Under the wheels and into the rearview mirror goes HisSide in my mind...

Don't shop when you're hungry. You may buy too much.

Don't blog when you're angry. You may say too much.

FUCK IT.

Under the wheels and into the rearview mirror goes HisSide in my mind. I'd only consider hitting reverse to hear that "THUD" one more time...

I am tired, sleep-deprived, hurt, and angry. My exterior says I have this cocktail of negative emotions under control because my pressure-cook valve isn't at critical mass. I suspect my calm represents more emotional exhaustion than some enlightened state of "letting it go."

Last night, in an epic failure of manhood and maturity, HisSide erupted into an absolute meltdown after his ex-wife stole some money from him. She ran off into the night, leaving me the blindsided convenient target for HisSide's unchecked, unattended, and totally unhinged emotional ANGER.

Yelling in my face with spit flying. Balled fists. Threats of smacking me. Screaming "stupid," "idiot," in my face. The tirade was so long, so unprovoked, so surprising, and so BITTER, that I eventually cried. To which he responded, "You can save that act for somebody else."

You see, I learned to time these things with HisSide. I knew when it was coming. But this one hurt like no other. I paid the train fee and provided the transportation to meet her to split the check from the sale of their old home. I gave him the last change in my pocket so he could eat in the train station while he was there. I listened to his hurt as he described the way she gave him less than his half and literally RAN from the bank with the man she cheated with years ago during the marriage. I met him at the train, hugged him, rubbed his back as pain and anger took turns flashing through his confused mind. "I never thought she would do that to me." I played his favorite computer game with him when he wanted to take his mind off things. And I did my best to absorb the blow when the tirade against me started. Until enough was enough.

I don't want to get too sidetracked, but I had her number AGES ago. This is the same ex-wife who gave it to him up his ass five years ago when she scammed him into living in their old house rent free. I offered to draft a lease for him. I warned him he was placing himself in a precarious position. End result: She never paid a dime and the city took the house for a tax lien. I knew from their phone conversations she was a trickster. Strike one.

Fast forward five years later, the city finally sold the house and sent the check for the profit after the lien was resolved. "Don't trust her to give you your half. Get that check here and send her half to her. Not the other way around."

"But she would never do that."

"She fucked you on that house in the first place."

I was right, but somehow I paid the price for his folly.

HisSide is the only person ON. THIS. PLANET. to ever treat me this way, and yesterday was one of the lowest points of my life. Although I parted romantic ways with him over two years ago, I don't want to believe he has the capacity to treat me with such horror. But we've been here before, so why am I so hurt? I already know who he is, when he isn't the man I fell in love with. He's an inexcusable monster who I spent too long making excuses for.

How did I get here?

He screamed that he KNOWS I found somebody else since I broke up with him 2 years ago - an accusation he hurls when his Emotional IQ drops to Infancy. He's only half right. Although there isn't another man, I am open to dating and placing myself in a position to give love and get what I deserve in return. (Anyway, how stupid do you have to be to believe that screaming at a woman would make her want you back, anyway? Asshole.)

Is this what some people call the process of "falling out of love?" Nah. I don't believe that. I love HisSide as much as I did 4 years ago. To me, this is a process of placing the love for myself above any hopes that he'll grow up and grow a pair. I see how abused women get caught in a cycle. They skip this last important step and neglect to show their jerk THE DOOR. Love ain't they key. The key is RECIPROCITY! And I reminded HisSide that the doorknob needs to connect with his his ass ASAP.

I learned all I needed to learn about inviting madness and giving it a warm place to call home. I am remarkably thankful for the lesson HisSide represents in my life, primarily because I'll deeply appreciate the future joy of loving and getting a little tenderness in return.

Mothers and Daughters: Amen to the life coach

This blog is all about relationships. Although I primarily focus on my in-and-out relationship with His Side, I have been a spectator, advisor, player, winner, loser and radical fan of deciphering the code that governs all relationships.

A recent blog post about the tentative relationship I have with my mother led me, via a Google search for artwork, to a woman named Marion. She's an ICF accredited life and business coach with a cool blog called The "Second Half" of My Life. Marion managed to capture some poignant points about mothers and daughters in her blog post:

Mothers and Daughters: 9 Things They Should Know About Each Other

I am tempted to print and send the entire post to my mother in hopes of achieving the relationship we both claim to want. I haven't decided on the wisdom of possibly spinning mother into a tornado of twisted spitfire fueled by the offensive thought that I'm judging her. So for now, I'll invite you to see what Marion has to say.

I added the link to my sidebar because it deserves its own space in the landscape of this blog.
Happy reading.

Mothers and Daughters: One relapse and recovery at a time.

For sanity's sake, I accepted the wisdom and spiritual guidance that I can't, shouldn't, and simply won't concern myself with trying to change another human being. I have my hands full with ME, so why partake in the silliness of believing I know enough to adjust somebody else's behavior. Aside from solicited advice and addressing outright abuse, I value my peace over misguided control.

My readers already know how I was slow to accept this reality in dealing with my mother. I took long... too long... in deciding it was more important to adjust myself than holding high expectations of what she needed to do to improve our relationship. That was the best decision I ever made.

Today, on top of a series of personal dilemmas with my job, my health, and other nuisances that life can bring, I almost relapsed like an alcoholic trying to socialize in a bar.

My 12-year old gave me a long and frustrating story of a verbal tirade about me earlier today - from calling me a liar, to once again, complaining about His Side's presence in my life. She lured my father and both of my sons into the fray. My body betrayed me as I felt despair, anger, and frustration wash over me. Heat pricked my entire body. My eyes stung with angry tears. I stewed in the car as I drove towards home, wondering why she picked this time in our relationship to attack again - and have the nerve to be WRONG. We just took a beautiful family trip together. Where is this coming from?

Apparently, my ex-husband didn't take my son birthday shopping during a recent visit. He was keeping my son because I was invited to an engagement late in the evening. Somehow that made me a liar about why my son was visiting his father.

But something happened during that ride. I can only describe it as a "calm resolve" resulting in a deep desire to remain free from the paralyzing emotion I used to feel when her own spite and control issues got the best of her.

I walked into the house and cradled the phone in my hand. I looked at it for a moment as if I expected the phone to give me the last bit of advice I needed to handle this. For a moment, I considered avoidance as a solution. But in too many ways, that silence would scream a lie I simply couldn't live with. How is cowering better than fighting the wrong fight?

So I made the call. Without judging her behavior or psychoanalyzing her into submission, I respectfully exerted my disappointment and offered an option to improve the relationship she claims to want with me. I explained the birthday incident sans the usual tone of trying to defend myself. Without blaming her, I gracefully laid out what I desire for her and my children:

• Children shouldn't bear the weight of hearing their parents criticized. It isn't fair to them and it creates unnecessary rifts in the family.
  




• Hearing an accusation against me from my child hurts and integrity says to approach the accused.
  




• The fervent attack against me with little information, in my absence, turns an apparent misunderstanding into an unfortunate roadblock. And it hurts.
  




• I expect the respect of a conversation before the fever-pitch of anger takes over.
  




• I'm at a point in my life where I don't want to fight about these things, and your claim that "I get upset" is a function of the argumentative way you approach me with your opinion.
  




• I want a peaceful relationship where I can come to you with girl talk instead of trying to avoid sharing with you.

And a miracle happened. She agreed. Not the bitterly angry agreement that gets thrown on the table to end a conversation. The inflection in her voice indicated she wants to do this differently.

She made her own request, "Don't lie to me. I want the truth." In fairness, I admitted that I simply don't tell her things to avoid her criticism, but I'll never look her in the face and lie. I went over a major issue she thinks I lie about, and for the first time since this problem started, we had a conversation that revealed things she simply didn't know about it.

I couldn't have asked for a better moment with her. For 10 minutes, I had the mother I always wanted, one who listened without criticizing, one who promised to value girl talk over controlling criticism.

I have no idea or preconceived fantasy about our relationship past this day. She may or may not keep her stated resolve about the way she communicates with (and about) me. The best part is IT. DOESN'T. MATTER. I did my due diligence in the way I chose to address her. I have to believe there's a reward, even if it's just keeping my blood pressure low, for acknowledging her right to do what the hell she wants.

Today was a win. Not because mom said she would do better... but because I left the decision up to her while guarding over my own integrity. That's freedom at its finest.

Photo lifted from this site for IFC Films.

Love, American Style

One lazy morning, as I flipped aimlessly through the channels with hopes of finding some mindless entertainment, I stumbled across a well-known television pastor whose words gripped me. I don't recall the direct quote, but he described the prevailing expression of love as 'a thin veneer of acceptance that is easily scratched away when human frailties and flaws emerge in the object of our affection.'

That's love. American style.

I won't pretend that our limited human experience can fathom and sustain the pure God-like love the pastor went on to preach about. In fact, it is a promise of the human condition that we'll be flawed in ways that make us quite difficult to tolerate. Even when we think we have it all together, we're still a pain in somebody's ass who just may love us in spite of...

When I assess my own history with that thang called "love," I can see where appearances, circumstances, personal resumes, and other surface "veneers" played a role in choosing mates. I know for a fact I was doing the best I knew how at the time. I had no clue that I often made choices like a frazzled mom shopping while hungry after a long day. The groceries all look good until you get home, open the bag, and see the excess of junk food that seemed all-too-perfect on the shelf.

And all of this leads me to...

My girl Negril is the only person who knows and understands the trials, tribulations, and uncertainties I've faced while navigating my relationship with HisSide. He is the object of my true love. His flaws are many, to the point where I understand the need to be away from him. But not once in the throes of his deepest personal battles did I love him any less. Even when I became a convenient target... Even when forced to put some space between us... Even when he wanted to blame me for problems he's had for longer than I've known him... I loved him and did what I could to help him. When asked, he'll tell you the same.

We remain friends that can't stand to be away from each other. The feeling is mutual, but then again, love isn't a "feeling" anyway. It's the energy that keeps you attached to another while doing what you can to make their life better. Because their pain is your pain. When they hurt, you hurt. And for no material reason at all, you can't imagine life outside of their presence because their soul is woven into your outlook.

We're like two children on a playground. He knocked over my blocks. I kicked his sandcastle. We cried. Then we made up and kept playing.

It's been about two years since I broke-up with HisSide. But he's still at home and we still love each other like crazy. I requested that he leave because the reality of some human frailties means making hard decisions. I still don't know where this will take us. But I know I love him and I am loved in return.

I wouldn't have it any other way because I want more than Love, American Style.

Emotionally Abusive Mothers and Adult Daughters: Series Intro

If you were hoping for the next installment in my Insufficient Postage series, you may be in for a treat. The next four posts regarding emotionally abusive mothers and adult daughters can be read as one long letter to my mother.

Don't look for the spills and thrills and chills that come with bitter cat fights. I won't be calling my mom a bucket-full-o-bitches in this one - although that would probably make for a good reality television episode. No siree, this one has a happy ending that releases me from the guilt of wanting to divorce my mother after decades of her verbal slashing.

Here's how it works: The posts are already saved. They're timed to appear on the blog 3 days apart - the first one beginning in 3 days. There simply was no other way to share a 4-page long document without jamming an overstuffed post into one space and possibly losing your attention due to size. This assumes everybody has a touch of ADD. Like me. :-)

Have a Very Merry Christmas and a Prosperous New Year.

Insufficient Postage: Daddy of the Month Year Century Millenium

In this series, I write letters to people in my life - past, present, and possibly future - without the tension of actually mailing them. See the original post about the new series for more info.



Dearest Dad,

There's no lie in the idea that fathers are the first and most important men in a daughter's life. For the past 39 years, I always felt safe in the love you have for me. I can count my disappointments on one hand with plenty of fingers left to spare. Those disappointments were always short-lived because forgiveness is an automatic mechanism that operates in our relationship.

You never hid your pride in having me for a daughter. In spite of the mixed criticisms and praise from mom, I developed a confidence with roots in the love you always express. After long days of construction work... with icicles hanging from your beard... you let me know my importance every time you used your tired arms to lift me into the air with a weary yet surprisingly bright sincere smile.

As mom told, and pictures confirm, you made sure we laid in the sunlight together whenever possible. You wanted your baby girl to get enough sun, right beside your protective side.

As I grew, your protective spirit towards me never changed. I'll never forget that day in 7th grade when I got my feelings hurt at a school dance. My date ran off with other girls, and you pulled your pump-action shotgun in response. The moment of fear I felt in that instant was quickly overcome by a deep love for your regard of my young feelings. As mom talked and you fumed, I got an early lesson about not settling for less.

When I entered young adulthood, you left our home to live with another woman. You didn't call or keep in touch. I was hurt until I realized you were mostly concerned that I'd reject your decision. I was wise enough to know that sometimes children need to reach out first. I visited you there and let you know I still loved you as my precious father. I didn't judge your relationship for two reasons: (1) I was relieved that you ended the tension with mom and (2) You didn't lose an ounce of value as my beloved father. We never lost touch again - even as you eventually grew out of your new romance.

As I made the leap from girl to woman, I watched you become an amazing grandfather. I smiled with eyes full of happy tears as love for me pour into my sons. They love you with the same energy that I do, and they're immensely blessed to be a part of your life.

As you grow older, I am forced to consider the day - hopefully a day far away - that you may no longer be a part of our lives. You don't know this, but I have cried advance tears at the thought of losing you to heaven's call. As I write, I cry them again. Know this:

Whenever the moment comes that you must face your own mortality, you leave behind a daughter who still sees you as the strong, protective, loving father who lifts her into the air as an endless expression of amazing love. Heaven must have a special place for premier fathers, and I'll see you there when I arrive.

I love you daddy. You're the best of the best.

Monogamy is selfish? I'm not convinced...

Kenya Stevens of JujuMama LLC left an interesting post on her Facebook wall today:

The nature of monogamy is selfishness. Most people would gladly have another lover, but what kills the dream is they would have to accept the same scenario. They deny themselves to further deny the one person they profess to love most. That to me is the real drive behind infidelity, the selfishness, and wanting to keep... your lover in darkness while you explore the light. (via Shannon Roberts)

Now I love Kenya's unconventional approach to strengthening relationships and her book is in my Amazon shopping cart for quick purchase this Friday. But her recent statement ate at my thoughts until I replied on her page and moseyed here for more commentary.

My original message to Kenya:

I don't agree that monogamy is selfish in itself. Pretending to be monogamous while cheating on a partner that you told something different is selfish. When both agree on the structure of their relationship -- that's harmony.

My His Side values monogamy as much as I do. As such, we have harmony in that area. Isn't it better to say that either ... See Moremodel works... so long as it is a shared value & desire?

Footnote: Monogamy does have its virtues... like the possible resulting children, the possible shared disease, etc. since there's no 100% method of preventing both. Discounting one structure to promote the other denies the value to those who chose it.

I couldn't resist spilling this conversation into this blog, because monogamy is central to my desire in a relationship. Kenya chronicled her journey into sharing her husband's goodies on her old blog, and it was clear it took a long time for the choice to sit well in her soul. That alone tells me that she clearly had a different preference for her marriage - which also features young children. As far as I was concerned, it took a pretty selfish motive on her husband's part to ask her to endure the ordeal.

What say you, or dear readers? Hit us in the comments.

Footnote: This blog will feature a book review of Kenya's book "Change Your Man: How to Become the Woman He Wants." I agree with Kenya's premise that men and women are different - and attempting to change your man via confrontation won't lead to harmony. I ordered her husband's companion book for His Side.

Bitter Pills to Swallow

Several weeks ago, my parents received bad news. "Although you are legally married, you've been living apart for many many years. He must be dropped from your retirement insurance."

In a funny twist, my parents are together almost every day. She cooks for him. He helps her with the house. They introduce themselves as husband and wife. But they can't stand living together. Mom is too controlling and dramatic, which doesn't mix well with the healthy doses of testosterone pulsing through dad's veins. Even in their 60's and 70's, some of their encounters mirror the hilarity of tweens trying to navigate puppy love.

Anyway...

Since mom couldn't produce a single utility bill or bank account statement in dad's name at her address, he is left to his own sparse insurance. They estimate his medical bills could increase by $1000 out of pocket per month. Nobody on retirement funds can afford that nonsense.

As my mother shared this crisis with me (and lamented about my father's annual visit to his girlfriend's hometown - a total other story), she said the bitter words I hear from far too many older women. "STAY. SINGLE." She meant it. "Share your life and your resources with no-one. You'll have to help them one day."

I have thrown my hands to the sky and raised my face to the wind many times with the same objection. "What part of that advice offers me the option and information I need to experience the beauty of a loving relationship?" Doesn't choosing a partner come with the absolute promise that one day I'll have to hold them up during a time of need? Doesn't the anticipation of their love and support during my darkest hours balance the perceived hardship? If that isn't love, then WHAT. IS????

Wounded people wound others. That concept is one block in the foundation of this blog. The wounded spread their bitterness like a disease... cleverly concealed under the shroud of "loving relationship advice."

Keep this in your back pocket: If the advice you get doesn't explain how love can win, then the puppet strings of bitterness and fear are showing all over the messenger. Smile. Keep it moving. Brush the bitterness off your clothes and find a trail that leads to love. It is the only truly positive power this planet has ever known.

Photo yanked from Legal Juice.

An Open Letter to HisSide...

To my best friend, my ex-boyfriend, and my road dawg:

Your uncanny ability to "say too much" always leads to a heartache that you regret. From what I have learned, common wisdom says to "speak little and listen much."

You spend more time than you wish to admit talking down about others... including folks you've never met. Please tell me how you know that the woman standing on the corner must be a whore who cheats on her husband? Your unfounded judgments know no bounds, and your negative outlook isn't erased by your monthly statements that 'I'm a very positive person of faith.'

I find it increasingly difficult to enjoy my time around you, because your criticisms - about me and others - come more and more frequently. I find it difficult to deal with your negativity - much of which stems from personal issues that you choose to project onto others. I am the closest, so I receive the most fire.

You have a strong negative opinion about the people who don't like your demeanor. You claim 'they don't know you.' You dismiss their opinions as hogwash. Do you not realize that karma is knocking at your front door?

You are responsible for the aftermath of placing your mouth on the lives of others. When you talk at the rate of a teenage girl, you will eventually - almost always - encounter folks who tire of the over-the-top dialog.

More importantly, if you trespass on my property and get shot in the process - I won't apologize if you bleed to death on my lawn.

As the saying goes: Shouldn'ta-been-talkin'-shit.

Today we sat in a restaurant and I listened to you diss my mother about her relationship with her sisters. You went on and on, while my brain tried to compute: "Where did he earn the right to speak on such a thing?"

I took about 8 seconds of your time to ask the question, "So why is it that you don't ever call your own sister?" And yes, I added the footnote: "So shut the F*CK up."

You went off like a rocket about disrespect and the rights I don't have to talk about your family. You missed the priceless lesson that your dumb ass was doing the same thing.

I know you'll read this post. And I don't really care that you're offended. Clean-up your own shyt, and you'd be amazed at how little you have to say in criticism and judgment of others.

My advice for your usual critical and judgmental behavior remains the same:

"Shut the f*ck up. Smell your own shyt. You're on my property and I have a gun. TRESPASSING laws are in full effect..."

End rant. Back to life.

I (kinda) apologize to the blog followers who cheer for our happy ending but witness this bullshyt on the way...

My Birthday Card from HisSide...

I celebrate a birthday this week. For a quickie, I thought I'd share the card I received from HisSide:






You Mean
So Much
To Me

Do you have any idea
how much I value
you and our relationship?

Let me give you a hint -
you're one of the few people
in the world
who truly know the real me.

That's because you've shown yourself
to be someone I can trust
with my secrets, my feelings,
and, yes, even my failings.

You listen to me and accept me unconditionally
and always give me
the benefit of the doubt.

You've made our relationship
a place where
I always feel safe,
knowing I won't be judged,
and that means so much.

Honestly, I don't know
what I ever did
to deserve having
someone as great
as you in my life...
and I don't know
what I'd do now
if you weren't!

You mean the world to me.

Love always.

Happy Birthday.

HisSide

[insert crazy ass drawing of happy face and hearts].

He said he searched hard for the right one, and it says everything he wanted it to say.

He inserted "Forgive Me" at the top.

He knows I love his flawed ass like crazy, as much as he loves my flawed ass.

So begins the birthday weekend of a lifetime.

His is only 3 days after mine.

Party on...

Card courtesy of Hallmark. Who else?

Ya' girl was featured at Fitting Words

I recently found a gem of a blog named Fitting Words. The blog focuses on providing advice about finding the perfect words to deal with problematic relationships between everybody from spouses to co-workers.

The blog authors are polar opposites, one who uses "fight" techniques and one who favors "flight" as a means to respond to conflict. They each provide feedback without reading what the other has to say. The results represent their competing "fight or flight" views, which I find infinitely useful for somebody looking for alternatives.

I was moved by the story submitted by Verklempt, a woman reaching for acceptance from her parents. I responded with a comment that was featured as Rush of Expectations.

If you are fascinated by the constant dance it takes to initiate, grow, nurture, or even leave relationships, give the blog a bit of your traffic. They rock.

Setbacks, Love, Patience, and DECISIONS

His Side spent a week in jail after the justice system saw fit to incarcerate him in a dangerous state prison for $200 overdue in child support payments. I spent that week fighting to get him out. I presented in court. I sidebarred with the prosecutor's office. I slept in my car in front of the prison. And miraculously, I drove away with him before sundown on that cold dismal day.

He was deeply and sincerely appreciative. But he couldn't avoid the setback that slowly crept into view. Old habits. Old ways. Anger. Bitterness. All directed at the wrong targets.

This came to a head during a very public and very embarrassing scene where I did. not. play the role of a patient friend. I was frustrated. I was hurt. And I was so done with it.

Any reasonable observer would have arrived at the same conclusion. But there's a side to this story that nobody knows. Well, not until now.

His Side experienced what I consider to be one of the most traumatic events a child can endure. By all professional accounts, his angry self-medicating behavior is almost a direct trace to that dark place in his history. The story is his to tell. I won't detail it here, but... He shared this with me years ago, and at the time, it explained e-v-e-r-y-t-h-i-n-g. It was so difficult for him to share and sit before me in a puddle of his own tears. But for me... well... I already knew trauma with the only explanation. It didn't surprise me one bit. The only surprise was that he finally told somebody and that person was me.

But His Side missed an important step: He didn't get any help... and I couldn't help him. I was the only person who knew, and I was also the safe haven where he acted out. Walking away from the carnage was about the only wise choice I had.

Something quite different happened after this post-prison episode. He confided in his older cousin, who's been like a mother to him since his own mother's death. He said he was actually able to sleep that night - something he hadn't done in ages. After that, he called a doctor. In simple terms, he told the doctor he wants to stop hurting the person who has loved him the most. Dayum. He has new medical benefits and even better... a fvcking appointment.

For this I am proud of him. He's being true to his claim that watching himself spiral out of control hurts him because it hurts the people he loves. And right when I was ready to make a decision to trade our friendship over a setback, I was compelled to embrace him as he takes the wisest step he's taken so far.

Love's a bitch.

Why does His Side remain in my heart and in the circle of my life?

At the height of turmoil during the looming breakup, LoveBabz asked me a simple question (paraphrasing):



'Why do you answer the phone when the departed His Side calls?"

I didn't have a ready answer, and I felt disturbed about my inability to respond to such a simple query. I knew answering the phone would probably expose me to a pained and frustrated His Side. I knew he would compel me into my own frustration. I knew he would fluster me into wishing I hadn't answered the phone.

For a while, I dealt with this by writing about the war between my own hope and deep disappointment. Much of my analysis focused on my legitimate frustrations with His Side's flaws. More accurately, I was focused on the hurtful ways that his flaws manifested against me in very personal and destructive ways.

But I always answered that phone for one reason: I never spent a day pretending with His Side. And he never had to spend a single minute pretending in an effort to secure my approval.

He always accepted my darkest and most annoying flaws. And I loved him in spite of the decimating wars he fought with his demons. He was unwavering in his sincerity to fight for a love he credits with changing his life. And by all accounts from his family, his love for me represents the most faith and fire he's lived since digging from beneath truly harsh circumstances.

So I kept answering that phone. We eventually fumbled and stumbled into the friendship we share now. Satisfying. Gratifying. Transparent. Tight.

I'll openly admit that many demons fled his presence. That man knows how to fight a good fight, especially after grasping the truth that loved ones should not receive any blows during the battle.

I recognize him now... as the man I saw looming beneath the armor while fighting the wrong war. We're not back together, but we're still a dynamic duo. I know better than to interrupt his transformation with the stress of caring for a romance. And I stay true to myself not to interrupt my own journey. Timing is everything.

I answered that phone because no matter the hardship, it was always real. I enjoyed the luxury of being myself in all of my glorious wonder and broken glory. I have never felt more human, loved, accepted, and powerful in all my life.

I don't worry about our future. I don't stress over the "ifs" of becoming a couple in the future. In truth, it may nevah happen. None of it draws my attention because I must live this day before I can live the day named "tomorrow." And my "todays" are good because 90% of the time, I'm glad I answered the phone.

A special shot-out to LoveBabz for this thought-provoking post:
What Am I Doing, Seriously?

Photo lifted from: Freelancedom

New Year, Same Old Bullshit.... NOT.

Warning: I am not feeling particularly deep today, so this post contains no advice or deep reflections. If that's what you needed, contact 1-800-SOWHAT.

===================

I have never gone into a New Year with a bad attitude about the future, and this New Year is no different. As the icing on the cake, there's something spectacular about this New Year doubling as the mark of a new decade. Can you believe it's 2010?? What a blessing to see another decade. I just wish we had the shiny suits and the flying cars that all the old movies promised by 2010.

Anyway, this is a relationship blog, so I won't bore you with my loosely-formed list of resolutions that will probably die an ugly death by February. But I will share this: I am enjoying a front-row seat to a wonderful transformation in His Side. And I'm not talking about the selfish list of things I'd love to see change about him. I'm talking about the joy of watching him like himself again. He's jumped some hurdles, ducked some bullets, and ran through other random obstacles. He achieved some personal victories that he's proud to claim. And it shows all over his happy-ass glowing face.

Yeah, we tried the "let's still be friends" thing too soon after the breakup. Silly rabbits... Tricks are for kids.... BUT... I can ultimately measure the current friendship as worth the original chaos. Shit, nobody died, the stuntmen got paid, and no animals were harmed in the making of this drama. Isn't that a success? hehe

See ya next time... and Happy New Year!

And now a break for the Tiger...

I know I just returned to the blog. I know you're waiting to hear what's-up in the land of Her Side and the elusive His Side. But I need to stop by and say something about our nation's current fascination with Tiger Woods' bedroom shenanigans.

Stop it.

Just stop it.

Even if that poor man wanted to reconcile with his wife, our prying-ass nosey eyes are making the man's plight difficult. Not too long ago, I would have quickly recruited myself to team Leave His Triflin Ass. But I slowly find myself creeping to the sidelines of team Make Dat Shit Work. Because folks want the fairy tale ending without the big bad wolf or the evil stepmother.

Not one day in my life will I condone cheating. Even if you spouse is a first-class jerk. Leave their ass first. But I'm all for couples looking for ways to reconcile such breaches before the lawyers get their grubby hands on the assets.

Can we leave the Tiger alone long enough to pay attention to the shit in our closets?

I'll do my best to say-no-more about this, but ooooooooh, I'm just itching to debate all theories from sex addiction to the stress of the good-boy image.

Would somebody be kind enough to stop me from turning this into a series???

Balancing Hope and Disappointment After a Breakup, Part 3 of ?

The words of BSEW regular, Big Mark, triggered this series for sure. He offered the following words to describe the His Side/Her Side split (and pinpointed a deep feeling that I had yet to specify on my own):

Keeping the disappointment from mixing with the hopes is a challenge for sure.

So instead of cussing out Big Mark for swimming around in my head and finding the words I couldn't even express, I decided to blog about it. LOL

Continued from Part 2, which I had to break apart because it was becomming its own damn book...

= = = = = = = = = = = =

The weekend ended when His Side returned to his cousin's house, tried to call me, but I was on the phone with an old friend that I reconnected with. The old friend was a flame in my late teens, and we've had a good time catching-up on all the changes that 20 years can bring. His Side Lost. His. Mind.... first when the reconnection was revealed through the magic of Facebook friends lists, and then when His Side actually couldn't reach me because my phone was busy. The nerve of me using my phone. Based on the accusation, clearly old friends only reconnect to make plans for hot steamy affairs... right?

Anyway, I take ownership of three mistakes I made in this process:

1. I underestimated the challenge ahead of me and got loose on my watch.

2. I greatly underestimated how difficult it would be for His Side to fight his own personal battle with hope and dissapointment.

3. I didn't take the sage advice to go "no contact" for at least 30 days straight after the breakup. Somewhere deep inside me, a naive hopeful girl believes friendship should never die. Well part of that girl died this past weekend. She needed to. And the next time I see her, I'm gonna slap her in the mouwf.

Everything happens for a reason. (Dammit. Another cliche I couldn't avoid because of the unmistakable truth at its core. But I digress...) Even our mistakes become springboards for lessons that we need to learn. I count this the tuning point in successfully balancing hope wiht disappointment.

I suspect there will be a Part 4 to this series. Shit, I may do like Rocky, forget when to stop making more "parts," and just continue this until I'm too old to box I complete all the transitions that come with the territory.

Holla at me in the comments... even if it's to spank me for being dense. Y'all know I can take it.

A Relationship Public Service Announcement...

This PSA comes with a T-Shirt: STOP BLAMING ME FOR YOUR SHYT.

I believe I've had this conversation before with my BFF Negril. I'm kinda glad we're not in the same office today, because she might be foreced to slap me. In spite of sage advice and hard-earned wisdom, it is amazing how the mind plays tricks while submerged in the middle of a situation. Before today's PSA story comes the conclusion: You really can't do enough to appease a person who wants to blame you for their problems. End. Of. Fracking. STORY.

His Side called me first thing this morning. I'm talking before I oozed out of bed to prepare for the morning routine. I didn't expect to hear from him, because he lost his job yesterday and claimed he didn't want to hear from the rest of the world - including me - for a few days. He only had the job for about four weeks.

"Hello."

"Do you have COMPANY?"

"Wha???..."

That's how the conversation started. Because of course if I choose not to sleep with him, I'm whoring around town looking for random dyck to satiate me.

[Note to self: Don't be offended. Hold it together. He knows you're not a ho. If he really believed that dumb shit, he wouldn't be interested in you in the first place.]

Anyway, his monnologue consisted of declarations of his love for me coupled with a tongue-lashing for having friends other than him. Male. Female. Straight. Gay. It doesn't matter. They all make him feel threatened, like he has to complete for my affections. I was told how I should understand him and his request, because of things that have been done to him before. He went on to lament his life and his mistakes, and rolled right back into what I should and should not be doing for him.

Now I spent most of this monologue rubbing crusties from my eyes and staring at the phone like I just got a call from aliens. I very calmly said fuck you informed His Side that I object to his calling my house for such nonsense and he'll nevah own the right to play Director in my life. I kindly declined the challegne to defend myself against his ridiculous accusations. He apologized, which historically only means "excuse me for a moment, and I'll see if I can implement my mind control in another attempt I have planned for this afternoon."

I feel badly for him. This empathy led me to overlook too much as his girlfriend... and sometimes engage in the fray trying to make things right. And now I'm starting to overlook too much as his "new-found" friend.

I thank Susan Elliott for this great post dealing with taking the blame for our partner's actions. Today's PSA comes from Susan's blog post (which you should stop and read, by the way):

They will not change. There is NO such thing as acting “right enough” or loving someone “good enough” to keep them from doing crappy things. A monster will act like a monster. A cheater will act like a cheater. A liar will act like a liar. And a bananahead will act like a bananahead. No matter what you do or do not do.

The bottom line is that everyone is responsible for his or her own behavior. Do not let someone else blame you for their bad behavior. No one can make anyone do anything they don’t want to do. [Source]

Reminder: Part 3 of my Hope vs. Disappointment series will auto-post tomorrow morning.

Balancing Hope and Disappointment After a Breakup, Part 2 of ?

The words of BSEW regular, Big Mark, triggered this series for sure. He offered the following words to describe the His Side/Her Side split (and pinpointed a deep feeling that I had yet to specify on my own):

Keeping the disappointment from mixing with the hopes is a challenge for sure.

So instead of cussing out Big Mark for swimming around in my head and finding the words I couldn't even express, I decided to blog about it. LOL

Welcome to Part 2 of The Shittiest Lesson EVAH

= = = = = = = = = = = =

I have been working on Part 2 of this series for weeeeeks. The landscape of this battle changes so often, that my draft posts go stale before I have a chance to dot the i's and hit "publish."

But today I reached a place where I can say something important about the ongoing battle - a battle I never expected to present so many challenges. I have to thank Mark again for forcing me to pay attention.

Most of the time, I'd say 85% of the time, His Side and I have a great time re-exploring friendship without the stress of "working on relationship issues." Those issues became deeply distracting, and we owed it to each other to go to our separate corners to work it out. That 85% represents "Hope." But the other 15% of the time, OH GOOD LORDIE, we take randomly unexpected turns manifesting "Disappointment."

His Side fluctuates between two ends of the spectrum: Deep understanding of how much time it would take for us to come together again in the future and hurt frustration that wants to make it happen right now.

I stay firm on the expectation that reconciliation would take a looooong time, but find myself feeling frustrated at key times that he seems to avoid his personal business with eyes fixed on recreating an "us." Dammit, how is that time gonna come while I'm still young enough to have wild sex if you keep wasting the days on dumb shit?

Anyway, it isn't fair for either of us to dump our disappointment on the other. My style is to go all blue and get motherly about his decisions. His style is to have a blow out until he hits the right button and I go up like a flare.

This weekend was particularly bad. We spend time together every-other weekend, but this weekend he was on a deep romantic mission. He got nasty when I didn't flow with it, and he said more hurtful things than a single human should say in a lifetime. I was floored. And I reacted. Talk about a flare. I think my hair caught on fire.

He continued the rip bouncing back and forth between apologies and more frustrated words. For the first time, I wondered if this was a person I even wanted as a distant associate. I simply told him, "Friends don't treat each other this way, and there's no way I can count you a friend."

It was like the end of an era. It was like breaking up all over again.

Worst of all, it was like looking into the eyes of a stranger who evokes fond memories because he bears a striking resemblance to a lost loved-one. Except it's not the loved one, and you have to deal with the reality of who is standing in front of you.

:: breaking the rest into Part 3, which will auto-publish in 2 days, because this is a long one ::

Balancing Hope and Disappointment After a Breakup, Part 1 of ?

The words of BSEW regular, Big Mark, triggered this series for sure. He offered the following words to describe the His Side/Her Side split (and pinpointed a deep feeling that I had yet to specify on my own):

Keeping the disappointment from mixing with the hopes is a challenge for sure.

So instead of cussing out Big Mark for swimming around in my head and finding the words I couldn't even express, I decided to blog about it. LOL

Just as Mark prophesied suggested, the war between hope and disappointment started the moment I asked His Side to leave the home. In fact, the hard line I took on the decision constantly drew swords to fight off hope that "well maybe he doesn't have to really leave the house." Memories of the last time we split kept me on track. The in-house split featured him on the couch and absolutely no work done to resolve the root of the problem. Bzzzzt. Not gonna do that again.

I won the first round of the battle between hope and disappointment because reality dictated the necessity of pushing the STOP button and gracefully exiting the ride. Misdirected anger, bitterness, and even rage stole so much peace from the home, and efforts to resolve the problem were met with an increased frequency of bad moments. Sometimes you have to admit when a problem is over your head. And this one was waaaay over my pay grade...

You see, I won't declare Armageddon over routine spats, droughts, imperfections, and petty squabbles. That stuff always exists in relationships where two imperfect people come together and their human frailties collide. I am not going to lose any sleep over occasional nuisances. There ain't enough hours in the day and there isn't enough malice in true love to be that petty. His Side faced issues that only he has the right to tell (or keep to himself, dammit). And I am not one to blow up anybody's business in a public forum. Besides, technically it's irrelevant if he shares or not, because I only have two concerns

(1) How am *I* going to conduct my life and

(2) Does my home currently offer an environment that is good for my boys?

Because really, those are the only two things I can control - my behavior and my decisions.

The entire thought process (at times a small act of mental gymnastics) led me back to a conversation I had with Negril about men/women who simply "settle" in a relationship. Men and women settle for bad mates all the time out of fear... or dysfunction... or plain old stupidity. Shortly before asking His Side to leave, I made a declaration. Out of the blue. No warning. Just a sudden moment of clarity. I WON'T SETTLE FOR THIS. THIS IS NOT OKAY.

There's a fine line between patience and settling. That line is just about as fragile as the distance between love and hate. For instance, a temporarily unemployed husband requires patience. So long as you're in it together, you can overcome. A chronically unemployed husband who prefers TV over the classifieds requires that you settle. Settle for disrespect. Settle for financial hardship. Settle for less than you hoped for or deserve.

The day I diagnosed that His Side and I were facing a chronic condition that needed the shit slapped out of it, I was sold. My hope that we could overcome was drowned by the disappointing realization that only one option existed...

As the story continues:
My first battle to balance Hope and Disappointment ended in a successful decision to split. Next time, I'll describe what happens when Hope tips the scale (in the wrong direction) and leads to an ugly post-breakup episode.

Young love is great, but the grown game ROCKS

I just finished reading an article, "Over 40 and Ready for Love?" Men and women ranging in age from 40 to 79 got their groove back and found love, with some entering marriage for the first time.

Too often, I think, pop culture characterizes the excitement of falling in love as a drink best served during youth. Teens and twenty-somethings are pegged as having the most fun with self-discovery, dating, marriage and even sex.

But in the spirit of the Over 40 article, I find something deeply sexy about relationships as I get closer to my 4th decade on this planet. The fantasy slowly transformed into the experience and wisdom it takes to attract, recognize, and nurture more fulfilling experiences.

In other words, I enjoy earning the right to say "Been There. Done That. AND Got the T-shirt."

Trial and Error: The Beauty of Experience and Learning from Failures

I read a lot of books about finances, business administration, and management. If anybody deserved an honorary MBA based on their library, I'd be that chick. The first time I was presented with the idea that 'we learn more from a failure than a success,' I was hopelessly intrigued. Many wealthy men and women give credit for the quality/depth of their success to memorable failures that shook their foundation, imparted priceless lessons, and sometimes almost broke their spirit. Failures present some of the best opportunities for growth, a unique view of "what not to do," and a powerful springboard for "what to do better/differently next time."

I wholeheartedly believe this concept applies to relationships. Isn't that why we bother with courting, dating, and engagements before jumping headfirst into marriage? We feel our way around the relational landscape, learn how to use the maps, discover how to stay on the road, and stumble upon ways to avoid pesky land mines left behind from all the wars fought in the land.

I find it particularly disturbing that casual observers can criticize couples - especially young couples - for "not making it work." There's no friggin manual for relationships/marriage. If there was, we wouldn't have terms like "hook-up" and "side piece" to describe the unfortunate purgatory that folks live in while pretending to look for love. And hell, divorce lawyers wouldn't be able to fart around with the rich and famous. Some might cite the Bible as the closest thing we have to a Relationship Users Manual. But even the Bible makes room for dreadfully-flawed human nature.

I have dated (seriously) since I was 18, but some of those puppy-love, budding love, and mature love stories stand out:

When I was 18, I had a boyfriend whom I loved as much as an 18-year old heart could stand. To me, he was the epitome of what a boyfriend should be, and he never proved anything different. I was the one who broke his heart to experience the sudden newness and freedom associated with attending college far from home.

When I was 26, I fell head-over-heels for an island man and our time together always took my breath away. For eight months, we worked, played, laughed, and loved. The sex was... the... SHIT. Suddenly, when his internship in the area was over, he was on the road to home to marry his ex-girlfriend. WTF? I was devastated. He was my first truly adult love experience.

When I was 28, I married somebody completely outside of my "type." He looked great on paper, but there was no true fire. In fact, I still had a small fire buring for the island man, who I remained in contact with. (What kind of crap is that?) I was compelled by the promise of stability - financial and otherwise - that my ex-husband seemed to represent. Three years and 11 months later, I learned why a resume of practical considerations won't do much to sustain a marriage.

When I was 35, I met His Side. I didn't date at all after my divorce. I was celibate and mastering life as a single mother. His Side looked awful on paper. No money. No assets. Past problems with some still unresolved. And. I. Didn't. Care. I was crazy about him, and he was clearly crazy about me.

We had a wonderful "phone" relationship that resulted in dating, which led to an intimate relationship (OMG, talk about finding extra icing on top of my cake), which led to him moving in. Together, we marveled about the organic, simple-yet-complicated, raw, unadulterated bliss that comes with falling hopelessly in love. Yet here we are in the chaos chronicled here at this blog. I am still in the process of recognizing and embracing the necessary lessons from this one...

In spite of it all, I feel poised to keep living a vibrant life armed with the lessons from each of these experiences. I am thankful for what I learned, primarily what I learned about myself as each of these stories played their necessary role in my life.

The Frickin Point I am Trying to Make Is...

In spite of recent developments as I watched My Favorite Relationship of All Time devolve into chaos, I am deeply happy and satisfied.

I don't have to cry my eyeballs out.
Been There.

I don't have to just accept the chaos out of fear of being alone.
Done That.

I don't have to worry if love still exists or can be a part of my future.
Got the T-shirt.

I'm all grownded up. hehe I am as free as I allow myself to be. I'm as wise as the experiences behind me - according to the degree I opened my heart to receive. And I know fo'sho that the ups-&-downs of living and loving during the uncertainty of youth never EVER felt this good.