Happy Valentine’s Day!

If you follow me on Twitter, then you probably saw my tweets announcing my Valentine’s Day Blog Series: Two Tales of Woe and One That Rocked.
On this Valentine’s Day, the final installment, also with a twist. See, this one actually ties into the end of last week’s tale. Remember that abbreviated version of “I Got Dumped 4 Days After V-Day”? Well, this sprang from that. You’ll see.
Enjoy!

The Friday before a Valentine’s Day weekend. It’s a HUGE day for deliveries. Flowers, candy, telegrams, strippers… whatever you’re sending your Valentine, THIS is the day to get it to their office or miss the chance for you/them to show off in front of their lonely coworkers.  How much fun will a day centered around appreciating your beloved be if you’re not crushing the hearts of those around them and making that frumpy ole receptionist jealous? Wait, what? See? Exactly.

So as I sat in my office on that particular Friday, I knew to expect a huge display from my rather image conscious beau.  We were a long distance relationship, and the pressure to maintain a presence even when not physically present can be great. I felt it too, being a bit of a hopeless romantic myself. Just days before, I shredded pink and red paper to stuff a small box that was headed to his city, carrying several PS3 games I knew he wanted, and a card with handwritten “I love you across the miles - don’t even LOOK at no triflin heauxs, because I will shoot your ass” sentiments. (Yes, PS3 games. Romance and gifting are meant to suit the individuals involved. If you’re giving your man chocolate rather than the cigar/hunting rifle/video game he really wants, you suck.)

Sure enough, the display came. The most beautiful arrangement of roses I had ever seen arrived in a (the upgraded checkbox option) red glass vase, with a(nother checkbox option upgrade) box of chocolates and a card, expressing sentiments equal to mine. He mentioned how blessed he was to have me in his life and expressed thanks for what we have.  I was thrilled. Beyond thrilled even!

You see, prior to that, well, let’s just say I hadn’t had such good experiences with Valentine’s Day. ::glances at Valentine’s Tale of Woe number one:: ::shudders:: As I mentioned before, I’m a bit of a romantic. I love Valentine’s Day and the sentiment it honors! It just didn’t love me back. Valentine’s Day and I treated each other like rival high school girls: she was really popular and didn’t see me in the hallways, let alone could I hope to sit at her table at lunch. I understood. We each just pretended the other didn’t exist. It was easier that way.

Finally, Valentine’s Day and I were friends! Someone shared my sentiment equally and no longer was I doing nice things for someone and shrugging off their lack of enthusiasm, but instead, was feeling that feeling I had previously created for others. I was on cloud 9. (It had happened once before actually, but he only sent roses because he was cheating on me…and the other girl got the same arrangement and note too…but I digress…)

The one thing that stinks about a Valentine’s Day Friday? Carrying that vase of flowers home. LAWD did it suck! But I did it happily. And when my son saw it, he asked “Wow, Mama, where’d that come from?” So I told him. He and my beau had a good relationship. We were talking marriage and they got on so well – everything was finally coming together!

The next day was a snowy one. I refused to go a single place. Snowy Saturdays were made for my couch! Even the dog looked out the window and covered her face. But my son wouldn’t be still. “I’ve got to do something. But you can’t come. Can I call Dad to take me somewhere real quick?” he pleaded. I frowned. “What on earth could you have to do? You don’t have a job, pay no bills in this house, and don’t have a car to shovel out – sitcho ass down before you track snow on my floors,” I asked. He wouldn’t tell. Then it dawned on me. He must want to get a Valentine card for a girl in school. He’s getting to the age where he wouldn’t want to share that with mom, right? I mean, it’s just not cool. That’s a Dad moment. I agreed, and soon he and Dad were off.

I figured I had about a good hour to myself. Laundry? Dishes? Finally unpack from my previous trip to “his” city? Ten minutes later, I heard my son coming through the door. There went my “me time”!

I turned around to ask what he forgot and why he was back so soon…and stopped dead in my tracks…the words caught in my throat.

There was my son, holding up a bouquet of my favourite flowers, mixed with red roses, and a huge smile on his snowflake flecked face.

“Happy Valentine’s Day, mama! I’m a day early!” And he was indeed. I was in absolute tears as I smiled and hugged him tightly. There had been no little girl to impress, no secret Valentine to pick out. It was me.

“You really like them mama?” he asked as I put them in a silver vase. I responded, “I LOVE them honey!” And I did. He had gotten it right. SO right. No man had ever remembered that I don’t actually love roses, except in my garden, but instead prefer Casablanca lilies – my son did though. I was so surprised! It’s not like I ever SAID it to him. He just SAW.

I asked what made him go all out. He glanced over at the arrangement from my beau and told me a tale. Seems as we went about errands on Friday evening, he saw the bouquet at a local produce store and made note where to come back to, knowing that he couldn’t buy them in front of me.  My beau had gotten roses and he didn’t want to do that too, since he knows they’re not even my favourite. He had hoped for *just* lilies, but settled for ones mixed with roses, since EVERYTHING had roses for Valentine’s Day. He hoped I wasn’t disappointed.

I hugged him even closer. “Sweetie, I’m so touched that you went to all that plotting to get me flowers and make me smile. You remembered details! But you know what? You don’t have to spend your hard earned allowance money to make me smile and feel special with flowers. They jack up the prices this time of year JUST because they know men will buy them to impress ladies. You don’t need to impress me and spend big money, baby. HE DOES. He needs to show and convince me why he should be my choice as Valentine every day for the rest of my life… But you? You’re my Forever Valentine. Done deal.”

As you know from the end of my last entry, 4 days later, Mr. Big Show was gone, having done an abrupt about-face. But my Forever Valentine? That’s who my son was this morning. And every February 14th to come for the rest of my life. My Forever Valentine.

If you follow me on Twitter, then you probably saw my tweets announcing my Valentine’s Day Blog Series: Two Tales of Woe and One That Rocked.
This week, the second installment, but with a twist. Though my posts usually refer solely to romantic relationships, this one has elements of both. I was ready and prepared with my love-gone-awry tale when…well…you’ll see.
Without further adieu, I present “A(nother) Valentine’s Tale of Woe: Today I Got Dumped, And Other Fine Stories”.  Enjoy!

Readers…today…I got dumped. A relationship was brought to a crashing end. Via Facebook message, no less. Write it down. February 8, 2012. Add it to the list, but mark it with a star. This one was more painful than most previous experiences. You see, this one…was by a friend.

I was all set with today’s post, when I saw a new Facebook message circle thingy in my browser window. I clicked to find a short note from a good friend in another city, explaining that to preserve his current relationship, I had to go. Apparently, his girlfriend intercepted rifled through his emails and found old exchanges between us that made her uncomfortable, leading to this decision. (And no, not THOSE kind of email exchanges…get your mind out of the gutter! Where do I get you people from…) He hopes I understand that this is what his relationship needs, since I went through that too with an ex, and wishes my son and I well. Done.

I was kinda floored. We’ve been friends for 7 years, with a small dating attempt in the first month of that, and solid friendship since. We’d seen each other through break ups, kid issues (we’re both parents, though his daughter is now grown with two kids of her own), feuding family sagas, new jobs, etc etc. He and his daughter have been guests at my home, and even my coworkers and family know him. And a few lines on a social networking program ends it. ::shrugs:: I guess.

But lets backtrack.

Two weeks ago, I had dropped him a note to say ‘hello’ and see what’s new. Then I noticed he was no longer on my Facebook friends list. This didn’t really trouble me, because his profile had been active/deactivated many times in the endless, temperamental ”do I really wanna be here?” quandary of social networking. I shot over my note…and then noticed he’s also not on my Twitter feed anymore…(but that my baby sister and a coworker are still his Facebook friends?)…and he’s not in my Gchat list. Um…this isn’t a Facebook glitch. This is personal. I flat out asked, “Hey, did we have a huge row I forgot to show up for? I hate when I do that. LOL”.  And time went by. With no answer from my friend. I figured I had my answer and said as much. “Ok. Well, be well,” I sent back.

Fast forward to today’s missive, that starts off with “Sorry, love. I did mean to respond to this.” I guess. But when you’re busy changing passwords, adding diary padlocks and hiding pictures, I suppose things fall by the wayside.  The irony of this, is that they’ve been together for years, I’ve never been a secret, and many times asked to host them both when next they’re in the city. (They don’t actually really make it into town often.) I’ve also been an advocate for their relationship, for her view when he comes to me for advice or a vent session or during one of their ”we just broke up” months, and for him growing up in general. Though at a distance, I can say I was a friend to both.  Such is life though, right?  Meh…

I do know this much. He was right. I did go through something similar. A now-ex once protested a few of my closer male friends. He wanted them out of my inbox, off my Facebook page, and blocked from my Twitter feed. My cell phone and actual eyesight? HA! Don’t even bother asking. But I handled it completely differently.

See, my ex and I were contemplating marriage. But any man I marry has to be able to trust me and trust my judgment beyond his own insecurities, or we simply aren’t suited.  No one dictates who I can actually be friends with, and certainly not when the party they seek to oust has truly been a friend. Real ones are hard to find. Good marriages are too, but if your partner starts off dictating your friendships, you clearly aren’t on your way to one anyway.  And though the man I was with did eventually become an ex, he respected my loyalty and defense of those who were in my circle, and never raised the issue again.

I’ve never asked my man to ditch his female friends, nor have I caved to the one request I ever got. My circle is small, but true.  This isn’t the first time one of my male friends has ended a friendship at the behest of a girlfriend. What has happened each time is that when the girl is gone, and these insecure women do go, he’s back.  Apologizing, and asking to meet one of my girlfriends or be invited to my next event.  While I wish this latest dude the best, I don’t know that there’ll be room at my table in the future.  And so ends my tale.

Oh, wait. I promised “other stories”.

Ok, so, what happened with that ex who asked me to ixnay the alemay iendsfray? The heavily edited version: he sent me this giant bouquet of 2 dozen gorgeous roses in an expensive vase, a box of chocolates and a touching Valentine’s Day note explaining how lucky and thankful he was to have me, how blessed our love is, and blah blah blah… then promptly dumped me 4 days later. The reason? “We don’t want the same things. We have nothing in common.” Welp, and so ended the marriage talk he had started!

O_O

I know. I did it to you again. I took a hiatus. I’ll fill you in on what the hell I’ve been doing in another post. BUT…while I was away…I see what YOU’VE been doing. You’ve been being an Internet Douche. On The Twidda, on Facebook, and especially on the Douche Tool De Jour: Instagram. And I don’t like it. Not. One. Bit.

So I want you to raise your kissy-face-picture-taking hand and take this pledge. Say it out loud, say it strong and proud!

1) I will stop doing single-outfit-bedroom/bathroom-sink-photoshoots for Facebook/Instagram/Twitter, etc. I realize that ten pics of me wearing the same clothes, at the same dirty sink, with the same face and only slightly different “eyebrow faces” are not believable as “random candids”, no matter what insightful hipster captions I may write beneath them.  I understand that I look desperate for attention, vain, or both.

Instagram Douche Example

2) In 2012, I will cease to use the terms “zoo” or “movie” to refer to an evening of hoodrat shit with my friends.  I understand that popping a few 40s and doing our best “thug poses” for the camera wouldn’t qualify for those terms at any rate, and under no circumstances will I use the nonsensical word “zoovie”. My Ciroc fantasies  are simply not that epic. I hereby throw “zoo”, “movie”, and “zoovie” in the trash…and toss “swagu” in with it. If something’s dripping from me, it’s most likely not a slang pasta sauce derivative.

3a) Ladies:  This year, I will find a new pose. I acknowledge that the skeptical half-mouth trout pout only makes me look like a sarcastic fish. I realize this isn’t attractive, let alone to be done in all my pictures.

Sarcastic Trout - requisite middle finger included...

3b) Guys: This year, I’m retiring the strange “point-at-dude-next-to-me” pose.  It’s not clear to me that two guys, standing side by side pointing at each other is…well…pointless. Ditto this for the sunglasses in the club poses and the 6-dudes-smiling-with-one-bottle pics.

4) I will stop bragging about my drink choices, especially if they came from rhyme-necessitated phrasing in urban music. I further understand that “Marvin Gaye and Chardonnay” is not a drink. Unlike a “Bartles and James”, I cannot buy a six-pack at 7-11 and bring it somewhere.

and finally…

5) I vow to learn the difference between “slander” and “libel” by reading their definitions somewhere other than Twitter.

Actually, let me help you with that last one:

slander: Law . defamation by oral utterance rather than by writing,pictures, etc.

libel:  Law . a. defamation by written or printed words, pictures, or in any form other than by spoken words or gestures.

b. the act or crime of publishing it.

Meh…what am I saying…You read me, but you ain’t HEAR me though… {See what I did there? }

*Photo edits courtesy C.J. Figgs because I’m lazy as hell today…

“If you have to announce that you’re shutting the fuck up, then you’ve completely missed the point of shutting the fuck up.”

- My Lawyer to Me, early 2011

The nerve, right?! I mean, how dare he!  And the worst part? He’s right.

Absolutely correct. Shutting the fuck up, and knowing when it’s time to, is something you just DO, you don’t further discuss.

But I didn’t always see it that way. Quite frankly, a lot of women don’t…till we have reason to…and then it just might be too late.

Let’s flashback to 2005. I had undergone a pretty bad break-up when my mother said to me, “Eva, he wasn’t strong enough for you anyway. You won every disagreement. You need someone who can tell you to shut the fuck up.” (Yes, that’s what my mother said it me. My lawyer, my mother…people are gonna need to learn some damn respect round these parts!  SMH…)

I railed, “WHAT?! If a man told me to shut the fuck up blah blah blah…”

She clarified, “No, that’s not what I literally meant. A man who loves you won’t talk to you that way and I know you wouldn’t take it. I mean you need a man that when you bark like a big dog, he barks back loud enough to turn your big bark into a little YIPE…and you respect him enough to actually stop and SHUT THE FUCK UP. He also needs to know when to just tune your ass out.“

O_O Ohhhhhhhhh…

See, now she had a point. And I agreed with it. If I don’t respect you, I’m very likely to steamroll you. It won’t be on purpose, and I might even be very sorry afterward. But once I’ve steamrolled you, there’s no turning back.  Respect is key. ::shrugs::

That respect factor ties in to two other issues:

1) Let’s say we have a problem to solve. I don’t care who owns the best idea, so long as it’s the one we go with. Do I have faith that you know what you’re talking about and are correct? Or do I think you’re spouting off to seem like you do, at my cost or whoever else’s cost? Is your ego the first priority and everyone else collateral damage? If I’m just going to have to come behind you and do it over anyway, I’ll just show you why you’re wrong now. If your idea is better, show me by doing it right. You’re not automatically right just because you say you are and have a penis. (Sidenote: proper use of said penis might, however, buy my silence as I go do this task over. Oh, I’ll grumble about it, but not loud enough for you to hear. Quid pro quo… See also: dickmatization.)

2) The “Ah-HA!” moment of being right is powerful stuff – especially when you’re on the “Oh! I Was Wrong” end of it.  It can be diminishing for a man to be wrong on a subject his lady really does know more about.  It’s a delicate moment that can go horribly awry if he decides to grandstand and try to look right on principle. Yes, those guys DO exist. I dated one once. He was wrong… A LOT. So, I told him…A LOT! In front of whoever was around…which only made it worse.  But my whole thing is, if you were wrong and insist you’re right, past the point of logic, and as a show, then you put your own huevos in my grinder.  As eager as you are to be right, is as quickly as I’m pulling up the Wikipedia page to show you how wrong you are. Matter of fact, let’s pass this bitch around, shall we?!

Further, if indeed I DO issue a pass and decide to shut the fuck up, my man has to be aware that just because I didn’t say anything, doesn’t mean I didn’t see anything. Gentlemen, we keep a lot to ourselves sometimes in the name of peace. Don’t take that for granted. Not every getaway is clean, and all shut eye is not asleep.

So you see, this shutting-the-fuck-up business is very tricky stuff.  Sometimes, the “Ah-HA!” moment” isn’t worth it. Sometimes, it’s easier to just do the task yourself. Sometimes, a man should just know better than to try me that day.

But overall, it’s about picking your battles and not crossing swords every single time you can. You may have reason to, and be completely correct, but will the benefit of being right outweigh to potential damage done to attain the win? ::shrugs:: Nope.  All in all, that’s the lesson it took me time to learn: battle selection.  I probably owe an ex or two an apology for pointing out their obvious stupidity belaboring a point or three.

You get the point. I’ll just shut the fuck up now.

Oh! Dammit, maaaaaann! I’ll never get the hang of this…