Ayesha, you know I want you so bad.

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Some of you may have watched this Red Table Talk episode featuring the women of the Curry family, but my bet is more of you have seen articles, memes and tweets in response to it. Specifically, the backlash Ayesha Curry’s received from it. I highly suggest watching the interview before reading further, but below is an excerpt from it:

“There are all these women throwing themselves [at him],” she said. “The past 10 years, I don’t have any of that. I have zero male attention. I begin to internalize it is something wrong with me?”-Ayesha Curry

There are those who both have and haven’t watched it that have taken it out of context. There are those who have misinterpreted it, yet made good points. Then, there are those who have completely misconstrued her statement and maliciously manipulated it.

I watched the episode before the internet onslaught began, and understood exactly how she felt and what she meant without even without being in her situation. It’s not that she wants male groupies. It’s not that she’s insecure about her relationship. It’s not that she isn’t content with just the attention from her husband. And it’s not that she needs a man to validate her. I talked to a few of my male friends about it, but the best way I could explain it is like this: (trust me, you want to click after the jump) Continue reading

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what goes up, must come down.

“I care for you a lot, and that’s why I don’t want to hurt you. I just need time to do me. This is what’s best for the both of us. If we get back together, then we’ll know it was meant to be”. Those were the last words he said before he kissed her on the forehead and left her crying on her front doorstep. 

Week 1 isn’t too bad, because there’s still hope that it was just a silly misunderstanding. Something he decided on a whim, and will regret just as soon as he realizes it was a mistake. So every time her phone lights up, so do her eyes at the thought of it being him. She even keeps all of their photos up on Instagram, because it’s still too early to tell if it’s permanent. It’s not a break up – it’s just a break she thinks. She goes about her days as if nothing’s happened and when her girls ask how he is, she replies “Fine”. 

Week 2 and 3 however, she isn’t fine. She starts texting him to get some closure, but he always changes the subject. And he only returns her texts on Tuesday nights – maybe a Sunday afternoon while he’s visiting his mom. But come the weekend, and it’s radio silent. Well, except for that one time after the club where he came over to “talk”. In the moment she went with it despite knowing it was a bad idea, because she knew that if he was sleeping with her that night, he wasn’t sleeping with someone else. The next day he left before she woke up and texted her, “Sorry”. 

After a month and some change of sulking and bad decisions, she finally goes out and does something fun. She accompanies her friend to a work happy hour disguised as a ploy to introduce her to a cute co-worker. He’s 6’2″ and looks like could be Idris Elba’s cousin. He’s not cute – he’s FINE. She’s not ready for a relationship, but she’s ready to finally have some fun. To finally feel normal again. 9:45pm het gets her a beer. 10:17pm he’s teaching her how to play shuffleboard. 10:55pm they’re taking a shot together. 11:30pm they move to another bar. 12:37am they take a group photo and Idris Elba 2.0 puts his arm around her shoulders as a friendly gesture. 1:03am she goes home. 1:30am she posts the photo. 1:34am he likes her photo. 1:37am he texts her, “WYD?”

The next day he wakes up and checks his phone to find … nothing from her. Just a text from his boy making sure he got home OK, and three texts from the girl he fucked two weeks ago and won’t leave him alone. But nothing from HER. No reply. No missed call. She didn’t even look at his IG story. Instead, he looks at hers. No story – just that photo of her from last night with her pretty smile. Did she do something to her hair? Hmm, she’s showing cleavage – I thought she hates showing cleavage? And who the fuck is that guy? Dammit, he’s pretty handsome. I guess. Must be her friend’s co-worker. Man, fuck her ho ass friends. Suddenly, one of his boys texts him, “Get ready, we’re going to a day party”. Tired and exasperated he begrudgingly gets out of bed to take a shower. Man, fuck my ho ass friends. 

Week 5 and 6 are rough. He’s tired from work and basketball and clubbing and day parties and the bottle service chick that he almost cheated on his girlfriend with and finally gave the business to. He missed coming home to dinner. He missed picking her up from work. He missed her encouragement and support. Her brain and her head. He missed being comfortable, which was ironic considering he used that as an excuse to break up to begin with. Most of all, he couldn’t stand the thought of her being happy with someone else. Touching someone else. Loving someone else. He looks back at his phone to see 6 consecutive blue boxes in a row, then 1 short reply saying “OK”. He deserved the abruptness for accusing her of going off and fucking someone just because she didn’t want to talk.

Week 7 he feels like a simp from replying to her IG stories to only receive a “seen” confirmation in return. His pride is hurt from being left on read then seeing her comment on someone’s post just a few minutes after. He’s tired of hearing about how good she looks from one of his friends that saw her at the gym. He didn’t even have the heart to tell her old-corker they were no longer together when he ran into him. 

Week 8 he can no longer take it and sends the dreaded, “Please, I just need some closure and I’ll never bother you again text”. She rejects dinner, but agrees to meet at Philz for coffee. He gets there first and already has a mint mojito waiting for her. She definitely did something to her hair, but asides from that she looks just as he remembers her – except more beautiful. He gets up to give her a kiss, but she grabs the coffee and gives him a hug. She’s kind and polite, except for checking her Apple watch when it goes off almost on cue. She smiles. 

“I care for you a lot, and that’s why I don’t want to hurt you. I just need time to do me. This is what’s best for the both of us. If we get back together, then we’ll know it was meant to be”. Those were the last words she said before she kissed him on the cheek and left. Without her coffee.  

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The 6 Stages After A Break Up.

In “The First Week After A Break Up” here, I wrote about the mundane routine one naturally falls into post-heartache. But as we all know, heartache is just one of the stages we experience. Below are a few other stages we’ve all been through. Bonus points if  you’ve been through all of them.

  1. The Hobby Phase.Yoga. Plants. Dance. Piano. Gym. Rumble. Soul Cycle. Orange Theory. Barry’s Bootcamp (can you tell I live in SF?). Name a new hobby, because you’re about to dive head first into one. 
  2. The Narcissism Phase. Nothing says, “Look at me I’m single and looking bad all by myself” than a an actual photo of someone looking bad all by themselves. This can come in the form of a selfie or full-body photo, but it won’t be like any of the ones she’s ever taken. If it’s a selfie, best believe her cleavage will be in it. Best bet is it will be a mirror photo half naked. Bonus points if it’s a mirror photo where in the reflection you can see her backside. Yes, it will be a fire ass thirst photo, one that tries to remind you of what you’re missing out and what other men will now have access to. If she already takes these types of photos, then maybe she’ll take one in a turtleneck instead. 
  3. The Glow-Up and Go Out Phase. This is the phase where you start wearing less and going out more. You may have even cut your hair or got a new set of tits. You reconnected with your girls you haven’t seen in years and are having more GNO’s and boozy brunches. 
  4. Cryptic Instagram Phase.  People don’t like to admit it, but IG in fact does say a lot about a person. Sure, there’s always more than meets the eye, but often times IG can be very telling. I’m 10 for 10 on break-ups based on Instagram captions. People only share the parts of their life they want to share … and sometimes they want to share they’re newly single. 
  5. The Wanderlust Phase. Pack your bags, because you’re about to go on a trip … via Instagram. One that will probably last longer on Instagram than in real life. Now there’s two types of girls: One that goes to Las Vegas or one that goes to Joshua Tree. There will probably be nature (because that signifies tranquility and being one with the Earth), there will be quotes from a Paolo Coelho book accompanied by  fire ass thirst trap selfies – DUH.
  6. The “I’m Doing Me” Phase. Everyone should have some “Me time” regardless of if they’re in a relationship or not. After a break up however, people “do me” to a whole new levelI’ve been through this phase myself (I think every girl has), so let me save you the time by allowing you to copy and paste the following: I’m just doing me. I don’t have time for relationships while I focus on myself. If it happens it happens, but I am not looking. I know what I want and I’m not going to settle. I don’t need a man right now.

 

 

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This Serenity Shit Is Hard.

You guys. I’ve had an ACV shot (diluted with water of course) every morning since the beginning of the year. I’ve been sleeping no later than 10pm for the past 2 weeks (unless it was on purpose). I’ve been drinking more homemade matcha lattes and less coffee. I’m on a 13-day meditation streak. I’m rubbing essential oils on my feet. And I have been letting. Things. Go. 

By the sounds of things, you would think that my hair would be shinier, my skin clearer and my pheromones on fleek. I’d have zero fucks to give, and be walking on sunshine. It’s all partly true (except for the clear skin), but what’s also true is it’s partly lonely. Partly frustrating. And partly depressing. 

Because I am not bubble bath-ing and face masking my way to serenity  – I’m fucking fighting for it, and it’s the toughest battle I’ve ever had to face. It’s the only battle I’ve have to do alone. Even in my darkest times, I’ve always had my friends to lean on, but this road to inner-peace involves letting my expectations and relationships with some of those very friends go. It’s a very humbling feeling to do this knowing that these friends could care less either way.

Usually, I triumph over my tragedies after the damage has already been done. After rubble has already hit the ground, the smoke has cleared, and the wounds have been bandaged up. All I did was survive these traumas, which is great. But lives weren’t meant to be merely survived – they were meant to thrive. So this time, I’m intentionally taking action to make sure nothing and no one disrupts the sanctity of my well-being again.

I still get mad. I still get anxiety, and I still wish a motherfucker would. However, I’m no longer letting those negative feelings engulf me. Just the other day a woman cut everyone off waiting for BART and nearly shoved me out the way. Instead of shoving her back, I left it alone. Then, I wished she’d sprain her ankle and couldn’t go into work for the rest of the week. Hey man, this serenity shit is hard and my chakras are petty AF. 

 

 

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When Death Becomes Us.

When death becomes you, you will look back at old text conversations and replay the real ones in your head. And if you think hard enough, the rest of the world will fade away and you will hear her laugh as if she’s standing  right in front of you. You will find every photo you ever took together and play back that day. You will look for signs and find ones that don’t actually exist. You will wonder why even though it shouldn’t matter and then you will think that you are more than human. That you are a savior, a magician, a superhero – someone that could’ve changed the hands of time.

You will reach out to people you barely talk to and tell them to call you if they need anything – anything. To drink, to laugh, to cry, to remain silent on the other end of the phone. Acquaintances will turn into friends, and you will hug them a few seconds longer than you normally would. You tell them you love them, and to keep in touch. That it’s a shame you had to reconnect under these circumstances. You make plans that you both know probably won’t happen, but both of you are OK with it.

You will hear her parents. The distinct and unfortunately familiar cries of a mother’s soul gasping for air. The raspy wails of her father’s heart breaking. You will lose your shit when they carry her out of the church with solemn faces following behind her. You will see beauty and pain and love and despair coexist in the same room. And that trick you do when you stare at the sky and force the tears to roll back into your eyes will not work as they lower her casket into the ground. 

You will look for a reason to smile, maybe even laugh. You will almost feel happy seeing so many people there for her, doing the things she would’ve wanted everyone to do. You will feel an energy that can only be produced in a time of tragedy turned triumph rivaled by the numbness of only half believing what has happened. You will look around at the elderly, the children, and everyone in between and hear the buzzing of LIFE and remember that the hardest part about someone leaving us doesn’t even start until after the funeral. 

When death becomes you, you feel all the feelings along with absolutely nothing at all. The things that didn’t matter as much now mean everything, and you let more than usual slide. You forget, and maybe even forgive. Text an old friend, help a stranger. You are grateful even if you don’t want to admit it to yourself. You are relieved. You are sorrow you are happiness. When the death of a loved one consumes you, you do a lot of things. But most of all – you live.

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The Pact.

I am a firm believer that you don’t need to wait for a new year to be a better version of you. However, I also understand the want to symbolically end one chapter of your life and start another. I haven’t made a New Years resolution since I vowed to make my bed every morning in 2016, but this year I not only made a resolution – I made a pact. 

If you’re an OG reader, you may be familiar with my girl Kris. If not, check her out at instagram.com/bumbleyee_designs. Earlier this month, we promised each other that we would produce one blog/quote a week or give each other shit for not doing it. Not long before that, I took to Instagram polls and asked what folks wanted to read and the folks came through.

Thus, I will be posting a blog every Monday with a topic suggested by a GATNB reader. It’s apparent that I’ve been uninspired lately. Not having a topic to write about is just a fraction of the reason, so I am thankful for your inspiration and of course, continuous support. See you next week!

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i love you. all the time.

You always know. That sinking feeling you get in your stomach never lies. Usually, you receive a text or a missed call from someone you never or rarely talk to and then the instincts take over from there. I should know, I’ve received that call five times now and each time, it played like clockwork.  I can’t speak for everyone else whose received that call, but similar to the “Five stages of grief”, I experience a string of emotions that play out as if they were a procedure written in a book. 

For me, there’s the initial stillness. Not shock or numbness. Just me sitting in my stillness trying to understand what I just heard. Questioning the validity. Hoping it’s a dream or a sick joke. 

Once I’ve finally processed what’s happened, I look for signs and suddenly everything takes new meaning. Suddenly, the smile looks like a facade. Suddenly, I know that what you posted wasn’t just a meme of something you agreed with – it was more. 

Then, I go down memory lane. I look at every photo we took together. Replay our conversations, and relive our time spent together. I think about the good times of course – us dancing the night away and laughing until early morning. But I also think about the bad times. The times we would always pick up the phone, and not get off until the other person stopped crying. 

Does this all sound familiar to you? If so, you are no stranger to what follows. 

This is the part that sticks with you. The part that haunts you if you let it. It’s the part where we blame ourselves. 

If I had just called her.
If I had just texted him more.
If I had asked her how she was doing.
If I had told him I loved him at that exact second.
If I had known.

Even when we know it’s not our fault, we can’t help but feel as if we contributed to the death and not enough to the life. We think we’re magicians. Superheroes. Gods. When the truth is, “you can’t save people you can only love them”. 

They say to be kind to everyone, because you truly don’t know what they’re going through. Just please don’t forget to be kind to yourself. 

 

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