Today I had an experience I will not soon forget. The level of trauma that I experienced was along lines I have never known before. I really don’t know if I will recover because I was severely disturbed by what occurred. I am not quite sure why this particular incident has managed to rock my core in the way that it has, but it has so bare with me.


What pray tell happened to me? Someone groped me in broad daylight in a parking lot.


I was minding my own business in my idyllic little neighborhood, which up until now was my own little Pleasantville, where everyone greets you with a smile and there is never a cloud in the sky, well at least up until today. I was leaving Smoothie King and walking to my car, when I sensed that someone was behind me. I turned to go down the aisle where my car was parked. I caught a glimpse out the corner of my eye of a ____ man following way to close behind me. I was startled so I jumped a bit. He obviously saw that I was nervous so he walked up, looked me dead in the eye, said “Excuse me Miss” and proceeded to brush his body up against mine while he grabbed my behind. I was totally caught off guard. Did he just grope me?!? All I could muster was a WTH! as he continued up the aisle made a right and then went to his car like nothing happened. I couldn’t believe this had happened in broad daylight in the middle of a parking lot. I was not a teenager in the library (scene of my first public groping), at a dimly lit club, or behaving in some type of provocative manner to elicit such behavior.  


What was even more puzzling was how I felt? This is not the first time I have been groped, nor will it probably be the last. I don’t like it, but it happens. However, in this particular instance I felt empty, defenseless, weak and very small. It was like I was striped naked standing in the parking lot trying desperately to cover my private parts. I could feel my face getting all hot and prickly which is generally what happens right before I break down into tears. As I fumbled for my keys so that I could get in my car I tried to pull myself together. I felt VIOLATED, but I didn’t know what to do. Do I scream? Do I call the police? What was I going to say to them? I just know I wanted this man locked up for feeling that he could touch me in such an inappropriate manner. A stranger.


I do not have a man, but I immediately called the closest thing to it. My Ace. The man no matter the hour, no matter the situation, no mater the cost has my back. After I relayed the story I realized that my rage didn’t derive from what had happened. Well it was maybe like 20% of the emotions that filled me, but 80% of it was due to the fact that this man was a different race. Why did the color of the individual make such a difference? Why did it impact the level of rage I had? I mean I have a decent little tush and it does receive attention, but generally from those who look like me. I don’t condone their behavior, it’s like a simple nuisance, like a fly that’s in the house that you shoo away. I am not going to lose sleep or call the police. This incident was different. It violated a much deeper place, I felt powerless, it made me feel more objectified and degraded than any video vixen in a rap video. That ____ man made me experience fear, intimidation, oppression and helplessness with one hand. I just don’t understand why?


Today I received an email from an old acquaintance. An old acquaintance that by unanimous decision was cut from the line-up. However, today I have an email from him in my inbox with no subject. It is not a forward and there is nothing to give me any indication of its contents. This is the kind of email that causes confusion. You know, the kind of email that your eyes immediately see when you open your mailbox. Then you think WTF!?!?! You are about to delete it when you pause and decide to wait til maybe after lunch to determine what to do with it. After lunch you look at it again, then suck your teeth, roll your eyes, sigh and decide to maybe look at it at the end of the day. You know that kind.


So at the end of the day I had an internal battle with myself about what to do. I was thinking this person was cut, for very good reasons, and therefore there is no reason to be intrigued by an email. Especially since this isn’t the first one I have received, but this one doesn’t have a subject, no greeting, no tagline, it’s just blank. I decided to delete it, but as soon as I did this I was digging it out of the trash. Once I restored it to my mailbox I was disgusted with myself. Why was the overwhelming urge to see what this individual fixed their fingers to type to me overcoming my better judgment not to read it? Why was I torturing myself trying to guess what foolishness it contained? Ah the agony as I went back and forth over whether I should open it.


Then it dawned on me that I decided that I was DONE when I decided to cut all forms of communication. It was so overdue. We were on our third try at being mature adults in handling one another, but for some reason we couldn’t quite get that right. So I decided the best thing for me was to leave him alone, no reason to knowledgeably inflict pain on myself. The ridiculousness that we were able to muster really reached new heights, it was sick yet satisfyingly amusing. This amusement was exactly why I wanted to open it. I wanted to see what he could possibly say now.

I neatly folded my better judgment, tucked it away and then opened the email. I was so underwhelmed by the contents. What?!?! One sentence.

I sent myself through internal turmoil over one sentence?!?

The sentence simply read “If you get this, will you give me a call please.”

I rolled my eyes so hard, it hurt and I was afraid they might get stuck.

Give him a call? He wants me to call him? Yes.

He wants me to give him a call.

He sent me an email asking me to call him, when he really could have just picked up the phone and called me instead of sending the email. When is enough already truly and really enough? When you receive a one sentence email, asking something absurd. Don’t test the waters with an email. Be a G and call me. I am so done. I have officially had enough.

Oh my goodness, is that a…..

I am a self confessed prude. I realize that I am not like most of my peers who are around the same age. However, even with my prudish ways I do not believe that it is acceptable to send body parts by text. In this age of myspace, facebook and blogs, you never know what might happen to it. I thought it might be funny to post the body parts I have received along with their names, HAha! Especially now that it seems I have become a magnet for the text flashers. 


My initiation into this strange new world of texting came thanks to a 23 year old. Leave it to the youngsters to usher in new innovations. Until this guy, I had never talked to someone who was younger than me. When one is bored it is amazing what one will entertain.  I mean what can a 23 year old do for me? I know NOW, send me dirty text, HAha!


Our first date was the sweetest. I thought I was 15 again. It was all kool-aid grins and rosey cheeks. We had great conversation and there was a comfort level that I generally don’t experience so quickly. I think I was less concerned about what I said and did because he was younger. Anyway, I guess we were both intrigued because we decided to hang out  several more times. The key is other than a few hugs there was no physical contact. I thought it was different, but not strange and it didn’t prepare me for what was yet to come.


So we were having a regular conversation about nothing in particular, making plans to see one another later in the evening. We got off the phone. Again the key is our conversation was G-rated. I was cool with it, he was just my speed. At least that’s what I thought.


That was until I received THE text that changed the way I looked at my phone from that point forward. I was reading when my phone vibrated. I picked it up and saw that I had a picture message from my new little friend. I opened it and squenched my eyes to help them focus. I pulled the screen closer so I could get a better view. What is that?  I looked at it curiously, when it suddenly dawned on me what I was looking at and my jaw dropped. WTF!?!?! Did he send me his….? Did he mean to send this to me? I was traumatized by the mere fact that I looked at it straight on without warning or without protective shades, but I was more disturbed by the fact that he thought it was appropriate to send it to me. I couldn’t figure out one good reason why he would send me such a thing. HAHA! Shouldn’t there be some parameters or maybe a preliminary warning before sending body parts by text?


I don’t think any body parts should be sent over text unless it’s of your spouse or maybe a significant other. I surely don’t think it’s appropriate to send it someone who has never seen it or even talked about it. I started to think maybe this was his way of bringing up the subject, since it hadn’t come up naturally. However, I didn’t know what the proper response was to such a text. Not wanting to be rude,  I decided the best way to handle it was to play dumb and just ignore it.


When is it ever appropriate to send a picture of a penis by text?


Put it out, please. This is a smoke free zone…

This is the conclusion to my three part series.


I have been experiencing post traumatic second hand-smoke syndrome. I decided that my new crush didn’t smoke. Since I got over myself, I decided to invite him over to spend some quality time. When he arrived he reeked of smoke. Ewww Yuck!!! I had already asked numerous times, so I was not going to go through the charade of asking him if he smoked yet again. However, this sent my brain into a overdrive, so I needed something distracting that didn’t involve talking. We decided to watch a movie.


Not a good idea. As I settled in under him, I was overcome by the smell of smoke. I inhaled smoke vapors every time he exhaled. It was so pungent that I had to move to the opposite side of the couch. I didn’t know what to do or say. I mean had we not already talked about this strange smoke smell on numerous occasions? The only thing I could pin him down on was an occasional cigar. So I just prayed and asked that the smoke smell be replaced by something more aromatically pleasing. If a person is smoking an occasional cigar should I be able to smell it weeks later? Damn that’s a strong cigar.


As I sat there, each breath made me more distraught and agitated. I wasn’t able to focus on the movie and I kept thinking either this man is lying to me or I am crazy. Both are bad, but I was hoping it wasn’t the latter. I couldn’t hold it in. So after the movie I decided to voice my suspicion once again. I didn’t know how to broach the subject, so I just blurted out,

“You smell like smoke! I keep smelling smoke and it’s driving me insane! I really think I’m losing it. Are you lying to me? Please tell me why I smell smoke.” I suddenly felt all hot and I thought I was going to cry.

He just stared, then he took of his glasses and spoke. “Well I have a confession. I DO smoke, but I’m trying to quit.” Then he kind of smirked, or it was like a coy smile.


The horror, the tragedy, the woe, the grief. I don’t believe I was actually prepared for the truth, my worst fears were literally being spoken before my very ears. What was worse was that he said it like it was a joke, something funny we could both chuckle at.


Uhm No! You make me think I need to go see a therapist and you think we are about to laugh about it. I was relieved to say the very least. No couches for me, at least no time soon. I was hurt that he had lied to me because where is the point in lying in the beginning. The hurt quickly turned to irritation. I was all excited about the possibilities of having someone in my life, and now I had to deal with the fact that he was dishonest with me. What else has he lied about, fudged the truth on, embellished. I would have much rather dealt with him smoking. We would have worked through that easily. Lying is a nasty habit, that doesn’t go away with 12 step programs. That’s a character flaw, it’s exhibited everywhere, but to varying degrees. You have to decide what degree you are best suited to handle. I know what I can handle. I can only take “of course I love all your friends and family they are the best and your farting aunt, we all have our ticks that just makes her more endearing.”  Little white lies is all I can do. So while he is all grins and little boy charm, you know the grin, the one that relays I know I got caught and I know I’m wrong but please forgive me because its not like I did anything too bad. I’m just quiet.


He actually proceeded to tell me it wasn’t a big deal and we could work through it. He wanted to quit, had been trying to quit, and didn’t think something this minor should impact us. He explained that he was hesitant to tell me he smoked after I initially asked, but had been dishonest when I first asked because he wasn’t sure how he felt about me so he didn’t feel compelled to tell the truth. He felt by admitting to the cigars he was fessing up. It all sounded so sincere, but I couldn’t help but to remember all of my anguish over the origin of the smoke smell. This made me chuckle, but he mis-interpreted my chuckle and obviously thought I was cool. So he said,

“I’m so glad we are good on this, sometimes women have a way of blowing things out of proportion. That’s why I like you. You are always so cool about stuff.” And then he had the nerve to start chuckling himself.

Since he had no clue why I was chuckling, this instantly made me even more irritated. If I was going to forgive him, this instantly disappeared after his first chuckle. I suddenly didn’t feel so smitten, the butterflies flittered one last time and then died a painful death in my stomach acid, I didn’t want to giggle I just wanted to grumble, my heart returned to its normal pace, my sigh became a yawn, the excitement turned to exhaustion, he no longer sparkled and glistened he actually looked dull and a little greasy in spots. It was starling to see him in this light. Who was this in my house? I had no clue.


What happens to a dream of a man deferred? Does it dry up like a raisin in the sun?

Yes, it shrivels into something unrecognizable.


Thank you Langston Hughes!