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a whole ‘nother blog…

Have I ever mentioned how I love Southern Boys? So I’ve been “single” all of two hours and I meet Mr. Tennessee.

 

Now, I was at Reggae Night the Sunday of Memorial Day weekend. At the club formerly known as Mingles, my old stomping grounds, and where, once upon a time, I let Ro catch me. Also where you can probably find 75% of the African community on any given Sunday night and even more if it’s a three day weekend… half of whom know Ro and a good portion of which are related to my daughters in some kinda convoluted way. So even if I’d been ready to meet someone new, Reggae Night at Mingles is the LAST time and place I’d go to do it. But as usually happens when you’re out not thinking about boys… one manages to attract their attention.

 

I noticed him noticing me, and I intentionally did not make eye contact. When I danced, I danced alone or with other girls. When I walked to and from the dance floor, I kept my eyes down so as not to risk looking anyone in the eye. But later on in the evening I kinda got caught in the edges of a bar fight and afterwards he came over to see if I was ok. When he asked if we could talk, I explained I had been separated less than a week. He asked, “Was that your choice or his fault?” and I was a goner. Anyway, I spent the next two weeks exchanging text messages all day with Mr. Tennessee like a high schooler and then spending two or three (and sometimes six) hours on the phone with him at night. I think the heavy infatuation may be wearing off, so I’m not sure entirely where things are going to wind up. He’s been sick this week and kinda withdrawn. On one hand, the sane and rational part of me knows he’s really sick because I took him to the ER last night… the bad thing is, I’m not sure if my head is in a place where I can deal with the give and take of a relationship without internalizing every bad mood and driving myself crazy with… is it me? something I did? blah blah blah blah blah. I already have one moody man in my life that I’m kinda stuck with. Which really sucks, because I do really like this guy.

 

But in other funny news, by Thursday of that week someone who works in the warehouse here at the hangar had called my desk to compliment me, feel me out on my marital status, and invite me out for drinks. Now, I don’t fish off the company pier, but that was one of the nicest phone calls I’ve gotten at work in a long, long time.

 
You must not know ’bout me
You must not know ’bout me
I could have another you in a minute
Matter fact, he’ll be here in a minute (baby)

You must not know ’bout me
You must not know ’bout me
I can have another you by tomorrow
So don’t you ever for a second get to thinkin’
You’re irreplaceable (irreplaceable)?

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