Coffee with The Other Woman: 3

I smiled and squeezed her hand.

I understand. I remember The Moment.

The moment I knew he had given a part of his heart to another woman, when he came home to me a shell of the man who left my bed in the morning. He was distracted at dinner, his head in the clouds.

And I was too afraid to confront him because I was afraid to lose him.

As the walls of my favorite café began to close in on me, I made a mental note never to bring an old flame's old flame here again.

Like there would be a next time.

"Look at us. We are so pathetic. I don't know about you but I had so many things to say to you until you walked through that door. So many questions. Only now, I don't think you are the one with the answers I need."

She smiles back. Almost genuinely this time. "It was a shock running into you as well, considering the number of times I wished you dead. Now that I know he's not with you, I have a need to ask the questions, not knowing is driving my insane."

I realize I am still holding her hand and I let her go. "What questions?"

"Why did he leave us? You and I, we loved him, adored him. We would have done anything in the world for him. And what did You do better than me? He always came back to you, even when things were great with us. I never understood it."

I completely understand her. Many nights I cried myself to sleep and wondered how she was better than me. I tormented myself with thoughts of her, obsessing about every little detail I could find. But here she was, telling me that I had won, that he never stopped loving me even after I had pushed him away. Any woman would be happy to hear those words. To know that she had a hold on the only man she's ever loved. But I just felt inadequate, incomplete. He could not do without me, but he was never mine. Not completely. The realization pierced my heart.

But today, at least one person in the world understands my pain and confusion. And today, it is enough.

(The End)

Coffee with The Other Woman: 2

The other woman.

Damn.
I did not plan to show her any emotions.
Things never go the way I plan them.
When things get really good,
It's a sign that they will get really bad.

He was my light. My man. OUR man. From the beginning I knew that he would never be all mine. He came to me broken, a shell of a man, a man hurt by the only woman he had ever truly loved. Like a fallen angel he drew me in. Even though he told me how cruel he had been before she hurt him and how much he loved her, I did not listen. I accepted him. I was in love with him. I was determined to keep him. We were so happy. Until he could not live without her anymore, and he slipped out of my life as quietly as he came in.

"I am sorry." She sounds so sincere, I hate her even more.

No she is not sorry. She shouldn't be. Without doing anything she stole him from me, she hurt me just as much as I hurt her. She won. She should be elated. I remember the day he got the ring. We were like teenagers, giggling and holding hands. I saw love in his eyes, felt it in every stolen kiss. Every woman in the store was jealous of me. Why was it so easy for him to lie to me?

"I don't think he ever stopped loving you. He thought he hid it well but I knew, and after a while I tried to stop caring. I knew he loved me too. And it had to be enough. Until it just wasn't enough, you know?"

She smiled. A smile filled with so much pain I thought she would shatter into a thousand pieces...

(to be continued)

Coffee with The Other Woman: 1

She has sad eyes.
The saddest eyes I have ever seen.
She is beautiful.
Not extraordinary,
Plain, almost.
My arch-enemy.
The cause of many lonely
sleepless nights.

"Nice Ring."

I look up from the ring I am twisting around on my left hand.

"Thank you." (I think)

She looks away.

I frown at my Macchiato. It is cold, untouched.

I can hear the minutes ticking away and yet we say nothing. 

What do you say to someone like her?

"I don't know why I am here, I hate to have wasted your time." 

I apologize furiously as I dig in my purse for change to pay and leave, until she grabs my arm, softly.

"Sit," she almost whispers.

I sigh. I sit. I try to stare her down.

"I am not your enemy you know. At least not anymore."

Her smile is small, but her eyes are not smiling.

Another uncomfortable silence.

"He told me the ring was for his sister, a graduation present." She sounds bitter now. "He held my hand in his as he bought that ring. For you. The bastard."

Now I am surprised.

(to be continued)

Liz Likes To... (Fun Google Game)

My friendship with Elizabeth is one of the most interesting relationships I have. One day, I will tell our story.  For now, this is a fun piece I put together from The Google Likes Game.....because she said so....

Liz likes to liquor up. 

Liz likes to talk on the phone. Liz likes to talk, period. 

Liz likes to moonlight.

Liz likes to use photography as a way of communicating.

Liz likes to call herself a “goodwill ambassador for epilepsy.

Liz likes to read, exercise, eat good food and drink fine wine.

Liz likes to play the piano, she has played since she was three.

Liz likes to blend her professional interests.  

Liz likes to cook. 

Liz likes to rock people's socks, all day, everyday - and twice during Sabbath. 

Liz likes to be rough! 

Liz likes to spend time with her girls at the park and swimming pool. 

Liz likes to spend her time riding, training and showing horses.  

Liz likes to unwind by reading the philosophical and spiritual teachings of Mariah Carey. 

Liz likes to wear anything that is comfortable and sexy all in one.

US in Puerto Rico

3 of Us Nuts: Omidan

Omidan: 'O' 'me' 'dunn' (Yoruba: Distinguished young lady)

I am my mother's daughter. And my mother is her mother's daughter. I come from a line of 3 beautiful women. A family of great women and, already, I am a great woman. We are 3 generations of women bound by blood, held together by love. From birth I have been trained to be many things: strong, intelligent, poised, fashionable, well-spoken, domestic, sophisticated, enterprising, patient, humble, dignified, prayerful, nurturing, kind, gracious, mother, sister, wife... All of these I have not forgotten. I embrace the timeless quality of nature's gift to me, because to be a woman is a beautiful thing. To be an African woman, even more beautiful. In the world I live in, it is hard to be me. The world around me is in a hurry, running towards an elusive dream, crushing all the beauty around them in a feeding frenzy that worsens everyday. Me, I like to sit by the fire and sing sad songs while I make a meal that is infused with love to feed the people I value the most. I want to keep a home that is filled with laughter and warmth, I want to be an example for those who will come after me... show the world that the fastest do not always win the race. After all, I am a simple Yoruba maiden blessed with a golden upbringing and gifted with the white man's education. Of the 3 of Us, I am the Conscience. The Gatekeeper. The Judge. Our reputation is my responsibility. May I never let my mothers down.

Ìbàjẹ́ ọjó kan ò tán bòrò

(Reputations are easy to destroy but difficult to repair.)

Raising Mothers

Photo Credit: Franque

I am the Devil's Advocate (really, he pays me to argue his side ☺) and I think it is time to discuss an issue that no one else seems to be talking about: this generation of women. It is no secret that lately I have shared my disappointment and despair at the behavior of women and that I have been searching for answers to understand why we women today are just as 'evil' and misguided as the men that we all point fingers at (don't nod yet, I'm talking about ALL of us) and no one seems to be concerned about it. The first thing I found as I asked around is that I am as naïve as a 6-yr old princess living in a convent...and the second thing is that EVERYBODY BLAMES THE MEN and women have, again, welcomed another opportunity to be labeled as the victims.

We all talk about absentee fathers and men who cheat and fathers who abandon their children and create multiple families all over the place. Men blame their behavior on not having a father figure around the home to look up to, and women are quick to point out that the reason that they quickly lose their self worth before they are old enough to wear heels is because of a lack of male love and attention in their formative years. I say it is time to start putting some responsibility in the laps of our mothers (all women).

Society is deteriorating for so many reasons that it would be impossible to discuss them all with this medium. And while I lay no claims on expertise on social issues, I know that women today are not innocent in the spectacle that our world has become. Before you decry how terrible men are the next time you hear a sordid tale, think about the women who play a key role in the situation. For instance, we all talk about how unfaithful men are and forget that many men who cheat do so with women who know that they are unavailable. There are millions of exceptions, I know, but I am arguing for the devil here☺.

Many women today are hurt, angry, even bitter and are looking for answers in all the wrong places. It seems that we have forgotten to look back to where we come from, to the mothers who raised us, who should have the answers that they have gathered through years of experience and learning. Or maybe we have not forgotten...and there is just nothing to find. Mothers today appear to have lost their voices when it comes to bringing up the children that they suffered so much to carry and birth and are content to allow the world to place the blame on men who, of course, have developed a tough skin to our harsh judgement and criticism. Or maybe the cycle of victimhood goes back so far that women have forgotten what it means to be the backbone and nurturer of the family.

What do we women today learn from the women that have come before us? As a young woman who is on the fence about her identity as a home-maker and a 21st-Century career-oriented woman, I will avoid the Stepford Wives debate. However, a progressive society, complete with feminine liberation and independence is no reason or excuse for women to lose their identities or become so discordant that we become problems for one another. And while they say it takes a village to raise a child, I really do not think we want a global village led by the Bad Girls' Club, Real Housewives of Suburbia and the new school of Profit-seeking Wives to raise our daughters.

So yes, there is a problem and it does not belong to the men. Who is teaching girls to be ladies in the street while the rest of the world teaches us to be freaks in the sheets (and everywhere else)? How long before we no longer have a culture because we're to cool to cook, or too fabulous not to be fake? Is this the next generation of mothers?

Panic

He's leaving. 

I know it. 

Before he says those words that will change our lives 

or offers that weak apology that will make me hate him even more, 

I know he's leaving. 

And all I feel is Panic.

 As much as I want to hate him now the only thing I remember is how good we were 

and how hard it was to find him, 

my fallen angel, 

and how hard it was to feel safe in his arms and 

how deeply I loved him and 

how blindly I trusted 

and I wonder if I will ever breathe again. 

I know I will, of course.....but still I panic....

3 of Us Nuts: dizzydami

Life is a party. And I am the life of the party.

Of all 3 of us, I am the nuttiest. The adventurer, the mischief-maker, the whirlwind, the social-butterfly, the sexy nymph...the names are endless... I am not afraid of anything. I laugh, I tease, I tempt and I never stop for air. Just like all of us nuts, words are my arsenal...with the right phrase, and the perfectly placed smile or fingertip I have the world eating out of my hands. It's my charm, my allure. U can't explain it, I won't reveal it. I am impulsive. A wink, a hint, a signal, and I'm ready to go. I have no inhibitions, no past, no future, just now.....

Come play with me... You know you want to...

Spongebob Says...

I'm not a spongebob fan but you wouldn't know that: I have TWO spongebob teddies on my special window sill. One was a gift (or it was stolen, i don't remember) from my Freshman roommate at Howard Lola (lAw-lah not lOw-lah) and the second was a parting gift from my assistant at my Sophomore Internship at Credit Suisse in 2009. My first roommate in college (KNUST in Ghana) was a huge fan though. I remember our room always looking cheery because of those lovely yellow spots....but I digress....

The little inscription up there caught my attention because it is one of those issues that we all try to understand. Girl/Boy loves Boy/Girl (or Girl/Boy) and knows deep down that there is a better person inside of them. So we shower them with all the love we can muster and wait for them to give up their bad boy/femme fatale ways and settle their love on us. We know how this story ends..... but there is hope. I believe that the baddest boy or girl will one day (in their own time and for their own reasons) find that person who makes them want to be different, with minimal effort on the person's part. Until then, be yourself and let love discover you.

3 of Us Nuts: Spyda

This is my first public post... let me tell you why...

I am a writer. Words have been my therapy, my solace, my shell for as long as I can remember. But more than that, words have been my secret. Many tears have been buried in my words and if you search far enough (actually, in a little box no one is allowed to open) you will see my journey... every emotion, every phase, every secret

My name is Spyda...... The thinker, the philosopher, the 'Head'. I am grounded, and with good reason... I live in a curious body in a sensual world filled with sights and textures and somebody has to be in charge. I am a Christian, why wouldn't I be... God is Love, and Love is my purpose. I give my love freely, unconditionally, without expectations and I have never been disappointed... and so I love. I am mysterious.....

Del Likes To....(culled from Google)

1. Del likes to "bean"them
2. Del likes to load his reel starting with the back of the line :-/
3. Del likes to go out dancing
4. Del likes to display fake ads from magazines in his cabinet
5. Del likes to reach out to young hispanics in need :)
6. Del likes to travel (but hates the packing)
7. Del likes to slip video game references into many of his songs
8. Del likes to remind everyone he is a trained killer
9. Del likes to meddle *runs and hides*
10. Del likes to work from home because he is black, and because when he is at work, his white peers smack his legs with small wooden lollipop sticks.

THIS WAS DEFINITELY FUN :)

Oladele in the House

Girl Talk

I miss it. Talking about nothing for hours, making plans, having dreams, sharing secrets....... I am first to announce to anyone that my closest friends are far away, and they are better friends than I could ever find. So today's friends are 'party-buddies' and 'gal-pals', people who know nothing about who I am and share nothing with me but lip gloss and sex-tips. Who am I kidding? My perfect friends are gold, old and aging, preserved only by the gentle sands of time... I have placed them on pedestals of perfection that I created because they are 'safe'. They do not see me everyday, and I only share with them what I want. I can not know what they have become, only that they are perfect and could do no wrong....


I hide because I do not want to be judged. I look around and I am lost, just as everyone else around me. They cannot help me and sadly, I cannot save them..... But I know that we need each other. One day I will look around and need a woman who is strong, whose wisdom can carry me when I am losing my head... I know she will be right beside me... but I will not know her.

Wanted: Daddy

I rarely write about issues I have not experienced...but of course, I am curious.


How important is it for a woman to grow up with a strong, stable father figure in her life? What are "Daddy Issues"? A legitimate gaping hole in the fabric of our society, or the miserable excuses of loose women who are not ready to take responsibility for their depraved actions?


I have always had my father, so I will not offend anyone by judging or pointing fingers. I tried to imagine growing up as a young girl without my father....and to be honest it was not hard. He was young, and he worked hard. Until I turned 7, I did not know that fathers lived with their families... I thought they just visited from time to time. But no matter how many times he was away, I always KNEW I had him, MY Daddy.  He was my hero, my provider, my first man. Because of him, my mother was safe, protected, maybe even respected. I never saw her sacrifice her pride to feed me.... never saw her sacrifice her pride to men who came and were gone in months. Because of him, I know that One man can love One woman no matter how difficult she sometimes becomes, or how high the bills get....and even though I act like it's no big deal, I know that my father gives me so much by being there....and being the best man he could be. More importantly, because of his honesty I know that a man who is not perfect is not less than a man....but enough about me already.


Without my father, maybe I would be one of the world's Lost Little Girls too. Maybe I would believe that I always had to be beautiful on the outside and slave for a man's fleeting affection. Maybe I would be unable to stick with one man because I do not know that the next good thing is only new until it gets old. Maybe I would forget to celebrate myself and look for self-love in the arm of another...maybe...or maybe I would be strong, because my mother had a father who loved her and taught her all she needs to raise a good daughter. Who knows?


I am glad I never had to find out what it means not to have my Daddy. Because...who knows?