Its time for our favorite segment. Where "you" the reader get to ask "yours truly" for a little sisterly advice while I luxuriate on the new box of wine I just got.
Ohh, here's two I'm sure you guys are going to enjoy.
Dear T-Gyrl,
Why y'all always complaining about men in your blogs? I mean, for real, don't y'all have better things to do then whining about how single you are? You and your crew just air your dirty laundry and promote drunkenness. Maybe if you work on yourself and quit blaming dudes, you might find a good dude out here. All y'all over 30 and single, you must be crazy as hell.
Sincerely,
Brother tired of hearing black women complain
Dear Brother,
Give me a second to take a sip of the bubbly...........Wow!! She hurt you that bad, huh? We must really restimulate you badly when you read our posts. Did she put you on blast on a blog? Listen, whatever she did was isolated. It ain't all black women, so don't hold it against me or my DNT sisters. But you know what? I'm glad you're checking out my posts and keep on reading, Bruh!!
Sincerely,
T-Gyrl
______________________________________________________
Dear T-Gyrl,
I have a bit of a dilemma. My husband has a fantasy of having sex with two women at one time. I'm a pretty free-spirited woman, i.e. LoveSexy. LOL! Well, he already knows the person that he would like to have the threesome with. The "problem" is that I have already had a threesome with this girl and her ex-boyfriend long before I started dating my husband. My husband doesn't know about it. Should I tell him? We are scheduled to hook-up this weekend. By the way, this woman already confessed to being attracted to me.
Sincerely,
Stuck in the middle
Dear Stuck,
This requires me to go to the special Hennessey stash that I have for emergency situations such as yours. Okay, you've got a two-fold problem. Your question to me is should you tell him.....what the hell? No dummy, don't you dare tell him. I don't care if it was a long time ago or yesterday. Tuck that in the "secrets ladies never tell" compartment in your brain. You cannot go and tell this man that information. (Family, don't get up in arms with me, she asked me for "my" opinion!)
Stuck, you got bigger problems....this chick has caught feelings for you. Which means she's going to give you "the business" like she means it. Which also means he's going to enjoy it and wanna do it again. Which means again there is gonna be some smoke in the city at some point in this sordid affair. Your best bet is to tell him that you feel really uncomfortable about another woman with you because you want him all to yourself (pfft...liar) and not go through with this. As for the chick, keep your mouth shut and be polite when you are in mixed company with her. And if she corners you, tell her that you have moved on and is committed to your man.
That's all I got for now. Also, another piece of advice would be to tame your hot behind down some. Because your ass is writing checks that your heart can't cash.
Sincerely,
T-Gyrl
'Til Next Time,
~ T-Gyrl
Wednesday, April 14, 2010
Friday, April 9, 2010
hi. how are you? i hope things are going well. it's been an interesting few weeks.
yeah so i was talking with Imet the other day, and he pissed me off. when i picked up the phone, he had this really small voice. beaten. broken. tired.
whiny.
i fckng hate whiny voices. espeeeeecially on men. anyway i ask him what's wrong. he launches into a familiar diatribe about how difficult things are, how he's stressing out,k how things are so new and confusing for him, etc. it's not that i don't believe him. it's not that i don't care. i do, and i do. it's not that i don't understand. oh i most certainly do. and it's not that i'm unsympathetic. well, not completely. it's that he seems to be feeding on the sympathy. he wants pity. and that, mes amis, i am extremely short on.
"i'm sorry to hear this, babe. but don't feel down on yourself. have you tried XYZ? and what about ABC? i'd even recommend EF...what do you mean you don't wanna try it? you never know, it might... oh ok then."
*silence*
you see i'm finding (and liking the fact that) i'm losing patience for emotional indiscipline. no... that's too rarefied.
i'm losing my ability to feel. and i like that. and the fact that i like it, worries me.
this isn't a new thing. it's just more noticeable lately, to me. even on the job, i know my boss has noticed my ability to emotionally cordon myself off from the goings-on and client tantrums. very, very easily. i like that. i'm able to parse through my team-mate's sometimes reptilian behavior and deal with what is, not what it feels like. i like that. emotional discipline? perhaps. more likely though, it's just emotional fatigue.
there's a point to all this.
so after Imet decided that my recommendations were too annoying to deal with and summarily hung up on me, and after my irritation with that encounter abated, i found myself ...feeling... something. wasn't sure what. then it hit me with terrifying clarity: i wanted to cry.
aw HELL nah. i don't cry on command. oh i cry, sure. but for a reason. this sudden need to cry didn't make sense. then i realized it was months and months of feelings that i'd shoved to the side, under the carpet, into my job, away from my family, and anywhere else i could hide em. yep, they were baaaa-aaack. and they wanted out. NOW.
so i let it rip.
my dad had told me when i was a kid, that the human body will always exact its needs from you. when you push too hard, it lets you... and then it pushes back. it could be a sudden fever. a 24hr bug. or, for the more aggravated offenders, a heart attack.
the human body will always exact its needs from you.
so after my comeuppance, i reviewed my conversation with Imet. and i got PISSED. what the FCK kind of btch-like behavior WAS that??!!
for those just tuning in, i'm a traditionalist. oh, and not just when it comes to gender roles. gademmit, i want my hot drinks, hot, and my cold drinks, cold. i do NOT understand such shyt as frappachino and mochalatawtfcks....a cappucino is supposed to be HOT. p-e-r-i-o-d. i do NOT understand liquefied veggies. what the fck for?? i want my carrots crunchy, and yes, i'm that weirdo bytch who can taste the carrot in the "fruity" V8 blends. whatever. when i carry my purse, the logo must face outwards. that's what it was created for. when i bathe, i actually put my wrist through the loopy thingie on the loofah. at all times.
i'm a traditionalist. seen?
so the role reversal in my conversation with Imet was just too much to bear. how did i become the practical one offering advice while he tells me he doesn't waaaaant advice, he just wants someone to liiiisten? UGH!! buy, borrow or steal a pair, bish, but MAN UP!! okay, i'm being melodramatic. but i was truly annoyed.
so what do i do? these moments are gonna come. i'm gonna have to be soft. i dunno how to do that. i wasn't raised to do that. i was raised to be tough, to lead, to be strong. so now i have to learn how to be soft? really?
#howdotheydothat?
*sigh* i am starting to really like Imet. just wish i could trust that it's real. could this be real? no, wait... i can't deal with another emotional dam-break this night. i'm about to suck down these allergy pills and call it a night. deuces.
yeah so i was talking with Imet the other day, and he pissed me off. when i picked up the phone, he had this really small voice. beaten. broken. tired.
whiny.
i fckng hate whiny voices. espeeeeecially on men. anyway i ask him what's wrong. he launches into a familiar diatribe about how difficult things are, how he's stressing out,k how things are so new and confusing for him, etc. it's not that i don't believe him. it's not that i don't care. i do, and i do. it's not that i don't understand. oh i most certainly do. and it's not that i'm unsympathetic. well, not completely. it's that he seems to be feeding on the sympathy. he wants pity. and that, mes amis, i am extremely short on.
"i'm sorry to hear this, babe. but don't feel down on yourself. have you tried XYZ? and what about ABC? i'd even recommend EF...what do you mean you don't wanna try it? you never know, it might... oh ok then."
*silence*
you see i'm finding (and liking the fact that) i'm losing patience for emotional indiscipline. no... that's too rarefied.
i'm losing my ability to feel. and i like that. and the fact that i like it, worries me.
this isn't a new thing. it's just more noticeable lately, to me. even on the job, i know my boss has noticed my ability to emotionally cordon myself off from the goings-on and client tantrums. very, very easily. i like that. i'm able to parse through my team-mate's sometimes reptilian behavior and deal with what is, not what it feels like. i like that. emotional discipline? perhaps. more likely though, it's just emotional fatigue.
there's a point to all this.
so after Imet decided that my recommendations were too annoying to deal with and summarily hung up on me, and after my irritation with that encounter abated, i found myself ...feeling... something. wasn't sure what. then it hit me with terrifying clarity: i wanted to cry.
aw HELL nah. i don't cry on command. oh i cry, sure. but for a reason. this sudden need to cry didn't make sense. then i realized it was months and months of feelings that i'd shoved to the side, under the carpet, into my job, away from my family, and anywhere else i could hide em. yep, they were baaaa-aaack. and they wanted out. NOW.
so i let it rip.
my dad had told me when i was a kid, that the human body will always exact its needs from you. when you push too hard, it lets you... and then it pushes back. it could be a sudden fever. a 24hr bug. or, for the more aggravated offenders, a heart attack.
the human body will always exact its needs from you.
so after my comeuppance, i reviewed my conversation with Imet. and i got PISSED. what the FCK kind of btch-like behavior WAS that??!!
for those just tuning in, i'm a traditionalist. oh, and not just when it comes to gender roles. gademmit, i want my hot drinks, hot, and my cold drinks, cold. i do NOT understand such shyt as frappachino and mochalatawtfcks....a cappucino is supposed to be HOT. p-e-r-i-o-d. i do NOT understand liquefied veggies. what the fck for?? i want my carrots crunchy, and yes, i'm that weirdo bytch who can taste the carrot in the "fruity" V8 blends. whatever. when i carry my purse, the logo must face outwards. that's what it was created for. when i bathe, i actually put my wrist through the loopy thingie on the loofah. at all times.
i'm a traditionalist. seen?
so the role reversal in my conversation with Imet was just too much to bear. how did i become the practical one offering advice while he tells me he doesn't waaaaant advice, he just wants someone to liiiisten? UGH!! buy, borrow or steal a pair, bish, but MAN UP!! okay, i'm being melodramatic. but i was truly annoyed.
so what do i do? these moments are gonna come. i'm gonna have to be soft. i dunno how to do that. i wasn't raised to do that. i was raised to be tough, to lead, to be strong. so now i have to learn how to be soft? really?
#howdotheydothat?
*sigh* i am starting to really like Imet. just wish i could trust that it's real. could this be real? no, wait... i can't deal with another emotional dam-break this night. i'm about to suck down these allergy pills and call it a night. deuces.
Tuesday, April 6, 2010
Daddy's Little Girl....(What Daddy don't know won't hurt you?)
This post has been on my mind for a while. Should I or shouldn't I? This is a little too close to home. I don't know if I want to expose myself like that. I can't control who reads this. What if he finds out? Will he be mad?
Lots of people put their lives (and others) out on display for these blogs and DNT is no exception. But there are areas we don't tread. Maybe its fear of retaliation. Or maybe its just that we aren't ready to deal with the gravity of the subject matter. There is always a small part of me that don't want judgment from the critical eyes of the readers.
Nevertheless, I made the decision to look honestly at myself recently and this is one of those subjects that is the cornerstone of my anxiety, fear and disappointment in love and relationships. Daddy.
Now, I was born to be Daddy's girl. Don't get me wrong, I was raised Mama's baby and even in my 30s I still am. But just like HDtv, I already came outfitted to be Daddy's girl. Plug and play.
I truly do believe that for the first 11 years of my life, that's what I was. But its funny though, I carried around this sort of embarrassment about it. I don't know if I can articulate it well, but I remember being eight and having a mixed, sordid feeling of wanting to be really close to my dad, but completely humiliated and disappointed in myself for even wanting that. Maybe that's one of the symptoms of being the product of divorced parents. Early on, I felt compelled to show fierce loyalty to Moms, even at the alienation of Dad.
Now, if you're lucky enough to have parents who went through an amicable divorce, great for you. However, that wasn't the storyline that played out here. I think I knew, to my own detriment, what my father was like as a husband. Hence, the guilty feeling of wanting someone who lived out sexist mores that were probably passed down from the men in his family since the post-Reconstruction era in American history.
Growing up, I maybe saw my Dad 2-4 times a year, with the occasional half day pick up. But when I did see him, it was a good time. I pretty much ate everything my mother never allowed. I stayed up until ungodly hours of the night and watched stuff I had NO business viewing. (I remember seeing Eddie Murphy's Raw when I was about eight years-old and making a solemn pact with him and the Lord that I would not tell my mom).
I craved for these excursions from my reality and like most kids who spend time with the so-called fun parent you start to believe that if you lived with them everyday it would be like living in an amusement park. But he could never figure out staying present. I have to believe now that he wanted to, but just couldn't figure the shit out. Thus I went back to the disappointment that it would be another six months before he called.
I always felt defeated that I wasn't good enough for his time. He always told me that if I ever wanted to come over, I could call, but his calls seemed to be few and far between. Oftentimes, I felt like I was asking for a favor by coming over or begging to hang with him. Ironically, that not so pleasant feeling still looms with me when it comes to men in my life. I could never tell with him, or them, if they wanted me in their lives. I felt like I had no right to make any requirements or demands on their times and when I did....the most debilitating feeling of dread would lodge itself in the middle of my throat.
Its strange, even though my Dad missed out on the everyday things in my life, he was good about giving me money when I asked for it. Later on in my pre-teens I learned to accept (and embrace) the money. It became the only near consistent thing in our relationship. It took me until my 30s to realize that the money only masked my real desire for connection.
And honey, Daddy could swear, I declare. (Gladys Knight must've had him in mind on that one)
I unfortunately have been the victim of an angry outburst or several. To say I was scolded is an understatement. Getting told off like I'm a muhfckah from off the street is more like it. By nature, I'm not a confrontational person, so when confronted in this way I find myself on the brink of craziness trying to handle it. (I can totally relate to Jill Scott's character in Why Did I Get Married Too? at the first sight of any man reacting to her.) Its this behavior pattern that terrified me at the thought of losing a man and also kept me distant from being close to one. But my Dad's outburst was always followed by isolation from me. I don't wish that loneliness on anyone.
It's funny, to this day, the doubt in my head convinces me to believe that I didn't have it bad and that maybe I am making this up. Or even believing that he's a no-good jerk and justifying to myself that I'm better off without him.
The day after my 22nd birthday, I was hit head on in a car accident, the universe allowed me to walk away from it unscathed and all I could think about is that I wanted my dad. I called him up and told him what happened, but he couldn't console me. He asked me to repeat the scenario over and over again and each time built up more frustration in me that this man couldn't comfort me. He grew frustrated with me and said, "I AM your father!" To which I replied, "but I want my mother!" I'm sure that it didn't make him feel good, in fact, I'm convinced that that moment severed any connection we had left. It was the defining moment in my life where I realized that we had no bond.
Right now, we still exist in a gray area. Operating on surface conversation and exchanging pleasantries. I can't figure out where I want or need him to be. I would hate for either of us to leave this earth distant from one another, but the bond is undeniably broken. My biggest fear is that I will fall victim to the already endless cycle of women with "Daddy Issues", seeking out resolution and thawing out frozen needs with every male we encounter because Papa was a rolling stone.
I dunno y'all...I don't think I have an answer and not sure there is one. I can only hope that I've worked on my shit enough to not let it effect the quality of (love) life I envision for myself.
'Til Next Time,
~ T-Gyrl
Lots of people put their lives (and others) out on display for these blogs and DNT is no exception. But there are areas we don't tread. Maybe its fear of retaliation. Or maybe its just that we aren't ready to deal with the gravity of the subject matter. There is always a small part of me that don't want judgment from the critical eyes of the readers.
Nevertheless, I made the decision to look honestly at myself recently and this is one of those subjects that is the cornerstone of my anxiety, fear and disappointment in love and relationships. Daddy.
Now, I was born to be Daddy's girl. Don't get me wrong, I was raised Mama's baby and even in my 30s I still am. But just like HDtv, I already came outfitted to be Daddy's girl. Plug and play.
I truly do believe that for the first 11 years of my life, that's what I was. But its funny though, I carried around this sort of embarrassment about it. I don't know if I can articulate it well, but I remember being eight and having a mixed, sordid feeling of wanting to be really close to my dad, but completely humiliated and disappointed in myself for even wanting that. Maybe that's one of the symptoms of being the product of divorced parents. Early on, I felt compelled to show fierce loyalty to Moms, even at the alienation of Dad.
Now, if you're lucky enough to have parents who went through an amicable divorce, great for you. However, that wasn't the storyline that played out here. I think I knew, to my own detriment, what my father was like as a husband. Hence, the guilty feeling of wanting someone who lived out sexist mores that were probably passed down from the men in his family since the post-Reconstruction era in American history.
Growing up, I maybe saw my Dad 2-4 times a year, with the occasional half day pick up. But when I did see him, it was a good time. I pretty much ate everything my mother never allowed. I stayed up until ungodly hours of the night and watched stuff I had NO business viewing. (I remember seeing Eddie Murphy's Raw when I was about eight years-old and making a solemn pact with him and the Lord that I would not tell my mom).
I craved for these excursions from my reality and like most kids who spend time with the so-called fun parent you start to believe that if you lived with them everyday it would be like living in an amusement park. But he could never figure out staying present. I have to believe now that he wanted to, but just couldn't figure the shit out. Thus I went back to the disappointment that it would be another six months before he called.
I always felt defeated that I wasn't good enough for his time. He always told me that if I ever wanted to come over, I could call, but his calls seemed to be few and far between. Oftentimes, I felt like I was asking for a favor by coming over or begging to hang with him. Ironically, that not so pleasant feeling still looms with me when it comes to men in my life. I could never tell with him, or them, if they wanted me in their lives. I felt like I had no right to make any requirements or demands on their times and when I did....the most debilitating feeling of dread would lodge itself in the middle of my throat.
Its strange, even though my Dad missed out on the everyday things in my life, he was good about giving me money when I asked for it. Later on in my pre-teens I learned to accept (and embrace) the money. It became the only near consistent thing in our relationship. It took me until my 30s to realize that the money only masked my real desire for connection.
And honey, Daddy could swear, I declare. (Gladys Knight must've had him in mind on that one)
I unfortunately have been the victim of an angry outburst or several. To say I was scolded is an understatement. Getting told off like I'm a muhfckah from off the street is more like it. By nature, I'm not a confrontational person, so when confronted in this way I find myself on the brink of craziness trying to handle it. (I can totally relate to Jill Scott's character in Why Did I Get Married Too? at the first sight of any man reacting to her.) Its this behavior pattern that terrified me at the thought of losing a man and also kept me distant from being close to one. But my Dad's outburst was always followed by isolation from me. I don't wish that loneliness on anyone.
It's funny, to this day, the doubt in my head convinces me to believe that I didn't have it bad and that maybe I am making this up. Or even believing that he's a no-good jerk and justifying to myself that I'm better off without him.
The day after my 22nd birthday, I was hit head on in a car accident, the universe allowed me to walk away from it unscathed and all I could think about is that I wanted my dad. I called him up and told him what happened, but he couldn't console me. He asked me to repeat the scenario over and over again and each time built up more frustration in me that this man couldn't comfort me. He grew frustrated with me and said, "I AM your father!" To which I replied, "but I want my mother!" I'm sure that it didn't make him feel good, in fact, I'm convinced that that moment severed any connection we had left. It was the defining moment in my life where I realized that we had no bond.
Right now, we still exist in a gray area. Operating on surface conversation and exchanging pleasantries. I can't figure out where I want or need him to be. I would hate for either of us to leave this earth distant from one another, but the bond is undeniably broken. My biggest fear is that I will fall victim to the already endless cycle of women with "Daddy Issues", seeking out resolution and thawing out frozen needs with every male we encounter because Papa was a rolling stone.
I dunno y'all...I don't think I have an answer and not sure there is one. I can only hope that I've worked on my shit enough to not let it effect the quality of (love) life I envision for myself.
'Til Next Time,
~ T-Gyrl
Monday, April 5, 2010
Short and Sweet
It's cool not trying to put a rush on you
but I had to let you know
that I got a crush on you
So I know that some of us have covered crushes. Some hate them. Some are apathetic. Blah, blah, blah....I, personally, love them! I know. Sue me. I love the mystery of them. You see, I've had the same crush since I was 13. Yep. 13! And truth be told on it (cuz what else is there to tell??) I don't want it to end. He isn't the one that got away. He's the one I never wanted to catch to begin with. Rock with me on this for a few...
He's been my crush for 17 years. Have I known him in all that time? No. Smelled, Touched or Tasted him in the biblical sense EVER? No. Do I want to...no. That would ruin it. I crush on the idea of him. The physical is gorgeous (now and then) but my crushes are based on the man I think you can be. Now ladies, y the hell would I ever want him to open his mouth or touch me...and RUIN all that good fantasy??
He's a slut
He's a ho
He's a ho
He's a freak
Gotta different girl every day of the week
As we grew older and more ladies started to express interest he got cockier and started losing my respect. I couldn't vibe with the "man" he was becoming. So I held on to the boy he was, the guy I knew. I can see traces of him in the grown man that now claims my space. We don't speak often and when we do it's never for too long. That's the way I like it. I can keep my image of him. I can crush on my invention of who I feel he should be. I don't need his sloppy ass reality (that he calls swagger) messing up my handywork. Me and my image of him have a good thing going on. A lasting, bonding, passion of 13 years. The reality of him had become a man wrapped up in himself (which makes for a very small package) and who the hell wants to crush on that??
Not me. I'll stick to waving at him across the facebook and holding the idea of him in my dreams. It may be short lived but damn if it aint so much sweeter that way....
~Shai
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