Lessons from the Sun.

Worst summer of my life.


I would love to tell you that it was just 3 months of struggle and INCREDIBLE emotional anguish, but that would be false.

It was MOSTLY struggle and emotional anguish. I still, somehow, got a lot out of it.

Love them while they are with you.

I knew, in my heart of hearts, that my relationship was doomed.

I knew it. I tried my hardest still, don’t think I’ve tried that hard at anything.

Didn’t work. But when I felt us very quietly and subtly hitting those dire straits, and that building dissatisfaction (it feels like nausea that does not cease), I decided to do something.

I decided to value every single good moment we had, and to feel honored to share her presence.

Good times do not last forever, so please…please…..squeeze every ounce of happiness out of them that you can.

I cherished every high and faced every low.

Until the low was too much for me. My appreciation and honesty and dedication to a journey that had no light at the end of the tunnel was not enough to keep my relationship from ending so jarringly.

But I don’t regret my relationship, or how poorly it ended, nor do I feel bad for putting effort forth and still failing.

I’m glad I did it. I learned who I am; I learned who my significant other was. I learned who my friends were.

I don’t speak to my friend of …13 years, over this shit. I loved him too. I loved my girlfriend. They simply could no longer be in my life, they were killing me.

However, I won’t die internally at your hands. No, I will not.

I loved the two of them as much as I could, until my very being gave away. Until I couldn’t.

One person simply threw my trust and good will out of the window; the other just…doesn’t support me when I needed him too.

Loving someone so much that you would happily tear your own heart to shreds, to save them from themselves. A worthwhile sacrifice.

And I’ll do it again, with someone else.

The inherent darkness of my split(s) this summer have made me appreciate the good times with everyone…because they do not last forever, and I must be at peace with that.

There is no shame in being a broke boy (or girl).

I mean, really, I’ve been broke  for about a year, mostly.

My brokeness SPIKED in the last 6 months or so, along with my break up, loneliness, my worsening depression, my inability to find a job, and no longer being friends with a close friend.

All at once.

So I was pretty much in an endless cycle of misery and loneliness that kinda never…stopped? The carousel is turning as we speak.

I had nothing, I felt worthless, I could not do what I want.

I still don’t have anything, really, but I don’t feel so worthless. Not so often.

Me not having money is somewhat out of my hands. I’m certainly doing what I need to do to get jobs, it’s just not coming together at the moment. So, I am slowly not beating myself up over it anymore and just trying to live.

I’ve had A LOT of money. I’ve had NOTHING. Money is cyclical, it will come back to me in due time.

I can only try to become my best self and keep applying, and keep thinking of places that I can contribute to, and roles I’d like to fill one day.

I only don’t feel so worthless, because people have shared words and time with me.

And because money isn’t everything, and it doesn’t define me, and it never has.

People will light your darkness with their honesty.

Knowing how badly I was doing this summer, I’ve had a lot of heart to hearts with a lot of people. Some who have been very close to me for quite some time now. Some who I was cool with, but not much more. Some I barely knew.

I was just seeking clarity. In that search, people have admitted to really painful things that made me feel like “I am not alone, here”. They showed me what love was, in a different light. They told me I would be ok, when I didn’t think I would. I’m still not ok, actually. Without their words, I wouldn’t even be on the road to “ok”.

I would be in the depths.

And I spent most of the last 3-4 months, in the depths.

Still, people reached out to me, texted me, hung out with me, emailed me, even though I was a total fucking burden, and surely no fun to be around. I appreciate you fine folks, for real for real. if you knew of my situation and shared a word with me, you’re good with me. I have no idea how I can repay that, but I’ll find a way, somehow.

I am just gracious for what was once part of my life, that which is no longer, that which I have now, and that which I will have later.

That is all that matters.

Songs I Like This Week! (Vol. 2)

I took way too long to put this together.

So I had to really think hard and not put too many songs on this.


Key! ft. Retro Jace (Of Two 9) – No Where

First off, Jace SHREDS this shit. SHREDS. Mike Will has an eye for talent, man. I’m a huge Key! fan, so I recommend you check out this EP period (“No One Is Ready 3”). The song itself is very catchy and dark which….pretty much describes Key!’s (DONT FORGET THE EXCLAMATION POINT!) entire discography. That piano is crazy too.

Hil Holla – Backseat

Full disclosure: Hil is a good friend of mine. With that said….this shit is smooooooth. Hil walks you through the steps of a good night and does so with the confidence of someone who has actually lived it and details it so believably. He meets a fly woman, goes to a party, and shows you how to say things a bad one might wanna hear. Just hit “play” and try to talk to that girl that’s slightly out of your league (there is no league, I will expound on this later though)!

Nef The Pharaoh – Big Tymin’

The song is just….fun. Fun as hell. So Oakland but still has a bounce you can’t ignore, regardless of where you come from. I really enjoy rap from regions that just has an authentic feel. Nef is part of the wave of younger Bay rappers; I like his style. If you say “BALLIN LIKE BAYBEEEEHHHHHHHH” and don’t automatically feel a wave of happiness, you are worthless and probably lying. Very smooth tribute to Ca$h Money too. There’s also a remix with TY$ and YG, but I had to show Nef his proper shine for the song he made.

Fetty Wap ft. Shy Glizzy – Why U Mad

This song is HARD. Much better than I expected….which doesn’t make sense, because I’m a really big fan of Fetty AND Glizzy. I guess I was just concerned as to how their styles would fit. Fetty’s versatility really shines here. Zaytoven shows up and I honestly believe Gucci (whenever he gets out) would really appreciate this one. Glizzy closes the show really well too. This ain’t “cook crack with bae” Fetty, this is “riddle your body with bullets for being short a few bucks” Fetty!

Makonnen – Leave It There

Now, I was a big fan of Makonnen maybe a year ago. Felt he got a bad rap. Then, he started to decline pretty quickly. In the Internet Age, if you put out 3-4 stinkers in a row, thats yo ass. After Drink More Water 5 dropped, I kinda gave up. Nonetheless, this song snuck onto my Soundcloud feed and….Makonnen might be getting it back together. This is a slow, emotional tune about trying to restart a damaged romantic relationship, and subsequently giving up on it. While one would think this is NOT the subject matter of a banger, you would be wrong. Very wrong.

Mélat – If Its Gold I Love

This song is just….wonderful. My man @YOUNGSAFE (FOLLOW HIM!) sent me her Soundcloud and her EP (“It Happens So Fast”) is really great. She has a good voice, her tone is wonderful, her ear for production is fantastic; I’m just very impressed. This song might totally be about some subtle filth (I’m not even sure yet), but use it as you will. Light and airy; feels like she’s singing to me in a dream.

Sevyn Streeter – Consistent

I am a huge fan of Sevyn’s music, I think she’s really talented. I also have a crush on Sevyn; she’s pretty damn hot, BRO. Her EP’s are consistently good, and “Shoulda Been There Pt. 1” is no exception. This song is about a dude who doesn’t treat her well emotionally, but he is dropping off that #pipe in them #draws. It’s fire, its sonically the best song I’ve posted here. I tweeted that all of her songs are about bad relationships, she tweeted me “not true”. Then followed me. She must’ve felt the thirst coming through my veins. No disrespect to B.o.B., thou shall not covet the next man’s bae, thats what the Bible says…or something.

Until next week, friends.

So, I got curved this one time, right…..

I’ve taken a few L’s with #da ladies, in my life.

It happens.

I am now one with the Sauce, so these were just stumbling blocks along the way.


Walk with me.

My Very First Curve.

Her name was Courtney.

I was in 3rd grade.

It was Valentine’s Day. My birthday. Me and Courtney had afterschool together, so we were upstairs in a classroom, gluing shit together with the other kids. I had the huuuuugest crush on lil Court (or NeeNee). Light skin (THIS IS WHEN I WAS STILL A COLOR STRUCK YOUNG BROTHER….EVERYTHANG YELLA.), big brown eyes, two thick braids wrapped around the back of her head….she was THE ONE. My little 3rd grade heart swore she was gonna be my boo one day. I dont even know what that woulda entailed…holding hands??? Whatever.

Anyway, I made my corn-muffin complected QUEEN a Valentine’s Day card. Glitter, Hearts, The works. I was nervous as shit making it and put all of my effort into this more than likely trash card. She somehow comes up to me and asks me what am I holding. Fear wraps me like my small ass private school cardigan. I try to hide it and turn away…she reaches for it, I get away…she gets a hand on it and….

She reads it.

No emotion on her angelic little face. She basically tells me “its not like that!” then………SHE THROWS THE CARD IN THE GARBAGE.

SPIKED MY SHIT IN THE TRASH! I can still see the card in the trash like it happened yesterday. I think one of the teachers even saw the card and asked her about it. That day is when I learned…Earth is a cold, cold place.

The Two Piece Curve

I had a crush on this girl I went to school with in HS. She was Guyanese. This is relevant.

Guyanese families don’t play that shit, for the most part. You can’t bring Jamal in ya house for dinner. Grandma is not going to feel you on that one.

Nonetheless, I was head over heels for her and she actually liked my funny looking ass too. We spent a lot of time together at lunch, at breakfast, around school. Just all of that cutesy stuff. I was still afraid the cheeks at this point, so I wasn’t gonna escalate it to the #SmashLands. All good.

One day on a school trip, I’m sitting next to her on the bus. My soft ass teen heart was fluttering. We’re talking and she just stops me out of nowhere.

“I can’t bring you home with me.”

It’s because I’m black, as she later explains. Her family just wasn’t partial to an American black kid like myself, or kids of my “ilk”. My mom is Trini/St. Vincentian, but I don’t particularly look it (only to girls who are lying to me and trying to flirt), and I was raised pretty American, outside of my visits to Grandma Lorna’s and Papa’s (my grandfather) house. I was sorta crushed, but I got over it. I let it go. We remained cool. I still liked her. It was what it was.

FAST FORWARD!!! I’m like…22? I get the bright idea to ask her to go to Outback (I secretly have a Kookaburra Wings obsession). She said she would be down. I took my ass out there……..never showed up. Stopped answering her phone and all that. VOICEMAIL AND EVERYTHANG. Bruh.

She just didn’t like my black ass.

The College Party Curve (Pajama Jammy Jam)

I was like…19-20. At my school, the Pajama Jam was THE event. You HAD to be there, no matter how lame you were.

Enter scrawny, young Robby. I put an outlandish amount of thought into my pajama pants-based outfit. I had to be #flee. I had to. I HAD TO KILL THEM.

I hit the party with my roommates, we split up like the savages we were. Lots of girls. A lot of foolishness. A lot of fine black girls grinding on my virginal loins.

But there was ONE….ONE….that I decided I wanted really bad. I don’t even remember why. It was some animal attraction shit. Or I was just a horny sophomore.

I pulled up on her, slid up behind her….she turned around….and time froze.

She looked me in the eyes and let off the most GUTTURAL laugh I have EVER heard.

Right in my silly ass face. Laughed like she saw Rick James grind his feet into that couch for the FIRST TIME.

I just walked away. Defeated. I’m pretty sure I heard that laugh in my nightmares.

The “You Were Almost A Legend” Curve

In high school, one of my homegirls was a lesbian. She was humping the whole school. Things were #lit. Anyway, she had a girl she was messing with, on and off.

This girl evidently saw my pictures on Sconex (basically Facebook for high schoolers who were trying to hump each other) and starts telling my home girl that she….wants me? That I’m handsome? That she’s gay but she’d go straight for me???


She hits me up personally and expresses this same sentiment directly to me, and I’m pretty flattered. We talk for a long while, I accidentally see her butt in my phone, YOU KNOW, YOU KNOW HOW IT GOES.

We keep talking over time and she finds out I’m a virgin. She slides it out there that “you could practice on me, if you want”.


Being the young filthball I was, I agreed. She wanted to meet up first, and we set a date. We had never met up to this point but we clearly shared pics. She was an attractive girl.

Pizza date. I was hype. Put on my little ‘fit, threw on my Nike winter jacket, I WAS KILLING THEM, FO’ SHO’.

I get to the spot and she told me she was gonna be a little late. Cool.

Half hour passes. She’s not picking up. Then she’s sending my calls to VM. Hour passes.

She’s not coming, dog. I ate my pepperoni pizza slice, and went outside…AND GOT SOAKED.

I came home and tried to tweet her…SHE BLOCKED ME.

She was not about what was she was talking about, and powerfully curved me and disappeared.

She’s kinda huge in NYC on Twitter now and still has me blocked.



I would have been famous like MJ amongst my friends for that sex that I never got. And I wanted it. BUT ALAS….it was not in the cards.

I tell you that, to say this………..keep on trucking. Rejection is no big deal, success is on the way.

Songs I like this week! (Vol. 1)

Lets get right to business, shall we?

Chris Brown – Ghetto Tales

Forever in my “Talented Shitbags” list (its extensive…..Tyson, Rick James, KELLZ!, you get the picture), I find myself never TOTALLY counting Chris Brown out. He literally does some disappointingly dumb shit every year, but he keeps churing out good music. IN COMES “GHETTO TALES”. He’s basically telling whatever girl hates him this week to cut that pride shit out and hit him up so they can smooth it out and he can take her to the Bone Zone. I would say I can relate but I don’t beg for shit but an extra BBQ sauce at Popeye’s…FOR THE FREE. Chris eventually gets his wish by the last verse, where he tells you about delivering the #meat and doing drugs with the world famous Migos flow. He’s also getting A LOT better at rapping.

Drake – On A Wave (ft. TInashe)

This shit amazing. And leaked. And extremely unfinished. This ain’t IF YOURE READING THIS ITS REPETITIVE Drake, this is “Club Paradise” , lobster tails, butter sauce, and soft weeping Drake. He’s saving girls from his busy life (a change from his regular “saving girls”), Tinashe sounds like 2015 Aaliyah (AND ITS A GOOD THING) ; everything fits together. I’m pretty critical of Tinashe (I still don’t like Aquarius/she has the personality of a crushed Cooler Ranch Dorito) but she did well here. And Amethyst is multiple fire emojis. She may just be turning turning the corner. Here’s to hoping this song gets finished (it won’t).

Beatking – I Got Hoez

I really listened to this Beatking tape for a week straight, pretty much. Pure ignorance. He says so much shit thats in poor taste but guess what, he reminds me of OLD Houston. Great voice, great ear for beats, obscure ass references, misogyny….WHAT ELSE COULD YOU WANT! Outside of how funny he is, Beatking is actually a pretty clever rapper. Short Dawg’s verse is pretty damn good too. Please check out the tape ( “Houston 3AM“).

RJ – Hoes Come Easy

“Beach fulla sand WHY I GOTTA BRING MINE???” sets the tone. Song makes me feel like I’m in a gang in LA, doing my corresponding gang walk, yelling into my cell phone to whatever girl I’m treating terribly that week. I’m also off the Henny and I have no shirt on. I would be an ultimate goon. Just hit play and tell me you didn’t nod your head AT LEAST A LITTLE. He also references choosing to bring his gun to the club instead of his girlfriend; how could you not love this?

Trey Songz – Flick

Best song about having sex and recording it since….I dunno. Melody, hook, beat…all perfect. Trey Songz is quietly putting out better music nowadays. And instead of boning your girlfriend, he is boning your EX girlfriend and telling her he is better at sex than you. It’s somewhat predictable fare but guess what, “I wanna make a MOO-VIE!” is too easy to sing and remember…so I don’t care. The song also manages to avoid cornballery, which is very easy to tread into with this type of subject matter.

Vince Staples – Get Paid

I saw some people saying they weren’t digging this song because it was “too commercial” for Vince. I don’t particularly agree. It’s just a fully formed song that’s kinda catchy with Vince getting his usual underlying point/message across. It’s gritty, its visceral….but it has that bounce! There were some other songs I coulda tossed in here from “Summertime ’06”, but this is the one that hits on all cylinders.

Stay tuned. More to come. Soon. Or never. 0_0!

EDIT: follow me on Soundcloud.



Everything is crazy.

I broke up with my girlfriend about 4 weeks ago, I’ll probably never publicly explain why, just know it was fucked up. No one cheated.

While breakups are terrible, the fallout that comes with them may actually be worse.

I’ve kinda had to weather the storm, so to speak. I am definitely lonely, and I sometimes feel a vague listlessness that is just “there”. I’m doing MUCH…MUCH better now than I was at first, but I did what I had to do.

In the first two weeks, I had to clench my jaw so I wouldn’t throw up, on a daily basis. I was consistently nauseous. That is how much the shit was bothering me.

So, I dealt with that, I didn’t do any dumb shit, I didn’t diss my ex then, and I will not now. My healing regimen is solely based on seeking inner peace and making sure I’m around people who love me. I didn’t know being amongst people who put your well-being first felt like this; its been quite some time.

I’ve learned that people don’t actually know me, at all. People who have known me forever.

When some foul shit happens, they accuse me of being motivated by things that have never meant anything to me.

I was told I broke up with my girlfriend because I wanted to be single for the summer.  Not a chance.

If you think I broke up with my girlfriend because I wanted to get my meat moistened by other women and have more time to listen to Young Thug, you are a moron.

“You don’t work through things” “You don’t care about your girlfriend”. “You’re selfish”, “You’re unfair”.

There’s an underlying problem with all of this shit throwing. When you date someone for a year, there will be things you have to overcome between the two of you. I did it. I did it multiple times. I didn’t say a word publicly, because I respect her up to this very moment. To say I don’t care, or I don’t work through things, or I’m not loyal….when I’ve TRULY given all of myself, is amazing. Even worse, I’m all about justice and always have been. So “fairness” is paramount to me, even though very few things about reality are “fair”.

I’ve had to listen to these things, while I mourned my own relationship. I was even spoken to as if I enjoy breakups. Ive been dumped twice, I’ve initiated break ups twice(only two were “actual” relationships). All 4 were extremely trash, albeit this one isn’t as bad as the last one. If I could AVOID breakups, I would. And good lord, did I try to avoid this one.

I’ll never tell you what to tolerate and not tolerate in your relationships. Do know, however, that if you tolerate something you actually can’t deal with, it’s going to kill you from the inside. Then your choice becomes “do something about it” or “die”. I hope you won’t choose the latter.

I will never be that person who bends their moral and personal standards so far that they are no longer themselves, Just to keep the peace. Just to be happy. Just for “things to be ok”. My ex is a good enough person, but I can’t get down with certain shit she does, that she is not willing to change. So, I went on my way.

I knew in my heart and soul I could not deal with said transgression long term. So I made my choice. That should be fine with everyone. It’s not. Oh well.

When I say “transgression” do know I don’t mean “STOP MAKING ME SLEEP IN THE WET SPOT!!” or “HOW MANY TIMES ARE WE GONNA WATCH LOVE AND HIP HOP, OMFG!”. It was SERIOUS. You can ask anyone who dated me (no you can’t, you don’t know them), I’m really not a nitpicker, I’m going to let you live. I just want you to be safe, I want you to be happy, I want you to be alive. I don’t care about anything else, honestly. I want you to operate as your best self, even if our visions don’t align on what that means.

People are treating me “differently”….because I broke up with a woman. It’s unbelievable. It’s irritating. It’s a SUPER minority (I’m talking less than 5 people here), but it exists. I haven’t really paid attention to it recently, but the fact that they even EXIST makes my blood boil.

One of my very close friends told me “you always run, you should talk it out, you don’t love your girlfriend???”, the MINUTE I told him we split. No “are you ok?” or “whats been going on with you two”, just that, scolding. Chastizing. Then acted like I was ridiculous for requesting empathy first and disagreement later. He went on to say that “I always take the moral high ground and expect it from other people”, as if what I ask is too much or the wrong thing to do.

Took him two weeks and two separate arguments to admit he was wrong. I just stopped speaking.  We probably won’t be speaking too much going forward, because he’s done this repeatedly, and questioned my character in such bullshit ways. He told me to not break up with a previous girl and said I was being hasty, and “omg she’s so cool and so smart how could you” etc., etc and basically went to war with me over MY breakup. Never mind the fact that said girl came back in a few months and said “you were right for dumping me, I understand why.” So if she understands, why can’t you? And if I’m of such poor character, wouldn’t this be coming from someone else? It NEVER has. It’s all so crazy.

Her “mistake” that did us in, opened my eyes to other weak points in our relationship that I didn’t make enough of a stir about, that I let spin out of control. I am an enabler, in that sense. That means I wasn’t without blame for what my relationship became. But it simply was past the point of fixing. So I stepped up and handled it. Predictably, she said some totally out of line things in the aftermath, that just solidified my decision. I don’t lose sleep over those words; I don’t lose sleep over being vilified by people that don’t matter. I can only be true to myself, and I live that every day I wake up.

mortality. (love your people.)

I saw my grandmother get cremated.

I was still a child. My dear grandma Lorna. I saw it. I was about 16, maybe. It was right after her funeral ended. I don’t know how I even ended up witnessing this in the mausoleum…but I did. The shit hurt me so much that I didn’t even cry. Until this moment right now, I wasn’t even sure that what I saw was even a “thing”. Denial. Everything I just read about cremation after funerals… matched exactly what I saw. Just a casket rolling into flames. As my family talked to the mausoleum staff. Beautiful service. Beautiful woman. Terrifying imagery. She died so suddenly that I didn’t get to process she was gone; that cremation skipped my emotions to the end of the book. I feel like she’s still with me all the time, and I’m 27 years old now. I tend to find it corny when people say the deceased are “still with them”. But I get it now. I get it today.

That situation made me avoid funerals as much as I could, going forward.

One of my good friends in HS lost his mother a few years ago. I love that guy. I didn’t go to the funeral. I couldn’t. Mentally, it was not an option. I felt bad for years. Felt like I left him hanging (because I did). Cowardly shit. I should have been there at that tough time.

I saw him 2 months ago, after not seeing him since then, pretty much. It was all love, smiles, daps and hugs. I’m thankful that he didn’t take that personally. If he did, he didn’t express it to me. If he saw me and flipped on me, I’d deserve every part of it. But…he is a better man than me, clearly.

My best friend from college, my dog, my brother…he lost his mom too. Maybe 2 years ago. I knew she was sick, but the news blindsided me. He dealt with it quietly. Much love to him. Amazed at how strong he has remained since. I handled this better than the previous death I mentioned. I had to. Couldn’t fail my friend.

Most recently, my best friend from HS let me know about two weeks ahead of his mother passing. I knew the funeral would be soon. I knew I would have to go, to support, because of love, because I aim to do what’s right.

I was fucking terrified of that funeral.

I tried to convince myself that I didn’t have to go….selfishly. I just didn’t feel like I could take the trauma of a funeral. I let that go in a matter of days. I committed to going because I love him and his family. They have both been there for me at my absolute WORST. When I didn’t know what to do, he helped. When I went through an absolutely disastrous break up, he was right there with me. Broke, drunk, unappreciative; he accepted me and held me down.

So I was going. No matter what. I haven’t even been to a funeral since I was 19(my grandfather). I don’t go to church. I had no idea how funerals even play out.

But I went.

The funeral went perfectly. There was a lot of love in that room. I got to sit with my friends…so it wasn’t so bad. I went up to my man, as he stood inches from his mother’s open casket. He thanked me for something I put on this blog and said he appreciates it because I spoke from the heart. That familiar hot and teary feeling covered my eyes. I put my head down and just said “thank you, we’ll talk”. My eyes were as big as half dollars, trying to keep those tears in. I sped away to my seat. I spent the night blown away at how warm and inviting everyone was. I spoke to my boy, his girlfriend, showed his family love, then made my way back to the train and went home.

I texted my girlfriend and told her the funeral went well. She asked was my friend ok. I told her he was good…then I disappeared into the night, whisked away by the 2 train.

Condoms are USELESS.

But what if my boy Mooj is wrong??

What if “it” really is all about COCK and TITS and ASS and BUTTHOLE PLEASURES and JAGGED HEAD DILDOS????

Here’s something you don’t know about me: most of my life, I was the 40 Year Old Virgin.

Let’s set the scene: picture a lanky, frail, 18 year old black kid. He’s in Walmart with his dad, furnishing his freshman dorm. EXCITE! Now let’s continue. Right before my family left, he gives me a HUGE ASS box of condoms and tells me “take this”. His eyes are beaming with pride. His young, promising son is going to lay his meat down all over Virginia and terrorize his city. He also told me “You have potential, these girls might try to trap you!”. I take his knowledge (and all these damn rubbers) and start the college experience.




I was a fucking DWEEB. I wasn’t getting ANY ASS but my pops definitely thought I was a teenage Bill Bellamy. I was an ultra-virgin because I looked funny until I was about 16.5. I got my first kiss somewhere around there; we clicked teeth because I was a DEPLORABLE kisser. In that lil space between then and graduating high school, I was attracting girls I didn’t really like. If a girl I DID like noticed me, I turned it over in the red zone when I coulda just….*raises eyebrows* ran it in there. So I was TOTALLY in over my head.

I had a  freshman year(college) bae early, but I botched that because I was so, so insecure. I let some other girls convince me she was getting PLOWED by dudes from a  nearby school….and I got cold feet. She was fine too…SO YEAH! I’m a moron. I also tore that girl’s bra tryna unleash her chest; I can still hear the cup separating from the fabric in my nightmares. Even worse, the rumors were false.

I always thought that sex should be special. Even as a kid. My parents explained sex to me early, they gave me a book about it; I understood it. I wanted the first time I had sex to be special, with a girl I really liked. I wanted to see stars and constellations whilst inside that thang. So I held out for “The One”. There were girls who liked me but I was so overwhelmed by the idea of sex, I couldn’t even make a play for them. Or I would boss up and get at them, but I couldn’t keep them interested. I didn’t know anything about consistency, or what women seek, or even when they liked me (I still kinda don’t but I am MUCH better).

So I wanted something special, but I was also scared and overthinking things.

I have a CRAZY fear of STD’s. A day or so after one of my early makeout sessions, I had a pimple on my lip. I SWORE I HAD HERPES. AM I GONNA RIDE THE VALTREX HORSE??? IS IT GONNA COVER MY FACE?? IS IT GONNA GO TO MY WEE WEE?

No. It didn’t. It was regular ass acne because my skin is greasier than the bottom of a Five Guys’ bag. Still, I was nervous. In addition to STD’s, I was afraid of accidental pregnancy, sores, my dick falling off the next morning…you know, RATIONAL shit.

To make things even MORE interesting, about halfway through my college career, my dad became a Born Again Christian. His parents were always very religious, so I wasn’t surprised. The thing about this is…it changed his views on pre-marital sex. I’m 21 at this point. I’ve engaged in FILTH but I haven’t actually had SEX. INTERCOURSE . THE OL’ IN OUT IN OUT. He’s telling me I shouldn’t have sex before I’m married. The same guy who gave me enough rubbers that I could put 6 on my meat, the rest on my fingers, and still have enough for next semester. I looked at him like he was absolutely crazy.

I turn 22. I go through a bad breakup. AFTER that, I finally have sex with the ensuing rebound. I was TRASH. She still gassed me and positively subtweeted that “Madden on Rookie” stroke I was doling out. I ALMOST hated her because she was annoying as hell and NEVER stopped talking ….but she was cute. I kinda fell in it by accident. She had her eye on me and called me one day. She said “I had a dream we were having sex, but I don’t know what to do, since I’m celibate”(what a weak ass opening move). I responded, cool as a fan: “Call me back when you actually wanna make that a reality”. She hit my phone in less than a week and…YEP…ROBBY HAD SEX.

I remember thinking….”That’s it??? I was stressed out over THIS???”. I simply didn’t wanna wait anymore, I just wanted to have sex. I’m glad I did it but….I quietly wished it was “special”.  Most guys just wanna get in there; I held out until I couldn’t take it anymore.

Before I had sex, I didn’t feel it was central to everything. After I had it….I still felt the same. It’s important, its vital, but I think my semi unique experience with it allowed sex to not steer every fiber of my being. I obviously liked it more going forward. I love sex as much as I hate spoken word aka…A LOT.

In case you were wondering:

(posted in order of pleasure)

1)Jerk Chicken.

2)Experiences In The Love Canal.

3)Grapefruit Juice.



And my dad only knows I’m having sex off of assumption; never outright told him.


Crazy, right?


Moms and Sex

Robby Rav.:

Inspired me to tell a story of my own. Look out for my next post.

Originally posted on Twenty-Something 'N Counting:

I stared straight ahead. Although I know I’m an excellent liar, like most good writers are (yeah, I’m tooting my own horn. So what?), I didn’t want to risk giving myself away on this one in the slightest way. DENY! DENY! DENY! Thats my number one rule when my mother tries to talk to me about sex, and more specifically, if I am having any.

As my friends and faithful readers already know, my mother and I have a relationship thats more so on the estranged side. We have moments when we tolerate, dare I even say enjoy, each other’s company. Then there are times I’d rather live in Baltimore again than to spend another moment in her house or her presence. Many times I try to keep our topics of conversation limited to whats for dinner and how much I owe her for my portion of the cell phone…

View original 1,259 more words

By Robby Rav.

one take rav.

I’m sitting here.

I’ve wanted to write for months.

Anyway, this lady on the news is angry that they are planning to tar down a historical mansion in Teatown. The board for the estate don’t have enough money to maintain the upkeep of the house.

I feel her pain.

But my first thought was…. “fuck all that.”

Very insensitive but ….it comes from a good place.

That mansion is an earthly thing. It is preserving the past, sure. However, the past never goes away. The past is not trapped in the earthly objects you hold so near and dear. They exists as thoughts, emotions…..memories.

I’ve been throwing shit away that years ago meant EVERYTHING to me. Memories work that way: they convince you that you haven’t changed, that you still are tied to the thing that you possess.

You are not. You are a soul. A soul in body. Doing stuff. Good stuff. Bad stuff. Shitty stuff. The soul has no need for things you can touch, fold, and look at longingly when you are by yourself.

Every time I throw something out (or give something away), I feel liberated. Which makes me think did I ever need all of this stuff? I love clothes. I give them away and never regret it. I give of myself and don’t see it so selfishly. I don’t have anything to prove anymore; I never really did. It actually kind of pisses me off that I ever felt the urge to prove my worth to others.

You can see someone’s self-worth not in what they possess, but in how they treat themselves.

I’ve treated myself like shit, many a time. But I always thought I was great. No matter what.

I don’t have shit, really. But I have EVERYTHING. My life is full of love and happiness, even when I feel miserable, even when I wish things would go my way a little more. But don’t they already go my way? Don’t I get to wake up everyday? Don’t I have family and friends who love me, even when I’m a dickhead? Don’t I have a girlfriend who looks me in the eye, sees me struggle & suffer, and still treats me like I’m a king?

I didn’t always have those things. But I always had clothes. I had more money than I knew what to do with. I had women in my life who probably weren’t out for my best interests but would definitely draw the applause of peers and adversaries alike. That’s the dream. That the 20-something black male dream. But fuck that dream. It never made me feel good. It never made me feel fulfilled. It made me feel stupid.

Those earthly, empty things made me feel whole. I was empty as fuck though. I still dedicated my life to my family and my friends and just making people smile and laugh. But I didn’t have that level of dedication to myself. So I always felt stretched thin. Having the outside world think so highly of me is moving; brings me to tears. But that gripping “man, this shit ain’t right, you gotta figure out a direction” feeling didn’t go away. I always had to “prove” something. Prove I could drink. Prove I was cool. Prove girls liked me, because they didn’t for most of my life. Prove.

Nothing felt right until I had literally nothing. I was never really into material shit, but when they no longer became a regular option, everything was different. Getting your job taken away from you and not knowing what you want to do, but knowing you have talent. Knowing that if you really didn’t give a fuck about how people viewed you, it would be put to the test. I’m surviving it, I think.

I feel full, now. I still worry too much. I still have minor issues. The difference is, my problems don’t feel so large and looming. I’ve learned how to stay in the sunlight. All i need is my loved ones and belief that I will be ok. I will be ok. Every breath I take is proof of such.

Fuck My Ex (or why I won’t).

I see them everywhere I go.

Sometimes it’s girl’s who just look like them.

Sometimes it’s….actually them.

It’s haunting either way. Some people are cool with their exes; I’m not. I swear I’ve tried; it’s never worked. I’d like to think my love is a burning, intense one. I can’t scale back, I cant turn the oven back on to the same heat as before, I can’t just cool down and be friends…it never works.

I am simply too much.

So my exes burn out. From the land of the living to ghosts in 2 blinks. They are wisps of smoke in a burning building.

They reach out to me when I wonder how they are doing, or they appear on my timeline, or at a party. They make their presence felt. I don’t know if I manifest it or what (I’ll discuss me and my spiritual ties in another post…or I won’t!), but it happens. I don’t really reach out because I don’t have the urge to. Anytime I did have the urge, they appeared, we spoke, that was that.

When my exes get in touch with me, I aim to keep it short and sweet. This is because its very rarely just a friendly conversation; It always takes a turn. A few times, I’ve steered the vehicle; most times they’ve whipped it off road. I don’t need them back. I see myself out.

This may also be why I will probably never just be “ok” with girls I seriously date still being very close to their exes. That post relationship purgatory is an opportunistic place; usually someone wants something more than a friendly chat. I also may need to trust more. Who knows.

I was never much of a rekindler. I was never good at it. The last two times I did it, I fucked it up.

I blew it the moment I opened those doors. In my life, for me, PERSONALLY, I don’t have a reason to re-stoke those fires. And when I did, shit went bad. Mainly because I refused to believe that I made the right choice the first time (I did). My other reason is because bringing girls back from the dead is a lot like breaking a vase and gluing it back together. The flowers will still look great, it might even hold water like it did before….but one day, you’re gonna get real close and know it’s a lost cause. Best of luck.

So while my exes exist, they don’t exist on my plane, really. They might be alive in a girl’s face or style of dress, in something I read, in using something I learned from them. They also are “dead”, when I wake up in the morning and go live life. They are all great women (all of them), but I respect their place. With respecting their place, comes trusting in your decision to leave them. I trust it. I didn’t always; that took growth and knocking on doors I had no business standing in front of.

And those doors lead me into a few burning apartments. The same fire that kept us warm many a night, engulfed us.

I just happened to be the one who came back from those ashes, not afraid to get engulfed again.