Three guys walk into a bar

Okay it wasn’t a bar, it was my life. All three of them different in their own way but all the same, each flipping my life on its axis and walking away fully intact. Every time seemed like a new journey but it wasn’t, I only had a new passenger.

But that’s what dating is I guess, a routine thing. We meet someone, we smile, we laugh, we stick around, or we move on in search of our next passenger. It always hurts but we also alway heal.

Anyways, the three guys… I won’t include their names, two of them encouraged me to start this blog and the third doesn’t know about it. In fact, the only three people who know about my blog are three of my ex-boyfriends, that doesn’t mean they read it but I would like to think they can at least keep this between us.

If you have read any of my previous posts then you have read about two of the three already, one a businessman and the other a sheriff.

The “businessman” is the one I met in fourth grade… asshole came in class spouting off the answers to every math problem Mrs. Davidson put on the projector like he was some big shot. Then he did the same thing back in December when him and that smile of his walked in my apartment, only this time he had all the right answers and the problems were mine.

He was the person I could literally tell anything to and he wouldn’t judge me. He would correct me if I was wrong and said “hell yea” when I did something right. Not that hillbilly kind of hell yea but the kind that said “good fucking idea”, it meant a lot and still does, or would.

He tought me about crypto, the stock market, and we would bounce ideas off one another on ways to make money. He was encouraging, comforting, and there was a chemistry between us I have never felt before. He felt good, he felt scary, he felt like forever. Then he decided he loved his ex.

He said we will be friends but he lied, everyone says that. The rekindling of their relationship had unforeseen insecurities and trust issues that restrict his ability to be friends with me. I want to say I understand but I don’t. Maybe it’s a maturity thing or my ability to separate business from pleasure but not everyone can, that part I understand.

Then there was the sheriff, complete the opposite of the business man but equally smart. His body, his mind, and kind heart are enough to make any woman want forever with him. But also someone I could tell everything to.

After months of talking to this man at night and him being there every time I needed someone I had him on this pedestal. And I didn’t realize how much I liked him until the businessman tried to come back in my life. Apparently the ex wasn’t what he thought but my feelings for the sheriff were more than what I felt back in December, so I said no.

He went back to his ex, again, I stayed with the sheriff, they both turned us down. Go figure.

Right when I realized how much I cared for the sheriff he realized how much he didn’t care to be around me. Something had clicked and no matter what I did, I couldn’t change it. He said we would still be friends but we all know how that goes…

If I could change anything though I would change it all to be able to actually be friends with both of them. Drink beers with the businessman and yell at our computer screens as we watched the numbers go up and down on the exchange.

Or to be able sit and talk to the sheriff all night even if it meant we would never meet. Having someone you can count on is so much better and meaningful than a temporary fling where the person can’t stand to look at you. If it ever becomes too much though, missing her, let me know and I will bring the cookie dough.

I don’t know that it is a good thing, how the heart can heal over and over again. Because it can break just as quickly and there are too many people in this world for us to love just one.

Seems pointless now to tell you about third.

image

Anonymous

Pearl

I logged on the other day to write this and first things first, I checked The Daily Prompt. I always check the prompts before blogging to see what the word of the day is and maybe scroll through my social media accounts to see what airdrops and bounty programs are popping off and hopefully dodge all of the bad ones. Who am I kidding though, I get lost in the drops and before I know it three hours have passed and I have entered into ten more bounty programs.

What’s worse than a bad habit? One that fuels itself. Mine is crypto and I am addicted to airdrops, bounty programs, and free cryptocurrency. My friend says I’m in too deep and there’s no chance of getting clean but he created me then left me here to go back to his ex.

Who doesn’t love free money though, am I right or am I right? Ha! And yes, I will post those links with my referral codes on my page. So do me a solid and use them, we will both benefit by getting free tokens.

Anyways, back to the topic. I was already having a difficult enough time with the subject I had originally planned to talk about. I guess because it’s something I feel so strongly about and so traumatized by but outraged at the same time because it is so openly ignored by the masses, by people I thought were friends, and by family I thought I could turn to in my dark times.

People act like it’s a burden to listen, it’s much harder to be the narrator of a story you wished to never write, much less be the victim.

Dominant” was the prompt word, ironic. I say ironic because my initial post was about rape, much easier to type than it is to say. Rape, no one likes to talk about it and no one likes to hear about it. The people who fanaticize about being ‘raped’ don’t even actually want it to happen, they just want to play a role. Kind of like the people who say they will be there for you but are only play a role and after a while they won’t answer because their role doesn’t involve helping their friend who has become a depressed rape victim. Whew, I mean who am I to be such an inconvenience to those who said they would always be there for me. I guess I missed the fine print clause that stated how it was only a role to be played during happy times in one’s life…

My rambling is only avoiding the original topic, a word that my lips still can’t form without the actual word itself shapeshifting before it exits my mouth. It always comes out as ‘he sexually assaulted me’ or ‘that thing he did’.

Now I’m kind of scrambling around, trying to find the right keys to form the words of what was going to be a blog on rape culture, how the justice system fails victims time after time, and my own assault case. See that, it even happens when I type. It is extremely hard trying to make a post out of something I can’t even vocalize and the people closest to me don’t want to hear. It’s not as hard to say it when the word culture follows. I guess it’s because when you say culture it pertains to everyone and not just what happened to you personally.

People act like it’s such a burden to listen, it’s much harder to be the narrator of a story you wished to never be the victim of. Like you could sit there and let me think you’re a good person and the whole time be tuning me out and not even listening. But I cannot escape the nightmares that come every night where it happens over and over.  The nightmares that keep me awake night after night.

He had the angel of death tattooed on his chest. At one point it was no longer him holding me down in the nightmares but the Angel of Death instead, hovering over my body. Both were so real, I hated sleeping. It has been a year and I still hate it.

Rape. It happens to more people than not so why do so many get away with it? It is one of the more traumatizing violent acts that can happen to a person but so many victims are ignored or silenced. We only have our bodies when we come into this world, what happens when that’s taken from us?

You have to punish people for the things they shouldn’t do or there’s no reason for people to stop doing those things. People are more fearful of it happening to them again than rapists are about what will happen when they get caught, if they even get caught.

What chance do you have of getting justice from a system that doesn’t listen to the victim’s pleas for help but instead trades Iraq war stories with the guy that assaulted you. What reason is there in giving the investigator the clothes he cut off of you in your sleep because you had said no two hours before that if they will never even be presented in a courtroom. What is the point in giving the police text messages where the guy from footwear admitted to what he did to you when he cut your clothes off if they never met the tips of a jury member’s hands.

I told him no and he didn’t listen. He said he did it because I didn’t know my place, that I was too strong. He told me he wanted to destroy something beautiful after months of looking me in my eyes and saying that he loved the way my mind worked in such beautiful ways. He didn’t deny what happened, that thing he did to me. He just forgot to include the part where I said no to his requests for sex a couple of hours before because we were then just friends and there to study for exams. He forgot to tell the investigator the part where he laughed after he was done, and the part where he told me to ‘get the fuck over it, that they are just clothes’ as he rolled over and turned his back to me and went to sleep. Rape must take a lot out of a person, he fell asleep fast.

They were not ‘just clothes’.

When he met with the investigator he told Daniel that I was ‘kinky’, which the investigator in turn shared with the DA that was in charge of presenting my case to the Grand Jury for prosecution. The DA said I must have made him think I wanted it to happen, that I must have asked for it in some way because of my ‘kinky’ desires. Silly me, I never knew the word ‘no’ had so many meanings.

Why is the statement of a rapist more valued than evidence from a rape? Why are victims punished and rapists victimized. I still can’t say the actual word and he’s still laughing about it.

This post is not meant to discourage or keep anyone from reaching out for help. It is instead meant to shed light on the cases that go unheard and the ones that are mishandled by the justice system.

There are people who will listen and resources out there that can help you.

National Sexual Assault Hotline (800.656.HOPE and online.rainn.org)

TIME’S UP

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Screen Shot 2018-01-27 at 7.27.52 PM

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There will be a #Bounty and other #Airdrops announced on the Bitcoin Token social media channels closer to time so be sure to follow the links below.

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Please remember that this is a blog post. This is not meant to be used as any form of advice on crypto investing or trading. These are opinions of my own, not advice. Before investing please do your research.

 

hesterspearl.wordpress.com 

https://en.gravatar.com/hesterspearl

 

What day is it again?

It’s never enough. No matter what you do there’s never enough time.

It’s like the older I get there’s seriously less time in the day. I get further into my education, there’s more homework, more pressure, more time focused on my studies when it’s needed elsewhere. I get further in my career but there’s more tasks to complete, more weight on my shoulders.

My kids move into the next grade level, there’s more homework and more after school dance rehearsals or sports to get to. Which also means more take out and less money, which leads to more late nights of my own homework and before I know it everything is piled up. Laundry, bills, unfinished tasks, messages and missed calls that never receive that response I meant to type or that call I forgot to make. Kind of like the blogs that never leave the boundaries of my mind only to be forgotten because I didn’t have time to write the moment the feeling hit me.

Sometimes I wonder what it’s like to co-parent. More now then before.

To be able to have that parenting partner I could ask to take the kids to a football practice or dance rehearsal so I can type that essay or study for that big final. I mean I know I’m not the only one but it’s lonely. Being the only parent. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not complaining nor am I looking for pity or pats on the back. I’m no damsel nor am I super woman. When I say it gets lonely I mean the nights that are longer than the days because I have so much to get done for the three of us. If I don’t no one will but there’s SO much to get done that I don’t know that o will ever get it all finished.

I don’t want to party or neglect my children in anyway, those two babies have taught me what it means to truly love another. I just want to read a book from beginning to end, maybe make it through a semester without stress crying, have someone that could pay attention to my kids or help them with homework when I can’t because I have to work or have a night class. I want to be able to take them on vacations and show them the world but we can’t. I want the partnership that some people have in a co-parenting relationship, someone to say “I got it” when I can’t.

I hate the nights that both of them have a rehearsal or practice and one has to outweigh the other because I can’t be at both. Then there’s that thing I hate even more than those nights, it’s the times when my children have all these activities they want to be a part of but I have to watch them cry and choose which one they want to do the most because mama’s a single parent/ college student/ self-employed person who just doesn’t have the time to devote to a relationship because like them I always have to choose and messages go without replies. It’s hard. It could be easier with that partnership but who the f**k has the time??

Just a thought… didn’t want it to get put in the pile.

They Say It’s Always Darkest Before the Dawn…

I’m not sure what I am writing this for really, not this post. I just feel a need to let my thoughts pour out onto these keys because no one can hear the shit that goes through another person’s head but some how typing this makes it feel possible. Like someone is listening to the thoughts I can’t form into words or ever really find the right moment in a conversation to bring them up.

We hit hour 124 last night and I felt the need to write laying next to him and I should have, but I dozed off only to wake up shaking. These nightmares are starting to piss me off. Seemed like I was for hours, so much can happen in a dream compared to reality but I was only asleep for a few minutes.

Right now there’s a page from the book I am reading that stuck out to me the first time I flipped through the pages. It’s the whole reason I was so eager to read the book. Danielewski must have been predicting my future thoughts or something because the first page of the intro cannot in any way be more perfect:

I still get nightmares.    In fact I get them so often I should be used to them by now.    I’m not.   No one ever really gets used to nightmares… I’m so tired.   Sleep’s been stalking me for too long to remember.   Inevitable I suppose.    Sadly though, I’m not looking forward to the prospect.   I say ‘sadly’ because there was a time when I actually enjoyed sleeping.   In fact I did it all the time.

-Mark Danielewski’s House of Leaves

Have you ever just been so lost and alone that you feel like you’ll never find your way back to the light, to that happiness you once had? The happiness that you took for granted because you never even realized that you were “happy”.  That kind of darkness even makes the stars look different. I’ve developed an appreciation for the nights where the moon seems blown up. Those nights where it’s so beautiful that it illuminates the sky and the darkness doesn’t seem quite so bad. I have spent countless nights looking at the sky hoping that I wasn’t alone in a way but also wishing that this feeling wasn’t caused by something that happens so frequently.

Then right when the darkness had consumed my life and I am getting used to living there, he shows up. The days had become filled with darkness and nights were now my days, I had adjusted my life to accommodate the dark. He makes me want to go back to my old ways, the “normal” ones. When your up at night like the ones who work third shift jobs it feels like a whole other world. It’s a different life style. You sleep during the day, for the most part, you live a night, and know a completely different set of people. The ones that live in the dark rather than light. Some by choice, some not, and others out of fear to what will happen if they succumb to it.

Two nights ago he asked me my favorite color. When I told him my favorite color is black we went back and forth, him trying to prove it’s not an actually color and me validating my choice. Funny if you think about it. How darkness has consumed my life the past 364 days to the point that even my favorite color is now black. Just another word for dark.

So he asked my second favorite…red. Two colors that are usually combined to instil fear in people or depict something bad. That’s not why I like them, I don’t know why really. But I asked his… green and brown.

I find humor and comfort in what might seem like such a small detail to some people because it’s just our favorite colors. But when juxtapose them a small detail can represent so much. They can represent fear and comfort, the known and unknown, light and dark, death and rebirth, dusk and dawn.

Today he asked to stop by after work, only different because it was during the day.  I was going to ask if something was wrong because he usually comes over after he puts his daughter to sleep. Plus I usually ask him to come over and hope that he will want to even though he’s just left a few hours before that.

He walked in with that smile that makes my body quiver. He handed me flowers and a bottle of sparkling grape juice for my kids. The flowers are red and black. 

It was the perfect surprise at the perfect time!

It was a 1000 times better than anything any man has ever done for me. Not just because it was a surprise but he paid attention. He listens when I talk. He put thought into it. I mean he went the extra mile to find flowers my favorite color and he also thought of my kids in the process. He is everything I have never had, exactly what I needed, and at the perfect time. This year that has been filled with nothing but pain and darkness  is finally almost over. He is the dawn.

 

 

 

 

They’re Always Watching

Sometimes I forget just how much my children are paying attention to everything I do. In the past eight years of being a single mom I have become painfully aware of a lot of the little things I do that will eventually add up to being huge factors in their lives. I am still new at this, some days I am horrible at it. It’s a learning process for all of us and they teach me just as much as I teach them.

Appearance, how we view ourselves, how we view others. I was a little asshole that tried way to hard to fit in during my younger years. I am still an asshole now, I just stopped trying to fit in. I was never much for judging people on their appearance though, my family was far from rich and I also grew up in a single parent house hold.

Looking back now I realize how hard my mom worked to give us the things we had. I am sure some days she wasn’t even able to stay above water, not quite drowning but fighting for those quick gasps of air every now and then. She did her best to hide it but I was always up her ass following her around, worried that she would cry if I left her alone. So I annoyed her instead that way she would be forced to smile when she came up for that quick gasp of air, she always did.

As a mom I get it, as her child I wish I would have been able to do more, want a lot less. I try to teach my kids the value of diversity. The beauty that comes with being around people from various parts of the world. The valuable wisdom that comes with being open to learning why people believe what they do instead of closed off to ones that don’t believe the same things as them. I try to teach them to respect another person’s religious practices, being open to the fact that not all are the same, and the fact that that’s okay. That some don’t have any rituals at all and that is okay too. The world’s beauty lies in the fact that we are all different.

The same diversity that I teach them to be so open to because of its overflowing beauty is the same thing will cause them to miss out on so many life chances because of how mean the world can be and its refusal to actually change into a beautiful, kind thing to be a part of.  That’s the part I don’t teach them. I don’t teach them how their beautiful skin will intimidate some people, the kind of people I teach them not to be. I shield them to that because I don’t want it to shape them into that kind of person. I don’t want them to see someone and determine a person’s worth before they have the chance to hear who the person is on the inside.

I don’t tell them that some children are taught differently than them. I can’t tell them that some parents teach their children the opposite and that they should judge a person from a far, sizing them up and basing their opinion on image instead of the goodness of their character and beauty of one’s soul. How sometimes it will be okay for them to date some people until their “one-way” lifestyle parents find out that they aren’t sun-kissed but are in fact bi-racial with a mother that is caucasian and a father that is african-american. I don’t teach them this because I don’t see a point putting a label on their beauty, a category label on them like so many people feel the need to do.

Some of you know what I mean, those random individuals from older generations, people you have never met a day in your life that walk up to you at Wal-Mart and say “Oh my word, what pretty children. What are they?” That question always confuses me.

I guess it confuses me because so many people have fought given everything to steer us away from race having such a negative impact on our everyday life that I can’t understand why strangers still feel okay walking up to us at the store and asking “what my children are”. Don’t do that, it’s rude. It’s never too early to start teaching them self-defense classes and you’ll be the practice dummy. Why can’t they just be beautiful children?

I just don’t see the point in defining a person by their skin tone. Embrace your heritage and learn from it but don’t let it define the person you become, some of us are better people because of it. Some people should not take trips to Wal-Mart with their parents and learn that it’s okay to ask random people what their children are like it’s the equivalent to asking which aisle the milk is on, it’s not. This blog is not about race issues exactly though. This is about image perception, how my children are learning to view themselves and the world around them. It’s about how the world is so hell-bent to separate us all into these categories.

I tell my kids equally that they are beautiful just as much as I tell them they are smart. God, they are both, I am truly lucky. They are beautiful, they are extremely intelligent with a hunger for knowledge that is never satisfied, and they are respectful. They don’t pick their nose in public or repeat the stuff that comes out of their mama’s foul ass mouth. I am young and it is a struggle trying to balance being a mom and no option of a co-parent lifestyle while also juggling school and work but I have amazing parents that have helped out tremendously when I couldn’t be there.

School is the biggest thing I have seen my children pick up on. It’s amazing, they place so much value on school work and even though they are only in first and second grade they are determined to go to college. To them school doesn’t stop when you graduate high-school. That’s just another stepping stone before they go off to college and mama leaves to travel the world because she will still be in her thirties. Heyyyy! I’m kidding I’m kidding, they know I will following them to whatever college their heart desires. Okay that was really a joke, I am catching the first flight to Italy.

A person can tell my kids that they are beautiful and handsome all day but to them it means so much more when you acknowledge how smart they are. I always make sure to say it too, whenever someone compliments their appearance. I always point out how hard they work in school and how they are so extraordinarily smart and that’s always the point when they look up and have a huge smile across their face. Image doesnt’ mean nearly as much to them as wisdom does and as their mother I am so grateful for that. That is what makes them truly beautiful and I hope they don’t allow the world to take that from them. Beauty is fun to look at but life’s true beauty is when you meet someone with a good soul and I hope they have the chance to encounter many in their lifetime.

I was almost lost…

2017… it almost killed me. I almost gave up. There’s two days left, we hit the 100 hour mark and I am happier than I have been all year. I have smiled more in the last 100 hours than I have all year. I haven’t slept anymore than I usually do but the hours have passed too fast where they once crept.

I have been riding that euphoric high a person gives you when your soul connects with another. A mix between finally returning home after a horrible trip and the feeling in your gut once the roller-coaster makes that huge drop after climbing to the top of the tracks. Breathtakingly beautiful yet horrifying.

But I almost didn’t get home, I almost gave up.

I didn’t think I would make it to see the end of the year but I kept getting back up for my children. This was the worst year of my life but I couldn’t leave them. I have seen what it does to the ones that are left. I started to see it in their eyes, the depression and horrible shit I had been shielding them from was starting to become noticeable. They started asking me if I was okay and giving me extra kisses at bedtime.

That might all seem normal but a mother knows when her child becomes aware of something you try so hard to protect them from. Sometimes it happens no matter how hard we try. The world tends to seep through the cracks, stealing a tiny portion of our innocence each time.

I don’t have a New Year’s resolution. I just want to have more better days in 2018. More days spent in the sunshine with my children, I have spent 2017 in the dark. It was a melancholy year.

I want to ride this roller-coaster as long as I can and not worry about the what-ifs. I want my shoulders to bend when the world creeps in so I can allow more stuff to roll off, the weight of her hands can be so heavy. I want to be happy again, I am envious of the person I once was, before 2017.

It’s Dark Down Here, Alice.

Why is it so wrong to want change in a world that is constantly screaming for us to be that generation that makes a difference? They expect so much from us. Want so much from us. Except when it comes to actually screaming back, then we are rebellious.

They like us better silenced.

There’s only two days left in this godforsaken year of 2017 and I for one can’t wait for the freak show to end. On a previous post I said I should have never climbed into that back seat, I still feel that way, but ever since that my life has been one face plant after another.

No matter how hard I fought back or clawed my way out to finally be able to stand back up, the ground would crumble again. Each time I would cry a little harder and sleep a little less, my depression was slowly killing me and people automatically thought drugs but no. Drugs would have numbed me, relieved the pain but I couldn’t. I felt every painful second of this abysmal year.

It started with the rape. That word. No one likes that word. I usually say I was assaulted or sexually assaulted but that was the first time I said the actual word, well typed it. You know what I mean.

When I went to the police I understood why 80% of rape victims do the opposite, they stay silent. Only 20% actually ever go seek the help of law enforcement. As I am sitting there recounting every horrible second of that morning out loud, it was 4:05 a.m. when he finished, the investigator was apathetically writing away on his notepad.

The investigator never asked me if I was okay, he only asked me two questions. When I was done replaying that morning, I use that word hatefully because the only emotion the investigator displayed was the part where me being a victim made his microscopic man parts stand at attention, for him he asked me if “he came in me”. The second question was immediately after that when he asked me to proofread his report on what I was “claiming” so he said.

Alleging“, they always say that when someone has the strength to seek justice for what has been taken from them. It is never fully focused on justice for the victim. It’s always a victim has “allegedly” been raped and the focus is finding a way of proving the perpetrator’s not guilty. The victims are made out to be the guilty ones and the rapists become the victims. How dare a woman speak out and seek justice, apparently you’re not really supposed to listen to those help advertisements or believe that you’re entitled to saying who or what can enter your vagina, silly me (if you don’t sense the sarcasm in that then please take the nearest exit).

I have been called dumb for reporting it. I also have been asked why I waited to do so, I didn’t want people to act the exact way they have towards me. I have been harassed and slut shamed. I lost my job and had to withdrawal from school because of that sociopathic asshole. I have been told by law enforcement and a number of lawyers that our justice system does not give a fuck about rape victims. I was even told that if I only had more money I could get the justice I deserved. Guess my pussy doesn’t sit high enough on the social ladder to deserve justice.

Only one person in law enforcement exhibited empathy when he acknowledged the lack of justice there is for rape victims. He has become a valuable friend to me even though we have never met face-to-face. My other friends can’t talk about this, they can’t relate or don’t want to hear about it, it’s too depressing for them. I don’t recall how our friendship started but I am thankful for it, more than I can ever express.

The nightmares haunt me. Every time I sleep I’m facedown on his mattress again looking at that clock until it hits 4:05. I stay awake so my kids don’t hear me crying for help in my sleep. I don’t stay at anyone’s house because I’ve had people wake me up in a panic, they didn’t know what was wrong, I would be crying and screaming for help but stuck in my nightmare the whole time unable to wake up.

So I don’t sleep and my friend in law enforcement works third shift, maybe that’s why we get along, all the late night talks and games through text messaging help us both stay awake. He is there at night, his name on my phone, when I need it the most. He lets me know I’m not alone. He tells me to seek justice, to make a change, a difference yet he is the ONLY one.

Why is it treated like such a crime to want justice for rape victims? It’s treated like to talk about it, like it’s worse than the actual crime that was commited.

Drug of Choice

Okay let’s be real, most of us have had more than one sexual experience. I mean we are human and humans are sexual beings.  Not to mention you have about the same chances of winning the lottery as you do of finding an adult that is still a virgin, and no, the odds are not in your favor.

 

SC_D08_02562a_R3
via ia.media-imdb.com

 

Different sexual experiences always result in different connections we can have to others or the lack of. No person will ever feel the same as the last. Either way you felt something! There’s different levels to this shit, man.

I am twenty-eight years old and last night I had my first feeling of intensity. Not in terms of an intense orgasm but an intense sensual connection. Just touching his skin and kissing him in the simplest way was the most euphoric feeling I have ever experienced. It was terrifying yet cosmic. I could use a hundred words to describe it but not a single one or a combination of them all would be able to appropriately describe the feeling I am trying to convey in my writing.

I met him in the fourth grade. He moved here from Memphis, TN. I was no longer the best math student in our class, I despised him. Even at that young elementary school age I admired his confidence and his desire to learn. He was the genius kid and is now by far the most intelligent man I have known. His thirst for knowledge is never quenched. Conversations are never dull with him. The only time we are at a loss for words is when that feeling hits, euphoria.

This man is confident in who he is, he has worked hard and knows his shit yet grounded and humble. He is the stranger that feels like home in a crowded room. He is charismatic yet approachable and always wears a smile that will become your favorite drug. He is the type of person that so easily locks eyes with you every time he speaks to you because even in that way he is equally confident and comforting.

We will say ten, that was the age when I saw that spiky haired math wiz for the first time. We were in Mrs. Davidson’s class and he was the new kid answering math questions faster than I could raise my hand. Last night, 18 years later, he came to my apartment to show me how to do a job that I am drowning, I mean training for. The math wiz went to college for numbers and stocks and I am currently getting my bachelor’s in English and after that Law School.

I realized that numbers weren’t my thing but he has always had a way of making them sound amazing. I need proof, facts, something I can show to support and argument, I am an English major. He understands stock markets, economy, transparency in terms of money. I am not even sure if that is how I should word that but says to forget the word cryptocurrency because it builds a wall between me and my ability to understand the world of digital money.

We made it 18 years without the first kiss or skin-to-skin contact. We made it through our awkward years, bad relationships, highschool graduation, hardships and becoming single parents. Out brothers were even best friends, they died a year apart almost to the day, might have been exactly a year. I don’t know for sure and I don’t ask questions because I know how it feels when people bring up my brother’s death. Point is, he has always been a part of my life in some way but last night was the fist time we actually touched. He has always been right there in front of me but I don’t think either one of us thought about actually trying until this year.

It’s like when you’re sick and you google the symptoms. The feeling was so intense that I had to pull out my Macbook today and research it to see if anyone else had felt it. I mean I could tell he did, I didn’t have to ask. If there could have been a visual to represent the connection the sparks would have burned a city down. There was sexual tension. His kiss makes my body shiver with passion. He’s the kind of drug you can’t quit, you go to rehab but your urge to feel that high again never subsides.

I have a thing where I ask people what their favorite book is or one they recommend. I always read whatever book it is because it can tell you a lot about someone. He sat down on my bed that first night, running his fingers over the stacks of books from various authors and completed college courses piled high against one wall in my room and asked me if I had ever read Mark Danielewski’s novel House of Leaves. I didn’t even have to ask for his recommendation, which is an amazing one by the way. He walked in the second night and laid the novel on my bed.

Bad at Love

Dating in 2017 has been the absolute worst experience. I told myself on January 1 that i needed to run, run fast in the other direction but I was like oh well fuck it and I was late to work twice that day because of him. Yes, twice but it wasn’t all his fault, it was like being in love for the first time all over again. I should have never climbed in that back seat.

Since that day, I have been to court numerous times, lost my job, been robbed by a “friend,” lost another job from going to court, homeless for a short time period, unemployed since June, one boyfriend “cat-fished” me and then proposed to his long-time girlfriend with my ring, and another one had more girlfriends than Hugh Hefner himself and a baby on the way. When I say he had one on the way I mean it is December 11, 2017, and she is due in less than two months.Not only that but she lives within walking distance of me!

I have managed to dog whistle every POS within a forty mile radius of me, just in 2017. Needless to say that isn’t everything, I have plenty of shitbag stories to share but I am just happy that they are only stories and those shit bags are all in the past. One good thing is that through all of the lies, the betrayal, and a few orgasms is that I am learning more about me and who I am.

So my advice and outlook from dating every type of guy out there except a good one is to know yourself. Knowing who you are is numero uno on the priority list. This will allow you to avoid the year of hazing I have been going through because instead of climbing in the back seat and being late for work twice you will have already ran far far away. To know yourself is to know what you’re looking for in a partner and what you want to stay away from. This will not only benefit you in your dating life but every aspect of your life from friendships to career path. So get to know YOU and get YOUR shit together, once you do that you will win him over, him being the one that will complete you power team, celebrate your accomplishments with you, love your flaws because he will love you down to your core, and wipe your tears but never be the cause of them.