WE ARE NOT ANGRY WOMEN, WE'RE JUST TIRED!

iUniverse, Inc.

Contents

This poet laureate shifting gears Gearing up......................................1Emotionally pregnant socially aborted.............................................9Race Relations Suck...............................................................16If you can't afford to lose it don't loan it!.....................................21Pissed on or Pissed Off...........................................................26The Happy Side of Romance – It's new........................................57Who said I Love You...............................................................66When "I love you" stops – is someone listening?.............................73Dancing with Destiny..............................................................78Cyber Dating and E-Whore Money....................................................81Sexless single girl...............................................................90White Men Can Jump to Conclusions.................................................94Racial Bashing is not acceptable – even in cyber dating.....................97Love, Lust or Lonely..............................................................99A Hand Full of Give Me............................................................103Girls and girlfriends.............................................................106Cougars Can Older Women and younger Men...........................................110Who is the arm candy?.............................................................116When Friendship crosses the line..................................................136Friends at First, Friends at Last.................................................138Friends after Sex.................................................................143Shutdown..........................................................................149Uncomfortable Moments.............................................................153Just Sex – Only Sex – Nothing but Sex.................................160When the Sex Part is Over.........................................................165Spiritual Values and the escape hatch.............................................172Denies, Lies without Alibis.......................................................177Ex-Wives and other baggage........................................................182Safe Sex is an acceptable dialogue................................................187Expectations......................................................................196It's not me - It really is you....................................................200Completely Over...................................................................203I just don't like you anymore.....................................................212We're Not Angry Women, we're just tired...........................................219

Chapter One

What a positive way to work toward change.

So much time is invested in the utilization of songs, music, greeting cards and even poetry to express the romance in our lives or lack thereof. We share the jubilant ecstasy of new relationships and the devastating crush of broken hearts with a Hallmark moment, an old love song or we sit down and write a poem adding another page to the journal that we call a diary when we were teens. The secrets we only wanted to tell our best friends but hide the most painful portions in the corners of our hearts so that we could be the gutsy, sassy pillars of strengths that we practiced pretending. That was it, we practiced pretending and we pretended that it felt good; we pretended that we were happy. We were the stars of our own personal dramas and daytime soap operas that played on into the night and then into months and years. Who wants to cry today was not the title of a song but the excuse to watch a sad movie and associate with someone else's watery emotion. Damn it hurts to not hurt out loud. And while I have rambled through this brief spill of nonsense the realization that love is NOT supposed to hurt continues to ring in my central processing unit. A lot of poets have dedicated their work to the painful transitions of relationships. A lot of poets have disguised themselves as songwriters or songwriters and poets and have written the depths of their hearts in such profound ways. Sharing a brief moment of creation with the world and the popularity of their pain because of a symbol that many can identify with. Their hurt becomes a best seller, top of the chart and only because someone else can identify with that emotion.

"So this ain't no poetry book". These ramblings are very real. The poetry that exists in all of us and thrives on the wedding day march, the anniversary memories and the first kiss bliss is tantalizing and amazing but it gets old really quick. Men often talk about how giving caring and complacent women are during the courtship period and then they turn into monsters. Spelling monster with the letter "b" and not "m" those same men are caring, punctual considerate and dependable in the beginning. This, of course is too often followed by complaining how much the same wonderful women nag because they forgot, failed to complete put it on hold, lost it, misplaced it, didn't do it or was too damn busy doing the selfish bull crap that had dissipated during the courtship period. So let's set the record straight amidst the onset of these ramblings. It is always wonderful in the beginning and then someone who thinks they have the upper hand takes advantage of the kindness that was the love in a relationship. They take advantage of the giving spirit that had nurtured something good and special. The turn from loving friends into butt holes that think you owe them something. Ops, this is not the angry woman this is just a person who is a little fed up with the nonsense and so many other women can certainly identify with it.

We write poetry, we write songs and we create this romantic illusion that becomes a popular fad among throbbing hearts and hopeless romantic. If we really listen to the lyrics it's more than a notion that we run the same path over and over and over again. We can't all be like Eryka Badu and dump it out on a CD or drag it through the public eye in the raw but we'd like to. We'd love to dump the trash and leave our baggage at the airport. Unfortunately every time we drop it off some brother or sisters brings their luggage and it has some of our crap in it.

Romance is more than the poetry that makes me/us fall in love over and over again. It is so much more than that song that brought us together or caught us off guard in a secluded restaurant, the candle lit corner in the bar or the bench at the train station where we waited after missing the rush hour traffic. True romance is that part of us that awakens ever so often and brightens a dark room with a word, a whisper or a memory. It's the special moments that don't require flowers, candle light dinners or diamonds. It's that special part of us that wakes up with the sun, cuddles with the stars and relaxes with the moonlight. The poetry that sparks romance in our hearts might not even be read by the one we prepared it for. He hears but doesn't hear. He agrees but can't tell you what you said and if it was really important it had to be something he needed or wanted. A quick subject change after a 10 minute dialogue about something that really meant a lot to you can often mean he was already on the subject change. So focused on what he was thinking about he never heard a word you said but now what he has to say is really important. You listen, you respond and like the good little other half, best friend his issue becomes relevant and whatever you were talking about was just blah-blah of nothings and not really. It couldn't have been important or you would have repeated it. And that's exactly what he'll say. "I'm sorry" is not just a phrase, it's his middle name.

    This Poet Laureate Shifts Gears
    Moving in a different direction
    From the welcome mats we've been
    Gearing up to shift directions
    A change from the state we're in
    Positive moves with positive motives
    Not a question of self esteem
    That we could or would be
    non-complacent and compliant
    Your fantasy was not my dream
    Happiness is no doubt an inside job
    Something we both can share
    Happiness for one can be misery for another
    If the obvious is that you just don't care
    Sweet lies was the history of our romance
    Pretending you're the king
    A lack of commitment with constant demands
    Adds insult to everything

    Gearing up to minimize
    The luggage either might carry
    It wasn't real friendship
    Not enough trust
    Thank God we never moved to marry

    Take what's yours'
    Please leave what's mine
    We can go our separate way
    Still be friends
    Our just stay in touch
    Friendship never ends
    Though that's not how it began
    You needed me
    I needed to
    But you just happen to be handy
    The sparkle that was our unity
    Is the dry burn of cotton candy
    A shift in gears was a chance and a choice
    So we both could find our way
    Emotions
    What the hell do you know?
    Love is one of the games you play

    Dangerous
    Is what it is
    How foolish to go this far
    We keep picking up manure
    While reaching for a star

    Loads Of Love

Post Script to Change If all I do is change my mind I have made the moment better.

While rambling through relationship issues I made a fruit smoothie To make me feel better about you Or just make me feel better.

Chocolate may not cure depression but this new little recipe for a chocolate cherry mint smoothie put a smile on the faces of a few people and certainly made me feel a lot less like slapping the crap out of someone who constantly gets on my very last nerve. So we were at my last nerve and I was given a bag of freshly picked mint and basil. They were rinsed, layered with paper towel and placed in nicely marked zip lock bags. How special. It made me smile and the aroma was just fantastic.

So this is what I did:

I pulled about four mint leaves off of my herbal plant and dropped them into the blender. I learned how to pit fresh cherries with a clean paperclip. I did not learn how to tie the stems with my tongue but that's another trip. It was cool so I tossed in a cup of pitted cherries. These did not come out of a jar and did not have any additives. They were dark and rich and sweet, something else I thought I really liked. I added a cup of Chocolate Soy Milk (light) by Organics.

One Frozen Banana A had full of fresh frozen strawberries A had full of raspberries A half of a cup of pineapple also frozen A thin julienne cut of ginger root And some strawberry vegan protein – gluten free.

I pulsed, whipped and beat the little ole blender on high and then mix until it was a thick smooth consistency. A big cup and a straw brought a smile to my face and I relaxed. For a few precious moments the comfort of my taste buds outweighed the discomfort of your baggage.

I did not put any ice or water in the blender so it was fresh, it was fruit and it was not diluted and it was totally delicious.

Talking about delicious, I was salivating just thinking about it. Yes, it was delicious.

We spend too much time trying to run from the depression and sadness that causes us to isolate, feel neglected, used and even abused. It happens and it happens too much. Eating is a way to cover our pain or we hide behind a plate of comfort food. Well not this time ladies, and even some of the guys who have experienced some of the same re-lation-ship bull crap that we go through on a regular basis. Don't become a member of over-eaters, focus on something good, something delicious and something healthy. These are even better than those chemical components that help you lose weight and replace fat with muscle mass. We indulge in the good stuff! As a certified nutrition consultant I might be qualified to make that statement and stand by it. But most of all feeling good and making others feel good is the other great part of not being angry and getting past everything else. My anger dissipated for a moment and I made these almost disgusting sucking sounds while I was enjoying this particular smoothie. I may share another delicious method to counter depression or simply alter stress, if not yours than certainly mine on another page. I'm not angry and I didn't gain any weight from it so it felt absolutely positively delicious. And that's a good thing.

Chapter Two

(If we may digress from the social stigma that creates moral limitations)

And neither baby nor bull crap has been delivered. - The metaphor stimulates the mind to associate the beauty and the magic of pregnancy and the permanence of abortion as it relates to harsh relationship issues. We have socially aborted love that appear to be fairytale romances because one person or the other has ripped the joy from it.

The glow with the newness of a relationship that smells like love, feels like love and taste like love radiates like the joys of a pregnant newlywed preparing for her first birth that awesome move towards picturesque fairytale womanhood. Sounds good, doesn't it. The ambiance, so sweetly romantic crosses lines of euphoria and we momentarily linger in the sweet abyss of our connecting as one. It was such a beautiful thing. It's great when you first meet and there's this mild attraction and casual flirting. How incredibly wonderful it can be when the flirting becomes a longing and a yearning warm spot in your heart. Your memories, your mind, your thoughts and even your dreams are so wonderfully focused. You wake up thinking about each other, you go to sleep dreaming. It's the last phone call you make even if you talk to an answering machine and it's the first call on your mind even if you decide to get to work. We've come too far to turn back even though it's getting casually uncomfortable and starts to ooze with curiosity. You start to move toward each other and passions are explosive. More than curiosity you are drawn to each other and everything about anticipation screams into all your thoughts. You can't take your mind off of her, she can't take her thoughts off of you.

What a wonderful high but what else can you call it, a high! You began to share secrets, personal history past relationships and you delight in the sweet tangible aspect of our exchange as we start to discover the truth, the quiet secrets that gave our tunnel vision some semblance of validity as to why looking straight ahead was not a bad thing. She laughed at all your jokes and you were tickled to a full blush at some of the risqué' humor that this is wonderful. Oh how wonderful is so much like ecstasy in the newness of it's development.

Pregnant with emotion we tried to balance our scheduled time so that our past would not drain off into our futures and we were enjoying the ride. Hugs were like foreplay and phone sex made our telephone conversation almost seem safe but incredibly savory with all the spice you could handle. The social abortion was a slow but sure process. There was such a rush of pleasure in the beginning that it proved to be exactly that, a rush. It was kind of like that first frosty sip of an ice cold drink. The pleasure was ripped out screaming for the comfort of sedation.

How can we help others to understand the impact of new relationships that go so terribly sour in the beginning that it will allow you to identify and not make you sound incredibly bitter? It won't be easy but we were emotionally pregnant. It was exciting! We go through periods of morning sickness fed up because you're still here and it later turns to cravings because you've been away for several hours or several days. The extremes are insane, from sickness to cravings ecstasy to pain. Wow! how we loved those moments.

She shares, I've carried this baby for ninety days and the hormones are kicking in. As I began to see the bull shit you've inflicted not just on me but on others that you claim to care about. What a crock. The impregnation was a social axiom for the euphoria of our connecting, not sexually or intimately but a casual connection that was so comfortable and so very much fun. Cute to an art one can recall asking you not to pat them on the head while kissing them on the cheek. It was that cute almost sickeningly unreal cute. This kind of fun can be had in a relationship but what are we/you avoiding by making it all a game, just a joke. A humor so penetrating that we anticipated finding something to laugh about even in the most serious conversations. We referred to it simplistically as a way to break the tension when things were out of whack. Our lives or at least one of them was the tarp for a sadistic artist trying to recreate the Mona Lisa with curly locks of hair and low cleavage.

Let us talk clearly about the emotional pregnancy. The term is usually nine months but the post abortion period peaks in three to six weeks. Ergo the six month syndrome of relationship written to justify why walking away was the least embarrassing of any other choices. This wasn't love, or infatuation. It was conception brilliantly produced from the cross connection of what could have been a true friendship. A prescription for prenatal vitamins if I may add this amusing spin was your own personal neediness. But that was what occurred at conception, your need. The pains of toxic abortion came the third time you left the table right before the check came or when he called you Sarah and your name is Diane. All we can say is "So freaking typical" and this was only one of the warning signs, and might we add the other part of you which is oh how incredibly cheap ...

The water didn't break but we socially aborted. There just wasn't enough loneliness to pretend that there was a match. There was no match. Doctor, please remove this toxic emotional fetus that drags on and on with needed nonsense before I self abort and beat the hell out of myself with a metaphysical whip. Or perhaps I would lose my mind and began to beat the hell out of the baby. He was just a baby when it came to dealing with real women and real relationships.

And what's love got to do with it. Not a darn thing. LOVE – sometimes just a temporary inconvenience to justify a need to do something we might regret later but can use love as the excuse when there is no alcohol available. An emotional pregnancy was the high, the ecstasy, the absolute euphoria of being together and sharing quality time. The first three minutes when you arrived and the last five minutes before you had to hurry through one of your phone calls in a foreign language. Talking in code or covering up the ignorance of your inability to commit to a simple quest like honesty. Remember, we're just friends. Social abortion must be quick and painless. No anesthetic, no lingering memories, no foolish attachments that would cause reconsiderations of second guessing or pre-empted afterthought. Remove it and let it go.

(Continues...)

Excerpted from WE ARE NOT ANGRY WOMEN, WE'RE JUST TIRED!by Pamela P. Mercer Copyright © 2011 by Pamela P. Mercer. Excerpted by permission of iUniverse, Inc.. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
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