herpes virus?  

What if the mother didn’t kiss her child and pass them the herpes virus?  

What if you had waited another 3-9 months to get re-tested before having sex?   

What if you had waited to go and get tested together?  

What if you had asked your partner their sexual health status?  

While the what-ifs are endless, none of them can guarantee that you still wouldn’t have ended up with herpes virus. With all the precautions that you could’ve taken in your adolescent or adult life, you still could’ve acquired the virus before ever taking your first steps. At the end of the day, we’re all here. So, instead of focusing on what if, focus on the future. A lot of why we feel what we feel is stigma. So, instead of trying to change others, maybe we can change our perception. And with that, we can change the stigma. 

NOBODY CAN SAY I DIDN’T TRY

A few years ago, when I was still online dating, I came across the profile of a cute Latino. His profile indicated that he lived near me and that he, like myself, enjoyed running. Once we started talking the conversation flowed like water. We spoke, consistently, for a few weeks before we decided to meet up. All seemed to be going well, but he kept giving me random reasons why he couldn’t meet me when it was convenient for me. He kept trying to get me to meet him at his house or in front of his building late at night. I made it clear to him that, if he wanted to meet me, he would have to do so at my convenience. Even though he was resistant to meeting, we continued to communicate.  

During one of our conversations, I asked him what he did for work. He told that he was a personal assistant for his cousin (whom he claimed was Jessica Caban, the longtime girlfriend of Bruno Mars). He also said that he was a part-time hairstylist. I made a comment, that I thought would end up being a light-hearted joke. In response to him saying that he was a hairstylist, I joked, and asked if he was also gay. I expected a variety of responses, equating to a no. Although he did say no, when he told me that he was a cross-dresser, I almost choked. Immediately my phone was flooded with messages from him dressed like a woman. Now, don’t get me wrong, he didn’t look half-bad; I simply wasn’t expecting that. I thought about deleting his number and blocking him, but I wondered if I was being too close-minded. There was a party of me that knew I couldn’t get with it. But there was another part of me that considered the courage that it took for him to be honest with me; and, that part didn’t want to just walk away. 

We agreed to meet up one evening and go for a walk in Central Park. He was less handsome in person, but still good looking. I don’t remember what I wore; but I remember he wore a huge multi-colored puffer jacket and NYC Marathon ASICS. —Why do I remember those details, you ask. The only reason why I remember them is because he kept mentioning them. He kept mentioning how expensive his coat and sneakers were, and how much money he had. As he tried to win me over by saying how much money he had, I kept changing the conversation to other topics. We spoke about running, him doing hair, and eventually I asked him when he started cross-dressing. He explained that on one day he just decided to try it and he liked it. He had this cockiness about him that I hated; but his honesty kept me intrigued.  

I felt like dessert, so we walked down to Pinkberry. On our walk, the conversation continued to evolve. I was semi-surprised to think that despite how things began; we were actually having a decent first date. Once inside of Pinkberry, and only because he made such a big deal on how much money he had, I was taken aback when he didn’t offer to pay for my $7 dollar dessert. —If you’ve been following my blog from the beginning, you know how I feel about men that don’t offer to pay on first dates. If a man doesn’t pay on a first date, there will not be a second. I thought to myself, for a guy donning $130+ sneakers, and a coat that he claimed was over $500, the least he could do was buy my frozen yogurt; when he did not, it was an automatic major deduction. I was ready do ditch his ass; but, unfortunately, he lived in my area, and we had to walk in the same direction. He said that he was thirsty; so, walking back uptown, we stopped into Whole Foods. He walked to the beverage station, grabbed a beverage, and asked me if I wanted anything. I said no, and I started walking towards the cash register. I was, once again, taken aback when he turned around and made his way back to the entrance. —Yes! While wearing over $600, this fool decided to steal a seltzer water from Whole Foods. I looked at him like he was bat-shit crazy. Once outside of the store I ripped into him about what he did, and he seemed to not care. I needed to change the conversation over the remaining 15 blocks, so we spoke about movies and TV shows. When he reached his building, he invited me to come up, but I eagerly declined and made my way home.  

Most women would’ve blocked his number. However, there is always (and probably will forever) be a part of me that never knows when to call it quits. I can say it in my mind, but there is always the heart. When the mind and heart align, then along comes the conscience, that convinces me to give a person one more chance. So, after our first meet & greet, where he stole and didn’t even buy me a dessert, we were still talking. A part of me found it interesting having a person that was so different in my life. So, I wasn’t quite ready to sever all ties. A week later, I was with my friends at the bar having wings, and my date came up. I went over all the details of the date and they were appalled for me. When I mentioned that he was also a cross-dresser, they thought that I was out of my mind for going on the date, in the first place. I tried to justify the reasons for us staying in contact, but in the end, I knew it had run its course.  

After a few nights, he went from being interesting and different to classic fuck-boy. One evening, he kept repeatedly asking me to come over and I told him no. He then proceeded to say that if I didn’t come over, he would call someone else to. I guess he thought my decision to talk to him was out of desperation, but I was simply trying to be open-minded. I told him he was well within his right to do what he wanted. This went on for about twenty more minutes. Growing annoyed, I told him that I would block him. When he didn’t stop, I did just that. To this day, I still wonder why I even went down that road in the first place. I knew, the moment he told me that he cross-dressed, red flags went up. After his behavior on the first date, I knew there would be no romantic future. I don’t really know what it was, but I wanted to give him a chance to see if we could at least be friends. In the end, nobody can say I didn’t try. 

My Month in Russia

MY MONTH IN RUSSIA-01

Let the record state: I am down with the swirl. So when a good looking man, of the fairer complexion, that just happened to be Russian born and American raised messaged me on Badoo, I messaged him back.

On a Monday, N_Badoo messaged me and I replied back. We exchanged greetings, professions, and spoke for a few more days then he asked to exchange numbers, and we did. We agreed to meet that Sunday afternoon. So, imagine my surprise when I stumbled home on a Friday night and he hits me up that he’s in the city and wanted to meet for drinks. I had only been home for 5 minutes, didn’t even undress yet, so I figured, sure. He met me at a near by bar, The Duck, but they only accepted cash, so we walked to the ATM together. First thing I noticed was that he did not walk beside me. He walked ahead and I had to double pace to keep up with him. He got some cash then we went back to the bar. He got a beer and I ordered a margarita and we sat on the less crowded, although not quieter since the music was unreasonably loud. He got us another round of drinks and we conversed for about 2 more hours: work, travels, hobbies, foods and drinks we liked, families etc. The conversation was light and fun then he got up and kissed me. His kiss was extremely powerful and his hands felt amazing exploring my body. That went on for about another hour, then for some reason the bouncer kept opening the door and I started to get really cold. We went back to his car and continued kissing and feeling each other up. He tried really hard to get me to go back to his place but I was not with it; since he lived all the way near Coney Island and it wasn’t even a first date. But I did let him suck on my breasts. He did it so hard that I realized when I got home the stopper to my nipple ring was missing- How the fuck?

He met me on Sunday after I left the movies with my family. He drove from Brooklyn to get me and we went back to his place. We started watching Netflix and he made us dinner. After dinner we started kissing then he went down on me, satisfied my desire, and we started having sex. At first I thought average but once inside of me, and finding his groove, he grew exponentially-WOW! He felt amazing. We did a few positions until he finished then we rest for a little bit. We went back to watching TV, (he-from his chair, me-on the bed). In between his roommate came home, I guess he wanted to hang out with him for a bit, but he shut it down by saying ‘my girlfriend is here”. Girlfriend? We did not discuss this at all- I was not ready for this title, as I was still dating other men, and I didn’t feel he was either but I didn’t know what to say at the moment so I just let it be. About a half an hour later, he got the urge again and then again. I was enamored with his insatiable nature and it had been a while since I had a partner like him so I enjoyed every minute of it. Around 10pm we got dressed for him to drive me home. On the walk to the car, yet again, he walked ahead of me and I doubled my pace to keep up with him, I was again, annoyed.

Throughout the week we spoke on and off then we made arrangements for me to visit him Friday night. He picked me up, around 2am, from a party I was at and we went back to his place, we took showers then got down to business. The oral the second time around was less then satisfactory and the intercourse was only 1 and night. I love to cuddle after sex but he sat back in his chair when we were done. It did not enjoy laying in a huge king sized bed all by myself so I eventually rolled over and tried to go to sleep, and he came to bed shortly after. In the morning we had another session and then he had to go. He had a lunch picnic to attend upstate but before then he had a dentist appointment. After he finished with his shower, I went to take mine. He seemed annoyed that I wanted to shower and rushed me along because he had to make his appointment. He dropped me off at the train, I decided I wanted food so I found a place nearby, ate, and then went home.

The next day I asked him about the picnic. He mentioned, he got drunk and started making out with some man’s wife- sloppy much?. They got into a little fight but nothing serious happened. I took this as my chance to state my opinion. Keep in mind; I was still dating other men and I didn’t want to be his girlfriend any more that I felt he would be a good boyfriend so I proposed the idea that we remain just sex. We hang out and enjoy each other’s company, but no title and no responsibility and he agreed. The next few days went by ok. We continued to speak on and off but every once in a while he would say these things exuding extreme affection that made me scratch my head. Calling me pet names, and saying I love you, like I highly doubt you actually do but I don’t want to be a bitch today, so I’ll let you live. I realized that we never actually had a planned date. Every time we saw each other he and/or I were already out and/or we just went back to his place. So I messaged him said you should take me on a date: dinner and a movie followed by a night of sweaty sex. He replied –sounds like a plan and we agreed to meet on a Saturday. I checked with him earlier that week to make sure we were still on. He asked which movie and I said lets see what’s playing when we get there- because I could pretty much go with the flow. We agreed I would meet him in Brooklyn, he’d pick me up from the train and our evening would begin.

I called him before I headed out, just to do a final check, he answered and I made my way to Brooklyn. I texted him when I was a few stops away but got no reply. I called him when I got off the train-no answer. I started to feel a ball in the pit of my stomach. It was telling me, this night would not go as planned and that I should go home. That little ball comes in handy; the only problem is I rarely ever listen to her.

I walked to his apartment, knocked on the door and no one answered, I did it again and still no answer. I felt like a fool- I started to walk out of his building when I finally heard the door open. He was visibly drunk. He and his coworkers went out the night before and he was still hammered. I knew then this wasn’t going to be good. I sat down on his chair and we talked for a bit, the topic of food came up. I was hungry and so was he so we went into the kitchen to make some ribs and chicken. The entire time he flirted with me: kissing, touching, fondling, and rubbing, it was all very flirtatious and I enjoyed it. He kept calling me sexy and beautiful, saying how he was so lucky, and asking what would our kids look like, etc. I reveled in the fantasy of it all then when the food was done we ate. Maybe it was the 4 Coors Lights, or the unknown cups of vodka, or the almost 3 packs of cigarettes he smoked but whatever it was he became a pile of drunken stupor. He was so drunk he bit through a chicken bone fell off his chair, I had to assist him to the bed, and he even threw up on himself.

All the while I’m thinking I can’t ever find a happy medium. I go from a man that doesn’t drink at all to a man that cant control any of his alcohol- this night was shaping up to be a total disaster.

I ended up watching 6 episodes of Siren on Hulu then he partially woke up. Shortly after his roommate came home and wanted to go out and find some women. So, not wanting the night to be a complete waste I agreed to go out (not that I had much of a choice- it was either out or go home, and I really wanted sex). We went to a nearby bar called Wheelers and he acted like a total dick-bag; being rude to the waitress and servers and left a horrible tip, so bad that I gave the lady $15 just for dealing with his rude ass. From there he started talking to another Russian and convinced him to go to Williamsburg with us. So we got in an Uber and were off to Huckelberry Fin bar. The bar was nice, a good crowd, many of the people just came from a wedding so his roommate would have no luck finding a single DTF woman tonight. I was getting annoyed at this point: it was 2:30am, his roommate was socially awkward as fuck, and I just really wanted to have sex to make this night not a total bust. I pulled my guy to the side to tell him I was ready to go, but he wanted to party with his friends. Seriously- you met other Russian a few hours ago and you can be with our roommate any time. But because my shit was at his house I had to suck it up and continue to deal. We went to another bar where he got super handy with some chick and I was like dude I know we’re not a couple but have some decency- don’t be a dick in front of me. So I had to shut that shit all the way down. I was having an outer body experience saying to myself; why did you not just turn around earlier? Why did you continue to walk to his house? Why did you stay? And why did you agree to come out?

We made our way to what would thankfully be the last bar of the night Union Ave Bar or something like that. We get there and the music if bumping. Finally, at least I can dance and boogey to this. I find myself finally having a good time then this ass hole says it’s too loud and wants to step out side- Seriously What the Fuck!His roommate is still having no luck getting women- like zero! They go out to smoke more cigarettes. So just a side note: when we met he said he didn’t smoke, then when I went by his house the second time, it was I smoke cigars on occasion, then I realize that when he drinks he’s a chain smoker- Fucking Disgusting. Finally his roommate was able to converse with a group of girls visiting from Atlanta with their amazing black, gay, best friend (every one needs in their life by the way). He lied that he would be able to get them “party favors” at 6am and they should come back to the apartment. I knew looking at the girl that she was not going to give him anything but whatever this night was already a bust and they seemed like fun; so in the very least we could have a few laughs.  We all piled into an Uber SUV and head out. The driver takes the long route and of course my guy starts acting like a dick yet again. The white girl in the front from Atlanta is lit on trap music and we all make a request for something more ‘white’. Cue- Backstreet Boys, Britney Spears, and The Spice Girls- all resulted in an awesome cab ride home. Naturally my guy attempted to complain about our music choice and singing, at which point- I gave zero fucks. I left all my fucks on the dance floor after he made it perfectly clear that getting drunk with his friends was more important than spending time me. Back at the apartment I offered them the ribs and chicken and I got rave reviews for my cooking. We drank and had a few laughs. They tried to call their connect for party favors but at 6am he was asleep. The group left about an hour later and when I turned around my guy was lying across the bed tapped out. His friend never did get any sex because the girl had zero interest in him, wise woman she was. I left the roommate and other Russia in the kitchen and went to bed. I was on fire with anger, disappointment, and just the feeling of stupidity. Thinking another one I have to add to the list. It was very unfortunate, especially since when I made comments to him about him walking ahead of me and not cuddling he actually made those changes-so I saw potential. But the behavior he showed that night was unacceptable.

I slept for almost 2 hours then I had to go to the bathroom. He woke up for a few minutes after I did then went back to sleep. Then the coughing started (the coughing that was actually him throwing up); at that point I said Nope!I went into the bathroom, took a shower, threw on my clothes, and left the apartment. I have no intentions to reach out to him in the future. Next time I will listen to my little ball.                                                                                                                     

GO FUCK YOURSELF!

People often get extremely pissed off when someone says this. This phrase often follows an argument or an angry exchange of words; finally, when either person refuses to argue anymore, they yell “Go Fuck yourself!” 

Anybody that knows me, knows that even though I’m one of the sweetest people you may ever meet, I can also be the most sophisticated asshole. Years of therapy and soul searching has taught me that, people can be very fucked up. People can have insanely horrible days, and here I come with my smile, making a mockery of their misery. Their only option to protect them from feeling even more miserable about their life, in my presence; is to try and fuck with me.  

A lot of research says that sex is one of the most powerful transferences of energy; hence why you’re only supposed to have sex with people you like; I, Thank God! do not fall into this category. Maybe I have an invisible-sexual-emotional-shield, that allows me to have amazing sex with a person I can’t stand and walk away energized and ready to tackle the world. On the other hand, non-intimate interactions have the ability to turn this happy camper into a raging bitch, that can easily empty out my pockets, and throw away all the fucks I ever gave.  

I had an incident last month, on a bus with my friend (Hey Girl!). Some ass hole guy (Chinese), disrespectfully approached me about a seat on a bus; where there were more than enough empty seats around for him to select another; but because my feet were on the chair – he was determined to cause a scene. On top of his overly aggressive tone, he proceeded to disrespect my upbringing and education; when his original argument was about me “paying for one seat” (stick to one argument buddy!). Then back-up Billy decided to chime in and add more fuel to the fire. By this time the bus is getting crowded and we’re all arguing on the bus. China man wanted to flex his muscles and “call the cops” For what? Mind you, he spoke to me (when he didn’t have to). He proceeded to sit in my face and degrade me; now he felt it necessary to call his cop friend and have the bus stopped. His friend was unavailable, so nothing happened. But let’s play this out:  

Officer: What’s going on here 

Me: Well officer, this guy disrespectfully yelled at me to move my feet (which as you can see, I already did as he is seated directly in front of me) Not to mention, when there were 6 available seats all around that would’ve avoided the entire argument. After he sat down, he proceeded to degrade me, and then threaten me by calling you. So, in conclusion officer, this man intentionally instigated a problem and is threatening my safety, and is also disturbing the peace on this bus. I would like to have him removed from the bus so that I and the other passengers may ride in peace.  

But, Like I said though, his cop friend was *busy and nothing happened.  

Back-up Billy wouldn’t let shit rest, though. He kept making light of the situation, as if my feet on a seat on a NYC bus, warranted him to talk to me however he wanted. And then he did the ultimate. He said “I thought because he was Asian, he wasn’t going to stand up for himself” to which everyone who heard the argument called BULLSHIT to. Race was the last thing on my mind. I didn’t care who or what he was, I simply didn’t appreciate his tone (PERIOD).  

Eventually shit died down, the Chinese man gets off the bus and the rest of the ride is quiet. When back-up Billy gets off the bus he says “Have a good evening” (Mother-fucker! You know you ain’t genuine!) So, my response was “Have the night you deserve.” I must’ve struck a nerve because he made a comment that I couldn’t hear over the laughter of the other riders.  

I mention this story because, this altercation really fucked up my energy, for a few days. I thought about how I looked to those getting on the bus, that didn’t know he was the aggressor (Crazy Black Woman). I thought about how peaceful the ride would’ve been if he had just sat on the other seat or spoke to me in a non-aggressive tone. I thought about what would’ve happened if the officer was available and all he saw was a CBW (there goes my 0 run-in with the police). I even thought, if I didn’t have my feet on the chair. 

But what didn’t cross my mind until I got home was; what was so fucked during his day, or in his life that, that’s the kind of behavior you exhibit. What person, (that looked like me) hurt you so bad that you decided to fuck with me- of all people? Then it all made sense. He was holding onto some bad energy the way a runner holds a fart during a marathon. When he got on that bus, he couldn’t hold it any more. It wasn’t enough to release it either; he had to transfer it… and unfortunately- It worked. 

I worked so well that I didn’t even masturbate when I got home, because I couldn’t focus on pleasure with such heat in my veins. By the end of the week, thankfully, I was back to normal; orgasms at night, exercise, and laughs during the day.  

One afternoon, I happened to be walking down the street and I heard a woman arguing on the phone and she yelled “Go Fuck Yourself!” I couldn’t help but think my response would be “Later tonight!” Think about it. Next time someone tells you to go fuck yourself, instead of arguing say “Thank you, I will when I get home” OR “Thanks for reminding me”. It will either enrage them or make them laugh, but what it won’t do Is fuck up your energy.