I will never have an abortion.

While I support a woman’s right to choose and will fight to the finish for said right, I myself could never go through with one.

Of course, one should never say never… but the only possible circumstance that could even bring me to such a thought is being raped.

I truly, truly hope that won’t ever happen to me. It HAS happened to friends of mine and I can’t even begin to explain how deeply it hurts my heart.

And frankly, I worry about saying things like “never” because I can’t really predict the future. I almost feel like I jinx myself when I do it because circumstances change, opinions change, feelings change.. everything fucking changes.

But that’s an entirely different story all together.

Back to the point…

I’m not sure why, but I was incredibly young when I understood the “birds and the bees.” I wasn’t much older when I began to realize the complications associated with it, either.

I think it’s because my grandmother was 16 when she had my dad and I saw so many girls in high school get pregnant.

Most of you already know my stance on STDs/STIs and while that is still at the forefront, it’s not nearly as scary as getting pregnant. Diseases? Those basically effect only myself (unless, of course, I were to get pregnant after the fact.. again.. whole different story).

I just couldn’t cope with the idea of having ended someone else’s life for my own personal gain.

I know. I know.

People are in all sorts of different circumstances and it’s for this reason that I do not place judgment on other women who have undergone the procedure.

In the same token, I’ve sat in the waiting room while a friend had an abortion done and that is as close as I ever want to get to that.

I thank my lucky stars that I have a mother in whom I could always confide. That my mom would truly understand. That she would help me in every way possible.

She’s been saying so since I was 16 and I’ve always believed her.

I know not everyone has the same support system. I know that situations vary from person to person.

I know this.

But for me?

It just wouldn’t work.

Yes, being as prude as I am can lead to some lonely ass nights.. and I’ve turned down more men than I care to recall.. but it’s the way that I am.

It’s something I’m okay with.

It’s something I’m actually fairly proud of.

I never want to be faced with such a situation.

Not ever.

I can rant and rave all I want about how unfair it is that dudes can basically stick it where they want with less repercussions than women. On the other side, I’ve been given reproductive organs for a reason and I don’t particularly understand why I would ignore this fact.

It makes me special and I’m honored to have this privilege.

I don’t care to take it lightly.

I’d like to recount today’s events.

• Woke up without a ticket to see Radiohead
• Did the Mother’s Day thing early (flowers, card, gift & special brunch)
• Met up with friends at 2:30pm at the Nissan Pavilion – all of us wanted to get seats.
• It begins to rain in earnest. The joy.
• We score 5 seats from the box office at about 5pm [ed note: never believe 'em when they say it's "sold out"].
• It’s still raining.
• While waiting for the doors to open, all of us continue to get soaked. We try not to let it dampen our spirits.
• Finally, we are allowed in. At this point everyone is sopping wet and freezing cold to boot.
• Radiohead rock our socks of.
• Somewhere along the way I realized that a comment I made on twitter to Um..Yum! came off ridiculously snotty. Of course, I only just figured this out about 24 hours too late. Fark.
• Focused back on the concert and the fact that they played Paranoid Android, Fake Plastic Trees & Karma Police, the two songs that were most worthy of sing-along status as the whole place sang in unison. Special mention goes to All I Need, House of Cards and Idioteque.
• Got stupid excited about learning how to work my camera even more, allowing for this:

Then came the drive home… in the pouring rain.

Guess who hit such a nasty slick spot that her car hydroplaned, spun out of control & hit a guard rail?

If you said, “Deutlich,” then you would be correct.

Guess who’s car is now completely out of alignment?

Yep, still Deutlich.

Guess who still had to drive 20 miles with said car being out of whack?

Mhm, definitely Deutlich.

Oh, and guess who definitely did not budget for a car repair.

..I’m sure you can figure it out.

My father and I have had a tumultuous relationship since the day I learned to say, “no!” Well, that’s actually a stretch, but it certainly went downhill when I hit my teens.

Looking back on it, the man was always pretty damn good to me. I could’ve done without the verbal abuse, watching him beat my mom up and hit the bottle so hard that I had to go pick him up from the NCO Club when I was 15…

But that’s really neither here nor there.

In growing older and wiser (har, har, har) I’ve come to the determination that not everything is black and white. There’s gray matter on top of a rainbow of other colors.

My dad is a very proud man. I’m not sure I ever realized this when I was younger. Our fights were rough, loud, and never-ending.

I held on to bitter feelings better than the best of ‘em.

So did he.

I think that’s where I got it from.

Either way, somewhere along the way my father’s spirit was broken. I’m not sure if this happened while he was a teen, prior to his marriage with my mom, before my birth or along the way.

He, like I, resorted to substance abuse for support. In my case, it was an assortment of drugs. In his case, it’s been a lifelong battle with alcohol. I think watching him go through the motions is what eventually led to my own ability to kick the bad habit. I never wanted to end up like that.

He won’t admit to his addiction, though. None of the family can even bring it up to him without his defenses flaring up. But it is definitely true.

From the time he ruined Christmas because of his alcohol binge; to the time he cursed me out at the Thanksgiving table in front of my grandmother; to the time he holed himself up in the basement, consuming large quantities of liquor; only to emerge and pepper my mother with a string of horrible sayings; it’s true.

But it doesn’t matter.

All right, to an extent it certainly does, but in the grand scheme of things there’s just not a whole lot I can do about it.

The man is 52 years old.

What I have chosen to focus on are the times he took my brother and I with him everywhere he went. My favorite was always the second-hand music shop. He would find equipment and I would peruse all the used CDs.

I’m pretty sure I inherited my love of music from him. Actually, I know I did.

I choose to remember the time he held me while I had heat stroke at King’s Dominion. You could see the worry written across his entire face.

I want to think about all the times that he made me laugh or smile. I want to be thankful for his exuberance and outgoing nature.

Had it not been for him, I might be a hell of a lot more closed off. Without him, I would never have turned into the woman I am today.

The only thing I want to think of when it comes to my father are the positive things.

While I won’t ever forget the stress and trauma we dealt with, I will no longer dwell on it.

In the end, it only hurts me more.

He’s the only father I’ve got and it’s taken me a whopping 15 years to finally get to this point.

I’m letting bygones be bygones.

I’m beyond sick of hearing about Hillary & Obama.

Seriously? This entire back and forth between the two is just grinding my last damn nerve.

I need November so I can place my vote, which won’t matter anyway, so that I can keep on bitching.

I have no faith in our political system.

None.

The only reason I vote is because people DIED for me to have this right, being that I’m both black and female.

And yes, while I have nothing positive to say about the current situation, I at least make informed decisions when I do vote.

Regardless, I’m tired of the way things are going.

The twenties are an interesting decade. As a teenager, I’d been warned that things would go awry during this period, but I had no idea how much truth lay in those words.

There’s the beginning portion, where we tend to think our shit doesn’t stink since we’re no longer a “teen.” There’s the legal consumption of alcohol. Plus, there’s moving out and making money for a living, not just to frivolously spend on ourselves.

Then we realize our shit does stink and that money isn’t an easy commodity. Some of us get credit cards, others of us learn to save save SAVE. Things get rocky between friends because you’re no longer in the cesspool that is high school and no longer have to put on a front.

Then come the mid-twenties, or the Quarter-Life-Crisis.

Oh. The joy.

Shortly thereafter you begin to realize that the thirties are really fucking close and holy crap, what have I been doing for the last 6, 7, or 8 years?!

You can say that I’m coming out of the tailspin that was my quarter life crisis. In doing so, I’ve discovered that I really liked to fuck myself when there was no need to.

I’ve moved out, just to have to move back in. I’ve gotten credit cards to help with books during college, only to realize that those interest rates are a bitch. I’ve deleted all the riff raff from my life as they did nothing but drag me down.

Nowadays, I am surrounded by a small circle of very good people and a wider circle of folks all around the globe. I kind of enjoy this, although it can be a bit lonely at times.

More importantly, I’ve organized my entire life for the first time ever. I’ve pulled on my big girl boots, mucked through all of my financial documents, found an array of things that both make me sad and incredibly proud.

I’ve also got a real budget… something I’ve struggled with for years. YEARS. You’d think at 26 I would’ve had this shit figured out by now, but no. Not I.

The beauty of ignoring my financial situation for so long is the amount of trouble it’s landed me in. If it weren’t for my mom temporarily assisting me, I’d be royally ass fucked.

And how horribly childish is it of me to get assistance from my mother? Right? Right.

At least I’ll have paid her back by the beginning of June.

Anyhow, this budget does not allow for frivolous spending of any sorts. I’ve done that for so long, I’ve decided I can take a break from it for the next few months. Vacations are the only exceptions to the rule.

Cigarettes, however, are not. I have not bought a new pack in over a week. I think, of all the good things that have come from these “big girl boots” that is my favorite. I’m still in the early stages of quitting, but it’s mind over matter.

I can do this.

I will do this.

Fuck cigarettes, they’re too damn expensive anyway, not to mention all the health repercussions..