Separate but Equal 

I’m having issues separating my emotions from the task at hand. Seriously folks, if I keep on the path, I’m on I’ll expend all my arrows on the small battles instead of saving them. And yes, I’m being cryptic for a reason but I just have to get some shit off ma chest for a minute.

Over the past two or three weeks, I’ve been trying without losing whatever tiny ounce of sanity I had left to complete a certain task that I’m convinced is the biggest thorn in my right ass cheek. Seriously mayne this shit is the worst! And I can’t even pass shit off on someone else. I may be over exaggerating a bit but trust me when I say April’s been the most stressful month of 2015 so far. Sigh and we still have six more days left in the month.

Fuuuuuuuuuck I am beginning to hate April. To make matters worse for me, I still have one more phase to complete which is the one I’ve been dreading the most. I’d lying when I say I didn’t think I had anything to worry about but again, I have serious issues separating my emotions from the tasks I need to complete. I know that in time it’ll get less difficult but I honestly don’t think this’ll ever be one of those things that’ll come second nature for me.

Thanks for reading…

The Southern Yankee

Cutting the Umbilical Cord (sorta)

My brothers and I grew up separately; they lived in Southern California while I lived in Texas with my mother and her family. Four kids three mamas one sperm donor. To be fair, one of my brothers, RR, is my step brother. He escaped the emotional roller coaster that is Too Too Bing. But then again perhaps he didn’t escape because he was old enough to understand what was going on between he and my baby brother’s mother and Too Too.

It’s unfortunate enough as it is to be a product of a divorced couple. But when there are other mamas and kids involved it makes it harder. The explanations between why one parent isn’t around as much can get rather convoluted and crass. The amount of sugar coating is ridiculous and after a while, the level of respect for either parent goes completely out the window. At least it did for me.

At this point in our lives, my brothers and I all share the same love hate relationship for our mothers’ sperm donor. We love the bastard because he’s half the reason we even here. We can’t stand him because he was absent for most of our lives. Well lemme rephrase that… He was absent for the majority of my life but saw the boys a bit more often. Up until maybe a few and I use the term few loosely cuz I’m not certain years ago, my baby brother was on the bandwagon to get me to be on team “maybe we should give the old man a chance.”

It’s obvious it didn’t work because I never really gave him a chance. My father figure passed away when I was twelve. By the time I actually met Too Too Bing, I was already over the notion of being his daughter and he being something more than just my mother’s sperm donor. Harsh as it may sound, he’s just my mama’s baby daddy. Hell all our mamas’ baby daddy. Nothing more and certainly can’t get any less than that.

Imagine my surprise when my oldest brother told me that Too Too Bing called him out of the blue, while he was at work, and preceded to curse him the fuck out. Now when Too Too is on that bullshit which could be anything really he’s even dumber than he is sober. He said some thangs that pissed my brother smooth the fuck off. And of course my brother being MY brother, he said some thangs that I know hurt him to the very core of his being because I know my brother genuinely wants us all to be a “family.”

It’s understandable actually. My oldest brother and I grew up sorta the same way. Single mom and very low income. I don’t think we ever had to want for anything because our moms had families that loved us immensely. We also had grandfathers who treated us like we were their own. So we were lucky in that regard. But at the same time, that doesn’t make up for not having our actual biological father in our lives. That’s normal right?!

By the end of the conversation, my brother’s temper level was at a damn 150 when he needed to be at a 19. How he managed to stay at work is beyond me because I’m pretty sure I woulda needed a drank or a doobie I don’t smoke but hearing about the conversation certainly warranted something that strong right then and there. Wouldn’t even thank twice yo!

What hurt me was Too Too telling my brother to basically take a hike outta his life. My mouth dropped to the damn flo! I couldn’t speak. I didn’t know how to respond. Again, he was on that bullshit and I’m pretty sure he had no clue what the fuck he was saying but still. Too Too actually told my brother you ain’t gotta call or communicate with me ever again. Like he was getting rid of the trash in his life. Like he could even afford to because my brother was the only one of his fucking children that actually gave two fucks about his old ass. Yet he doesn’t want to hear from him anymore.

But ok old man. You’re 62 fucking years old and you’re still acting like a damn child. Okay. No problem. I didn’t give a shit about you before but I won’t even thank twice about you from now on.

So why am I worried shitless about him? Maybe it’s because I have his initials. Or because he’s half the reason why my brothers and I are on this earth. Perhaps my Granny’s spirit won’t let me be eternally mad at him even though I want to be. I hate him for all he’s never been to my brothers and I but I love the bastard because he’s my biological parent. mutha fucking emotions are getting the best of me now

Whatever the reason may be, it rocks the very core of my soul. I was okay with only one of us having contact with he old fucker because I at least knew by way of my brother he was okay. At least Too Too had one of his kids in his corner. But now the umbilical cord has been severed and burned to bits for probably forever. My brother said he deleted Too Too’s phone number and unfriended him on Facebook.

So that’s it. My brothers and I may never have the relationship we deserve with the man who helped bring us into the world and it’ll be his loss not ours.

Thanks for reading…

The Southern Yankee

Let da Countdown Begin!

Seven

More

Days!

S E V E N bitches!!!

Next Wednesday’s date has to be my most favorite day of the year. Wait… It IS my most favorite day of the year. How many days can one say is about them all day? Well, unless your parent or grandparent then you get multiple days.

But nothing trumps a person’s birthday. NOTHING! Yes, I really I might be in a small demographic of people who actually like their birthday. No, I’m not too old to celebrate and be excited about my birthday. The way I figure, your birthday is an opportunity to be thankful you’ve made it through another year. An opportunity to share with the people who love you most your special day.

When my sisters and I were younger, our birthdays gave us an excuse to have a party. Well lemme not say that because we really didn’t need to have any excuses. Our birthdays just gave us even more incentive to be crazy together. We’d invite our close friends and stay up all night laughing and talking about random shit, playing outrageous drinking games and reminiscing about everything and everyone.

I remember one birthday my younger sister (by three months) gave me money so I could buy my first bottle of booze. It was the most hilarious night of my life. We went to the liquor store in Podunk little city. I bought a bottle of vodka and a bottle of Kahlúa because our favorite drink to have together was a White Russian.

Another birthday, I had a party at Sherlocks/Baker St Pub off West Gray in Houston. I invited friends from work, from school and other friends. Lawd that was a horrible night in the sense I drank waaaaaaaay more than I should’ve and mixed dranks that don’t need to be mixed together. Threw up so much I was hungover for a few days. I was embarrassed and in waaaaay more trouble that I care to mention or relive after that birthday.

—–

To be completely honest, my birthday is more emotional now than it has ever been before. In 2009, I was robbed at gunpoint. Gunpoint. The guy was waiting for us. I wanted to fight and break every bone he had in his body. I was pissed off and scared out my mind. But I didn’t. I thought about what if he shoots me right here right now. Five million things went through my mind. Ten million emotions rushed over me. Twenty millions reasons flooded my heart as to why I shouldn’t fight the guy ransacking my apartment in the hood. yeah I know So I didn’t. Who knows if his intention was to shoot me that day. But I’m so grateful he didn’t because I’m alive and well today.

My point is there may be a million and a quarter reasons why a person would dislike celebrating their birthday. And most times, I understand the reasoning but you’re alive for another year. You get to wake up to the sunrise. And drive home during sunset. You can watch your nieces and nephews, godchildren and/or your own kids grown before your eyes for another day. So many reasons to be grateful, thankful and full of blessings.

Happy birthday to all the December babies who read my blog!!! Hope you’re having a joyous, eventful and drunken birthday month.

Thanks for reading….

The Southern Yankee