The Betrayal- My Armoire

Ain't this some shit. I liked him. I swear I did. I wore myself out, trying to find ways that he could fit into my life. And I broke things off with him. I broke it off with Steve *sigh* I kinda hate telling my friends why, because it makes me sound like a bitch, but I'm totes not a bitch. So here's the reason- I asked him to move my armoire, he mucked it up, and I ended it. See? I sound like a bitch, right? But it runs much deeper than that.

Story:
My amazing neighbor, Lisa, is moving soon. I'm going to help Lisa with the move, and she was kind enough to gift me her armoire, as the thing is huge and heavy. The only thing Lisa asked is that I get the damned thing moved. Enter Steve. To give some insight here, Lisa and I both live on the bottom floor of our apartments. We share the same building, but are on opposite sides. Steve and I stopped in to do a recon mission to find the best way to get it moved. We sized it up, and Lisa and I both agreed that the easiest would be from her sliding glass door to my sliding glass door. To give a bit more detail, to come from the parking lot, one would have to go up and down narrow steps to enter our homes. So sliding glass door single level, no steps, right?

Two days later, Steve gets ready to move it. To make a long story short, he took the steps. He dropped the armoire, got scratches on it, smashed a handle, smashed my door, broke off my banister. I was okay when he texted me and told me the mirror broke. But he damned sure left off the other damages. I took one look at this poor armoire and knew it was over. I'll be honest, I was enraged. I genuinely could not figure out how two grown men messed this thing up so bad. I dunno, it just showed poor decision-making to me. I mean we talked about it, we had a plan. And despite the weight, height, and narrow space, the decision was made to go the more difficult way. I guess at this stage in my life, I want a man who is capable of handling stuff.

That wasn't the only thing. I feel like he didn't always listen to my needs. I've been requesting an actual date for forever. Not fucking calling me at 10 o'clock at night and asking me to meet him at a bar. I'm not opposed to the bar scene, but bars should not take the place of a nice night out every now and again. Or the fact that I explained numerous times that I hate being cold and had no desire to go swimming at 12 o'clock at night (cuz its cold!) but it didn't stop him from asking me frequently. Never did I get a call at 4pm, saying "hey, when you get off work (and the sun is still shining and its hot outside), meet me at the pool." I just felt like he didn't recognize that as a full-time mother with a full-time job, I need more than just random meetings. Make me a fucking priority and plan a date.

There was another issue. It kind of involved a personal space issue. I think that in his mind, it was good-natured teasing. In my mind it was irritating as shit. I've had abusive guys in my past who found it cute to do things that genuinely bothered me, so I have a special sensitivity to men that bypass my feelings to do rude things because "its funny." It isn't funny. I don't like it. And I shouldn't have to tell you 3 separate times to knock it off.

So here we are. I know Steve is sorry. He plans to fix the armoire. Perhaps he will, but honestly I doubt it. I dunno, maybe he'll prove me wrong. The armoire is still in my living room and I get annoyed every time I view it. One of my friends described Steve as a "drinking guy." He is. He has a few beers with his guys and enjoys life. Certainly not mad at that. But that isn't the life I lead. And not knocking that life, but it isn't me.

Steve and I still text on the occasion. Perhaps we'll patch things up, but I dunno. It ain't completely over, but it ain't looking good. Its so much bigger than the armoire. The armoire is just a physical manifestation of where things are. I'm looking for a partner. A rider. A man who meets me where I am. I man who I don't have to remind frequently of the big and small things that I need. A man that can move an armoire.

Explaining Myself

I'm not really one to explain myself. I've always kind of done things my own way in my own time, so the idea of having to tell someone why I do what I do irks the shit out of me. And I think that's why Steve bugs me. I said earlier that my fear is that people will think Steve is my "white guy band-aid for Pete" but he isn't. I just can't help but to think that a woman that looks, acts, thinks, and was raised like me is not supposed to have a thing for this country bama. But I do.

I wasn't prepared for the hostility that comes with it. With the looks of disappointment I get from Black men and the looks of anger I seem to get from other people. I don't explain myself. I don't have to. But when my loved ones (particularly Black men) give me a laundry list of how wrong it is for me to date a white man, I want to give a 10 minute summary. I want so badly to shout "IDIDNTLIKEWHITEGUYSBEFOREBUTMYCOWORKERPETEWASAMAZINGANDITOPENEDMYEYESTODATINGALLKINDOFMENISTILLLOVEBLACKMENBUTSTEVEGETSMEANDIDATEDMANYBLACKMENBEFORESTEVEANDISTILLLIKEANDLOVEBLACKMENPLEASEJUSTBEHAPPYFORME!!!"

But I can't. Because that would be explaining. And I don't do that. So I'm just stuck here. Being happy for me. Yikes.

Jamie Foxx and Katie Holmes

Stuff is going good with Steve. I mean damned good. We had some issues before, but we managed to hash most of it out. We haven't spent much time together, due first to our schedules, then he up and got bed bugs, so he hasn't been home much, and I've got house guests, so no alone time on that end either. I think about him often. We share the most random of jokes. We've discussed moving in together, to the point of sending one another links to properties we'd like to see. I've met his family, he's met my brother and I've talked about him to Stepmommy. Considering spending Thanksgiving with him at my best friend's home. We mesh. We blend.

I was out with friends lately, when I messed around and got a bit more tipsy than I needed to be. I devised a plan to walk to a local spot from where I was to buy some food to sober up so I could drive home. In passing I texted Steve to mention that I'd gotten drunk. He immediately texted me back to ask if I was okay to drive, and even encouraged me to take a Lyft home and he'd pay me back. Then out of nowhere he texted me "I love you." He'd been flirting with the idea of saying it, but he never had. Shit, I still haven't said it. Been nearly a year now, and I still haven't. This is undeniably the longest I've been in uttering that.

But anyway, it completely freaked me out. My best friend, Sky, happened to be across the room and saw my face when it was read. My heart raced. Palms got sweaty. I was definitely an Eminem rap battle. I didn't respond. I kinda felt it at the time, but just wasn't ready to face it yet. Not yet.

I was on the phone with my cousin recently when I began to gush about Steve. I told her that he's unlike anyone else in how he dotes on me and doesn't just care about me, he cares for me. Hurricane Michael is roaring up the coast and he just texted me to ask if I have eggs and milk (its a Southern thing, don't ask). My cousin and I both talked about our shying away from commitment with our respective men, when I began to say "yeah, I llll-" then I caught myself. Shit, I almost said it. Whew, Ice cold, Malika, Ice cold. (Outkast reference).

So what I have neglected to mention to my blog and most of the world is that Steve is white. It pains me something bad though. It burns because the fact is that I don't like Steve because he's white, I like him in spite of it. But my fear is that people who know me will assume that he's just a "white guy band-aid after Pete," but he's not. Pete was never meant to be a boyfriend or permanent fixture of any sort, other than friendship. I've dated several black men in the year and half since Pete died (has it really been that damned long?!) Steve is funny (in a dad joke kinda way), he's kind (almost stupidly so), he's supportive, affectionate, a hard worker, and he's someone that gets me for who I am. I've found myself as the object of so many men's desire, only for them to falter once they realize that I am a real live woman, with emotions and feelings. Like who does that, right? Plenty of men. And whether I'm done up in work clothes, or wearing sweats, Steve makes me feel like a princess. Steve isn't Pete. Steve is Steve. And that's all that matters to me.

Normally by now I would have gone public with him (at least on Facebook), but the fact is that I know many of my Facebook friends would have shit to say, and I'm just not trying to entertain it. I genuinely spent a lot of time trying to figure out how to introduce Steve to my world, but then it occurred to me- Jamie Foxx and Katie Holmes.

These two have been rumored to be together for years. Not just months- YEARS. Rumor mill says that they've had to be mum due to Katie's prenup, or some jazz. As of late, a few more pics of them out in public have began to surface. But its all speculation. No one can say anything, because no one knows anything. And that's the life I'd like to lead. No one on Facebook can say shit if I'm not posting pics and being all out there with my dating life. I even found myself wondering if Jamie and Katie would have made it if they'd been public about things early on. I think back on it, and I highly doubt it.

Last night, I lay in bed and it occurred to me that if I got married, I'd do a Vegas wedding. Nothing huge, maybe a few friends fly out with us as we say "I do's." Fuck Malika, what are we thinking?! Then, being the dumbass I am, I texted Steve and said "If we got married, I'd want to do it in Vegas or Reno." Steve immediately texted me back and said he'd want to do it in Vegas and he'd want an Elvis there. We talked timeline- I said 8 years, so my son would be out of high school. He texted back suggesting 8 years is too long. 2 years? I suggested a possible 5. The night wore on and I got tired. We tabled the discussion.

This morning, I looked at my Facebook page (naturally) to find this post I'd made before. I dunno, maybe this is a sign? Or maybe not? 

"I don't know a lot of happily married couples, but as I get older and observe the ones I do see, I've learned that marriage takes hard work, compromise and dedication. If you go into a serious relationship or marriage with absolutely no desire to be loyal or dedicated, you're wasting everyone's time. You can't go in thinking 'I'll be me until the day I die and I refuse to change.' Both parties have to want it and be willing to work for it."

Like everything else, I'll let time play this one on out.