Roman Sentiments Part II

Hey,

So first, I have to apologize in the delay between blogs. I've just been busy. But anyway...back to the Rome trip.

The idea of a pub crawl is something I'd never experienced before in life. It's a genius idea actually, if you think about it. In a pub crawl, you pay the operator (usually a local promotions company) a set amount of money, and you get to go from club to club over the span of several hours. Because you paid the fee to the promoters, you don't have to pay to get into any of the clubs, and usually you get a wristband that allows you some deep discounts on drinks at the various clubs. Well, this pub crawl I joined did all that, plus they gave us shots as we walked along the club route. I didn't know that they would be doing so, and had a couple of drinks before we left, So, by the time we reached the 1st stop of the evening, I was more than a little intoxicated. (Sorry, Mom). I also have to add that the pub crawl gave me a chance to actually walk the streets of Rome, which are amazingly beautiful at night.

Roman nightclubs make me feel like I've decided to climb into a time capsule and travel back ten years. The decorations are dated, along with much of the music, (they played YMCA by the Village People for goodness sakes) but there is something magical about these places. Unlike American clubs, they have a feel of someone's living room and aren't the cold and unfeeling places I've seen in past club outings. The people there are focused on two things 1-having a good time and 2- drinking. If you come across as not doing either, you should be prepared to spend the night alone. I was able to do both until 2AM. The Kissing Hour. (cue "doom" music) It is an unofficial rule in Roman partying, at least in all the clubs I visited, that everyone start kissing when the DJ announces it. Well, the DJ announced it, and I look to my left. Kissing. Look to my right. More Kissing. Look in front of me, MORE KISSING. The crowd parts, and an attractive but sweaty Italian guy comes a-walking in my direction. At this point, I only had two options. Deal with him directly...or run. I chose the latter, hiding out in the unisex bathroom.

After all the kissing was over, I emerged from the bathroom and decided to walk back to the hostel. I did so without a map, and really was able to take in the city. Of course, I made sure to not freak out my Mom and I did so with two guys I'd met who also were staying at the same hostel as I was. I'd be grateful they were with me, because not less than one block from the club, a random Italian homeless man began shoving roses he was selling in my face. Then he tried to hug me and touch my butt. The guys stepped in and got him off of me, and we made our way back to the hostel, which was a long walk, but we made it safely.

Over the course of the next few days, I would see all Rome had to offer. I went to the Trevi Fountain, the Pantheon and the Vatican. I ate such wonderful Italian food and drank fabulous wine. I even made friends with the staff at a wonderful restaurant called Miscellenea (find a review of it here), where Mikki, the manager, and his waitstaff made us feel like we were hanging out with friends instead of in a place of business. So much so that we could have gotten away without paying, they were so relaxed about it! It's right near the Pantheon, but only open for dinner. If you go to Rome, you must visit, if not for the inexpensive food, have a glass of the 2 euro 'sexy wine'. Unlike regular red wine, it is made from fermented strawberries, and not grapes. As a result, it has a smooth sweet taste and smells like fresh strawberries. I bought a bottle home with me, and my mom can vouch that it is amazing. I intend to go back and get more.

There are some aspects of my trip to Rome that I hated. So while I talk about how magical Rome is, and how you can smell the history and touch buildings that are older than Christ, there were moments where I wanted to leave. Walking around for two hours looking for a bank was one. Being propositioned as a prostitute was another. An Italian man asked if I had a hotel and if I would sleep with him for euros. After being disgusted and walking away, another Italian told me that because of my complexion, people would mistake me for being Brazilian, and the Brazilian women are perceived to be thieves, prostitutes and otherwise of bad moral character. It explained a lot of some of the treatment I received, but didn't make much sense because I spoke no Portuguese, had an American passport and an American accent. But they were convinced. A vendor spat into a sandwich that he tried to sell me which led to me screaming for my money back and having to call the police, a lady followed me around in a store because she thought I was going to steal something, even though I had no place to put anything, and I was glared at in many places. Later, I would find out that Brazilian women broke up a lot of Italian marriages and used to openly be spat at in Rome as they walked through the Piazzas. I was just grateful that never happened, because I'd be in Italian jail right now for murder.

While I enjoyed the beauty of the city, the saliva-free food, the wine, the architecture, I found myself more and more ready to leave Rome behind for Paris. The last night I was in Rome, I went to bed early after eating a three course meal for only 10 euros (about 16 dollars), made sure my clothes were clean and ready to be packed. On the plane, I found myself wishing that I'd been able to share the experience of Rome with someone else, and for the first time, I felt lonely. I watched out the window as the plane propelled up into the air and shut my eyes, wanting to get to the destination I was the most excited to see: Paris, France.

As I sat on that plane, I thought about my trip and realized I'd miss Rome. It's a city with so much history and beauty. Places like the Campo de Fiori look beautiful at night, as well as the lights all lit up on the Tiber River. The Vatican is breathtaking, as well as Saint Angelo's Castle. The Pont Angelo (Angel Bridge) lined with majestic angel statues that literally take your breath away, the clear blue water of the Trevi Fountain, the powerful emotions when looking at the Spanish Steps as well as the Tomb of Raphael...it's a city that serves as the model for many American cities. If you have the chance, do go see it for yourself. Even though I had some downs on my trip, I don't regret going in the slightest.

Before I knew it, the plane was landing outside of Paris, and the next leg of my journey was soon to begin.

Next Blog:

Parisian Perfection

Thoughts?

Ashley Robin

My London Love Affair

Hello All,

Some of you who read my blog know that I've always wanted to go to Europe. It's been something I've wanted to do since I first knew about it in grade school. My eyes would always grow big when teachers spoke of foreign places, and I always wanted to see the places spoken of with my own eyes. Well, just after my 25th birthday (eek!) I was fortunate enough to go on the trip of a lifetime. I planned it myself, without the help of a travel agent, and had no regrets. My money was saved up, my route was planned and directions were printed, research was completed. By the time the day came when I was due to board the plane to London, my first city of a few that I would visit during my 18 day trip, I was so excited to go that it didn't really hit me..I was getting on a plane and going to a place where I didn't know anyone.

I never told my mother, but about midway through the flight, it hit me. "What if I get sick? What if I get lost? What if I get robbed or attacked, or worse? Who would be there for me?" The closer I got to London, the more these thoughts seemed to disappear from my mind and more practical things filled it instead, such as "How the hell am I going to lug this bag around? What am I going to eat? What should I see first?" I stepped off the longest flight I'd ever taken on the Atlantic and faced the unknown with the optimism of a newborn. I breathed the air, looked around me and threw my arms up in absolute joy. This gesture, along with my American accent and naivete, was greeted with laughs and grins. I didn't care, though...for 18 days, the overseas world of Europe was mine, and I intended to do all I could to conquer it.

The trip started in London, actually Heathrow Airport. I remember stepping off the plane and not knowing what to expect, if people in the Queen's Guard uniforms would be standing there or if I'd be immediately offered tea and crumpets. I certainly did not expect to be interviewed for at least 5 minutes by the UK Customs Officials, while I saw plenty of other Americans bounce past the officials in seconds. However, I took it with a grain of salt, and carried on. After getting my luggage to the train, or 'the tube', lugging it up stairs, getting lost twice and then finding my way, and finally finding my hostel....I was beginning to relax. After bumbling around until I was able to get into my room, taking a hot shower and then going out, I did not feel like a tourist, but instead like I was home.

I walked throughout the streets, the well known ones and the 'dodgy' ones and felt as if I'd lived there for years, without a map, without a compass, without a guide. I found myself in supermarkets, coffee shops, burger joints, pubs, bars and nightclubs... shoulder to shoulder with the Brits. I drank potent apple cider for the first time, and also drank absinthe. I was asked by men to sit with them and entertain them with my "cute American accent". I did not receive any rude treatment, and when I did try on a Brit accent to buy a paper and some cigarettes for a roommate, the owner of the shop asked me what part of London I was from. "Brixton", I said, as I handed the exact amount to him, darting out of the shop before more questions ensued. I also made sure to do the "typically tourist" things, like walking through Hyde Park, stopping at the Marble Arch and the Wellington Arch (which is pictured with moi to the left) and at least see the inside of the Sherlock Holmes Pub. (They serve phenomenal fish and chips there, FYI)

I found out about the history of Big Ben, rode the London Eye and walked along the Thames River. I ate fish and chips, skipped the bangers and mash and indulged in a pint of ale. I drove past Wimbledon, tried Ethopian food and learned some Brit slang. I began to count my money in terms of quid, half-quid, quarter-quid and so on. I did not mind the intermittent rain, the cool breeze that whipped through my hair, and the awkwardness in dialing 13 numbers instead of 10, and how being a "vegetarian" was not as commonplace as it is in the States. I went without coffee. I woke up in the early mornings and walked, took the tube to random places, and saw the splendor of Harrod's. I was on a bus that drove on the London Bridge, stood in a spot where people were executed, and I learned the difference between crisps, chips and fries.

I walked through Piccadilly Circus, saw Madame Tussauds and stood at the site of the 02 Theatre where a Michael Jackson sign was being erected. I was hit on by men from Australia, New Zealand, Germany, France, Netherlands, Poland and Italy. I was able to find my way through a crowd of jubilant men and women, celebrating the arrival of an upcoming weekend by dancing the night away. I took a black taxi through a ghetto and saw their version of public housing. I saw the docks where the Titanic was built. I ate one of the best meal I've ever had in my life at a Gordon Ramsay restaurant and, if I did nothing else, I danced.

I was without a care in the world, happy and the world was my oyster. Simply, because I was in love. And I had made friends there too, who embraced my bumbling American way and made sure I was given a true tour of the city. Not something you get on a double-decker bus, or from a booth in front of the Ridley's Believe It or Not Museum. The way in which I was welcomed and embraced by the city and its people, wholeheartedly and without reservation, was priceless. It couldn't be bottled or mass distributed. As I reflect, I know that there is no price for what I experienced when I was in London. During those days, I fell in love with a city blessed with a history longer than the States. I look at my pictures from those days and I realize something, that my love affair with London is ongoing.

Thoughts?

Ashley Robin

Next Post: Roman Sentiments

Dream a Little Dream...

Hey,

Today is a sad day. I realized that today I put a wall up when it comes to people. Not just in my relationships, but friendships and whatnot. I'm very guarded, which is something that was hard for me to admit. So, I'm sad. I believe that I've always allowed myself to be an asshole, someone who listened and never spoke, and when I did speak, the words weren't as honest as the words I'd heard from others. Oh, I've known for a long time that I'm an asshole in certain ways, and that I, like most people, can be pretty self-serving, but in this time that I've spent stress-free, I've had the chance to learn about myself, and know more about the girl who stares back at me when I look in the mirror. 

First, she's not a girl, she's a woman. A woman who knows what she wants, and when she wants it. A woman who won't settle, who will do anything for her family and who is loyal to her friends to a fault. A woman who finds humor in the crude, wise and intellectual things, and who gets her kicks from reading about policy law. A woman who is learning to smile more, to be more open and to not hold herself to some incredibly high standard, a standard so high that she doesn't even hold others to it. It's unrealistic for them, and now, as I've learned, is unrealistic for me. There is no formula to life, and there is no appropriate time to do things, except when the time feels right and the stars are aligned. (If you believe in that sort of thing)

So, I'll learn to dream a little, to not worry about having a plan and to move forward naturally, not because of pressure from others, the outside world and the need to feel as if whatever I'm doing is 'acceptable'. 

On A More Personal Note, I forgot to mention...

Happy Belated Birthday Aaliyah Dana Haughton, who would have been celebrating her 30th birthday, January 16th, 2009. 

I miss her a lot...she truly was an angel on earth, heaven sent. 

Rest Forever in Heaven, and Rest In Peace.

Love You.

Thoughts?

*Ashley Robin*

Today Would Have Been:

Hey,

Today, I'm a bit bummed. I know that I am bummed and blue because of many different reasons. One of the reasons is that I have to return to school on Tuesday (Wednesday if I can get the okay to watch the Inauguration). I'm not looking forward to school mainly because I have spent more time stressed there then anywhere else. Last semester was so rough for me, emotionally, just because a lot of drama happened. And ironically, most of the drama was not my doing, for a change. I was unwillingly pulled into a situation that was out of my control and there was nothing I could do to stop it from happening. Because it happened, I was accused of having part in its creation, and the drama followed me as a result of that accusation. It sucked, and I looked forward to the break to just get away from it. And I did. While I didn't travel anywhere major, I was absolutely stress-free. I enjoyed talking to my dad, hanging out with my mom, sipping hot toddies and watching Jerry Springer. I'm sad to say goodbye to that time.

Another reason I'm bummed is because of the weather. When it gets cold, I tend to just retreat into myself, and not really want to do much of anything. I find that I get bored with being in the house, but unable to push myself into the world. It's a weird limbo that I live in, and while I don't like it, I find comfort in it. However, this cold is unlike anything I've ever seen. It moves, it breathes, and it just turns people into....assholes. Today, I was out in the cold, trying my best to be polite to people, and not only did some man try to steal my shopping cart at the store, in his efforts to take the cart (which had my cell phone and keys in it) he pushed me into the snow. I was lucky in that I could grab my stuff before he disappeared into the store, but what if I'd been unable? I was shouting at him that I'd grabbed the cart, but he didn't care. At all. I wasn't hurt by it emotionally or physically, but it was just the rudeness that hit me just like the cold. Hard, insensitive and unrelenting.

I'm also going through a stage where in my recovery of my past relationship that I begin to feel sorry for myself. Overall, mainly because it looks like I'll have a whole year after graduation to kill before I go to law school. And I know that in that year, time may go by slowly or fast, depending on what I am doing with myself. For example, my mom asked me when I was going to start dating again, and I had to excuse myself so that I wouldn't cry. Pathetic, I know, but I'm just feeling a little off center. I've not had much luck with relationships, and I'm starting to feel like I'm not meant to. And before anyone says it, I'm not whining, or even looking. I guess it's the inertia of my life, the uncertainty of what's to come. I can plan my semester, even a few weeks or so after, but the rest...remains unknown. With the job market being even more depressing and unrelenting than the cold, it just seems like next year, I'll be doing nothing but blogging and writing. Which is okay, but unless I get some crazy idea to make an income off of it or join a cult start work for PrePaid Legal it won't pay my student loans. 

Thank god for Forbearance!

Thoughts?

*Ashley Robin*

Living a Life that is Stress-Free

Hey,

For the first time in a long time, my life has been relatively stress-free. It's a weird feeling to not have any drama, conflict or issue going on. All of my MisAdventures are relatively easily solved. I ended my cycle relationship with my ex-boyfriend, and things between us have been excellent. We've always been close no matter what, and probably will continue to be.

Last night, a mutual friend of ours got engaged. We all knew he was going to propose, and he wanted to ask her to marry him in front of all his and her friends. So, we headed to dinner at this really nice place out in the Schaumburg area, and because we hadn't told this group of friends we had broken up, we decided to just wait until after Rodney proposed. We both agreed that this night was Rodney and Amber's night, and our news would just take away from it. Anyway, he picked me up and off we went, just talking about things. 

We got to the dinner, and did our best "couple" behavior with all of our coupled friends, sitting by each other, and even laughing and joking. When Rodney proposed, all of the men took the hands of their dates, and my ex took my hand, just like the rest of them. When all the women giggled and grinned at Amber's engagement ring, so did I. But even though the behavior matched, there was something missing. It was if by lying to them, we were lying to each other, and the longer the lie went on, the longer we both realized that it would end, and we would go back to being just two people. 

It's hard ending a long relationship like that, going from being a fixture in social settings to just going back to being regular folk. Rodney told my ex and I at the dinner that part of the reason that he proposed was because he had watched us together, and realized because of us, he realized he was in love with Amber and didn't want to spend a moment without her. I was more than happy to hear that, but also sad because we couldn't last. It's interesting, to mourn the loss of a relationship. Like an old friend, it changes just as you do, grows as you grow, and adapts with you. The other person in the relationship is just like you, learning, changing and growing...and it seems as if they should serve as your parallel. In the case of my past relationship, neither of us wanted to let it go. We decided to do what was best for the both of us, and it has worked out so far. Events like the engagement dinner however, serve as terrible reminders. Anyway, I made it through it, with no kind of awkwardness.

As far as the one who got away, that situation resolved itself rather nicely. However, I find that now there are others who are interested in me. Why is that as soon as I free myself from one situation, there seem to be others who are interested. However, if I'm not attached at all, there's no one around? It's almost as if there's some kind of signal that recently single or attached women give, like they just smell better to men or something. It makes no sense to me at all...I'm clueless about it. If I could get a man's opinion on it, I'd be able to know more. It's just one of those things that makes little to no sense in all the issues of the world. So frustrating.

Thoughts?

*Ashley Robin*

Friday Five: Five MisAdventures of My Childhood

Hey,

I've decided to try to do a weekly post called the Friday Five. I know bloggers do them often, where they make occasional lists about things that are on their mind or randomly find themselves the subject of whatever they've been influenced by.

The first time I ever posted something about how I grew up, or even about my family, it rang as something that people could relate to, and seemed to connect with the readers of this blog. As a result, I've decided that my misadventures of my youth are just as interesting as the ones of my adulthood. So, here we go, my Five MisAdventures of My Childhood.

5- Climbing into bed with my mom when I was afraid of the thunderstorms. 

Ever since I was a child, I was always frightened of thunderstorms. I would climb into bed with my mom, and she would tell me a story to occupy my mind, usually about something mythical, and these stories would involve kings, wicked dragons, princesses...but as I got older, they became tales of secret agents, star-crossed lovers, dynasties and government upheavals. All fabricated from spur of the moment ideas, and all fantastic. I lived for those stories, and began to slowly like thunderstorms because of them.

4- Cooking with my father.

My friends will tell you that my least favorite place to be is in the kitchen, but I can remember preparing dinner with my father, who made cooking fun. Watching him create his "Secret Spicy 'Maican Sauce" was always something I loved, not just because of the music he'd hum while cooking, but also the smells. He would tell me about my great-grandmother and how the recipe for the 'Maican Sauce was passed down from generation to generation, and one day, if I was lucky enough, I'd learn how to make it. The 'Maican Sauce, as I call it, can be used to make authentic Jamaican Jerk shrimp, chicken, beef, etc...

3- Sharing Ice Cream with my dog, Freddie

In the summers where I'd visit with my dad in New York, I would be allowed to buy an ice cream cone whenever the ice cream man came. Sometimes, I'd splurge and buy a milkshake, but usually I would buy a chocolate cone with sprinkles and sit on the steps of my house and eat it, slowly enough that it would melt on my hand. Freddie, my cocker spaniel that I had since birth and who was joined to my right hip, had to be restrained in order to not climb all over me and eat it, but became my personal paper towel, as he would lick my hand clean and then look at me as if he wanted more. As a result, I started buying him a vanilla cone of his own. My dad started to wonder why I asked for double the amount of money, and later would tell me he assumed I was buying ice cream for one of my local friends. When he discovered that the extra cone was for Freddie, he would begin to join us on the porch, eating ice cream. No matter what he did, for two summers, everyday at 5:15 or so, all three of us sat on those steps eating ice cream. Even if we were mad at each other or not speaking, it became a silent ritual.

2- Tree Climbing with Kevin

When we climbed trees, we suddenly became the masters of the world. We would climb one tree in particular, and stay in it for hours. Conversations that happened in the tree stayed there, and we experienced a lot of emotions in that tree. Sadness, regret, joy, love, sorrow and pain...they were all emotions that the tree held for us. We would often climb the tree when hiding from the world, and when our parents would call the other in search for their child, we would brave the outside to go to the tree, and usually find the other nearby, if not in its branches. Kevin told me about his cancer in that tree, while he was on the phone with me as I sat in DC, he was safely in its branches talking to me and telling all about the battle ahead. We used to picnic in that tree, and every single time that I pass it, I think of him. He carved our initials into its side as a monument to our memories one day, and recently, I saw a boy and a girl, who looked eerily like us sitting in it, giggling. It made me think of us, and I'm sure that as long as we are able, we'll find solace in its branches.

1- Walking around my neighborhood 

In my New York neighborhood and my Chicago neighborhood, two different worlds existed. In Queens, people were much more diverse, friendly and interactive. I often spent hours just walking around, usually taking my cocker spaniel, Freddie, with me, and I would find stores, friends and hideouts. It was not strange that a young child, a preteen and then a teenager would be ambling around the streets. I often thought about what life would be like if I'd grown up there in the summers I visited, and I would walk around, creating memories as if I had, and laugh at myself for doing it. Chicago, was also its own world, people seemed less open, less willing to understand my exploration and people often would ask me where my parents were. I'd often go for walks and my mom understood this, so she'd let me go...and as a result, she often had to explain to my neighbors that she knew where I was and that it was really okay. The neighborhood was divided, but still held a certain mystique to me, a flavor that I could not find in the streets of Queens. I loved the comparison, and when I tried to explain it to my mom or my dad, they would both look at me completely confused, simply because they'd never taken that journey with me. I felt like those walks were my own secret, one that only I knew about and understood. Because of that, they were a million times more special.

Thoughts?

*Ashley Robin*

So Long, Mr. Wonderful (Falling Out Part III: The Conclusion)

Hey,

First, I say Happy Holidays grudingly, simply because I am no fan of the holidays at all. While I do wish that everyone enjoys their Christmas, New Years, Kwanzaa, Hanukkah, etc., I don't particularly like the holidays. Probably won't until I've either gotten over my own issues with the holidays or have children that force me to be into it. Even then, part of me hopes that I can just drop them off with either my mother or the family of their father so I can be left in peace. Long story short, bad things seem to happen around the holidays....to me, to my family, to those I care about....so I'm biased. I treat this Thursday just like any other, well...not any other, because I'd probably be able to go get a decent drink but can't because the bars are closed. I really need one, and the drink I made isn't doing much to stop me from feeling like absolute sh**.

Why do I feel like sh** and need a drink, you ask?

So, I probably had the worst conversation that I've had in my entire life. I told my ex-boyfriend in the most direct and straightforward way possible, feelings being damned, that there was no way possible that we'd end up together. He came by my house to drop off a Christmas gift for my mother last night, and I asked him if we could talk. I'd been dreading this conversation for awhile, and as soon as I realized that it HAD to happen, I was loathing the fact that the cycle would be ended, and by me. Part of me waited for him to tell me that he'd fallen for someone else, that the picture of the two of us in a loving embrace on his nightstand had been replaced by one just as intimate with someone else...anything that did not make me the villian in this conversation. I remember it more vividly than I probably should, him standing in front of me slightly slouching down so I didn't feel quite so small, his eyes fixated on me in a lovingly manner but then looking away just as soon as he felt my eyes on him. It was weird seeing him like that, for the first time vulnerable, unassuming and not confident. He looked as if the weight of the world was on his shoulders and it was up to me to release him from the burden.

I spoke, softly and calmly. "Look, you and I both know that we go through this cycle with each other. We can't decide whether we love each other or hate each other. It ends up with one of us hurt, one jealous or angry and both of us confused." He swallowed as he looked at the ground and shifted his weight, silently agreeing with my statement. I looked at him, and without his permission, continued. "We've been going through this cycle for years, and I'm just tired. I can't keep doing this with you anymore. I can't keep putting myself out there, waiting for you to figure out what it is you want, only for you to hurt me somehow. It's not healthy and I don't have the strength to keep doing it. And I don't want to." I paused, only because he looked me directly in my face, and it shocked me.

He looked at me, and his eyes were heavy. I'd never noticed that his attitude was patient, something that I'd least expect from him, given from the situation. He cleared his throat as if he was going to speak, but hesitated. I looked at him, and he slid to the ground, almost as if his knees buckled from under him. Instinctively, I went to reach out to him, to comfort him, to touch his face and try to undo the hurt I'd just caused him. But, I realized in an instant that I'd never be free of this cycle so, I just folded my hands and looked at him. If he'd looked up at me in that moment, he'd have had me under his spell...but he didn't. Instead, he spoke two words as if they were the last words I'd ever hear him say, and when he spoke, his voice was strangely unfamiliar because it was wavering and soft, as if he were about to cry. "You're right."

I looked at him, and realized that he was sad. Not just sad, but devastated because he knew the true meaning of my words. He looked up at me and tried to find some level on which to connect with me, but I couldn't look him in the eye. He said, "I know that I hurt you, and I'm sorry. I believe that you deserve better than me. I've just allowed my jealousy and insecurity and doubt of us ruin any potential of something real. And I'm sorry. I'll never forgive myself, even if you do." I slid down on the ground next to him, and in the barely lit living room, my hands found his face. I spoke, being sure to not sound like I was yielding in my stance, and the words formed even before I knew I felt that way. "I already have. But we both deserve not to be in so much pain. Love shouldn't be painful, it should be effortless." He looked at me, finding my eyes this time. "So what we had wasn't love? Is that what you're saying?" I curled my legs under me, watching my lower half move, and I said, "No, what we had was love. It just wasn't the kind of love that could be forever. I want my forever." He kissed my forehead and hugged me close to him. "And I want you to be happy."

Losing myself for a moment in the warm, robust smell of his collar that had been my drug for so long, almost too long, I realized that I do want to be happy. But in that same moment I wondered that if my happiness only lies with him...if all my love would forever belong to him. If my life was simply meant to be an extension of his. I thought back on all the memories I had with him, all the time, counseling, all the time I'd believed that this man, whom I was consoling, was the love of my life. I saw everything, him placing a ring on that all-important finger, us running down a hill hand in hand after our wedding, me looking at him for support as I gave birth to our child, watching him sing that baby a lullaby, laughing at private jokes that we shared, growing old. I even saw the sadness in his eyes as I sighed my final breath, the tears coming from him naturally, and then the tears of our children as he passed on to join me in the afterlife. I saw it all, as he embraced me, and it seemed so intoxicating. But it was not real, it was my idealized vision of how I saw life with him, and it was not true. So, we sat there for a while, quiet and not-moving, and it went without saying that I'd been the stronger of the two of us, even though I'd never known it. It also went without saying that I'd officially let him go.

The rest of the conversation was pretty intense. And pretty personal...so I hope you won't mind if I don't share it. But let's just say that after some discussion, the chapter of Mr. Wonderful is closed. Maybe someday we will be friends, but for now, it's closed.

Thoughts?

*Ashley Robin*

Falling Out (part II)

Hey,

So to continue my previous post, there are many reasons why I cannot let Mr. Wonderful out of my life.

Our relationship was tumultuous, to say the least. It was full of extremes, extreme love, anger, pain, detest, passion, arguments, making up and complacency. But if it is nothing, it is familiar, and I love that about it. I love the moments where I don't have to think with him, and the fact that no matter what the emotion that he and I are experiencing, I can always go to him and curl up in his arms and stay there for as long as I want. He's never, ever pushed me away. That's not the way he is, though, but that's how he is with me, and despite all the potential drama, I don't want to let that walk away out of my life, because overall, there is history there and at the end of the day, I value his friendship, respect his opinion and always will look for his encouragement.

Another thing about our relationship is that although it's full of extremes, it reminds me of the relationship that my parents had. Volatile to the extreme, they fought like dogs. Some days they were fighting, even to the point of physical blows...but then, hours or up to a day later they'd be laughing together or all over each other. It was kind of gross because it was my parents, but at the same time, interesting. When I found my ideal mate, I promised myself that I'd have some of that passion in my relationship with them. With Mr. Wonderful, I found out that extreme existed and it was with him. It was easy to fall back into the cycle, and now more than ever, I find myself standing on a precipice, not sure how to behave because being without him is unfamiliar.

We often go weeks without talking to each other. It's normal, and usually means that one or both of us is pursuing something with someone else. After seeing him out Christmas shopping around the end of November with a girl who obviously was into him on that level, I decided to move on. Seeing him with her didn't upset me as much as I thought it would, and it snapped me out of my whole "waiting for him" stage. So, I decided to go on a date. And it was nice. More than nice, it was drama-free. So, I found myself feeling things that were relatively foreign to me, and while I enjoyed those feelings, I found myself feeling strange because they weren't feelings for Mr. Wonderful. I found myself wanting to explore them, but also wanting to dissect them. I decided to ignore my head and just go with the flow. 

It is difficult when you have loved someone for so long and then you realize that they have either forgotten you or moved on. It is agonizing to admit your love for them in the first place, and just as agonizing to not know what they are thinking when you do admit it. In my case, I've loved three people in my life, one died when I was young, the second loved someone else more and Mr. Wonderful was the third. My love for him probably was the deepest, because he helped me get over a lot of different things. So, when I was faced with the decision of having to let him go so I could move on, I choked.

It goes on even more....

Thoughts?

*Ashley Robin

Falling Out (part I)

Hey,

So the current MisAdventure seems to be the cycle that I've managed to fall into with my ex-boyfriend. The one that I'm always mooning over, the one that one of my best friends, Kelsey, is convinced that I will marry... Mr. Wonderful. 

He and I, we seem to live in this cycle where we love each other, get bored with each other, do things to hurt each other, fall out of love with each other, make up, become friends with each other and then fall in love all over again. It seems, in order for us to complete an entire cycle takes anywhere from 6-10 months. We've done it maybe 3 times. The cycle has existed through other relationships, through dating other people, through our own decisions to stay away from each other and through our own emotional issues. 

Essentially, I'm not strong enough to be hurt over and over...and he's not able enough to recognize that he hurts me. In my effort to rebel against him hurting me, I do things to hurt him and end up feeling guilty about them, but what I don't realize is that my behavior does hurt him and only makes him less likely to change. It's an emotionally draining thing to be involved in, and if I was able to realize it was happening in real time, I'd stop and talk to him about it...but even when I've had the inkling to, I can't.

The thing is, I love him. Even thinking about him now, I smile. But then, the smile gets lost somewhere in the memory of all the drama, late night arguing, tears, pain and feelings of loneliness....but even with all that, I can't imagine my life without him. He's become a part of me, and the longer this goes on I begin to realize that I have a decision on my shoulders. Either I deal with the issues that I have with him head-on, if that means relationship counseling, if that means being uncharacteristically honest with him about how I really feel....or, (and I shudder at the very thought of it) I let him go. I end the cycle right now, in this moment, and I learn to live my life without him. I don't really know how to do that, but I imagine it would be the same as any other loss, moving on and simply taking things one day at a time...one step at a time.

I had my epiphany about this whole situation today, as I was driving around getting some errands done. A song came on my radio via my iPod nano, called "Falling Out" by Keyshia Cole. It pretty much explains how I feel when I'm in the "doing things to hurt him/falling out of love" stage...all the pain, the sorrow, the abandonment, and the loneliness that I feel...it's summed up with her words. In the end of the song, she lets him go...I just hesitate on making that same decision...

I'll talk about my hesitations when I post tomorrow...

Thoughts?

*Ashley Robin*

I Always Knew that One Day, They'd Try to Bring Me Down

Hey,

So today, I am getting over being sick as a dog. My nose is red from sneezing too much, my head hurts and my throat aches and I'm exhausted from not really sleeping well. Anyway, I have found out that, yet again, I have a hater. I am never against having haters, simply because they motivate me to keep on my everyday hustle, but it always shocks me to find out who is doing the hating. This time, it is one of the people who I never thought would be so against me.

I'm not about to put them on blast, because that's trifling, especially when I have yet to figure out if or how I'd even let them know about themselves, BUT, I write about them because I need to address a trait in myself. I'm loyal. To my friends, my family as well as the people I care about. It's rare for me to go against someone, even if I hear they talk about me like I have a tail. (And that's pretty bad, to me.) BUT, if you talk ish about my mom, I will pretty much call my relationship with you dead and stinking. That's what this person did. They talked ish about my mom AND my dad, which kinda hurts. It stings something terrible since my dad's relationship with me is so complex.

I don't really talk about my dad much. Not to anyone, mainly because my relationship with my dad is so crazy that I barely understand it. First, he's gonna be 80 years old in January. Second, he's suffering from an aggressive form of rheumatoid arthritis, but more importantly, degenerative disease that affects his memory of the long and short term. He will eventually lose the battle with it, and not remember me, my mother or even the events that have occurred in his own life. Add in the fact that he and I are alike in that we are both stubborn, strong-willed and hard to read, as well as not the most tactful or considerate people and we make a pair. However, with my father's condition, and (assuming) the fact that he is aware of the issues that come with it, he has become softer. He has good days and bad, (more good than bad, for now) and his good ones are filled with love, with pride and with genuine kindness. His bad days are when he's the most disapproving, critical and judgmental. He is probably the one person, because he and I are alike in many ways, who can say the exact thing to make me upset. He knows it too, so when he is sad and hurting and wants me to feel the same way, he hurts me with his words. Despite all that, I can say that I do not doubt that my father loves me. In his own way, his occasional disdain for my life is also his silent approval. He has laughed with me, cried with me, and let me sit in his lap, even at 20 years of age.

My father is a sore subject for me, in relation to this person who is talking ish, mainly because they have not met him. They would not even know my father if he walked past them in the street...and yet, they are alluding that my father is the reason I have gotten certain things in my life. My father, who has had very little to do with the choices that I make, who has had his own health problems and other illnesses to deal with, and if he had any influence over me, would have chosen an entirely different set of rules, is now being accused by this person, this stranger, to have been behind a lot of my successes. Oh, how I wish I could say that. Unfortunately, being his child meant that I'd have to walk my own path, without his help or assistance...and yes, he could have assisted a lot. With money, with phone calls, with an email or two, my father could have shaped a different life for me as if it were no big deal. However, I walk my own path.

I realize now that some "friends" aren't friends at all. And if they certain that they truly are in life for good reasons, they are only pretending and may be pretending to themselves as well. Which is even sicker, in my opinion, and is a solid case for psychiatric treatment. I used to say in high school that true friends stab you in the front. A girl I know, who I was close to once and am not anymore, corrected me and said, "True friends don't stab you at all."

She's right.

Thoughts?

*Ashley Robin 

A Love Song for My Male Best Friend

Hey,

So, I read a bunch of blogs randomly.  Most of the blogs I read always are talking about sex, the people who have it and those who don't, the need for it, as well as how to get some more of it in your life. In my reading, I seem to find that a lot of folks are under the impression that men and women cannot be friends. Either it's because one secretly wants the other, they both want the other and don't know how to work it out, or they are doomed to eventually try out a sexual relationship and have it go completely bust. 

However, my male best friend and I do not fit any of those three. Not only have we known each other so long it's not even funny, but there's no sexual tension there. Oddly enough, we set up to be a couple by two friends. It worked and we were involved romantically. But given that we were young, it didn't mean as much if we were together now. I think about those times and laugh, because he was a sweet boyfriend, but it was more or less going through the motions. No real "Love Connection" there. 

So, we ended the attempts in trying to please others and just started hanging out. We'd watch TV together, eat dinner with my mom, go for long walks and just talk about things. We'd huddle together on a park bench in the winter and drink hot chocolate, and in the autumn, we'd rake leaves and burn them (even though it was illegal, we loved the smell) as we cooked s'mores and drank spiked iced tea. We planned to take over the world, and we laughed at almost everyone. Eventually, our relationship became that of best friends, and while it was weird in that we never really discussed its evolution, we started to rely on each other in ways that a lover could not meet.

In high school, we ditched classes to hang out together, we walked around downtown and sometimes went shopping, and we made sure that we caught the first show at the movie theatre on Thursdays when admission was $2.00. Those were the good old days. We've done a lot, and our relationship has a lot of battle scars, but we've settled into a groove that proves that males and females can co-exist in relationships that do not require sex. There's no sexual tension between us, and trust me, we've seen ALL of each other that there is to see. I love him, he loves me, but that love is not sexual. So, to all the bloggers, men and women can be best friends without feeling like they must have sex. My relationship with Kevin is proof of that.

Thoughts?

*Ashley Robin*

The MisAdventurous Ashley Robin is BACK!!

Hey All,

I've been M.I.A. because I have been working on a documentary on Barack Obama for a class. This is the preview (or trailer) for the full length film. It is my baby, basically, and I've been hunched over the computer for many a night with no sleep to get this part done in time. LOL. So, as a side effect, no blogging. Well, now that the video is done, I get parts of my life back and now have to suffer through hoping that people actually like it and understand what it is about. That's probably the hardest part.

I just wanted to figure out why people support Barack Obama, and the answers I got varied. While all aren't in the trailer, some were simple as "he's the black guy" to the complex "he truly understands the plight of the ordinary American" (and then a dialogue about what they feel that plight is...) but it was an interesting journey. I don't know if I'll actually put the real documentary together anytime soon, despite the 09 release date, mainly because I gotta graduate, you know?

I gotta thank the President Elect and his staff for their assistance, as well as all the people I talked to both on and off camera, and my family for watching it over and over again with me. 

But take a look and comment, and be honest in how you feel about it.

*Ashley Robin*

The distressed look of the footage of Barack is to create an illusion of something that happened that passed...

Qualifications for Mr. Robin (An Addition to the Official List of Haters)

Right now, Hugh Laurie (my cat) is the only male that lies in my bed. That'll change sometime soon. 

Hey,

So this cat to the left is my Hugh Laurie. I've never put his picture up on the blog before, mainly because most people know what he looks like, but the picture just seemed so appropriate, as he is the only man who occupies my bed at the moment. And he does so, quite naturally, to be honest. It is funny to see him keeping my bed warm for me in the day, the afternoon and the night. But it's nice to have him as a personal sheet warmer. Even as I type now, he's curled up next to me, leaning on me and watching me type, with his constant "are you for real?" face. He's a funny person, and yes, I refer to him as a person.

Anyway, today's MisAdventure relates to my previous post. If you didn't read it, I was basically summarizing my happiness that Barack Obama has been elected to the highest office in the land. As a result, men (black men in particular) are gonna have to step their game up a little. It was never acceptable for me to date a 'wanna-be' thug, or a guy who didn't know that a belt actually holds the pants up, not in place below their ass. Recently, I have been the subject of an IM conversation with a guy who attends my school. Honestly, I have a very small idea of who this guy is, I know him but I don't KNOW him. This guy is convinced that I'm a hottie, his word, and that because I'm so hot, I should go out with him. 

I've decided to post some highlights from our iChat, and ask you- am I deluded, or was I in the wrong?

him- maybe we can plan a time to meet at school
me-for?
him-just to talk and catch up on things
me-isnt that what we are doing now
him-yes but i think it would be nice to see you again in person
me-why
him-so we can kiss. JK no, i mean i just think it would be a good experience
me-why?
him-because i want to be your friend and get to know you
me-why?him-because youre sooo my type jK
me-um...
him-well the real reason is because i think highly of you and i want to get to know you in a lot of ways
me-why him-because i want to get to know you. i like you i think youre a hottie foxy
me-?
him-seriously i think youre really cute i think youre soooo hot youre too hot to handle too cold to hold
me-what? him-i told you i like you me-but you don't know me him-but i want to me-nah
him-nah what? why are you not taking me seriously? me-no
him-give me a reason why not we're both black
me-well, because when pressed to say why you're interested in me, you just say im hot
him-you are hot like in a sexy way
me-yeah, but that doesn't do anything for me sorry
him-youre on fire are you into knuckleheads and thugs? im a good catch a true gentleman
me-no
him-i have more to offer than other guys at school
me-im into men that wear suits that have goals
him-they dont have what i have
me-that could be a future anything i need a guy who has more than me, who makes me want to be a better person
him-theyre just ghetto snipes i mean they probably didnt even vote on drugs or gay or felons
me-are you even reading what i said wow
him-yes i reaad it
me-that's not a thug i described

He goes on to tell me that I've underestimated him because his parents live in a million dollar home that he lives, that he drives a nice car and all that, and because that I want to meet a guy like Barack when I'm in law school, I've described a thug who will never amount to anything in life and who won't even graduate from law school. He also says he's upset that I don't like "decent men" and that I like "bastards". When I say that I'm dead set on what I believe and what I want, he then starts becoming offensive to me, saying that I'm ghetto and ignorant, and that I won't amount to anything either. He's so wonderful, and I'm just a gigantic loser. He says I don't have anything, I won't find anything, then calls me a prejudiced white girl and says I sound like a redneck. It was a mind-blowing conversation.

So, svoneagwish1183, you are #458 on Ashley Robin's Official List of Haters.

Yes, that's his official AIM screename, hit him up and tell him about himself!

Thoughts?

*Ashley Robin*

New Business

Hey,

So I've been busy getting my law school application research process on and I have not had enough time to post. In the research process, I was able to obtain materials from at least 50-60 different law schools all across the country. However, my fabulous best friend (also known as Mom) is helping me sort through all of them. With her help, I'm building a list of those to apply, and now have to start work on the ever-influential personal statement. If you've ever written one, please help! I need some kind of formula to do it and there seems to be none. 

But thanks to a friend, I've been able to create an online store, check it out here,  so people can buy the musings that I've always wanted on tee shirts. The store will grow, and hopefully the money will grow. Most of it is going toward the trip to Europe. So if you want to support me, but want to feel as if you've not just given away something for nothing...buy a shirt or mousepad or hat. Keep checking it, because it will grow as I get better and quicker able to create shirt worthy slogans. The "InSane McCain" ones seem to be the most popular. My favorite is the green one. I'm getting one to put on my pillow.

Anyway, the ex Mr. Wonderful read the entire blog. In one day. He literally sat down and read the entire thing. I'm still tripping on it. He said that he was glad that I didn't write him up to be a complete asshole, and that it made him realize how much I loved him. He liked it, and some of the blogs that weren't about him, he thought were. Just goes to show you that some guys are still somewhat self-centered. Anyway, he's gotten a login here, so he can comment and even write posts. He said he's gonna write one, but we'll see. And he does love the nickname, Mr. Wonderful. 

My other ex boyfriend is tripping. Big time. But that's an entry for later this week. 

Thoughts?

*Ashley Robin*

Mourning an Unexpected Loss

Hey,

Well...all losses are unexpected, and all losses are hard. I've lost a lot of people in my life, whether it have been my first love, my childhood friend, my biological mom, a good friend from college that I'd fallen out of touch with, a surrogate grandmother, and those are just the folks that died. Sometimes we lose people without them actually dying, just by simply losing touch. In the world of cell phones and email, it's hard to lose track of people as we move and migrate through our lives. 

Today, though, I found out that my best friend Kevin, the same one who is dealing with his own mortality via a battle with pancreatic cancer, has lost his grandmother. The ordinary relationship that a typical boy has with his grandmother is (based on my experience) full of something I call "living disdain". In that you love the person, but aren't exactly thrilled to be spending time with them, mainly because they are either unhip, boring or just not a person you'd choose to be around of your own free will. 

Kevin and his grandmother, Grandma Eve (Evelyn), were always joined at the hip. Even as a little boy, he'd always talk about how cool she was, and how he always felt like he really was her son instead of his mom's. He looked forward to spending time with her every summer in California, and when he couldn't make it to her, she came to him. She even adopted me by being my grandmother, bringing me sushi lunches in high school, buying me purses and shoes, and kissing me just as much as she kissed Kevin, if not more so. When I was with the two of them, I never felt like I was the odd man out. She had the biggest laugh, always giggling with me and Kevin about something, and taking us both out to late-night movies and ice cream sundaes, even when we got older and no longer thought of those outings as the highlight of our week. 

As Kevin grew up, she was there for him, from his highest moments to his less flattering and lowest moments, and she never once judged him or said a harsh word against him. When we were sitting in the hospital waiting to hear what the situation was when Kevin got shot in the stomach for messing with some gang dude's girlfriend, she just said, "It's Kevin. He does sh** like that." (He turned out to be very lucky and the bullet hit no vital organs, just cost him a three-day hospital stay and a week and a half of bed rest after that. Later that day, when I saw him first in his room, he told me he was scared of seeing his grandmother's 'mean face'. When he needed money to go to college, she sold her house and moved into a nice condo, putting the difference into an account in Kevin's name, which he used to pay for his education. When Kevin got sick, she was there for him even more than his own mother was, stepping into the role of guardian on more than one occasion, and talking with the doctors about his treatment. She offered her home to him, and he accepted, knowing that he'd be taken care of, and not babied, and that his grandmother would have his back, 100 percent of the time. She'd often refer to him as her baby, and me as her adopted granddaughter. Later, she'd call me her granddaughter, and drop the word "adopted". 

Today, I found out that she has passed away. She wanted to not outlive her eldest grandson, and in a twisted way, she got her wish. We don't know exactly what happened, but it appears that she succumbed to a household accident. I don't want to go into specifics, but it was not something that could be attributed to suicide. Kevin's father, Eve's ex-son-in-law, found her while Kevin was at our friend's house 2 hours away. He was the one to tell him of her death, and I am thankful that he was there to be a boulder of support for him. It is a sad day indeed.

Thoughts?

*Ashley Robin*

PS: My ex-boyfriend, Mr. Wonderful, found out about the blog and has told me of his intent to read it from beginning to end. I'm not quite sure how to feel about it, since the beginning of it, and a good portion since, has a lot to do with him and is about him. 

Living The Pollo-Pescetarianistic Life

Hey,

So I've always been a finicky eater. I don't like to eat too much red meat because it makes my heart race, my tummy hurt and my head aches as a result. A while ago, I decided to eat fish, chicken and my veggies. In talking to a good friend of mine, who is a strict vegetarian, she told me I was a pollo-pescetarian. When I googled it, I found out a pescetarian is someone who is essentially a vegetarian, but who eats some fish. A pollotarian is someone who is a vegetarian but eats chicken. So I'm a pollo-pescetarian. Interesting things you learn when hanging with the vegetarian crowd.

As far as the marriage post, I've decided to cut things off with the married guy. I don't want to be accused of leading him on, or become some target by someone. It's not worth it. There are enough single guys in the world to keep me interested. Besides, I'm convinced I won't be meeting my Barack until I'm in law school. Until then, I'll indulge in my chicken, fish and veggies and work towards being a better me.

Thoughts?

*Ashley Robin*

The Sanctity of Marriage

Hey,

So today's MisAdventure is about marriage. Better yet, the idea of purpose of it. Is it outdated, not needed or required in this age of technology?

A while ago, I was working as a waitress at a popular Hyde Park (Chicago neighborhood that is home to the University of Chicago) bar/hangout. In this bar, I was flirted with all the time. Old men, young men, married men, single men, even women. I admit that I used my feminine wiles to get more tips. You'd be surprised how much of a difference makeup makes when you're pushing sex burgers. A full face of makeup, along with a bare midriff would get me at least $120-$150 a night, where as the makeup without the bare belly would get me around $100. I never did rock anything short or low-cut, but girls that did made way more than that $150. 

Some of the guys who came in were cute. Others were rich. Others were a bit of both and ugly. But most were enslaved married. Can you tell already that I've got a negative view on marriage? Most of the married men just admired my "taut body", "ample curves", etc. (The words in quotes were things I was told...seriously). One day in particular, a Sunday, I was waiting on a big group of male motorcycle enthusiasts. They were just a group of guys who ride around on their bikes together, as well as have fun on the weekends. Now, I'm a single girl. I am now, and I was then, so if I saw a guy who seemed nice enough, had a decent head on his shoulders and made me laugh, I'd give him the benefit of the doubt and talk with him. If he said things I liked, I'd give him my phone number. No harm in that.

One guy in particular was really attractive. He and I formed a relationship due to my interest in bikes, and when he took me to this place in the burbs to look at them, he tried to sneak a kiss on me. We ended up hanging out a lot over the course of a few months, and I found myself really liking my company. He was funny, kind, considerate and as I found out later, married. I felt lied to, betrayed and used, but I knew the situation could be much worse. Even despite all that, he still wanted to see me. 

I talked to my mom about it, since she'd met him (meeting my mom is not the big deal it can be with people) and started to ask me about how he was doing. When I confessed to being involved with a married man, my mom asked me how I found out he was married. That, in itself, was a story.

Basically, we went out to go to the zoo and then get a sundae one afternoon, and I'd brought my four year old cousin with me. He had her in his arms, and we all were having a great time. And my little cousin doesn't like anyone she doesn't know touching her. So, when he picked her up and she was okay with it, I started thinking, "Could I really date this guy?". When I asked him about his ability to connect with kids, he said it was because he'd had a kid of his own. This was no news to me, because I knew he had kids, but after I asked the question, he got quiet. The vibe of the entire outing changed. After he dropped me off, he and I didn't speak for a few days. When we did speak, we had a conversation that went a little something like this:

Him: So there's something I need to talk to you about.

Me: What's up [name], you can talk to me about whatever. 

Him: Well, let me just say that I really like you, and I'm enjoying myself with you. I see a future for us.

Me: A future? Isn't it a bit early to have the whole 'possibility of a relationship conversation"?

Him: Well, yes...but this isn't that conversation.

Me: What conversation is this one, then?

Him: This is the conversation where I drop a bomb on you, and hopefully you understand, forgive me and we move on.

Me: Okay, so what is this bomb? (Preparing myself to faint, scream, yell, or kill, depending on the bomb)

Him: When I told you before that I had kids, I should have told you I had something else.

Me: Something else...do you mean like an STD?

Him: No, I have a wife. I'm married.

Me: *DEAD*

So this situation has made me skeptical of marriage. The idea, the dream, the preciousness (if that's a word), and the importance of it. I hate to say it, but I still talk to the guy. No, not in a dating fashion or even a sexual fashion, but we do talk every now and then. Does it make me the bad guy because I briefly dated a married man? True, I didn't know it, but then again, I wasn't paying attention. Ignorance is no excuse, I know. But it made me laugh at the idea of marriage. Before this experience, I wanted to get married, pop out some kids and honor and love my husband all the day of my life. Before, I was looking forward to getting married, having a future and living my life with someone as a young person and then sit on the porch of our home and grow old with them, surrounded by our children and grandchildren. Now, I'm simply afraid that I'd end up like [name]'s wife, and wind up with a husband who has feelings for another woman. 

You could argue that he was just lying about having feelings because he wanted to get into my pants. But, since that never happened, and most of the time we ended up just having really in-depth conversations about things, you'd be hard pressed to feel that the relationship was sexually based. I've always felt that creating a mental connection with someone is a deeper violation than any physical thing, because it takes more brain power and genuine interest to connect with someone emotionally and mentally than it does physically. So, in theory, if my husband were bonding with another woman on the mental level, I would be more upset than if he slept with her, because the mental connection means there is a mutual interest in making a connection deeper than the simple "bang".

Why do I feel that way based on that experience? Well, here is a man, a seemingly great guy, who is a father, employed, and yet, he's desiring another woman. So much that he would deny his marriage, and then when he started to grow feelings (which he did), the guilt got to him and he admitted his true relationship status. No, I never "closed the deal" with the guy, but I could have. I don't know what I would have done if I had, or how I'd have felt. And realistically, I'm single (and I thought he was too), so it is realistic to think that it could have happened.

Adventures of Life on Bang Bang Row

Hey Everyone,

Now, people who read this blog know that I am a transplant from New York. Not the state, the country or township in England, but the city. I'm from the Southside of Jamaica, Queens. For those not sure where that is, just listen to any song from 50 cent's first album, Get Rich or Die Trying. He, along with another Southside Jamaica native and my favorite rapper, Nas, discuss what life is like there. It's gritty, people are cool to you if they know you, and tend to keep an eye out on their own. Growing up there was like growing up back in the day, all the kids played together, everyone ate at everyone's house and all the kids would hang outside playing tag or riding bikes until the streetlights came on. Now, by no means am I saying it was perfect, but the little block club, five whole blocks full of people both on and off welfare, of Blacks, Dominicans, Mexicans, Puerto Ricans, Chinese and Koreans. I grew up as a racial mutt, not sure where I belonged, and I was accepted by these people wholeheartedly. The area, full of bodegas, allowed all these people of different backgrounds mix and learn from one another. I would eat at old Mrs. Liu's house twice a week, and go to Mr. Riaz's house for lunch. All the kids knew everyone, and all the adults looked out for us, whether they had kids or not. Mr. and Mrs Hiu threw the best Halloween parties, transforming their house into a lavish haunted house with creatures, decorations, and all kinds of scary things that made all the kids scared and we all looked forward to seeing what was different from the year before. Chinese New Year dinners with them were literally amazing, lavish feasts with decorations, all kinds of food and laughs. My mom made the best fried chicken at the neighborhood potluck, and everyone always tried to come to our house for Thanksgiving. Granted, this was the early 90's, in the era of New Jack Swing, but still not that long ago. Amazing how things have changed.

Later on in my childhood, after my parents pretty much decided they couldn't be in a room with one another without trying to kill the other or just be evil to everyone around, including me, I hung out at my dad's place. Later, I would go to stay with my dad for the summers and then full-time for a little while. My father, also lived in Jamaica, but in a neighborhood called St. Albans, about 10 minutes west of my mother's home. St. Albans is like the Beverly community in Chicago, full of sprawling homes on smaller residential streets and little shops on main thoroughfares, but far enough away from the commercial aspect to be annoying. Whenever I'm there, in that neighborhood, I forget the hustle and bustle of regular New York, and almost feel as if I'm somewhere else. The neighborhood has a great history and interesting habitants, like Miles Davis and John Coltrane. To read more about it, go here.  (Ironically, my father is listed as one of its prominent residents). In short, it ain't the Southside of Jamaica. People there are warm and open, kids play together in a nearby park and hang out on someone's large porch until the ice truck came. The kind of neighborhood where you could open a lemonade stand and have water fights. These two places are the places of my prepubescent youth, and I look back on them with fondness and reverie. I miss those days, and often wonder what kind of girl I'd have been if I stayed there. Despite the fact that me and  my father don't get along too well, I think I may have been as well rounded as a person could humanly be. Even though I know I'm still a fairly well-rounded individual even with my Chicago/NYC upbringing.

When I came to Chicago with my mom, we lived in Hyde Park. Now, back then, Hyde Park was not the home of muggings, assaults, murders and rapes that it is today, but basically a neighborhood full of students, older folks, young business people and kids. It wasn't Southside Jamaica, for the lack of crime and sadly for the lack of community. I never felt like I knew any of my neighbors, would never dream of opening a lemonade stand, and always got weird looks from the other kids. Maybe it was because I talked funny. [The NY accent I had until I was about 12 or so, I worked on getting rid of it by watching a lot of CLTV]. Anyway, while I was friends with kids in the Hyde Park area, I never felt truly at home, but I did feel safe.

When I returned home from DC, Mom and I lived on the outskirts of Hyde Park, in Woodlawn. While not as name-brand as living in Hyde Park was, and while the neighborhood had no real sense of community, and the occasional shooting or drug transaction a block or so over from where we lived, but with the Chicago Police and the University of Chicago Police constantly on patrol, I felt safe. 

However, our building in Woodlawn went condo, so the owners told us we could move to where we currently live while the unit was rehabbed and updated, and to this day, I regret taking them up on it. We moved from our place in Woodlawn to drum roll... Englewood!  Now, if you are from Chicago, you know that Englewood is the hood. Straight up, no jokes. There's probably a fight or an argument of some kind every night, and people sell drugs on our corner. Now, I've never been harassed or asked to buy crack, anything like that, but gunshots are something that I hear more than I'd like to, and they truly unnerve me. 

The police seems to be cracking down on a lot of the mess, but one of my guy friends happens to call my block "Bang Bang Row", which I have used lovingly as the title of this blog. My neighborhood is full of people who don't work, and rely on the state for benefits, people who are students at Hustling University, and who seem to have no real ambition or desire to change that. There are gangs, drug dealers and prostitutes here, not in front of my house, but a block or so away. Close enough to be real to me, real like ever before. Now that's not to say my block is bad because people still party, sit on their stoops and people watch all day, but the negative stuff usually has me going inside just before dark. (The man in the Drug Dealer shirt is not a real drug dealer, but Toure, and the tee is part of the Keep a Child Alive project towards helping children with AIDS in Africa. Just so everyone knows that I don't promote drug or drug dealing. For more info, or to get the tee, click here.)

Part of me wonders, from my year of living here, why it is that blacks have to war with each other in trying to hustle? I figure there's enough people addicted to crack for everyone to get a piece of the pie not that I endorse illegal activity to get money, but that like most business models, it is simply a case of supply and demand. Enough people demand drugs, so that enough people should supply it. Also, this thing with gangs...why is it so important to kill someone who belongs to another gang? I can remember back in the day if you had a beef with someone, you fought them with your fists in the street until someone either quit, someone broke it up, or you both got so tired you couldn't even remember why the fight started. Now, we have to worry about people carrying knives, brass knuckles, a taser or stun gun, pepper spray or at the worst, a gun. Seems that a coward carries a gun, where a true man, like most of these "bangers" claim to be, uses his fists and mere mental intimidation to get his point across. What happened to those days? Did technology increase our distance from one another so bad, that even when we want to kill each other, we can just defer to a piece of metal?

Thoughts?

*Ashley Robin*