Missed Anniversary..

Her legs were crossed indian style on her california king amidst the vast space of her downtown Boston condominium.  The tears that rolled her cheeks barely escaped soiling her lips and instead fell harmlessly to the pillow that she held onto tightly. Today was January 28, 2011. She would never forget it. This same date had life altering relevance 5 years ago. 

The memories never left her, nor did the box of pictures, letters and small artifacts that she collected leading up to that day. She never forgot the phone call that came in from the Boston Police Department. 

Eric was 24, vibrant, spontaneous, loving and all of the great traits anyone would search for in a fiancé. He embodied it all to Kenya. The police sheriff described him in a slightly different light. The shoot out he was involved with 3 hours prior to the phone call laid out a scene of horror, anger, and mischief. Even the local news department didn’t use the most flattering words. She remembered watching channel 4 the next morning and reading the words “Homicide Avenue” burned across the screen, describing the very street she lived on. The report said that a young man, named Eric Sampson, or as the streets called him, E- Class, had murdered four people, including a child in cold blood before later being shot by police as he attempted to flee.

She didn’t care about their portrayal. To Kenya, he’d always be her E bear.

It always seemed to rain on January 28. Today was no different. Moving on was difficult. The first three years were nearly unbearable. Eventually the tears went from hourly to daily. Daily to Weekly. Weekly to Monthly. Monthly to annually.

Dave helped.

His arrival in her life couldn’t have come at a better time. As a level headed family man, he didn’t provide the same dramas that Eric did. He was a welcome change.

He strolled through the bedroom door after a hard day at the job. The Chinese food he picked up on the way home saved Kenya from having to cook a meal. His smile went from wide to tight in seconds, filled with concern. He dashed over to her and nearly spilled his food in the process.

“You Ok, baby? What’s goin' on?” he asked, genuine worry filled him throat.

“Nothing.” She replied. Her answer was harsh. Short. Curt.

His eyes led him to the box. The various pictures from the small photo booths throughout Boston were scattered across the bed. Eric’s hand written notes were opened and unfolded revealing a love that was supposed to last forever. The barrette Eric bought her with his last $5 sat untouched next to a stack of movie ticket stubs which were gently rubber banded together. The magazine that had wedding gowns circled and vacation trips planned went untouched and the mystery black 8mm videotape remained alone and nondescript.

The box of Kleenex stumbled to the floor as Dave stood up. It was a complete accident. Although not one he really regretted. He left it there on the floor as he walked back towards the kitchen. Suddenly the urge to eat and be with his woman changed.

If a woman can’t be completely with you on an emotional level, is she really with you? He wondered as the remote control rest in his hand. Atlanta Housewives lost some of its luster as he listened to her shed additional tears through the thin walls. His jacket wasn’t far away and with an anger building in his chest, neither was the local bar.

IS DAVE WRONG TO FEEL A CERTAIN WAY?

HOW LONG IS KENYA’S GRIEVING ACCEPTABLE?

Nevada Nightmare..

I’ve never been one to feel bad for people who do foolish things, whether to themselves or to others. Foolish is as foolish does. In the same sentence, selfish is as selfish does. Everyone is described by their actions.

So as I read a CNN report of “embattled” Councilwoman Donna Fairchild and the violent crime she committed, I could only see the selfishness in her, and likely in women as a whole.

Your wife always tells you, I’m sure that it’s better to do things together than alone.

Let’s go to the mall together, she likely says.

Let’s go visit my mother together, is what I’m sure she decrees.

Let’s go to the bank together to check our balance, she says just to remove you from whatever comforts you have found.

But our friend Donna here, takes that a bit further.

Beloved…. I’ll pause while you catch the sarcasm…. Councilwoman Fairchild decides that not only are the mall, bank, and heinous mother in-law visits joint ventures, but that death should be included in the list.

Police Chief, Douglas L Law. of the Mesquite, NV police department was called by Donna and informed that there was a murder suicide in her home. Of course, Donna didn’t mention that her husband, likely just after that visit to mothers, was laying on the floor with a bullet wound to his head courtesy of Donna herself who would soon after pull the gun on herself.

Motive?

How dare he not want to go to the mall together and watch me try on 13 pairs of shoes but buy none. How dare he want to only call the bank rather than take the 30 minute drive down and physically see a bank teller. How dare he complain about driving 6 hours to visit mother and then complain more when my mother offered him advice on how to live his life.

The audacity.

Wait, no. The article goes on to say that the embattled politician was under investigation for code of conduct violations for drum roll please…

..“filing the $94.60 mileage reimbursement request with the city for a January 4 Nevada Development Authority board meeting she allegedly did not attend”

According to an item on the council agenda.

Mileage reimbursement? Really?

I sometimes like to pause for dramatic effect, but it’s always lost on a blog.

So let me get this straight. Woman does wrong at work, thought she got away with it, got caught, had an emotionally jarring breakdown because of being caught, killed husband and then herself in that order.

Remind me again of the errors of the husband?

I remember, it was marrying a woman like Donna.

A woman who is selfish, as evidenced.

Crazy, as evidenced.

A manipulator, as evidenced.

Now tell me why a selfish, crazy, manipulative woman can possibly get married? Wait, sorry, it happens every day.

Find me ONE woman that doesn’t embody at least 2 of these 3 traits.

Don’t worry, I’m patient.

Until then, I hope the remaining members of this family wake up from their Nevada Nightmare.

Halle..

Of Course I’m sitting down, with my fork stuck in a piece of exotic fish resting over rice and ironically a film comes on with the same name. A simple symbol to watch. I, of course being a simple man, don’t ignore the signs. The scene I first noticed was riveting.

Hugh Jackman walks in on a woman who is slowly peeling herself out of a form fitting brown dress. Inch by inch revealing to the viewer a little more than what his wife likely wants him to see. Being the average Joe, of course I stay tuned.

The woman’s hair? Immaculate.

Eyes? Sultry.

Lips? Luscious.

Body? Toned to perfection.

Voice? Lets describe it as 1-900 esque.

Hugh asks the same question any man would ask.

“Who are you?” he says as his eyes never leave her.

Hugh, I know you’re the big time Hollywood actor here, but let me help you out. Her mother calls her “ my baby”, Eric Benet probably has a different name for her, so I’ll summarize for them both. She is what we like to call around here, “the perfect woman.”

Hugh says, “I’ve had a pretty shitty day,  looks like it just got worse.”

You know something, Hugh. You’re right. Here’s what happened.

You’ve realized that your wife has become irrelevant.

Your sisters innocent beauty is now a vague memory.

Even your mothers inner beauty has been morphed and forgotten.

You’ve come to the realization that every woman on the planet has already come to.

She is flawless.

With the pre mentioned collection of attributes, how can anyone argue.

And an even more glaring question  is, how can any woman on the planet compete. The bar is set to Neptune- esque proportions.

Her golden brown skin crushed the hopes of all members of the feminine regime.

The curves on her hips make even Blackberry envious.

Her walk insinuates that she was runway material from birth.

Anyone associated with the XY chromosome pattern was , since conception, already a step behind.

So what can you do as a woman? You can cut your hair in a similar manner. Good luck with that.

You can hit the gym four hours a day, In hopes that your abs crunch better than a Nestles chocolate bar. Again, Good luck.

You can even pay $1000 a week to a voice coach, praying to put your vocals somewhere on the map between lust craving and sensual.

I’m starting to run out of good luck wishes.

You get the point.

Perfection is exactly that.

Perfection.

No duplicates.

No carbon copies.

Many have tried to test her.

Monroe.

Theron.

Lisa Raye.

Jolie.

Kardashian.

Gabrielle Union.

The problem with the greats is that deep down inside, you know you will always be only competition. When you look at yourself and aspire to be a legend, you’re reaching. Hoping for a miracle. Hoping to come close.

John Travolta walks in on the scene, with his hair gelled back in the villain role and sees them together. She standing there undressed and Hugh speaking in tongues. Jackman was obviously shell shocked so Travolta stepped in with an obvious statement.

“This looks friendly.”

Of course we see the unveiling of the million dollar smile from the million dollar woman when she says in that voice,

“I’m a friendly girl.”

Stop thinking about it.

You don’t come close.

Find me ONE woman that does.

Don’t worry, I’m patient.

Until then, I’ll have more of this Swordfish. I’m not quite full.

Taken While Mistaken..

Their family living room was tattered and destroyed. The couch was flipped exposing its ugly underbelly and the beautiful family portraits which 20 minutes ago adorned the cream painted walls were now bunched in a corner as if they were yesterdays trash. The Comcast remotes were thrown against the wall and would never work again, while the house phone lay on the street corner after being thrown from a window. Doors were slammed and screaming commenced.

Arguing back and forth was futile Dwayne decided and kept quite as he began to reconfigure his dismantled living area.

Her voice could still be heard from the bedroom as she packed her bags.

“And I’ll tell you another thing, asshole. I’m not coming back this time. Don’t call me. Lose my number.”  Candace yelled out making sure the neighbors in their condo took notice.

Dwayne nodded his head and hoped she was telling the truth. He was tired of arguing. Them being separated was for the best. When it got to the point where you are fighting in this manner, and you don’t know what you did wrong, there was no way to go but down.

He ignored her voice which infuriated her even more.

She stormed out of the room dragging a Louie Vutton suitcase behind her.

“Why Dwayne?! Why?! You got me looking like a damn fool with these chicks!” she barked as she stood 3 feet away from him.”

“Yo, I don’t even know what you’re talkin about Candace. That’s real talk. But I ain't gonna sit here and argue with you. The neighbors will think we’re crazy.” He said in a calm voice which only added lighter fluid to her flame.

“You’re stupid and you think I'm stupid too. You know you had some bitch call you late last night! You was sleep and I just happened to hear your phone ringing in your jacket. I answer and the bitch was like “ Can I speak to Dwayne?! Speak to Dwayne for WHAT?! At 3:00a!??” her words were news to him.

He honestly didn’t hear the phone ring and certainly wasn’t messing around with anyone.

“Why are you going through my phone? Where is my phone?” She pulled it from her purse and threw it at him. His catch was miraculous and he quickly opened it to see a name that he recently added.

He looked back at Candace and back at his phone.

“Yo, you’re crazy. Regina?? This is my cousin! We just reconnected on Facebook. She lives in California which is why she called at that hour. There’s a time difference!” he responded honestly.

“Enough!” the tears of anger poured down her face as she stormed up against him inches from his face.

Everything happened so quickly.

The palm of her hand connected squarely against his jaw and rocked him back at least two feet.

The slaps continued and quickly transformed to punches.

He felt himself snap as he grabbed her by the throat and pushed her up against the wall. The colors changed in her face as the sirens pulled up, thanks to a neighbors call.

He released her and watched as she ran for the man dressed in a blue uniform. The man quickly reached for his handcuffs and headed for Dwayne.

The tears were enough but the pointing did more to convince the officers that she was a victim.

She smiled as he was pushed past her towards the squad car.

Who is the victim here? Was Dwayne wrong? What’s the public perception of a situation like this and is it the right one?

Support System..

He pushed away from the computer briskly as the frustration built on his face. The words weren’t coming together as he’d wished and he was certainly less than satisfied with the mixture of words which haphazardly designed the previously blank white page. The multitude of destroyed copies littered the floor beneath his feet and the third opened red bull can signified a long night ahead. His well lit apartment cast a great glow down upon his work station, but cast very few ideas.

Martha watched him pace around the room while she simultaneously watched the Heroes marathon playing in front of her on the large HDTV dangling from the wall. She tried to focus on her favorite characters movements as to not get overly involved in his project. His incessant pacing gradually and likely purposefully pulled him directly between she and the NBC series she’d been waiting weeks to see. The State Farm commercial caused her to speak as she dashed for a can of orange soda in the nearby kitchen.

“Something wrong, Ant?” she said, knowing the answer but trying steer clear of the conversation. She knew he wanted to discuss it.

“Well, now that you ask. There is. I just can’t piece this together. I’ve been struggling with it for weeks now.” He thought back to the novel he’d been working on and wanted it to be just perfect.

With the safety of the ceramic wall dividing she and Ant, she rolled her eyes with confidence. She opened her big mouth months ago in pushing him to try something that his heart desired. Although he had dreams of becoming a New York Times best seller, his writing ability didn’t match the ideas that filled his head. She strolled back around the corner, with a semi smile on her face.

“I was hoping maybe you can give me some inspiration or something, you know.” Ant wondered about his next steps. He’d always sought her tips to salvage his confidence in taking on this project. Months had gone by with very little to show, and his stronghold on fulfilling his secret life desire was waning.

With one eye focused on the commercials playing on network television, she dashed over to his computer and read the few words that were scattered on his page. Some levels of amazement set in as the words entered her thought process.

                               “ Jeremy was scared. He didn’t not know what he shoulda did and he didn’t know anybody that would help him. He needed help.

                                He jumped in his car and press the gas. The gas made his car go fast. The wind went into the car because the window was down.”

She wanted to smile at his amateurish attempt at novel hood, but forgot that she was part of the reason he’d entertained this idea in the first place.

Chase your dreams, she said. You can be anything you want, she said. Now she regretted even uttering the word, book.

“Honey this is great, keep up the good work.” She watched the smile come across his face, as she jumped back to the couch just in time to catch the next segment of her favorite show.

He pulled his chair back up to the desk and continued to write.

Can you positively support someone in a venture, that they are obviously not good at?

Who should take the burden to inform someone that what they want to do, they probably shouldn't?

Is Martha right in pushing him to write or should she have shut him down?

ARCTIC SOUL OR ACTIC SOLE?

The atmosphere was stunning as the white and pink flowers decorated every square inch of the Morton Avenue Baptist Church. The three hundred family, friends and guests sat humbly in their seats as and read through the small pamphlets they held in their hands. The church organ played a beautiful hymn while the group of seven pink gown cloaked women stood off to Stacy’s side. The men dressed sharply in their black tuxes complete with pink vests stood behind Jamal , acting as a support system for a man who’d chosen to sacrifice his days of singlehood for a life of holy and eternal matrimony. Jamal’s custom Sean John suit cost a pretty penny as did the ring that weighed down the box in his best man’s hand. Neither met the cost of Stacy’s custom pure white Vera Wang wedding gown which contained over ten feet of train, complete with an elaborate yet simple veil which seemed to at the moment be perfect for shielding the tears that poured down her face on the day that she’d always dreamt of.

Jamal spoke into the Mike as the church watched on.

“ I stand here today as a lucky man.” His voice was deep and booming by nature. The microphone only magnified it.
“Last month, my little sister gave me a button which said, I love you.
Last week, my grandmother gave me a photo album from her wedding back in 1943 which brought tears to her eyes.
Last night my mother gave me a childhood collage I made when I was 10, which documented how I wanted my wedding to look.
And today, you give me the piece that I needed the most to add to all of what I’ve already been given.
The love of an innocent child, the blueprint of a perfect life, and the experience of a wedding that’s lasted over 60 years.
Today you give me the wife in which to share that all with.
I love you.”

The tears in the room seemed to flood the aisles as the best man passed him the box containing the princess cut diamond ring weighing just under 2.5 carats.
The pastors voice was calm, humbling even.

Stacy’s I do’s went quickly. The smile on her face would stay forever.

As the pastor turned towards Jamal, he felt it.
The trepidation in his voice was apparent even before he spoke.
The hesitation in his voice was apparent as he spoke.

“Do you , Jamal Collins, take Stacy Morris to have and to hold, till death do you part, as long as you both shall live.”

His pause immediately caught Stacy’s attention.
Cold feet was an understatement.
Standing in Greenland with flip flops would have been more comfortable.
He finally felt the 600 individual eyes baring down on him.

The sweat gathered on his forehead and under his arms.
He close his eyes and hoped God would force the right words to come out.

I do, would have been perfect.
What he said was anything but.

“Umm.” He said.

“UMM, What Jamal!? “Stacy said as she watched him, the Devil making himself present in her eyes.

He wanted to whisper to the pastor. He wanted to whisper to the best man. HE wanted to whisper to someone.
There was no one to whisper to.

He wasn’t sure.
He was stuck.


CAN JAMAL CONTROL COLD FEET? SHOULD HE BE CONDEMNED IF HE CHANGES HIS MIND? HOW CAN HE GET OUT OF A SITUATION LIKE THIS?

IS HE WRONG?

Sweaty Sex Statement..

“Nathaniel?”  Folisha whispered as she pushed her cheek deeper and deeper in his bare chest as they both lay sweaty on his California King sized bed. His booming deep voice rumbled through his chest and out of his esophagus before it reached her earlobes.

“Yea, baby girl” he responded.

“You know I love you right?” she said, uttering the 4 letter word for the first time during their relationship.

Four years ago, yesterday, they began a torrid sexually affair, complete with desires, fantasies and erotic dreams. It was always solely about that. Never a mention of relationship status. Never a mention of monogamy. Never a mention of an isolated friendship.

It was sex. Nothing more, nothing less.

The room paused around him as he tried to gather his thoughts.

He looked down at the red white and blue polo sheet that was tossed during their second round of foreplay a mere 40 minutes prior. He looked over at the brown shoes that were tossed in the corner of the room along with her  Prada loafers haphazardly as they tried to undress as quickly as possible. The television remote control was resting comfortably near the bed, a battery less as it had been thrown from the bed during one of the many position switches over the course of the last few hours.

He was unsure how to answer and was thankful that Earth had seemingly stopped to allow him time to think.

“I love you too baby doll.”

The smile that blanketed her face was of pure emotion. Nothing was sweeter than the first time hearing someone say that they love you.

Nathaniel had a different point of view.

In some ways, his answer wasn’t false.

The interpretation was false. Absolutely false. He didn’t love her. He HAD love for her, but wasn’t in love with her.

Luckily for him, she didn’t ask for the interpretation.

He didn’t bother to give it.

He closed his eyes, hoping his answer suffice.

What are your thoughts about this type of situation?