Friday, March 26, 2010

#DearFutureWife: My Old Hoes Ain't Gonna Believe How Good I Treat You

"i'm tired of sleepin in the other room spendin them long nights/tryna figure out what the hell in my heart i ain't do right..."--Usher

Those of you that tweet (one of my new favorite pastimes), you're familiar with "trending topics", which are topics that people attempt to talk about in the prerequisite 140 characters Twitter demands. Examples of popular current trending topics are #mychildwillnever, #sometimesiwonder, and #ilove. It's a great way to take a little break from your day and in my opinion, often a fun stress reliever. That is until I logged onto Twitter the other morning to find that the major trending topic for the day was #dearfuturewife (and #dearfuturehusband). Intrigued, I posted a few #dearfuturehusband(s) of my own, a couple under @TheBIsCrazy (the blog's twitter account), and went on about my day. But of course the story can't end there.

The past few days since the discovery of some new developments in the lives of a few guys I used to see, I've admittedly (and quietly) been on the hunt for more information. In observation of said hunt, I spent a little quality time e-stalking some exes the other night. Every now and then the urge strikes me like any other woman. Don't judge me. Anywho, I started with Facebook, where I found some innocuous messages from a couple of my exes to their wives that were very cute, some wedding pics, and some baby pics of their rapidly-growing children. I caught myself up on what was going on in their lives and cheesing over their joy, sauntered over to Twitter for a look-see. Still grinning, I scanned my timeline where I saw another potential e-stalkee being retweeted. Begrudgingly (I never go onto his page and pride myself on the restraint), I clicked the link and almost immediately regretted the departure from my normal routine. The previous day's trending topic "#dearfuturewife" had returned to haunt me. "#dearfuturewife", I read, "my old hoes ain't gonna believe how good i treat you." Um...what?

Aside from the fact that I am clearly a part of the agglomeration of "old hoes", there were about five things wrong with the tweet. Let's discuss.

  • Let's start with the obvious: it might behoove you, sir, not to refer to your "hoes" when speaking to your wife. It's an insecure woman who begrudges a man his former girlfriends, girls, one-night stands, hell, even a babymama or two (yes, I said two...#dealwithit). It's ridiculous for a grown woman to think that she's the very first love and/or sex a grown man has ever had. But if she's a good woman--which men who aren't particularly good men curiously seem to feel most deserving of--she won't be too fond of the idea of you calling other women "hoes". Not that she's against calling a spade a spade, because hopefully she's a broad that keeps it real. But if she's a smart woman, she'll be fully aware of the fact that not all of the women to whom you were previously joined can possibly be "hoes". Because let's be honest: not only do you attract what you are, if everyone you've been involved with shares the distinction of being a whore, it might not be them.

  • And in fact, to belabor the point a bit, your wife would probably prefer you drop the term "old hoes" altogether, which by the laws of grammar connotes that you have a "new ho". How unfair that in choosing you, your wife has by proxy chosen an existence as a ho--not in a "lady in the street; freak in the bed" kinda way, but more of a "I married a dick" kinda way.

  • Dissecting another important part of the statement means addressing the concept of disbelief encapsulated in the tweet. The "old hoes" simply can't believe how good you treat your wife. Why, exactly, wouldn't they be able to believe it? Have you really been such a horrible person that in all of the time each respective woman dealt with you, you didn't show any moments, even fleeting ones, of the capability of being a good husband/partner/friend? I won't answer that personally.

  • Which brings us to the concept of treating your wife "good". One has to wonder what a man so close to 30 who tweets something like this considers "good" treatment. What is this "good"? Does he plan to cook for her? Get up with the kids? Always put the toilet seat down? Buy her whatever she wants? Or, who knows, perhaps the good life with Mr. Wonderful means a $4 million eight-carat purple diamond for any accidental humiliation at the hands of he and one of his "hoes". Hooray for apology diamonds!

  • Then there's the elephant in the room. If you've never treated one of your "old hoes" well, then how will you know how to treat your wife well? If your practice time is so brief that you really don't know what you're doing, how do you expect to play in the big game? My pastor always says that we should act like what we want to be. For instance, if you want to be a wife, act like a wife. If you want to be a husband, act like a husband. For someone who has been talking about how well he's going to treat this proverbial wife while using girls for sex and blatantly disrespecting them, how exactly does he expect to all of a sudden clean up his act and know how to behave towards the woman he loves?

Sure, sure, you fall in love and you want to make that person happy. Something in you changes when you decide to make it official with someone. I get that completely. But in a marriage, there are dark days, bad days, days when you could kill the person to whom you've chained yourself. How exactly do you intend to deal with your wife when she's not the perfect woman you're undoubtedly envisioning? What happens in the moments she's weak or wrong? How will you speak to this woman if you currently spend all your time pretending [pretense is key because it takes effort and knowledge of wrongdoing to purposefully mislead] to be a gentleman while objectifying every girl you deal with and groundlessly calling them all kinds of bitches and hoes behind their backs? How will you behave as a husband in anger or hurt or disappointment? Will you, perhaps, continue to approach these matters as immaturely as you always have, flying off the handle and totally disrespecting the woman you've chosen as you have in past relationships?

Or maybe not. Maybe the magic Marriage Fairy will make the selfishness, self-absorption, and infantilism the past three decades have bred a thing of the past. Stranger things have happened. Perhaps the best and biggest question of all is: what right does someone who willfully does others wrong have to demand someone who will do him right? Maybe he will find that dear future wife who won't believe how good he treats her. Will she treat him well back? Karma isn't true for Buddhists alone, after all. There are supernatural laws of reciprocity in this world, biblical principles even that speak about reaping what you sow.

Hey, who am I to say? I probably took the whole thing too seriously! Sure, he's a misogynistic, sociopathic jerk, but at least he's a funny jerk! All I know is that unpacking and questioning that one little tiny tweet has presented a whole lot of maybes, a whole lot of ifs, and a whole lot of questions in general. I get the fact that the tweet is at least partly tongue-in-cheek, and everyone knows I'm always down for a good laugh. But somehow I found it difficult to find the humor in this, particularly since it speaks to the clear delusion of someone intent on not growing or improving because he's stuck on his own perfection. And so to the #dearfuturewife who signs up for this nonsense, I offer my well-wishes, my condolences, and these words of advice: watch and pray.

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Wednesday, March 24, 2010

A Picture's Worth A Thousand Words: Unrequited Love BIC

"my heart/belongs to Tenderoni..."--Bobby Brown

Hillary: No, really. Give. Me. A. Hug.

Barack: Hillary, you're so cute when you try that scary cougar thing. Here you go.

Hillary: Is my staffer still watching us?

Barack: Yup. He's pretending not to, though.

Hillary: (muttering) God you smell good.

Barack: Huh?

Hillary: Uh...I said, gosh you did good. Well, I meant. You did really well with this healthcare thing. I'm proud of you.

Barack: Well, Hillary, if you hadn't opened the door years ago--

Hillary: Hold me tighter, Barack.

Barack: (flustered) I'm just so grateful to you for being the phenomenal person and support system you are.

Hillary: How grateful?

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Tuesday, March 23, 2010

BIC New Rules: Ring in the New Year

"why should i worry/why should i care?"--Billy Joel

All this abortion chatter lately has me thinking about how to best avoid the necessity. Well, let's be honest: I just wanted an excuse to talk about my new best friend, the NuvaRing. I honestly feel as though I should be doing a PSA. While I may be a couple years late picking up on this awesome phenomenon, I am all about the little plastic vaginal ring that squeezes against itself and rests quietly in your no-no for 21 days.

You see, even though it's pretty common knowledge that I haven't had sex since the Old Testament, I recently began using BC again in an effort to regulate my periods because, depressingly, I'm reaching an age where I should begin regulating my ovulation so as to avoid issues trying to get pregnant later. As I've learned, time is of the essence in these matters, and having to spend months regulating your period at any point over 30 can waste precious shelf time with your precious eggs in three, four, five...[or more] years. Since at this point I'm under two years from 30, I decided to speak with my gynecologist about being proactive in order to avoid being blindsided later. I had her do a whole work-up including checking out my follicle situation (eggs), my uterus, cervix, and key hormone levels to make sure I was fit to get pregnant and carry a kid to term (I am, by the way), and then I wanted to correct anything that might be problematic later. My often irregular periods are a tiny issue, so in order to correct it, she suggested a hormone regimen...otherwise known as (dunh dunh dunh) birth control (BC). Anyone who knows me knows I hate birth control. I mean, being transparent, I can share that I disgustingly and irresponsibly went years without using so much as condom with an ex. Because I'm ultra sensitive to manufactured hormones and pills (BCP) literally make me ill, I can count on both my hands the amount of times I've had sex on birth control. Clearly, I've had sex more than 10 times in my life. So what's a girl to do? 


Introducing my cute, fun new little friend. I admit I was a bit perplexed and perhaps intimidated by the ring. I mean, it's a plastic circle. How do you get it in? How does it stay up? Will it unexpectedly fall out in the toilet in the club? These are the questions that were on my mind. I have an amazing gyne who showed me how to use it, so I felt confident; but honestly, nothing prepared me for the day I started. It went right in, and glory be to God, when I stood up the thing stayed in place! Simply amazing. By way of directions if you're not in the know, you keep it in 21 days, take it out on the 21st day, which will bring on a period, and then seven days after the day of removal, you stick a brand new one back in. Cautionary 'so-you-know' measures: while you're told you can keep it in for sex, several friends have shared that the ring has ended up across the room in fits of passion, so it's best to remove it prior. It can safely be out of the body for 3 hours before your body readjusts to the lack of hormones. Also, I'm not gonna lie: a couple of times, I've felt it slipping just a bit during a hard run. But it's never fallen out. 


Something else amazing is that it deposits its hormones directly into your uterus, instead of going through your bloodstream like other hormones, so the side effects are far less noticeable. It drastically reduces your PMS symptoms, as well, which has been amazing for me. It's also super easy to stick in and even easier to hook and snatch out. There's nothing better in the birth control industry. Let's face it: withdrawal is nerve-wracking (and largely ineffective), the rhythm method and family planning techniques are for crazy people in misguided religions (*cough*Mormons*cough*), pills are too easily forgotten, and Depo-Provera blows you up like an army grenade. If you haven't already, try the NuvaRing today; you will be so happy you did. Also appreciative will be your partner and the unborn children whose lives you could both potentially ruin. Ciao!

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Friday, March 19, 2010

Shhhhh! Keep Your Abortion Down

"i wonder if i could be your miracle...i wonder if i could spare you pain..."--Whitney Houston

Some things should just be private. And of course it's possible that I'm missing the bigger picture, but in my humble opinion there are few things tackier than live-tweeting your pregnancy elimination.

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Another One Bites the Dust

"the stresses of this world/you know how they come down on a girl/i'm tryna clear my mind/but all i seem to find/is this gangsta/gangsta type-a need..."--Jill Scott

Several weeks ago, I had a dream, one of the most vivid dreams I've had in ages. In it, I was holding my daughter. She was an infant, and looked completely different from how I always envisioned a daughter of mine. The child I held in my dream, a cream-colored newborn with a cap of straight, light-brown hair, slept soundly on my chest after being fed. In my dream, I could feel her warm breath on the skin outside my heart, and I could not stop kissing her. I fought waking up for over an hour, and once my body did betray me and open its eyes, I fell back asleep as quickly as possible so as to see her again. It was pure bliss. This story of course, betrays two truths: I've never really seen myself with a daughter, as I've always wanted boys, and I've never actually felt my biological clock. I guess now I can scratch both of those things off the list of my personal truths.

This would probably all be a moot point if I hadn't held a beautiful baby girl in church on Sunday that I seriously considered bolting for the door with, and would probably be far more obsolete if yet another past lover hadn't popped up with a major life change. Context clues have probably given away what I'm about to announce.

I wonder if my blog feels like God sometimes feels about his children--ignored until there's a problem. I find myself coming to my blog when there's nowhere else to go. Perhaps that's sad. In fact, it's quite sad. But, it's the truth, my Truth, and I have to own it. Not that there's really a "problem". That is, if you don't count someone I once considered a future husband popping up with a baby. Now, there's no reason other than delusion and dickmatization that even had me considering homeboy as a future husband. Clearly, nearly two years after cessation of all sexual activity and three years after meeting, we are not married. Not only are we not married, but we aren't even really friends. Not only are we not really friends, but I now struggle to like him as a person. Not only do I struggle to like him as a person, but I had zero idea that he was even expecting a child until yesterday when the kid was delivered. Of course, I found out via a social networking site, which is simultaneously contemporary and sad. Although I haven't really unpacked the feelings about this strange evolution, I can say it comes at an odd time, a time when I'm questioning the direction of my life; a direction which includes no significant relationship nor any prospects, no children or any on the horizon, a floundering career, a crossroads, and two years working in the fertility industry where I was constantly confronted with late bloomers whose regrettable prioritization ended up costing them hundreds of thousands of dollars and a truckload of pain, struggle, and heartbreak.

I've had four significant romantic relationships in my life, each significant for different reasons, but all significant nonetheless. Of those four men, one had a small child when we were involved and is now married, the next is married with a child, Mr. Wonderful referenced above now has a child, and the last, my greatest, truest love actually remains an ignorance-is-bliss mystery since I've had nothing to do with him in two years. And while I don't really have regrets, it's only human nature to wonder if you've made enough right moves and choices not to preternaturally screw up your life. How is it that I've not yet had a relationship work out in well over two and half decades of life? How is it that, at a time when women's fertility is declining at a rate faster than ever in history, I have not one iota of an idea when I'll be prepared to reproduce? Am I gearing up to be adopt an African baby and spend his formative years surfing PlentyofFish.com for a husband and father?

Of course, I haven't had sex since Bush was in office (30 months and counting), something I'm proud of since it was a personal and spiritual decision that I've stood by, but don't think that doesn't exacerbate this emotional conundrum. Spending most nights with a pillow between my legs and bathing the last man that spent a few nights over in my own precum isn't my idea of a great time. Sure, I stand by my choices in life regarding my sex life--again, hard as crap--but of course I see everyone else moving onward and upward when I can't even get my astoundingly frustrated rocks off with a little penetration and yeah, I'm a little bitter. Of course, I was a little bitter when I was tossing it up like it was my day job, too. Maybe I'm just bitter in general, who knows? And perhaps I sound ridiculous.

Well, just know that I can't help it. I am ridiculous. I am a ridiculous woman--always have been and always will be. Not simple or ignorant, but ridiculous still. To be sure, it is ridiculous to feel jealously watching men you've had long-term casual sex with beginning their real lives and moving beyond their silly liaisons and whoremongering. Perhaps it's less ridiculous when you were in love with them, but then again, everything happens for a reason. And maybe ,when that last big love pops up with a wife, kid, or both, the emotion I'll experience will be relief, relief that the suspense is over, relief that I can finally release the bits of that love I'm still holding. Right?

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