If you and your girlfriends have never had one of those covert black ops missions where you had to pull up on somebody’s person of interest, you haven’t lived or loved hard enough yet…. or maybe you just got a good dude, or maybe you think popping up is childish. Either way, feel free to live vicariously through me. I’m the mutha-effin pop-up/pull-up princess.
Anyways let me explain something, when you get to the point of: I’m about to show up at someone’s crib unannounced to catch someone you care about in a lie… you have already hit the bottom. Men will ask, “why do women do that?” I’ll tell you why, because women need to feel it to know that it’s real. If we don’t see it and experience it for ourselves, inner us can still trick our own minds into not accepting what it really is.
“Believe what you want to be true”
I went there so I could force myself to accept that any and everything this man had been telling me for the last 5 months was a lie. I also needed him to tell me the truth in front of the chick who he’d talked mad shit about up until this point; as recently as the Wednesday before I found out.
I wanted him to look me in my face and tell me the truth. For once.
Guys always say, “women can’t handle the truth.” Aye punk bitch -women bleed every month for days without dying, our bodies stretch and bend to birth you big headed knee grows who grow up to treat every vagina owner like she’s disposable like you didn’t come from one, and as if the physical isn’t enough — at work (especially in corporate AmeriKKKa) we carry the weight of the work while bigoted chauvinists get all the credit and we get paid less while doing it; and in addition to that, the ones we want most, constantly trade us in for women who only want to imitate the best parts of us but are not us. Don’t. tell. me. What I can’t handle B. We do this daily and make it look effortless.
That was a run on sentence like hell, but I had to get it out and now I’ll step off that soap box and back on to the one for this story.
So I get over there, the chick has been tipped off about my pursuit of pop up so she’s called her people… idgaf. I didn’t go there for her, I went there for me. And this is real growth, because in my past everybody would’ve caught this heat. Women commonly make the mistake of targeting the chick, but she’s never the real problem. Just as easily as it was girl A, it could’ve been girl B or girl C; hell if you’re dealing with a dude that’s trifling enough, you’ll end up throwing hands with the entire damn alphabet with nothing but charges to show for it.
I didn’t blame her… for that. I got other words, but imma try not to lose focus on another tangent. At the end of the day, he made the decision to deal with whomever.
So now we’re in the back room, she’s standing off to the side with an expression like somebody’s mama who has gotten called to the school for her kid acting up in the principal’s office. He’s sitting down slouched on the couch like he’s a child in trouble. Me? Well, I’m in standard angry black woman formation.
General consensus of the convo:
- Homegirl plays the “just friends” card, the I didn’t know y’all was blah blah blah, but at the end of the day we grown so if we wanna be more we will. — I expected that. The part that got me is when she said, “he’ll never take you seriously because of blah blah blah.”
Inner Me: Read this trick her whole life
- Him: You know this is basically my fault, I led you on, I don’t want to be with you/never wanted to be with you/ and never will.
And at that moment, I think my soul left my body for a second.
I couldn’t decide if this dude had really managed to keep up an act for 5 months for no reason or if he was putting on one right now to save his own ass from looking stupid. At that point it didn’t matter which was which.
I had a flash back to the early days when we first started talking (soul is still away from my body…) how I told him I didn’t want to get involved, how I pushed back every chance I got and he still kept pursing me… and now, in this moment, you re-nig on everything you’ve ever said, done or promised, on his brother’s grave… this is what’s up?
*soul returns to body*
You. Got Me. All the way. FUCKED. Up.
And to think, I really thought he wasn’t a fuck boy; turns out he was the fuck boy pack leader. On top of everything, after his grandstand the weekend before he had the nerve to text me on Valen-he-not-mine’s Day and then try to meet up last weekend. It’s okay fam, I know you’re really a good guy.
Special thanks to everyone who has been following my blog thus far, I have my first book coming out soon!