Reclaiming My Time: On Why I’m Not Attending My Class Reunion.

So, my 20 year high school class reunion is coming up next year. All the hoopla is starting already vis-à-vis Facebook groups, people I haven’t talked to (or thought about) in 20 years coming out of the woodwork, etc.

I’m pretty proud of where I am 20 years later. And, I think I still look pretty good. That said, I will not be attending. And I am unapologetic about it. In the words of Auntie Maxine Waters, I’m “reclaiming my time.”

So, why am I not attending? It’s really not that complicated.

My (long time ex) boyfriend (of ten years) married a woman in my graduating class (we weren’t friends, but acquaintances).

“Well, that’s not that bad, you’re trippin'”, you might be thinking.

The thing is, they hooked up while he and I were still together — living together, in fact. She knew it, and didn’t give a fuck (I mean, she really didn’t need to give a fuck about me; I don’t expect her to — but y’all know what they say about how a relationship begins — it typically ends the same way; plus it’s mad thirsty and snaky).

Nonetheless, I found out he was cheating, moved out (of his condo), and to make a long story short, they ended up getting married.

In any case, I’ve long since moved on from that situation. I harbor no hard feelings (a tinge of petty anger, yes — but, bitterness, no; there is a difference). Hell, he and I even keep in touch, sporadically (Well, we did — I’m sure that will cease now that I’ve spoken my truth, and asserted my right to control the narrative).

Having said that, why in hell would I voluntarily subject myself to being in the same spaces as the happy couple. Especially around people who know both wifey and I — some of them knowing what went down. Why would I participate in that? There’s no doubt that there are folks who would take pleasure absorbing the negative energy emanating from that elephant in the room. I just want no part of it.

So, there you have it. I am not going to my reunion because I will not subject myself to the side eyes and discomfort of watching a woman I graduated with prance around with my (then attached) ex-boyfriend that she managed to marry.

Plus, fuck high school reunions and all they represent. Meanwhile, I’ll just be sippin’ my tea, and reclaiming MY TIME. In other words, my time and comfort are much too valuable to participate in a charade society deems somehow meaningful. Why open up an old wound that I will be forced to nurse back closed? No. Just no.

** Also, please refrain from tagging me/contacting me on social media about anything related to this charade. And, feel free to continually reference this post, if you remain confused.

Relishing A Sister’s Misfortune.

JAY-Z, 4:44Like most of you, I have been caught up in JAY-Z’s latest album, 4:44, all weekend. The album is dope, as are many of the think-pieces I’ve been reading, dissecting its dopeness. The album spoke to me and my reality on many levels (a separate post forthcoming), but interestingly, a think-piece about the album, highlighting a somewhat separate (at least on the surface) issue, has me feeling some kind of way.

Sis, We Gotta Stop Letting Black Men Ruin Us – Crystal deGregory Ph.D. – Medium

An open letter to black women who’ve listened to Jay-Z’s 4:44 and are waiting on an apology from the men who did you wrong. This could easily be a conversation about how Beyoncé lost her mind, her career, or her literal life behind Jay-Z. But, thankfully, it is not.

Honestly, the entire article speaks to me, but this quote is particularly poignant:

“That’s right. We gotta stop celebrating ruinous men ruining any woman —even a woman who has betrayed our Sisterhood’s” sacred trust. We made him and his situation look so good that Sister really thought she was getting herself a prize — a poison that looked like it tasted so good, she was willing to steal it because of her own desperate thirst.”

Okay. Those of you who read this blog know that I have had my share of experiences with no good, “ruinous”, ain’t shit men. Most particularly, my ex-FWB. I knew he wasn’t shit when I hooked up with him, but as you may recall, my ex-friend highlighted just how ain’t shit he was, and set into motion a set of sneaky, snaky events that ultimately ended our friendship.

To sum it up, she slept with him, lied about it, started a fraud ass relationship with him, got knocked up, and the rest is history. You may also recall that she ended up reaching out to me a bit after the baby was born, humbling herself to “apologize” and tell me just how ain’t shit she found out he was (a “you told me so” moment from which I took copious amounts of pleasure) — denying their baby, “cheating on her”, knocking up another woman. Yadda, yadda, yadda.

Ex-FWB & some chick he knocked up.

Digressing a bit, you know when you’re bored, on social media, and you go down that rabbit hole, searching and scouring looking for shit? Well, last week, I went down that rabbit hole, and found this photo of ex-FWB from January, with some other broad he knocked up (likely, the woman my ex-friend mentioned). The petty in me wanted to anonymously e-mail it to my ex-friend. But, truth be told, she’s probably seen it. Point being, I took pleasure in imagining my ex-friend’s pain. Like a lot.

It was beautiful — glorious, really — being able to experience karma (and its justice being rightly served). However, reading the words in the aforementioned article really made me pause. I’m sitting with it for a while.

Inadvertent Petty.

So, there are many reasons (separate post forthcoming) why I am still friends with my infamous ex on social media — despite the (beyond) foul shit he put me through. [ An aside: my ex is a pretty private person, and doesn’t share his business on these interwebs, which means I really don’t run a serious risk stumbling across some shit that’ll hurt my feelings. Unless I go fishing and deep sea diving — stalking, that is; but that ship has sailed. Anyway. ] It’s been almost four years since we broke up, which means it’s been almost four years since I’ve seen him. But yo, I still love this man.

That said, being connected to him on social media makes me feel a semblance of closeness to him — even though we’re thousands of miles apart.

You’d think that the four years we’ve been apart would be time enough to get over the shit he put me through. And, to a certain extent it did. However, since his messy ass behavior resulted in a child, this will never truly be over. And that’s okay; I’ve made my peace with it. Hell, I hope to meet the little guy one day. But, I digress.

But, social media. And, inadvertent petty.

As I was browsing my Facebook feed, I came across this post that my ex shared (he didn’t create the post, it’s just shared from something he liked on Instagram):

Ok. So this. I know I sound like a bitter bitch, but fuck all of this right here. As it relates to my ex’s current situation, that is. My ex has children from previous (legitimate) relationships, who are grown/nearly grown. In that context, the sentiments of this meme are beautiful. I dig it.

However.

As I reflect upon his situation, as the father of a four year old who was conceived from a meaningless hook-up (with a basic ass Becky who fetishizes Black dick), that destroyed me, fuck this. Should the way his son was conceived have any bearing on his love for him? Of course not. I am not suggesting that.

But, the messy, bitter, self-centered bitch in me is wondering how in the fuck he could read this meme and reflect on the privilege and gift of fatherhood that resulted in the destruction of another person (um, me).

CryingFolks, yes. I realize how utterly messy, bitter, dumb, stupid, selfish, self-centered, evil, misguided, heartless, etc., this sounds. However, I read this and couldn’t help but log off social media feeling some kind of way.

His stat has absolutely nothing to do with me. Shit, he has no allegiance to me anymore. That said, I am deeming it inadvertently petty (Which is crazy, because he is the least petty person I know. Messy? Yes. Petty, nah). But, the petty in me, recognizes how petty some shit like this has the potential to be.

This all says several things to me:

  1. I am not as “over” this situation as I thought I was;
  2. I am messy as fuck;
  3. I am petty as fuck;
  4. I need to get over myself.

I. I. I. I. Me. Me. Me. Me. Sounds about right. Anyway.

I don’t think my ex reads this blog, so this is in no way a subliminal or passive aggressive dig at him. The rational me knows that my thoughts and feelings about this are dumb and irrational.

I don’t want my ex to have residual feelings of regret when he looks at his son. I really don’t. The little guy didn’t ask to be here.

Olivia Pope cryingThat said, my heart aches, and it pains me to think that my ex is able to exist in a reality where regret for his decisions, and how they completely destroyed me (I mean that literally), have waned.

Fuck.

Time to go meditate with my selenite wand. My chakras are all the way fucked up.

Problematic White Women: Musings on “Invite Only Cabo”

Invite Only CaboI’ve recently become addicted to the new (premiered May 14, 2017) Bravo show Invite Only Cabo (Sundays at 8PM CST). It’s a deliciously drama filled, entertaining reality show.

It chronicles the Cabo vacation of Larry Sims, who invited six of his socialite friends who either didn’t know each other personally (prior to the show), or were only casually acquainted. Needless to say, there are lots of strong and conflicting personalities.

The cast of the show consists of four Black men, two Black women, and one very problematic white woman (entitlement issues, fetishizing Black men, centering herself, white tears, perpetual victimhood, etc.).

Check my Twitter thread where I break it down.

Don’t Flatter Yourself, Katy Perry.

Bon Appétit art, Katy PerryLet’s talk about Katy Perry’s ridiculous new video for Bon Appétit. I’ll be honest, the song it kind of catchy. But the video, though. It’s horrendous. It’s gross, and it’s thrown together in seriously poor taste.

But most of all, the subtext is so fucking played out. The whole men of color being characterized as insatiable (shit, cannibals in this case) for white women trope is ridiculously stereotypical, but it, coupled (in this case) with hip-hop artists and strip clubs (you know, the basic white woman’s guide to Black men) in the video is just…wack.

It’s no secret that I have no chill when it comes to calling out white women for appropriating our shit (you know, naming their Black babies after influential Black folks with whom they have no meaningful cultural references, etc.). As usual, I digress.

Scene from D.W. Griffith’s “Birth of a Nation”

But this extra layer that Katy Perry has added in Bon Appétit brings to mind images of D.W. Griffith’s Birth of a Nation (1915), where Black men are portrayed as mindless, psychotic animal-like predators, stalking and chasing after white women. And the women are terrified.

But in her video, Katy seems to be loving it. You know the drill, white feminism — weak (failed) attempts at flipping the narrative, or something. Spare me.

Now, it’s hard to tell of there are white men included among the chefs literally mangling, cutting and cooking Katy while she writhes in pleasure, but all that I noticed were the Black and brown hands that the director chose to focus on. Oh, and Korean chef Roy Choi is thrown in, too, for good measure. And the whole thing bothers the fuck out of me.

Spare me with the sexual liberation and sex positive justifications for this mess. The fact of the matter is that not only are we tired of your appropriation (because you look foolish, Katy), but portraying men of color as cannibals, starving and famished for your basic ass is too much. We’ve seen that story before, and we’re tired of it. Also, don’t flatter yourself. You’re basic. And so transparent.

Take a look at this fuckery. Or don’t.