Prepping

So things are... things. I'll be up front and admit that 2021 has been a raging kick in the ass. Early on, Andrea died. My job went to shit. Moved to Cali and came right back with a lack of housing. Was homeless for a spell before I landed another apartment in the sticks, and another job I'm not too keen on.

On top of all the other "wonderful" things, I was in another car wreck a few weeks ago. Yet another concussion, and I'm stuttering again. Back pain, awkward, painful walking, the works. I'm just over it all. I'm waiting for 2022 to kick into high gear. I can't wait to get back to writing my book, and I decided that in January, I'm going vegan. I mean, just for a month, but still. Plus I'm planning to hit the gym starting on Dec. 28, when I start my new job.

Plus I'm going to get money from my car being totaled out. I was out today, a few days before Christmas, looking for things for my home. I'll be honest and admit that a lot of my stuff in California, still in storage. Naturally, it's costing me an arm and a leg, but I can't get back to it until March, when I pick up my items and drive them back here. So I'm sleeping on an air mattress until my funds are up and I can make this feel like home again. 

The last time that I was at a Goodwill, I found a funky little tv stand, that now sits in my bedroom. And today I wandered in to the same Goodwill, and this time I found an amazing, colorful dresser. Large enough to hold my unmentionables, so that I can take them out of the plastic bin that's been filling over with their presence. My son managed to bring the dresser in and as I began moving things around, out of my bin and into my new dresser, the Sex and the City spin off "And Just Like That" played in the background. I didn't watch the show much in my 20's and a bit in my 30's. While I didn't watch the whole thing from front to back, I'm overall aware of the story, followed up by watching the movies several times.

It's no secret now that the character of Big has died, and Carrie is now older, set off to live life as a newly widowed woman. It felt so familiar, as I slid the dresser into place, and began moving things around, complimented by a lit candle. I'm getting ready for a new year and new changes. Veganism, back on my steps, a new job, Theo is here. I'll have to take it easy, as my back is barely held together by duct tape as this rate.

And later in my ceremonious moving around of items, I caught up on Insecure. I like the show. Like so many other people, it greatly inspired my move to Cali. I've made peace with being stuck here until my baby is out of high school, but right now I have exactly 1,615 days until I can move back. Not that I'm counting down or anything.

It's ironic how much I clung to the idea of being in relationship, but some days, I miss being single. I don't miss the dating game, but I've realized how much I enjoy my own company. I love all of my travels, I loved my sordid affairs. I love my sense of adventure. I really am comfortable in my own skin. As I move things around, I feel myself getting ready for the new year. I'm closing out old client cases, and letting my brain and body heal, so that this upcoming week, I can step into my new job ready to take on the world. 

I don't know what's going to happen. But I know that things will be well. That's what I'm planning on, and that's what I'm manifesting. And that's what will happen.

Changes

So yeah, this boyfriend thing is taking some getting used to. The fact is that I've never had a man that so dedicated himself to me, but now that I'm in this, that means that I have to be dedicated as well. Absolutely no cheating, and zero desire to look at other men. Theo is kind of the jealous type. He wants me to himself, which is alright by me. Because no man has ever done so much to earn me. But one thing I hadn't really thought about up until this point- my guy friends.

I've got a lot of them, and these are some tight relationships. We've broken bread, watched each others' children, given one another money, all of that. It isn't uncommon for me to tell my guy friends that I love them. One of my closest guy friends is someone I used to stay at his house late at night, talking, even while I was in a "relationship" with my son's father. Now that I'm with Theo, it has occurred to me that I can't keep up that kind of stuff. One of my close guy friends told me that he's already stopped calling me late at night, which I guess is good, because I know Theo wouldn't appreciate that. But that was something he did often before, as a truck driver. 

It sucks, because I've always been the woman who said that no matter what, I'd never give up my guy friends. And I still won't. But I'll admit, I gotta scale back. Theo and I are talking about what kind of couch to get for the living room. I want a sectional, and he wants a recliner in it. It's all so "adult." I always wanted that. I just imagine his feet up, watching the game, with his arm around me and I lean on him, reading. #Domesticated

It's going to suck not being able to show affection to some of my guy friends. But Theo wants me loving and loving on him, as the primary man in my life (outside of my son). I was kind of apprehensive about how willing I was to give up that side of myself. But I had a conversation with my cousin and his wife. My cousin, Ali, actually reminds me a lot of Theo. Both are very alpha male, and care deeply for their women and families. I asked Ali's wife if she had to scale back her relationships with platonic male friends when she got with my cousin, and she admitted, that yes, that was something. she had to do. I've also heard other married friends admit that when they got married, they scaled back their friendships with members of the opposite sex. And those that did have the happiest and strongest marriages. That's when I knew what I had to do. 

Another change is that Theo is a clothes horse. So. Many. Shoes. He prides himself on looking good, and he wants his woman looking good with him. As I mentioned, he'd gotten my nails done, but that same day, he bought me a Coach purse, and some new sneakers from the Finish Line. I tried to decline, but he insisted. So now, here I am, looking like a million dollars, with a man who makes me feel like a billion.

Another thing that Theo has been working on changing is how I view myself. He recently told me that he recently made a major life change based on me being around and my mouth dropped. "You did that for me?!" I asked. I couldn't believe that he wanted me so bad after our first date, and he was already making decisions about us. I told him that I couldn't believe it and his statement was a simple "stop being so hard on yourself." Truthfully, had I known, I would have tried to talk him out of it. I would have said that I wasn't worth it. But clearly, he thought that I was. I have a bad habit of "jokingly" talking negatively about myself. It isn't uncommon for me to verbalize "My dumbass did..." and he'll immediately stop me and say "I don't like when you talk like that, don't say that." My self talk is already more positive. 

I adore Theo. I trust him. So if I have to give less bear hugs to guy friends and not be so free throwing around words like "I love you," I'll do it. Because I'm loving this ride with him, and he makes me feel secure. That's what a man is supposed to do. And my man does that.

Malika As A Girlfriend

I'm thankful for Theo. I guess that's a great way to start this post, since today (the day I wrote this) is actually Thanksgiving. I'll be honest and say that parts of this are challenging. Theo and I are pretty different. He's way more committal than me, which is a pretty good thing, because one of us needs to be.

I've also had to grow with him physically. Like I'm really having to get used to having him in my presence as my actual boyfriend. I like it though. I feel protected and safe with him. The other morning I pulled out my ice scraper to take the ice off of my windshield, and he took the scraper from me and told me to get in the car. After he was done with the ice scraper, he got back in the car and reminded me that having a man in my life means that I don't have to do tasks like that. Another time, after we finished grocery shopping, he told me not to touch the bags and allow him and my son to bring the groceries in.

That's the stuff that makes me adore him and be glad he's in my life. There's other stuff though that I struggle with. I don't consider myself an "independent woman" in so much, an "independent person." I haven't had a serious boyfriend really since my son's father. Sure there were were a few men I'd committed to for a while, but nothing with any real teeth, although I did love and care about those men. 

But now that I'm learning to be in something serious, I have to learn to exist in this. Being a part of a couple. Introducing him as "my boyfriend." I've been made to feel bad for asking men for anything, but he really wants me to ask for stuff. And not so he can hold it against me. As I get ready to hang out with my family for the holiday, he gave me a few bucks to get my nails done. And it isn't about the money. I had to have a discussion with myself about Love Languages and I realized that his is gifts. Mine is acts of service and words of affirmation. So he's not trying to buy me. He's showing me that he cares in his own way. I'm enamored. 

I'm also having to be more mindful of how I carry myself with my guy friends. I had a question for him about sexual preferences and ideas. I asked him and he refused to answer. I reminded him that he'd consider it disrespectful if I asked any of my previous love conquests about bedroom antics, so I opted instead to ask him. 

I've always been a woman to swear that I'd never get rid of anyone! My friends are my friends til the end! But Theo has given me something to think about. He's not like the other men that wanted all of me and put nothing into a relationship. Theo puts his money where his mouth is. He adores me and he tells me. We go on dates. I tell him what I want and need and he delivers. And he tells me what he wants and needs and I'm front and center. I hope things continue to go well between us. I like me, I like him, and I like me and him together. I'm a girlfriend. I'm his girlfriend.

New and Old

So this thing with Theo is new, but it's exciting. Its adventurous. It's warm. I've never been so excited to get to know a man. Sometimes I have to check myself and remind myself that in this adult world of dating, we put our partner or our budding relationship before other stuff. I'm learning to consider myself a retired hot girl, rather than the fanciful Malika we've all come to know and love. Lord lol. 

When I'd first returned to Atlanta in early August, to define things as a struggle would be an understatement. When I wasn't sleeping in shitty hotels, I was sleeping on my friend's floor (which I'm eternally grateful for). I was working as a pool monitor, a job I lucked up on as my friend was president of his HOA. But as time went on, I landed a pretty nice 2 bedroom townhouse in addition to a job in my field. Outside of lacking the plentiful furniture I once had, I once again, landed on my feet.

My new job was a stretch at first, but as time went on, I grew to enjoy it. Among my first days at the job, I encountered a guy I'll call Tim. As I was trying hard to just keep my nose clean and pay my rent, I ignored my attraction to Tim. We instinctively began trading insults during our first meeting and I admit, I was smitten early on.

But then Theo came in as the whirlwind that he is, and any remote thoughts I had of Tim were stamped out. Theo did something no man ever did. He staked his claim. He knew he wanted me, he told me and he showed me. I'd be a complete fool to even consider anyone other than Theo. But Tim and I maintained our friendship, but I've made sure to let Tim know where he stands. Theo is bae. He's boo. He's number one, period. Tim is just my friend and that's all he will ever be.

Today, Tim confessed his feelings for me, but stated that he knows how I feel about Theo and that he absolutely wouldn't try to cross any boundaries. But he admitted, that he couldn't put his finger on it. Exactly what it is that he's so drawn to. It ain't just looks. And I know what it is. I just didn't think it would be a good idea to answer.

The fact is that Tim is a strong representative of who and where I once was- fearful of commitment, unfamiliar with healthy affection, cozying up to fly by night attachment in its place. I wanted to explain it to him, but I feared that doing so would only create a bond that I don't want to create. It isn't that I don't like Tim. I think he's great. But he's a representative of the old me. The confused me. The fly by night me. And I'm no longer giving her air. She needs to die. 

As I learn to embrace healthy living and being, I have to abandon habits and situations that don't serve me. Tim is dope af and I wish nothing but the best for him. And I hope he finds what he's looking for. Because he's not looking for Malika. He just thought he was.

Loved On

In my last conversation with my beloved cousin, Jarronn, he'd just gotten married just over 2 months ago, to a beautiful woman named Jessica. Jarronn was always the cousin who had his shit together. And then there was me. Jarronn graduated from high school with honors. I barely had enough credits to cross the stage. Jarronn also graduated college with honors and on time. I graduated, at the age of 28, after attending 3 colleges. Jarronn had a good paying job with Johnson and Johnson, met a beautiful and intelligent woman, and decided to marry her and start a family. I lived through failed relationship after failed relationship. To put it mildly, Jarronn had his shit together. And then there was me.

Our last conversation was sparked by me seeing the picture of that motorcycle on his Facebook page. I called and told him not to ride it. He assured me he was safe. It was our first actual conversation in ages. I asked how he knew that Jessica was the one. He said to me "it was just easy. We didn't argue. No games. We just got each other and we got along great." Jarronn died a couple of weeks later, from a motorcycle accident.

I still think back on his words from time to time. I think about how much I've grown in terms of men and maintaining my peace and boundaries, while acknowledging and no longer making excuses for red flags. I've made a commitment to myself that I'll no longer tolerate disrespect and b.s. And while it has significantly cut down on drama headaches in my life, it has also significantly scaled back on potential mates, a trade I've made peace with.

My online dating pattern is like this- download Tinder and log into Facebook dating. Swipe right a few times, swipe left a multitude of times. The guys I swipe right on are full of shit or extremely dull. Or they make it known that they only want sex. I get irritated, and take down both accounts in 2 weeks, try again in 3-6 months. Sometimes  I rejoin because I'm hopeful. Other times are because I'm lonely. Or because I'm bored. They all essentially end with my being thankful that I'm single because none of the men I met were worth the data it took to communicate with them.

I don't know why I did, but I recently logged back on, not waiting my traditional 3-6 months, instead waiting only a week or so. I was disappointed with one and logged off. But then I saw a guy on the other one. "He's cute" I thought. I swiped right. I was amazed that he spoke first. I'll call him Theo. He was nice. A man of few words. But he communicated well. We exchanged numbers quickly. I remained skeptical, as always. I've honestly become accustomed to being disappointed by men. I show up on the off chance that he won't be a complete piece of shit, but my luck hasn't shown me that will be my lot in life. We texted a bit, but then I encountered the strangest experience while in traffic. It was too long to text, so I asked if I could call him. He said sure, so I  called and excitedly explained the strange man with a huge lump on his arm that had a tattoo of an eyeball on it. I thought to myself that he more than likely thought that I was a raging lunatic, but I didn't care. It felt good to have someone to vent to. That's all I've really wanted all along- to be hear, a man to vent to.

Our communication was brief. The next morning Theo texted me and stated that he'd been thinking about me all night. I was honestly kind of thrown by that. "He doesn't even know me" I thought to myself. We texted a bit more. He seemed nice. Conversations flowed well as we began to open up about ourselves. At some point, we decided to meet. He happened to be staying only 2 exits away from me. I went to meet up, not expecting much. As he was new to Atlanta, I was charged with showing him the city. I drove him all over Downtown, Midtown, and Buckhead. We laughed easily.

Before ending the night, we stopped at my favorite seafood spot, The Juicy Crab. We joked about which is a better song to walk down the aisle to, International Players Anthem or Space Age Pimpin'. At some point, I looked up at him and said "are we really having this discussion?" "Yep!" he easily replied. By the end of the night, I wanted to kiss him. But I didn't. I didn't want to move too quickly.

The second time we hung out, two days later, we did a bit of driving around Decatur. Sure, I could have invited him into my home, but I'm not in the habit of introducing my son to new men until I'm sure things are solid. I could have gone to his hotel room, (not that he asked) but I know me and I know that would have sent things in a place I wasn't ready for (although I certainly remained curious).

Our third hang out session (the following day) was before his trip home to Ohio to tie up loose ends. We held hands. We laughed. And it felt right. It felt natural. He never waned from making me feel desired and adored. He told me that he cared about me. This time, we just went to the park and sat in the car. He'd still not been in my home and I still hadn't seen the inside of his hotel. On top of it all, he never even asked me to step into his room with him. That impressed me. So many men would have invited me up the second or third time. I confessed to him that I'd certainly desired to see it, but I didn't want to move too fast and mess things up. He said "Malika, I have self-control." I responded with "I don't." He expressed that he understood and didn't want to do anything to mess things up either. Before he left to get on his plane, in true Malika fashion, I said to him "I guess, I'll kinda halfway miss you." He responded with "well, I'll definitely miss you." I was smitten.

Since then, the communication has gotten even stronger. He'd expected to be back the following week, but he wasn't. I miss him and I told him so. He told me he missed me back. I went on and let it be known, "if I fuck you, we go together." He agreed. He makes me feel safe. Secure. Warm. He feels so familiar, in an unfamiliar way. I've never felt so wanted and desired. I continue to fear that he'll leave and never return. I admitted to him that I'm a bit of a spaz. The oldest of 6 sisters, and many other women in his family, he said he's used to dramatic women. Lord, you made this man for me!

Sometime during the summer, my coworker in Cali said something about Attachment Types. Being the curious woman that I am, I looked it up, only to discover that I am definitely an anxious attachment type. I want them around, but I constantly fear that they'll leave I tend to cling to men that clearly are not as into me. But I think they chose me because in their detachment, they know that my anxious ass would never leave. What I'd learned about myself in that was that I needed to attract a different kind of man. 

But Theo's not detached. He wants nothing more than to have a woman up under him constantly. Which is funny, because I've rejected so many men because of their desire to keep me caged up. He wants me with him and he verbalizes it. But he's not clingy or needy. He isn't codependent and unhealthy. Nope, that's more so me. But he wants to be kept and adored, which is all I want to do. It never ceases to amaze me that all of the things I've asked of other men, men who knew me longer, would never do.

At first when he left, Theo was gone for 4 days with no communication. My anxious ass just knew he was gone for good. I thought I'd never see him again, and that he'd ghost me like other men had done. He eventually texted me again, apologizing and explaining that he'd encountered some family drama at home. I told him that because of my past, I don't deal well with unexplained absences and I'd need some kind of acknowledgement so that I at least didn't blame myself for his absence. He then promised me that moving forward, we'd talk every day. And he's kept his promise.

Another thing is that Theo and I are Facebook friends. I look at his page consistently, as I adore looking at the pictures of him. His page prominently featured the word "SINGLE" next to his picture. Seeing that word made me wince. I asked him if once we seal the deal and make it official, if he'd at the very least, take down the word. No need to label himself in a relationship, as I know he's private. But at least take down the damned word. His response was a simple "no problem." No fighting, no defensiveness. It's gone now. I asked him to remove it and he did.

Here's a man whose only spent a few weeks with me and he's already making future plans and respecting my wishes. I'm sure that the average woman would look at my things that Theo has done and remark on how astonishingly low my  expectations are. And they'd be right.

The fact is that I've always been low-maintenance. All I've ever wanted was a man to love me and love on me as hard as I love him. And I've kissed a lot of frogs. Lord knows what Theo and I will become. But I love how this feels. I love being adored. I love it that he texts me randomly to ask what I'm doing. I love that I can call/text him at any time of day or night and he responds. I love that he randomly calls me beautiful. I love that when I ask him about a date night, he tells me that he's down for anything.

I recall a guy friend telling me how his woman had essentially planted her flag on him and how that was the best way to get a man. He said that she pretty much showed up at his house and never left. And considering that he just posted that she just gave birth to his baby, maybe there's something to this. I briefly considered his advice in the past, but that was never my style. I wanted to be wanted, rather than just clinging to a man, for the sake of clinginess. But Theo is different. I want to cook for him. I want to lay in bed with him and cuddle. I want to binge on Netflix until we fall asleep holding one another. Theo is never getting rid of me. I'm his. And he's mine.

He's also great at making me feel okay about the future. Sometimes I fear that we're only infatuated with one another because things are new. You know, that whole "honeymoon phase." But he's even great about calming my fears about this being more than just an infatuation. He's told me, point blank, that he intends to be with me and he's done looking. He's always saying "I've never met a woman like you" and loving my spirit. He compliments my sense of humor and when I'm downplaying my intelligence, he actually told me that he thinks my intelligence is sexy. Woo child!

All of the times that I've been made to feel worthless and only worthy of a romp in the bed, here's a guy that honors me, listens to me, and makes me feel like the only woman in the world. He wants me to be his and only his. And I want to give him all of me. I'm finally moving toward getting what I deserve. Hooray for progress. And Theo. And love. 

Wherever You Go, There You Are

I was previously working with a guy I'll call Carlton. Carlton and I took to one another immediately, and over time, we began to build a beautiful, mutual admiration and respect for one another. As time went on, we learned that we suffered the same sort of childhood trauma, in addition to the same propensity for certain sexual proclivities, even though he and I don't have sex with one another. Carlton is fine though. Damn fine. I love our friendship, one of dirty jokes, witty comebacks, and frequent texting of memes and other things we find useful on the interwebs. 

Within the last few years, as I wrestled with the dissolution of things between myself and Fred, Carlton often became my sounding board. I'd often call or text him to see if I was tripping about things, and Carlton was often able to give me insight about how to best handle Fred. One day, seemingly out of nowhere, Carlton says to me "you remind me of my ex-girlfriend." In true Malika form, I responded with "she must be awesome!" Carlton responded dryly with, "that's something she would say."

As time went on, I began to slowly recognize that Carlton had many of the same characteristics that Fred had. At one point, I shared with him that he too reminded me of a former love. I actually first recognized the physical similarities between Carlton and Fred. I talked to a girlfriend who'd seen both of them and she began to laugh that I have "a type." It's true, I guess I do. Both men are lifelong athletes, with physiques that show off their dedication to their physical health. Both are roughly the same shade of light caramel brown with heads full of curly hair. I've even joked that if standing next to one another, they could easily pass for cousins.

Occasionally I'd joke with Carlton about his similarities to my former love and how odd it was, in addition to the fact that Carlton has an ex that he often claims I remind him of. At one point, Carlton asked me to describe the ways in which he felt that he and Fred resembled one another. I'd never deeply thought of it before then, but I was quite jarred once I began to compile them in writing for a text. To start with, I recalled that they'd both grown up in religious homes. Both were deeply concerned with how they look. While I'm okay appearing in jeans and a tshirt on any given day, both put extreme amounts of effort into making sure they they look their best anytime they leave the home. Both act extremely confident, but secretly care way too much about what others think of them. Both are secretly ratchet while poised on the surface, but never let that be known because they fear what others would say. Both like to look like they like committed relationships, but neither really do. Both pretend to be stupid when its convenient for them.

Then I asked him to share any similarities that I share with the ex who he swears I resemble. He shared that she has a son my son's age, who is also extremely tall for his age. He shared that she and I are both anxious attachment types and both are easily distracted, both have issues with parents, and a few more similarities.

Pretty interesting, I must admit. He and I marveled at the similarities all around, and how in spite of us making moves to move away from former loves, we found one another, even though we're just friends. I believe that my relationship with Fred grew toxic, which is a shame. For years he was a healthy and loving part of my life, but somewhere along the way, he became manipulative, sneaky, and sometimes all out mean. Sure, I miss him in some ways. But I readily accept that he and I are officially over, as I move away from situations that don't properly serve me.

And as much as I couldn't adore Carlton anymore than I currently do, I can't help but to wonder what is the cosmic force that keeps he and I together? He and I discussed that obviously, despite us moving away from our pasts, something felt that we needed people that represent who we are, in one another's lives, for one reason or another. Carlton and I agree that we're polar opposites, but we really enjoy something about one another.

After 15 years of Fred, I ended things with him. Only to become extremely close with a man who shares a similar past in addition to similar characteristics. I left Fred alone, which took so much effort and courage- only to pick up a friend who is essentially the same person (only less detrimental to my mental well-being). I can't really pick out why that is. He and I have openly pondered on it, and we settled on there is obviously something in each other's lives that we're supposed to bring about. I'll state any day of the week that Carlton has been instrumental in guiding me as I navigate my career in social work. We text one another all day, every day and even when we experienced turmoil in our relationship, he was never not available to support me when I called him crying in my car about the shitty job I left in May.

There's no doubt in my mind that Carlton exists in my life for one reason or another. And I exist in his for the same. It's just odd to know that I finally moved away from one situation, only to walk squarely into something nearly identical. Oddly enough, I've often said to Carlton that he's actually a mix of Ted and Fred. Ted, the responsible one who also gave me guidance on work situations and shared conversations about the state of Black America, and Fred who was wild and free, sexy, and always open for adventure. That's Carlton. 

I don't know what it is. But I enjoy it. I crave it. I nurture it. I need it. It teaches me, it guides me, it helps me become a better version of myself. I guess that's why I'm here. Cuz I left one situation, only to essentially stay in it. I guess it's true, what they say. What's meant for you is meant for you.

Breaking Points

While grieving Pete, I mentioned the show Bojack Horseman and discussed how I love that it goes far more in depth about various nuances of human existence. One scene that resonated with me previously is when a good friend of Bojack's died and he began driving through the desert. I really appreciated how the show went past the surface of what grief looks like, the way other television shows tend to do. I love that his grief was never neatly tied up in one quirky episode, but how it literally took him a year to reappear and begin facing the world again. And even then, as he began to function again in daily life, he was haunted by memories and sadness of her passing. His grief presented like actual grief.

I've been keeping the show on the background lately and I recently honed in on another interesting aspect of the show. I'm going to give a bit of a spoiler here, so if you're planning to watch it, you may want to read any other of my hundreds of introspective posts. Anyway, in the show, Bojack discovers his long lost sister, Hollyhock. Hollyhock is an impressionable, bubbly teenager who absolutely adores her brother, in spite of him being an absolute mess.

Throughout the show, Bojack tends to push away and even violate and disrespect the people around him countless times (another source of contention in the story is Bojack's substance abuse). Throughout it all, his friends remain loyal and faithful, in spite of who he is. Although eventually, their dedication to him begins to fade too. As Hollyhock starts to get older, she begins to learn more about her brother and begins to distance herself. During this time, Bojack starts to see that his innocent younger sister hasn't been around and ceases picking up his phone calls. At some point, he learns that because she's started to see the kind of person that he really is, she opts to bow out of his life completely.

I don't know why that hit me so hard this morning. Like damn, she just said "nah" and stepped away. And like said before, I love how the show touches on real life scenarios and handles them realistically. I've seen so many people in life who feel that they should be granted carte blanche to be as reckless and insufferable as they please, with the insane notion that the people who love them will always be there. Their motto in life seems to be "better to beg forgiveness than to ask for permission." Sure, you may have to grovel a bit, maybe even beg, and promise to never do it again, but in the end, they'll come back. They always come back. Until they don't.

The show once again illustrates an important point about humans- that they break. Humans are just that- human. That no matter how much they love you and even worship you, at some point, self preservation comes into play and they have to remove sources of consistent pain, especially if those sources of pain are relentless in their pursuit of destruction of relationships and peace.

I understand that television is supposed to be a source of entertainment. That we often want conflict wrapped up in 30 minutes, with all of the protagonists hugging it out. And while I appreciate a nicely wrapped feel good story as much as the next person, the fact is that having this narrative thrown into our faces consistently severely warped our perception of reality and the complexities of human nature.

The fact is that not all conflicts are wrapped up in 30 minutes, 1 hour, 2 hours, or even ever. Sometimes you can talk until you're blue in the face, you can explain, you can scream, you can cry, you can do everything in your power to make them understand you, and they still won't. Maybe they can't. Maybe they'll choose not to. But the result is the same- there is no resolution. No happy dance, no group of newly freed protagonists sitting around laughing in a circle about whatever they just unwrapped between far too many needless commercials.

In the real world, sometimes we just gotta sit in our shit. In the real world, sometimes we're the ones that walk away, and other times, we're forced to face the music in the loss of a relationship that we thought would never leave us. Hollyhock walked away, not because of something Bojack did, she walked away before he could hurt her, because she began to see him for who and what he really is. When people spend their lives toeing the line and destroying the hearts and lives of everyone they love, a breaking point is often reached. Finally, art imitates life.

Sick of Sorries

Last night, out of no where, Steve texted me to apologize again for being a butt while we were together. While I've grown a tad annoyed at the men from my past that have popped up lately, I appreciated his sentiment. It was heartfelt. I didn't feel like he wanted anything from me. He identified his past actions as narcissistic, which, I guess they were. He took ownership of his shit. It almost made me want to give him another go. Almost. I'm done recycling ghosts from my past. But I look forward to a nice friendship with him.

Fred has of course been on my mind lately. Our last meeting, I admitted to him that I love him, and that I always will. But I don't like him. And that's obviously a problem. One of our last encounters before the final show down, I recall sitting in his apartment in Los Angeles. I don't recall what sparked it, but I started rattling off the fucked up things he's done to me in the past. I sat stoically on his futon, as tears streamed down my face, as I named infraction, after infraction, after infraction. And he sat in the room, across from me, repeatedly uttering, "I'm sorry." I eventually looked up at him and said, "dude, you're always sorry. I don't want an apology. I want changed behavior." Long story short, the friendship/relationship/situationship/whatever you call it, is a wrap.

Anyway, back in May, I wrote about my "friend" Curtis, and how it looked like things were blooming. And they fizzled in a monumentally fucked up way. Curt and I were spending every day on the phone leading up to my move. Texting one another frequently about the things we were experiencing and observing. It felt nice to finally be moving in the direction he'd been trying to get me to move with him for years. I finally opened myself to the possibility of being with him after years of swerving him for one reason or another.

I'd made plans with Curt to help me move on the final day. He was to stay the night the night before the big move, to help me pack and clean up. And the following day, he was to help me load up the van and hit the road by noon. The only issue is that dude didn't show up the previous night. He pretty much disappeared the morning of my move. I had to call a couple of guy friends to help me at the last moment. And Curt finally appeared, after not answering my phone calls. At one point, I texted him "I'm really hurt and disappointed." I couldn't believe that not only was he playing me on my important move, he played me after chasing me for years. Damn homie. I give you a shot just for you to blow it the second I give you a chance? Really?!

I know what it was though. He didn't want to see me go. We'd spent the greater part of the last 5 years laughing over coffee, talking shit, flirting. Even leading up to my move, he came to my apartment and helped me feed ducks and another time shot off fire works with me. We were free, young lovers with old souls, bonding. And then he fucked it up.

He didn't want to see me go. So in his own way, he sabotaged it. I don't know where he is, but I have no desire to speak to him. But I know that he's sorry. Atlanta is pretty small, and there is no doubt that I'll see him again. And even if we speak, even if he utters the two words that have become too familiar, I'll never trust him again. Because I'm tired.

I'm tired of apologies. I'm sick of fucked up behavior being lodged in my direction, followed by attempts to act as though I was never wronged. I'm over emotionally underdeveloped men who believe that it is my birthright to carry their shit and allow them back with open arms the second they realize that they screwed over an amazing person.

I'm glad men are at least finally seeing my value and acknowledging that they fucked up royally once they lose me. Now if only someone could see the prize before them and act accordingly before he needs to utter those two words. Because once they're needed, there's no going back.

Coming and Going

Okay, so I'm not married. I'm single. Dare I say "super single" at this point. At one point, I'd considered Fred as a serious potential, and I don't want to bore anyone else with my back and forth with him, but it's over. Yes, AGAIN. I'm not going to go into the why's because it isn't important, but I'm living the single life and really enjoying it. And I never thought that I would be able to learn from my multiple dating experiences, but I'd say that I'm a pretty sharp cookie, this time around.

A few weeks back, I met a guy online and he seemed pretty nice. Unfortunately, I was going through some shit at the time and I kind of played him to the left. He faithfully texted me good morning at 7:30, checked in throughout the day, became a nice distraction from the world. As things settled down in my life, I finally agreed to meet with the guy, as it turned out that he lived only a single exit away from me. He was handsome, charming, funny, sweet. Okay Malika, this dude might just be a keeper!

I asked the guy about himself and he told me that he doesn't like answering questions. Red flag #1. I dealt with a guy a few years back who didn't like responding to questions and it made me far more cautious about men that are resistant to being open. I'm not going to go into the details on this dude, but shortly after we met, he wanted sex. I liked dude, but between the red flags and the fact that I'm not really desperate for male companionship, I told him no when he asked me to come over his house at 11pm for "kisses and cuddling" because I felt like it would lead to sex and I wasn't ready for that. Dude pretty much never contacted me after the following day.

I was disappointed, but I was also proud of myself. I stuck to my guns. And because I stuck to my guns rather than being wooed by his half ass attempts, I know for a fact that I saved myself a lot of bullshit with dude. Another red flag was him stating "whenever I have sex with emotional women, it always ends horribly." I heard that and the first thing in my mind was if all of these women are going nuts, you're obviously doing something to set them off. I knew to maintain my distance. And I did. And in the end, I was spared whatever bullshit he's done to many other women. Score one for Malika!

Now even though I'm finally learning to put into practice many of the things that I've learned about men and life overall, I'm still aware that as a non-married woman, I can only offer so much guidance and advice for certain things. So because of that, shit that I'd walk away for when first meeting a man, may be different once vows, mortgages and children are involved.

Enter the case of my friend, Akasha. She's been with her husband since her early 20s and there are several children between the two of them. She'd occasionally get on Facebook and talk about it being their anniversary or Father's day, and she'd lavish him with praises. Theirs always seemed like the kind of marriage/partnership that I'd been hoping for one day.

Lately, Akasha started to say that she felt her husband is a narcissist. Honestly, I thought she was just using the word wrong, so I never bothered to correct her. But then she started to say how her husband always has something negative to say about the things that she values and how he gets angry when things don't revolve around him. Again, certainly know how that goes. Yikes. Double yikes.

And then she really surprised me by telling me that after some issues, dude just up and left her and the kids in the house a few months back. She told me that she'd refused to call him to find out where he was. And then, out of no where, he returned a few days later, and resumed things as if he hadn't just walked out. My inner sista girl was thinking "oh no this nigga didn't!" but I knew to hold my tongue. I'm not married. Never been married. I'm a single mother, of one child almost out the nest, with a master's degree that allows me to job hop as often as I want. I can't (and shouldn't) go encouraging women to leave their husbands. My only advice to my friend was that she needs to establish a dollar amount that she'd need from him in order to keep the house afloat if he feels that he needs to stay gone.

She's currently battling some things and could use help with the kids while she works and deals with stuff, so the fact is that dude being in the home at the moment is a blessing. But I know she's not done. I know that moving forward, I can't encourage her to move one way or another. The only advice I could offer, was what I did, which is more about looking at your money in a worst case scenario. But if she is okay with him returning, that's her decision to make. If she wants him to move the hell out once she finishes up her projects at work, that's on her too. 

But looking at their situation did help me come to a conclusion about my own dating- I've let way too many men come and go in my life. Bro walked out like he was the shit, Mr. Big Man, and slid back into the house, like everything was okay. Again, I'm not judging. They got kids, history, and a mortgage. Sometimes, you do what you gotta do. That's also part of my refusal to have more children. I don't ever again want to be trapped in a bad relationship, all because we got crumb snatchers. If shit gets bad, I want to be able to leave, once it no longer makes me happy.

Their situation gave me a new rule to live by as it pertains to my relationships moving forward. Essentially, I'm gonna give a dude just ONE time to pack up and move out and return. That's right, you got just ONE time to get pissed off, pack yo' shit in the heat of the moment, and come back. That's your ONE. But if it happens a second time, I need you to remain wherever the hell you were. Don't get me wrong, it's one thing if we talk and mutually agree that one of us needs to leave the house for a cooling off period. That's fine. But that grabbing your bag in the middle of an argument and leaving? #Nah #Pass #YouTriedIt #WeDone

I'm not sure how Akasha plans to handle this and I feel that it isn't my place to put in her ear thoughts of making her husband stay gone. The only thing I can rightfully do is to encourage her to talk to her husband about how hurtful it was for him to just up and leave. But again, I'm not married. If she wants my professional advice as a therapist, that's one thing. But Malika as a homegirl? Yeah, I'm going to relegate myself to just listening. They have a lot between them to weigh. Things I (thankfully) don't have to consider.

I recall an exboyfriend from some years back. During a few disagreements, whenever we'd meet to discuss things, I could always see in his posture that he was somehow ready for a showdown and willing to bounce if things didn't go his way. Eventually, his goofy ass gave me an ultimatum and he lost. He should have known better. I heard on the streets that he was a crying mess after we broke up. Welp, shame on ya Black ass for trying to give me an ultimatum. If he was so ready to leave the relationship, he should have expected that I was even less vested than he was and even more ready to end it.

I don't know when the time will come for me to live with a romantic partner again. As it stands, it will probably be once my son is out of high school, not that I have any serious prospects. But either way, there won't be any of this coming and going shit that I stupidly allowed previously.

Physical and Mental Real Estate

I've been back in Atlanta for 3 weeks now. I'd originally planned to outline my move here on my blog, but as you all know, life comes at you fast. Typically, when I'm not in a good space, I don't write (except for when Pete died), so I just didn't have it in me. I'll probably talk about it in pieces here and there, but for now, I just won't. Don't get me wrong, L.A. was pretty dope, but there were other things that I had to contend with that were challenging. I'll leave it at that.

So anyway, when I got to L.A. a friend took mercy on me and allowed me to crash on her couch as I sought out housing. I anticipated being able to easily land an apartment in my price range, as I was making enough to live comfortably. The friend I lived with happened to live 1 hour away from my job. One hour there and one hour back. Which meant that I was spending 2 hours a day in my car. Not nearly as fun as it sounds. Eventually, I made the decision to get a hotel closer to the job.

It was then that I was able to spend time getting to know my new city. My last week in town, I grabbed some marijuana for a loved one who is currently battling cancer. And I figured, what the hell, may as well grab some edibles for myself, where I could legally enjoy it. And did I ever. A girlfriend and I spent one of my last nights there on the beach of Santa Monica, high as hell, staring at the moon and talking about life. It was incredible.

While there, my only thought of the future was finding immediate housing, and moving my beautiful son to the city with me. In Los Angeles, you don't really get the chance to forget that you are not one of the "haves" the way you can pretend in other cities. A coworker suggested that I get a condo in the city, and I balked. Shit, I was having a hard time getting a 2 bedroom apartment in Inglewood, how the hell was I supposed to get a condo?

Again, life kicked in, and it was time to bounce. My apartment search had proved fruitless, and school was starting back. I am also aware of the wolf that I had a child with, and I could tell that he was going to try to keep my child. I was angry, hurt, embarrassed, you name it. I was returning to the city I was tired of. But I didn't have time to think about that. I had to get back and set back up. The good about Atlanta is that it was pretty much always there. Or so I thought.

My plan was essentially to move on back, get some bullshit job to keep me afloat, get a cheap apartment, and regroup, with an intention of returning  to Los Angeles the very first chance I got. What I hadn't anticipated was that many of the same housing issues that I'd had in Los Angeles had followed me to my hometown of Atlanta. This goddamn eviction moratorium proved to be a blessing to some and curse to others. Particularly a curse to me. 

Los Angeles, which is already notoriously difficult to find housing in, has struggled even more under this stupid moratorium. Under it, people cannot be evicted for lack of paying rent. Resulting in many people sitting up and not paying rent. So fewer units are being flipped. So I moved cross country, ready to start my life, only to be further hindered by laws that are very short-sighted. I returned to Atlanta, only to be stopped again by the same fucking law. I've literally watched people in my hometown in the past go into an apartment leasing office and 2 days later be given a unit. I returned to Atlanta with roughly $4k in my pocket. I thought that getting an apartment and resuming business as usual would be a breeze, as it had always been in this city. But I was wrong.

I called apartment after apartment and was repeatedly told "we don't have any 2 bedroom apartments." How is this possible, I thought. Especially because I had cash in hand. Nope, apparently the rest of the world learned that Atlanta was the plug on cheap, available housing, so they came for the same reason that I came back. Ease. Only this influx of people took away the ease and created more difficulty for natives like myself.

I finally took to the mean streets of Facebook and asked if anyone had a plug on 2 bedroom apartments. Lo and behold, a classmate from CAU came through. I found an apartment, bigger and cheaper than my previous apartment. This also coincided with me finding a job as a pool monitor. Granted, the title isn't fancy, but it pays well until I would be able to land something in my field (which I just lucked up and did).

Anyway, as I slowly regroup (taking only a month to get back on my feet ain't bad, if I do say so myself), I've looked at the news about this moratorium and what it means long-term. I actually feel bad for some of the landlords. Don't get me wrong, a lot of these douchebags are just raising rent because they see an opportunity. Others are genuinely struggling with tenants who are just refusing to pay rent while struggling to maintain payments on their own homes.

As I straddle the line of what it all means, I've been looking at the real estate market (and how ridiculous things have been lately) only to discover that based on how things are looking, we may be looking at another housing bubble, and I'll be honest- I'm here for it! The last housing bust was roughly in 2008. Around that time, I was a new mother, struggling in countless ways. Some people had suggested that I buy a home, but both emotionally and financially, I was bound by things way bigger than myself. Truth is, had I even wanted that at the time, I was in no place mentally prepared for what that would entail.

I was in a highly toxic relationship with my son's father at the time, and I repeatedly suggested that we buy a home. He continued to shoot the idea down. I later learned that he bought a home close to the house where I grew up. I chuckled to myself, as he clearly thought this would destroy me, but the fact is that I wouldn't move back to that neighborhood if his life depended it on it. He bought a house similar to the one I grew up in. I saw his purchase as reverting to where I was in high school, not where I'm going as a grown woman. Yeah homie, enjoy my digs from 20 years ago, I'm moving on to bigger and better. It ain't hard to move into that neighborhood. There's nothing there that I want. It almost feels like the equivalent of buying leftovers of my childhood. Odd, but whatevs.

Anyway, I'm in a better space now. And I'm thankful for that. As I looked at apartments in Cali, I was surprised that landlords wanted people to have 700+ credit scores (for a crib in Inglewood for God's sake?!) and all these other credentials that I wasn't privy to. As I sped back to Atlanta, I swore to myself that when I returned, things would be different. My credit would be improved, and I've have the paperwork to show myself worthy of the listings I sought out. While in Denver, on my way back, I stumbled upon an article on Yahoo! about a 23-year-old woman who'd bought a business that seemed like a smart move. I took note and started looking up similar businesses in areas that I was interested in. As I drove on home, I continued to think about looking at my credit and making moves when I was settled. I also swore to myself that I'd finally obtain my LCSW (a social work license), making it easier for me to get a higher paying job in California or any other state I'd set my sights on. I already have my LMSW, but why not go for the gold while I can?

Now here I am. I move into my new apartment soon (so many thanks to the girlfriend that allowed myself and my son to crash with her, while I got it all back in line) and I start my new job in a few weeks. Another friend got me this good paying pool monitor job to allow me to make money until I'm back in my field. All of this happened in less than a month! Again, I'm beyond thankful.

Since I've been back, I've been paying more attention to my credit. I look at Credit Karma almost daily, obsessing about watching those numbers increase. I've started to pay down my credit cards, and have since even mutilated the last physical card that I did have, so that the temptation to use it for food and gas would be gone. I've seen my FICO score raise almost 70 points, although it is still below the goal that'd set for myself to achieve within the next 6 months. While doing nothing as a pool monitor, I've created budgets and crunched numbers to determine how long it will take me to pay down some accounts. If all goes well, I can have all of my extra stuff (including my car note) paid off within the next year. As angry as I was to be returning before, I hate to admit it, but the move has actually been good for me. Because had I not been forced to return, I wouldn't have started to look at my long-term financial health the way that I am now. It was a lesson that I needed and that I'm glad to receive.

As a woman who prides myself on being honest about my good and bad, I'll be honest. When I got back, I cried. A lot. I was angry. "It isn't fair!" I said to myself. It took a while, but I'd started to settle into my digs in California. I'd started to make friends, learned the freeways, established a routine, found the cutest little neighborhood by the beach I hope to move to, discovered a love for the occasional edibles, learned where the good shopping and neighborhoods were. Why did I have to leave?! I love my child immensely and I essentially left because with the eviction moratorium and the overall struggles with obtaining housing, I knew it wouldn't be fair to my son to live indefinitely in a motel or Airbnb. But I'd started to hang out with the other adults, who were either childless or their babies had grown and flown the nest. I partied late in the middle of Leimert Park, setting up my laptop in Sip & Sonder or Hot & Cool Cafe. But it had to end. Those last two weeks, when I was finally close to my job were the experience that I moved to Los Angeles for. And then, because I had to go be a mama, it was over.

My child turns 14 next month. Which means that for the next 3.5 years, his father is going to try to stick it to me over this stupid child support. Granted, its a decent amount, but not enough for him to tell everyone how that's all I care about. It's not like I'm balling out in Miami once a month on it. Ideally, I'd like to be in once place, allowing my son to flourish in high school. And I don't know where that will be. But I know that my ex will never get the opportunity to get that close to me again.

I returned to my ex trying to steal my child. Kind of emotional, I can't even get into it now. And for a brief moment, again, I thought to myself 'get the hell out of Atlanta, return to L.A. and continue living the good life.' I knew that I couldn't do that though. Leaving my child meant that my ex would continue to poison him against me, leaving my child to grow up as a miserable, woman-hating asshole, just like his father. And I love my child way too much to give up on him and let him become a monster, all because I wanted to drink margaritas on the beach. So I stayed, to fight for my son's mind and his heart.

And thankfully, my friends came together and helped me get him back. Quite frankly, when I returned, a small part of me wanted to hop back into my Honda, drive my ass right back to Los Angeles and leave it all behind again. Frankly, this was the bullshit that I'd left to begin with. The abuse. The lies. The blame. The pressure. It never ceases to amaze me that people are so hell bent on seeing me hurt. I'm human. There are one or two people who I could see wanting to destroy me. But the rest? Real talk? WHY?

I try not to harp on life not being fair. Even when I stomped like a spoiled child about how unfair it is that I had to return, I quickly countered to myself "Bitch, LIFE ain't fair!" as I've often reminded clients and friends. Sometimes, you just get a fucked up hand. And in spite of the fucked up circumstances I'm often given, I've done well, if I do say so myself. I obtained a master's degree, as a single mother, my child is happy and healthy, I love myself unconditioinally, I've traveled, made love to beautiful men, have the most bad ass group of friends a woman can ask for, I have a great sense of humor, and I'm a pretty pleasant person to be around. Yeah, I've done pretty good.

And while I've done a lot of work on myself to be a better person and be able to sleep well at night, I never marvel to wonder about the amount of people who wholly fixate on bringing me misery. I just really don't get that shit. Sometimes I think about the people (they know who they are) who continue to pop up and just be a general pain in the ass. Whether it be my ex, who tried to steal my child, as a dig at me, not even because he wanted him, only because he wanted to hurt me, which he did. The same dude that was practically begging me to go to counseling with him last year tried to steal my son this year and he can't seem to understand why his life is shit. I know that tacky ass bitch is still stalking me (yes bitch, you, I'm not even going to say your name, but you know who the fuck you are). My family still pops up to bring drama. And as I arrived back in Atlanta to face the bullshit again, all I could think to myself is that this is what I moved away from. And in L.A. I didn't encounter it. But the second I stepped back into Atlanta, the fuckery welcomed me with open arms. I hate it here.

Sometimes I think about that whole concept of letting someone occupy space in your head "rent free." I understand the concept, although I never prescribed it to others. But I understand whole heartedly what it means. That you're giving all of this emotional and mental space to another human being, when that person doesn't even deserve that space. And here I am. I often occupy space in people's heads, and I honestly don't get it. 

While I stopped in St. Louis, on my way back to Atlanta, I stopped by the arch and did a video. People tend to like my travel videos, but I don't get it. While doing my quick vid, I made the statement "I'm not that fascinating" and I meant it. I don't think I'm fascinating at all. All I do is live my life to the best of my ability. That's it. I do what makes me happy, while trying my damnedest not to impede upon the happiness and success of others. I cheer people on. Even though my ex has been abusive to me, when his dumb angry ass was sitting up with a broken heart last year, I tried to cheer him on. I was online the other day and a woman talked about a recent loss and how she's barely holding on, and I immediately inboxed her to offer words of encouragement. We ended up chatting for an hour and said that we'd like to meet up one day to get coffee.

I don't get the vitriol and negativity that comes from other people. I don't think about my ex. I was recently talking to a potential paramour and explained to him that I wish my ex would get married, have all the babies, and move on with is fucking life already. I wish toxic ass family members would stop contacting me, acting nice, and then being shitty when I tell them for the umpteenth time that we don't have shit to talk about. I'm clearly taking up real estate in these people's minds, and I wish that I wasn't. I'm not going to lie and tell you that I wish you healing, because I don't care that much. I wish you'd forget that I'm here. MOVE THE FUCK ON.

My goals in life entail purchasing a home with this credit that I'm already improving on, possibly purchasing a business, and moving back to Los Angeles, once the market dictates that it's right. My personal goals are about obtaining housing and peace, be it here, or on the other side of the continent. I don't know what other people's goals are, and I don't care, because that's not my business. But whoever you are, and where ever you are, the fact remains that I'm really not that fascinating. Time for you to put me out of your head and find something more worthwhile to put your energy into.

Los Angeles

So yeah, I did a thing. I made a move. Not just to a different side of town, but to a different side of the country, to a completely different coast. It was definitely time. 

I knew that I wanted out last year, when I returned from my cross country trip. I enjoyed seeing different areas, and the freedom that came with it. We were still in the thick of the pandemic, so I also got to see how various cities handled things. I saw Oklahoma City, where damned near no locals wore a mask (also where they suspect Herman Caine got the bug at a 45 rally) and California, where damned near everything except Target was shut down. It was a long, but beautiful trip. And just after I returned to Atlanta, it was in the news that the freaking hick of a governor, Brian Kemp, was planning to sue Atlanta's mayor, Keisha Lance Bottoms, over mask mandates. 

I don't know what it was, but that was it. I was outraged at how that gullible redneck could sue Atlanta's mayor, a Black woman, for mask mandates designed to keep people safe and save lives, after he'd just gotten back from a statewide tour where he encouraged people to wear masks. I was done. I didn't know how, but I knew that it was time to move and that Los Angeles would be it. At the time I was getting unemployment (that nice little chunk of $800 a week) and my plan was to continue to not work and save the unemployment, so that I could move at the beginning of 2021. But what I didn't anticipate was that TPTB would continue to drag their feet on extending the unemployment. By the end of August, I knew it was a wrap and I needed a new job.

I saw a job that was listed as a drug residential treatment facility, working with women. I didn't think I'd get it, but I did. I got the job! I was elated. I could finally use my personal experience to help women, much like myself, who'd struggled. Granted, I never had a drug problem, but I still knew what it was like to struggle emotionally. 

Things started out well. They liked me and I liked them. I felt comfortable among the crew. The clients and I got on famously and I felt welcomed among my peers. But in the new year of 2021, things started to shift. I'll be honest, I started slacking on my job. But I also got sick. I honestly thought I had the bug for a second. I had fevers, body aches, nausea, fatigue. And it wasn't just a flu bug either. My boss initially seemed sympathetic to my plight, but quickly it showed that she didn't really care. I was made to come in to work, because I had no positive COVID test, despite the fact that I felt like utter trash. When I returned, sick as heck, my boss was giving the silent treatment. There I am, propping myself up, having a 99.4° temperature. Then my boss laid into me pretty heavily in a staff meeting. What pissed me off the most was that I dragged my sick ass into work, just to be criticized in a group setting. Not cool. Then my boss made a few slick comments that were directed at me, although she declined to identify that she was talking to me. I went home and knew what time it was. 

I came back to work the following day, but this time I didn't take any fever reducers and I didn't take any cough drops. You want Malika sick at work, you got her. I'm not traditionally a woman that tries to get others sick, but here we go. I was coughing up a lung the whole time. Eventually my coworker went to my boss to basically say that I needed to go home. Pretty sure that my coworkers also didn't want me coughing all over them. And I looked like hell. My boss came to me immediately and pulled me out of the group I was in. She had the gall to ask "why didn't you tell me you were sick?" as if I hadn't literally sent her a picture of the fevered thermometer the day before. I was then released to go home. 

When I went home, I pondered over how I was treated while sick. Granted, my COVID tests came up negative, but that didn't negate the fact that whatever bug I had was definitely winning the battle. I decided to talk to my boss and to apologize for dropping the ball at work and to basically tell her that she'd hurt my feelings with her response to my sickness. And while we were in a better space after I'd owned that I dropped the ball, when I told her that I was hurt by her response, she pretty much responded with essentially "I'm sorry you feel that way." I again knew what time it was.

I just realized that I'm getting way too wordy about my previous job, so I'll move along. The pendulum continued to swing, with me feeling like things were coming together, and feeling like I hated my job. Around April, I decided that it was really time to start executing on a move. Which is kind of impressive, because I just realized that was only 2 months ago. I began to apply for jobs in the Los Angeles area. But I was frustrated to see that many of the jobs either didn't pay me what I felt I needed to make the move, they required me to speak Spanish, which I do not, or they required experience and qualifications that I do not have.

I applied for roughly 4+ jobs a day for about 3 weeks. Things were beginning to look hopeless. At that point, I started to look seriously at Las Vegas instead. The cost of living was lower, and if I couldn't be in L.A. or California, a 4 hour drive didn't seem so bad.

But then, out of nowhere, it happened! The call finally came. They wanted me! They liked me!! And most importantly, they paid my asking price!! It felt like a dream. Next up... start packing to move. After living in the same apartment for roughly 8 years, you'd probably not be surprised to learn that there is a lot of shit accumulated to declutter. 

And so dear reader, I've been stuck in this same place (working on this particular blog post) for literally months now. I'm going to leave this here and pick up later. Enjoy.

Honor Among Hoes

I announced recently that I'm going to be moving to Los Angeles in roughly *looks at watch* 2 days. I'm excited. So excited. But that's not what this post is about, so simmer down. Anyway, I'm making my rounds to my loved ones, in an attempt to spend time and make my last moments in town count. I'm visiting and taking pics with all of my friends and family, and eating at my favorite restaurants, in the middle of cleaning out my home as I get ready to move cross country (yay me!) and undergo a new adventure. Anyway, that's for a post for another day. Back to the story at hand.

I met with a good friend yesterday. Our sons are about the same age, and the woman (who is married) and I share a long, beautiful friendship. I essentially consider her and hers my family. There was, however, at one point another woman in the fold. I'll call her Sheryl. I've spent many a day with Sheryl, and her child, who she'd bring over, to play with me and my friend's boys. We'd all gather at my friend's home on holidays and birthdays. Sheryl brought her (then) boyfriend around and he and the guys would all hang downstairs and watch tv, as the ladies cackled upstairs and got wine drunk. It was a pretty nice vibe.

But one day, I noticed that Sheryl was no longer around. It wasn't like her to miss holidays and birthdays with all of us. I inquired about her absence, but no one seemed to have answers, so I let it go. One day, I inboxed Sheryl on social media and asked why she hadn't been around. She said that she felt abandoned by my friend for her lack of presence in her life during a some family turmoil. I encouraged her to keep trying, but she said that she was simply over it. Again, I let it go.

Last night, I met with the family and allowed my son to play with my friend's son and started saying my goodbyes. I begged my friend for a final night of girl talk and wine, just the two of us, as I've had some things to ponder for a while now. While her husband was away, and the boys were off doing whatever teenage boys do, I encouraged my friend to patch things up with Sheryl in my absence. My friend asked what Sheryl had told me. I try not to go relaying messages, but I informed her that Sheryl said that she'd felt abandoned by the family after the death of a loved one.

My friend made a face that let me know she wasn't buying it. That's when she laid it on me. My friend suspected Sheryl of either already sleeping with her husband, or plotting to do so. She talked about how one day the family ate with Sheryl and how every time my friend's husband needed something, Sheryl would jump up and grab it, before my friend even could. My friend felt flirty vibes coming off of Sheryl in how she talked to him and joked about hating him. My friend said that she is aware of what flirting looks like from Sheryl and that her women's intuition let her know that something in the milk wasn't clean.

Eventually, my friend asked her husband point blank "what's up with you and Sheryl?" The husband (obviously) denied anything but immediately after, Sheryl simply stopped coming around. That was it. My friend said that she'd tried to reach out several times, but Sheryl went radio silent. She said that later on, Sheryl messaged her about problems within her own family, but my friend wasn't buying it. The timing of her disappearance was just too obvious.

Yikes. Yikes and wow. I won't lie, I've had my own (stupid) indiscretions with 2 married men. The most recent was a good friend of mine. I'd always been attracted to him, but because he was married, I tried like hell to say no. I went for it anyway. Not something I'm proud of. But that was several years ago. Ever since then, I don't do it. I won't do it. I've had countless opportunities, but I resist them all. It's just too much energy and work. And the fact is that I love deep and I love hard. Giving my time, my heart, and my emotions to a man who isn't available like that just isn't a good idea for me. 

But in all my ratchet moments, there is one thing that I absolutely cannot and will not do. And that is, fucking a woman's man while pretending to be her friend. That's just not okay to me. As someone who has experienced so much from so many people, I've witnessed how much people will do as long as others aren't aware. Again, I've seen so many married men, whose wives would never suspect, that they are married to complete man whores. I've seen people hide drug habits, money problems, emotional issues, all kinds of stuff. Even more so since I started working in mental health. You'd be amazed at the secrets that people hide from their loved ones. So I've come to feel that we cannot control what others do when we are not around. Some of the happiest and strongest marriages that I know of contain regular amounts of adultery. I'd never say who (obviously), but it exists more than many of us care to realize or accept.  And perhaps that's why I'd become more accepting and non-judgmental about dalliances of others. In the words of Uncle Kracker, 

"As long as no one knows, then nobody can care." 

Do what you do homie, but keep it clean. But being in a woman's home and face while screwing her man is just wrong. I could never hold a woman while she's crying, laugh with her during her good moments, cheer her on, watch her kids, break bread with her, all the while, plotting on her husband. That's just not okay. And perhaps a woman with my history isn't one to judge, afterall, I've been honest  about my past.

Still though, I make it a point to maintain a respectful distance from my friends' husbands, because I just don't want or need static. A childhood friend of mine got married some years ago, and while she's not on Facebook, her husband is. He and I laugh and banter a lot on the open streets of Facebook, but no inboxing. The only phone calls have regarded actual business. I was once considering buying a house and I called her before I called her husband, to let her know that I wanted some real estate advice. She responded "Malika, you don't have to tell me or get my permission that you're about to talk to him." But I know. I know all too well. I know what an easily slippery slope that can become. So while I respect her complete trust in both me and her husband, I'm still painfully aware of not putting myself in a position to be tempted or have my motives questioned.

I hold my friendships in high regard. If you're my friend, you're not just my friend, you're my family. I've let countless people sleep on my couch, given money, rides, an ear, support. My homegirls are my absolute lifeline. Do what you do sis, but don't be messy with it. Don't get me wrong, I'm not in these streets telling women to go fuck married men. If nothing else, I warn against it. I know all too well about the stigma and the drama that comes with it. I pride myself on a peaceful life, and the last thing I ever want or need is a woman popping up at my house, coming to me "woman to woman", calling or texting my phone. My life is too blissful for all of that. So I decline to engage. But I'm also a realist.

I could write a million blogs, I could have countless conversations, I could tell my story a thousand times over, and the fact is that humans are going to do what they do. Adultery did not start with my birth and it will not end with my death. Humans are sexual creatures who are want to do what makes them feel good both emotionally and sexually. Some humans are just cleaner, smarter, and more honorable than others.

Do what you do sis. I can't stop you or judge you. But keep it clean.