my shows

I just watched this law and order episode where a black guy was pimping out this 16 year old runaway. The cops came and started questioning both of them. The problem is that the girl kept defending the guy. She thought he loved her and she wanted to protect him even though he was clearly taking advantage. The guy knew she wouldn't say anything and said, "I own that bitch."
Only when the girl was presented with a picture of the guy with his baby momma and their two sons did she break. She had to be confronted with reality head on. The detective said, "Oh, you didn't know he had a baby mama."

This story was a reflection of my life. I believed him. And in the end he went back to his baby momma.

OH hey I'm preggo

I'm going to be a single mother. I have to get used to those words.
This is something that I never wanted in life. No one wants to have a baby alone.
Unfortunately, I believed in his honesty and loyalty. I believed everything he told me. That he wanted me to be his wife. That he envisioned a future with me and his other children together.
I believed him when he said he loved me.
Of course, I should have known better. Been wiser. But his words were like sweet honey.

Everything changed when I found out I was with child.
Everything.
His list of transgressions kept growing and growing. I ignored so much because I felt obligated to my baby to try and make it work.  At the end of it all, he was with his son's baby momma and lied about it. I found out and I direct messaged her to tell her I was pregnant and she said, "he said u lyin he right here" The conversation only got worse. He came home only to say, "I told you if you told her I would leave you."
I watched him pack his bags. Soon I received another message from the other mother and she said "he just got here, say he sorry and want to make things work" I didn't respond. Good riddance.

Getting out of an abusive relationship is like waking up from a coma. 

I am left with this growing baby inside me. It's nothing how I imagined, but I know I'm strong enough and brave enough to take care of this baby. I have to be. 

xoxo
Christina

And no, abortion wasn't a choice for me. It's something the father wanted, even pressured me to do. But I knew if I did it, I would regret it for the rest of my life.

FUCKING BABY MOMMAS

The Hustler, the new guy that I'm seeing has 2 kids. A 4 year old girl that he takes care of and has zero drama with her mother. The other baby boy is only 10 months, and with that mom......

We pick his son up and head to a family members. While there I play and care for the young boy. Nothing was asked of me, I just did. I love kids. We went to ci ci's pizza after. Seriously enjoyed ourselves. The Hustler had talked with her throughout the night, making sure it was cool to drop him off. She told him she was with some other nigga (her words) but that her sister was home so, we dropped him off without a second thought.

As I'm driving he tells me that he thinks someone is following me. I don't believe him and stop at a gas station. The car turns in with their lights out and then back out immediately, now I know something is up. We continue driving while said car is still following. H tells me to pull into a random apartment complex. As soon as I pull into a spot not pulling my car all the way into the spot, this bitch, cause now I know who I'm dealing with, hits my car. Just full on, going 15 mph not giving no fucks hits my car. I'm already calling 911 as I'm getting out of the car.

H has friends in the complex, so as she left the scene the first time, he ran to their place to get help. In that 3 min span of time, this bitch comes back around and parks by my car. I walk straight up to her asking bout her insurance and trying to get a copy of her tag. She stands in front of her tag and won't let me look at it. I kindly ask her to move the fuck outta the way, and then she pushes me and we scrap a bit. Mostly it was her pulling my hair and me saying, "Please stop. Why are you doing this?"  NOW, let me say this, as someone explained it to me: You ain't got no marks on ur face, no busted lip, no bruises, your head might be a little sore but that bitch was not from the streets, cause if she was you wouldn't be walking, in fact she'd be showing up at your place trying to finish it. So no, you didn't get your ass whooped no how.  Of course once she stops she drives off AGAIN. H comes running up at this point with me screaming, I JUST FOUGHT THAT BITCH!!!! SHE ATTACKED ME!!!!

At some point in the fight, I lost my phone. I'm looking all over for it and find it several feet from where we were, silver lining it was undamaged. As I'm redialing 911, this bitch going to come back round the block like now she's ready to park for real. I'm ready this time tho, cause I'm yelling all sorts of shit. All facts tho, like you a ratchet piece of shit, seriously, look at your life right now, bitch. Something along those lines. An older Asian lady had come downstairs during the whole thing and was holding me back while H held her back. Anddddd then the cops show. I run straight into the cops arms looking for protection and she played her role perfectly as well. Yelling bout I DIDNT DO ANYTHING. blah blah blah.

In the end, I'm filing an a couple charges and NOT TRUSTING NO BITCH. 

Women need to learn how to move on, there is a reason he isn't with you. And fighting and yelling, is that really going to bring him back? I don't have kids so I can't speak on that connection, but H and myself included have done nothing but love that little boy. I think that's what gets me the most. That and this hoe talking bout, "WILL U STILL TAKE CARE OF UR BBY" after it happened.

Lord help me. I once again, can not make this shit up.

Jean Pockets

A poem begins with a lump in the throat.

Really, for me that's my best writing. When I'm sad and full of emotions. The Skin and I broke up. Fuck. We had this whirl-wind love affair. It was beautiful, the way it just happened. Once that haze wore off it was replaced by a bad aura. Our relationship ending, might also have to do with my discovery of a hotel receipt in his back jean pocket when I was doing him a favor by washing his clothes. 

Date: 8/4/2013 Check in: 11:30 p.m. Guests: 2  

Now, I can relay his story of why he needed this room in his home town, or I can just say that I'm no fool. 

 I know I've said it before, and I'm sure I'll say it again, but: FUCK DATING. My standards are too high. My expectations are probably never going to be met. And I'm accepting it. And focusing on me. Getting my life to where I want it to be. 

 I'm going to move to Austin next year. Do what I wanted to do back in 2010 but was too afraid to. I don't know why I was afraid. Shit, after Honduras nothing scares me.  

It goes without saying that I never update this blog. Where I used to be so public about things, now I just try to keep my life to myself. Not that it's any less interesting, but because I lack motivation to put what I have to say down. Down here, down on paper, any where. 

I'm no longer talking to my sister, I'm trying to be more public about the loss of her friendship. It's been 3 months and some days are harder than others. Yeah, I talk about it like a death, because that's the way it feels. 

Our relationship slowly deteriorated after living with each other and then her starting a relationship where the guy didn't like me, which in turn made her not like me. She moved out a month before the lease was out. I heard from her once when she wanted me to co-sign on her electric. I said no, and that was the end. 

A couple months ago, I was deathly ill, my mother asked my sister to check on me and give me a ride to the ER. She said, no way, and hung up the phone. 

We're sisters. We have each other's birthdays tattooed on us. I should mention that I wasn't perfect in the least, there are regrets. 

I guess time will tell. Not to be morbid, but hopefully neither one of us dies before we talk to each other.

                       

-xoxo-

Christina

Since that how it starts, I try to change the destiny and change my decisions.

But it's too late. It's too late.

You're good in my bed

sex is not a goddamn performance. Sex should feel as natural as drinking water. It should not require confidence.

Sex should happen, because the moment is ripe. Ripening lips, ripening labia, ripening cock, ripening pupils, ripening state of being. Ripe and augmented and brimming. Your energy goes to your pumping heart, then to every external nerve, then to theirs, on fire.

You bask, roll, play in it. You sigh, moan, laugh. It’s not about being “good in bed.” It’s about being happy.

One should never worry if they’re doing it “correctly.” Sex is not factual. I don’t want your cookie-cutter sex, I don’t want your meticulously crafted, calculated, fool-proof fuck. I don’t want a show. I want you. Let your instincts, urges and whims define that. It’s enough.

What do most girls like? Forget about it. Statistics are meaningless when there’s only one. Hello, here’s me. Here’s you. Don’t worry about taking it too slow. We got time. We got infinite rhythms, combinations, possibilities. Explore each fuck. Take our time. We can do a different one later.

Don’t worry about making me come. I’m here. Right where I want to be. I am overwhelmed by wanting; you don’t have to convince me. I want you because I like you. So don’t put on a front. Don’t taint this.

I’m frustrated—it’s just authenticity I want. It’s originality. It’s passion. It’s joy. Don’t say that something I like is ugly. Don’t compare yourself to the rest. You will live and die with and within your experiences like everyone else. If someone thinks you are amazing, they are not wrong. Their universe is as real as any other; it is forged through perception.

I don’t care if you accidentally slammed my head into the wall, if you slipped out, if my arm cracked, if the delightful pressure of your wet lips on my anything made a silly sound. There is no right way and no wrong way.

“Good in bed,” what. You’re good in my bed. I’m pleased you’re there. I feel it suits you. Shove your technique. Let your memory swallow it. Fuck me like you’d fuck me, fuck me like you feel. This isn’t a test.

via Skywrtle

ADVENTURES IN DATING

I was walking across the floor with one of my coworkers to finish a job. I looked across the elevators and there he was. Tall, dark and covered in tattoos. We locked eyes. Next thing I know I was giving him my number. I felt connected to him, I mean any guy who finds me attractive while I'm in my uniform is worth a shot.
This guy was the same age as the Drummer. (maybe I need to stay away from the old ones??) We started talking, and had one "date". Soon after he began texting super late and on odd weekdays.

Thursday 2:09 a.m.

K: Come over
Me: Nah, I'm good
K: So ur done
Me: I think we want different things
K: K

Once, again folks. I CAN NOT MAKE THIS UP. This is the dating world. This is whats out there. Grown ass men acting like pigs. I did not meet K in the bar, I wasn't drunk when I gave him my number. On our date, he barely got passed 1st base. I thought that since I met him organically things would be different. LOL.

Please come back for more horrific stories from the dating underworld.

Joder. No se nada el donde mi viva es. Ahora no se nada. Mi viva es muy complicado.

Me gusta mucho el uno senior. Pero, no se if hombre feels el mismo. Quizás, no.

My Jam

The only version of this beat;song that I support

Stop.
Look at everything around you.
Everything.
Don't second guess your exact thoughts at this moment.
Own them.
Own your thoughts.
Own your actions.
Stop.
Breathe.
Breathe.
Move on.