Up until yesterday I was convinced that I had been married to the worst kind of liar. I was dead wrong. No, the worst kind of liar that a woman can be married to is the gay man or the Down Low Brotha.

Damn! Didn't I just write about this mess yesterday?

It seems that the best-selling author of Waiting to Exhale and How Stella Got Her Groove Back, Terry McMillan is the latest victim of the sleazy, slimy down low brotha. Ironically, her now estranged husband, Jonathan Plummer, was the inspiration for her novel -- How Stella Got Her Groove Back and reportedly she even paid him royalities after the novel was published. He came out to her at Christmas and she filed for divorce in January. It just hit the news yesterday so we writers and readers are all a buzz.

Irony aside, this sucks. First of all, I could care less about someone's sexual orientiation. Do what you feel -- but if you sleep with men why endanger the life of a woman by sleeping with her too and ultimately marrying her? That is the worst kind of betrayal there is. Jonathan claims he didn't know he was gay when he met Terry. Let's say it all together now: BULLSHIT! Of course he knew and she is now speculating that he married her in order to come to the United States. She met him in Jamaica, mon.

Tragic.

But what is even more tragic is that it took six and a half years for her to open her eyes. Did she suspect something? Was something 'just not right' but she chose to ignore it because this young stud was doing his thang? My guess is yes. She is very smart and women are extremely intuitive and men are just not that complex. Don't get me wrong, what he did was unforgivable but women have got to shoulder some of the responsibility in situations like this. We are so damned emotional and get so caught up in the moment that we cannot see what is staring us right in the face. We make excuses to ourselves and we go on. We ignore what is real and we go on. Until we are convinced that what is false is really true. Unfortunately (or fortunately), the universe doesn't work like that. The universe will not allow falsehoods to exist as truth. One way or another what is truth will be brought to light. And when that happens, God help all those that tried to cover it up.

I'm not perfect and I'm sure that there may be a few things that I overlook in my own relationship and I call it "choosing my battles". I don't ignore obvious red flags, though. (Like if my beloved was looking at gay porn on the internet.) I'm confident that any truths that I need to know about will make themselves known in their own time. I stopped being a detective a long time ago because it just takes up too much energy. I'm convinced that anything I need to know I will know sooner or later.

Case in point: a few years ago I went temporarily insane and thought that I could reconcile with my second ex-husband. I knew from the first day that it was wrong and I had made a mistake and I had to get the hell away from him again. He was toxic. I was so afraid of appearing to be crazy if I left him again. I wanted to put my family back together for the sake of my kids. I wanted to do the "right" thing in the eyes of God. I told you, I was insane. One morning he called me after he left for work because he had misplaced his cell phone. I told him I hadn't seen it and he should check his car at lunchtime. We hung up and I continued to get ready for work. Then I began to think ... I wonder if the phone is in the house somewhere. So I looked. It was in the living room under the sofa. I checked the call records and the voice mail and found everything I didn't even know I was looking for. I promptly packed everything that belonged to him and put it in my car. I called the woman that he was involved with and left her a voice message asking her to return my call. I'm sure she alerted him and when he called I told him that he needed to meet me at work to collect his belongings at 4:00, otherwise I would leave them on his doorstep. Soon the other woman called me and I asked her if she knew that her man had been waking up at my house everyday for the past five months. She didn't. That was her wake up call.

My point is that the truth will always prevail. So we can either choose to open our eyes and acknowledge it early or we can make futuile attempts to cover it up and live in fear with all the lies. I think it hurts more if we choose the latter.

It did for me.

Don't be afraid to see what you already know.

I read that somewhere but right now the origin escapes me. To me, it means that we should face reality in all situations. We are all equipped with a certain amount of common sense and there are a number of things that we know to be true. The question becomes: Why do we inisist on operating as if these truths don't exist or even worse -- belong to someone else?

Romantic relationships are a perfect example. Usually, a woman knows long before a relationship is over that it is actually over. Why does she wait around until her man figures it out? Maybe she doesn't want to hurt his feelings by leaving. Maybe she thinks she can change things and make the relationship better. Maybe she'd rather have him leave her. Who knows? Why don't we ever just rip off the relationship band-aid in one swift painful moment?

I don't know why.

My first marriage was over long before it ever even began. I was married to a pathological liar who turned out to also be a bigamist. It's easy for me to say that now and to even talk and joke about it since it happened about fifteen years ago. I knew that relationship was doomed but I did not choose to see what I already knew. After all, the invitations had gone out and my dress was hanging in the closet. The truth is, there were so many isolated incidences that when examined alone they seemed like nothing. However, when you combine them it was like a sky writer with a message that read "Don't marry him, girl!" Of course, I did marry him. I became pregnant right away and shortly afterward I found out that he still had a wife in the midwest. I promptly kicked his ass out of my house.

What was I thinking? I hate to rehash the past but I have got to figure this out. He was a liar. He lied about his name, his age, his father's death, his family's medical history and about being divorced. I was young but I can't use that as an excuse. Was I so in love that I thought I could get past all the lies and still live happily ever after? I don't think so. If that was the case I wouldn't have left him when I was eight weeks pregnant. I would have continued to live the lie while he quietly got divorced and remarried me. Which, by the way, is exactly what my mother thought I should have done.

As a result, I don't trust anybody. I think everybody is lying. And if it turns out that they are lying -- God help them. My faith in that person is completely shaken and I don't know if I'm ever able to completely trust them again. What a head case. Did I mention that I was in therapy?

Would we be better off if we just decided to accept the truth and act on it instead of burying it away somewhere? Eventually, we will be forced to face it and deal with it so why not do it sooner than later?

It's raining.

Do you feel free?

The first time I experienced real freedom I was seventeen years old and moving to Boston to go to school. The first time out on my own with no one to answer to but me. To me, that was freedom. Of course, I learned less than two years later that I couldn't have been more mistaken because I screwed up and ended up back at the ultimate prison that we affectionately call "Mom's House."

Moving back home was a defining moment for me. It was then that I realized that no one is ever completely, 100% free. We are all under someone else's control and even if we enjoy a certain measure of independence there is still someone that we have to answer to. If not, than you run the risk of living your life like an out of control 17-year old.

Real freedom involves the ability to make the right choices. The ability to decide to do the right thing despite the fact that the wrong thing looks much more enticing. For example, I hate my job. I'm grateful for it. I thank God everyday for giving me a place to work that enables me to provide for my children. Nevertheless, I hate my job. Some would think that real freedom means that I shouldn't have to be bound by a job that I hate. I used to feel that way too.

Eight years ago I worked for a fat, bald controlling little man that I'll call Troll. Troll was cool in the beginning but somehow or another he lost sight of the fact that I was an adult and quite capable of prioritizing the workload that I had. I resented his hovering and decided that I didn't have to take it anymore. At lunch time, I packed up my desk and left. At the time I was married and my son was seven and my daughter was three. My paycheck was a necessity not a luxury. That was on a Wednesday afternoon. By Friday I had another job. I was making a lot less money and my family suffered financially for a while -- part of me believes that it was all worth it; but the older, wiser part of me would never put myself or those that count on me through something like that again. I was free to make the choice that I did but there were consequences to be paid and I wasn't equipped to deal with those consequences.

So I choose to get up at 6:00 a.m. every morning and go to this well paying job that I hate so I can keep my house and my kids in tennis shoes. It's not unbearable but it ain't freedom either.

As I approach this weekend, the second anniversary of my relationship with my beloved I think a lot about freedom. Early in our relationship he noticed I was a little inhibited and he whispered in my ear, "Be free." One of the many reasons that I fell in love with him. One more reason that he is not aware of. Those two words, "be free" unlocked something in me that I didnt even know was there. Hidden because my first husband told me that sexually aggressive women were unattractive. Too bad for him.

This weekend is a milestone. We plan to celebrate. We plan to be free.

It's Monday and all I can think about is the upcoming long weekend. Man, I wish I could bound out of bed every morning in anticipation of going to a job where I'm surrounded by intelligent people that are all working for a common cause. Or better yet, get up every morning armed with the knowledge that I don't have to report to anyone because I'm self-employed. Nice thought.

Anyway, the weekend is over and now it's sort of a blur. I met another branch in my ever growing family tree. Luckily, this was one of the more sane branches ... young woman full of ideals and hasn't been completely tainted by all that the world has to give her. Or withhold from her. Unluckily, one day she will find out that I'm no more a part of her family than the mailman is a part of mine. My family strucutre is completely f'ed up -- too many sibings that don't know each other, too many fathers, too many mothers -- it sucks. What happened to the days of Ward and June when there was one mom and one dad and everyone knew where they came from. I'm telling you, be careful who you decide to lay down with because you could really mess up the lives of generations to come. I could do several entries on just how messed my family is but not yet.

Ah yes, the long weekend. Because of a complete stroke of luck my nest will be empty this weekend. It just so happens this weekend is my second anniversary with my beloved and now it will be that much more special. Unbeknownst to him. I've planned a very romantic getaway which is a quite a fete because I don't have a romantic bone in my body. He has no idea what I have in store for him. Champagne breakfast by candlelight, hot tub, incredible view of the city skyline. Forty eight hours of uninterrupted bliss. It's funny that it takes more than two months to plan 48 hours of uninterrupted bliss -- especially since I know it only really takes three essential things to make a man happy (see previous post). I have those elements covered -- good food, good sex and not a lot of talking. The perfect opportunity to stop being angry and just enjoy the moment. I won't think about work, my inept boss, therapy, my bastard of an ex-husband. Nothing. Just me and my beloved.

Two years ago we went on our first date. Except for the fact that he almost got in a fight with a guy it was perfect. Seriously. Most people try to put their best foot forward and try to make a good impression on a first date. Not my beloved -- he let me know right off the bat that he was a jealous man with a quick temper. That knowledge almost cut the evening and our relationship short. However, after the drama he suggested a walk on the beach and I reluctantly agreed. He carried my shoes as we walked through the sand. The moon was full and there was a slight breeze. I could hear the waves crashing against the shore in the distance. I looked into the green eyes of my beloved as he reached down to kiss me for the first time. That was it. That was the moment. The defining moment that taught me that all men are not assholes. They are all human -- but not all assholes. The past two years have not been easy because we are both carrying around some unnecessary baggage. But I hold on to that night on the beach. My beloved is a good man.

Sometimes I forget that.

Absolutely nothing.

I'll probably live to regret ever saying that but after two failed marriages I struggle with trying to find any benefit in being married. I confess that I am angry and slightly bitter and you can tell that when I say that marriage is an institution designed for men. A legalized form of prostitution. What emotional fulfillment does a woman get from being Mrs. So-and-So? In the last few years of my second marriage my husband was nothing more to me than a dick and a paycheck. And when he started holding back on the paycheck I no longer had a reason to stay in the relationship.

I won't bore you with the sordid details of my failed marriages because I'm sick of talking about them myself but I will say this: marriage just isn't for everyone. I want to wretch everytime some woman whines about being in her thirties and not yet married. Every woman (well, most women) want the experience of wearing a white dress and having all attention focused on her for one full day and getting a lot of gifts. I wanted it. Unfortunately, those same fairy tale brides don't think one minunte beyond the "I do's" to the actual marriage. I didn't. What a rude awakening that can be. Being married is a full time job that saps every single bit of your energy and if you don't work it ain't gonna work. Pardon my poor use of the King's English.

My beloved has never been married. I'm not sure if he wants to either. We've talked about it in the abstract but have never discussed it realistically. Between me and you, it scares the hell out of me. And I don't scare easily. I told him once that I didn't think I knew how to be a wife. He said I just never had the right husband.

What the hell is the "right husband"? A man who makes a good living and can support his family. A man who listens as well as speaks. A man who understands that sometimes his wife doesn't feel like talking (that's right). A man who understands that his wife isn't in the mood to be mounted every single night (sometimes she wants to be on top). A man who puts his wife first -- no matter what. A man who puts the happiness of his family ahead of his own. A man who understands the Biblical principle: Give and it shall be given unto you. When my beloved is generous with his time I trip over myself trying to do things for him. But when he withholds and asks like an asshole -- I can't help but to return the favor.

Women are so damned complicated. We are so needy. Men, on the other hand are quite simple. I heard a comic say once that he saw an article in a magazine titled, "101 Ways to Please a Man", written by a woman, of course. The comedian said that there are NOT 1o1 ways to please a man. There are three ways to please man: (1) make a him a meal every now and then, (2) give him a blow job every now and then (3) and know when to shut the hell up.

I'm now shutting the hell up.

It's finally here. The best day of the week. Thankfully, I don't have to do anything I don't want to do. I don't have to send a fax or print out a spreadsheet. I don't have to say, "what I can I help you with" not one time if I don't want to. I'm up early to keep an appointment for a facial which is my one out-of-the-house beauty indulgence and I've been looking forward to lying on that table and letting Debra Sue have her way with my weary pores.

I also have to drop my car off for an oil change. I was never meant to drive. I think that God truly wanted me to have a driver in this life. Maybe I'll have one in the next. I've been driving for twenty-four years and I've managed to blow two engines. Two. I've finally learned the art of motor vehicle maintenance. Anyway, I'm dropping my car off at the shop for the oil change. Luckily, the shop is about a block away from the salon. I thought it was lucky. The last time my oil change coincided with my facial I thought it would be smart to drop the car off and walk the block to the salon, get my facial and walk back to pick up my car. Makes sense, right? Well, why did my beloved blow a gasket when he found out that I was walking the street (his terminology)? He informed me that when I dropped off the car I should have called him for a ride to the salon and was quite pissed off because I didn't. Now, for a woman like me -- strong, independent and impatient -- that made about as much sense as Tom Cruise and Katie Holmes. Anyway, illogical or not, he's meeting me at the garage this morning to pick me up and take me to the salon which is a block away.

We have a gig tonight. My beloved and I make up an acoustic duo - him on guitar and me on vocals. I'm looking forward to being in the smoke-filled room listening to the drunks in the back of the room scream out "Skinnard!", "Free Bird!" At this point, my beloved will give the crowd the finger and say into the mic, "No charge." We've been singing together for a while now and I used to drink tea before each gig, now I take a shot of tequila.

Funny how things change.

It's a beautiful day and my backyard is calling me. It's saying, "Grab a book and come out here and enjoy all that you've worked for..." Unfortunately, I have to respectfully decline the offer because I'm still working to keep my beautiful backyard.

I earn a great paycheck doing something I hate. Well, I don't hate what I do but the people around me leave little to be desired. Well, not all the people -- just my boss. It's a personality conflict. She doesn't have one.

I don't enjoy the whole concept of working. How can an eighteen year old decide what they want to do for the rest of their lives? When I graduated from high school I was on my way to college to major in Human Services. Human Services? My goal was to be a Social Worker and to help people. Good thing I didn't graduate and follow that dream, because for the most part I don't even like people -- especially those that refuse to try and help themselves. Can you imagine someone like me telling a client to get off his ass and get a damn job! I don't think so.

If I could do anything in the world for a living it would be writing. I look back twenty-five years and I have always been writing. Whether it was short stories or journaling I always wanted to write but I never believed that it was a career option. No one told me that I could do it. I watched my parents leave the house everyday for their boring eight-hour a day jobs and I thought that is what I had to do too. If someone just would have told me. Or if only I had been more passionate about my writing as a young person I wouldn't be sitting here now bitching about having to go to work. On the upside, my job has allowed me to finance the self publishing of my novel. Many of my co-workers have become customers and fans. My job is not unbearable -- it's just not what I had envisioned for myself.

That's the question of the day. Why am I so angry? It would be easy to blame it on something like my divorce. Or my job. Or my mother. But I really believe that it goes deeper than that. I wish I could put my finger on what the heck is the problem so I can work through it and let it go. Being angry takes up a lot of time and energy but not knowing what I'm angry about takes up even more time and energy.

My therapist says that the anger is like an umbrella that covers the deeper meaning behind the anger. It's up to me to figure what the umbrella is covering up. Sometimes it's easier to be angry than to deal with what is bothering me. Anger is comforting. Is that crazy or what? Lately, I've been really angry or really sad. I can't seem to find the joy in my life. Which is odd because I have a relatively good life.

Maybe I'm just using anger as a defense mechanism to keep people at arm's length. For the most part I don't like having a bunch of people around me. I can count the number of friends that I have on one hand -- by choice. When people make an attempt to get too close, I will probably do something to sabotage the relationship. If they hang in there in spite of my outbursts or tantrums than I consider them a true friend.

Maybe I'm mad at myself and I choose to take it out on other people. I'm mad at myself for not finishing college; for allowing myself to be duped by two of the biggest liars that God allowed to walk the earth; for leaving a pretty good job for a horrible one; the list could go on but those are the biggies.

My anger does not stop me from functioning or from doing whatever I want. It's just like an unnecessary weight that I'm carrying around and it's getting heavier and heavier. I'm tired. So my assignment for the week is to figure out why I'm so angry.

You only are what they say you are if you believe what they say you are. Make sense?

It's funny, sad, interesting (insert your own word here) how people define themselves by other people's perception of them. I have six siblings and I have been labeled the "mean" one. I'm the one who will say what she feels whenever I feel like it and too bad for you if it hurts your feelings.

Well, that's not necessarily true. And even if it is true no one has even bothered to figure out or even ask me why I developed such a horrible character trait. They won't ask me because they are afraid that I'll bite their collective heads off. It sucks actually. Because no matter how I may try to change their perception of me I'm still labeled the mean one. My parents needed a ride to the airport, which is two minutes from my job but they wouldn't ask me for a ride because they didn't want to put me out. Instead they ask my sister who is the nice one because she wouldn't mind at all even though it's more than thirty minutes out of her way.

Last night I was able to cry in the arms of my beloved. Nothing serious just being emotional but if someone were to tell that to a member of my family they would have doubled over laughing. It bothers me that the people who are supposed to be the closest to me don't have a clue as to who I am.

So for several weeks I've been trying to figure out why I've been so angry. Why I can't find any joy in my life. Part of the reason is that I was falling into a trap of believing what other people think about me. I was losing myself in the perception of others. I'm strong -- not intimidating. I'm not afraid of confrontation but I don't go around looking for people to confront. I have a voice and I'm not afraid to use it, but that doesn't mean that I don't also know how to listen.

If I believe that I am a bitch than I am a bitch. If I believe that I am as intimidating as a Hello Kitty purse than I am. I have to realize that I am what I say I am -- not what they say I am. And if they're lucky they'll see that.

I have lived for forty years believing that "surrender" was worse than any 4-letter word. I was always afraid of surrender because in my eyes it went along with being weak and being weak is worse than being dead. Unfortunately, my fear of surrender causes me to resist compromise which makes me a very difficult person to live with. There I've said it. I'm difficult to live with.

To surrender means to give up or to stop resisting. I think our natural instinct is to resist that which we don't understand or are afraid of. If the object of the resistance is something that won't kill you or something that will ultimately make your life better than surrender probably isn't such a bad thing. Easy for me to say. Not really.

What is it that I am resisting at this point in my life? My job, my relationship and the notion that my nest will be empty. That's a lot of resistance and I'm finding myself in a struggle on a daily basis and I am exhausted! Seriously, I go to a job that I hate everyday and a job that I cannot quit because I'm not independently wealthy. The healthy thing to do would be to surrender to the fact that the job is what it is and I can either look for something else or suck it up. I'm looking for something else.

How am I resisting my relationship? The object of my affection wants to move in with me. I prefer our arrangement the way it is: he in his space and I in mine. Not sure how I'm going to resolve that one. If he could just wait until the nest was empty than I could deal with it, of course that won't be for another seven years.

Speaking of my nest...yes it will be empty in seven years. That is not as far away as one might think. Once I hit forty it seemed as though time was spinning out of control and nothing I do will stop that. Surrendering to the fact that I will one day be alone is the hardest thing in the world. But that is what has to happen. I can't keep my kids here -- nor would I want to. I just hope that I am creating a home for them now that they choose to visit every once in a while after they are gone.

Surrender is not synonomous with weakness. Accepting the realities of life shows incredible strength. It takes a strong person to know when to stop fighting a battle they cannot win.

Today is first official day of summer vacation. The children are sleeping late and preparing to wage a full scale attack on the refrigerator and the television. Which means we have made no specific plans for the summer -- again. It seems that I don't think about summer plans until summer gets here and by then ... you know the rest. Bummer. We'll probably make a few trips to the local theme parks and water parks. The beach is always fun. We'll work it out.

I woke up this morning and had to convince myself that it was a good idea to get out of bed and go to work. I reminded myself that the kids needed to eat and it would be nice to have some clothes and paying the mortgage is always a good idea so I got up. All I really wanted to do was finish my coffee and bagel, get dressed and work on writing my second novel. If I had known as a twenty-something what I know as a forty-something I would have pursued a writing career back then.

Woulda, coulda, shoulda ... a little too late for all that. I have published one novel and I've contributed to many other publications so my dream has not been denied. It's just not how I thought it would be.

Why do people feel the need to do things the hard way?