200 Men Said…. Define Cheating

         If it aint tricking if you got it, then it can’t be cheating if it’s not sex, right? Well, it depends on who you ask. Some girls, mainly the insecure ones, get all in their feelings when it comes to their man so much as even looking at another female in her presence. While others, they prefer that their man get their looks on. So, who is right? Is it cheating?

I think that there are different levels of cheating and you have to decide which carries more weight, which is more important to you, and which  is a figment of your imagination. You can’t win them all honey. If it is not working for you, bounce.

There is physical cheating. This is where your man goes out into the world, willingly or intentionally, and he finds him a nice piece of Buffy The Body’s best asset and he waxes it like he was Mr. Miyagi’s honor student. This, to me, is one of the worst, but it isn’t the worst. Why, you ask? Because….guys are different. To some of them, physical is just, well, physical. If you weren’t tooting it up in the air and Kat Stacks was… no matter how much he loves you, he’s going to tap that if the opportunity presents itself. Now, by no means am I saying that this is the right thing to do. And as a female, I am hoping he would exercise a little more self-control and communication within the relationship……but…. I understand it. Depending on WHO he slept with ( family member vs some random Betty) i think he should get another chance. Chalk that one up to growing pains, forgive it ( NEVER FORGET IT) and move on. Most girls can’t do that, all girls shouldnt have to, but there are some things in your closet that you wouldn’t want him holding over your head for eternity either. Like, you really told that man you were a virgin? *Side eye*

You Killed Chivalry, You Bastard! Pt1

I don’t think that men actually get it. I mean, the fastest ways to piss me off is to not act your age and to stab Chivarly in the back in my presence. Yes, a tad bit dramatic… I get it, but I am fed up with it. Why couldn’t I have been born 50 years before my time. I would rather have fought Jim Crow than to squabble with Dumbasses. Trust me, this is not an exaggeration… white man…. call me nigger.  I honestly could take that over my own black supposed king calling me bitch.

Where is this stemming from, you ask? So there is this “guy”. I could say sooooooooooo much right now but I am choosing not to as not to set his whole entire village on fire. Fuck burning the bridge, I want to set his future grandkids on fire! He irks the shit out of me in ways that I didnt even know that I could be disturbed. I mean… I have had thoughts of fucking him up. I keep trying to give him a chance because I already know that I am crazy, but there is no helping this fucker in my presence.

So today, I woke up feeling horrible. I was supposed to spend the night at his house (TRUST ME THERE WAS NO SEX GOING ON UNLESS HE RAPED ME!). But, I knew that I would want to come home and get some rest after blogging about The Braxtons  and Sinbad so I called and asked if we could reschedule. I was respectable. But as the day went by I started to feel a little bit better…. took meds….and then said I could come over for a little bit but not stay the night. So we are kicking it…..

“Brand New” Vantage Point

Yoko Ono's A Hole

        There comes a time in everyone’s life when they will get asked, “What’s up with the change?” or “Why’re you acting brand new?”, to which you should reply, “Define brand new” or “From who’s stand point?”.

        I say this because, often times, vantage point can make a world of difference. John Lennon’s wife, Yoko Ono (sp), did an amazing piece of artwork where she does a bullet hole through a glass pane. She makes you look at the glass from both sides so that you can see if you are the shooter or the one shot. She said, “Unfortunately, I was on the bad side”. I can bet my soul I know which side she would have rather been on if she had a choice in the matter. But this artwork is a symbol of life and life’s vantage point.

        Recently, while on a vacation with someone who I deemed friend, I watched the vantage point change. And although it was rather subtle at first, I started to notice her behave “brand new”, or at least it seemed that way to me. But was that bad? Well, this morning on Twitter @SimplySandraG  said, “Someone asked me why I was acting brand new & in response I asked them why are they still acting the same.” Which made me think….is acting brand new always a bad thing, or can it be a good thing? And I think it depends on what that new behavior is and how it is executed.

        For example, If you are a hoe on land… I’m pretty sure you will be a hoe at sea.  Not calling anyone a hoe, used term for dramatic effect. But if the condom fits….wear it. There is no switch in that unless you get hit with the Holy Ghost and change your ways before departing the port. But is there really brand new behavior or is it that the revealing of such behavior is deemed incorrect for the current situation? Like the kid who jumps on furniture at home and then the parents pretend to be outraged in public pretending that they’ve never seen their children do this before. I say this because, there are always signs of a person’s behavior, but maybe the situation lends for it to be okay, therefore causing the person to become accustomed to executing such behavior. Thus, when the environment changes, the one who is more keen to changing does so while the other person keeps doing the same behavior and is therefore deemed as “acting brand new”. Confused? I’ll explain further.

        If you have a friend who can NEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEVER be on time to save their life unless they are representing themselves, their business, or their family and can NEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEVER respect the time of others (those deemed friends)….then how can you expect them to change when stepping outside of those guidelines just because the environment changes? If everyone caters to such rude and inconsiderate behaviors by changing their arrival times, joking that they know this person is never on time, or re-routing caravans to cater to this person….you can only expect that this person will get use to being catered to and that this behavior is acceptable. You can also believe that the minute someone is smart enough to stop enabling this type of behavior the Tardy for the Party person will inevitably get defensive and think that you have a problem with them because, after all, they deserved to be catered to at all times…. right? So EVEN if they spend 4 nights of a cruise in the stateroom with 2 guys that they just met 3 days earlier (the first night being your birthday night, despite whatever the circumstances may be)……you should be perfectly okay with such “brand new” behavior, right? And even if they hand your stateroom key to a complete male stranger ( 3 days does not a friend & trust factors make) to come check on you in your room because you went missing and they didn’t feel the need to get out of the bed from snuggling with their new cruise guy….you should be perfectly okay with such “brand new” behaviors…right? I mean, after all, you’re the one that is remaining the same, right? Or are they the ones who are remaining the same and you are changing because common sense tells you to do better and therefore your change is making someone else look as if they are acting “brand new”?

*Side note*: THE GIVING OF THE STATEROOM KEY TO A STRANGER BECAUSE YOU TRUST TOO MANY GOT DAMN PEOPLE FAR TOO SOON AND ESPECIALLY IF THEY HAVE A PENIS>>>>IS ENOUGH TO GET YOU FUCKED UP! I DONT SUGGEST THAT ANYONE EVER TRY THIS WHILE ON A CRUISE! USE SOME COMMON SENSE ,PEOPLE! THAT’S ALL I’M ASKING! COMMON SENSE!!!!

        If you are confused by this… so am I. lol. But perhaps the environment is what has changed, and both parties are remaining true to their character ( or lack there of) and therefore both parties feel as if the other has changed, when in fact….. they havent. For instance, if 2 people sit in the dark at midnight and one ( due to the dark) appears to have a black shirt on but as the sun rises (environment change) now appears to have on a purple shirt…. did the person really change or did the environment change causing the appearance of change? Meaning, that person hasn’t changed and neither have you… the sun has finally shifted therefore revealing to you something that has been there all along and you are just now seeing it.  Like the time I was starting up my own sisterhood, when my top divas (Vice President, Secretary, Event Planner, etc) all saw the new recruits misbehaving, slacking on turning in assignments, and even watched me put them in check. When I dismissed a recruit for not following the rules or carrying their weight, my top divas were right behind me….agreeing with every step & damn near virtually hi-fiving me for getting rid of dead weight. I didn’t cater to anyone; if you didn’t carry your weight you had to bounce. But ooooooooh no! As soon as they started slacking on assignments and not pulling their weight, they had to go. Of course it came up that I had changed.  When in fact, I had been the same person, upholding the same standards, and not the only difference had been who was being punished for falling below those standards. They had encouraged my behavior, they told me that I was doing good when I saw a wrong and went to fix it ( I wasnt always the most tactful, I admit but the job got done) So you see, I had not changed, the vantage point did, the environment had changed. So, do you get mad at the person, the behavior, or the environment?

        I say blame yourself for not noticing. lol. We often push our better judgement to the side when dealing with so-called friends. We must STOP that. We must hold our friends to the same standards as we do for strangers since those closest to us can screw us over faster than those furthest from us. If your friend doesn’t curse in front of their parents but does at a bar….that person curses. Point. Blank. Period.  If this person has bad judgement when it comes to men at home, taking a trip isn’t going to change it. Point. Blank. Period. If your friend is quick-tempered and ready to beat anyone’s ass back home, I suggest you don’t try to come out the side of your neck via text messages during the holiday season…..because you can still get that ass whooped! POINT! BLANK!PERIOD!!! It is an evolution of changing environments and we already possess those behaviors that will be revealed upon entering such situations. It is up to us to pay more attention to others sooner. Hold ourselves accountable for our own actions; be they wrong or right, new or old. And we must not be willing to accept poor behavior from ANYONE at ANY TIME that does not show full respect to us and our situation. Now, go ahead…insert this rule into your life, and watch the ones you’ve been catering to for far too long say that you’re “acting brand new”.  Then….agree with them.

Sincerely,

~*My Mother’s Daughter*~

What Happens in this House….:A Molestation Survivor Speaks

WARNING: This is a very graphic and tough topic. Personal experiences and sexual references are made and PARENTAL DISCRETION IS ADVISED.

        Somewhere, in some part of the world, there is a little girl snuggled in her bed pressed against a wall, head under her pillow with just enough space to inhale for the breath holding ahead and to peek towards the door knob awaiting the return of her personal boogie man. Monsters Inc prepares children for the monsters who reside under your bed and in your closets, but what about the monsters who pin you down to the bed and force you and this secret into the closet….what then?

        I was one of those children, and I don’t know if I have ever stopped being one of those children. To this day, I sleep with my bedroom door locked, a privilege that was not granted to me living under his roof. I have escape routes out of windows in my house just in case an intruder were to ever invade my safe haven. Windows covered in complete darkness resemble the rooms I had growing up because our neighbor’s house was so close and he lived by the rule of thumb that “what happens in this house stays in this house.” Who was I to judge his authority?

(Screaming!) He molested me! *exhales* There, I said it…outloud. Who is this “he”, you ask?

        He was my father, Charles S Carter Jr, and he was the man who molested me from before I could remember until the courts took us away from him when I was 12 years old. People say that I look like him, but I still need a DNA test to even begin that process. He was an electrical engineer with several degrees who spoke several languages, and a normal relationship was as foreign to us as him speaking Korean to me in moments of battle. I was his daughter. His first-born, born from the love that he had once married to my mother, but I would come to learn that although I was not his favorite I would turn out to be Daddy’s Girl. Late night parent daughter talks, asthmatic lungs inhaling the stench of Newports from his chest as the weight of a grown man crushed my prepubescent body into a mattress for no other reason than I was female, easily accessible, and he had a disease that yearned to be fed. Daughter perched on daddy’s lap became a moment to talk about whatever popped up, as eyes were turned to the roaming hands of a step brother who idolized him and my flat chest at the same time. This is where I lived and died daily. I lived with a military man who swore to protect his country but protected the secret of his personal habit even harder. Just ask my crushed toes underneath the Army boots that were now stepping on my feet for not wearing socks or houseshoes…as if being his daughter wasnt punishment enough.

        I remember being punished just for breathing too loudly; popped in the mouth for the escape of a smack reaching his eardrum. A simple tug of his beard meant I was in trouble. One time, he hit me so hard in my tailbone that I lost control of my legs and urinated on myself all in one swift swoop, just to turn around and get a whooping for messing up the floor. A call from the teacher meant that I would have to strip in front of my father and walk the house butt naked and if he saw me ,and felt like it, then I would get a whooping right then and there. I became a master at silently turning door knobs better than he could and dodging in and out of bedrooms and hallway closets just to go to and from the bathroom in peace. Doing number two (pardon the graphics) was the only time I could be in the bathroom in peace without anyone entering.  Fingers entering openings to ensure “cleaning” because I was filthy, followed by my father laying me on the bed to towel dry me off and rub me from head to toe with baby oil. Slow grinding on me was common place. Adolescent hips popping out of socket under the weight of his grinding, hurting, caused me to try to push him off because talking would make him lose his concentration and bring whoopings. He never listened to my cries and held my hands down. There I was, learning the best lessons of male and female relationships from my father. How lucky was I to learn about the birds and bees from my own father? Every girl needs a father in the house, right?

        One day in church I just didn’t want to go back to his house. My aunt couldn’t make me if God told me to go back himself. I’d had enough. Sitting in the police station with male police officers giving me different toys to describe my fathers penis proved unfruitful; I didn’t trust males. They had no choice but to send me back. I got a whooping until I blacked out. My father took me to a therapist to save face…maybe she could figure out where I was “making these stories up”.

        Off of Carmichael Road in Montgomery, Alabama sat my therapist’s office. A soft-spoken caucasian woman who listened intently as my father sat on the other side of the door.  That is until the day she asked me to re-enact with Barbie and Ken what I told the police happened….so, I showed her. She opened the door and invited my father into the room so he could see too. I never spoke of anything again. And yes, you guessed it….I got a whooping until I had an asthma attack and he had to take me to Maxwell Air Force Base to the ER. This time my Aunt believed me and she fought for custody…but she still allowed him visitations until she passed away when I was 15. He came to her house for her funeral and sat in the kitchen and told ever male there not to be trusted around me because I would lie on them like I had lied on him. And he vanished into street legend. I never saw him, or the therapist ever again.

        My father followed me, in theory. I heard stories of him doing crack from friends in high school, but he had taught me the best lesson ever; Never let anyone make you feel like less of a person. I walked those halls of my high school as a virgin…because I was. Guys from all around wanted to be with the virgin and every single one failed. I wouldn’t willingly give myself to someone until I was in college. You see….I was molested, but he didn’t take my virginity.

        Every guy is not my father, nor am I searching for him in every guy that I date….but through all that I wrote above and more that I didn’t write….I was still a human. A demon like him couldn’t touch the best parts of me. He couldn’t reach them with all of his might because his intentions were wrong. My virginity had nothing to do with sex…my virginity was me, my mind, my free spirit, my determination to rise above where people keep putting me, and the favor that was placed over me even though I was entangled in a generational curse. He tried, but I walked out of his house and his presence with the hymen of my integrity and the mission over my life in tack.

        Today, he lives in Baltimore. He’s never been prosecuted, never been made to suffer for what he put me and others through. One day, and maybe soon… I will walk to where they say that he works and tell him that he couldn’t break me. He couldn’t make me feel less than a princess even though my father wasnt a king.

        This is a part of what I went through, but it is NOT who I am. It helped me make decisions about not showing my body to just any guy. You’ll never hear tales of me sleeping with different guys all in the name of love without being in love. You’ll never see pics of me plastered on the internet that show more of my assets than I am showing I am worth. And you will never hear that I’ve stopped breaking the silence. I was molested but I was never a victim. My virginity never has to be born again because it never died. I found strength through this. Dont get me wrong, I’d never go back a second time…. but I made it out, and THAT is something to be proud of. Where I came from does NOT determine where I will go.

       So, to anyone who has been through similar stories….today is not too late to realize that they had the problem and not you. We are of a sisterhood that many will never understand. I salute you and all of your wonderful glory. I stopped holding my father accountable for what he did to me and the effects it had on my life the day I last saw him….that is not my battle. It weighs you down, trust me. I try to find love as much as often in my daily activities…..today.. I love you. One day you will gain the strength to no longer be ashamed of your story…until then I will speak for you, I dont mind. What are sisters for, right?

        My prayer is that, just this once ,you listen to my father: What happened in your house, stays in your house…..including the pain and the shame. We’ve got other little girls to protect. No time for living in the past. Here, take my hand…..I’m with you as we walk out of our molester’s house. God bless!

Sincerely,

~*My Mother’s Daughter*~

This is the house where majority of it happened. On Pinebrook Dr in Montgomery,AL