Tracy Cruz
Choklate
The Foreign Exchange
Lalah Hathaway
I read an article about a women’s group in Nairobi trying to organize a “sex strike” in an effort to resolve political turmoil…whatever that means. I think it’s a bit silly but to each his own. In my travels I’ve heard of so many women resorting to this type of tactic to resolve internal relationship issues or to just get some “get back”. I knew a woman who withheld the “cakes” for 6 months just to get an Infiniti truck. She eventually got it…it was a used whip which to me was a testament of the type of “cakes” she had to offer….used booty. If some of you ladies are contemplating trying to straighten your dude out by greatly limiting access to the “nappy (or shaven… whatever floats your boat) dugout” here are a few pointers:
1. First and foremost you have to be GOOD at the sexual circus or at least somewhat decent. If your performance is lackluster or half-ass you are already dead in the water. Hell, your man might even go a head and buy, do or apologize for whatever he did or didn’t do out of appreciation.
2.“Cakes” have to be handed out with some consistency. If you’re one those every 6 months broads….then…I mean really. What type of leverage do you think you’re working with?
3. You need to decide if whatever he did or didn’t do was that bad that you’re willing to risk the stability of your relationship. I mean…sh*t can go down hill real fast when folk start playing games.
In the end what have you really accomplished? That you’re not mature enough to communicate with you’re man in a civilized manner so you have to resort to “hood rat” games? You may get what you want but after it’s all said and done you have definitely lost the battle…square biz.
I was rummaging through some things and came across this poem I wrote damn near 10 years ago. Just thought I would share with y’all…enjoy.
desert soul swayin’ in the wind
soil colored eyes swallow antiquity
as open wounds bleed caramel water
tryin’ to feed my courage with black sunday’s and stray bullets
cultivatin’ tribal seeds in ghettoes and solemn spaces
as incandescent summers melt into the eleventh hour of autumn
to give birth to the dirty weather of winter.
balancing uprises of bedlam and contentment.
burying dead idols so that truth can ascend.
as righteous winds flow through every pore
men shall bow their heads and the gods will soar.
To rummage or not to rummage that is the question…
Had an interesting conversation regarding the right to “James Bond” your significant others belongings in search of contraband and the like. I’m kind of on the fence with that…I mean…I ain’t got nothing to hide but I would despise being treated like a convict on lockdown at 26th & California. The “whys” don’t really matter because the justification only has to be formed in the mind of the person doing the spying and that’s the rub. This allows whatever insecurities real or imagined to manifest and dictate the relationship. Most women I have talked to believe this to be an acceptable practice. They feel that they empower themselves by using these tactics to stay one step ahead. To that I ask one step ahead of what? I mean…once you find a phone number or a pair of thongs stuck between the seats of the Buick it’s pretty much a done deal…your following up on shit that has already transpired. In a sense you’re too late….more like a step behind. I understand that people have baggage and past experience or pain may trigger a flashback of some sort and you may want to engage in this behavior but you need to make sure that’s not your only contribution to the union.
Relationships have to be feed…they demand it…and if your starving it because your to busy dusting your man’s or ladies cell phone for fingerprints with your “my first CSI” kit then you have become a cancer to the situation. To me…you can check all you want but if we ain’t taking advantage of some alone time to have us a “Barry White” moment then we got a serious issue. You have just extinguished one of the bright spots of our relationship and if you ain’t got no Emeril-like chef skills our can’t do some tuckpointing around the house or install break pads on the whip…..let’s just say it ain’t looking good for you. Your usefulness rating has taken a hit….
My thing is if your handlin’ the business upfront then you won’t have time for the nonsense…if you got time to check every pocket, hack into some emails, call all the numbers in the cell phone that you don’t recognize then you can rest assure that you are damn sure lacking in every other category. So, don’t come to your mate with that ‘ol “who you on the phone with” or “you didn’t tell me you was going out” until you pull your shoes up and start being a participant on this journey and stop planning the demise of it.
I smell a conspiracy coming on….The media’s recent coverage of The First Lady’s sleeveless attire at recent White House events and the constant mentioning of her designer apparel and such has me thinking that there’s a deeper purpose to all of this then just fabric and Michelle Obama’s sense of style.
This recent flap started when Mrs. Obama posed for her official White House photos in a sleeveless get up. She was called everything but a child of God and I find that disturbing. I think it’s really just a collective sigh of hate floating about because let’s be serious…past First Ladies did not look like Michelle Obama. Could you imagin Hilary or Laura Bush in a sleeveless fitted number? Or how about Nancy Reagan?….Me neither.
It’s almost as if there is a movement from the disenfranchised of the establishment to label Michelle as a chocolate Barbie Doll with only the ability to create fashion trends and not policy. This effort to make her a sexy centerpiece and sabotage her intellect is unprecedented.
Black women have always been the sexual muse of white men since the Aurore made its inaugural journey through the Middle Passage. I believe that this is just an attempt to transform Michelle Obama into a simple sexual beast in the eyes of the American public and render her as a non-factor. I guess it’s just the American way…instead of dealing with us it’s just easier to demonize. Go figure.
I have started a new venture and extended the “Verbal Water” brand to delve into my first love…music. Verbal Water Music is a podcast that I created which includes some of my best nu-soul mixes. There’s only one mix on the site now but there is more to come! Take a gander and take in the musical ear-scapes.
Res – They Say
Incognito – Still A Friend of Mine
D’Angelo – Send It On
Brownstone – 5 Miles To Empty
Good morning Stephen (MadPoetic),
One of my girls hipped me to your blog a year ago and I have been a fan ever since. I love your straight to the chase, no bs approach which is why I have written you this letter. A sista need a little advice…see, I think my husband maybe stepping out because lately I’ve noticed a change in his demeanor towards me. I, mean, he just seems like he’s not that into me anymore sexually. Let me give you a little background. We’ve been married for 8 years and we have 2 beautiful children. My husband is very, very affectionate…he would always hug and kiss me at anytime and anywhere. He made me feel like a princess and I loved the attention. Since my youngest child was born 5 years ago I have felt very funny about having sex in the house. My husband has complained several times about this and I do understand but it is still a struggle. I compromised and decided to institute a date night about once a month were we would go out and get a nice room downtown and share a romantic evening. Since are last date night in June (yes it’s been over six months) he has been very unaffectionate and spends most of his time planning various activities with our children (he has always been an excellent father) and hanging out at a friend’s house watching the football games. He doesn’t hug or kiss my nearly as much as he used to which has made me suspicious. So man to women, do you think he’s cheating? Should I be worried? Help me out.
Worried.
Dear Worried,
There is no way I can say for certain that the brotha is stepping out…but I can affirmatively say that you needs to be worried. I can only concluded from what you have told me that every other aspect of your marriage is fine and that intimacy is primarily the only issue. If this is so than I have some questions/statements for you…
1. What is your hang up with sharing and intimate moment with your husband in the same home you share with your children? Do y’all live in a 1 room house? Do your children ever go to sleep or do they stay up drinkin’ coffee and takin’ No Dose? If you got a bathroom, living room, kitchen, family room…hell, garage then there is no excuse. And I assure you that this is the conclusion your husband has already mulled over several million times. See, folk do what they want to do…period. We put time and effort into the things that bring us joy and we go out of are way to make it happen. If my boy Dave called me and said he got 100 level section Bulls tickets for tonight I would make it happen no matter what. I would walk my ass down Madison Avenue in a pair of Stacy Adams in the snow to the United Center after work. That’s just how much I love basketball. Now If you’re anything like my wife, I’m sure your husband has seen you politicin’ on a pair of Seven jeans or a North Face Metropolis coat or a pair a True Religion jeans or some expensive ass purse. He’s seen you call every Macy’s, Nordstrom, Lord & Taylor, Bloomingdales in a 60 mile radius of the city, had the sales lady put the shit on hold and then watch you hop your happy ass in the whip and drive to WhereTheHellAreWe, IL to make the purchase. He’s seen the dedication you display when you WANT something. He’s wondering why you refuse to show that same zealousness when it comes to intimacy.
2. Focusing on whether he’s cheating or not is irrelevant, the main concern is that he’s not touching YOU and you already know why. You have managed to loose the affection of an affectionate man and that shit is huge. See, I can relate to him because affection is built into my DNA. It is something that can’t be bought, learned, traded for…it’s just is. You have managed to snag a person who thinks you are sexy and beautiful just because and takes every opportunity to remind you of it. You should be spending time cultivating it instead of rebuking it. Affectionate folk show affection because they have to….it’s an unconscious natural act. I would get up in the morning and see my wife making coffee with her head wrap and would grabbed her and kiss her because I want her to know how she affects me. She would always give me that “what the fuck is wrong with you” look. Half the time she don’t appreciate it but it really ain’t about her….it’s about my joy and my need to show her that there is no one else I would be rather be with. Most folk do shit because they want reciprocity but affectionate folk are only concerned about giving joy to others that’s why the whole “if he ain’t touching me than he most be touching someone else” logic has no place here. You have continued to drink from the well without having a plan or desire to replenish it.
3. What’s up with this date night “about every month”? Translation: about every other month so basically y’all doing the nasty about (6) times out of 365 days in a year??!?!?!? That is madness! I’m all for the date night but in order for me to see any parts of the ass I got to wait for a month and then I got to drop $250 or so on a room at the Hotel Sax or the Amalfi???….that shit sounds depressing as hell. See, shit like that should entice and enhance what you have already established sexually. It’s like being relegated to playing pick up basketball games in a shitty gym on the West Side and then having the chance to ball at the United Center….It means more because all the practice has paid off and here’s a chance to share your skills on the big stage. The thing is if I can’t get a little loving in the confines of my own home then I’m not going to be all gung-ho to go all out especially when I know it won’t carry over into our ordinary lives.
4. Dude ain’t cheating on you he just gave up hope. He’s focusing on other factions of his life in order to keep sane. Hey, if he’s already worn out the grooves of that porno movie or he’s tired of pulling the sticky pages apart of that old ass Black Tail magazine tell him I got a couple of websites for him…just holla at me. Side note: I hate when dudes get all testy if there lady has some “toys” in her possession or some ladies get all shitty because dude visits a couple of “nekkid tail” websites. I say grow up…especially if you know you ain’t been handling the business. I feel when you make the decision to remove yourself from any important aspect of the relationship then you ain’t got shit to say about how your mate deals with it.
5. I’m proud of you because you didn’t let ego or pride get in the way and decided to reach out for advice. Most folk in your situation wouldn’t have the intestinal fortitude to do just that. They would rather adopt a “it must be you, not me” attitude then to accept responsibility for the sinking ship. The ball is in your court…..you know your man better then anyone else and you already know the issue. If you want your man to look at you with eyes of affection once again than you need to give him something to look at. You need to restore his faith and not punish him for wanting to intimately show you freely how much he loves you. Nobody wants to do the “snake dance” every damn day but every other month….c’mon now… you couldn’t possibly thought that was a good idea.
MadP
Rachelle & Will…nuff said
Another Rachelle joint…
Alexander O’Neal
Champaign
The Jones Girls
2008 was a pretty shitty year for me in some ways. It started off on a bad note with my accident on January 26, 2008. Right off the back I had wrecked my vehicle and spent the next six months getting poked at, sliced open, rehabbing and choking down a daily bushel of prescription medications . My wife would shake her head at me every time she walked past with that “look at what the hell you did to yourself” look. I couldn’t even be mad…I felt useless as hell. Now that’s love….when your women is willing to bring a cup to your beside to pee in because by the time you maneuver your crippled ass to get out the bed you would’ve wet yourself. Then in August some “drive-by shooters” broke up in my spot and tore the joint up….bastards! But when your at the bottom ain’t no where to go but up…
In 2009 I want to reconnect with my spiritual essence. Me and my boy Jesus go way back….we’ve been through a lot but I must confess we haven’t chatted in a while and I miss him. He’s a good brother. I want to be a better husband because my dedication to my marriage is a journey and I got my hard hat on and sleeves rolled up…I stay on the matrimony grind! Hell…if you want a chance at peace and joy you have to. She’s my rib, my love, my friend. I remember when I first saw her walking around campus with her hair all did up and this bag ass Coach bag that was bigger than her…I thought she was going to tip over. And then there I was a skinny dude with a fetish for Jordan’s, Mad Dog 20/20 and loose cigarettes….who’d a thunk it. I want to be a better father….I want to live up to the “super dad” title my son has placed on me. It’s amazing how he thinks I can move mountains and for him I’ll move heaven and earth. It’s unexplainable the way he has changed my life and without him I wouldn’t even want to be here…and that’s real. His smile, his mood changes, his smart mouth, his inquisitive mind, the frown he gets on his face when I tell him no (which is rare as hell), the trips to Toys R’ Us, the pride he feels (as well as the somersaults and back flips by his parents) when he makes the honor roll, his love of Cartoon Network, Nickelodeon, Pokemon, Digimon, Bakugon, dinosaurs and ani mals our the precious moments that give me purpose. In the end I just want to BE. BE amazed, BE purposeful, BE passionate, BE loving, BE insightful, BE strong, BE joyous, BE unyielding, BE unmoved, BE challenged, BE a friend, BE irreplaceable, BE dedicated, BE unsatisfied….BE ME!
Peace & Love!
The media is having a field day bitch slappin’ Gov. Blago but I think folks need to tread lightly. “Pay to play” is a sexy phrase for good ‘ol fashioned politics…you hook me up and I’ll scratch your back so on and so forth. Nepotism, doing favors, hiring your boys, using your clout to get shit done is the American way; I think Blago pissed of the wrong folk and that’s why he has a bulls eye on his ass. Apparently this dude has been under scrutiny since he took office back in 2003. It seemed like once a month some new scandal appeared on the horizon and everyone would ooooh and ahhhhh and then the shit would just disappear. So it just seems mad shady that the only thing they could find on this cat was some tape recording or some shit of him trying to cut a deal??? Are you serious??? After all this damn FBI, NSA, NWA, CIA, probing and this is what they come up with? And what’s up with Jesse Jr.? Dude claims he was an informant for the government for the last 10 years. Giddafuckoudahere! He was just salty because he tried to put his wife on some special lottery commission but got shut down because his paper wasn’t staking right. The last time I checked the government didn’t approach innocent folks to wear wires.
Dude, if I had the golden senate seat and had the authority to appoint whomever I saw fit….man, if you ain’t talking ’bout handing a brotha six figures, a record deal, some black, red, green & yellow Air Force Ones, a bag of tropical flavored skittles, tickets the Grammy’s, American Music Awards, The Hip Hop Honors and the BET Awards, drinks by the pool with Halle Berry and Nia Long, a North Face puffer coat, a Rodeo Drive shopping spree for the misses, one on one soccer instructions for my son by David Beckham, a special appearance on Soul Train, Ugly Betty, Grey’s Anatomy, Gossip Girl (so I could smack the shit out of Blair and Chuck Bass) and 30 Rock, a black ‘74 Buick LaSabre ragtop (I love the classics), a snow blower, some landscaping around the crib, finish my damn basement, a backup singing gig with Goapele, Norah Jones, Lalah Hathaway, Rahsaan Patterson and Lenny Kravitz…then you can kick rocks. Next!
The genius Raphael Saadiq w/ Lucy Pearl
Retro Angie Stone w/ Vertical Hold
One of my favorite Method Man joints w/ D’Angelo
I love Goapele…one of the most overlooked artist on the scene. This is one of my favortie joints from her
Next to Chicago Deep House music neo-soul, nu-soul, organic soul is by far my favorite genre of music. Aside from the fact that it is probably the only variety of music that still offers live instrumentation it goes well with my “grown man swagger”.
My list of nu-soul essential artists:
1. Raphael Saadiq
2. D’Angelo
3. Angie Stone
4. Amel Larrieux
5. Jamiroquai
6. The Brand New Heavies
*Number 5 & 6 are more Acid Jazz but I’ve included them anyway.
7. Erykah Badu
8. Maxwell
9. Eric Benet
10. Eric Roberson
11. Angie Stone
12. Musiq Soulchild
13. Jill Scott
14. Liv Warfield
15. Goapele
16. India.Arie
17. Davina
18. Pru
19. Jazzyfatnastees
20. Adriana Evans
21. Ursula Rucker (spoken word artist)
22. Rhian Benson
23. Res
24. Anthony Hamilton
25. Bilal
26. Rahsaan Patterson
27. Lalah Hathaway
28. Dwele
29. Sy Smith
30. Ledisi
31. Conya Doss
32. Big Brooklyn Red
33. Julie Dexter
34. Square Egg
35. N’Dambi
36. Joy Denalane
37. Joi
38. Angela Johnson
39. Cooly’s Hotbox
40. Kelli Sae
41. Kindred The Family Soul
42. Eric Lau
43. Traci Chinwah
44. Frank McComb
45. Wayna
46. Maysa
47. Brittany Bosco
48. Nikka Costa
49. Lizz Wright
50. Soul:ID
There is nothing more beautiful than a mature African-American woman. Diahann Carroll, Vanessa Williams, Phylicia Rashad, Pam Grier…have maintained a level of glamour that is unmatched. It is the richness of their skin and the wisdom in their eyes that make them sexy beyond measure. They have obtained a swagger that their younger counterparts seek but will never grasp. Our younger generation think that sexiness is wearing the least amount of clothing legally possible or the ability to make one half of their booty cheeks bounce in unison with the most popular urban noise disguised as music. Now don’t get me wrong, there are a bunch of dudes like myself who appreciate a young lady who can effortlessly delve into their darker sides but…I wouldn’t wife it. It would just be unfair to her to make her throw an apron over her thong or replace those clear 12 inch heels with a conservative pair of Enzo’s when that’s really not her calling. I never dated anyone who was not connected to the African Diaspora…not because I’m an overt radical I just never had that much contact…I mean Chicago ain’t exactly a cultural friendly melting pot. This is the same city where Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. caught a brick to the head during a march he held through Marquette Park in ‘66. The few women I have met in my journey of the “lighter persuasion” just never appealed to me. Either they looked like Holly Hobby or they tried to convince me that they were “down with cause”. A white woman trying to portray themselves as a black woman dipped in egg shell is hideous and comical at the same time. “Guuuurl, thas what I’m talkin’ bout”….what? There was one young lady that I half heartedly tried to mack to but she told me upfront that her father hated n*ggers so after that I pretty much kept it “colored”. Black women just have the ability to overcome so much because they’ve been through so much. Society wants to limit them to simple physical specimens and neglect their intellect. They can be your video vixen at night or your home gurl kickin’ it with you watching the game on Sunday. They can nurture you when you come home after a night of too much drinking then scold your ass while they make you breakfast in the morning. If you peer into their souls you can see the same scars that burden you. The same dreams and fears, wants and needs.
Where is my key to the city?
My son takes swimming lessons at CSU. This is his second term and he simply loves it. The class is for beginners and the syllabus ask for parents or guardians to join there chirrun in the pool. I was “johnnie on the spot” because the only person I trust being with my son in a body of water is ME (momma got no swim skills whatsoever) so I didn’t have an issue with it….hell, I welcomed it. Mid-way through the first session the instructors kicked the parents out of the pool and made us sit in the bleachers. I usually would pace back in forth especially when they get to that part of the class where they throw….um coerce the kiddies off of the diving board into the diving pool which happens to be 14 feet deep. Anyhoo, during class a few weeks ago (I was doing my regular pacing) the children where instructed to go to the far end of the pool, jump in and swim down to the other end. I came out to the pool area because Dougie’s mischievous ass was running down the side of the pool and I wanted to give him some “gentle guidance”. After our “talk” Dougie got in line and jumped in and was kicking furiously towards the other end looking like a chocolate pint sized Michael Phelps…I was so proud to say the least. As Dougie made it to mid-pool a young girl prepared for her leap of faith. She wretched back and went airborne into the pool with a huge splash. Suddenly my phone rang, it was my frat brother Harrick… and then I heard what sounded to be voices of concern coming from the bleachers, “help, help, she needs help”. I’m looking around like WTF….The first thing I did was to see where Dougie was….I gots to protect mine…priorities damn it. After I located Dougie and made sure he was fine I turned my attention to the end of the pool and there she was….the little girl that had just jumped in the pool was beating the water like a drum trying to stay afloat. I dropped my phone, ran to the side of the pool reached in as far as I could trying to not get wet (it didn’t help, my left side got baptized) and grabbed the little girl by her arm and pulled her to safety. I sat on the side of the pool and comforted her while she caught her breathe and then… she earled on me. The f*cked up part about all of this was that at the time the little girl was fighting for her life their was this fat mufucka in a way to snug bathing suit sitting on the side of the pool trying to holla at some broad in the bleachers. I should’ve kicked his fat ass in the back of his throat. And….not a parent or cousin or baby mama or baby daddy or big ma came down to check on this girl. Not a family member or schoolmate or best friend…f*ckin nobody! Man, I was livid and scared to death in unison. I got my Dougie and headed home wet smelling like hot cheetos, toe nails, and open ass.
Miniature Me
Dougie had a doctors appointment last night…so some sort of “Asthma Action Plan” is what the doctor called it. We’ve been pretty lucky…during the last visit the doctor scaled down some of Doug’s medication. He previously was taking Cingular and FloVent which he took daily and of course his inhaler. He no longer has to take the FloVent but as a side effect of the removal of the treatment he gets congested at night. The nurse put him on the scale…this dude weighs 88 pounds at 7 ½ years old…I felt like I was looking in a mirror of myself at that age.
Dougie has inherited his father’s good likes as well as my body type. I was a husky young fella with a big but…I got teased a lot but I was good with the “hand to hand combat” so the teasing was kept to a minimum or they whispered sh*t under their breathe. I recall my Fourth Grade year….I had just transferred to St. John De La Salle (my fourth school) from Wendell Smith. By this time I had the “new kid” lingo down pat, kind of had a chip on my shoulder. There was this cutey named Stephanie that caught my eye (fourth grade pimpin, what?). She sat a few rows from me and she was primarily the first friend I had. We exchanged numbers and would talk on the phone when we got home from school…unbeknownst to me she already had a suitor. Not knowing the dynamics of who was with who and all that I stepped on somebody’s toes…his name was Robert and he was the biggest dude in the class. He claimed to be “folks” but he didn’t know I was plugged in…my sister at the time was dating this cat that was up and coming bad ass in the “organization” …straight of the ten trey. He had a little brother named Thomas who was my age but was in the 3rd Grade and we where tied at the hip. We spent out weekends following his brother around so we got to know all the GD’s in the neighborhood and I ain’t ever seen Robert at any of the functions. Plus dude lived on the other side of Cottage Grove which was strictly Stone territory…his ol’ lyin ass. Of course he caught wind that I was macking to his philly and stepped to me. Here I am…the new kid been in school for about 3 months and already got trouble. He told me to leave Stephanie alone or else. Of course I refused…hell, I had too…I couldn’t be labeled a punk I would’ve never been able to live it down. So now it’s about 1:30 and we’re in Religion class. The teacher steps out for a moment and this dude decides to stand up and tell the whole class that he was going to kick my ass after school…y’all know the rest. A bunch of “ooooos” and “ahhhhs” filled the classroom and everyone was watching the clock.
It was your typical wintry Chicago afternoon and a cluster of kids gathered on the parking lot. Robert was already waiting for me when I arrived so I put my books down and approached the inner circle. I know everyone has seen those fights when the two participants walk around in a circle shoulder to shoulder chanting “you swing, no you swing, no swing” for about an hour. Then they get tired and head home…my approach was different. I’m sure that’s what Robert was expecting because most of the dudes were scared to fight him but not I. I ran right up to him…he was startled, took a step back and slipped on some ice. I punched in the eye as he fell….Steve 1 Rob 0. I know I won by default but hell a win is a win. I was the king of the 4th grade until the next day when Mrs. Arthur summoned us to the office. One day your king of the world the next day your on garbage detail….oh well it was good while it lasted.
I was recently involved in a conversation concerning the dynamics of a healthy and prosperous relationship. We discussed the pillars of a fruitful co-existence and the usual subjects were tossed about…respect, honesty, intimacy, finances and that ever present trust. Trust seems to be a word that is thrown in for good measure….it just sounds good with the “for better or worse” ideology. But do we really know and understand what it means to trust someone? Do we know what it feels like to be trusted?
I was listening to the Doug Banks’ Show recently and trust was the topic question of the day. A lady called in and commented that trust is something that is earned which is pretty much the generic response. She went on to highlight all the extra shenanigans she participates in when it comes to her husband…you know the ol’ checkin dudes pockets, going through his phone, yada, yada. But I was floored when she said that she had been married for 27 years. So you mean to tell me in 27 years this dude has not earned on ounce of trust? I mean she still treating him like they just met and not a husband of over two decades. The fact of the matter is we don’t have a clue of what real trust demands of us. We participate in watching for signs then actually trusting our mates. Hell, in this age of e-mail, WiFi, cell phones that damn near whip your ass if you program it right we have become spies and not partners….clusters of lost misfits who seem relegated to turning our relationships into a bunch of scenes from “Mr. and Mrs. Smith”.
If your woman is stepping out on you let’s be real….you already know why. Ain’t no need to be following her around or checking her phone records…instead you need to be getting your sh*t in order. I gave up earning trust in a relationship long ago; all I want is the benefit of the doubt which is just the precursor of trust. It’s like she really don’t trust me but I haven’t shown my ass vividly enough to be convicted. I’m cool with that. I would rather be honest with myself than to tear my hair out trying to “earn” the impossible. Trust is personal baggage that we drag from relationship to relationship. All it takes is that one neck bone eater to do us dirty and it’s a wrap. From that point on the only thing we’re doing is watching for signs (she’s working late a lot, she’s going out more than before, she’s whispering on the phone, etc…) so that we can get that “Aha! I caught your ass” moment. Then what?
What we don’t realize is that, in an effort to protect our hearts, we subconsciously convict our mates with crimes yet to be committed and treat them as such. I know many folks who come home from a long day at the gig our a night out and get that third degree (where you been?, who was there?, why you ain’t call me?). They trying to examine your clothes to check for levels of disheveledness. They get treated as if they were fresh from the “4 Hour Nap Rate” motel. What good is that? If a person figures out that this is going to be the treatment all the time then the next time they might as well go ahead and get some ass….the interrogation will be the same.
Trust is just a catch phrase that is desired but not understood. I’ve done dirt in some relationships and have been an angel in others and guess what….the trust level in both have been the same…non-existence. It is not always the actions of our lovers, boyfriends or wives that dictate our wavering level of trust but it is our past failures and our own insecurities. Instead of sweating her about her whereabouts send her some flowers. Do something to add to the levels of love in the relationship not rob it with your actions of self-loathing disguised as concern and bullsh*t.
Me and my boy E have been running the streets of the Chi since high school. We met our freshmen year during an impromptu cipher on the nuisances of House Music. I was engaged in a heated discussion over who was the best DJ on the House scene at that time. Folks were throwing around names like Andre Hatchet, Pharris “Funkin” Thomas, cats from the Hot Mix 5, Farley, Boo Williams, Armando, Terry Hunter & Frankie Knuckles. My two absolute favorite was the incomparable late great Ron Hardy & Lil Louis. When I threw those names in the cipher I shut it down. It was like smacking the big joker on the folding table in Big Mama’s basement on New Years Eve during a heated game of spades. E emphatically had my back in regards to my Lil Louis choice and the rest is history. For the majority of his adolescent years it had just been him and his mother. Although he had a relationship with his Dad it didn’t become significant until adulthood. During our senior year E and his Mom moved from 73rd & King Drive to 81st & Campbell. That was only one of the major changes made during that year.
During this time E’s Mom developed a relationship with a gentlemen caller. Pretty soon the relationship grew serious and she ended up letting dude move in to the home. Before the new guest eased his way into permanent residency we used to parlay up in the joint whenever I would visit but after that E’s ass would be waiting on the steps for me to pull up so he could get as far away as he could. I recall one visit clearly…it was a Friday and we were headed to, of course, a Lil Louis party at Leo High School. I came in and headed for the living room. E was coming up from the basement when suddenly dude came downstairs with a paper in his hand like he just took a relaxing dump. He saw E and said “you better get that garbage out if you plan on going somewhere tonight”….bad move. E was livid….he said “I don’t need you to instruct me to do sh*t around here…I got this mufucka”. Before he could expound on those remarks I ushered E’s ass out the door. Once in the whip E confided in me and said that dude been walking around his Momma’s house with his chest poked out like he run sh*t. You see E had been the man of the house way before this greasy ass cat was even thought off. This dude made the mistake so many cats make when they make the decision to cozy up to a woman with children.
The first thing dudes do is try to exert their control in the household….the problem with that is you ain’t got no control dude! The household had been running smoothly without you and if you ain’t got no chips to put on for the utilities, food, entertainment, tuition, gas, cable bill, etc…you can kick rocks with the quickness. You can’t walk up in the piece like Big Dick Willy, lay your suite cases disguised as garbage bags down and think folk just gon crown you King and slide you the big piece of chicken. Sh*t ain’t happening especially if there are sons in the picture. What you fail to realize is that after daddy left it became the sons job to protect their mother, it was the sons job to make sure the house wasn’t falling down and that the dishes were washed and the trash taken out before moms got home from work. So you need to act accordingly…sliding up in the spot the wrong way can and will get you f*cked up twice with the quickness. You need to earn their respect because they were here first and did not ask to be here. Slamming doors and barking orders will only get you a pumpkin’ head not respect.
Part of the problem is the choices made by the mothers. They want a father figure/role model but they really don’t have a clue of what that entails. Here’s a test….if dude has children be inquisitive and study how he treats them. If he treats his on chirrun like doo-doo guess what’s in store for you and yours….Sons would die for their mothers because they have seen them struggling, seen the tears when the lights got cut off or the eviction notice came in the mail, felt the helplessness because they were to young to get a job but old enough to understand the tragedy. So to all prospective gentleman callers you got a few choices…either respect the situation and dedicate yourself to earning your spot or catch a Nike in the ass or a skillet across the forehead…your choice. Whew, I sound kind of bitter don’t I??? Nah, just speaking from experience. Peace & Love
