We Plan and God Laughs, Right?

Today is #BlackMenDon'tCheat day I hear. At this point, it's probably more wishful thinking than it is fact, but I guess we all have to start somewhere, right? I mean just yesterday, I was dealing with my son telling me that his girlfriend cheated, he cheated, and now he mad. Mostly because she cheated and didn't tell him.
Which is an important distinction when it comes to defining betrayal.
The latest Red Table Talk articulated it more clearly than I ever could. Each individual has their own parameters when it comes to lines drawn in the sand, lines that their patnas should not cross. The mistake that we make is not clearly delineating these lines to our significant others.
What do you expect from me and what do I expect from you?
Where is the middle ground?
Where do expectations and reality part ways?
What do we do when we reach that juncture?
What's the plan?

I'm a big fan of plans. They give you a road map on how to proceed with anything. I always have a plan, and a contingency. I might never articulate it to anyone but it's always there in the back of my head. Plans are funny things; most of mine I think, are formulated as a result of anxiety, fear of the unknown. I am always thinking, "What will I do if..."
Anything that scares me, I have a plan for what to do if it happens. I gotta tell you, most times, reality still blindsides you, but the fact that I'm still standing is as a result of that vague expectation. That bracing myself.
It might not always go the way you want, but having the plan gives you an idea of how far you have strayed from the path when it happens. So you know where you wanted to be as opposed to where you are now and what is the distance between these two points.
Black Men Don't Cheat might be the vision.
The reality is probably closer to Black Men Cheat All the Time.
The plan is the difference between one and the other.

Rihanna won't tell us whether she's getting married because you have a plan and then life happens. I want to get on the New York Times bestseller list, and I plan but life happens. You can only control what you control. Other variables are out of your hands.
So don't take on more than what you control.
That just leads to depression.
Linda Farnstein tried to take on more than she could control. She wanted to solve a crime, by any means necessary. So, she took the lowest hanging fruit, five susceptible, naive boys and made them the bad guys. Sent them to jail. Changed the course of their lives, the lives of their families, and caused the death of one more pregnant woman by the hands of the real rapist.
That's a lot of playing god. So the only way she gets to sleep at night is to say that the boys "Must have been guilty of something." When all we know for SURE is that they were in the park that night.
Karma took its time but I think it's finally coming for her.
What am I talking about? When They See Us.
If you haven't watched it on Netflix, you better. It will radicalize you, depress you, anger you...but it's necessary to know anyway.

A lot has been going on and I haven't been on here much. I wanted to let fate have control and just let the spirit move me at the right time. Today, one of my oldest friends told me I set her gaydar off. It was like some sort of confirmation of something I might have suspected in my subconscious but never really thought about before this year. A few weeks ago, my son and I were discussing the Kinsey scale and how there are degrees of sexuality. It started off by him pointing out a football player that he thought I might think is cute. I mean, the guy was good-looking, but he didn't really rock my boat. So I was like, "hey if he rocks your boat that's perfectly alright. We're not all zeros on the Kinsey scale. I'm definitely not a zero."
Which I thought at the time was just me talking. But then he says to me, "Oh yes, you're definitely not a zero."
Which kind of took me aback because I haven't done anything overtly gay in front of him, and I don't even know if I've ever done anything overtly gay ever. However, I do agree with the sentiment that I could be bisexual. It feels authentic.
That said, my twitter tl has been chock full of Pride posts so maybe I'm just trying to relate. One thing that struck me was the narrative that corporates take advantage of the gays during this time to market things to them. Now I'm not a corporate but as an authorpreneur I'm glad it didn't even occur to me to market In Search of Paradise at this time. However, a post by someone praising Rihanna for sponsoring a Pride event to the tune of $10k rather than marketing her goods to the gays had me inspired to do the same.
So I'm doing a giveaway instead. Tell your friends. In Search of Paradise is free for the rest of the month. Isn't that a great note on which to close this post?

And Another Thing...

When my sisters and I were growing up, my mother used to give us lectures about men. She told us that once a man gets into your pants, that's it. You'll never see him again. She told us to expect men to attempt to break your heart. Expect them to treat you badly. Have your own money and your own shit because even if you're married to a man, he'll give you the bare minimum and expect you to perform miracles with it. Do not even think about getting married unless you have your own shit. (well she didn't say shit, she said money but you get my meanin').

So growing up I had all these notions embedded in my mind and when I met a guy, I expected him to 1) Try his best to get in my pants. 2) Leave as soon as he managed to get in my pants.
Now for number one, my mother was right on the money. Haven't met a guy who didn't try to get in my pants. I never used to think about it though, the automatic answer was no. In my teens and twenties, it got kind of ridiculous because of the sheer volume.There was no chance to even think about it, the answer was just no because 'I know what you're after.'
Now for the ones who did get in my pants, I totally expected them to not call the next day. Like, to this day, I'm still surprised when they do call. (And they all call). That message was so ingrained. What experience taught me was that no, a guy would not fail to call after he'd had some. He'd keep coming back as long as you let him. Which does not mean he's after anything serious or sincere. He just wants to have sex. For a long time, I suffered cognitive dissonance because I didn't understand why these men were not sticking to the script. It took a while for the understanding to take root. To think that my mother might have been wrong about something.

When I got pregnant, I expected that my baby daddy would also follow the script. Claim it wasn't his, accuse me of sleeping around, like in the movies right? I was cynical from the jump when it came to relationships. The fact that he didn't say those things just made me frown with puzzlement. The fact that he blew hot and cold from one day to the next was just confusing.
I am still on the topic of #metoo by the way. That was just a bit of background to provide context. Just like The Swamp is Full of Mystery and In the Shadow of the Styx provide context for Child of Destiny even as they are complete stories on their own.
I have a son, and I teach him to listen if a girl says no. To listen and back the motherfucking hell off. However...
Y'all people with girl children need to teach them what my mother taught me. Never go to a guy's house unless you want to find yourself fighting him off. (Did my mom teach me that one or did I learn it by experience? I guess we'll never know). Always know how you're getting home if you go out with a guy. Learn to say no early and loudly.
Loudly.
Scream if you can.
Scratch, bite and kick him in the nuts if he still can't hear.

Again, did I learn this by experience or at my mother's knee? Doesn't matter. You can learn it from me.
Now that the scene is set, let's see how our menfolk are doing...
The thing with menfolk though, is that they talk a good game don't they? Take the Reverend Martin Luther King Jr. for instance. Yesterday was his birthday and my timeline was chock full of quotes from him. And I was just trying to reconcile this guy talking about being judged for the content of your character with the man who habitually cheated on his wife. And I wondered to myself, is it compartmentalizing? You're a pastor, you're all about integrity, but you're also all about infidelity. Which is the real you?
Bob Marley talking about One Love and sharing his single bed and he's busy fathering children left and right with random women.
And their wives.
Their wives are left behind to pick up the pieces, preserve the legacies, keep his good name alive; when all the while, he was fucking around behind your back. I just don't get it.
Is that little thing between their legs so powerful that they are literally led around by their dicks? Have you seen that drawing where a guy's balls are his brains?

Because I gotta tell you, not even as a woman but as a control freak, if something controlled me that much to the extent that it overrides my so-called morals, my integrity, my way of life...I'd cut it off. No one part of your body should have so much power over you.
As I was doing my morning (okay afternoon) walk today I was listening to some 4:44 and there's this song where Hov talks about his dad being a preacher on Sunday and something else during the week. Something opposite of what he was preaching. And it not only taught Hov about hypocrisy and paying lip service to things, it also led him to study other religions which helped him in self-discovery. And he mused on what a blessing and a curse pain is.
And here you have evidence that men can be deeply thoughtful and maybe also self-aware. It is possible. Which just contributes more to the question of why.
Why do you have all these deep and meaningful thoughts on one day and fail to live up to them for the rest of time? I'm not just talking about making a mistake. I'm talking about making the mistake over and over until it's a way of life.
Reminds me also of Tupac, talking on one hand about women's empowerment and on the other about seeing the same ho in all these videos.

He was a wise one though.

Which leads me to women and ho's.
We're in the age where ho's no longer exist, aren't we? Whatever behavior men display, it's totally and 100% their fault.
The truth is, that Hov didn't have to go looking for Becky, she probably pursued him. MLK probably had the so-called church women congregating around him and ready to do whatever he wanted. Same with Bob Marley. The Karueches of the world are quite willing to get ahead on their backs. So how is a man, a powerful man with women throwing themselves at him day and night (see Aziz Ansari) supposed to tell that, no, this one isn't like the others.
I'll tell you how.
See above.
Say no loudly and continuously.
Scream if you have to.
Kick his balls if you must.
Make him hear you.

Doesn't mean he still won't try to force you. But don't make it ambiguous. Did she want it, didn't she want it?
I saw somewhere on twitter that there is now a contract that you can sign giving your consent for sexual intercourse. They should add a checklist of do's and don'ts so that you can check off whatever you're not willing to do and what you are. Everyone signs, it's all nice and legal.
Of course, that takes the romance away from dating. And women, we are so contrary, will probably get annoyed that they have to sign contracts instead of being wined and dined and wooed.
Right?
I don't understand women much either.

It's Complicated

I had this whole post written out in my head but then I got into conversations with my seez and my son about more or less the same thing ironically, independent of each other; and now I forgot...sigh.
First, an update on my 'betrayed a confidence' situation. I realised that it wasn't about me at all; I was just the convenient scapegoat to vent on. I don't mind. better me than someone who would be hurt by all the accusations flying left and right. I was just sitting there like I was Forrest Gump in the midst of a hurricane. Just watching.

It was crazy because on one hand I'm texting with 'you're the worst human in existence' on the other, I get these other texts from a fan/friend and she's screaming because she just figured out the connection between The Swamp is Full of Mystery (which you can download free if you click on the blue sign up tab over there in the corner), Between Death and Heaven and Child of Destiny. Now when you're writing shit, you kinda think that connections between books are glaringly obvious because clearly in your head, they are. But I'm finding that no, it's not so obvious to the reader and they actually need to be paying attention to get it. I'm trying to decide if this is a good thing or bad thing, but so far I'm leaning toward good thing. The stories are good enough on their own to be enjoyed for the casual reader; but if you're avid and you make the connections that is GREAT. I can't even tell you what a thrill it gives me.

Relationships are funny complicated things and both Mya and Leo and Phil and Lillian embody that. They can't beat some real life shit I've been seeing lately. A few days ago, I read this post on a buy/sell group on facebook where this woman was looking for a man. See even if slavery is abolished, we do still buy and sell ourselves daily. Sometimes we even pay for the privilege. And I'm not talking about human trafficking - which is of course bad, very bad - I'm talking about old fashioned treating people like property because we paid for their time and/or work. So this girl, she was searching for a man to be her boy toy/boyfriend. she had listed her assets, ass, boobs, blow job giving abilities...it was the saddest thing I'd read in a while. What she wanted was a man to spend time with in exchange for all this assets AND setting the guy up in business and sugar mummying him. She'd even put a picture. Nice looking girl, her assets looked real...she was rich, divorced and felt like her self worth equaled this. the same day I think, some little girl is liking my pics on instagram of my son and writing comments like 'cute'...I'm not +Rihanna. I don't get three thousand comments under my pics. I am going to notice. So I ask my son who the little girl is stalking my instagram. And he says she's some chick he broke up with in December.

Something has happened to women recently. We don't seem to understand that it's not us to do the begging and the stalking and the paying. In the words of the great poet +Megan Fox , women have the vagina. Therefore, we win. When did we stop understanding that?

Not, of course, that I am one to talk when it comes to relationships. I tend to run the other way if a guy tries to come too close. It's not that I'm severely virginal or anything; I'm just wary. Very wary. It's funny that I was just thinking about this, this phenomenon this morning and then my sister calls me this afternoon with what SOUNDS like a classic case of the same. I could be wrong. 

What I'm talking about is the Madonna/Whore complex. A few years ago, when I was on again with my on again, off again; I asked him why he 'said' he wanted to marry me. And he said it was because I could take good care of him. 

I'm that person. I'll admit it. I take care of people. If someone needs me, I'm there. It's a hair trigger reaction; I can't help it. So I'm not really looking for someone else to take care of in the husband department. I want someone who wants to take care of me. Not that I even know what that looks like. I mean I have sisters, and I think we take care of each other. But just to be in a situation where I can sit back and give up all responsibility and know that the other person has got this? Nope. Never had that. Doesn't mean I don't want it. It's one of the reasons why I love +Outlander  so much (the books not the series). Claire is this strong woman who is always 'on'. But when she's with Jamie, she can switch that off and just...relax. Jamie's honesty is refreshing too. +Diana Gabaldon and a few other participants on Books and Writers on Compuserv told me that such men do exist and that they were married to such unicorns themselves. +Jensen Ackles also gives the IMPRESSION that he might have that type of relationship. But I haven't really come across such a specimen irl.

 Everyone seems to see me as the perfect Madonna/Whore. I've had friends for twenty years who have told me that 'Now that your son is grown, you and I can...you know.' And my internal eyebrows have practically fallen off my hypothetical face in shock because here was I thinking we were doing the friendship thing and here he was waiting for the right time to 'pounce'. 

Fresh meat. 

I can suck her boobies and she'll give me a blow job and then she'll make me a sandwich and rock me to sleep. 

And here I thought we were friends.

It's okay. I have reached a 'jacob zuma' on that one. Thanks +Slim Therapy for that one. It means reaching a stage where you don't care about anything.

Should I label this post NSFW?

This is the second image I'm considering in changing my book cover. Thoughts?

Meanwhile, buy my book.