New Year, New City, New Theme Song

This song has become my new theme for the up and coming New Year. It’s been my motivation. I wake up every morning jamming this joint…..Loving it!

Imma keep my head up, hold it high
Really did my best i know you tried
Even though it hurts i will survive
I’ll wipe my eyes, i’ll stay alive
Take a deep breath and count to 10
Today’s a new day i’ll start again,
Even though it hurts deep within
Imma survivor i will win

******

Imma be ok
I’ll survive, i’ll be fine, i wont cry no way
Dont you talk, i’ll move on, baby walk away

I hope ya’ll enjoy the video as much as I do!

It Only Hurts When I Breathe

So I am making the decision to stop writing about my personal, recent experiences with dating, relationships and sex. And here’s why: when The John Fiasco happened.. Eh, I fell apart for a second. And well, there are people reading who I didn’t want to know my inner most thoughts on the matter, John included.

It’s been a few weeks now since it all fell down (long story. I’ll tell it someday) Kewon was in my bedroom last night listening to me rant all around about how much I didn’t care about Jay. He paused me mid-sentence when he asked “so why then are you so angry that he won’t talk to you?” I rattled off some generic reasons and he stopped me again. He knows me too well. “No. Tell me why you’re mad.”

You ever look at someone and see the possibilities? Like I saw something in Jay that I could get behind, a cause I could rally for, maybe play the Michelle to his Barack someday, the Lady to his MacBeth. I dunno exactly why. I just saw the could-be. Didn’t want to change him, wanted to enhance him. Looked at his flaws and saw easy ways to positively channel his negative shit. His ish was familiar. I could deal with it. That doesn’t happen often. Last time was BIG.

So it didn’t work out. And because Jay is Jay and I am me, we had to have a long conversation about it. In fact, we had many long conversations about it. And the truth of the matter? He wasn’t ready to create a revolution with me. I’ve heard that before. And from other great guys. No matter how many times you hear it, it stings no less. And I get tired of hearing it too. When does someone great ever say “yah, it’s me and you against the world.” and really mean it. I thought Jay meant it. I believed with every fiber in me that he did; but he fooled me. It’s amazing how a man can just make up their mind over night, that you’re not worth the cause.

After he explained his thoughts, I thought maybe I’ve got this whole dating thing wrong. Maybe the purpose isn’t to meet great people and have great times and eventually pair off. Maybe its just great people and great times until it fizzles out and you just move on. There’s no commitment, no promised tomorrows or even hours later. Just the time you spend together and when you’re apart, you are just that.

I’m not okay with the latter, but I thought I could be. There was a second, just one, where I thought, well, maybe that’s better than nothing? And then I snapped out of it. I don’t know where that came from or what I deserve in life, but I know what I want is more than to share a man, or to have a man who doesn’t want to fight for me.

So I bowed out, gracefully, I think. And yes, it hurt, shit it still hurts.. And in the moment, I thought about Mr. BIG. And I remembered how bad walking away from that hurt. And I remembered that I can get over anything if I can get over that. (Cue Kanye’s “Stronger” or Gloria Gaynor’s “I Will Survive” now.) This might hurt, but nothing will ever hurt like that.

After I argued with Jay for the third time that night; I decided to go out on the town. All day, I’d planned on staying in after the horrid day I was having (flurries of emails seems to be the standard M.O. in his world), but suddenly I didn’t want to be alone. Kewon was going to a Founder’s Day party (then another club) with my friends even if I didn’t go.

I dressed in my best and we hit the party, then a club. At the second spot, I run into an old friend, the guy from Queens who said the equivalent of “Reagan, I adore you. I only want to be your friend.” We’re cool now though. We dance, we laugh. At some point later in the evening and in the middle of the club at 2AM, I ask him to tell me why we didn’t work.

“You want to talk about that now?” He looks confused.

“Yes,” I declare. “Now.”

He takes a moment to formulate his thoughts. “Reagab, I think you’re great,” he begins. “But..”

I burst into tears. You know how you can usually feel them coming? Can take a moment to steady yourself or at least prepare for the onslaught? No time.

I cover my mouth, fully aware of the recklessness I am displaying in public, but I can’t stop. While sobbing, I try to tell Kewon that I am going home, that he should stay and enjoy the party, but he’ll hear none of it, of course. He tells the crew that we are leaving and DonQ tells him, frankly, he’s surprised that I lasted this long. They all knew how bad off I was over this blow up and saw the downward spiral I was destined to take when I ran into Queens. Evidently, I was the only one who expected me to make it through the night without an emotional outburst.

Kewon is holding my purse as he’s walking with me to the car. I’ve got one hand over my mouth trying to hold back sobs and hide my tears, and the other over my face, trying not to die of shame. I’m a real pathetic sight.

DonQ exits the club to check on us and immediately commandeers the situation, by telling me that everything isn’t for everyone. Through tears, I apologize to Kewon the whole way back for ruining his night, which he shrugs off.

“You’re a girl, you get emotional.”

My inner feminist is too upset to correct his sterotype. “But I don’t cry,” I remind him as I wipe away more tears with the sleeve of my dress.

He pulls me onto his shoulder. “Yes, I ‘know.

I Think I’m Becoming A Pessimist

I think I’m going through a bit of a self-absorbed moment. Or maybe I’m lonely? I dunno. I read a great blog post recently about an amazing woman that my friend had encountered. It was a long story of like, love, and loss– how they met, what he felt, what wasn’t in return. I know the woman who inspired the post and yes, she’s as wondrous as he said in 2000 words. She’s a pretty woman, but who isn’t in this city? Her “selling point” is she’s got an inner glow like she’s beaming gold happiness (my theory on what was in the briefcase in Pulp Fiction) every time she opens her mouth. That’s a rare find past the age of 10, especially in the QC.

His post is just another in a long list of male declarations and acts of feeling that I’ve witnessed lately. And I wonder what these women are doing to bring out the inner-romantic and gentlemen in my male friends? And like how the f*ck do I inspire it? Can I? Is this like one of those rare traits like dimples that are only given to a privileged few?

Having all this insight into the male mind is a gift and curse. Like I know what men do when they’re interested, so I can’t entertain anyone who comes through half-assed. My tolerance for anyone less than fully smitten is nil.

Next topic.

I’ve cancelled two dates in the past week because… well, frankly I just didn’t feel like going. I’m tired of meeting new people. Like we’ll sit at some restaurant I’ve likely been to before and we’ll talk about all the same things I’ve talked to a hundred other people about. At best, maybe they’ll get “me” and I’ll get “him” and we’ll have a second date that’s just like a hundred second dates that I’ve been on before.

I had this idea for a short film once. It started with a suitor sitting on the left side of my couch. (They all sit on the left.) It’s his first visit to my home so I’m unfailingly polite. I ask if he wants something to drink; he asks “what do you have?” I run off a list of juices (I don’t drink soda). He picks one. I go to the kitchen, select his choice from the fridge (Everyone always asks for orange juice!) I return with his drink, hand it to him in a bar glass. Cut to the next scene. A new suitor, the exact same scenario and the guy looks exactly the same as the last one. I’m wearing the same outfit. After I ask what he wants to drink and answer his query with a list of options and he picks orange juice, the film fades to black. The End.

I will marry the first man who sits on the right and asks for apple or cranberry or grapefruit.

Next topic.

My favorite episode of Sex and the City is Splat! It’s the one where the chick says “I’m so bored I could die” and then accidently falls out of the window. The whole episode is about explaining the appeal of The Russian for Carrie. He’s not The One (what the hell is The One? A penis-possessing Messiah sent to relieve single women of their boredom?) but he’s an option in a world where choices seem to have ceased existence. Carrie could stay on her single path and risk becoming The Vogue Editrix—50 and desperate. Or maybe she could be the pathetic, partied too-hard, too long chick that falls out the window. With options like that, who wouldn’t choose a possibility with Mr. Just Okay?

Are these the choices women are left with if they don’t settle down early or worse, just settle?

Next topic.

I’m not one who make believes
I know that leaves are green
They only turn to brown when autumn comes around
I know just what I say
Today’s not yesterday
And all things have an ending
But what I’d like to know
Is could a place like this exist so beautiful
Or do we have to find our wings and fly away
To the vision in our mind?

-Stevie Wonder “Visions”

Next topic.

I think I’m becoming a pessimist.