Too Proud To Be Kept

Dear Diary,

 Ugh...I really don’t want to complain but I think Mickey only sees me as a sex object.

 Shocker, right?

 I mean, don’t get me wrong—I’m fine with being flown out and shown off...it’s just that...maybe it’s the way he does it that pisses me off. For example, he asked me to take time away from Rosewood so I can go with him to some conference in LA.

 Number 1, I HATE LA and number 2 he said, and I quote, “Make sure you dress like a girl this time.” Like, WTF is that supposed to mean?

 So, I asked him, NICELY, what do you mean and he said—and I swear this is a direct quote,

 “Wear some of the Chanel I bought you. None of the Supreme or Anthropologie.”

 ...

 WHO THE FUCK DOES HE THINK HE IS??? TELLING ME WHAT TO WEAR...I thought about telling him to go fuck himself, then I was like wait...he’s the lease holder on the apartment. If he wanted to, he could snap his fingers and I would have 30 days to find another place to live. I really don’t think he would do that but...it still sucks that he could.

 Also, I don’t want to look like a second wife or a sugar baby all the time. I want to look like me. I want to wear pony tails and Supreme. I wish he saw me as more of an equal...I have an Ivy League degree and I’m still treated like a stupid trophy. He acts like all I’m good for is sex and being shown off.

 I’m more than eye candy, I’m soul food—to quote Tumblr (side note: I gotta visit a soul food restaurant. I bet there are good ones in Harlem).

 Anyway, I guess I just needed to vent. I know, someday, I’ll find a guy who cares about me. Someone who won’t mind when I don’t wear makeup or disagree with one of his friends. Until then, I’m getting high.

 And waiting.