And If I Don’t Make It, Know That I Loved You All Along

My Grandma is dying. She was diagnosed less than two months ago with lung cancer that has spread like wild-fire into her spine and throughout her body. Chemo was a no go, because the cancer was too far gone, and Radiation has only been recommended to help shrink some of the larger tumors that are causing her so much pain she can’t even sit or stand, but not as a cure. She has deteriorated so quickly that as of this past Monday, she was rushed to the hospital in an ambulance while she had a heart attack, and is now being placed on palliative care.

In the simplest terms, she is waiting to die.

Death brings out the worst in everyone, and my mom has been trying her best to help, but things came to a head yesterday after she returned home from what could be her last time seeing her own mother. She spent the last week in BC, taking my grandma to and from the hospital and lawyers offices (will’s) and cooking, and cleaning for her, all while watching the woman who raised her wilt away to nothing.

My grandma can’t do anything for more than 5-10 minutes before having to have a nap because she is drained from exerting any energy. So, my sisters, N & R and I figured we should plan a trip, sooner rather than later to go visit her one last time.

R asked me to look into flight costs and find the best price (since I’ve done the most travel and have the best experience with booking flights). BUT because of R’s busy life, she’s only available like 2 out of the next 16 days and she wants to go there and back on the same day. ALSO since she’s on a strict budget, she expects me to find return flights for under $200. Ummmm yeeeeah. Highly doubtful. So then she brings up the fact that she saw some deal for flights to “somewhere in BC for $49 so it should be fine!” Um, the flights you saw go to a city 4 hours from where we need to be?!? So she recommends that we fly there and rent a car and drive the rest of the way.

What? You wanna fly inbound, in the morning, drive 4 hours, visit for 10 minutes, drive back 4 hours, catch another flight and be home in time to put your kids to bed the same night? Like it would just be much simpler to just fly straight to the city we need to be in, even if it means spending a little more money, the PITA factor will more than make up for it.

I told her I would work on it, but in the end I found a flight for $269 that she thought was cool.  Either way, I’m good since my boss overheard the tail end of one of my calls with R and so I explained about my grandma and how I might need a day off next week and he was fine with that… SOOO cool in fact, that about 20 minutes later, he came by my desk and told me to let him know before I book my tickets because there might be some “arrangements” he can make. The co-owner of my company lives in the same place I have to go, and he said we can possibly write it off as a work trip saying I have to “meet” with the owner while I’m there for my 3 month review, and probably pay for it with points. So basically he’s willing to pay for my flight as a business expense, woo me!

But as it turns out, after all this arranging back and forth, looking for flights, rental cars, getting free trips from my boss, annoying calls between sisters… turns out my grandma no longer wants to have any visitors.

She has asked that nobody else comes to see her, since it’s becoming to overwhelming for her, and she’d rather people remember her as she was instead of how she is now, which I gather from my mom is pretty rough.

Ok, I totally get it. I don’t like people around when I’m sick, didn’t want people around when I gave birth. I don’t like indulging people to make them feel comfortable, I can only imagine how I would feel at that time in my life when I know I basically have nothing left time wise. Maybe I’d want to be surrounded by loved ones… but only if they were silent. I remember I screamed at the doctors to shut up when I gave birth, and then apologized profusely after lol. But sometimes just knowing people are there helps. You don’t need the nervous chitchat. You need peace, and you need people who can bring that peace into your life. And if they can be there with you at the end, then I would welcome them. If they want to try to settle their nerves and their uncomfortableness with death, then I don’t want them around me while I’m trying to die. Because I’m fine with death and dying. It’s part of life. Or more specifically it’s the end of life, but it’s something EVERYONE on this planet has in common. No matter how you lived, you will die. And I’m fine with that. I have no fear in death. When it’s done, it’s done. And when my grandma dies, I will obviously not be happy, but I will move on with my life, until I also die. No, I’m not heartless, I’m just ridiculously practical and probably to logical for my own good.

My mom on the other hand, like most people, is not handling it well. When I called her yesterday to see how her trip went and how she was doing, it was definitely bad timing. When she answered the call I could hear some yelling in the background, and my mom walking into her room.

She’d just been going through a heated exchange with another family member that didn’t end pleasantly at the time.

I had to spend the next hour on the phone with my mom trying to talk to her about it all, explaining where she “might, possibly, slightly” have been wrong due to her high emotions because of whats happening with grandma. Or actually perhaps she was right in her observations about the individual during the argument, but had not handled the situation well due to her emotional state.

Like I said, death brings out the worst in most people.

Unfortunately, we’ll all have to learn to deal with it soon enough.


-Our Lady Peace/4AM-

Only For Tonight Only For One Night Even Though You Don’t Love Me

My friends… at least the single ones, are constantly coming to me for “dating” advice. And when that happens, I laugh inwardly. In the entire history of the world, I’m like the least qualified person to be giving out advice about dating. Getting a guy for a quick fling, sure I’m your girl. But Honey, if your actually seriously about getting with someone long-term… walk far away from me lol.

I think co-workers and friends just liked hearing my stories each week about my weekend romps and whatever hilarious guy I was with recently. And I do have a flair for the dramatic when I tell those stories, as well as way too many dick pics to back them up.

Oh, and seriously what is with guys sending out those pics if I haven’t asked for them, which I think I’ve done maybe twice. It’s like a guy thinks if I have given him my number, then I want to see a picture of his junk. SOOO NOT TRUE!  I gave you my number so we could call… on the phone… and possibly hook up sometime. If I got to the point of giving you my number, than I already pretty much plan on sleeping with you, you don’t need to try to “impress” me with your penis. Trust me I’ll see it eventually. Ohhh and a heads up (lol, pun intended, I’m so funny) it probably won’t be the best dick pic I’ve ever gotten so PLEASE stop sending them. I honestly keep them for a week or two (not even, sometimes its DUA/delete upon arrival lol), and then delete them to make room for pictures of my kids on my phone. I have only 2 dick pics on my phone right now, and they both belong to K so it probably only counts as one. But to be straight up, I never look at them, nor have “used it” while taking care of my business on my own. Like it does not turn me on. But to each their own.

I think some chicks were jealous of the sheer number of guys I was dealing with at certain times. But to be honest ladies, it’s not hard at all. Like if you want dick… it’s out there and pussy has power. So the choice is yours.  I don’t regret the number of guys I’ve fucked, because for the most part I’ve enjoyed them. Sure there’s the odd dud every now and then, but that’s life. Sex is meant to be enjoyed. Would I prefer it to be enjoyed with one person… I think so, which is why I’ve deactivated my online dating accounts. But doesn’t mean I live in shame of the guys I slept with. Sometimes it just gets overwhelming…. Trying to remember who is who can get complicated.

Here’s a regular night:

Like this screen cap used to be a standard night, before I finally invite one of them over.

But doesn’t mean I live in shame of the guys I slept with in the past. It was what I wanted at the time, and made for some good memories.

Because, in messing around with all these guys, I learned so many different techniques and positions and was able to try out so many different sexual experiments that led me to learn what I like, as well as what I most definitely don’t. Things that I never would’ve experienced if I had ended up with W from the jump. Or even if I had stayed with E. For example I would’ve never found out that I’m a squirter from some older gentleman, while strapped me spread-eagle to a bed and blindfolded, while he used his selection of “tools” Squirting is something, as much as I enjoy, I also find annoying because when I squirt now, I find I’m just thinking about cleaning up the mess instead of enjoying myself. Point is, every “partner” has brought their own style and tricks to the bedroom/couch/table/countertop/floor/shower etc. and I’ve taken the good away from each encounter, and left the bad kissers, tiny dicks, sloppy tongues or whatever behind.

So am I experienced? Yes. Am I willing to try new things? Of course. Should I write a book called Dating for Dummies? Heck no! As noted before, I know nothing about dating, having never been on a “date” before. I have guys over, we have sex, and I try to get them out ASAP. They NEVER spend the night, and it’s even better when they don’t stay around for small chit chat after we’re done. I try and get my point across by getting dressed pretty much as soon as I’m done, and shoo-ing them out as politely as possible. Hoping they’ll take the hint… which has been pretty successful so far.

So if you want a “How To” book from me, it would definitely not be one on dating. It would be more along the lines of “How to Master the One Night Stand.”


-The Weeknd/Wicked Games-

 

We Are Family, I Got All My Sisters With Me

When I was about 11 I came home from school one day and my mom told me to have a seat at the kitchen table. Immediately all the bad things I had done recently started running through my head based on her tone and I thought I was in big trouble.

Nothing could’ve prepared me for what happened instead. Without any warning or prep, my mom sat down and started the conversation with “You have another sister”.

Ummm yeah duh, I have TWO other sisters. I’m a middle child is what I’m thought. But then she continued… “Besides R and N you have another sister who’s now about 9 years old.”  Ahhhh say what? Now I’m lost. Your saying you’re not pregnant, and I have a sister who’s 9? Meaning in between my little sister N and I there’s another one? I’m beyond confused.

So my mom continued describing something like this…

When my mom was pregnant with me, my biological father had an affair and so shortly after I was born my parents got divorced (this part I knew) My mom was a single mom with two small children (R is 2.5 years older than myself) and during that time got pregnant while “dating” a guy. The guy didn’t want the baby, and my mom couldn’t bring herself to abort the child, but also knew she couldn’t give her an amazing quality of life since she was already struggling with R and I, so she put the baby up for adoption.

After that time she reconnected with the man who I now call dad (actual step-dad) whom she knew from high school, got married to him and had N, the girl I thought was my only little sister. I know it’s long and winded… but it’s a weird story and so it needs all those words or else your just like WTF? Which is how I felt at the table that day.

Anyways, apparently my new sister was at the age where she was asking about her birth mom and so her adoptive parents had been back in contact with mom, and now we were now going to be heading to the next province to be meeting her this summer.

Wow. That’s a lot to take in for a 11 year old. (and probably you as a reader sorry if I didn’t explain it well) But also admittedly pretty cool. Every kid’s always wanted to have, and then meet, their long-lost sibling, albeit normally at some summer camp or some other made for tv thing… but still, this was happening. It took a LONG while to absorb. Telling my friends was weird. I felt like I had to constantly stand up for my mom on the adoption issue, even though it was her choice, I still felt like people were judging her. I also felt weird but lucky, that in a way she had picked me. Twisted, I know. But I’m only 18 months older than my new sister K and so it totally could’ve been me in that situation right?

The time came for us to drive to meet her, and it felt even more surreal. We drove to the same city we’d go every summer to visit my grandparents when I was younger and just knowing she’d been there all along was kinda mind-blowing for lack of a better word.

My mom was SUPER nervous to say the least. And rightly so. She was going to meet a human she had given away. A child who called someone else mom. A person who wanted answers.

The initial few minutes were filled with your regular hellos and awkward hugs and then K’s adoptive mom pulled out stacks upon stacks of binders filled with pictures of K. Which we then sat and “browsed” through for almost an hour. Each picture had a story and a memory to go with it, which at 11 years old I didn’t really care about and just wanted to go play with the stacks of toys piled EVERYWHERE in the house.

K had had a full life thus far. Her adoptive parents had been unable to have children and so had given K anything her heart desired as their only child. They lived a very different lifestyle compared to how I was raised. Mine being you work for what you get, K’s being, you get whatever you want because you’re our little miracle child.

I’ll be honest, at first I was jealous, and thoughts like “this could’ve been me” floated through my head periodically. But those times have passed. I realize the struggle K must’ve gone through, thoughts of abandonment and possibly feeling unwanted. But at the time I was 11, and only saw material things and the sheer volume of them… and I wanted that.

K and I bonded the most out of us 4 sisters, since we were closest in age. We spent most of that visit in her pool, and playing with toys I had only dreamed of having. When it was time for us to leave, it was weird, but we exchanged emails and agreed to write and call often.

The calls were fairly rare, and the emails occasional. What do you say to your ‘new’ sister? But then a few months later, my parents announced that we were going to Disneyland!!!! What!!! Yes!!!! It would be my first time! Oh, and then they said that K was coming too… they wanted us all to have a chance to grow closer. Ummm ok? Whatever, kinda weird but I’m just excited to finally be going to Disneyland.

So, all 4 of us sisters and my parents set out to Disneyland. K had been before, multiple times, but for R, N, and myself, it was our first time, so we enjoyed it. We did the Universal Studio visit too, the whole nine yards. Of course K had so much more spending money compliments of her parents, and was constantly wanting to shop instead of ANYTHING else since she’d already done the rides “a million times each”, which was annoying, but we accommodated her and by the end of the trip, we had successfully not killed each other. Pretty good for knowing each other less than a year, and having to spend a family vacation together.

Throughout the next few summers, K would come visit us occasionally and I would go there sometimes, since we had connected the most. Yet over time, it became apparent that K was no longer interested in being a part of our lives, and it was awkward to be part of hers. Which is completely understandable.

She had her own family and friends in her own city and really didn’t need us. She had a whole different set of beliefs and lifestyle and she felt we didn’t mesh well together. So slowly over time, emails went unanswered, calls unreturned, and whatever bond there initially was, was stretched to the point of breaking.

The last I heard of my sister, she was on an extended trip she recently took to Indonesia this winter doing yoga on the beach and visiting ancient temples. She’s having fun and has found her inner peace.

Maybe growing up with her adoptive parents was the good for her soul. Because I know my “inner peace” is still eluding me.


-Sister Sledge/We Are Family-

There’s Such A Difference Between Us, And A Million Miles 

This morning I remembered about a time I was “in love” before W. Do I think you can love more than one person in your life? Yes, we are human and feel emotions for people. But, what I felt for J should probably be classified more as an infatuation or a fling, and because I was so young, I didn’t know any better so I definitely thought I was in love. Although I definitely doodled my name with his last name for a solid month… ah young “love”

After I graduated high school, I decided it was time to get away from life here and start exploring the world. Travel is a big deal to me. Expanding my mind and discovering other cultures and just having new experiences was important. I never wanted to be someone who stayed in the province I grew up in, never giving myself a chance to learn about the world. I had chosen that I would not be an ignorant person. So straight after I bought my car I started saving up for my “trip”.

I had decided I was going to go by myself to Africa for three months. I found an organization who needed support and would host me, and after saving another 6-7 grand (flights/shopping/safari/souvenirs) I set off to Namibia in January of 2006 to volunteer in an AIDS orphanage.

It completely changed my life. It was my first glimpse of true poverty and people in real need. This was the true definition of Ghetto. We commuted into the small community of Katatura in the capital of Windhoek daily and it was terrible and beautiful at the same time. But the children…. the children were utterly captivating. They loved life despite what they were going through, yes they didn’t know any different, but they found joy in the day-to-day regardless. My first tattoo was a line from a poem I wrote when I got home to commemorate my time there and the children I fell in love with. It’s written in Afrikaans and translated says “who my love dares”… and to me it means if you love something or someone you should do whatever it takes to boldly show it. Your love should dare you and push you deeper than you thought possible.

Anyways, J was one of the long term workers at the organization that hosted me. He had grown up in the community and had overcome all that life had thrown at him, only to return and help those in similar situations. Hot right? Right.

We didn’t really connect until a month into my trip, but then it was like a whirlwind. He was writing me love notes and throwing rocks at my window late at night so we could talk. Then sometimes at night we would sneak out to the field and spend hours talking  under the stars. Well talking and making out 🙂  It was actually really romantic thinking back. He was older then me and very convincing, and even though I wasn’t technically on vacation, I wasn’t at home in my regular environment either, so I figured I should let loose and went with it. Plus he was cute so that was a plus.

By the time April rolled around, J had convinced me that we were meant to be together, and that he would find a way to join me in Canada. My innocent 18 year old self totally hung on to each word he said. This man wrote me poems and songs for me which he serenaded me with on the front porch while strumming a guitar (dreamy hey) How could I possibly think anything else?

Well, after I returned home, the emails and even a few international phone calls went back and forth for probably 6-8 months… pretty good for a long distance “relationship” at 18 years old. But then…. things just petered out I guess? I’m not even sure what happened to be honest. Over 10 years has past and well… J obviously never made it here. I never went back, although I never said I would. But we both moved on with our lives. At least I did, I never found out what happened to J, and a quick social media search has turned up nothing. I’m realizing that although I’m sure I was heartbroken at the time, possibly even cried once or twice, it’s basically been inconsequential in the long-term of my life.

I barely even remember that it happened let alone how it ended.

And maybe if I’m lucky, I’ll be at a point in my life one day where I look back and see E that way. Where I barely remember that he happened. And hopefully I’ll also forget how it ended.


-Adele/Hello-

And You Can’t Stop Me From Falling Apart

I refuse to watch 13 Reasons Why. As someone who has attempted suicide myself, on more than one occasion, and obviously failed (self high-five), I don’t feel I need to know someone else’s reasons behind killing themselves, or whatever else happens on that show. Do I think it’s a good show for people to watch who have never experienced suicidal tendencies? Sure, maybe, I don’t know. But like I said, I won’t watch it, so I can’t advise.

My first attempt was when I was about 16 (I think… in around there). Looking back, my life was pretty good, so from all outward appearances there was nothing that would have given away my intentions.
I grew up in the suburbs, in a brand new house my mom designed and had built when I was 10 using the inheritance my dad got when his parents passed away within a year of each other. I was pretty much a straight A student for the most part until Gr. 12. I had a solid group of friends. I was involved in lots of activities, you know the standard boring stuff like band and *synchronized* swimming. I played b-ball in junior high and rugby throughout high school. I wasn’t a “trouble” kid, never even been sent to the principals office (unless the teacher needed an errand kid… than I was your girl) I wasn’t your emotional girly girl, my friends all came to me for advice, knowing I could be trusted to keep secrets as well as lead them in the general right direction. I’ve never been fired from a job since I first started working at 14.  I was/am fiscally responsible, and bought my first car (at the time a sweet black coupe Sunfire lol) at 16. Basically, I was your model goody-two-shoes citizen.

It would seem I had it all.

So why would someone who had it “so good” feel so desperate that they had to try to kill themselves. Good question. One that I can’t even explain well. It’s like you get to a point where you feel desperate. You feel like no matter what, no matter how hard you try or what you do, it won’t be good enough, or even better, it won’t matter. It comes from inside. It’s not necessarily because of a certain situation or because of something someone said to you, it comes from deep within. You feel like your drowning in yourself. You feel out of control. And as hard as you try to “think positive” or “look at the bright side” or whatever other ridiculous thing people tell you in that moment, the feeling is there. Deep down inside. So you stop telling them about your struggle. You say your fine. You act like your fine. You show no outward appearances of being in trouble. You try to maintain normality. Because you don’t need the words from people who don’t understand you, trying to “make things better” They don’t get that words won’t help. This is a feeling. An emotion. A confliction rising from places you didn’t know existed deep within yourself. Places you’ve tried to keep hidden. Because you are a happy person. Who doesn’t have 13 reasons to kill herself. A person who has a million reasons to live.
Yet, you just don’t want to.

So, one night at 16 years old while my parents were out, I very carefully and methodically downed an entire bottle of extra strength Advil, laid down. and went to sleep for what I hoped, in the moment, would be the last time.
Imagine my surprise and to be honest, hurt, confusion and annoyance when I woke up the next morning feeling nothing but a slight stomach ache. WTF? Seriously? How much does it take? So I got up and went to school as per usual. I hardly told anyone until now. Why admit failure at something as ridiculous as this right? I continued with my life as usual thinking back on that night often… than less as time went on.
Until about 3 years ago. Went the feelings came back again. Harder, and much more intense. But this time I was more “mature” about it, if that was possible. I had two kids looking up to me, so I at least went for help first.

I had recently left E, and was living with my parents again (full circle hey) and I knew I needed help, because those feelings of desperation were back. So one night after I put the kids to sleep I asked my parents if they minded watching the kids while I went out to the clinic, because I really needed to go. Like RIGHT NOW! So I went to the clinic… where the Dr was a douche.
I tried explaining why I was there, and how I was looking for anti depressants. Simple right? Give the depressed suicidal woman antidepressants and everything’s good. At least that how I thought it would go down. But nope. He kept asking why I felt I needed them (Ummmmmmmmm, I’m depressed? Idiot) and saying if I’m suicidal or even overly depressed, he wouldn’t be able to let me leave and would have to call it in to the hospital, and put me under an emergency watch.

So all I could think about was that I had already shared too much. I had come for help. And now you want to lock me in a ward somewhere? What about my kids? Nope. Nope nope nope a million times no. I did a hard 180 and back tracked on everything I had said to him and walked out the office ASAP. But as I drove home, the feelings crept back in. Deeper and more desperate than before. If a doctor couldn’t/wouldn’t help me, than what chance did I have? I felt I had done my best going about dealing with it the “proper way” by going to see a “medical professional” but left feeling more overwhelmed then I had felt an hour ago.

So when I pulled into the garage at my parents house, even though it wasn’t premeditated… I closed the overhead door, and just stayed. I had the car running and the windows down and I just sat there with my eyes closed. I briefly thought about my kids and how they would be fine with my parents, and I could at least enjoy my last moments relaxing with nothing going through my head but whatever songs were on the radio.
Music. One of the most important things in my life. Because it can connect you with/too so many things, but also it can disconnect you from life. Which is what I wanted right then. To forget life. And forget pain, and fear, and every other emotion. I wanted to just  “be” one last time. Until I’m not sure how much later, but my Dad walked out to the garage, saying he had heard the garage door, and wondering if I was ok/what I was doing out there.

No. No, I was not ok. I did not get the help I was looking for. And now you’ve interrupted my “master plan” to kill myself, so now what?
Well “now what” turned out to be a visit to a competent doctor the next day at the  urging of my parents. The new doctor worked with me, getting me the proper anti-depressants that would work with the seizure medication I’m on, as well as follow up calls and emails to ensure I was doing better. Which for the most part I was.

And I still kinda am. Although, upon reflection, I’ve noticed it’s definitely a S.A.D. thing. Which is not something I’m embarrassed about. Even as recently as this past winter, I’ve struggled with suicidal thoughts. Which is probably why I never felt this way while living in Africa. And although I’m not taking anti-depressants anymore, I deal with the emotional pull of the darkness inside myself during that time of year. Something I’m sure will probably happen this coming winter too.

Do I think I’ll try to kill myself again? Not really. But right now, I’m okay. I’m not depressed… for now. So I cannot say for sure it won’t happen again though. All I know is there are not 13 reasons for me. There is not even one. In my opinion, someone who is suicidal, is that way because nothing makes sense. The thoughts in their head are all “down” and “dark.” It’s definitely not a well written and organized 13 point plan/reasons. It’s just desperation and hopelessness.

Or just someone who has had enough. And I hate to be a downer, but sometimes there aren’t warning signs. I was very good at keeping it to myself, and being a “happy friendly carefree” 16 year-old, who looked like she had her shit together. I never cut myself, or had any other indication of other self harm when I went straight to downing those pills. I never gave anyone a heads up. I didn’t even write a suicide note. I wasn’t in it for the attention, I was trying to do it to be done with life. I didn’t give two shits what anyone else thought, then and still to this day that’s how I do life.

I have never had someone close to me commit suicide. And I’m truly sorry if you have. But to be honest, it’s not about what you could’ve done to help. Because depression comes from within. And needs to be solved from within. My medication helped me. No conversation with friends or family, although everyone is different. No amount of get togethers or going out helped me. Because the individual could just paste on a fake smile and then once they go home and are alone, the “dark” thoughts will be back, if they weren’t there the whole time anyways.

Depression is a medical condition that should be helped with medication.

It should not be judged or laughed at. It also should not be made to be explained by the inflicted. Because most times, it can’t be. You either are depressed or you are not. like I said before, nothing in the outer world “makes” you depressed.

For me it came from within. And I shouldn’t need 13 reasons why.


-Skillet/Open Wounds-

We’ve Grown To Close For That, Fuck A Friend Zone I Know I Ain’t Perfect

So last night, K called again (twice but I was busy the first time around) and after he got off the phone as quickly as possible, I realized the call was similar to one I would’ve had with my mother.

“Tell me about your day” “How are the kids” “Oh you need things like this in your life C” “Good for you C” “I’m happy for you” “Ok well I have to go, I was just calling to check up on you”

And the call was done in like 15 minutes. Reflecting back, this is how our last few phone calls have gone. When I try to talk about how he is, and what’s new with him, he’ll chat for a minute or two and then be like “Woah woah, that’s enough about me, I just called to make sure your ok.” And laying in bed last night it hit me why it bothered me…

I’ve never been friend zoned before. Ever. Let alone by someone I liked. And it almost made me question my feelings for K. Well, it obviously did or I wouldn’t be sitting here writing about it. Do I like him only because he’s a challenge? Something I’ve never faced before? And what the fuck! I’m the one who originally tried to push K away, multiple times at that lol, like how dare he do this to me. I’m not really that bothered but common, I’m the one who tried ending whatever this was on so many occasions, only to have K pull me back in, now to turn around and do this? WTF?

I have always got every guy I’ve gone after. I know that may sound arrogant but thinking about it last night, and trust me I went WAY back, I realized I’ve never been shut down like this.

In high school I never dated anyone, but it’s because I wasn’t interested in any of the guys in my school. To be frank, I most definitely have a “type.” You know your standard tall dark and handsome? Well I like them tall (duh) and dark? For sure, super, super, extra dark if you know what I mean 🙂 Plus, everyone likes handsome lol. But in my school, with a graduating class of over 800 people, there were only 2 black guys. And in my ever so humble opinion, they weren’t handsome (to be kind). So I didn’t have your girly “high school crush” and really had no desire to make anything happen with anyone during those years. And even if I did, it probably wouldn’t have happened because I just wasn’t that outgoing enough to start anything.

After I met W, who yeah, I was never put in the friend zone with, every guy I picked out, I hooked up with, unless I decided I didn’t want too. On dating sites, or at the club, if I made up my mind that I wanted something to happen with a guy, then I made it happen. I’ve never been turned down ever. I mean probably because I was offering to give out sex like no body’s business, but still, if I wanted it, I got it. Plus when I wanted it to stop, I stopped it. And it was in my hands with whom.

But these were only one night stand things, which was what I was looking for at the time. Now that I actually want something more, the feeling of being held at a distance is somewhat infuriating. I feel like I should say a sincere sorry to all the guys I was not so polite to in the past. Guys I judged based solely on skin colour, crappy first liners or even something as petty as bad grammar, then there were lame dance moves or lack or muscle etc… Basically if they didn’t look a certain way, then I wanted nothing to do with them and they didn’t stand a chance right off the bat. Which I understand is VERY hypocritical of me, considering that is something K wants to base a long-term relationship on. Looks. And this is after he has at least gotten to know me.

I would only fuck a guy if he looked a certain way, because hey, I’m only looking at you for one night, let me at least enjoy what I have to stare at while we fuck. I want your body to at least turn me on somewhat right? I don’t care about your personality or shit like that for a one night stand. I just want a good dick. Where as K wants to look at his chick for life, shouldn’t he enjoy it?

Anyways, I was/am the queen of friend zoning guys. Nope scratch that. I didn’t even put them in the friend zone. I ignore them. I block them. In fact I have more blocked numbers on my phone then my entire contact list. Guys who I’ve fucked and then disposed of like last nights leftovers that went bad. Or guys who had potential, but somewhere between giving out my number and my address, I got a picture of them and changed my mind. Or just felt like sleeping that night instead, or got a more interesting phone call, or any number of reasons that they became annoying and I just moved on.

And to be completely honest, K was on my blocked list once too, until somewhere along the line he got a second phone, and called me and said he had memorized my number which was so endearing to me. That and the fact he actually got a prescription for Viagra early on to try to impress me lol. Trust me y’all he did not at all need it, but he did it for me. I think once he knew I had been with so many guys, it might’ve been a little intimidating for him and he wanted to make sure he was impressing me, his dick was damn impressing from the start, I just have commitment issues since E. The pill ended up only giving him a stomach ache which he blamed on my cooking, but the premise was adorable.

So why does a guy go out of his way to memorize my number, call me every night to chat for hours, bus to my place to fuck like 3-4 times a week, go to the doctor as a very healthy guy in his late 20’s and complain about erectile dysfunction to attempt longer performance in the sack, among a crap load of other sweet things, like bringing gifts for my kids and cooking me suppers, now choose to friend zone me?

Probably because I said I won’t get a butt lift lol. And can I blame him? I hate it, for sure, but I am just as shallow as he is, if not more so. Because I judge men on their looks as well. And I don’t even give them a chance. I won’t even meet them if they don’t meet my “standards.” K is talking about having standards for marriage, standards FOR LIFE, which is more than I ever did. I married the first guy who popped the question with a god awful purple ring.

Maybe I should gracefully bow out.

But for sure I should rethink my “standards”


-G-Easy/Friend Zone-

I’ll Choose To Survive, Whatever It Takes 

Yesterday I took my kids to the zoo, where I got my first mosquito bite of the year. I’m sure no one’s a fan of mosquitoes, but I have a particular hatred towards them. When I lived in Kenya they took an extreme liking to me. I could stand in a group of people, didn’t matter how many, and the stupid insects would choose only me to bite, and ultimately infect me with Malaria. I’ve officially been diagnosed with the deadly disease on 5 different occasions, and I can tell you first hand, it is not fun, but one time in particular was much worse than the rest.

It was the first time we had moved to Kenya, and we were living in Nakuru when I began to feel ill. I’d never had Malaria before so I wasn’t sure what the symptoms were or what to do about it. Yes, I had all my immunization before I traveled, but there are many different strains of the virus and the shots cannot protect from them all. Sorry to burst your bubble.

Anyways, I became weak. So weak, because I couldn’t keep anything down (or in or up or however you want to put it, your welcome for the visual). I lived in the bathroom with a bucket because for the first 4-5 days it was coming out everywhere, all the time. I tried my best to stay hydrated, knowing how important that was, for myself and because I was nursing Little E, but it got to the point that I couldn’t even keep a tiny bit of water down. I tried drinking pineapple Fanta (in place of ginger ale) one tiny capful at a time to settle my stomach every six hours or so, and I couldn’t even keep half a grape down. I easily lost 15-20 pounds over the course of the maybe 10 days total that I was sick. If your ever looking for a great diet, Malaria is it, you know apart from the potential death part.

Finally, about a week into me lying in bed/sitting on the toilet, E suggested we go for a walk, and that all I needed was some “fresh air”. What I didn’t know at the time was that we were out of food and he wanted me to help him do the grocery shopping. And so, in his romantic fashion, he offered to carry Little E for our walk, ohhh thanks 😒. So after about a week of being literally the sickest I’ve ever been, I got dressed (barely) and started out on what was normally a 45 minute walk to the Tusky’s Supermarket a few kilometers away. Well this time… it took almost 2 hours. I had to stop every 5 steps or so to prevent myself from passing out or throwing up (throwing up what, I don’t know since I hadn’t eaten in days, but my stomach was churning). When we finally got to the store I made E go inside and do the shopping alone while I rested in the parking lot, because I didn’t want to throw up inside.

Then, because I was so exhausted, I insisted E find us a tuktuk to drive us home because there was no way I would make it back without dropping dead plus E had also expected me to carry half the groceries home?!?! Seriously? Nope I wasn’t moving. I literally sat down in the middle of the parking lot, refusing to move until he found a tuktuk to take us home. Sometimes you gotta do what you gotta do, and for me that was staging a “sit in’ in the supermarket parking lot.

Once home, it took me two days to “recover” from the walk before I finally told E I needed a Doctor. I realized this wasn’t just your standard Kenyan food poisoning and it wasn’t getting better on its own. So instead of calling a piki piki for me to ride on to the hospital, E suggested we start walking and we would just hail one on the way. Again, I’m past sick. Past exhausted, or the point of arguing. I’m just wanting to get better and glad to be finally seeking help. So, I struggled to get dressed, puke up nothing a couple more times, and we start off on the very slow walk to the clinic.

Of course, with my luck, not one piki piki drives past us the entire time. And E just watches me struggle for an hour trying to get to the clinic instead of call any of the drivers he knows. But finally, we arrive.

The nurse or doctor or whomever draws my blood to go figure out what’s wrong but as I’m waiting, I have to go. Like GO. RIGHT NOW! So I rush across the hall to the “bathroom” which is a literal hole in the floor. Ok, fine. Since living in Kenya I’ve gotten used to the whole squatting thing, but as I frantically look around I noticed there’s no toilet paper. That’s where I draw the line. I’ll squat fine. But I have to wipe! Especially in a “hospital”? How unsanitary! So I run back to the Dr’s office where I remember seeing some Kleenex on the counter and the tech is in there so I quickly ask if I can use the tissue and grab it without even waiting for a response. I RUN back to the “toilet” and barely make it in time.

Closest encounter to shitting my pants I’ve ever had in my life.

Then, once I’ve done my business, I have to casually walk back to the office and discreetly place the tissue box back on the counter like no one knew what was happening, while totally worn out by the sheer effort of the running. Meanwhile the tech is politely pretending he didn’t notice anything, how kind right?

About half hour later, my blood work had been analyzed and the results were in.

Turns out, I had BOTH Malaria AND Typhoid! WTF! Not one but TWO deadly diseases at the same time! No wonder a walk for some fresh air didn’t do anything. I was actually dying.

Literally DYING!

Anyways, the Doctor said he’d never seen anything like it before (story of my life) and gave me a whole bunch of different medications for the various diseases and dehydration. Then sent me on my way. I refused to leave (again) until E called me a ride, for which he obliged right away. Saying things like “Oh C, you’re so strong” and “Wow, you actually were sick”. He’s lucky I was sick and tired, because I just didn’t have the energy to tell him how I felt.

Needless to say, I’ve obviously recovered, just don’t ask me to donate blood 😏.


-Muse/Survival-

So What We Go Out. That’s How It’s Supposed To Be. Living Young And Wild And Free

Friday night, my kids spent the night at my parents house. Which was the first time in a while that I had the night off (like you all know from my Mother’s Day rant). So originally I had plans for May 19th with a certain someone, but as with life, plans change. So I ended up going out with a few friends for appy’s and drinks and then spent a few hours on the dance floor where I danced with anyone and everyone and it felt SO good.
I haven’t had a reason to dress up (although I wore a t-shirt, jeans and my chucks but I actually did my hair and makeup) in so long. And I haven’t been hit on in public in forever. Probably because I’m never out past like 7:30 at night without my kids. So it was just such a stress reliever. Just good ol’ fashioned fun. And I love dancing. But I was asked 4 times for my number and managed to not give it out once. Because this was just a night for me. And not me trying to hook up with new guys. Like yeah I’ll dance with you for a while but I’m not interested in seeing you another day. This was for the then and there… and that was it.

I was dropped off back at home around 3 AM and then slept til around 10 ish without having to worry about the kids. Well that’s a lie. I was awake around 6:30 out of habit but after going to the bathroom decided to go back to bed. Then since I still had the day to myself before I had to pick up my kids, I went to get another tattoo.

I only had two previously, but I’ve been wanting another one for a while now. It was a work in progress since I had to get the piercing first a couple of months ago, let it heal, then I could do the tattoo to go with it. But I’m happy about how it turned out, and excited about what it represents.

The dermal piercing head is the bird, and the tattoo is the empty cage. Showing there are no longer any bars holding me back, and how there’s nothing but freedom ahead. 

And then E and Z for my kids.

When I showed little E the tattoo and explained that the E was for him and asked him how it made him feel, he shyly said special. And that’s all I needed to hear. I told him and Z that they are special to me. Now and forever, which is why I’ll have them with me always. His smile…. I’ll never forget that moment.

But more importantly for myself, to never forget what it felt like in that cage, and as a reminder that I made it out once, so don’t lock myself back in.

The choice is only mine.


-Snoop Dogg & Wiz Khalifa/Young, Wild & Free-

Any Girl Like You Deserves A Gentleman 

I want to be taken on a date.

A real honest to goodness date. Where I spend time showering, shaving, exfoliating, and lotioning every inch of my body. Then spending close to an hour delicately diffusing my hair so the curls are just right. Next carefully applying more makeup then the standard routine including contacts and falsies. Only to stand in front of my closet in nothing but my underwear for a solid 25 minutes deliberating on what to even try on before rejecting the first 6 outfits I attempt, even though I had something prepared in advance that I decided last minute wasn’t good enough. So that the final result looks nothing like I do on a day to day basis, but hopefully enough to wow my man. All the while with butterflies in my stomach… until I hear the doorbell ring, then those butterflies turn into dinosaurs practicing karate. And when I open it, there he is. Standing looking handsome as always and smelling so good with flowers he took thoughtful time to pick out, and a beautifully written card that I don’t open until later, but end up saving forever.

He leans in and greets me with a kiss, telling me I look beautiful/sexy/amazing (take your pick) and I say the standard “2 more minutes” and rush around to find a vase for the flowers and my heels then do one last final makeup check in the mirror before he offers me the crook of his arm and leads me to his car. Once at the car, he opens my door (swoon) and makes sure I’m in ok before closing it and while he goes to his side I arrange myself in the most flattering way possible and take a deep breath to compose myself.

He comes up with great conversation on the way to the restaurant where he made reservations for us in the private table in the back (I know, I know, now this is just getting way out there lol) and proceeds to take my coat for me and hang it up as well as push my chair in for me just right.

We go over the menu together while he throws in a few hilarious anecdotes about his day since he always knows how to make me laugh and the dinner goes off smoothly. There’s no awkward pauses or weird moments where we mishear each other and have to repeat ourselves. I don’t have to explain the menu to him. I’m not ever embarrassed by his behavior or his clothes or how he treats the staff, because he is a gentleman, to both myself and all those around him.

We might have a couple drinks with dinner, but I don’t have to worry that he’s had to much because he knows how to handle himself, and knows he has precious cargo in his vehicle that he would never put at risk.

After we’re finished dinner he insists on paying (duh) and then he takes me for a walk in a beautiful place he planned out beforehand. Where I can just sense that his intentions are not the same as most guys. You know the type. Where they are looking for the dark shadowy place just to get some, or wanna head back to my place asap.  But he sincerely wants to walk and spend time with me (What??!?) And so all he does is hold my hand as we walk and talk, and once in a while slightly rub his thumb along my hand when the moment calls. But our conversation never falters. The intensity is high and the connection is deep. And we both feel it. Enough so that when he finally takes me home and kisses me goodnight at the door… it’s enough for now. Because we know it’s not the last time. I don’t feel like I owe him sex, and he doesn’t push for it. Because the evening was so perfect as is.

I don’t have any inkling of what this feels like. Because I’ve never been on a “date” like this. Well obviously not like this because this is pure imagination and made for movies crap lol. But I’ve never even had a guy pick me up at my house before and take me to dinner. In fact I’ve never been with a guy who owned a functional car. E didn’t get one until we were almost married, and even then I gave him my old car. And everyone else… well just no cars in the picture, so I drove all the time. I’ve never had reservations made for me, that I didn’t make myself. In fact I’ve never really been out to a nice dinner with a guy. We’ve mostly just ordered in or done the fast food thing.  I’m turning 30 this year, been married with two kids and almost divorced and haven’t been on a proper date.

But here’s to dreaming.


-Shawn Mendes/Treat You Better-

Are You Afraid Of Being Alone Cause I Am, I’m Lost Without You

Would I be okay alone? This question has crossed my mind too much recently, and to answer honestly, of course I would be okay. But I wouldn’t thrive.

You see even when you are in a relationship, you are destined to be alone at some points in your life. Most in fact, but it’s the knowledge that someone is doing life with you that helps. It’s when you roll over in bed and feel where the bed dips down because that’s their spot. It’s when you sit on a chair that’s still warm and know they must’ve just been around recently. It’s when you feel a breeze in the air when they walk by, even without a word, but you feel their presence. It’s when your coffee is made in the morning with a little note after they’ve let for work, or your lunch is packed in the fridge for the day thanks to them. It’s when the laundry is washed and folded then put away in the drawers so magically. It’s when you smell their cologne/perfume from down the hall.  It’s when you hear the garage door open and know they made it home from work safely. It’s when they call and you see their picture come up on your phone and you smile, even if you’ve been bickering, because they, just as they are, make you smile. It’s when you see the half eaten pack of muffins/chips/peanuts that was supposed to last all week, but is gone in a night, that you just adjust and buy more next time. It’s when you notice the lawn is cut or the sidewalks shoveled without having to ask.

All without you actually being with them.

Or more intimately, it’s when they stand behind you and kiss your neck right below your ear because they’ve learned after kissing you everywhere and paying close attention to your response that that’s where you like it best. It’s when they whisper in your ear… and see the shivers rise on your arms, that you know even though you could survive alone, you don’t want to. You don’t want to, because you want to be with them. Because life is more… phenomenal, more beautiful, yet somehow more simple with that person.

So yes, I could be alone and be fine. But what’s the point of fine? We were made for more than “fine.” I want unprecedented, astounding, something that makes other people jealous yet happy for us at the same time, because they want what we have. I don’t want to be fine. I don’t want to be just ok. I want what I’ve described, and even though I’ve been married, I’ve never had most these things. I know, I know, what did I marry E for? Haha I’m still trying to figure that out.

But until I find someone who wants something rare like I do… I’ll be okay. Plain and simple okay.

Until I find phenomenal.


-Blink 182/I’m Lost Without You-