Chocl8t Ramblings

Random Ramblings 11-22-09

I haven’t posted in a while but I have had some things on my mind. Here they are in no particular order of importance or relevance.

~ Some lessons are hard learned. Because faith springs hope eternal there is always optimism. Optimism sometimes turns a blind eye to the subtle queues. But it is never too late to recognize and regroup. It is what it is. Accept it…Adapt to it…and Most importantly, Keep It Moving!

~ Why do women need definitions and labels for everything, relationships specifically? When the definition and/or label doesn’t meet the requirement an ultimatum is issued? This, more often than not results in the man walking away, sometimes running. Self-sabatoge at its finest. This leads to another question…Are we as women ever satisfied?

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How Many Is Too Many?

I was watching a local TV show the other night hosted by two Atlanta radio personalities. They read a letter from a confused listener/viewer seeking advice, insight, or some sort of understanding in her situation.

The gist of the letter:

It describes a young woman in her late 20s, raised by free-spirited parents who encouraged sexual freedom and responsibility. She became sexually active around the age of 15. She had not been in a serious or committed relationship until recently. While at dinner with the beau of several months, he asked how many men had she’d been with sexually. She responded that is was 624. He called her slut. Now she is confused as to why he would call her such a thing.

woman with menWe know the double standard. A man can bed over 100 women and be considered a “player”. Yet, a woman who does the same is considered a “whore”. I’m not going to debate that issue. It is what it is and I don’t see it changing in my lifetime.

My question, as the title states, is how many is too many for a woman? For a man?

Think about it for a minute…

This prompted several conversations with male friends. One friend threw out an arbitrary number while others scoffed at the very idea. They gave me the “screw face” as if it pained them to even think about it.

Do you have a number yet?

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I Am Tired

tiredHave you ever wanted to walk away from it all? I mean, just pack the needed essentials, jump in your whip and ride out?

Leave all this shit right here – the leaky roof, the water leak, the mortgage payments, the yard work, the dirty carpet, the fibroids, the low iron, the needy ass relatives, and the ever increasing demands on my time.

I wish I could go back in time when the cares of life were of no concern.

Life is about cycles and I have lived long enough to know this too shall pass however, I am tired.

Time will bring a real end of our trials. – Maxwell

A Vacation In Hell…Uh..Paradise

To say I was excited was a gross understatement. This trip to Hawaii was supposed to be a dream vacation to paradise and it would have been had I chosen to go alone or with another group of people. I will preface what I am about to say with I love my family but I don’t necessarily “like” them. I find that I like them less and less with the passage of time.

My vacation pictures shows smiling faces with an idyllic backdrop but what it does not show is the lost luggage, bad attitudes, spitefulness, bitterness, irresponsibility, immaturity, and ungratefulness.

Hawaii_5A financially irresponsible sister relying on an insurance claim, which was denied, to fund her vacation started a chain reaction. My sister has a long history of financial irresponsibility and expecting someone to bail her out. That someone, in most cases, has been our mother. This time was no different.

Swooping down to the rescue, mom, whom I’ve secretly renamed “Captain Save-A-Ho”, pays for my sister’s portion of the hotel room which means she has no money for extra activities like tours, luau, etc. My auntie, who so desperately wants to attend a luau, suggests to me that if I pay my mother’s way, she’ll cover my sister. I replied, “NO”. I had the means to do so but I refused to do so, on GP.

Mean? Nope, not at all; self preservation and tough love. I also decided not to go snorkeling or jet skiing because I didn’t want to feel guilty about going and others not being able to go also.

Pair that with the airline losing my aunt’s luggage and you have a recipe for nothing short of a disaster. She griped the entire time about this and how she’s never using a buddy pass to fly again, in essence taking digs at my sister, the airline employee who provided said buddy pass.

As you can see, I’m with a stellar group there in paradise.

The most painful thing for me was coming to the realization that my mother has allowed herself to become stuck in a perpetual state of bitterness and misery. There have been many instances where this has been apparent to me but none as memorable as what happened in the airport on the way home.

My mother had a knee replacement about a year ago and still suffers with pain and limited range of motion with that leg. She had been in slight pain as evidenced by her limp but was managing it with daily doses of Aleve. At the Honolulu airport, we made the unfortunate choice of sitting on a row of seats where passengers formed a line to board the plane. A young lady accidentally kicked my mother’s foot (the bad leg). Mother grimaced and vocally let it be known it hurt. The young lady proceeded to apologize.

After the young lady had taken a few steps away from us, my mother mumbles, to my horror, “Sorry, doesn’t stop the pain.” I touch my mother on her arm and proceed to assure her that I was sure the young lady didn’t willfully hurt her and her apology was sincere. Mother repeated her statement with sheer indignation. My response was a simple question, “What ever happened to being gracious?”. She had no response other than a scowl.

My vacation wasn’t all it could have been but it wasn’t all a complete bust. We did visit Pearl Harbor and the USS Arizona but most of my time was spent getting tipsy on Waikiki beach and “drunk texting” pictures of me in my bikini to a male friend. Even though alcohol is not allowed on the beach, I did manage to sneak in my personal cocktails. My goose-n-juice salvaged what would have otherwise been a completely miserable experience.

Most times I try to keep a positive outlook even in the most negative situations; always looking for the lessons so I dare not find myself re-living the same mistake again.

My vacation to Hawaii was chock full of lessons:

  • I will never travel with my family again. NEVERRRR!!
  • I can not save everyone no matter how desperately I may want to do so.
  • “Tough Love” hurts all parties involved. Although very necessary, it still hurts like hell.
  • Although I look like my mother, I don’t have to be “like” her.

Next trip, Trinidad for Carnival. Family not invited.

One Daddy, One Father – Twice Blessed

In honor of Father’s Day, I am reposting this. Happy Fathers Day! 6/21/2009

fatheranddaughter.jpgIt was my 16th birthday when Mom told me about my biological father – it wasn’t the man who raised me, Daddy. At that point, it all made sense. It answered the question of why I did not see my face in the face of my paternal grandmother nor the faces of my cousins. I didn’t seem to “fit“. No one in the family dared say a word to me.

Even though my face did not “fit” in the family photos, I did not feel out of place nor unwanted. You see, I was Daddy’s favorite and he spoiled me rotten. My grandmother love and doted on me as she did all of her grandchildren. It was she that took me to my first day of kindergarten. I was tied to her apron strings. 🙂

This news made no bit of difference to me nor about how I felt towards my family. It did not make me long to meet the man who planted the seed. If he didn’t want to be in my life, it was his loss not mine because I was loved and well cared for – I wanted for nothing. So imagine my surprise when, at the age of 28, Mom calls to say she has located my biological father and he wanted to speak with me. I was heated!!! Hot as fish grease!! How dare she try to force this man on me, into my life. “I have a daddy dammit and don’t need another one!” I remember yelling into the phone at her before I hung up. I didn’t speak to my mother for 2 weeks.

After two weeks of crying, praying, and crying some more, I called Mom with my blessing to give the “biological” my phone number. That first conversation with Mr. C was overwhelming. He explained the reason for his absence which aligned with what Mom had told me over the years. I still wasn’t ready to let my guard down though. Hell, it was going to take more than just one 2-hour conversation to get to me, especially after 28 years! We agreed to keep in touch and were ending the call saying our “good-byes” and “talk to you laters” when he said “I love you“. “How can you love me? You don’t even know me!”, I replied. Mr. C responds, “Because you’re mine.” I wept uncontrollably.

To this day, I cannot adequately explain the emotions I felt at that moment.

Two weeks later I was debarking a plane at Chicago’s Midway Airport to meet my biological father for the first time. On that trip, I also met my older sister & brother, 2 nieces (one could be my twin), 1 nephew, an aunt, and a host of cousins.  My sister said, while giving me a big bear hug, “I always wanted a sister.” Each and every one of them were warm, loving and welcoming – so much so that I was again overwhelmed. I saw my face in each of their faces. I fit!

Their only question was why I waited so long to reach out to them. I explained that although I had known since I was 16, I didn’t feel a need to contact them because I had a family that loved and accepted me – a daddy, a grandmother, and a host cousins, aunts and uncles.

My biological father and I talk regularly. I still call him Mr. C, much to the chagrin of Aunt Doll, his sister – she thinks I should call him “daddy“. But he understands and that’s all that really matters.

I had a daddy. I have a father. I am tremendously blessed.

In memory of  my daddy, W.J.M. 12/4/1934 – 1/21/1997

In memory of my father, V.D.C. 07/17/1935 – 11/14/2010