I’m a true believer in things happening for a reason but sometimes, sometimes, things don’t need to happen and situations should be avoided. With that being said, tell me, how do you get rid of someone you no longer want contact with? I’ve stalked a boy before, if we’re being honest I’ve stalked a couple boys. One was much nicer about it than the other but point is, WOW. I had no idea how uncomfortable and scary it was for the stalkee.

I made the mistake of giving my time to a man who was not worthy. He seemed to think that meant we were going to fall in love or something. I’m not trying to be mean, just real. Women are notorious for not accepting things as they are, we know, we know, we tend to go a bit overboard BUT that’s because men lie. They lie!

A lie, is a lie, is a lie.

I’ve said it a million times, when a woman gets a little cray it’s because we have been lied to about the reality of our situation. What excuse does a man have for not accepting the reality of his? Maybe I should have been firm from the jump but even us women don’t want to hurt feelings or break hearts. I had no choice but to be a bitch. You cannot text someone, Good Morning, Good afternoon and Good night. Especially when you have not received a reply to those texts.


I had no intention of loving him.

I would simply use him to forget my woes.

In the harshest light of truth, I saw him for what he was.


Nothing about him enticed me, nothing attracted me.

In an attempt to remove myself from the situation I ended up drawing him further in.

I wasn’t playing hard to get.

I didn’t want him to work for it.

I simply wanted to be rid of him.


Many of us make them.

I was bombarded with text and unwanted visits.

Mistakes that turn into awkward situations.

Stalk me, don’t you dare.

How to be rid of an unwanted man?

Tell him, he won’t hear it.

Can’t see it and won’t respect it.

I had no intention of loving him, no intention of keeping him

He wanted to be kept and I couldn’t escape.

How does one undo what she has done?




Beer Me!

We celebrated my honeys birthday this weekend. While I would have enjoyed a red velvet cake…or something along those lines, he would rather have some beer.


Beer Cake!

Raise your hand if your the type of girl who does super cute shit like this! :p

I bought two 12 packs, one of Stella’s and one of Modelo’s and the cake topper was a 6 pack of Coronas. Blue Ribbon, blue streamer confetti, and  a couple of blue and silver cake toppers! All from Hobby Lobby! The mini letter board is also from Hobby Lobby! It’s regularly $29.99 but I got it on clearance for $6!! The letters are sold separately but they were also on clearance for $2!! YASSS!  I got a pack of medium plastic cake separator plates and a pack of small separator plates.  A little double-sided tape for the ribbon and done!

I spent about $40 on the beer and another $30 on the decorating supplies!

$70 bucks and he was super excited and he has beer for the next few weekends!

Worth it!

Mothers and Daughters

The relationships between mothers and daughters can be complicated, to say the least.

I don’t think you can fully appreciate your mom until you’re a mom yourself.

To that point, some of us, women, might not realize how much we resent or dislike our own moms until we become moms.

No woman is perfect, so we cannot be expected to be perfect mothers.

“Your kids won’t know you like I do.”

That’s what my daughter said to me when we talked about me having more kids.

I’ve often felt guilt over the relationship between her and I. I was not ready to be a mom when God decided to make me her mommy.

I made mistakes, I was selfish and at times irresponsible.

You could say that I learned what being a “bad” mom is with her and through her. I will be able to offer my future kids something I could not offer her, not because I didn’t want to but because I wasn’t ready, I wasn’t old enough.

So am I a bad mom?

Will she resent me and dislike me for the many mistakes I’ve made or will she appreciate my struggle?

All the things I can offer my future kids, from a present father to bedtime stories my first baby didn’t really have. When she turned 2, I turned 18. I partied in Tijuana and I missed many bed times. When she turned 5, I turned 21. .. and I partied some more.

I missed many morning drop offs.

I didn’t mean to be a bad mom.

I was young.

Maybe that’s an excuse, maybe?

I used to work the night shift at Blockbuster, she would wait for me to come home at 1 am and we would watch movies and then sleep till noon the next day. That was before she started school. She was my little bff but maybe she shouldn’t have been.

Maybe the line of mother and daughter was blurred, if ever drawn.

The relationship we share is unique.

She tells me things she probably shouldn’t and I talk to her in a manner that is probably inappropriate. From saying fuck you when we’re joking around or even when I’m angry to telling her things as if she was my appropriately aged best friend.

We don’t sugar coat our feelings.

I’ve accepted that I made mistakes and I’ve apologized.

She told me one early morning , when she was 6 years old, that she was afraid I wouldn’t come back.

She said, “Mom, you’re the only real parent I have”

I feel guilty for the things that were out of my control and for the things that were in my control.

I wanted to give her a family but I chose wrong, I made bad decisions.

When we talk about her having siblings we joke about how they’re going to call her tia because she’ll be so much older.

She says she doesn’t care that I’ll be a “real mom” to them because they’ll never know me the way she does.

She knows the real me, the woman version of Mom that your kids aren’t supposed to be able to relate to until they’re much older.

She has a piece of me, forever, that no one can take from her.

“I can’t do this anymore.”



I looked over at him, knowing it would be that last time we would have this argument, fight this same fight.

“I can’t do this anymore.” I whispered to him.

He was angry, his jaw clenched and his fists tightened.

He wouldn’t look at me, he stood beside me, I felt the heat vibrating off his body, he would not turn to look at me. The low light coming from the master bath illuminated his body. I could see the muscle definition in his back, the way it flowed down and over his butt. It is not lack of attraction that is ending this, it’s more lack of respect.

I slipped my panties back on and attempted to position myself in front of him, reaching for his face, he pushed my hands away.

I was immediately filled with anger. This was not my doing, the fault was not to be placed on me. Yes, I was ending things but it was because of his lies, his deceit, all the bullshit he’d put me through. He emotionally manipulated me to stay and wait, to hold on.

“Have some faith in me, wait just a little bit longer.” He would plead.

I could hear his voice in my head; over and over the empty promises he made replaying, serving as a reminder, giving me the necessary courage.

I walked out of the bedroom and into the living room where the whole mess had begun. I knew when he said he wanted to talk that we would somehow end up naked. The heated conversation quickly turning into an argument that inevitably led us to the bedroom. Some how, we always ended up naked and in a bedroom, or closet, or jacuzzi.


It was there in the middle of our sexscapade that I broke down. Completely side swiping him, he had not expected me to react, to cry the way I did but I couldn’t contain myself anymore. He was watching me now as I began to dress, slipping my t-shirt on. I shoved my bra into my purse.

No need, no time. Just go before he convinces you otherwise.

As I reached for my jeans I felt him, his arms wrapped around my waist, he pulled me towards him, turning me to face him.

He received no resistance from me.

“Don’t do this.” The words he knew I wanted to hear, the words I knew would come,”Don’t end this.”

There we stood in the darkness, a darkness we once thrived in.

I cradled his face in my hands, “This was done a long time ago.”

The tears ran freely down my cheeks and I wasn’t angry anymore.  I wiped the tears away realizing his eyes were brimming with tears. I let him go, pulling away I slipped my jeans on, sliding my feet into my converse, no socks necessary, I shoved them into the purse with my bra.

I looked him over one last time, he was strong, built solid. I had loved that about him, he had made me feel so safe once upon a time but he didn’t offer that anymore.

I turned to walk out the front door.

“Jordan. If you leave, if you walk out that door, don’t you look for me again.” His words were mean and I hesitated for just a second before walking out the door.

Is it starting all over if it’s a new beginning?

BeginningsblogI had my first and only child when I was 15.

She is now 17.

17 years later and God has presented me an opportunity to begin again.

I have been with my boyfriend for 7 years and we are on the brink of marriage and babies.

The conversations and planning make me feel so excited…and nervous.


I changed diapers and did midnight feedings all by myself, the idea of starting all over makes me a little nervous.

I love my boyfriend and I cannot wait to be his wife, I also cannot wait to make him a father so why am I nervous about getting pregnant and having a baby!

We’ve talked about it and I know this time will not be like the first but I cannot help but feel nervous.

I also very much enjoy sleeping.

I’m selfish by nature, (it comes naturally) 😛 Having a baby means giving up sleep among other things.

I question my sanity at times and I wonder if I could start all over, then I ask myself, is it really starting all over if it’s a new beginning?

Don’t get me wrong, I’m not saying the first time didn’t count but did it? I was a child, I was not married, we were not this happy little family. I went to school just 4 hours a day, I lived with my parents and I did not have bills.

I know, it must have been so hard. It was, emotionally it was the most difficult thing I’ve over come. Being a single teen mom is an emotional rollercoaster no girl should have to endure but we do. We mature and grow because that’s real life. I’m grateful that the only burden on my plate was emotional, I don’t know how things would have been had I had to financially support us as well.

I love my child and I chose to have her knowing I would be in it alone, hoping I wouldn’t be but knowing the man who fathered her would never really man up. It was not an easy situation but we survived it.

17 years later and I have a full-time job, a kid graduating from high school and bills!

I’m an adult.

I’m whining, I know. The point is, I’m a grown up now, so why such nerves?

“That’s real life.”    ⇐⇐⇐      this is my boyfriends reply.

Yes, I know, that’s how real grown ups adult.

Maybe the idea of being responsible for another life makes me super nervous, I mean, I’m not done being responsible for the 1st one. I guess as a mom, you’re never really done.

Maybe Im just a selfish asshole who’s only thinking about herself?

Babies, bills, a mortgage, college expenses, wife stuff. (Omg all the wife stuff.)

From the moment I met my boyfriend I wanted to wife him and get him pregnant so my question is, is it starting all over or is it just beginning?

Are my feelings normal?



Crystal Ball

I don’t wonder where you are or if you’re happy.

I don’t fill my head with nonsense, no wild scenarios of how your life turned out.


I log in and type your name in the search bar, there you are.


At least you seem happy.

It was too easy.

I watched the episode of Friends the other night, the one where Ross and Rachel break up, well the one where they take a “break “, she’s calling him, hoping he’s home and that he’ll answer. The agony of defeat on her face is horrible! I can’t imagine! Can you imagine? I mean, yeah when we were in high school or middle school you had to call a house phone but come on, even then we had pagers. (And for the sake of argument, it was not that serious then anyway!)

If you were old enough and really brave you just did a drive by when someone didn’t answer.

Those days are done, I mean, if you’re old school then those are just normal tools of the trade but the new generation, the younger generation has it much easier.

No need to wonder anymore.

No need to worry about where someone is or how you’re going to find them.

The smart phone is a tool, a modern crystal ball, not just for us crazies but everyone. You have this magical little tool in the palm of your hand.


“Who do you seek my dear?” asks the evil witch, Siri, Alexa, whatever, Your eyes are a glow with curiosity as you franticly type and search.


Good luck if your location is turned on! Lol

It’s a little too easy, it’s no fun anymore!



I can’t recall

I can’t recall, not one conversation with you.

The relationship, the bond made greater in my head then in reality.

I can’t recall, not one phone call that didn’t end in phone sex.

Did I imagine the whole thing?

I question my sanity.

I can’t recall an inside joke we may have shared.

I can’t recall a nickname you may have called me.

I can’t recall the reason you were there.

I can’t recall the reason you left…. and then came back.

Were you always an asshole?


I can’t recall.


To begin again doesn’t mean forgetting.

Hold onto the emotions that made you who you are.

Remember the people that broke you.

Hold onto the people that put you back together.


To remember brings you clarity.

Remember why you started your journey.

Remember why you moved.

Remember why you changed careers.

Remember who you were.

Remember who you aim to be.


Never forget, those memories fuel strength.

Regretting things won’t make them fade.

Remember those regrets and use them to be a better you.


Regrets are blessings in disguise. In some form, in some way, they build you and make you new.

Do you share your relationship past?


Your past is your past.

I don’t know about you but I don’t necessarily want to know what my man was doing before me.

When you are in a relationship and you share your life with someone, are you required to share about your past relationships?

I have shared very little; obviously he knows I wasn’t a saint because, hello, walking breathing, living proof in the form of a teen.

I, however, don’t want to share every dirty little detail with him. It’s not necessary. If he loves me for me why should how I became who I am matter?

I’ll be honest, we’ve been together for 7 years now and over the coarse of those years I’ve shared things here and there, in relevant moments, to make a point or tell a relatable story.

Am I ashamed of my past?

Yes and no.

Yes because I did dumb things and no because who hasn’t?

I have written all my life, mostly short stories. Therapeutic writing is a thing and it’s a thing I have always enjoyed.

I have put together a compilation of poems and truths, I like to call confessions truths, and I’m a little concerned as to how he might react.

It’s an insecurity and roadblock that I put up on myself.

I know he loves me but I’m scared he’ll judge me. Maybe I know he won’t judge me and I’m afraid the world will.

I ask myself how easy was it to put the pen to paper and recount these moments from my past? It was pretty easy. How can I be so willing to share with strangers and not the man I share my life with? You see this is the way my mind works.

It might just be self-doubt keeping me from moving forward on my dream to self publish.

I’m terrified but I love the feeling of expressing and sharing.

Where do you stand? Do you share?