Thanks for Listening

"You are NOT listening to me!" he yelled in anger.

"Yes I am babe" she reassured him, shaking her head knowing this was about to begin another 12-round argument between the two.

"Really? So what did I just say" he berated.

"Something about…"she paused, trying to recount his actual words. "And then, you said… well I do remember there was something about dinner." She offered in an uneasy tone. Turning back to the magazine she'd been reading, she flipped the page and admired a light purple cardigan being advertised.

"Thank you for that convincing argument" he remarked, clapping his hands sarcastically. Still angry that she wasn't giving him her full attention he continued, "You know what…I can't do this anymore." For months he'd hoped their conversation wouldn't have to come to this, but he knew this was beyond his breaking point.

The last five words jarring her from her magazine, she repeated "you can't do this anymore? What can't you do?"

"I can't keep coming home to an insensitive woman. You don't listen to a word I say, when you do even give me a hint of your attention, you exaggerate what I've said, and frankly, I'm tired of it. It's clear that you don't respect me or this relationship and I want out" he finished.

"All this over dinner?!" she exclaimed. Starting in on a tangent, defensively she began "Yes, I'm going to cook, I always cook. That's what kills me. You act like you're going to die, because there's still thirty minutes left on the food. Give me a break. I am not your slave, and you have the audacity to talk about respect!" she condemned.

"Wow" he concluded, the rest of his words being lost in thought. Shaking his head he began gathering his things.

"Exactly. 'Wow' is right. I've got some complaints of my own, but you know what, I put them to the side because I know you mean well. Do I listen to everything you say? No. I. Do. Not." She confessed slowly, "but that doesn't mean I don't respect you, that doesn't mean you aren't the apple of my eye. Sometimes you just talk about things that I don't care about. So yes, I'm guilty of looking at you and thinking about what I want to base the chicken in while you're talking. And there have been times when you've been talking about work, that I've zoned out and started thinking about what color fingernail polish I should replace with my current. We've all been guilty of that" she offered, "but when you say something important, I'm all ears".

Jason had long since quit packing things into his suitcase to stare incredulously at his very-soon-to-be-ex. "You know what?" he began, "You're a real asshole. Who says that? Fingernail polish and garlic lime seasoning are more important than my conversations with you?" he asked tossing his hands up in despair. "You're pathetic you know that! You're 36, no kids, never married, still wearing your hair in a childhood pageboy and you don't even have the decency to have a good personality. You're going to end up…alone, again, with a house full of cats, half your age, who climb in your hair and drink from the same glass as you. I was your last hope." He affirmed.

"Oh that is low!" she retaliated. "Pageboy?! This is a traditional bob!" she yelled in offense. "Maybe this breakup is a good thing, I don't know if I want to be with someone who doesn't know how to fix his own meals. Who whines like a three-month old child when dinner isn't ready. I'm not your psychologist, call her up! Get back on the couch, mister! For the record I have a brilliant personality" she screamed at the top of her lungs. "I have supported you, and loved you, and catered to your every need. I miss one conversation about dinner and now I'm the bad person? She asked "I caught the jest of what you were saying and if that's not good enough…screw you".

Giving an exasperated sigh, he headed for the door, turning around he said, "No that's not good enough for me. And for the record, I never said anything about dinner, I said my mother died at a diner this morning, but you're right, when I say something important you're all ears" he said letting the door slam behind him.

Blended Lies

"You act like it's my fault that the number is in your phone Stanley!" she yelled.

"You ain't have no business going through my phone" he reprimanded, snatching his phone out her hand. "You trippin about finding numbers you need to stay your nosey ass out my shit."

"WHAT!?" she yelled incredulously. Ok, this was it. She'd given him the opportunity to at least pretend he wasn't romantically involved with the trifling hussy whose nude photo had shown up on the screen when she'd called, but he wasn't even trying. "Why do I always have to show how crazy I am" she questioned before taking it there. Walking over, she towered over him as he looked up at her patronizing her with his eyes.

"He really thinks I won't do anything to him" she realized. Nodding her head at her own revelation, she reached over, covered his entire, smug face with her fingers and pushed his head aside. "Stay out of your shit?" she repeated. Curling her fingers into a fist she landed a hard one against his right eye. "Or what?! What are you gonna do if I don't?" she countered hitting him again, this time causing his face to swell.

"Bitch!" he yelled, hopping up from his seat, "you not finna sit here and hit me like I'm some got-damn child."

Walking over to him she forcefully slapped the Iphone out of his hand and onto the floor. Shaking his head in amazement at the turn for crazy his girlfriend had just made, he reached down to pick up the phone, almost grasping it before she hastily swooped in and yanked it from the ground. Racing down the stairs, slipping over several, she hurried toward the blender and dunked the phone in. With Stanley quick on her heels, she turned to face him with a mischievous grin on her face.

"I'm sorry" he yelled, never taking his eyes off his prized mechanical possession lying cater-corner in the blending device. "I never did nothing with her, I promise" he "confessed". "You right, I was wrong for taking her number, for talking to her, but baby I promise, I didn't ask for that picture of her" he offered, hoping she wouldn't ask how it came to be her Caller ID. "And I was in the process of breaking it off with her cause I love you, you know, and I was telling her that" he rambled, thinking quickly on his toes.

She waited, finger hovering over the 'crushed' option.

"You know I love you, this is all one big misunderstanding. You said you love me too, so why you doing me like this?!" he questioned, feigning hurt feelings, wiping away imaginary tears.

"Why?" she asked looking at him through angry eyes. "Because you're a no-good piece of shit liar!" she yelled livid. " I did say I loved you" she said shaking her head at her own stupidity, "but then I went to the doctor Stanley. And you know what he told me?" she asked awaiting his reply. "He told me that I was pregnant Stanley, notice I said 'was'. But I'd already known it. For four months I'd known I was pregnant, and I waited, and waited for the perfect time to tell you. But you with your bullshit and your lies, it was something every week. The twins from Vegas, the hoe from the hood, and now this bitch, with her exposed nipple piercings mocking me from your cell phone. I lost my baby stressing over you and you never had the decency to even notice I was pregnant" she scoffed. "Didn't have the decency to come up with a good lie, and now, you care more about a $200 phone than you do the 'love of your life'. I'm doing this to you cause you did it to me" she said pressing down on the button as the phone bounced up and down, shards of plastic flying recklessly in circles.

5 Star Chic (2)

Remember, all characters are fictional and resemblances to actual persons are merely coincidental. Meet Erin McCall.



Erin McCall



Hello, I'm Erin. Erin McCall, attorney at law. I don't like to brag...BUT if ever there were such a thing as a 5 Star Chic, I'd definitely be the definition. I'm a very driven person. 28 and I've got an undergraduate degree in English and a Juris Doctorate degree in Sports Law and have already made quite the name for myself as an Entertainment Lawyer. So much so, that I've been able to pay off my student loans, I have ZERO debt, just bought a new Range Rover Sport...cash, (which I finagled down by $10,000) and in 3 years I plan to pay off my half a million dollar house. While I'm tooting my own horn, let me also mention that I have scholarships named after me at both my high school and college alma maters. I take an exotic vacation yearly and I give back in my spare time, not to mention I've done it all on my own. See, growing up, no one expected a skinny little girl from Third Ward, Texas to graduate high school, graduate Suma Cum Laude from The University of Texas (Go Longhorns!) or matriculate through law school in the top 5% of my class. Ahh. Good ole' expectations. I don't live by them. Don't put me in a box, I've been known to break down many. It's only a matter of time before my current law firm, Sterling & Shepherd, becomes Sterling, Shepherd, and McCall. So when you look at me, I'm all woman. I don't have, want or need a man. They're expendable. Anything they can do, I can do better, and I do mean ANYTHING. :) I get them when I desire to, which isn't often. Now that's a 5 Star Chic.

5 Star Chic

All of the characters below are fictional. Any resemblances to actual persons are merely coincidental. Meet Bre'yon, journey with her as she explains why she's a 5 Star Chic.



Bre'yon Renee Jackson



The money, the cars, the clothes...I'm successful. Whether my suits are tailored-made or I decide to get them from Saks or Neimans, I stay fly from head to toe. What did Dorrough say? "Ice cream paint job" Yeah, I definitely got the Pink Satan candy paint on my new, 2010 Audi. Money is no limit. I know you thinking "Dammmmnnn, she doing it" well you ain't heard nothing yet. Those things are MINOR reasons my status is 5 star. I don't pay out of pocket. Fa nothin'. You hear me? Nothing. I'm a 5'8 yellowbone. Perfect 10. They tell me and I know it. I deal with ballers baby, and he ain't gotta play in the NFL or the NBA. I'll take Major League Baseball, the National Hockey League, he can be a doctor (high end of course), an architect, hell if he got a black card, he's balling and he alright with me. I don't even concentrate on body type, skin color, or none of that madness. All I see is green. Money talks everything else is sign language. The point is, if I can make money with NO "gainful employment", drive around in the finest cars and have the means to support myself, I'm a 5 Star Chic. Not bad for a chic that ain't even finished school huh?