Where Is The Love

What’s wrong with the world, mama

People livin’ like they ain’t got no mamas

I think the whole world addicted to the drama

Only attracted to things that’ll bring you trauma

– Black Eyed Peas feat. Justin Timberlake


I had the following conversation with a man on a dating app last week:

  • F: I took a screen shot of your profile so I can show santa what I want for Christmas! Ho ho ho ; )
  • MC: I think the only think you’ll be getting for Christmas with a comment like “Ho ho ho!” is coal, buddy…
  • F: Ok you’re dumb
  • F: I get it
  • MC: And you’re a dick. Merry Christmas, bitch.
  • F: I wish your dad had pulled out
  • MC: Oh. Nice. No wonder you’ve gotta ask Santa to get laid.

Looking back, my response was really not that much better than what he had to say (despite being more grammatically correct and a whole helluva lot less douchey…).

I should have just left it alone. I should have blocked him and never given it another thought. I should have taken the high road. I should have rolled my eyes, put my phone back down in my lap, and went about my life.

But I couldn’t – I didn’t.

Like most, if/when put in my position, I felt compelled to take up for myself – to defend my honor with quick wit and name calling. I allowed a random man to get under my skin. I granted him access to crawl into my brain, stomp on my conscious, and force me to react to his ignorance. I let a stranger’s disrespect give me reason enough to be disrespectful in return.

That isn’t who I am…

I am not a disrespectful human being. Sure, I curse a lot and use a lot of, uhh, colorful language but I am not a malicious individual. I do not seek out situations to hurt or berate others. My sarcastic comments are not meant to deliberately cause someone harm the way the comments above were supposed to harm me.

Or at least I do not mean for them to…

If they do – if I have ever inadvertently caused anyone pain with my words – I apologize.

That is not my intent. I say things without thinking. I make comments, comparisons, and call people names without taking into consideration other people may have a different sense of humour than me. Sometimes, I just throw words around. Words like “fuck,” and “balls,” and “vagina” hold little to no weight with me. Though, I realize, some find language like that very offensive.

And I get it.

However, at the end of the day, I am me and you are you. We must agree to disagree – to live and let live. You must understand that I do not use the language I use to purposefully offend you (at least, not intentionally [for the most part]) and I must understand that you are not purposefully offended by the language I use… you just are.

My point is, I can admit to my shortcomings. I can admit that I can be offensive, and abrasive, and a bit unrefined. I can admit that I have a temper. I can admit that I say things I probably shouldn’t say at times I probably shouldn’t be saying them. I can admit that my mouth has cost me relationships, and jobs, and maybe even more. I can admit that I am wrong.

Can you?

Can people like F?

What about the man from my Monday morning parking garage debacle?

Here’s what happened: On Sunday, I came home from a five-hour shopping spree. I was exhausted and not thrilled about having to unload hundreds of dollars of new merchandise out of my car – alone. Not to mention, I hadn’t unpacked the first pair of shoes from the move. And then, my shoulders fell when I pulled into the parking deck.

My assigned parking spot was occupied.

Ugh. It was only Day 2. Was I really gonna have to be the bitch that had someone’s car towed on Day 2? There was plenty of parking. So, I did what any other respectable neighbor would do… I pulled into the spot closest to the elevator.

On Monday morning, I went downstairs to find a banged up Solara parked just inches from my bumper. The Toyota owner had deliberately blocked me in. And for a split second, my blood boiled and I thought, “I’ll ram that fucker.” But I wised up. “No, no, MC. Your car is much nicer. Besides, it would take a lot of ramming to get that piece of shit moved. I’ll just walk to work.” At that point, I turned on my heel, punched the elevator button, and walked out of the building.

At 9:30 a.m. (approximately 30 minutes after I had arrived at work), the apartment complex called. The gentleman whose space I was occupying was in the office complaining about the current vacancy status (or lack thereof) of his parking spot. Apparently, he was so irate he was demanding to have my car towed. I calmly explained the situation to the property manager. I advised that I thought best not to make waves within the first few hours of moving in by having someone’s vehicle towed (on a Sunday, no less) and did not think it would be a huge issue to park in another spot considering the deck was (is) no where near capacity. I also advised my car would have been moved hours earlier had a certain someone not barricaded my car in said spot. However, due to the current unavailability of my vehicle, I had no choice but to walk to work and was too busy to deal with the matter at the moment.

The property manager totally understood. He told me he would ask the man to move his car so I could move mine when I came home from work.

Done and done, right?


After walking 4+ miles to/from work, making four FAILED attempts to move my car for this asshole, and a trip to the office… I found the note. It said something like, “###-###-#### I am off tomorrow so call me and I MIGHT move my car or I might not. Enjoy my spot. PS: The apartment complex and security knows the situation so I won’t be towed.”

I was all but laughing my ovaries off.

What this dumbass didn’t realize was – his little bumper car antics – only an inconvenience to himself. I can walk to work, to get food, medication, etc. Hell, it’s better for me! And we live on top of a grocery store, for shit’s sake. Oh and come Friday at 5:00 a.m., I’ll be Ubering to the airport and spending the next, uhhh, TEN-ish days on the East Coast. Had he kept it up, he would’ve been fucked.

What is it they say?

Don’t try to bull-shit a bullshitter?

Yeah. Fuck you, brah.

Not to mention – who the fuck cares if “the apartment complex and security knows the situation”? You were illegally parked! I could’ve called, uhh, the police?!

Anywho, I marched the note right back up to the office, gave the apartment manager a piece (in so many words) of my mind, and then went back down stairs to grab some things out of my trunk. As I was getting off the elevator, low and behold, guess who was walking through the deck? Yep. Ol’ douche canoe Solara driver, himself. He was exactly the kind of skeezy looking mother fucker I had anticipated too.

So, what did I do?

Well, I went against my better judgement and every fiber in my being…

I smiled. I smiled my 100-watt smile and said, “Sorry about stealing your spot. Someone stole mine and I didn’t want to have them towed. So, it was just a domino effect from there… and oh, well, whaddya know! They’re in my spot… again.”

His shit-eating grin nervously twitched as I pointed toward my assigned space. He turned his head, mumbled something about how he had gotten off work at 12:15 a.m. the night before, and informed me spot blah, blah, blah was open (suggesting I could use it since I still couldn’t park in my own).

There wasn’t an “I’m sorry,” or a “Yeah, okay, I get it. Soooo, I was kind of a butthead for blocking you in with my car.” or a “Understandable. Hey, no problem. Sorry I didn’t move my hunk-a-junk sooner.” He never apologized for the part he played in the whole East Village Parking Scandal of 2015. He owned none of it.

That ass clown just got in the Solara, parked that bitch in his space, hopped in the elevator, and went on about his business.

I shook my head.

I’ll admit, I knew I hadn’t handled Dating App Dick right. But Parking Deck Dumbass? I should’ve picked up a Teriffic goddamn Kid award for that fucking maneuver!

I didn’t shout, or cuss, or call him names. Hell, I didn’t even shine light on the fact that he had only created unnecessary drama for himself. I didn’t lash out and ram his vehicle with mine. Nor, did I call the police and have that fucker towed just to prove a point (though I reallllly had to talk myself off that particular ledge). I defused the situation by walking to work, being polite, apologizing, and using only limited amounts of passive aggressive phrases when brought face-to-face.

I have grown.

I know I have. Because I know, in the past, I have not always been the picture of patience and grace. I know that – in the past – I have let others get the best of me. I have thrown tantrums, and things (like actual stuff), and fits. I have made a total ass out of myself more times than I can count. I have been toxic, and angry, and negative, and vindictive, and down right fucking crazy. But I have also seen the error in my ways. I have apologized where appropriate, laughed at my antics, and then I went to therapy (bahahaha… no seriously).

I know that the MC who handled the parking situation on Monday is most certainly not the same MC who nearly broke a beer bottle over her boyfriend’s head at a bar after a drunken spat about who knows what.

Momma would be proud.

Or, at least less embarrassed.

You see, men like Dating App Dick and Parking Deck Dumbass deserve nothing from a woman.

Not a dinner, not a discussion, not a response, not even a right swipe. They do not deserve our attention, our help, our hearts, or our love. They do not deserve our respect.

That may seem harsh. It may seem unreasonable and a bit extreme but hear me out.

I was just a picture on an app – a car parked in a space. I was a no one. To them, I was just a lady out in the virtual dating world who went around thieving people’s assigned parking spots. I was just some woman.

And look at how they treated me.

If these men had balls enough to treat me the way they did, had balls enough to say the things they did, had balls enough to physically bully me with their fucking vehicle the way they did… could you imagine how they treat the women they are actually comfortable with?

Look, I get a bad wrap for being a bitch, for putting people in their place, and for calling people out on their shit. But you know what, you get what you give. If you’re an asshole – expect shit. If you’re a dumbass – expect a hard time. If you’re a dick – expect to get fucked.

Life is simple.

If you want to be happy – really, truly happy – you treat others well.

You can’t park closer to happiness. You can’t verbally assault, or deflect, or lie, or “Ho, ho, ho” your way to happiness. Happiness isn’t a bus named “Promotion” resting atop all of your once-was-friendly co-workers. It isn’t stepping out on your relationship, hurting your spouse, or hiding things from your loved ones.

Happiness is doing good and being good.

So, I leave you with this: Do better, asshats.



Share with a friend:

3 thoughts on “Where Is The Love

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *

This site is protected by Comment SPAM Wiper.