on brothas, rape, and the question of money

Ok, so here's a link to the original story, and a blurb from it:

Popular Hollywood Actor Arrested For Memphis Sexual Assault:
Actor Anthony Anderson, who starred in such films as "Scary Movie 3", "Barbershop", "Me, Myself and Irene" and the new movie "Harold and Kumar Go to White Castle" has been arrested in Memphis for aggravated rape.
The affidavit says that on Tuesday, July 27, 2004, a woman says both Anderson and Witherspoon sexually assaulted her in a trailer out by the Shelby County Corrections Center, where the movie is currently shooting. The woman says she was lured inside the trailer by Witherspoon and that once she was inside, both men began taking off her clothes and assaulting her. She says they also took pictures of her.

Police say a witness heard her screaming, came and unlocked the door. The woman ran from the trailer without any clothes on and she was taken to the Sexual Assault Center.

if u want the news story, Click Here

Now here's my thing:: why even put yourself in a situation where you can be accused?

I'm trying not to be judgemental, since the whole story hasn't come out yet. I ain't trying to rush to judgement, and debate whether he's innocent or guilty. My concern is, why even put yourself NEAR a situation where you can be accused?

I mean, situations like these have been going on for years - this isn't a new issue. Men have been falsely accused, as long as men have been legitimately accused. And we see Kobe, and in a way, MJ fighting this same battle. And Tupac did too, and I'm leaving out many more...When is enough, enough? Hell, it hasn't even been 100 years since you could get strung up for looking at a caucasian woman the "wrong" way. And a sista's family would get you with some street justice, before the cops even knew what originally happened. Now? Have folks forgotten all this?

Frankly, I haven't met a d___ that I was willing to get locked up for, or pay lots of $$$ to enjoy. And those are the possible outcomes, right? I hear Kobe's accuser has had so much confidential information leaked, she's "considering pulling out of the criminal case...and pursuing the civil one...and including the court as a defendent" (well, that was from GMA - don't know if I should even count that as a news source).

Ok, this is all the PC version of what I'm thinking...what I'm really thinking is this:
I don't care if she was walking down the street, butt-a$$ naked, with a FREE PU$$Y sign on her forehead...JUST SAY NO, AND RUN IN THE OTHER DIRECTION.

things to do before I turn 40, revisited

So, I knocked another one off the list:

The List::

• Get a passport, and at least 1 stamp in it.


• Buy a house.


• Have a decadent, weekend fling in the Chicago LakeShore W hotel. Preferably with my future husband.
  
• Volunteer at least 8 hours/month for 6 months working with teenage AA girls.


• Take a cruise.


• Kick a$$ and take names in Madden 200X.


• Wear really tight black leather pants while kicking a$$ & taking names in Madden 200X. And look really good in them.


• Own a pistol. Legally. And know how to use it. <<I took a class in Firearm Safety & Instruction at my local police department. Very cool - and I CAN shoot, oh yeah. Now to buy that .38 I've got my eye on.


• Write the book that's rolling around in my skull like a marble.


• Visit the Motherland (no, I'm not German - I'm talking about Africa).


• Learn to scuba dive.


• Lose 100+ lbs.


• Make love naked in the ocean.


• Walk the Peach'. Yeah, I said it. WALK the Peachtree Road Race (hey, I'm being realistic - I know I can't run it within the next 2 years, so...).


• Celebrate Carnival, preferably in a country where Carnival is a BIG DEAL.


• Dance in the moonlight, in a ballgown, with my hair in a
• chignõn.


• Graduate from college. << Got my undergrad, on to my Master's


• Get married.


• Ride a horse.


• Learn how to play golf/tennis/both.

I feel good that I'm making some progress. Now there are some that are dependent on others (have to lose the 100+ lbs to get on the horse, and I can get the passport stamp, the Carnivale celebrations, dancing in a ballgown and making love in the ocean, all in one stop). But I'm happy with my progress.

singing like there is no tomorrow...

so I was feeling myself, right? Loving my hair, loving my outfit, loving the fact that it was 8am, and I was headed to `Buck's, for a nonfat Chai Latte, and a Cinnamon Walnut Coffee Cake. You couldn't wipe the Cheshire Cat grin off my face if you wanted to - and trust, you don't - I woulda cut you...

So, on my way out of `Buck's, I'm singing the Kindred song that was playing on my CD player on the way in..."Brother it won't hurt you to admit that your heart still beats...even though some heartache done slam knocked you off your feet...and I guarantee that this life will be hard sometime...this advice is yours and mine...Surrender to Love...". This attractive, bald caucasian guy gives me the high-beam smile, and opens the door for me as we leave, and tells me to have a good one. And I'm thinking, damn - everyday should start like this, right?

See, I try to praise my Creator, by reveling in that kind of joy. simple. borne of the soul. uncomplicated by human fallacy or will. as pure as these times will allow.

There are times where it overwhelms me, and I have to burst into song, or dance like there's no tomorrow, or both. Watching the sun rise, being able to take a breath, having the vocal cords, lips, tongue, teeth, brain, nerves, synapse...to actually make a sound, let alone make in understandable, or even sound good - we should all be singing everyday. I see myself in the rearview cutting up, or in my living room mirror, or walking around Walmart, and think "I know these folks probably think I'm looney, but who cares. We should all possess this kind of enduring, uncompromising joy". And I keep singing. That's love to me - the ultimate kind.

My life (I don't know about yours) isn't completely driven by the need for money, fame, fortune, power, or even acceptance. I live for that joy & love...always. When it's not present, I rest in the knowledge that it always returns. When it's present, I celebrate it. My celebration is my way of thanking the Creator for showing me that.

the thing I refuse to name

I want so badly to put this thing down
this longing
that is at once enticing, and abhorrent
it brings me nervous butterflies & tears as its offerings
and seemingly asks only for my fealty in return

this thing is tangible
this longing
palpable
a lump in my throat, that I cannot swallow
I'm choking on it
its flavor a rancid memory of a love I once knew
now sicked up, bitter

and me torn
between gratitude that I can still feel
and resentment that the thing manages to exist
manages to have this unearthly hold over me
part of me longs to stand naked in the rain
and wash it all away

and part of me wants to embrace it, fully
caress it like the soft down on the inside of a thigh
nuzzle it like the nape of a neck
blow sweet kisses, warm breath on it
breathe passion into it, likening it to an ember
without fear of becoming obsessed with its elusiveness
without thinking it will run away from me, or consume me

I watch it from a distance, this thing
running through the woods
running to be free
its only instinct, running to breathe, to live
to love
and I hold the long cold steel barrel loosely by my right side
and resist the urge
watching
and still want to put this thing down

© 2004 ~ Sagacious Media

ain't no party like a Hilfiger party, because a Hilfiger party don't stop...

So, I'm watching "I Love the 90's" on VH1, because the fact that I have chores to do hasn't influenced my overindulgence in mindless TV all day today. I have JC on the brain for all the wrong reasons, and the only thing that has distracted me from that is mind-candy.

So, in the "I Love 1994" episode, they went into this whole spiel on the Tommy Hilfiger phenomenon - you know: How one WASPy white guy managed to inflate the price of school uniforms and sell them to the hip-hop community. Serious fodder for the brain - until this shining jewel from Mo Rocca: "One thinks it may have begun with boating on the Harlem River. Yes, you can almost see it - the Harlem Regatta - that was the beginning of it all."

This, combined with footage of Dame Dash doing the the "grown man" version of the Harlem Shake, holding a bottle of Crystal & wearing some Tommy gear, on the deck of somebody's yacht ( a rental perhaps?) just made it even funnier.

Ok, so maybe I'm easily influenced today - I have not been so easily brought to tearful laughter in a while. Wow. I need to relax, for real.

hm...wonder if Mo's touring, and if I can catch him at the Punchline?

a day in the life...

I know plenty of people that torture viewers with this self-indulgent kind of fantasy...so I'll let you know UP FRONT that this is what it is - so you can click off now if you're not interested. Otherwise, here goes:

5:00am:: I rise, and kiss you (softly sleeping). Not wanting to wake you yet - I need some alone time, so I workout for 28 minutes - thinking of how to get through the rest of the day.

5:28am:: You finally turn over - and head immediately to the bathroom to (of course) hog it. I wake up our kids, and get them dressed - still sweaty. I hit the power button on the microwave, so that I can make you some herbal tea...

6:05am:: their school bus picks them up, leaving me time to...

6:07am:: ...jump in with you at the end of your shower (you've been dawdling, as most men do, in the bathroom). Amidst the suds, giggling, touching, kissing, and loving - we still manage to get clean by...

6:35am:: which means I'm going to be officially stuck in Atlanta traffic, and officially late for my decent paying software development gig. I reheat your tea, so you can take it with you, and I'm out the door.

me, 7:35am - 4:35pm:: yes, I'm late for work - but for a worthy cause. I spend most of my day, in pursuit of my never-ending journey of expansion of my programming skills. Yes, I love this part of being a geek. For the non-geekish, this is similar to cooking. See, as of now, I'm a biscuit maker of the programming world - trying to become a Executive Pastry Chef - they both know their way around some dough, but I'd rather make the Almond Croissants, ok? I do what I do very well - but I can always learn to do it better.

you, 7:35am - 8:35am:: you stop by the gym, and do the whole "working out" production. Fortunately, your gig starts later, and you have time to kill. It helps that you still like to keep your 3-pack (not quite a 6-pack, but still) tight, and your high-paying gig lets you roll in later like that...

you, 9:00am - 6:00pm:: you do what you're passionate about, and very well at that. That's why I dig you.

me, 5:15 - 6:30pm:: I cook. Well, actually I burn (in a good way). I love good food, and I like to cook, preferably from scratch, and especially for the ones I love. I love that they appreciate a good meal, and I love how it feels to spend time doing something that makes them happy, in some small way. So I fix some vegetarian chili, Thai Tofu stir-fry or Chicken Souvlaki. That's why you dig me (the love shown, not just because of the food).

6:30 - 6:45pm:: you get in, and I immediately ask you to squeeze some lemons for me. You bitch & moan about being tired, and I bitch & moan back about having worked just as hard as you. You concede (for now) - this is an ongoing, joking debate, which both of us know not to take seriously. That's why we dig each other. Then we make fresh-squeezed lemonade.

6:45 - 7:15pm:: we eat. we talk about our day, and talk about our kids' day (do we have kids? hm...).

7:15 - 8:45pm:: quality time? I prefer some mindless TV - something non-challenging, like Reality TV (I know...I know...). You probably want to watch the game, which is cool if the Knicks are playing. Actually, it's still cool if they're not. Or, you can keep trying to teach me how to play Madden 2004(which i am SO not getting). Or we can watch CSI/Law & Order reruns, snuggling on the couch. Secretly, I'd love to just chill & watch the cogs in your brain turn, I'm still so smitten with your intelligence.

8:45 - 9:00pm:: putting the rugrats to bed, so...

9:00pm - ? (maybe 11/12ish):: ...we can BURN A HOLE IN THE FLOOR. SERIOUSLY. I don't know what it is - the workouts, the food, the ginseng I secretly slip in your morning tea, but at 3X (or 4X) yrs old - you still have the stamina of a 17 yr old, and I LOVE IT, 'specially since at 38, I'm hurtling toward my sexual peak. We go at it like rabbits, until I am literally singing, and my singing puts us both to sleep.

5:00am:: we begin again...


I'm standing here, squeezing the lemons myself - wishing that I not only had some help, but someone to taste this bomb-a$$ veggie chili I made, and to appreciate the efforts I put into it....


...and to make me sing them to sleep.

FL - the end?

Again, if you need to know how this story started -
Click Here for the Beginning
and Click Here for the Middle

Now, on to the end....?

When you have a cut - as it begins to scab over, it itches (like crazy) as it heals. Then the scab forms, but the scab has to be removed in order for it to heal completely. It needs to be kept clean, and it also needs air and time.

My scabs formed on my heart.

After I kicked FL out - I tried to jump right back in the game, but that didn't work. My mental was OFF, I was still depressed, and my heart was broken. Wait, that ain't as honest as it should be. I was d-e-v-a-s-t-a-t-e-d. After all - I was the "good" girl - I did everything "right" - I treated him the way a man was "supposed" to be treated. And he - well he did what he did, and moved on like it was no big thing. He could find another woman - but I couldn't BUY a decent date - let alone relationship.

So, I became celibate. For three years. But that's a story for another blog...lol.

Meanwhile, FL tried (in his mind anyway) to get me back. He tried to get a decent job, tried to support my returning to college to finish my degree, tried to portray the image of the "decent father". Problem is, FL is a child - with selfish, childish ways. So, his efforts somehow always went awry: spiraling into irresponsibility, undependability, jealousy, self-absorption and aggression. The quick & dirty was that we always - ALWAYS ended up in some screaming match not seeing eye-to-eye about something - but particularly the parenting of our child.

Y'all ain't forget about that one, did'ja? Yes, we (FL & I) are tied together for life. So, in the midst of trying to heal - I still had to deal...with FL. I had chicken pox as a child, while on vacation - and the fact that I couldn't have fun seemed to make it itch more. This thing between FL & I itched worse than that...it was impossible. I was trying to heal, and he was rubbing (not Calamine lotion) Organic, coarse Sea Salt into my wounds.

So I cut him off, repeatedly - for 2...4...6 months - even a year. His people (friends, family) would intervene, and plea on his behalf to NOT cut him off from his child. I'd give him a reprieve, and quite frankly he'd manage to f&§¥ up again... and again... and again. Until the next time he "forgot" to pick my son up from school, or pissed off one of my son's doctors, or no-showed for his weekend visitation. Meanwhile, his inability to keep a job racked up several years of child support debt.

After some time away - I finally forgave FL. Yes, that's right - even through all of that drama - and the after-drama I knew that in order for me to heal completely, I had to forgive him, so I could move on. So I could look at him clearly, and realize that he's not a Spawn of Satan, or a dog, or put on earth for the sole purpose of torturing me. He's just a guy, with some serious problems. And also realize that all men are not like FL - not by a friggin' long shot.

...And in the process, I accepted responsibilty for the part I played in it. I chose him, remember? That day at the gas station, and everytime he pushed me to a limit that I should never have even approached - I chose him, chose to remain in the situation...and I had some accountability for that. I also realized that there was something in ME that attracted HIM. That THING had to be purged. If I wanted a decent brother - let alone the perfect specimen that I felt was my divine right - I had to be the person that the "One" would want, yanno? I had to be the image/person that I thought he'd want...I had to look at what I thought made the "One" (whomever it was) attractive, and then reflect those same qualities, yanno? I had to do some SERIOUS work on myself. I had to gather.

...And I began to grow. As I kept pulling back that scab, letting some air hit it - I healed. Went back to college, to work on my degree. Started dating again after the 3 year break, and realized that there are still decent guys amongst the many frogs in the world. I regained my self-confidence, and faith in God, in people, and in the world. Man, honestly - hindsight is something else, and I can say it took a lot of fertilizer to get me to where I am now.

And now to answer your questions: (I know you have some)

• No, FL still doesn't see his son. He needs to gather.


• No, I haven't found "The One".


• Yes, I know the "One" is out there, somewhere.


• Yes, I'm ready.


• And, Yes - FL still contacts me.
Occasionally, he leaves messages on my voicemail, to tell me he loves me. He still occasionally sends me birthday or Mother's day cards. He'll call me to tell me that I looked nice when I dropped my son off at his aunt's house. I believe that FL is sincere in that - he thinks he does love me. I also know it's impossible to love someone, anyone - when you don't love yourself. I used to pity FL - but now I know that's arrogant, and a waste of energy. I hope some day, FL will get over me, seek help for his issues, grow up and gather himself. I hope - but somehow I don't really see it happening.

• And, No - I don't love him.
I doubt now that I ever did - because I never really knew him. He was an episode...a life lesson I needed to learn. I've closed that chapter of my life, and have moved on to the next.

Last question:: Why would I write all this painful stuff, and put it out there where ANYONE can see? I hope someone out there gets something from this. I know I did.

the FL story - the interim

the end of this story is coming, but this - this is the meat of the thing...and in hindsight, I always look at life (and myself) as before, and after FL. I learned so many life lessons because of FL.

If you need a recap, Click Here.

So there I was, at the darkest, most depressing point in my life. Sick son, abusive fiance, no friends or family to bail me out, and no job so I could support myself. My days ran, one into another, until nothing mattered, except escaping the pain. And I'd do whatever it took to escape the pain. I tried to workout, but with my son on life support, and his father having checked out - that wasn't possible. I even went home to my family, but after 5 days, I knew I was running from frying pan into fire, and that wasn't a solution.

And I ate. Boy did I eat. I watched a lot of daytime TV, and cooked my undeserving fiance a lot of gourmet meals, and fancy deserts - which he never touched, because he rarely came home. So I ate.

I ate for comfort, I ate for solace, I ate to give me some relief from the pain I was feeling. FL even fed me - I suspect to keep me from leaving him (in hindsight, I realize he always knew he didn't deserve me). I ate, and in a way, eating saved my life - because it was a distraction from how much I hated my life at the time. So I ate, and watched other people fight on Jerry Springer, and Oprah and Iyanla kick it, and Dr. Phil offer advice to people whose heads were REALLY f&*%ed up, and it made me feel like maybe my life wasn't SO bad.

I was walking my son back from the grocery store one day, and I was depressed because I didn't have enough cash to pay for his formula, and for a bag of diapers. FL, in his infinite lack of wisdom, had given me only enough for one or another, and spent the rest of his $$$ on weed (boy, did I pick a winner). And it weighed on me - like the weight of the world was on my shoulders. I walked, and pushed the stroller, and cried. Cried. Not like a baby, like a banshee - I wailed - for every stroke of my fiance's hand against my body, for every hurt he'd inflicted on me - I wailed like a crazy woman, at 1:45pm on a Tuesday afternoon, walking down the street - in broad daylight - pushing that stroller - I wailed - and asked God - WHY?!!!! WHY ME?!!!! WHY MY CHILD?!!!!

...and He answered me. As clearly as the characters typed on this page, He whispered in my ear (and his whisper was a roar). He answered: "I AM". And I've never felt that way before, or since. I felt...humbled...and comforted...and arrogant (who was I to question His infinite wisdom) ...and tiny/insignificant...and strong (like, as long as He is, then He always will be, and I could too get past this)...and fragile.

A few days later, I saw the sunrise for the first time in what felt like years. It was a lush peach/mango, against the indigo night sky, and it was ... beautiful...

It was beautiful despite my fiance's attempts to piss me off, so he could cheat on me that night. It was even beautiful despite his throwing a full bottle of Snapple at me through the passenger side window, breaking it and barely missing my head. And it was still beautiful after I'd given the police officer that showed up on the scene my statement, and they'd taken FL to jail, for the umpteenth time. And it was beautiful as I drove home. And I acknowledged that beauty, realizing that it had always been beautiful, hadn't stopped, wouldn't ever stop being beautiful...and that the world wouldn't stop turning because FL was..well, what he was.

Now, I'd love to say that was the end - him going to jail, me basking in the beauty of a mango-indigo sunrise, but that wouldn't be the truth. U don't need the gory details - suffice it to say that I needed to get my finances in order, as well as my head. God saying "I AM", and the indigo sunrise touched my head, and my heart. But I needed $$$.

Don't want to forget The Angels either. I've had some folks come into my life - truly for no other reason, than to teach me the meaning of grace. And 2 of them came into my life after I went back to work. One of them told me stories - of the hardships they had endured, were enduring, despite the fact that they led each day gracefully. This sista - who resembled a young Lena Horne - so elegant in her everyday personage, made me understand that surviving a hardship was about more than getting through it. It was about living thru it - continuing to strive and thrive, despite (or even because of) what hardships you faced. The other sista taught me the truest meaning of faith, and spirituality, that I've ever known. These were my Angels, and their lessons stay with me to this day, and I think of them often. I know God sent them both to me.

And FL? Well, we lived together for financial reasons long after my Tina Turner-threatening-to-take-his-life-if-he-touched-me-again incident. But, FL being FL, he wrecked three vehicles in a 90 day period - totalling two of them, and the third not being ours. And then asked that I file a false police report about the third, to keep him outta jail. I called the police as soon as I found out, and changed the locks on him not long afterward.

But wait - we have a son together. So that door is not quite closed yet. Check back, and I'll post the end - which is where FL is now.

how this leg of my journey began - the FL story

ok - if you've ever read my blog before, I've alluded to FL several times, and promised to recount the FL tale. Well, I'm blogstipated again, and he called yesterday, so what better time to recount the story. This is a long one, but I have to tell it the way it happened...

Once upon a time, not long ago, I was on my way to a club, freshly showered, made-up, and might I add - fierce. 100lbs lighter, and with a much shorter skirt, I stopped at the nearest gas station to buy a pack of gum. And there FL was.


He looked like

Now, he looked like a broke Christopher Williams though - splattered with paint, like he'd just left a construction site.

Here's where I had the distinct choice: work with the blue-collar man, or keep hope alive for my white-collar knight in shining armor, that hadn't shown up to date. After having recently read "Disappearing Acts' - I decided to give the brother a break.

It was the WORST mistake I've ever made in my life.

FL was and always will be a charmer. FL portrayed himself as the man I was looking for, the man I dreamed about. He tried to be my Knight-in-Dickies armor, and fulfill all my childish fantasies about love. And at the time, that's all I really wanted - was for him to love me.

Until the first time he hit me.

It was an accident. He more than made up for it, with kisses, with presents, with attention, with affection. And I lapped it up, because he loved me, and that was enough.

Until he hit me again, and again...and again.

...and I stayed, beyond all reason. I stayed even after the cops stood in my kitchen sampling my homemade chili, telling me how stupid he was for hitting me, and how much better I deserved, while they waited for the paramedics to take me to the hospital to set my broken hand.

...I stayed, even when he pushed me into a television set, and dragged me around the floor by my hair. I stayed when I found out he was cheating on me, and was relieved sometimes - because his other lovers gave me some relief from his rage.

...I stayed, even after I found out he was involved in an incestuous relationship with his blood-related first cousin. Yes, his cousin. And I caught them, el flagranté ... a$$-out on my living room floor. Although I stopped sleeping with him when I found out, I still stayed.

...I stayed, even after I shot at him, and thought about shooting myself. After he'd put his hands on me one time too many. After I picked up the empty beer-bottle he'd carelessly left on our living room table, and told him if he hit me again, one of us would die that day.

and I stayed, until he caused me financial hardships that threatened my future.

Why? of course you'd ask that...well...

He loved me. And I wanted - no - needed to be loved.

And we had a son, who was born in the midst of our violence, our drama, our blood, and my tears. A beautiful baby boy, who had 6 pneumonias between the ages of 5 months - 2 years old. Who was on life support when FL broke my hand, and had been diagnosed with developmental delays when FL broke my spirit. I quit my job to care for my sick child, and FL..well FL did what FL does best - he looked out for FL. Moved the cousin he was sleeping with into my house to "look out for me, and keep me company" (this was before I knew they were f^$%ing). And picked fights with me so he could come & go as he pleased.

Have you ever awakend at 3AM, and the whole world looked grey? Not just dark, but grey - absent of color, not as if it had been overwhelmed by the darkness, but...

...as if color had never existed?

That was what my world was like, at the end - before I removed FL from my life. Oh, my son's health got better, and I went back to work, bought a car, etc. I made myself up every day, and went out into the world, and I doubt to this day the world knew. But I knew...my world never had color, never had life...wasn't a life...until I removed FL from my life...

...more to come later...