For those of you who just don’t care or took a step away from “The Loop” for a day or two, let me brief you quickly. Yesterday, Chris Brown and Rihanna released two remixed tracks (one from each of their repertoire’s) to mixed reviews. Rih’s hit, "Brithday Cake" has been a smash from the moment most of us read the song title and a full length track has been long awaited. But a full length tune accompanied by her ex, Breezy, promising to beat it up (in the best way this time) was, like, “Oh. Okay then!”
I mean, Rih is determined to put her cake is his face and Chris has his wishes ready for the candles. All I can think is…Where the fuck is your girlfriend?
Of course, I took my opinions to Twitter. Any excuse that the song idea was strictly professional went out of the window when the song wasn’t put on the album initially in its current (remixed) form. From the moment “Talk That Talk” was released, folks wondered why in the hottest hell the best track was cut short. I could spend this whole post discussing how this may have been a media ploy from the very beginning…how it seems Chris and Rih have been subtweeting each other for the past month or so…how gossip blogs have been reporting about their rekindled friendship and recent contact…how the two were sighted at Rih’s birthday party “dancing and being intimate” all night…and how I truly believe Chris’ verse and the “remix” may have been the original track from the get-go…. but I’ll tuck my degree away on this one.
We’ll try to look at the situation at it’s base: a guy and girl who were once in a relationship reach a point where they feel comfortable rekindling a friendship, but are finding that that friendship may be bleeding over into past feelings. Again, I wonder, Where is Karrueche? (Chris’ current girlfriend).
There isn’t much Karrueche could say about the two releasing a track together. I can see how her opinion about Chris’ music and subsequently his career breaches the boundary of their relationship. Not sure how long they’ve been together, but I’m certain she’d have to have a ring on it in order to have any say in those matters. However, there’s the issue of Chris’ attendance at Rih’s recent birthday celebration. The bad bitch in all of us is giving Kar’ the ghetto-girl-eye-roll, smacking our lips and saying, “Honey, please!”. ‘Cause our man wouldn’t have been allowed to go, right? In a perfect world: right. It’s unfortunate, however, that the men who concede to “You can’t go to your ex’s birthday party” and other such demands, aren’t typically the men we’re attracted to. Those men are pussies, right? I myself much prefer a man who would look at me a little crazy, attend the event and text me once he finally made it home. Better yet, I’d love a guy who would tell me about the invite and decide not to go of his own volition. That’s a winner! But a perfect world is indeed what we do NOT live in and upon receiving notice of Rihanna’s party, Chris decided to go sans girlfriend. But after years of fan-dom, I feel as though I know Rih and baby girl wouldn’t be havin’ it with Kar’ poppin’ cooch at her event. Not at all. Not even a little bit. Shit would’ve went up in flames.
What I’m hoping is that we all have this wrong. I’m hoping Chris and Rih spent the entire evening in separate Dougie circles. I hope no shoulders were dusted off. I hope they kept things legit. Because the the girl in me wants the best for Karrueche. I want not to believe she is in complete denial about her relationship. I want to believe Chris is really trying to make it work with her, really enjoys her company and thinks she’s something special. But…okay let me break this down real quick…
Do you all listen to Chris and Rihanna’s music? I always surprise myself with just how much Chris Brown I have in my iTunes (ie: kinda every album/mixtape he has, but whatever!) and I’ve been a fan of Rihanna’s since she was telling the DJ to turn the music up. These are two very passionate individuals. They’re passionate about what they do. They’re passionate about their fans and their fame. They’re passionate about living in a way a lot of people try to emulate. It’s not the kind of passion you can fake. And these two individuals had a WHOLE relationship that ended in a WHOLE domestic violence situation. Now, how many of you have been in a fight with an intimate partner? Those fights are different than any other kind of fight you can have. The crazy things that fly out of the mouths of two angry lovers could leave either rocking back and forth in a dark corner alone. When a boyfriend yells at you it’s the most startling thing second only to your parents. Now, imagine finding yourself in a fight so heated, your boyfriend leaves you looking like Elephant Man. Shits nuts!
What I’m attempting to say is: Chris and Rih have a kind of unforgettable love. They have something that won’t ever go away, They have the kind of attraction that only doesn’t occur when you’re actively working against it. It’s the kind of thing that’s only helped with morning affirmations and your good friends hiding your cell phone in times of weakness. It seems the two have let their guards down now. They’re probably thinking the same thing we all think: “I’m over it”.
My only wish is for Karrueche to open her eyes in this moment while she can still escape with a fair amount of dignity. She could bow out gracefully and, better yet, come out on top of all this. It’s so crazy how us ladies lose tons of swag during the demise of a relationship. We beg. We moan. We reveal all of our feelings in a last ditch effort to win back a man who was probably never ours. We kill whatever mystery is left. We make sure we’re all used up when most times we could’ve made it out on at least 30% battery.
Karrueche just needs to drag her ass out, shake her hot oriental tale, flip her hair and show Chris WE BOTH HOT OUTCHEA! NO WORRIES!!
TWEET YOUR THOUGHTS! @ChicagoRose entertain me at work :)
A few nights ago, my older sister invited me to her co-workers 25th birthday gathering. It ended up being quite the time, as I got the chance to indulge in all of my bad habits. What I liked most about the event was the fact that not everyone knew each other. Each person there had some sort of connection with the birthday girl, but for every two people you knew there were three you didn’t. It made the night fun, and full of laughs. Everyone was on the same playing field; the strange and familiar in equal volumes shoved into a nice sized living room.
The night was extremely chill; people came and went and I was introduced to a number of characters. One girl, Sade, was newly nineteen. After one cup, she stretched out on the couch, assuring her friends she wasn’t going to sleep. She reminded me of some good times. I felt old, which nearly never happens and I definitely let my brain take a pause in order to best remember the feeling.
Later, she threw up.
Let me get to the REAL story….
About mid-way through the party we had really caught a groove. Circle of death was mid-swing, the second blunt was in rotation, and folks were getting silly enough to do embarrassing dances and conduct rap battles. Around this time, a male co-worker (I don’t even know his name. We’ll call him Bob) enters the party alongside his girlfriend. This chick was STUPID pretty! Like, why are you wearing denim shorts, a T-shirt and pigtails looking SOOOOO gorgeous? She was one of those girls who you accept as being prettier than you. She was sweet, so I didn’t even let my mind entertain the idea. She had won. From birth it seemed. Whatever.
The party goes on smoothly after the couple’s entrance. They head into the kitchen to mix up some drinks and one by one the party makes their way over to introduce themselves to this Girlfriend that hadn’t existed to them before that very moment.
I didn’t care much. I added her to the running list of people I DIDN’T know in the room.
Blame it on the alcohol, but my sister later chastised me for not being able to feel the tension as soon as the couple entered. Maybe I just thought it was awkward for me because I didn’t know either of them.
At any rate, it was around the time of the couple’s entrance that some of the early arrivers began leaving. Come to find out, after listening in on a few whispery conversations, the girl who had left just found out she was Girlfriend #2. Yes, the entire party thought, I’ll call her “M”, was in a WHOLE relationship with Bob. Really, dude? The WHOLE PARTY is shocked?
I nearly lost it a few nights ago. Tempted to lie in bed feeling sorry for myself, I decided instead to straighten my hair and repeat affirmations in the mirror. I’ve found that affirmations only help when I’m actually in a good, healthy frame of mind. No positive phrase can uplift me when I look like Medusa and am desperately contemplating whether love will ever find me.
Affirmations: having to remind yourself of things that are apparently true. Christine, you are worthwhile. Christine, you are beautiful. Christine, the sky is blue. Well, don’t I feel dumb when it seems the REAL truth is Christine, you are ALONE.
So naturally, the consumption of large amounts of chocolate followed as Coldplay whispered through my speakers. I sit and wonder when it was that a man’s voice became just what I needed to get to sleep and, more importantly, why there’s no alcohol in my fridge.
**I just discovered this unfinished post amongst the clutter on my desktop and I’m happy to report I no longer feel this way. Not tonight at least. I was going to finish the post, but I was way too deep in my feelings. Instead I’ll take the opportunity to look at myself from the outside and hopefully make some sort of meaningful commentary. Ready? Mmkay….
I remember killing time between classes one morning, indulging in a little girl talk with a friend. For whatever reason we ended up on the subject of break-ups and shared a healthy giggle at just how girly girls can really be. She recalled a time when her good friend called her over for no specific reason and she entered the apartment to find her mopping the floors, sobbing.
Typically, the first sign of boy troubles = cleaning + inconsolable tears. Although, as previously stated, I enjoy straightening my hair while I cry. Like most women, losing a guy tends to fuck with my esteem a smidge. In turn, I feel the need to reassure myself that I’m “worthy” by making myself as outwardly beautiful as possible. Call me crazy.
Which brings me to my point: why are women so damn crazy? We all know how crazy we can get within a relationship, but my oh my does the crazy crank itself up when the relationship is put to rest. We go through days of “woah is me!” not helped by the fact that in some cases we have to see this man as we walk to class or, even worse, he’s under some impression we can “remain friends” (sure we can, but not two days after the breakup, you BIG DUMMIE!) and still hits you up for mindless chit chat. I had to tearfully remind my last boo “Hey! I’m still in love with you, and you don’t want me so uhhh it’s going to take me a minute before I give a shit about what you have to say”. I thought that was fair. At least I didn’t go on a deleting spree this time. I tried to remain as mature as possible and stomach his tweets throughout my timeline. Tweets that had nothing to do with me, loving me, missing me and everything to do with him skipping through life happily eating cupcakes and flirting with bitches. Awesome. Twitter + breakups = THE DEVIL!
The more important question here may be: “Why AREN’T men so crazy?” In the beginning all guys want is to spend time. The phone never stops vibrating and, if you’re like me, you have a library of cakey texts stored somewhere. When the relationship is in full swing it seems as though feelings are mutual. I care for you, you care for me. Why then, when it has dissolved, does it seem like men are peachy-keen, while women are left wallowing in a dark room, consumed with figuring out what went wrong?
Could it be that men don’t care what went wrong because they have no intentions to fix it? Could it be that the feelings were never truly mutual? How can guys move on so quickly?
My guess is that it all comes down to the way men are wired. There is something inside them, pride maybe, that keeps them from showing that they care when the relationship is over. Though it seems they don’t care at all, I can’t say that’s entirely true when in my experience they return weeks, maybe months later. He may not be sure of what he’s done wrong, but the point is: he came back. It’s up to you to judge what it is he comes back for. If you all have sex before working out your issues, then he came back for sex. That’s a whole other blog post.
Why do men never want to talk about the fight, the break-up? Ya’ll know damn well that’s ALL we want to talk about! Men call with nearly nothing to say, hoping the conversation can be how it always is, relaxed and natural; while women wait on the other side of the phone for an apology or some acknowledgement of the fact that uuhhhh WE ARE NOT A “WE” ANY LONGER.
So, could it be that it’s just not within a man’s biological make up to care, to go “crazy”? I’m thinking….yes. Men will never care, or give any particular situation as much attention as a woman. Period.
Your thoughts are welcomed….
That’s just where I’m coming from
***It’s important to note that I’m talking about all kinds of romantic/intimate relationships, not limited to exclusive boyfriend/girlfriend relationships. Lord knows how rare those are these days.
"What are you doing?"
-“Takin a shit…”
The most memorable of heartaches always come from those men who, after completely hooking you, decide that they don’t have time to continue in the relationship. They are ‘too busy’. What’s most difficult is knowing that you too have a job, schoolwork, friends, and family to balance, but whatever.
Some people really do have a lot on their plate and when it’s time to make cuts, their love life is always the first to go. Ditching family and friends or dropping out of school is never advisable. But really?
There is no such thing as being “too busy”. Time and attention can be made for someone you care about if you’re willing to put in the work.
There was once a guy who called me whenever he took a poop. Some may find that disgusting, but I’m a different kinda girl. I was happy to hear his voice and happy that he made time for me. He called during lunch breaks, slow days at work, and when he waited for his food at restaurants. He made me fit into his schedule. Needless to say, communication wasn’t our issue. Our issue was that he was an asshole.
Did I make my point?
He goes to take a shower and leaves it right there. Unlocked. All the little girlie bits inside you just can’t let it be and you head straight for the text message inbox.
There they are— texts from “Ashley from party”, “Big Booty Nickie” and that one girl who ‘likes’ all of his statuses on Facebook. Congratulations girl! You just successfully pissed yourself off. Wanting every text in his phone to be sent from either you or his mother was just unrealistic.
Truth is you’re not the only girl who thinks he’s cute and whether a guy has a girlfriend or not, hoes will be hoes. Hell, even NOT hoes will be hoes.
Texting Big Booty Nickie doesn’t mean he’s cheating on you. If Nickie comments on his Facebook profile picture and he @Replies her on Twitter, then he’s cheating.
Even still, my message to women all over the world: let your inner Sherlock Holmes shine on. When he forgets to log off of Facebook on your laptop, go for it! Got his email password? Check that shit too. Just be prepared to find what you’re looking for.
Why do we expect someone to HEAR us via TEXT message? That question becomes irrelevant when a women has something on her mind. So, you’re not going to answer my calls? That’s fine. I’ll just send you a text. I’m certain you’ll read it and I’m even more certain you won’t send a reply. And for that I’ll be sure to call you an asshole at least twice.
It’s dumbfounding how much pain goes into sending those types of messages. This may just be me, but any text that exceeds the 160 character limit and bleeds into a secondary (and sometimes tertiary) text is serious business. You just type and type and type; hearing the clicking of the buttons and feeling the pain of the words. The pain of realizing the risk you’re taking even sending this message. Risky because reality says he isn’t going to hear you.
Now, you’re left at the point of no return. Alone. Your feelings race through telephone wires right into a brick wall.
"6 of 6" is a reference to my Blackberry. When sending a text you are allowed a maximum of 6 messages, each 160 characters in length.
Was there a certain smell in the air? I’d imagine it’s something similar to knowing when rain is coming. Tell me, how is it that men know to text you as soon as you’re getting over them? At the very moment you’ve gone a full week thinking nothing of them, suddenly there’s the number. Just the number, because of course you’ve deleted him from your life
…except for Facebook. Let’s not go that far. How else would you be able to see what he’s up to and, more importantly, call the next chick trash?
Ten digits you wish you didn’t have memorized flashing repeatedly right in your hand. What could he possibly want? The answer: to fuck your world up—the world you’d spent weeks piecing back together. Why? Because he’s selfish.
That’s just where I’m coming from,