I’m feeling pathetic. I can’t take rejection. Why won’t you call me?…Stephen, I’ll knit you a sweater. I want to wrap you up in my love….forever… Ke$ha “Stephen

        I was supposed to be over him. Yet, I stood outside of the Starbucks on the corner of 145th & Bradhurst seemlingly talking to myself. I hate when people talk on the phone in private, intimate places about shit that doesn’t matter to anyone but them, soI kept drama outside until I felt like I was presentable. Sometimes it’s tough to hold back the tears, and that’s why I love the phone. Because even thought I was hurt, he couldn’t see that from the other side of the phone line. & even if my reason for being hurt was dumb (to him) I was hurt nonetheless and (TIP FOR MEN) when a girl feels like she’s been wronged all she wants is a “sorry” and a bit of comfort. Really it’s not the difficult. Really that’s all it takes. The solutions to problems are much easier than men make them out to be. We want you to give a fuck is all. Any reason we have to think you don’t give a fuck is reason enough for us to be upset. Everything you do is evidence. Exhibits A -Z were collected while you weren’t looking. 
“You disappeared,”I said. “You couldn’t pick up my calls?” 
“If I’m a lounge or with friends or something I can’t pick up. I’ll call you later.”
“How much later is later? 5 days is later?” Obviously, he and I have different definitions of later. 
        “I called you back that night,” he argued. & I had no way to prove him wrong. I threw a bitch fit on day 3 and erased my phone’s memory of him.  His contact along with all the texts. All the calls. There was no record of him. By Day 4 he officially did not exsts to me. Day 5, when I was officially done and didn’t feel like convince this other guy to blow off his other date (I was on bitch mode, y’all) I decide to ignore his phone call and take myself and my laptop to Starbucks to tell you all about how my love life came crashing down. lol.. That get’s an “lol” because I was so caught up. So emotional, but then he’d ask me a question and I would laugh. Or a hot guy would pass by and I’d get distracted. I was laughing at myself.  At one point, a guy came outside to smoke a cigarette and since I don’t enjoy second-hand nicotine, I walked around the corner and leaned up against the hydrant that sits under a pretty tree. I noticed the guys inside and decided, Yes, this is a much better spot.

      “You want the whole kit & caboodle?” he asked. Our conversation moved forward as I tried to explain to him that he doesn’t have to pick up every call, but a text in response would be nice. I told him I don’t like to be ignored. I don’t like to be second rate and I supposed this is the reasonI was semi-forcing a relationship on him. I can’t be treated like that and I’mnot sure how other girls can go for it. It’s like telling a guy “It’s okay, you can treat me like a second class trick. I don’t mind.” Fuck that.  “Yes.” I responded. And I said it sternly because I don’t understand why not. I don’t understand how he expects me to take the kit, no caboodle. Or caboodle no kit? When I buy shoes, I buy two. I get the whole set. I don’t get half my groceries one day, half the other day. I mean… I don’t even know how many places Lay-a-way still exists. I’m not going to be a part-time bitch and I suppose that’s my point. I want all my phone calls answered. I want my texts responded to. And really… that’s all I ask for. Thing is, when a man is with you, he’s deading call after call. He’s ignoring countless females so that you won’t get mad. And that’s fine by me. No other female should be close to being above me. No female should get attention over me. But I want to be number one at all times. Not just a show. Not just when you’re with me. 
         Let them little girls know their place. Let them know that they’re number one. Obviously they’re okay with not being number one if they haven’t asked to move forward already. I can only have a random man take up my time for so long. I am not a rental. This is a pay-in-full program. Unfortunately, for him, I have my own In I’ll Tell you What I Want, I did exactly that. But truth is, what I really really want is to be number one at all costs. At all times. I’m not saying put my above your mother, but I should –without question– be above all other girls. That’s the placeI need to hold. I can’t settle for anything less. I simply can’t. I just can’t allow myself. I hold myself in too high esteem for that. 
        “So it’s all or nothing with you?” With the questions he asked, I know he understood, it’s not that he didn’t hear me. It’s not that these were extreme requests, it’s that he simply wouldn’t agree to them. “I’m sorry, I can’t offer that,”he repeated, “we need to come to a compromise.” The compromiseI offered was this: He can see me Thursdays.  He doesn’t want it all. But he doesn’t want nothing, I figured Thursdays was the next best bet. The reason for this is that he already took5 days off because he claimed I needed “space”. So I interpreted 5 as the number of days we need space. It was either Thursdays or every five days. Regardless, it’ll be once a week. Now you might think that’s extreme (and I really don’t care) but it’s not fair to me. I don’t think it’s fair that he can dictate when to see me or not see me. I’m not on jhis schedule. If we’re going off a schedule, it’s going to be mine. I will set the dates. He’ll have to wait onthe days I’m  available and not the other way around. I don’t mind looking forward to a day, but I won’t sit around and wait for him to call and tell me when he wants to see me. That  I will not do. Because, yes, I do like him. I do like my time with him. But I “ain’t no silly hoe, waiting for your call, let them other girls want you,” as TLC so eloquently put it. 
    So I’m going to stick with it. Thursday will be his day. I’ll figure out the details a bit later, but I promise, this is going to be good. The one thing that will not take place here is for me to be taken advantage of. I will not be used. I will not be played like some dumb little girl. When he asked me what I wanted, I responded, “I want you.” It was half-game, half-truth. He knew it & responded, “You don’t even know me.” I laughed because he was right. I don’t know him. & He don’t know me either. 
Don’t hate the playa, hate the game…
Actually, don’t hate the game, play the game. 
But remember: Play the game. Don’t let the game play you. 
PS: Never let your well dry out.
Sayla V