Sex with a White man? Different? Noo…

There was an interesting topic of conversation among some of my friends on Facebook yesterday. 

What was it you ask? 

What is sex like with a White man as opposed to a Black man? 

Oh yeah? Now you all know as an angry mixed lady, I couldn’t leave this one alone. Please forgive me if this post offends anyone….just kidding! If you can’t take it then go put on your big kid panties and keep it moving! My own personal experience has been hearing Black women say things like, “I just can’t do it…they’re too small…” or things like, “I can’t see myself with a “pink” penis…” 

What in the entire hell are you TALKING about? How can you actually sit back and say with confidence that a White man’s penis is too small if in fact you’ve never allowed yourself to experience this for yourself? It literally makes me sick to hear such comments from women. Either way, my experience thus far is that of epic proportions. Currently I am seeing a man defined as being Caucasian. He is Italian, but by definition is White. Is he lacking in the personal area? Absolutely not! Matter of fact, I’d say he’s FAR better than any past escapade. His body is on point and he aims to please. Not just himself of course, but me. It’s never a rushed thing…never. Passionate and sensual and just generally amazing. 

Since meeting him and being with him intimately I will say I wholly prefer him over all else. Ladies before you jump on the “I don’t sleep with White men because their penis is small” train, do a little research and experiment a little. I am telling you….because I have known a couple of teeny peened Black men in my lifetime who would *never* have the opportunity to have any intimate parts of me again. 

Michael Antonio Bohorquez

…I don’t know if this was a good dream or a bad one: 

I don’t know where I was, but what I know is that I was told Michael Bohorquez was alive…disabled but alive. So I sought out to find him. I did find him…and my grandma was there. She warned me that he may or may not be responsive but it might do him some good to see me. So I walked into a well lit room where he was laying on a bed resting. Not really responding to the person standing on the side of the bed. I crawled next to him and whispered in his ear, “Hey love…it’s me..I am here…and I won’t leave you ever again…” Next thing I knew he slowly turned his head towards me…without saying anything and smiled. Opened his eyes and smiled at me. 

Shortly after, he got up…hobbled across the room and talked to me. He smiled…he laughed. He was happy. 

I cried in my sleep…

I wish like hell I could hold you…touch you. I wish I could have SAVED you. 

Although we were both so young, so very young you loved me. Love is a word that is in my opinion purely subjective….and that is a word you learned with me to know. A word you learned to embrace. 

You actually loved me….I miss that so much. When you died, a small piece of me went with you….a longing just to have you back. I would damn near give ANYTHING just to hear your voice…one more time. 


I think because of you, I learned to love and forgive. Learned to love unconditionally….because of you I give chance after chance even if undeserved. Because I have an innate fear of losing someone else I fell for…much like I did you. 

I cannot go through that again…

I just want to tell you one more time that I love you. And miss you so much….Image

Nigger: purely subjective.


 [nig-er]  Show IPA

The term nigger  is now probably the most offensive word in English. Its degree of offensiveness hasincreased markedly in recent years, although it has been used in a derogatory manner since at least theRevolutionary War. The senses labeled Extremely Disparaging and Offensive  represent meanings that aredeeply insulting and are used when the speaker deliberately wishes to cause great offense. It is soprofoundly offensive that a euphemism has developed for those occasions when the word itself must bediscussed, as in court or in a newspaper editorial: “the n-word.” 
 Despite this, the sense referring to a “black person” is sometimes used among African Americans in aneutral or familiar way. The sense referring to other victims of prejudice, especially when useddescriptively, as to denounce that prejudice, is not normally considered disparaging—as in “The Irish arethe niggers of Europe” from Roddy Doyle’s The Commitments —but the other uses are consideredcontemptuous and hostile.


Slang: Extremely Disparaging and Offensive.


a black person.

a member of any dark-skinned people.

Slang: Extremely Disparaging and Offensive. a person of any race or origin regarded as contemptible,inferior, ignorantetc.

a victim of prejudice similar to that suffered by blacks; a person who is economically, politically, orsocially disenfranchised.
1640–50;  < French nègre  < Spanish negro  black
This is by far the most offensive word ever coined in the American English language. Of course this is my personal opinion. I have been referred to as such by a trashy White woman on more than one occasion in the past two months. And I am quite frankly sick of it. This is a word deeply rooted in our history as one that evokes such emotions that it can get people killed. It is reminiscent of the days when Black people were referred to as this word regularly. Much like we use words like hello. The crazy part about it is I am clearly a MIXED ancestry person. And even if I wasn’t this is not a word that anyone should ever use to make reference to anyone in any circumstance.
This is a woman who I have a lot of deeply rooted hatred for…A woman who I wouldn’t pee on if she was on fire. A trashy druggie woman who not only lost custody of one child, but all THREE of her children and happens to live in hotels. A woman, and we’ll use that term very lightly in reference to her, who sells her vagina as means of income when she can’t get her father to pay for her escapades. A woman with a criminal wrap sheet longer than all of my current postings put together. Okay, it’s not that long but it’s pretty damned long.
But I tell you this, this whoreish bitch hasn’t heard the last of me. I won’t say anything to her, put my hands anywhere near her…but I for damn sure will allow the law to work in my favor in this case.
So to the whoreish bitch who continues to call me a nigger, you might want to look in the mirror one good time and re-evaluate your slinging of derogatory terms. I’m not finished with you yet….

{rumors: validation of some truth}

One of my unconventional thoughts at best right now; rumors are theoretically validations of some form of truth.


Because in essence, if there wasn’t some sort of truth at some point then there wouldn’t be much basis for a rumor. A stretched truth…I say take them all with a grain of salt. Who is to say what is truth and what is a rumor?

I could start a rumor right now about anyone; I could swear it off as a truth. Which in my mind, it is a truth. So because in my mind something is a truth and to others it’s a rumor does that make it nothing short of a truthful lie?

I say look at track records too. There are just some people who lie…lie for absolutely no reason. Or for plenty of reason. Their reason very well could be that they are in fact telling the truth, it’s just the person on the receiving end refuses to believe the truth or lie presented to them. I have had this happen far too much in my recent memory.


I look and the mirror and am so infuriated with the person I have become. I disgust myself with what I have allowed to transpire in my life.

I was once a woman who wouldn’t allow a man to treat me any kind of way, talk to me any kind of fashion or generally do whatever possible to make me feel that much less of a person. The implication is constantly made that if I would’ve stayed home, or if I would’ve not responded then things wouldn’t be the way they are.

No not hardly.

I am not the cause of the drama that has become part of my life. You are the one who continued to keep contact. I told you if you walk out and go back to her that was it; we were done and over. But you did it anyway. I get an email from her after I ask you over and over to return what belongs to me so you can just go and be with her…but you drag your feet. One more Saturday night I was supposed to sit at home while you were “handling” things with her. Handling things? I am supposed to wait at home, alone again while you’re gone with her doing whatever…and I am supposed to wait until YOU decide to come back. Because you’ll see her for an hour and the look of her will make you sick. Yeah, whatever.

If you already know you detest someone so much, WHY GO BACK TO THEM?

The one thing I hate the most is the fact that I have allowed this to consume my entire life. I believe over and over the same lies, the same stories the same cries that this is the last time…

The last five times were “the last time”.

The one thing I will agree with you about is that yes, I am an idiot. An idiot for believing any word you’ve ever spoken to me. An idiot for believing you would in fact do things right for me. For US.

How delusional?

There comes a point in every situation where you have to sit back and evaluate everything. You have to sit back and ask yourself is it in fact WORTH IT.

At this point, considering the names I’ve been called, the implications made and everything else that has happened…I am going to have to say no. I gave 110% you gave nothing. And continued to give nothing and will ALWAYS give NOTHING.

The definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over expecting a different result knowing that won’t happen. I guess that makes me insane to a degree right?

The sad thing is, all I asked was for open communication. How would YOU feel if I kept in contact with a man I left YOU for, planned on living with, fell in love with (supposedly…but it appears to actually be the case), evidently asked to marry and got me locked up not once but TWICE and possibly a third time?

You’d be livid and probably would’ve let me go a long time ago. You would’ve cut ties a long ass time ago and let bygones by bygones. Me in my stupidity continued to let you come back. The crazy shit you put up with in the name of that fucking word LOVE.

You never loved me…you don’t love me. If you did, you would’ve done WHATEVER necessary to make sure I was happy. To make sure we were happy and that we would be back on track of fixing things. Some of the words spoken to me are deplorable….I am surprised I have even been back in your presence after such attacks. Nothing physical of course, just here lately an arsenal of negative words making everything that has happened somehow MY FAULT.

Let me ask you this, how does it feel to leave a good woman at home, one who HAS A HOME, a stable home with no issues for one who has multiple issues with the law, clear and evident addictions and lives in hotels? That is a clear judge of your character and what you see as an acceptable relationship. You say to me you don’t know what you want to do, that you can’t ever lose me and that you’ll have me no matter what, yet I’m supposed to sit back while you still continue to pursue her.

Not anymore. I can’t do it and I am too amazing for this.

You have taken my heart and put it in a blender, put it on puree and watched it be ground into millions of pieces. You watched me cry. You sat and watched me beg and plead with you to do better…that you are a better person than what you’ve been lately. But what is my word to you? It is NOTHING.

I am removing myself from this. I need to detox my heart and soul from the toxicity of you and the woman you chose over me.

a daily struggle.

The definition of insanity according to the people who wrote the English dictionary is basically doing the same thing over and over again expecting different results whilst only achieving the same end results as before. 

Does this make me insane? 

To a degree I do believe I am. My last few posts have been evident of this. My poor little diary is being flooded with these short tales of heartbreak and deception. Not exactly sure how much pain one persons heart can endure better yet, how much pain one persons heart SHOULD endure. 

It makes it all that much worse when the person who did you wrong keeps doing the same thing to you. Just a little nicer this go round but the same thing nonetheless. I have continued to stick by your side through this whole ordeal. You cheated on me, moved on with the new “woman” and picked up a habit along the way. 

I forgave you and took you back.

I forgave you because I loved and love you. Past tense and present tense and I am so infuriated with myself every time I look into the mirror because of it. I simply said, just stay home…lay low until trust is built back. Or better yet, work hard on building that trust back. Yet every single day, you’re gone. Gone for an hour or more. Last night it was five hours and you came home, crawled in MY bed and acted like you had done nothing. FIVE HOURS. 

I question where you’ve been and you have the nerve to say you were in no rush to come home because I kept questioning you? You see, I forewarned you before I let you come back that I would be questioning you..until I could trust you.

It’s a daily struggle for me to justify to myself why the hell I am still dealing with you. I shouldn’t have to justify anything to myself to be frank. 

I absolutely HATE that I ever fell for you and that I have such a hard time getting you out of my life….

I wish you’d just go…because no matter how good of a woman I am to you, I’ll never be good enough for you.

love. family. purely SUBJECTIVE.

Oh my lovely online open faced diary how I love thee…

Let me count the ways…

Oh the L word. Not lesbian…but the four letter “L” word that gets many in trouble and hurts equal parts too. LOVE. I propose a ban on using this word in its entirety because of the damage and destruction associated with the reckless usage of such a horrific word. 

I have loved. I have lost. I have learned that not all love in the same capacity. I’d like to say I love my family, but I do not think the feeling is mutual. It’s never been really mutual with my family as I have always been pretty much the middle stepchild. In this journey called life, I have found in the most recent turn of events myself to be alone. It’s really just me, myself and I. 

And of course my beautiful daughter. She loves me mostly. 

This bout of depression that I have fallen victim to has taken my psyche over in ways I never thought possible. I cannot shake the constant emotion of feeling alone…my family pretends to be there only when it’s convenient for one of them to call just to find out my whereabouts. My mothers’ other child for example so selfishly let my niece go with a sitter the weekend before Christmas, knowing she didn’t feel well and without sending her proper medication. I happened to call a mutual friend of ours that Saturday night around 6 because I simply needed a phone charger. I had just gotten into a pretty heated argument with the boyfriend who was clearly cheating on me and had obviously moved on with a wretched “woman”; needless to say, I was having a bad day. The mutual friend then tells me my niece is on her way to her house to get a breathing treatment for her asthma so of course, I walk across the parking lot to go see my other baby. I walk in and she’s sitting on the side of the bed breathing heavily. She looked very lethargic…awake, but not coherent. I started to talk to her and just ask her a couple of little questions like if she was hungry.

She shook her little head yes, she was hungry but then my girlfriend who lived at this place said with her breathing being the way it had been, food is not something that my niece needed at that moment. I respected that and agreed. The next thing I know, her breathing becomes more and more difficult with her now starting to cry. I put my arms around her, holding her, hugging her trying to keep her breathing treatment over her little face. At this point, my girlfriend gets on her phone, steps on the back porch and calls 911 as it is becoming painfully obvious her breathing is becoming more and more difficult with each passing second. Within a paltry amount of time, (3:52 seconds to be exact) my niece went from breathing deeply with great difficulty to basically having a full blown panic attack. She grabbed the plastic piece from her face that was forcing the asthma medication down her lungs and threw it down. Once that happened, her screaming escalated, her breathing got deeper and much more shallow and she began to go limp. Her porcelain skin began to turn a light shade of blue in my arms. Her little lips the hue of a clear blue sky on a spring afternoon. 

My baby went limp in my arms. At that moment, I just knew I witnessed my niece die in my arms. I laid her down immediately so the sitter could perform CPR on the baby to keep her breathing going…even if artificially. I grabbed my phone, ran out the front door and vigorously dialed her fathers number so he could get there as fast as he could…I would hate for this to be her last moments and no one told her father. The other girls had evidently tried to get in touch with my mothers other child (She’s no longer classified as my sister, but just a product of my mother’s egg and her father’s sperm) but of course, to no avail. Within just a minute or two, my nieces father was there…and in shock when he looked in the ambulance and saw his baby lying there…trying to be revived. 

All I could do was cry. I fell to the ground and just howled. I was traumatized….my niece almost died in my arms and there was nothing I could do but scream ‘BREATHE BABY BREATHEEEEE!!!” 

She is now out of rehab, almost four months later…but this is where the problem lies. My mother’s daughter was NOT THERE. She knew this baby wasn’t feeling well yet still sent her with a sitter without the proper medication. When the baby was at the hospital she was there an hour and a half after we arrived then left at 1:30 am. I stayed until almost 4 am. The baby’s father and his girlfriend: stayed the whole night and almost the entire next day. As the days went on, my mothers daughter made it more and more difficult for the father of the child to be around the baby because of her brash words and horrible treatment of his girlfriend. His girlfriend just happened to be one of my best friends so of course, I got tired of hearing my mother’s sister, my mother’s daughter and herself belittling this woman who cared for that child as if she was her own. Much better than her alcoholic drug riddled mother also known as my mother’s other child. So I stood up for her.

My family of course did not like that and that meant I was cast away from seeing my niece. I haven’t seen that baby in damn near 3 months and they expect me to just be okay? I am one of the three who SAW THE WHOLE THING HAPPEN. Not one of them will have the image emblazoned in their mind of that baby pretty much lying dead in MY ARMS. 

I miss that child so much and yet my mother and my family continue to protect her other daughter and defend her every action. 

What the FUCK ever…

Between having a “boyfriend” who clearly has made his choice to have other things before me and a family who doesn’t mean shit to me and struggling to still be a good mom to my daughter, it’s been one hell of a year already. 

Where is the light at the end of the tunnel?!