Quickly, I’m going to define fuckboy first because it’s simple in my mind: younger Millennials decided to take the word “player” and make it their own. Call it neediness, attention seeking behavior, lack of imagination, immaturity and what have you from those born from 1990 and on. The fuckboy is a tool, literally, seeking only one thing from another person: sex. Sporting the latest hairstyle for men, snazzy threads, intense/charismatic demeanor and mastery of flattering words, this guy is easy to spot (not only just because his Type A personality has drawn a crowd around himself and his entourage) at nightclubs, bars and coffeehouses. There’s no deeper ulterior motive behind his actions and he’s screwed the day he fathers a daughter (or son) because “sins of the father visiting on his children” and all that. The fuckboy will use you to satisfy his sexual needs and ego but he’ll leave your heart alone. In every major women’s magazine touting to cover fashion, make up tips and dating advice there will be at least one quiz a publication year to help someone figure out if indeed, they have slept with a fuckboy (i.e. confirming players gonna play in the summary evaluating your score 😉 ).
How can you not like little, chubby cuteness? Don’t be heartless, my friend 😉 I need something (one?) to cuddle up to… because I saw my ex’s mother yesterday. It was supposed to be the perfect time to tie off another relationship to Beck and a final Mother’s Day gift. Of course, all my careful planning went out the window (I tend to rush getting ready and in that running about, a detail or two will always fall through) with a package of photos. Then, three major accidents en route (two in the opposite direction but everyone enjoys rubbing necking on both sides >=o( ) and being late for the hair appointment I set up ($125 well worth the end result for the haircut and shine; we have to go back to tone down the red lowlights even though, over all, it makes her look younger). We stayed for two hours to gently strip the bad black dye job to make it accept the new colors. Afterwards, a fun, light dinner at a Korean place (I used up this month’s spicy consummation but *so* worth it!) and “dessert” at Starbucks. I also got to see Benji who, at 11 years old, has a white goatee on his black pug mug: completely precious! I love him so much for his cuteness and intelligence; I taught him how to “shake paw-to-hand” in 10 minutes with only positive reinforcement 🙂
This is going to be rambling because I do not know where to start. How about my day; it started with a car that didn’t want to fire up immediately (she’s 12 years old and these “hiccups” have persisted these last 3 years. I know she can only hold up well for another 3 years and then, it’ll be time to find and pay for a new depreciating asset 😦 ) en route to my cousin-in-law’s baby shower. It’s a huge surprise because they’ll have been married less than year when the expected due date arrives. I’m extremely happy for her! She fits into our loud, sometimes brawling family and she speaks the same dialect ^_^ We love her and we’re keeping her!
At the same event, I get cornered by my Aunt Terry to RSVP to her son’s engagement party WHILE her potential daughter-in-law is standing next to me. Here’s the contentions I (plus the majority of our family members) have about my Timmy’s engagement: it’s his first serious relationship and only 3 years old. In my culture, you have to date for FIVE before you even consider marriage because anything less isn’t enough time for a person’s idiosyncrasies/major flaws to reveal themselves and to be evaluated. Precedence in our family tree supports that wisdom: all my cousins who married under the five year mark are all divorced. Then, there’s the fact that my cousin’s fiancee will not eat our cultures dishes: she doesn’t even make an attempt to try. Why are you marrying a Chinese guy if you don’t enjoy a major aspect of the cultural via cuisine?! My cousin knew this and the very first Chinese New Year banquet he brought her to, she asked for a Chinese take-out type dish to be made especially for her because with a sneer, I quote, “I [she] don’t like this stuff. I can’t eat it.” She was sitting at a table of 12 with large family-style platters being shared and didn’t apologize for the affront as everyone else did eat “it” (the wonderful traditional foods). Timmy tried to spin some of the backlash as our aunts, uncles and other elders being racist/ethnocentric and I slapped him down. ALL (meaning two) of my non-Asian boyfriends were welcomed and they (i.e. only Beck) had the common decency to try to engage in our culture and cuisine without insulting others. I think it’s telling that Chris wouldn’t eat certain dishes so, that relationship was doomed. Chris’ refusal to make even the smallest attempt was insulting to everyone, as is this new girl. Timmy can’t see that and I can’t force him to because he’ll just dig in his heels. Amongst the first US born generation on my mom’s side, we think Timmy is trying to emulate my cousin (who’s wife is the mom-to-be) in fear of being left out. The kid is 27 but he has issues not yet resolved (his ADHD, inability to handle his drink, etc.) and the imaginary pressure isn’t being addressed.
Ever have strong premonitions that you want to ignore but the more you try to deny these gut instincts, the more the Universe slams it into your face? I’ve been feeling the irresistible pull towards my ex for a solid week now. Prior to last night, I dreamed of being with Beck and the daily in’s and out’s of seeing his family for three nights straight, all through the night. I didn’t cry until the last night because the ache, the empty space where he should be, slammed my waking conscious state. It’s this crazy gravitational pull I’ve been working against and it’s palatable like I’m carrying the weight of two states plus seven years lost. He still has power over me and as much as I tried breaking away from his loved ones (I *so* had five solid weeks in), the rubberband snap has me ricocheting back. What do I do? What can I do?
Let’s start with this: when it comes to ruthlessness and being tactless, I can be one of the worst. I might be more blunt with a loved one (I consider my friends as loved ones) than a stranger or acquaintance because I fear for them and whatever situation they may be tangled up in. Even as I write, I’m chuckling at myself because speaking in euphemisms is not an ability I have and beating around the bush just makes whatever message I have more convoluted. Therefore, when you read the conversation between me and my friends, I hope I don’t lose you when I sound like a bitch.
A little background: I’ve stated before I grew up as a tomboy and I’ve always felt more comfortable around guys than the girls (who could be really catty and fake). I know their body language and am privy to more gossip than my few female friends will muster up. The latter is probably because I’ve never tolerated gossip and liars and am more than happy to call someone out on their b.s. Running with the guys from elementary school up to and through college meant a lot of pressure standing up against rumors that I might be slutty and that’s why the guys followed me around (the guys stayed with me because they enjoyed my friendship and because where my brother went, so did I, my sister and girlfriends). I made it a point to date outside the district to avoid discussions about my love life and worked extra hard to either be with someone or not: there was no hazy middle ground. I sure as hell did not break up other couples and a friend was a friend and no more. Still, the gossip suggesting I was a player was impossible to put out, and partly, because I am very sociable and I’m always willing to include others than ice them out of my social circle. That can send mixed signals when you’re a hormonal teen and not me, but my codes remain unbroken: a friend is a friend and no more. If I wanted it to be more, you would get the memo first 😉
Come college, I did run with a group of “players” because I didn’t get shit from them for being friendly and warm. My early childhood as an outcast due to my ethnicity in white suburbia stayed with me for a very long time and I know what it’s like looking in and being kept out. It’s why I don’t exclude anyone if I don’t have to (I will not associate with bigots, haters, gossipers, violence seekers, etc) and that’s all the explanation you will ever get from me. Enter XY who, along with my college ex, did have the agenda of bedding and dating as many girls as he could. To this day, he has no idea what his count is and I lost track around 20-30. Recently, he experienced a life changing event and had to re-evaluate his modus operandi of dating someone and sleeping around behind her back every time they got in a fight or shit wasn’t panning out. He got a kick out of stealing a girl away from another guy if he just “couldn’t help himself.” None of my warnings about karma were taken seriously before this monumental moment of inner reflection. A common conversation on FB or via texts and phone call:
NOT always a cheater. If you have been deceived by a lover in the worst way, that is to say your belief and trust in love was violated, then, I’m sure you find some comfort that Karma will be a bitch and your ex lover will fall. We do unto others as we would do unto ourselves and we get what’s coming to us. Perhaps, telling yourself, as your friends and family have told you, a cheater can’t change and is destined for loneliness brings some solace; I know that to be untrue from personal experience on both sides.
They’ve been chiding me for a good month
Everyone in my circle pushing her to date
Pushing her ex from her thoughts and heart
They don’t want a very good woman wasted
So, I took her and dolled her all up
Her long, red hair and flawless skin
Required nothing more than touches
Her dress hugged the right features
Suede boots, stylish and classic
Thigh highs held in place by garters
Enhancing the turquoise lingerie set
I chaperone her date with a Wall St. broker
This is their third and like the last one,
Goes on for three hours over drinks and food
I watch his eyes linger on her lips and curves
As they walk towards the transportation home
His hand does not leave the small of her back
She lets him guide her, aware he wants her
The rhythmic sway of her hips into his side
attracts attention and I watch his eyes and mouth
set in a manner to dissuade his competition
Mostly, I see her internal struggle to stay than flee
She enjoys this man’s company, his stories
but her heart is still locked away: far from light
Far from pain, far from the half she won’t name
I whisper words of encouragement she can’t hear
The strength, the resolve she needs to trust again
Seems so far away for her: it’s easier to be numb
Cowardice was never her forte, she knows that
What’s unknown is if she can love and build again
After all, she gave him everything she could, save
The infrastructure that contained her personhood
As the financial analyst/investor tries to read her
I’m holding her, a hug from behind for the last time
He’s wrapped his arms around her waist as the A
comes in to whisk her away, leaving the ghost behind
His tender kiss has no price and yields a tear anyway
She gracefully returns it, softly and breaks away soon
The heartache is too much, the tears barely concealed
Her “goodbye muscle” is weak and in need of training
When she faces me, I look over her clear, youthful skin
A battle well won after weeks of stress, tears and anger
The body is rebounding much more slowly but with time
Anything is possible, anything can happen: love for her
I press her to charge ahead, to leave me behind to wait
We both know I’ll be waiting a long time: “love always”
That’s why I stay and she goes to find her next soulmate
She doesn’t need me in the way I needed her power of will
Her hourglass figure the perfect image of who we are
Together and apart but all contained in one glass piece
Existing in the same space: the Past and Present
Fragile, tiny particles Creating like jigsaw puzzle pieces
do for a larger, incomprehensible love story for the ages
She’s worthy of love; she just needs to work up the
Patience, Time, Resolve and Trust to go again
People like her aren’t meant to be used and abused
Rather, she’s to be inspirational and loved wholly.
I’ll be her past
*Written 1/3/2017 when it was one of those infrequent days I could convince myself and my heart that it’s okay we’re not together in the here and now…maybe another lifetime when he’s stronger and more confident and I have the patience, nay, the strength to wait without knowing what’s in store. When he’s sorted himself out and I’ve forgotten who we were… when we meet, the same fireworks display, then, we become one again. Any sooner and I know it’d be much like this scene for myself because I still feel like this, still feel you whispering in my ear the last time I was in your arms.
Sometimes, I picture you reading, writing, listening to music/movies with your ear buds on while you’re in a Starbucks. I wondered if you were alone when you shot off your last email to me or with someone else by your side, supporting you, because I know how you are when you’re volatile and vulnerable. I wonder if you have the respect to keep away your new ___ from my blog, my little piece of the ‘Net. I wonder if you’ve become strong enough to brave me and my words. Then, I realize it doesn’t matter. These last few months will mean nothing in another year and they’ll be just another two line blurb in the summation of my life; that’s not to say our seven years will be as easy to wash away in a year’s time. The part of my heart that belongs to you begs the rest of me to turn back because it’s never too late. While everyone rushes me to lock down and throw away my memories/our love, I know eventually, I’ll admit it’s too late and walk away forever but in my own time, in my own way. Do you ever think of our happiest times? How can I be you and push something so far from my mind that it blurs until its no more?
When I see you again, I’ll have mine.
You won’t be mine.
I’ll have another love of my own
The career I thought was out of my reach?
When you see me again, love of mine
You won’t see yourself reflected in these bright, happy eyes of mine
The heartache I thought would be forever?
When I see you again, I’ll be a stranger
Give back the pieces that are mine
Puzzle pieces of my heart I gave you
The parts of you-
No longer mine. No longer desired.
When you see me again, I’ll be stronger
I’ll have risen and the world will be mine
When I see you again, I’ll remember
I will know: I don’t need you anymore.
I got mine – still getting it all
No longer wounded by your lies.
People would describe me and my work ethic as the non-quitter, innovative, productive and mercurial (if they don’t know me well). I procrastinate because my best work comes under pressure. I’m not overly organized or anally-retentive neat but I’m always aware of the location of anything I need (e.g. pens, paperclips, paper, etc.) in relation to my proximity. I’m very “teach-able” (the exact word my lawyer used) in that I only need to be told once: I’m very malleable if whatever I’m working on includes an ineffective system set-up by my predecessor upon which I am called to reform/a situation calls for change. I strive to please but in that earnestness, I can be taken for granted and have had others take advantage of me/my work ethic. Years of operating a family business have shown me that being productive during slow downs/boredom can go a long way in loving what you do and buying time for recreation each time a task is completed ahead of schedule. With the jobs outside of it, I know my co-workers at Victoria’s Secret thought I was being underhanded (if a promotion was coming up), snobby if I wouldn’t stay and gossip on their down time and a brown-noser for taking up tasks “above my pay grade” (even though nothing really is and I never let it be known that my family owns a business because the hate comes out very quickly if someone thinks of you as not needing a job). “Stay busy and work hard” was the way my mom put it and I have with every job, especially if I have to be on my feet all day. That work ethic permeates almost aspects of my life whether or not I want to examine and admit it. It goes without elaboration that quitting was never spoken of and it never seemed to be an option. Thus, we come to the next chapter that’s become this year’s motif: learning when to give up and completely burn something to the ground.
Update (12/7/2016): Forgive this very lazy addendum to the last night (how “last” remains to be seen – I enjoy being in the cross hairs of his scope and being pursued 😉 ) I spent with my cowboy. For now, I have to write him off since my Crohn’s hit me with a double whammy: I got sick over Thanksgiving due to overly rich food, Chinese style, and was rolling downhill kinda slow until the acceleration at his place. I pride myself on being self sufficient, having a pretty frigging high pain tolerance and needing no one’s assistance when I succumb to any/all of my chronic illnesses, all the while keeping a picture of managed health. I forget how bad my situation was back in 2006 when my health has been stabilized these past 3-4 years but holy hell, my cowboy had to drive me in my car home (instead of the ER he was adamant on) and the entire time I’m doing my best not to scream with every bump, pot hole, hard brake or pumped gas pedal but some escape anyway. The cold sweat beading on my head, constant swearing (I’d been watching my potty mouth cause I could see him wince when I was a bit too happily raging about whatever topic) and agony in every breath scared him. I talk to myself in a berating manner to get myself calm and to get through every crashing wave of pain but I’m sure most of his fear came from the image of blood left on his bed and my shrunken state…