Rule-breaker

My car got towed yesterday. To the local car pound, where all abandoned cars go. My car just happened to be in a no standing zone when the clock struck 7 a.m.

Briskly walking to my car yesterday morning, hoping and praying that there's no line at Starbucks. This is my biggest worry in the morning - Will there be a line at Starbucks that makes me late? So you can imagine my dismay when I realized that my car was missing...removed from the place I had left it.

This friends, is Obstacle #1.

I stand on the corner for 10 minutes, in disbelief. I regain my composure and call 3-1-1. There's some number pressing, followed by automated voices, followed by more number pressing, more automated voices and some hold, hold, hold...and more hold. Finally, a person. For whatever reason, I have my license plate memorized. I find out my car has been taken to 38th Street and 12th Avenue. I am given the phone number to confirm this. I confirm that indeed, my car is there. Overcome Obstacle #1: excellent telephone communication skills had by all.

Obstacle #2.

I am standing on 2nd Avenue. That is, for you non-New-York-City-Knowledgeable-friends, ALLLL the way on the East Side of Manhattan. It is now 8:00 in the morning. Peak rush hour. I contemplate taking public transportation for a millisecond, and then raise my arm to hail a cab. I think that I will never get a cab to take me over there. A cab pulls over, I get in, and I immediately ask if he'll take me over to the West Side. He obliges. Overcome Obstacle #2: Major walking crisis averted.

Obstacle #3.

I sink into the cab. I call my boss to let him know I've been deterred by the New York City Traffic Unit. I expect it to be awhile. The cabbie and I cross Manhattan. We chat. He is laughing. I am smiling. This cab ride is good. The cab doesn't smell gross. I am happy. My stomach is rumbling. I wish I had gone into the Starbucks. 20 minutes later, I am standing on the West Side Highway. Overcome Obstacle #3: tackled Midtown rush-hour traffic.

Obstacle #4.

I begin looking for my phone. I cannot find it. I frantically search through my bag on the West Side Highway with the whir of traffic. I still cannot find it. I contemplate the thought that I may be hit by an oncoming vehicle. At this moment, I do not care. I've lost my phone, and my day has not even begun. I dare a car to hit me. I begin to cry. I finally find my phone. It was in my purse. Overcome Obstacle #4: common sense put into action.

Obstacle #5.

Cannot find the entrance to the car pound. End up hanging out with mounties, see lots of horses. I'm afraid. I now realize heels was a bad choice. Have to walk forever to get to entrance. It is dirty and smelly, but I am there. A man is there with me. He also seems upset but I suspect that this happens to him often. He knows the routine.

I give a disgruntled woman my license at the window. I thank the Good Lord that I have the same last name as my mother, who registered my car. I wait. I pay $185.00 at the next window to a happier woman. I am instructed to go through a door and down a ramp. I arrive in another dank, depressing, cold, smelly office. This one is full of men, who are masquerading as some kind of police officers. They log me in some kind of massive book, and I am instructed to get into a police van. I'm hesitant.

A fake police officer drives me to my car, and asks me how much I pay a month. I tell him. I grab my new $115 no standing ticket. I get in my car and speed off.

I'll be at work by 10:00 a.m. Whew! I'm feeling pretty good now, sitting in my car, eating a banana, chilling to the radio sounds....

I park on the street and go into work.

Six and a half hours later, I come out of work, relieved to be done. I start up my car and drive down the hill.

Guess what was on my windshield? A $165 ticket for parking in a pedestrian walkway.

Change is hard - for everyone.

"You've changed," she said.

"What happened to my K?" she inquired, as I refused a 40 oz. beer.

"You're so different!" she exclaimed, as I slowly sipped my cranberry and vodka.

"What did you do to my girl?" she asked Beau, as I maintained my calm the entire night.

It became quite evident as my best friend pointed out over and over again this weekend that I'm not the same girl. The girl that danced on bars, drank until she couldn't think, and woke up the next day with nausea, a headache and no recollection of the night before is long gone. Hearing Law say it over and over again...knowing that she was looking for an expected performance that was not scheduled...an expected performance that I had no desire to deliver.

I wear panties when I go out now, and I listen to the advice my parents give me. I take care of myself.

So yes, I'm different. Yes, I'm much more in control of myself, and my actions. I see the negative consequences. I've made lots of different choices in the past two years. I gave up meat over a year ago, I'm done with cigarettes, I barely drink beer, liquor only on the weekends, and wine is limited to one to two glasses a WEEK. I really like this. I like waking up with possibilities.

I couldn't help but listen to the stories of this girl from the past and laugh. I realized that I don't miss her. She was fun, but needed much improvement. And for a moment I was proud of who I had become. My hard work had paid off...And then I heard the disappointment in my best friend's voice as she looked at me quizzically.

"Who are you?"

I can't help it.

So... supposedly Chris Brown's update on his facebook was not from him. Instead, he issued a statement saying that he was "saddened" about "what had transpired."

Saddened, about what transpired. Not sorry...saddened. Not an OUNCE of remorse. Wow. So typical. He believes he did nothing.

And it's supposedly taboo to post pictures of Rihanna's bruised up face. Why? Why is it taboo? Why do people not want to see the consequences of violence in relationships? Why can people not face this? I'm not posting it because I don't know if she has released the photo and I don't want to further distribute it if it's a fake or if she has not authorized the release. But TMZ has it, and it is painful to look at, and I'm thinking maybe we need to look at more images like this, and work to prevent it. Rather than ignore it.

The Choices We Make...

Yesterday was February18th. It was a birthday of someone I know. It was the birthday of a girl who has made many bad choices, not unlike myself. A girl who stood by her boyfriend after he spit in her face at a sorority party in college, a girl who knowingly chose to begin a relationship with a married man with a pregnant wife, a girl who believes that a divorce can happen within one week, that a man who left his wife and newborn son is good and true, a girl that never listens to me when I speak. Or if she is listening, isn't hearing what I'm saying.

Her birthday was yesterday. I'm sure that she had a lovely day, and went out with her parents, and I'm sure her boyfriend was there and presents were exchanged. And today she is feeling strong, she is feeling accepted and wrapped in the warm embrace of love. Today she truly believes that her imagined family with this man will come to fruition. And today she is not thinking about the family that he abandoned; the wife that he left in the dust, the baby who never had a chance to know that his parents loved each other.

Uh. I just feel that there is something so necessary in seeing an intimate relationship from birth. Babies feel stress from parents. Toddlers act out the stress they feel. Children internalize and externalize symptoms from this lack of perception in love. I feel worse for this poor boy, who will forever be told that his father is an asshole, and that girl who pays his bills is a slut.

Which makes me feel defensive and want to protect my dear from such harsh insults about her character. I have done all that I can to talk to her, to make her see that a man that lies once, will lie again, and again, and again. And he will lie about the bad things, the embarrassing things, and yes, even the good things. He will feed you lies of happiness awaiting you both in the future, of babies and houses and puppies and all things fresh.

So today she is feeling strong with these images of gumdrops in her head, surrounded in the warmth...

I chose not to harass her on her birthday. I let her be. And I will let her be until she is ready. Tragic innocence is no longer acceptable at 25.

(Sidenote: Some will say, "Oh, but if it wasn't her, it would be someone else." Yes this I believe to be true. If a man is unfaithful, it is a flaw in his character that will be present until he resolves it himself. So yes, if a man wants to cheat, he will cheat. But why, why oh why oh why! would you want to be "that girl" that has to deal with all of this nonsense. You don't fight for a man at 25, you fight for a man at 35 and by 45 you don't give a shit to fight. But at 25 there are so many options. Hell, I'd even take up the challenge to pick up a man at a pediatrician's office - because it would happen. At 25.

This is a question I have posed to another of my friends, "why suffer in this terminal relationship, when you can have a nice, intelligent, cute, fun boy who has time for you?" (and no kids). Why!? It doesn't make sense to me. And it especially hurts to think that in 10 years, when I'm probably saddled with a husband and a little replica of myself, I'll look back and think about these 25-year-old whores, and want to hold them underwater for several minutes. And then I'll realize that what happened with my friends some years ago, could happen to me now, only I'll be on the other side.

In the present, these whores are my friends, and they aren't whores, they're women who are making badddd choices for their self-esteem, their pride, their respect (all around), and exposing themselves to STD's and the possiblity of getting the crap beaten outta them.

And I applaud any wife/soon-to-be-ex-wife/baby momma who gives these 25 year olds a piece of their mind. Or their fist. Or their silence. Say nothing, she will see. Give it time. History repeats itself.

Guilt

I have two friends that have had their hearts broken, one who owns a piece of my heart. It's disheartening to hear her cry.

Another relationship with a friend is heading towards the end as I will not concede to her for the truthful things I have said.

My life is in a wonderful place. I can honestly say that. Things are wonderful. I have my best friends, my boyfriend, my family. It's the first time ever. The pieces never fit - I was either without a best friend, without a boyfriend, or without my family...

And I feel so guilty. It's not that I think I don't deserve it, I've been through so much over the past two years...actually, 4 years...

I do deserve it. I do deserve a little piece of happiness, for however long it can last. I intend to keep it as long as I can. But I need to get rid of this guilt, or my friends lives need to improve. Either, or.

This is real-life...

Note: I wrote this yesterday, posted it, and ripped it down. I was afraid. I was afraid to talk about it, to confront it. And I posted it at 4:30 p.m. yesterday, February 12, 2009 and then felt compelled to rip it down 5 minutes later. I had the intention of tweaking it some more, thinking more carefully about my words... I couldn't escape it though....

Crawling into bed with Beau last night his words were, "Can you believe what's happening with Chris Brown?" And I promptly shot back with a "I don't want to talk about it." My smile went from wide to non-existent in 2 seconds flat. My mood went from up, up, up to FLAT. No emotion. Blank face. I went from kissing and hugging and laughing with my boyfriend to stone-cold-I-hope-I-fall-asleep-in-the-next-2-minutes-so-I-wont-lay-here-mad-and-hold-back-tears.

And then I took a deep breath and said my piece. That he would be set free, that the criminal threat charge had already been dropped, and ultimately he would probably receive some kind of assault charge and not do any time. And this is what I believe, and I expect nothing more from the District Attorney's office...Justice will never be served in this dating violence game. And Beau tried to stand up for the justice system that he believes in.."I'm sure that the A.D.A. had a reason..." yada yada yada.

On a sidenote: Do people really believe, like abusers new girlfriends, do they believe that us "crazy" abused girls just had the man that we loved and wanted to marry and make babies with, arrested and arraigned and indicted and put through hellish events because we're that "crazy?" I mean really. C'mon.

The only reason we go to the police is because that time is the worst time, it's the time when it's so bad that you almost lost a piece of your body...that he stripped you so you wouldn't leave yet you still tried to escape...and you're parents see you and you are broken... obviously broken physically and emotionally, that you have no choice. You cannot defend him against the black eyes and the trips away and the bruises covering your body anymore... his enforced calculated manipulation is no match for you. You give up, you forfeit.

You lose...on all ends. You lose the love of the man that you want to be with, you lose the trust of your parents, you lose the respect of your friends, you lose your dignity as doctors probe you, you lose your pride as the police shuffle you around in an unsure attempt at what to do with this young woman, and you feel the loss of love, trust, respect, dignity and pride all over again when you have to tell the story again to the grand jury lawyer and then again to the assistant district attorney above her and then again and again every time you have to recall the events of a given set of hours on a given day months and months ago.

Still affected. Almost two years later exactly. I am emasculated in this situation. Powerless.

Go here: HuffPo and Jezebel. They're letters from real women.

Here's what I wrote yesterday:

Rihanna and Chris Brown. If you’ve been living in a hole for the past few days, he apparently attacked her, and left contusions to her head, a broken nose, a split lip, as well as bite marks and the like. Did I mention that he also threatened to kill her?

The fact that he was accused was surprising to me, considering the two have matching tattoos and are also photographed together often, being very affectionately gentle with each other ironically.

Now he changed his status to “single” on facebook, and claims that we all will “see her true colors” and encourages us to “believe it!”

Her true colors will probably be mud-slinging descriptions that I know all too well… crazy, wild, and psycho. Maybe even provocatively so. Perhaps she will be compared to Britney Spears...

I had been waiting for Mr. Brown's second attack. All abusers make a second attack. The second attack is verbal, and meant to hurt the victim emotionally…make her cry not because she’s physically hurt, but to make her cry with sadness over the loss of a loved one that has inflicted so much unnecessary physical harm. It is the perpetuation of victimization…..

Victimized during the attack, victimized again by the family and friends that discover what happens, victimized again at the police station as everyone looks on at the poor woman who was beaten… Then he makes his blow after being arrested… And sometimes it continues on…

Yes, she may very well be crazy. But does that justify contusions to the head? Does that justify a hand raised to a woman? It’s something that men have to ask themselves. Most of them, when asked objectively, respond with a definitive “No!”

But in the heat of the moment, when the passion and fiery rage are burning… Do they have that self-control to abstain from hurting another human being?

Again, Rihanna might have done something wrong. She might have made him angry for a stupid reason. She might have had some boy’s number in her phone…

But that does not justify being hit or slapped.

The saddest part of all of this is that the criminal threat charge will be dropped, and I’m sure Chris Brown will be administered a nice, hard slap on the wrist. Unless Rihanna breaks his windshield; then he’ll be redeemed. I’m sure he’ll blog about it…

This keeps getting closer and closer to real life, minus the contusions, sprinkle in some sexual assault.

Today

Forty years ago today four children lost their father. They lost the ability to know a man who was a teacher, an air traffic controller, and an engineer. A man that told his daughter she would go to college, no matter what. A man that knew enough to cherish the relationship with his young son, to appreciate his children as he aged. A man that was generous with his money and his knowledge. A man that took the time to build a shelf, and a life-size wooden Santa Clause complete with a working lantern; a man that had a workshop in his basement and more tools in the garage; who helped countless young lives at a troubled boys home; a man that could see bits and pieces of the future, a man that tried to advise his wife and spend his precious last few moments with his newborn son.

Forty years ago a young man passed away. His life was taken from him unexpectedly.

In just 3 years time, a vibrant man full of life, a man who had a flip in the front of his jet black hair, who went by "Sonny," was laid to rest amidst a blizzard of white snowflakes, as his daughter with big blue eyes and dirty-blonde hair, wistfully looked down and shuffled her feet and said good-bye to her daddy.

Someday Sonny.

i need a little help.

I am disturbed today.

I haven't been getting enough sleep for the past few days. I was mean to Beau last night and refused to sleep with him. I am on my third day of work. I have a mountain of reading and comprehending to do for class. I was late to my hair appointment on Monday which left me to sport serious roots this entire week. I discovered that the very cute line from Victoria's Secret titled "PINK!" is actually a code word for "vagina." I have also discovered that if I ever decide to get pregnant, I will have to birth it and ruin my vagina forever. My nail polish has been peeling off all week and I haven't had time to take it off. I had barely enough time to take a shower every day this week. I did, but it was rough. My legs are furry, my underarms are even worse, and I'm in desperate need of a wax. (See, refusal to sleep with him above). Every single cuticle hurts because I've bitten off all of my nails to the point where they're ridiculously short. I have forsaken my pre-prepared normal meals for snacks consisting of only junk food. They are often followed one after another. I went food shopping on Thursday morning at 7:30 a.m. because there was no traffic and the groceries are STILL in my trunk. The junk food I have been eating is coming straight from my trunk. There are clothes in my trunk from CHRISTMAS that have not been returned. It involves going to Modell's, Macy's, H&M, CVS and Hollister. All of my go-to warm clothes are in the laundry.

I managed to get light eyeliner and mascara on today so I look halfway decent. I am getting my hair colored when work is over (3:00 where are you?), and then I plan on going home to take a longggg, hotttt shower where I de-fuzz and let my hair gain intense volume.

Then imma sex it up. I need some warm weather.

Hot Man Alert in the News.

OMG IT'S RAINING CHRISTIAN BALE!!!!!!

By now, you all have probably heard Christian Bale's rant, and the story where his mother and sister had him arrested for assault.

Jezebel posted a very interesting hot or not post debating the question of "is it ok to still want to sleep with him" in a very short list. I say yes, as well, but then again, I love danger and the hunt and what's love without a little victimization? (Not that I'm a proponent of that or anything.) Plus, he was the sweetest in the movie Little Women. Joe was a fool not to marry him.

Long hair, short hair, facial hair, skinny, muscular: It all looks good on C-Bale.

Getting to the point, it's the-day-after-Wednesday and the-day-before-Friday. Enjoy.

Babies

::sigh::

I grew up imagining that my baby would resemble that of myself, a chubby smiley baby with a crown of blonde ringlets, porcelain skin and rosy cheeks. Naturally, over time, this image has changed and become a bit more sophisticated. (I happen to admire jet black hair on little girls).

I don't know why I'm taking the time to type this, it's just been on my mind. A lot is going on here - not with me and babies, but with others and babies. And I can feel a baby in the air a-brewin...

My point is that I never took into account the other co-creator of said baby...

Beau and I had a discussion about this while watching Jon and Kate plus Eight, the TV show on TLC. Jon is asian, and Kate is white, and all 8 kids have dark hair, and dark slanty eyes. I happened to comment to Beau that I would be pissed if I had 8 kids and not one of them looked like me. He replied with, "Well, he's asian. If you have a baby with an asian guy, their genes take over. Same thing with a black guy." And naturally, I started to argue, scrambling for an example of the opposite. Then he said, "K, you have light genes. You can't expect them to override other genes."

I realize now, that although my sophisticated taste in the looks of children differ from my own features, that if I was to have a baby, perhaps in 10 years, that I would want it to look like me. And I had been so ready to forfeit my ideal baby of childhood....

And maybe I'm not ready to give that up. But .... I still can't help but think that it all wouldn't matter as long as I loved the father.

You might wonder why I think about seemingly trivial things such as this one. Well, it's because it's something to figure out before the decision presents itself. I was the first baby born on my mother's side of the family, and all of her younger cousins fawned over me. When one of my cousins had her first baby she exclaimed, "She's so dark! I can't believe it!" To which my calloused mother responded, "Well, what did you expect?"