A Lovely Brown Girl

Man vs. Dog

2011-02-18T17:24:00.001-05:00

Since we’re on the subject of telling all my business, I have another confession. I got a dog because I couldn’t keep a man. My ex, Jeremy, had just cheated on me for the 100^th time and I was devastated. In an attempt to rescue herself from my super stank and unpredictable attitude, my roommate suggested that we go to a pet store and play with the puppies. There was just one problem – I was deathly afraid of dogs! (I’ve probably told this story before, but so what? Humor me!) But, at that point, I was desperate to do whatever anyone suggested in an effort to improve my station in life. I was depressed, dejected and felt disrespected. I figured things couldn’t get any worse, so I might as well go with her to check things out.

Now, it had never been on my agenda to get a dog. My mom wouldn’t let me have one growing up because she knew that she would be the one that would end up caring for the animal even though I would’ve been responsible for bringing it into our household. She wasn’t having it. Between my demanding, high-maintenance father, my inconsistent brother, my needy self, and the little time that she managed to squeeze in for personal care, she had enough on her plate. So, I didn’t grow up with pets and I was afraid of them. I was afraid of dogs because I believed them dangerous but also because I wasn’t interested in sharing space or attention and I was lazy. I’m telling you all this to point out the fact that I never intended to end up with a dog.

Then I met Jeremy and, if I’d had any foresight, I would’ve realized he was a dog himself! He came from a different planet than me. I’m not talking Mars and Venus here; it was more than that. When I first met him, he told me that he didn’t have a checking account. I didn’t understand that. He worked for the federal government. I’d interned for the federal government the previous summer making a whopping $10 per hour and they certainly told me that their preference was to direct-deposit my check, which I was fine with because if it meant that I would have access to my money more quickly, then I was a fan. Of course, I knew that not everyone had direct deposit. Clearly, there were some people who elected a paper check, although I just assumed that it was because they were stuck in the previous century… it never occurred to me that it was because they didn’t have a checking account!

When I asked Jeremy his reasons for foregoing a checking account he said he used to have one but the bank kept “messing with my money”. Huh? Later, I would learn that his distrust of financial systems was inherited. One weekend morning, he came to pick me up for brunch, but on the way told me that he had to stop to pay his grandmother’s electric bill. I’m thinking to myself, You can pay utility bills in person? Interesting! I figured there must be some sort of self-service center for PEPCO that I’d never noticed. So, imagine my surprise when he pulled up outside of a liquor store. Liquor? Before noon? Okay. I decided I wouldn’t immediately judge because I had definitely enjoyed my fair share of breakfast cocktails.

“Why are we stopping at a liquor store?” I asked.

“I told you. I have to pay my grandmother’s electric bill.”

Come again? Paying bills at the liquor store?

I had to see this. So I unbuckled my seatbelt and followed him inside. He handed over the little payment slip that PEPCO sends with the bill, and then handed the cashier some cash. The cashier processed it in some kind of antiquated computer system, and then provided him with a receipt, and then we were done. That shit was outrageous to me. How do you know that the money is really going to get to PEPCO? Why wouldn’t you just send your payment directly to PEPCO by check?

I asked this last question to Jeremy and he informed me that, surprise, surprise, his grandmother didn’t have a checking account either! Now I felt like I was floating in the Twilight Zone or some shit. Especially since my own grandmother was notorious for putting a $25 check into every birthday card I’d ever received until I turned 26 and she upped the amount to a very extravagant $26. Every year since I’ve received a check equal to my age in dollars. I mean… this just didn’t make sense to me. EVERY adult I knew had a checking account. So… I was disturbed after discovering that Jeremy hailed from a long line of people who were frightened of the bank!

My mother’s words were ringing in my ears: “When you marry someone, you don’t just marry them, you’re also marrying their family. Make sure know what you’re getting into.” Could I really be okay with marrying into a family that was so quaint that they’d never used an ATM? What if we had kids and they were also scared of checks? I don’t think I could stand it.

Despite my reservations, I ignored all that and decided to carry on with Jeremy as if I never knew about his bank-phobia. At least he had a savings account and I’m sure that I could convince him to eventually open a checking account. *fingers crossed*

Jeremy also spent a lot of time at his grandmother’s house, which was in a “bad” neighborhood and closely resembled a shack. But here’s the thing – there were about fifty-eleven people living there, including granny, two aunts named after fruit (Peaches, Cherry, etc.), a crackhead uncle (literally) who was always trying to sell me something ridiculous like a showerhead or a smoked ham (oh, I’m not joking!), two cousins, a brother, and a “family friend”. Go figure! Between the fake flowers and cheap trinkets that junked up the living room and the plastic that covered every single piece of furniture, including the dining room table – YES, there was plastic encasing the freaking table – I was shocked that so many people could fit in that place, but more stunned that anyone would want to. His grandmother was polite to me, but I could tell that she was not happy about us dating. She thought I was “saditty”, and I guess I probably would’ve thought the same thing had I been on the outside looking in on my uncomfortable and judgmental facial expressions every time I felt I’d overstayed my welcome in the woman’s home, which for the most part was anytime over 5 or 10 minutes. This was his family and it was SO different from my own. And if I loved him – which I did down to my very soul – then I’d have to take them all, too. I respected Jeremy because I figured it took a real man to come from his hodge-podge background and still manage to make something of himself. So I bit my tongue, I compromised on my values and what I wanted in a man to make room for him in my heart. But let me tell you, lovies, whenever you settle for less than what you want, you always end up with less than what you settled for.

To whit, when Jeremy cheated on me with a hood rat the size of an elephant for what was possibly the third time in three years, I really shouldn’t have been surprised. Turns out that he’d been in a relationship with her even before he met me. So, actually little ol’ me was the “other woman”. Ain’t this a bitch?

Look, I’m bougie. Now, whether or not that’s a good thing is debatable. I mean it in the best possible way in that I expect certain things from people like… oh, I don’t know… that they have a checking account! And, of course, now I realize that perhaps I should’ve seen from Jump Street that Jeremy was never going to live up to my expectations, but I tried to ignore that, I really did. But what did I get in return? Check this out:

“Things with her are just different than things are between me and you. It’s like, with you everything is so easy. But me and her, we come from the same place. With her, we started at a time when things were really bad in both our lives, so we have a stronger bond.” Um… okay.

Yep, THAT is what I got.

Well, I was sick about it. I mean, don’t get me wrong – there was obviously a lot of other stuff going on between Jeremy besides plastic furniture, overcrowded houses, and a lack of a checkbook… I’m certainly not saying that his background was the reason he did what he did. That had very little to do with anything. But the issues I’ve pointed out were little things that bothered me enough to question our future and things that I had chosen to ignore for the sake of having a man. And instead of earning his respect, he resented me for it. Me and my background were just too different for him, so he flocked together with a true BIRD of his feather. Great. I was mad – at the situation, at Jeremy, but most of all, at myself.

Rewind to me and my roommate in this pet store and there’s a cute little MinPin with a fat belly sitting in a cage with two much larger dogs. When he saw me, he pushed past them and stuck his snout through the holes in the cage. I reached in tentatively (remember, I was afraid of him!), held him in my arms and fell in love. Jeremy tried to reconcile, but as the saying goes… fool me once, shame on you, fool me three times, and if I take you back, I’m the damn fool. Okay, that’s not how the saying goes, but it’s fitting for the circumstances. So, I could’ve had Jeremy, but instead, I got Capone. Like I said, I’d never intended to get a dog, but a woman betrayed is looking for consistency, stability, and loyalty, and where better to find all that than in an animal known as “(wo)man’s best friend”? It was love at first sight for me and Capone and from moment one a bond was forged. I’ve been his main woman for 10 years now and he holds me down, let me tell you. And despite the fact that we come from different backgrounds (he doesn’t have a checking account either!), he’s stuck by me and loved me unconditionally.

When Jeremy contacted me about five years after we broke up to tell me that he was getting married and having a baby, but the mother of his baby is not the woman he was marrying (yep, you read that right), I surprised myself by being shocked. I’m not sure why I allowed myself to be thrown off by anything he said, but I think more than anything it made me sad to see that so many years later he is still up to his old antics.

And that leads me to wrap up the story by saying this, dear readers: to call Jeremy a “dog” is an insult. The loyalty and respect that Capone has shown me over the years tells me one thing: Real men and even real DOGS don’t do the kind of shit Jeremy does. Which lets me know that I chose wisely.

The Blogger's Dilemma

2011-02-14T22:54:00.000-05:00

A unique set of challenges face anyone who decides to share intimate details of their lives with a bunch of strangers. These are the sort of challenges that face people who, say, write a memoir, or star in a reality show. And it certainly effects people who blog. Especially when the subject you blog about is relationships. And particularly when those relationships about which you’re blogging are ROMANTIC relationships. When you make the decision to blog about your personal life – or any aspect of your life really – you basically have to be comfortable with all your sh*t being in plain view. And that can get messy. I know people who have lost friends over details they’ve published in a blog post. I have heard of people who have lost jobs because of things they published in a blog post. And I have personally experienced the wrath of a partner when he discovers that you’ve been writing about the ins and outs of your relationship on a blog for the world to read. Now, let’s face it, the world ain’t reading this blog, but I do hope that someone other than me is reading it. I guess that says something about me – that I would share my personal thoughts, feelings, beliefs, hurts, triumphs, failures, etc., on the inner-nets. Is it weird? I guess. I have a lot to say, and my blog gives me a forum to say it.

Sometimes, I struggle with how much I should share on this blog. My blog is not private, so anyone can happen upon it and my soul is laid out for all to see on these few pages. But, giving it more thought, I’m not sure that I’m saying anything here that I wouldn’t say to someone straight to their face. Or, maybe I’m lying about that. My words are stronger in writing than they are when I give them a voice. I’m just more articulate in written form. So even though I wouldn’t necessarily be “scared” to say any of the stuff I write here, I may be less likely to actually verbalize it because it wouldn’t come out as clearly.

But in terms of what I would be willing to share about my private life, I’m pretty much known to be an open book. I have friends that will hook up with a dude and nobody will ever know it because they won’t admit to it… even to their closest friends. I’m not like that. When it comes to most aspects of my life, I’m an open book. For example, I went on a date this past weekend (more about that later… maybe), and this guy, who was REALLY into me, btw, was asking me a ton of questions. I mean, questions about everything, i.e., “How tall are you exactly?”, “Where did you go to undergrad?”, “Are you an only child?”, “Are your parents still together?”, “What made you decide to go into your current field?”, “When was the last time you were in a serious relationship?”, and so on, and so forth. And I replied. To every single question. Toward the end of the date, he said “You’re so easy to talk to. I ask you a question, and you answer it.” To which I replied, “Well, isn’t that what you’re supposed to do when a question is asked?” And he said “You’d be surprised. Some women are very secretive.”

I was discussing that comment with my mother as we had our post-date recap. She said “That doesn’t surprise me.” And I said “It doesn’t? It surprises the heck out of me. It wasn’t like he was asking uncomfortable or extremely probing questions. It was conversation; an attempt to get to know another person. What would’ve been the harm in answering?” My mother says, “Well, the reason you were so comfortable with sharing is because you have nothing to hide.” Hmm… perhaps she has a point. I’m not embarrassed of anything that has happened to me, I’m not embarrassed of my family who – for better or for worse – have had their own questionable moments in history, I’m not worried about what people might think of me given my career choices. Okay, well… that’s not necessarily true (more on that later, too… maybe). But the bottom line is that I don’t see anything wrong with bearing my soul. What’s the big deal? It’s how I feel. I don’t care if you know that’s how I feel. I think that people who are more guarded with their opinions might see something very wrong with sharing so much of their inner thoughts. But, not me! And y’all get to reap the benefits of my loose lips. You get to know my life… whether you wanna know it or not. But then again, I guess you must wanna know all my business if you are choosing to read this blog. *shrug* Don’t take that as an insult; I’m glad you’re here! I’m just saying that if you’re reading, it’s likely for a reason, and that reason is probably related to wanting to know my business since I have chosen to write about my business!

One of my favorite movie lines of all time is when Amy Poehler is talking to Molly Shannon in “Baby Mama” and she says “Bitch, I don’t know your life!” Well… all y’all know my life. I hope that since I’ve basically forsaken all privacy and pretty much fed you my raw emotion, that you at least find it entertaining.

A Toast to 2011

2011-01-01T22:03:00.001-05:00

It’s hard to believe that yet another year has gone by. This thing called time is flying! *smh* Last night when the ball dropped and I saw the numbers 2011 light up, I was flabbergasted. 2011? Really?! I thought by now cars would be flying through the skies and we’d be living like the Jetsons. (I mean, who doesn’t want a robotic live-in maid?!) But, alas, our feet (and cars!) are still firmly planted on the ground.

I tried to think back on 2010 to determine whether it was a good year or a year that could’ve used some improvement (a diplomatic way to say “bad”), and I honestly couldn’t remember much about it! This year was, quite literally, a blur! There were definitely some good points. And I feel accomplished for being able to say that 2010 was my first full year of being a New Yorker! November 10 marked my one-year anniversary in the Big Apple. I cannot believe that I’ve been living in the City for over a year now! It’s been a largely positive experience. Oh, trust that there have been moments where I’ve wondered whether I should pack it up and move back to DC, but now I’ve found my groove… and, God-willing, I won’t be heading home for a long, long time.

Mostly, I’m just looking forward to what 2011 will bring. I have a good feeling about this year, and I’m expecting to continue to be abundantly blessed. The Lord has put some good people in my life, and has certainly allowed me to prosper in ways I never thought possible. I have faith that things will only get better as years go by.

I have a few goals for 2011, and they are (in no particular order):

To finally win the Battle of the Bulge. It’s been a long time coming and, quite frankly, I’m tired of being fat! I think that’s one of the reasons that I’ve been somewhat dissatisfied with myself for the past several years… because when you’re not looking your best, you tend not to feel your best. So I hope to drop somewhere between 30-50 lbs by the dawn of 2012. More on that later.

To finish the projects I start. To most people, this doesn’t seem like much, I’m sure. But I have a HUGE issue with starting things and never finishing them. Over the years, I’ve started writing no less than four novels. I’ve started business plans for at least three entrepreneurial efforts, and never brought them to fruition. I’ve started exercising and given up on the gym after three or four months of really going in. Etcetera. I’m tired of being half-assed. This will stop in 2011, beginning with me taking my blog back. (To be discussed in greater detail in a future post.

To try new things and challenge myself. I am a plain old steak, potatoes, apple pie kind of girl (which explains the need for goal #1 above!), and don’t really like to deviate from the comfort of what I know. I don’t like “ethnic” foods (beyond your standard Mexican and Italian). Or… at least I don’t THINK I like “ethnic” food. But I haven’t tried most of it to even know whether I like it or not. And that’s just dumb. I know it, but for some reason it’s hard for me to step outside of the box with most things. Now my affinity for American comfort food is just an example of my closed-mindedness. I don’t plan to venture too far outside of my lane with the food thing this year, but I promise to be more open to the possibility. And that goes for things other than food as well. As I’ve mentioned once (or a thousand times) I am extremely risk averse (this is why my move to NYC was SUCH a HUGE deal!), but plan to cure myself of my severe case of analytical paralysis. I’m going to work on throwing caution to the wind and trying new things. Stay tuned.

To let the past be the past and to be hopeful about my future. This goal means the most to me. I am working on learning to live in the “now”. This moment, right now, is all that we have and all that we are guaranteed. And, for that reason, it is up to me to do the most I can with it. But in order to do that, I’ve got to let go of what happened in the past. What’s done is done. I can’t do a thing to change it. And so I’ve got to move on from it. That means letting go of past hurts and disappointments. My heart was broken in 2010, and getting over that was a long and arduous process that is actually ongoing. But that’s the past, it’s over and done, and now it’s time to move on from this… and other things as well. And similarly, I’ve got to stop being anxious about the future. First of all, tomorrow is not promised. Secondly, whatever happens in the future is God’s will, and if I lean on my FAITH, there’s no need to worry about what the future will bring.

Today is the first day of the rest of our lives. That’s exciting and thrilling and amazing and terrifying. But, the best part of it all is that 2011 is a blank canvass. Let us use the tools we’ve been given to paint a perfect picture. Here’s to 2011 and moving onward and upward into the future.

real {morbid} talk

2010-09-09T12:54:00.000-04:00

My dad once said something to me, and boy did it resonate: “From the time you take your first breath, you start dying.”

Well, damn. If I was living with my head in the clouds, that sort of woke me up. But I forgot it, and kept living life conservatively, afraid to take risks and step out on faith.

And then, today my cousin posted a Facebook status that, again, startled me: “Live life like you’re dying. Because you are.”

Alrighty then! Sobering thought.

Bestie’s mom passed away a few weeks ago, and that totally hit home for me also. Her mom wasn’t that much older than my mom and was, in fact, younger than my dad. And that got me to thinking… my parents won’t be around forever, which then got me thinking, that even I won’t be around forever. It’s a scary thought, and makes me wonder what I’m doing to justify my birth.

I am a true believer that everyone is placed on this Earth for a reason. There is a mission that you are supposed to carry out once you get here. For some people, their mission will be to effect change on a small scale. And, for others, they’re put here to change and influence the lives of many. Bestie’s mom was a teacher who had been touching the lives of students for more than 40 years. She had an effect on the lives of hundreds of thousands of students over the course of her career. And, post-teaching, she affected the lives of countless others through her kind heart and generous spirit. At her funeral, a line of people gathered at the podium to speak respectfully of her, and every good thing that was said was also true. Not the case at many funerals where the preacher stands to say the eulogy, says all these wonderful things about a person you knew was not always so wonderful, and you wonder whether the preacher actually knew the person at all because clearly if he did he wouldn’t be saying all those nice things.

It’s morbid to think of your own funeral, but it’s inevitable. In life, it’s the only party you’ll have a guaranteed invite for. Yikes! But I know I want to be known for good things. I know I want to make lots of friends and influence people… positively. I know that I want to have gotten all I can get out of this here life, so that when it’s all said and done, nobody will regret that I didn’t get to fulfill my dreams or accomplish my goals.

I know my life won’t be perfect, but my plan is to work toward being the best me that I can be, and to ENJOY life in the process. How many times have I sat around stagnant in a place I didn’t really want to be because I was too afraid to take a chance or try something outside of my comfort zone? Waste of time! How many times have I given the side eye to the person having too much fun in the club, judging them because I thought they looked silly? And in my attempt to look “cool” and/or “dignified”, I definitely didn’t have as much fun as the “silly” person. Well, no more of that. The primary reason behind all of my “holding-back” tendencies has been FEAR. I’ve been too afraid to think/act/live outside the proverbial box. But now that I am able to put things into perspective and realize that we’re all going to check-out of here one way or another and we don’t know the day, nor the hour, why be afraid? None of us have anything to lose.

My mission now – I won’t just live… I will THRIVE.

P.S. Tell those who are dear to you that you love them now, and continue to do it often. LOVE is all that matters in this world. When you have nothing else it will carry you through.

what a girl wants

2010-09-01T22:58:00.004-04:00

First up, can I get a handclap of praise for the fact that I actually posted twice in one day?! That’s more than I’ve done in most months. How awesome is that?! I’m going to try not to be lazy and claim these as my two posts for this week. Hopefully, I’ll come up with something good for you by Friday at least. *fingers crossed*

I had no clue when I started writing this post that it would turn into a profession of affection for my dad. But as difficult and frustrating as he can be, I do love the man! So I guess it’s only natural that my love for him would shine through in this post. He’s great and has a lot of wonderful qualities... and, after doing this list, I realize now that his good qualities far outweigh his “bad” ones. Huh. Go figure.

A few weeks back, a friend and I were chatting about our fathers. Our mothers and how much we love them are a daily discussion, but every once in awhile, one of us will bring up our fathers. Well, this time the conversation was more interesting because we were talking about how our relationships with our fathers are the foundation for all other relationships we develop with men in our lifetimes. I was talking about my own dad and made a comment about how there are things about my dad that I love and will seek in a mate and things about him that I find incredibly annoying and will likely end up being deal-breakers for me in my romantic relationships.

My friend, always thoughtful, decided to write a blog post about what she wants in a man and how those wants relate to her father's personality/character, and she recommended that all her readers do the same.

This will be hard, but... Here goes!

Spiritually Grounded: I know that some men cringe when they see God-fearing at the top of a woman’s “list”. They are afraid that the woman might beat them over the head with a Bible and – God forbid – be a prude in the bed. I get those concerns. I really do. But lemme just say that I think a man that has a genuine and legitimate relationship with a higher power is incredibly sexy! The fact that a man can admit that there’s something out there greater than himself, to me, is such a manly and mature thing. My father has always had a relationship with God. My father’s oldest brother always marvels at the fact that my father, as a teenager/young adult, would get on his knees to say his prayers every night and every morning even if he was dead-tired and, in some case, drunk. And there’s something to be said for the fact that every night before my parents go to sleep, they get on their knees to pray. Even though my father has had both of his hips replaced, he still kneels and shows reverence to God. I love that about him. When he doesn’t know the way out of a particularly sticky situation, he prays his way through it. When he needs answers, he consults the Word, and asks other men and women of faith for their advice. And when he’s being insufferable (more about that in a later post), he gets himself in check by reminding himself of the spirit behind WWJD (what would Jesus do?). I can remember being afraid to sleep in the bed at night and my father getting his big Catholic Bible with the renaissance art illustrations, and reading me verses to help strengthen my faith. I appreciated that even then, and I know that in his heart he is a good man guided by principles and a finely-tuned moral compass. I’m looking for that same passionate faith in my partner. It doesn’t have to be MY God that a man chooses to acknowledge (although that would get him brownie points), but a belief in a benevolent and superior spiritual being is certainly a requirement of mine.

Loyal: My mom once told me that despite the fact that she and my dad have had their ups and downs in their relationship that’s spanned more than three decades, the one thing she has NEVER had to worry about was infidelity. My father is a loyal man. He never once spent a night away from us without our knowing where he was and what he was doing. He didn’t keep secrets. He didn’t maintain inappropriate friendships/relationships with other women. He just might be the last faithful man walking this planet. I have been betrayed by so many men in my lifetime and I just don’t want to feel that ever again. I can deal with any other challenge, but don’t dog me out behind my back. I hope that really, if my future mate can’t live up to anything else on my list, my father’s unwavering LOYALTY will be the one thing he chooses to emulate.

Intelligence: My dad has to be THE most intelligent person I've ever encountered. And I'm not biased. Ask anyone who knows him - he's damn there a genius. And he, of course, knows it. Which can be annoying. But he instilled in me a love for intelligent people. As a result, I'm allergic to dumb people. They make my skin crawl. Education is important (I'll touch on that later), but innate intelligence – even in the absence of formal education – earns a place at the top of my list when it comes to my ideal man.

Educated: Now, look. Before anyone jumps down my throat about this, please recognize that for most people in this country – except in the case of athletes, models, rappers, and actors (see Puffy/P. Diddy/Diddy Dirty Money for reference) – being educated is the key to success. It just is what it is. And in my house, education was a priority right up there with godliness and cleanliness. And, no wonder. My father was the youngest of 10 kids. My grandfather died when my dad was 4 and he probably had little to no schooling in his lifetime. My grandmother, a domestic worker, didn't make it past 6th grade. Out of his 9 brothers and sisters, my dad was the only one to make it to college. But not only did he make it there, he made it there on a full scholarship (obvi my grandma couldn't afford college tuition off her $32/week salary!), worked the ENTIRE time, pledged a fraternity (which was nothing but distractions and shenanigans even back in the olden days when he was pledging!), got a master's degree, and then copped a Ph.D. And he did all that before he was 28 years old. So, when dudes come to me talking all that riff raff about how school is “not for me", and/or, start making excuses about how they didn't have the "opportunity" to go to college, I look at them like they're buggin. I'm not buying it. If my black "underprivileged" dad could do it during Jim Crow, then you can do it now. No ifs ands or buts about it.

Disciplined: I am not a disciplined person. It’s something that I’ve been working hard at my whole life and I haven’t managed to master it, but to my father, it comes naturally. My father was a drinker, smoker, and heavy eater. He found out he had diabetes when I was in high school and decided he didn’t want to have to be on meds, so he went into healthy-eating mode, got his diabetes under control, and was able to cut his medication almost completely. Both of his hips were replaced and he even surprised his doctors by how quickly he was able to heal, but the doctors recommended that he do certain exercises daily, and he did them DAILY… without fail. He became anemic and needed to up his iron intake. Someone suggested that he eat plantains to increase his iron naturally, he ate plantains every single day until his doctor told him his iron was at an acceptable level. He flosses his teeth EVERY SINGLE NIGHT before bed, and he kneels to pray in the morning and the evening every day without fail. That, folks, is called discipline. And it’s something that – once you’ve perfected it – permeates every aspect of your life. It’s why you don’t take sick days, why you pay your bills on time, why you’re able to afford that thing you’ve been wanting (because you consistently put away money for a rainy day and are determined not to touch it until it’s time), it’s why you’re faithful to your spouse, and why you’re successful in your career. That discipline is something I need my man to have. I won’t say that your partner should “complete” you (because you should already be complete when you come to your partner), but your partner should complement you. Where you are lacking, s/he should have abundance. Discipline is one thing I don’t have enough of and I hope that my partner will have enough to spare.

He's Gotta LOVE the HUSTLE: So, yeah, my dad was a professor for 30 years and that paid the majority of our bills. But my dad was fundamentally opposed to being late with bills, being cold during the winter, and being hot in the summer. There were also a few things that we just HAD to have as a family – a nice house in a safe neighborhood, decent cars in our garage, good schools, and vacations. But all these needs required one thing - MONEY. So you know what? My dad did what he had to do to make sure we could afford those things. That meant that he ALWAYS had more than one job. And he found JOY in going to work and providing for his family. He would NEVER dream of sitting at home and forcing my mom into being the breadwinner. And even if my mom insisted that he stay home while she worked, he would refuse. In his mind, that’s just not what a MAN would do. A MAN provides for his family. Plus, my dad just liked being busy. From the time I was a kid, he did a variety of things to bring in extra income. In addition to being a professor, he got published in newsletters, magazines, and newspapers; he opened a therapy practice with my mom; he owned a contracting/handyman service… and, yes, my dad with his Ph.D. and tenured professorship was tearing down drywall, and on his hands and knees fixing plumbing in other people’s homes just to make sure that he would never have to hear his kids say “I need…”. We had all of what we needed and most of what we wanted ‘cause my dad loved the hustle. It would be great if I could know that my man cringed at hearing me say “I need…”. If I could be certain that he would hold us down if need be, that he would find a way to make a dollar out of the proverbial 15 cents. Is that too much to ask?

Heart of a "Thug": Alright, now I KNOW that somebody is going to have to say something about this. But as much as I looooove a polished and professional man, he needs to know about “the streets”. Plus, I’m going to need him to NEVER be shook by another man. My dad is not tall… he’s actually only about 5’8” or 5’9”, but I never noticed that he was of average height because he never – and I mean NEVER – cowered in the face of another man. He's aggressive, no-nonsense, and fiercely protective, and to this day he can walk into any situation and demand respect... if not for his intelligence or business savvy, then for his ability to relate to people on all levels, from the dope slingers to the dignitaries. I always felt safe and protected when I was with my father and knew that he had my back in any and every situation and if I went to him with any issues, those issues would be handled. If I was afraid of anything he would always say "I won't let anything happen to you"... and I believed him, because I knew it was true. Today, my pops is the Chairman of the Deacon Board at my church, and that means he’s second in command, only behind the Pastor. He’s definitely a holy and dignified man, but to put it plainly, there was a time when my dad was a bit of a roughneck. As my maternal grandmother once said “Your daddy and Jesus weren’t always friends.” Bwahaha! But what she meant is that my dad, at one point, was not a man to be played with. He wore suits and cleaned up nicely, but in the streets, he was quick to let you know who’s boss. I’m not gonna go into detail because those of you who know my father don’t need to know the nitty-gritty, but just know that in his heart, my educated, God-fearing daddy is a thug... and I need a little bit of that from my future man. ‘Nuff said.

Pretty Boy Swag: Sorry for invoking this term, but just go on and blame Soljah Boy Tell ‘Em for this requirement. If you look at my dad now in all his gray haired glory, you might never know that my daddy was fly in his day, but he takes great pride in his hygiene and appearance. I remember at a band concert of mine in elementary school, my parents arrived a little late, and when they walked in, my daddy was wearing a white button-down shirt, navy blazer with gold buttons, a pocket square, slacks, and hard-bottom shoes. Now, mind you, he was a professor and called himself dressing for the classroom. And NOW I think that outfit was on point! But, back then, I wondered why he wasn’t rocking the golf shirt and rumpled khaki pant look all the other suburban dads were wearing. Today, I want a man that knows how to put two pieces of clothing together, a man that is neat and clean, a man that stands out from the crowd. All my exes have had their own unique personal style… good or bad (you be the judge), they owned it and I liked it. Personal style is important, but low on the list because it’s not a deal-breaker and, let’s face it, it can be developed over time.

Strong Features: This might sound crazy, but I love a prominent nose, strong facial structure, broad shoulders, thick eyebrows and eyelashes, full lips, etc. And, yes, my daddy (and my brother) has all that, too. Skin color, hair type, height (to an extent), etc., are a non-issue, but give me some thick eyebrows and a pair of full lips and I’m good!

This took a lot longer than expected, so I’m forced to pull a to-be-continued on you. I’ve told you all the qualities my dad has that I want in a man, and next up, I’ll share the things about my dad that NO man better come with a.k.a. DEALBREAKERS.

i am not my hair

2010-09-01T10:51:00.003-04:00

You might luck up on two posts today. I forgot my Kindle (so no subway reading) and my iPod is dead (so no subway tunes). And, in order to survive my trip to and from work, I have to have something to distract me. There's just too much drama on the subway. Not my cup of tea! So to manage my transit issues, today, I wrote the whole way to work, and I'll likely write the whole way home.

I was talking with a friend this weekend and she told me she posts to her blog at least twice per week. I'm going to try that. Twice per week is not unreasonable and work has slowed down considerably now that I have an assistant again (!), so I think I can handle that... Stay tuned!

It's been over a month since I did the Big Chop and swore off relaxers forever. And since that day, I haven't looked back ONCE. I haven't taken a look in the mirror and wished for my shoulder-length hair back. I haven't thought "oh damn! I hate my nappy hair! Lemme throw in a relaxer really quickly."

So far, I've received nothing but compliments, but even if that weren't the case, I don't think I'd feel any differently. I just have no regrets. Or... I HAD no regrets. But today, I was speaking to my mom about the fact that I'm exploring new career options and she asked me whether I thought my hair would be a problem. I tried to play dumb I mean, why would it be a problem? *sarcasm* But all things considered - the fact that I'm applying for mid- to high-level positions within very conservative corporate environments, as much as I don't want to give that concern any credence, she just might have a point.

"I'm NOT going back to a relaxer for a job," I insisted.

But, she had an answer for that also, "You don't have to go back to a relaxer, but you may want to consider a press & curl."

Yes, I'm sure she has a point now. This would be temporary fix, and once I was actually offered any job, I could go back to my 'fro. But, I have no idea how a press & curl would turn out on my very short hair. AND, I'm worried about the damage heat could do to my curls also. I would be super pissed if all of a sudden one side of my hair was permanently stuck between straight and curly. I worked hard for these curls, dammit!

It's funny, when I was "transitioning" from my relaxer, I overheard a conversation between two natural-haired women. They were talking about recent job interviews one had been on and whether she felt pushback as a result of her hair. She said shed worn a wig to her interviews. A wig!! I know that some people are all about the wigs/weaves/braids/etc., but I just can't get with it! I've done the weave/braid thing several times and within a week or two was (literally) itching to touch my "real" hair stuck underneath. So I'd take it out. All that money on hair and manual labor to "install" it, meant to last for weeks or months, and within days it'd all be wasted.

Wigs... Wigs, I don't understand. Even the most expensive ones look HELLA fake! So not cool. And I'd be worried that the people interviewing me wouldn't be able to concentrate given "my" new hairdo.

Then again, most white folk don't know real hair from fake. So, perhaps I could get away with it afterall, and when the interview is done, I could pull the wig off and keep it steppin. Hmm... It's a thought.

But it pains me that I should even have to consider all this. My hair grows out of my head just like this. The blonde chick with long straight hair doesn't have to plot and plan about what she's going to "do" with her hair for a date, job interview, etc., so why should I? Seems unfair to me. But, then again, LIFE is unfair and sht happens and people have to make decisions that are way more serious than how to rock their hair for a job interview.

I'll figure something out. I guess...

Sent via BlackBerry from T-Mobile

Maybe someday...

2010-08-19T10:51:00.007-04:00

This week I had to make a really hard decision. For the last two years, I've chronicled the saga of my relationship with Mystery Man. And throughout it all, despite all my worrying and conjecture, he's remained elusive. So I decided to cut communication with him altogether. I had been holding on for so long because I truly at one point believed that he and I were friends. But then I realized that our interaction was sporadic. We barely spoke, and when we did, it was via BBM or text or something, we never really hung out or spent time together. After I did a quick rundown of our "relationship", I realized that I might've been a bit delusional in thinking that a "relationship", or even really a "friendship" ever existed between us.

And I also started asking myself why I would continue to run TOWARD a person that spent our entire "relationship" running AWAY from me. I wanted him, he didn't want me... it was a waste of time for us both. I got tired, and I realized that it was time for me to move on. But, in order for me to truly move on, I needed to stop talking to him. I needed to foreclose any opportunity to have access to him. So, I de-friended him from Facebook and deleted him from my Blackberry messenger contacts. When I write that down, it doesn't even seem like that big of a deal. Who cares about Facebook? Why do people even use BBM? I mean, so what, right? But, by me closing off those lines of communication - our primary means of contacting one another - I have basically closed the door on that chapter of my life. Without those means, we won't be in touch. That "relationship" is likely over for good.

I was tearful as I clicked "Remove from Friends" on Facebook. I didn't want to let go, but then I realized that if I was ever going to stop wasting energy on someone who expended NO energy on me, and eventually end up with someone who saw my value and worth, then I was going to have to go cold turkey, and end this thing once and for all. So that's what I did. I think...

I feel sad about it, but I also feel like I spent the majority of those two years chasing him, and ultimately never caught up. I feel like life is unfair because if you love someone THAT MUCH, they should be forced to love you back. I feel like a failure... like maybe I didn't try hard enough. Or maybe I wasn't pretty enough, or funny enough, or smart enough (although, this last part is not likely 'cause I'm damn smart! ha!)...

And most of all, I worry that I'll never find anyone to treat me the way I want to be treated or love me the way that I want to be loved because, up to now, it seems like my entire romantic life has been one big disappointment.

I didn't want to delete him from my life, but honestly, I just can't take being continually rejected. I can't take being largely ignored.

I'm better than that, I'm worth more than that.

What I want is someone who will give me their all. Who will love me at my worst, and deserve me at my best. Someone who is loyal and consistent. Who understands that I might not be the smartest girl in the room, the prettiest, the sexiest, or even the most congenial (doubtful! hehe!), but still looks at me with a twinkle in his eye because - to him - I'm as good as it gets.

I am into posting songs lately, and every time I hear this particular song, it makes me smile because THIS is precisely the way I wish someone would feel about me. I'm gonna let Kenny sing to ya for a bit so you can see what I mean. Maybe someday... maybe. Someday.

Here's hoping, girlies!

Kenny Lattimore - For You (Official Music Video). Watch more top selected videos about: Kenny Lattimore

And to reinforce the words, check out the lyrics:

For you I give a lifetime of stability
Anything you want of me, nothing is impossible
For you, there are no words or ways to show my love
Or all the thoughts I'm thinking of
Cause this life is no good alone
Since we've become one,
I've made a change
Everything I do now, makes sense
All roads end, all I do is for you

For you I share the cup of love that overflows
And anyone who knows us knows
I would change all faults I have,
For you there is no low or high or in between
Of my heart that you haven't seen
Cause I share all I have and am
Nothing I've said's hard to understand
All I feel I feel deeper still, and always will
All this love is for you

Every note that I play, every word I might say
Every melody I feel
Are only for you and your appeal
Every page that I write, every day of my life
Would not be filled with without the things
That my love for you now brings
For you I make the promise of fidelity
Now and for eternity
No one could replace this vow

For you, I'd take take your hand heart And everything
And add to them a wedding ring
Cause this life is no good alone
Since we've become one you're all I've known
And if this feeling should leave, I'd die
And here's why, all I am is for you
Everything i do now makes sense
All roads end, all I do,
Is for you

It's not easy bein' me...

2010-08-04T21:47:00.002-04:00

Lately, I've been having a really hard time just... being me. I guess all women have some insecurities about their outward appearance, but I think I have a harder time than others. I am short (and now... so is my hair!). I am ordinary. I am plump. I am plain. I am brown.

But, as the name of this blog suggests... I am also lovely. Inside and out.

I know it, but sometimes I forget. And on those days, this song helps me put it all into perspective.

So... sing it again, Kermit. I'll just sit here and reflect on the fact that being short, plump, plain, brown... ME... is exactly what/who I wanna be.

It's Not Easy Being Green by Kermit the Frog

LYRICS:

It's not that easy being green
Having to spend each day the color of the leaves
When I think it could be nicer being red, or yellow, or gold
Or something much more colorful like that

It's not easy being green
It seems you blend in with so many other ordinary things
And people tend to pass you over
'Cause you're not standing out
Like flashy sparkles in the water
Or stars in the sky

But green's the color of spring
And green can be cool and friendly-like
And green can be big like a mountain
Or important like a river
Or tall like a tree

When green is all there is to be
It could make you wonder why
But why wonder why wonder
I am green, and it'll do fine
It's beautiful, and I think it's what I want to be

My HAIRstory

2010-07-26T23:09:00.004-04:00

There was shouting, there was crying, there was fussing and fighting. My dad peered through the door and shouted out, “What are you doing to my baby?” To which my mother responded with a roll of her eyes.

I was about eight years old at the time, and this scene could’ve been snatched out of any given Saturday afternoon. Because Saturday afternoon in my house circa-my elementary school era, meant Hair Day. The day that my mother and I engaged in our weekly war against my hair, which included washing, conditioning, detangling, blow drying, and hot-combing. It was a vicious battle that usually ended with my irritated mom sweating buckets, and poor little me crying buckets of tears. My mom, she felt for me (she really did), and Lord knows my father – who cannot stand to hear me cry – used to find reasons to escape the house on a Saturday afternoon, so he didn’t have to take part in the nonsense.

My mom was of the old-school camp that believed that little black girls should have neat little braids and pigtails with bows and bells and whistles, and a hair shouldn’t be out of place. Unfortunately, my hair didn’t get that memo, and it took a nasty struggle to get it to cooperate. It took a few tries for my mom to get the hang of doing my hair, but in the end, she was able to come up with some really cute styles and I got compliments about how “neat” my hair was. That’s because my mother believed in the hot comb. And hairgrease. Lots and lots of hairgrease.

Now, you might wonder why my mother had to overcome a large learning curve before she became adept at doing my hair. Well, you see, that was because my mother was born (some would say blessed) with beautiful hair. When she wanted straight hair, just a few moments with a blowdryer and her hair would flow down her back, all bone straight and shiny without the assistance of chemicals. And if she didn’t feel like styling it, she’d splash it with a little water, and voila! Her jet black, silky tresses would roll into springy curls almost as soft and sweet as her disposition that would dance and sway around her head like a halo. Much like all the other women on her side of the family who were also born (blessed) with similar locks, she couldn’t walk down the street without hearing someone comment – positively – on her hair. The irony is that she could’ve cared less about it. It was not a point of pride for her. Mainly because my grandmother rejected her own soft, curly hair that at one point during her 20s and 30s, hung to her waist. She saw it as a reflection of the raping and pillaging that white men had done to black women, and didn’t feed into the believe that “straighter is better”, and passed that down to her children.

Well, needless to say, I wasn’t blessed with the same hair texture as the rest of the women in my family. I didn’t hold the winning ticket in the genetic hair lottery. Instead, my hair was coarse, kinky, and not quite curly or straight. A gift from my unmistakably black daddy, that brought my mama nothing but trouble. But despite the fact that my mom was forced to relive Mama vs. Kinks, she never gave any indication that she thought my hair was “bad”. In fact, when I was a kid, and would be emotionally and physically spent at the end of a long day of washing, drying, and straightening, and I’d look up at her with tears in my eyes and say “Mommy, why can’t I have hair like you?” She’d say, “Because you have your own hair, that’s unique to you and only you… and it’s beautiful! It’s tough and stubborn and lively and beautiful. Just like YOU!” I’d giggle and she’d hug me, and then pull me away to hold me out at arm’s length, and she’d say, “In fact… I wish that MY hair was like YOURS. You can do SO many things with it.” She’d pause to tap me on the tip of my nose. “You’re lucky!” she would say with a wink. And for a minute, I’d forget the battle that had just occurred, and I’d actually feel lucky.

I’m saying all this to say, the relationship that black women have with their hair is a complicated one. It may be almost as complicated as black women’s relationship with black men.

Almost.

So, on Saturday, when I sat down in my stylist’s chair and told her to cut all my hair off, well… that was a big damn deal! But, I’d had it. After two decades of relaxing my hair, I became completely natural. And I have never felt so light, so free, so HAPPY about a hairstyle. I’d forgotten my natural texture, and didn’t have a clue what it would look like when I did it, but I must say I’m thrilled with the end result.

By the time I sat down in the chair, I just wanted my hair off. It’s been so freakin hot and humid in New York this summer and dealing with two hair textures has been a challenge – to say the least. I had been setting my hair on perm rods and wearing my hair curly during my transition, but that was getting old. I’d been invited to attend a pretty high-profile and glamorous party, and I wanted a straight look, so I got the bright idea to flat-iron my hair. I stayed up late one night and washed and blow-dried and flat-ironed my hair, and when I was done… it looked great! Considering the fact that I hadn’t had a relaxer in over 8 months, I was definitely surprised by the results. But by the time I woke up in the morning, my hair looked a hot-damn mess. So I was late to work because I was in the bathroom running the flat-iron through my hair again. I fixed it, thank God… but what did that matter, because by the time I made it to my office, my hair was all over my head yet again. I ended up skipping the party, which was being held in Midtown on a rooftop, because I was so unhappy with my hair, and I’m glad I did because it ended up raining on the party. Not a good look for relaxed chicks. I spent the remainder of the week flat-ironing my hair two times per day. It was hot, stressful, and stupid! So by the time the week was over and I made it back to DC and into the chair of the woman who cut my hair short when I was 16, I told her to skip the style and get straight to the cutting. I did not flinch, I did not cry, I had NO remorse.

And my mama, with her beautiful curls (which are short now), was right there beside me cheering me on. When I was done, she clasped her hands together and looked a little teary-eyed when she cooed “It looks beautiful!” And I believed her… because I agreed!

Of course, there will be those that don’t like it. When I told my grandmother I’d cut my hair, she screamed. She doesn’t prefer one texture over another, but she’s 82 years old, so she’s not from the generation that embraces short hair on women. She said she’d do her best to get used to it, though.

And, then, there’s my doorman. He constantly flirted with me prior to the cut, but this morning in the elevator, he stopped me.

“You changed your hair,” he said.

“Yep,” I nodded in the affirmative.

“It’s an afro,” he said.

“Yep,” I repeated.

“It looks alright,” he said.

Um… thanks, Mr. Doorman. But I’ve come to the conclusion that he’s an idiot. And then, that was confirmed when 5 minutes later as I walked down into the subway, a man stopped me to tell me that I was stunning. Not cute, not adorable (these are the two annoying and completely unoriginal compliments I always get), but STUNNING (which I NEVER get). So, eff the doorman. I could get used to the subway guy’s comments.

Of course, this haircut will take some getting used to. And I’m surprised to find that my hair – underneath the remaining relaxed portion of my hair (she didn’t get it all with the first chop) – I have little ringlets all over. So interesting! I never thought my hair had a curl pattern… the things you learn when you let go of what’s “easy”. I am also surprised to find that I have some heat damage in the front and on the sides of my hair from too much straightening. Once heat damage takes over, you basically have to just let your hair grow out or cut it off because it will never be the same. So I will just continue to let it grow, and go from there.

Oh yeah, I think that’s important to mention. I have no intention of my hair being short for long. My plan is to grow it out into a fierce afro, so that I, too, have a halo of curls surrounding my head. Not curls like my mom’s, but curls of my own. I can’t wait!

H.I.M.

2010-07-20T01:17:00.012-04:00

Well, I'm back, b*tches!! I promise to never leave you like that again. I don't really have a lot to say about my absence, but maybe this post will give you a glimpse into what was going on inside my head (along with a million + 1 other things!) over these last six months. This post is a doozy, and it was written awhile ago when I was so heartsick, I could barely sleep. Sometimes love knocks you down, but I'm back up again! I've let go of a lot of the hurt and pain I was feeling because I realized that I was likely overreacting about a lot of this. My most rash decision was to stop blogging, but, as you can see, I've given up on that attempt. I cannot be silenced! I've got too much to say. Anyway, here you have it - this is where I was a few months ago. My feelings back then - straight... no chaser.

Tonight, I literally felt my heart break into two. Nothing in particular caused it, but it was devastating just the same. Now, I’ve felt heartbreak before. In fact, I’ve felt it many, many times before. I point that out to let you know that I KNOW what it feels like. It’s a feeling with which I am, unfortunately, very familiar.

I think more than sadness, heartbreak consists primarily of disappointment. Feelings are hurt, hopes dashed. It’s a lonely place to be. Even though everyone has experienced it, when you’re going through it, it seems like you are utterly alone in this world. And every time you feel it, it feels like the first time. Although you recognize what it is, the feeling is fresh, raw, harsh. People compose songs about this shit. They paint pictures, write novels, give speeches. And despite all the effort, I swear it seems that nobody has adequately captured the mix of emotions I’m experiencing.

So, anyway. This is how I feel. And honestly, I thought I was over all this. Enough time has passed. But everyday the wound is re-opened. And, why? Because we’re still friends on Facebook and Twitter and IM and BBM. The PSEUDO-distance has taken its toll. You know, even when we’re not communicating directly, I know what he is doing, thinking, feeling. Where he is. And what hurts is that the things that he is doing, thinking, feeling – have nothing to do with me. And where he is… well, it’s everywhere – and anywhere – that I am not.

Likely, he will read this. And he will pass judgment. But at this point, I really don’t care. He ran me away from my blog with a few words and… well, I guess it was a tone. A tone that really upset me and made me second-guess myself, which I have come to do more now in my old age. As a child, I was fearless and could not have cared less what anyone thought about me. That was before I realized that not all love is unconditional.

But, as usual, I have digressed.

The point is that I am no longer afraid to write my feelings down and share them on my blog. MY blog is MY safe space. And if you don’t like what I have to say, well… the thing is, YOU don’t have to read what I say. It’s that simple. And, besides, I tried to verbalize my feelings, but no matter what I said, there was no resolution. Despite the passion behind my words, the intensity of my feelings, it was never sufficient. No matter how hard I vehemently argued my side, he wasn’t buying it. Talking in circles, I felt like I was emptying my soul and the receiver was a brick wall. Now, if you saw me chatting up a brick wall on a regular basis, you’d probably begin to doubt my sanity, right? And you’d be justified! That is the definition of crazy. So, I’m done doing that. I am not crazy, but this whole thing was driving me there. Wasting my breath is no longer a favorite past time of mine. I give up. You win.

I think the reason this has affected me so is because I’ve come to the realization that I was in love. This was the first time in quite some time – possibly ever – where I loved everything about a person. In fact, the only thing that I didn’t love about him, was that he didn’t love everything about me. And Lord knows that was my sign to high-tail it. All those great things about him added up and multiplied didn’t make up for the fact that he didn’t love me back. Such a horrifying realization that wasn’t really a “realization” because I knew it from the beginning, but had hoped for some magical transformation that would change the circumstances. I waited and waited, and tried all combinations of magic words to no avail. And, now, let’s just say I no longer believe in magic.

Someone once told me “rejection is God’s protection”. And I’d like to believe that. That as a result of this rejection, God is saving me from some other horrible experience, romantic or otherwise. But it still hurts so bad. The wound is fresh. Raw. And I don’t know why. I don’t hold grudges, but this – right here – certainly is becoming a grudge. Never before has it taken me this long to move on. To let go of the anger in my heart. To trust again. I’m getting there. But I’m not there.

Yet…

I am not dumb enough to believe that there will never be another that will cause me to feel the way I felt, or even something more intense than that. But I’m sure that in the history of the world there have been plenty of spinsters that were hopeful about the future, and ultimately… they became spinsters anyway.

And technology is such a lie! Given the history, there’s no good reason for us to “follow” each other on Twitter, to be able to send random IM messages to one another in the early morning or late at night, or to be Facebook “friends”. We used to be REAL friends. Now, we don’t even have that. But I don’t want to let go of that. Once that’s gone, there will be nothing. I’m not ready for that.

Don’t get me wrong, though, I’m good and hurt. More than anything, the rejection has damaged my pride. Imagine encountering the one person that knows your bad parts as well as he knows your good parts, laying your heart on the line over and over again, and still he doesn’t think you are enough. The grip this reality has on me is frustrating. I don’t want to be haunted by the memory of our potential, but it literally lurks around every corner, waiting to jump out and startle me at the most inopportune moments, and it casts an ugly shadow over all that I do.

A wise person once said, “Even though sometimes love dissolves, you can still taste it.” Well, it’s slowly dissolving, but the cold, bitter taste of unrequited love mixed with hurt feelings still flavors every little bit of my life. I’m waiting for something sweet…

And as another (not-so) wise person said, “there’s an icebox where my heart used to be”. But, again, I’m not foolish enough to doubt that another will come along and melt this frostiness. A new love that will get me so open, I’ll grow a set and take another risk. Throw caution to the wind, live dangerously, fast and furiously, until I’m back in this place again. Waiting to forget the new memories that I’ve made with that man.

Until then, though, I just need to get over it.

Not really a goodbye... more like "See you later"

2010-02-25T15:00:00.003-05:00

I have some things to think about that I'm not keen on sharing. As a result, the blog will be on hiatus indefinitely.

Here's hoping that whenever I decide to return, you'll still be interested in what I have to say...

~ LBG

Catching up...

2010-02-14T00:35:00.003-05:00

It’s been three months since I moved to NYC. These last few months have just been dedicated to adjusting to the change. I’m homesick already, which I didn’t think would happen! I was in such a rush to leave DC, I didn’t stop and think about what would happen should I actually miss it. And miss it, I do. I miss the people I left behind every single minute of every single day. I have some great friends and DC and though I celebrated them often when we lived in the same city, now that they’re so far away, I am appreciating them so much more.

I was walking around saying that I miss the people in DC, but not so much the city itself. But now, I miss that too! One morning, I was lying in bed remembering Georgia Avenue. I have driven down that road so many freakin times, I know it like the back of my hand. I can conjure up near perfect images of it in my head, but not seeing it live everyday is tough. A lot tougher than I expected. Speaking of driving, I miss that too! I never EVER thought I would say that, but some mornings when I’m waiting to get on the overcrowded subway, there’s nothing I want more than to hop in my moderately-priced mid-sized sedan and roll the eff out!

And then, there’s the cleanliness issue. I never noticed or appreciated it before, but DC is one of the cleanest cities I’ve ever been to. New York, while lovely, beautiful, trendy, and fabulous, is a dirty cesspool of a place. For a germophobe like me, functioning here has been a real challenge! Riding the subway everyday and getting coughed and sneezed on by all manner of sketchy people, I’m basically living out my worst nightmare! I can’t even tell you how many times I’ve nearly fallen when the train accelerates because I’m trying not to hold on to the poles on the train. Those things are a breeding ground for germs! It’s been rough on the kid!

The thing is, despite all of this, I am loving this experience! Getting out of DC and living in the one city that I have found so intriguing for my entire adult life is a dream come true (even if that “dream” is sometimes a “nightmare”!)! But I must admit that the situation would be even better if I lived alone. I love my apartment… like, it is THE best apartment that I’ve seen in New York. Well, with the exception of Jack’s apartment… that thing was sick! But other than that, my apartment takes the cake. The only thing is… it’s not MY apartment. I live with a roommate who actually owns our unit. And even though I pay rent here, and I suspect that I probably pay the majority of her mortgage when you really break it down, I will always feel like a guest in this house. That’s why the last couple of weeks I’ve been literally obsessed with finding my own place.

I’m sure you were wondering what I could’ve been doing all these months that was so freakin important that I couldn’t be bothered with updating this blog? Well, I couldn’t focus because I literally spend all of my free time searching for apartments. And what’s the best way to find apartments in New York City? Well, I polled a bunch of people and they all assured me that, these days, everyone uses Craig’s List. I found this unbelievable, but no matter who I asked, I was directed to CL, and so I finally decided to use it. That’s how I ended up in my current situation, which is not “bad” by any stretch of the imagination. It’s just not “good” either. I am looking for the perfect NYC apartment, and what I’m discovering is that the perfect apartment is as elusive as the perfect man… is hard to locate than the Holy Grail, is more difficult to secure than an Olympic gold medal or a Super Bowl ring. Yeah, it really is that serious. Ask anyone who lives here. It takes WORK to find the “right” place. I don’t have a ridiculous list of criteria that this place has to meet either, so I really don’t see the big deal. I mean, basically, I’m looking for a studio or 1BR apartment, in Manhattan (preferably the Upper West Side or Southwest Harlem), that’s close to the train, with a doorman, an elevator, and a convenient laundry situation, and that won’t break the bank. Doesn’t sound hard, right? Well, guess what? Apparently, that shit is damn near IMPOSSIBLE to find. I look everyday, and the things that I come up with are always subpar.

I did find a really nice furnished 1BR apartment in Soha (South Harlem… and, yes, the real estate folks really call it that! There’s also SpaHa, which is short for Spanish Harlem – a place I am trying to avoid!) for a great price, BUT even though the unit was nice the building itself was a dump… AND you had to take your clothes to a Laundromat. But, um… I don’t do the Laundromat. That’s not a part of the deal. So, I had to scrap that. The highlight of that trip was that the owner and I had been going back and forth and he seemed like a decent guy. His name was Sal and he was a nice older Italian man who was always available when I called to ask questions… or so I thought! I woke up early on a Saturday morning to meet Sal so that I could view the apartment. When he showed up, I was surprised to find that he was an uber-tall super fine really sweet Dominican dude that was around my age! Of all the luck! But after we talked a little more, he explained that he was renting his apartment because he is moving in with his long-term girlfriend. Of course he is!! Again, of all the luck… BAD luck! Argh! Anyway, it was nice to see that there are fine professional brown male homeowners out here in Harlem. Gives me a bit of hope, I suppose.

I’ve met a few other really cool people as well, but those are stories for another day. Right now, I’m faced with a dilemma that I’m having a hard time solving. So, basically, I found an apartment that is damn there perfection. The only thing is, it’s in the same complex where Mystery Man lives. Oh yeah… I suppose I should also tell you a little about that. We’ve actually spent quite a bit of time together since I moved here. We’ve had some really great times, and, again, those are stories for another day. (Hopefully, I’ll get around to writing them all down sooner or later!) At any rate, despite all the great times we’ve had and wonderful memories we’ve made over the last three months, we’re no closer to being together than we were when I lived in DC. That’s disappointing. But what’s worse is that now we might end up living literally around the corner from one another. That could be a very good thing, but it could also be a very bad thing… a thing with numerous repercussions… some that aren’t even foreseeable at this point. This worries me (cue Tim Gunn).

Prime real estate in NYC, especially Manhattan, is a rare find and, should it present itself, must not be passed over under any circumstances. So should I consider giving up an apartment that basically meets all of my criteria to keep from creeping Mystery Man out? I mean, he knows that I’ve considered his apartment complex before, but I wonder if he’s considered how he would feel if I actually moved in there. I mean, whatever… I am seriously considering it. Teresa made a good point – what would I do if I happened to see Mystery Man around there with another woman. Well, basically, it would kill me, but maybe that’s what I need to see so I can move on! My thing is, the community is HUGE… there are like 11 buildings. And I refuse to live in the same building as he does, so that’s not even an option. But a surrounding building shouldn’t be off limits. I have every right to move in there. It’s a free country and I can do what I damn well please… but I also don’t want him to feel weird or to feel as though I’m a stalker. It could get weird! Honestly, this place is just the best fit for me, and I’m drawn to it for some reason. I’m gonna go for it!

But if it’s such a great idea, then why do I feel so strange about my decision?

The Pursuit of Happiness

2009-12-30T15:44:00.005-05:00

You know that the end of one year/beginning of another is always a time where I get reflective and introspective on this here blog. And this year is no exception. Here's a post on my little happiness project that I plan to apply in 2010. We'll see how far into the year I get before I abandon ship! Lol! Thinking back, I may have already done a very similar post in a year gone by, but I'm too lazy to confirm that, so if this is redundant, then please just take the repetition as a sign that I'm a zealous advocate for the point I'm trying to get across! Happy New Year, snitches... I'll see you in 2010!

I moved to NYC for one reason, and one reason only: because I thought it would make me happy. Before moving to NYC, I was profoundly UNhappy. And who wouldn’t have been unhappy living the life I was living? I was 30 years old, a resident of my parents’ house, still sleeping in my childhood room (albeit in a big girl bed!), governed by the house rules (curfews and sht), working a job that I couldn’t have cared less about, in a city that I was generally bored with. It was a miserable existence.

All of my visits to New York were mostly sunshine and rainbows, and it was the place where I felt the most alive. The most, authentic me (if you will) made an appearance every time I visited my friends there. And I liked the authentic me. I thought it’d be cool for the authentic me to stick around. And, so, after my 30^th birthday, I made it my business to become a resident of NYC. It was the first thing I affirmatively decided on my own without any influence from my parents, extended family, and friends. It was what I wanted to do and, whether it made sense or not, I was going to do it. I’d lived 30 years, and not very happily and this was my first step toward the happiness that I believed had eluded me for so long.

And so, I went. I found a job that I really like (I don’t love it, but I like it, and that’s enough for now. One hurdle at a time!), happened upon a decent roommate, and moved into a great space. So far, it’s been really good. But am I any happier than I was in DC? I’m not sure that I am. Now, I’ve only been there a couple of months, and I haven’t really had the time or the opportunity to explore the city the way I’d like to explore it. That’s part of it. But the other part of it is that I recognize that I’m me… authentic, real, unchanged… and I’m going to be just little old me no matter where I am located.

An acquaintance of mine tells this story of how she lived in DC all her life and knew that NYC was where she really wanted to be. Times got hard after grad school and she had to move back to DC and stay in her parents home, in her childhood room, and wait for months to receive a job offer from an employer in NYC. She was miserable while at home in DC. She was depressed, drank a lot, smoked a lot, didn’t eat. And when the call finally came, it was a job that she knew she would hate but because it would get her to NYC, she took it. She never looked back and is now, in the words of the all-knowing and all-wise Oprah, living her best life.

I guess, in a way, I thought I would have a similar story. And, maybe I will. After all, she worked that shitty job that got her back to the city for almost a year before she found one that she could stomach. And even after that, it took her about seven years to reach what is sure to be the pinnacle of her career. So, I’ve got a long road to travel (or maybe not so long at all… who knows?!) before I reach my final destination in my NYC life.

Or, maybe none of that will happen to me at all.

One of the reasons I was so drawn to Mystery Man is because at first glance, you can tell that he is a genuinely happy, content, secure, and settled person. I was attracted to that because I was none of those things. I wanted to get to know him… to delve into his personality and get inside his head to get a sense for how he managed to be so put-together all the time. Well, what I found out was that Mystery Man had problems just like the rest of us. There were times when he was sad, dissatisfied, flustered and uncertain. He was human… go figure. But what he explained to me, and this is something that I carry with me everyday, is that happiness is not a destination. He explained that it’s not about getting to a certain point in your life, and then you will be happy. It’s about deciding that you will be happy and then carrying on with the journey that is your life, carrying that happiness with you, and letting it shine through at every moment. That is how you live your best life.

There are times when you’ll hit roadblocks and obstacles and you’ll feel that if this is the best your life can offer, you’d like the opportunity to get back in bed, lie down, wake up, and start the day over again. But even in those times, you can choose to make the most of it. You can just make the decision to keep right on living your best life.

And the phrase “living YOUR best life” is important. That “your” makes it relative. What is your best life will not be the best life for someone else and vice versa. So, one of my New Year’s resolutions is to be sure not to compare my life to others. Some of my friends are doing really great, wonderful, downright FANTASTIC things. They’re experiencing some of the stuff I’d hope to be experiencing at this point in my life. But their path is different from mine. And my best life is going to look different from theirs. Not better, or worse… but different. And that’s okay.

I am writing this post from my parents’ couch. My office is closed from December 23 through January 4, so I actually had a winter break… a luxury I had not been privy to since graduating from law school. I decided to come back to DC to spend that time with my family and friends here, and was really looking forward to ringing in the New Year with friends at some crazy party. But, a day or two after Christmas, my ear started hurting, and then my throat started hurting, and then… I was officially sick. I headed to the doctor who told me that I had a very bad case of strep throat, and I was quarantined and put on a regimine of antibiotics. So, I’ll be ringing in the New Year from the couch, all alone… just me and the dog when 2010 finally gets here. Now, I could make the choice to be really pissed off about this. And, for awhile, not only was I pissed about my circumstances, but I also felt extremely sorry for myself and cried quite a bit. I’m not sure where the crying came from, but… tears did make an appearance.

Anyhoo, I now recognize that there’s nothing to be sad about. 2010 is upon us, and I lived to see it… in reasonably good health (strep throat isn’t the end of the world, after all… and thank God for penicillin!)! Many people can’t claim that victory. Plus, I’m employed, have a roof over my head, $20 in my pocket (okay… maybe a little more than 20!), a loving family, wonderful friends… these are all tremendous blessings! I am so grateful! And, while I’m still looking for love in all the (really) wrong places, and I’m not happy about my current status, I should make the choice to be happy about the fact that Mystery Man and I are exactly what we’re meant to be right now… great friends. He’s one of my biggest cheerleaders, and I his. We are there for each other, can discuss just about everything, and he’s just a great guy that I’m happy to know. For now, there ain’t no more to it. Fine. I’m happy anyway!

Maybe it’s time for me to just accept the fact that my life is what I make it. I mean, my friend could’ve lived her best life in her childhood bedroom, right in Washington, DC. I could’ve also chosen to do the same. Because happiness is not found in a place like NYC or DC or Atlanta or LA. Happiness isn’t found in another person. No, happiness is within YOU. Happiness is a choice… you have to choose it, in order for it to choose you.

So, on Thursday night when the clock strikes 12 midnight and 2010 is officially here in all of it’s glory, I’ll be in DC, holding it down live and direct from my mama’s couch, making a toast with my hot toddy, watching the ball drop… and I’ll be completely and totally happy about it all.

Happy New Year!!

Uptown Girl

2009-11-21T17:59:00.001-05:00

When I arrived at the apartment, my cab driver actually helped me get my things in the front door. I was floored. I haven't always had the best experiences with NYC cab drivers, but he was pretty cool. I'd been to my new apartment exactly once in my life... the day that my mom and I had gone to look for apartments in NYC. I was determined to find the right place, but I didn't have much time to do it. I'd gotten the offer and they didn't want to give me more than two weeks to end my job and get settled in NYC. Well, I negotiated like my life depended on it, because... well... really, it DID depend on it, and they agreed to give me three and a half weeks. I gave my former employer two weeks notice the next day, and then I planned to take a week to get settled in NYC before I started work.

But in order to be settled, I'd need a place to settle-in! Several friends told me that everyone uses Craig's List to find apartments in NYC. Who knew? I certainly had no idea! So, I decided to check it out and see what Craig's List had to offer. My mom and I saw 8 places that day. Six of the places were "shares" where one person was looking to find someone to live with them in a 2BR apartment. The apartment I chose was definitely the best of the day. The woman who was my roommate seemed to be the most "normal" of the lot, the rent was reasonable, and the living space was clean, modern, and quiet. Can't beat that in NYC! I jumped at the chance to room with her, and the rest (as they say) is history.

So, here I was arriving in this place after only meeting my roommate and seeing my room once. I had no idea what to expect. When I walk through the front door, there is a black "doorwoman" sitting at the front desk. I tell her who I am and she hands me an envelope with my key. She doesn't smile, gives me the side eye when I thank her for finding my key, and doesn't respond when I say "Have a good one." Welcome to New York...

When I finally make it inside, my roommate is home and we go over some paperwork, and then she heads out for work. My friends Shari and Kim had invited me to have dinner and then to go see "Precious" (GREAT movie, go support it!!) as an introduction to the concrete jungle. I was exhausted, but I figured I'd be good as new after a hot shower and a nap. As I unpacked my duffle and tote, I realized that the one thing I forgot to bring with me is deodorant, so I ask my roommate to point me in the direction of the nearest drug store. She tells me that Duane Reade is about 6 blocks away. Waaaay too far to go for deodorant, in my opinion. So, she suggests that I try this little pharmacy that's a block away from our building. When I cross over to the next block, I'm surprised at how drastically the neighborhood changes. It was then that I realized... I'm in the 'hood! I'm okay with that, but it's still something that you have to be prepared for. I wasn't ready for that sudden realization!

At any rate, I walk into the pharmacy that was really more like a bodega with a few medicine bottles on one of the shelves in the back, and grab some deodorant. Then, I head back to my apartment. When I get inside, there's a different doorman at the front desk, so I walk over and introduce myself. When I tell him my name, he looks pissed.

"You have about six boxes back here, and they're big and they're heavy."

I peek behind the desk and recognize the boxes that my parents and I had shipped on Monday. The same boxes that weren't supposed to arrive until the next day. For once in my life, UPS was EARLY with a package. Of all the dumb luck! Not only that, but the flat-screen TV I'd ordered that wasn't supposed to arrive until Friday was there, too!

"I know you're new here, so I'm sure 'they'll' be more forgiving toward you, but this is a co-op and 'they' don't like packages to stay behind the front desk for too long. If I were you I'd go get a cart from the super and take the boxes upstairs now."

Uh... okay. First of all, who is "they" and, second of all, I was NOT trying to hear that I needed to carry anything upstairs after the day I'd just had. But, duty called, so I schlepped down to the basement to locate the super, found a dolley, and came back upstairs where the doorman half-assed helped me load the boxes on the cart, and then brought them upstairs and began unloading in my apartment. By the time I was done, I was a hot sweaty mess with a broken back... again.

But, I just couldn't bring myself to stay in the house on my first night in New York. So, I showered, dressed quickly, pulled my hair back, threw on some lipstick, and headed to the subway to take my first train ride as a "New Yorker" down to Lincoln Center to meet Shari and Kim for dinner and a movie.

Shari picked a Chinese restaurant for dinner. Now, if you know Brown GIrl, you know that I do not really dig "ethnic" foods. And that includes Chinese, Indian, Caribbean, Ethiopian, etc. So, I wasn't happy, but it wasn't until I sat down at dinner that I realized I hadn't eaten all day! Needless to say, I tore my dinner to shreds... I probably looked like an animal! But I was soooo happy to have my tummy filled that I didn't even care that I probably just looked like a pig in the middle of a very nice restaurant... We headed over to the movie, and that was fantastic... just PHENOMENAL (go see it! Really... GO SEE IT!), but by the end, I was physically and emotionally spent. It had been a LONG day. Kim drives (thank God!), so I didn't have to battle the subway this time... she just drove me home.

But as soon as I hit the front door, Karina called to say she was chillin at a friend's crib nearby and invited me to come hang. Of course, I couldn't say no... it was my first night in NYC! So I hopped in a cab and headed over. The "friends" apartment was a highrise on the 31st floor, and it had panoramic views of the city. Just... SICK views. So I took that in for awhile, chatted with a few other folks who were chillin over there, and then Jenna called and invited us to come have a drink at a wine bar near her apartment in West Harlem. Within minutes, we were out the door and headed crosstown for that drink. Jenna, Karina, and I chatted until about 1am, and then finally called it a night. I was beyond tired, and couldn't wait to hop in another cab (this cab riding WILL stop, because I will NOT go broke over transportation!) to head back to the apartment and spend my first night in my NYC bed.

In all, it was a good introduction to NYC. I had a good first day... long, but good.

And the next few days would be even more entertaining. Trust me...

Doin' It...

2009-11-12T00:31:00.002-05:00

My parents kept poker faces about my move to NYC, but I think they were a little sad that I'd be leaving them... and so suddenly! Plus, for the first time in my life, I didn't ASK them what I should do, I TOLD them what I was going to do. Not in a disrespectful way, but I let them know that although I was taking the time to explain my decision to them (which wasn't really necessary, but I felt it was best to at least let them know WHY I chose to relocate) my decision wasn't up for discussion. That was a big step for me! But anyway, they claimed that they totally understood, and they were supportive of me in the best way they knew how. My mom has fragile hands and weak upperbody strength and my dad has had both of his hips replaced and is under strict orders not to lift heavy items. So, they couldn't physically help me move. Instead, they threw their money into the cause and paid for me to have my belongings shipped to me at my new apartment in New York. I couldn't object to that... afterall, it made perfect sense, and it was convenient... and they were paying! Yay, Mom and Pop!

It took me two weeks to pack, and repack, and then pack again, but in the end, I fit my whole life into six large cardboard boxes. On Monday, my parents and I lugged those six heavy boxes to the UPS Store (my mom and I did the lifting and my dad pushed the boxes into the store) and mailed all my crap (sadly, it was mostly clothes) to my new address. I would arrive in NYC on Tuesday, so my mom and I requested that the boxes be delivered on Wednesday afternoon, and we were told that was no problem. My mom's theory on this was that it would give me time to ease into this big change if I could have a low-key night on Tuesday and then wake up on Wednesday and move all my sht into the apartment. I agreed with that assessment and that's the way that I planned for things to occur.

On Tuesday morning, I got up bright and early and my parents drove me to Union Station where I caught a train to NYC. In addition to the six boxes that I'd shipped the day before, I also had a rather large duffle bag (on wheels, thank God!) that was filled to the brim with clothes and shoes and toiletries, and a large tote bag that housed my laptop, digital camera, iPod, reading material, etc., for the train. It was more than 70 degrees when I left, but I needed to bring my winter coat with me and in addition to the two pieces of luggage I was carrying and my incredibly heavy (as usual) purse, I was forced to wear the coat over my black fuzzy turtleneck sweater. By the time I got to the train, I was a hot sweaty mess. And then, I had to figure out how to get my bags on the train.

See, that's why I'd contemplated on taking the bus to New York, because the workers for the bus line will just throw your things onto the bus and then you keep it moving. When you get off the bus, they've already pulled your stuff out for you. It's really a very convenient, easy, and streamlined process. But... as you know, there are tradeoffs. You may end up sitting next to someone who smells, or someone who's crazy, or the bathroom which... smells crazy! It's just a smelly crazy experience, and one that I'm not willing to deal with in exchange for a little convenience. So, this is why on this particular day, I ended up throwing out my back as a result of lifting both heavy bags up onto the train, while three burly and bored-looking Amtrak employees stood by and watched... even after I called out for help.

But, I'm a soldier. I may be small, but I've got heart. And I got those bags onto the train with no help from the blasted Amtrak employees who continued chitty-chatting and smoking cigarettes while I struggled. In the end it paid off because I got to NYC in record time and the train was quiet and nearly empty, so I got a seat by myself and was able to stretch out for the duration of the trip. Nice! When we arrived in NYC, I took my things off the train (hurting my back AGAIN) in the process, and hopped in a cab, headed toward my new home and staring in the face of destiny.

I couldn't have been more excited, but I was also super-nervous. I hate unknowns and the worst thing about this whole process (which, of course, happens to also be the greatest thing about this whole process), is that EVERYTHING is an unknown. My living situation, my job, my social life, etc. What will happen? When will it happen? How will it happen? Will I love NYC and never want to leave? Will I hate it and go running back to DC? Nobody but God knows. But one thing is for certain... whatever happens, I plan to make the best of it. As my father always says "There ain't nothin to it, but to do it." So, I'm gonna do it.

The beginning...

Empire State of MINE

2009-11-11T22:47:00.001-05:00

Guess who's bizzack!

Is anybody out there? I hope I haven't lost you. Are you still interested in hearing what I have to say?

Anybody?

*crickets*

Ooookay. Well, I wouldn't blame you if you never came back to this blog again. After all, I totally abandoned y'all and I'm sorry about that. But I'm back and I've got a lot of juicy tidbits to share. So, a lot has changed since the last time I posted. A few months back, I got a little introspective and decided it was time to finally get around to accomplishing some of the stuff I'd been wanting to do for YEARS, but was either too unmotivated or too SCARED to do them. At the top of that list of unfinished business - NEW YORK. How long have I been talking about this?! I've wanted to live there since 1999, so 10 years later... I got tired of talking about it and I finally decided to step out and do something about it.

I started applying for any and every job that sounded even remotely interesting, but I was certain to only apply to NYC employers. I've been stuck in DC for my whole life, and it's been great, but I'm very "been there, done that" about DC. It was just time to do something different. I've felt the pull toward NYC for a long, long time, but every opportunity that's ever opened up to me has been in DC. So, in order to insure that I wouldn't get "stuck" in DC again, my focus was only on NYC employers.

A few weeks ago, I spied a job that seemed perfect for me, so I applied. The next morning, a Friday, I got a call from the Director of the office, inviting me for an interview that coming Monday. I went up on the train (splurged on the Acela even!), killed it, and by Thursday had an offer. The terms of the position weren't perfect, but they were good enough... and it was in NEW YORK! I jumped at the chance, and finally, I could actually say that a dream was being realized... and not by accident. I worked this out purposefully.

So, yesterday, I officially became a New York City resident. I'm living in Manhattan with a roommate who's a Broadway dancer. So far, she's cool... TINY, but cool. Lol! (And you know that if I am calling someone tiny, they're pretty damn small). BUT... it's still early in our relationship! Check back with me in a month to see if that's the only thing I've got to say to about her! But for now, we're getting along quite well. My block is nice and my building is amazing... so, in all, I'm very happy.

But I've got to get used to this city living. I'm used to driving everywhere, wide open spaces, friendly people, chirping birds, and a slow pace. NYC gives me... well... none of that! This will be quite an adjustment, but I'm looking at it as one very EXCELLENT adventure! I'll be chronicling my transition here on this blog, so stick around if you want to hear some very... "interesting"... and inadvertently comedic tales about my life in the big city.

Stay tuned...

We Gotta Do Better

2009-10-09T11:36:00.002-04:00

It's been two months, but I'm bizzack! Sorry to come back on a such a somber note, but I just had to share this. Peace.

The first time I saw "Boyz in the Hood", John Singleton's classic film about life in South Central L.A., I cried nonstop for two days. My father who had grown up on the mean streets of East St. Louis thought it was a good idea for my and my sheltered valley-girlish behind to see what was really going on in "our" communities, so he arranged a field trip for me and my equally suburban cousins to go to see the movie at the local theater. I had no idea what was in store for me, I just went along with everything and was excited to see a movie that had Ice Cube in it. I may have been from the 'burbs, but I was already in love with rap music and would've seen any movie featuring any rapper, regardless of the subject matter, at that point in my life.

Now, I say that my father grew up on the mean streets of East St. Louis and, at the time, they were relatively rough. But in relation to the roughness of South Central in the early 90s, he may as well have lived in Utopia. When my dad was a kid, the worst that would happen to someone was getting jumped. Back then, they fought with fists and usually someone broke it up before things got too bad. Sure, some of his friends died young but most of them died in car crashes, from getting improper treatment for easily curable diseases, or drowned in the Mississippi River. He lost other friends drug and alcohol addiction, and he was one of the few who made it out of their tiny depressed neighborhood. But, he felt that he got a sense of what it meant to grow up poor, and he knew that he had a lot of street sense... these were two things that he felt made him into the man that he is today, and these were two things that he felt that my cousins and I were missing. So, he would do little things to expose us to how other people were living. This was one of those "lessons".

On a Saturday afternoon, we went to see the movie. I have always been a BIG fan of TV shows and movies, so I was really excited about seeing how the story would unfold. We get to the part when Ricky (Morris Chestnut) was walking through the alley and the car rolled up on him slowly. The whole movie theater had been hushed all while he was running through the streets, and when the car pulled up and the semi-automatic weapon was pointed out of the window, there was a loud groan. Everybody knew what was going to happen. That scene is permanently burned in my mind. It was all in slow motion, and I felt like a rug had been pulled out from under me. I couldn't breathe. I was confused, and then the tears came. I sobbed audibly in the movie theater. And later, in the scene where Ricky's mom learned (too late) that he'd scored high enough to make it to college and get out of the hood, I burst open with fresh tears.

The drive home was quiet. All of us kids were in a daze and my parents were letting things sink in. When we dropped off cousin #1, I was still crying. As we dropped off cousins #2 and #3, I was still crying. When I made it home, the tears kept coming. And for a few days after we saw the movie, I would burst into tears at random times. It was very strange and my parents who are both therapists were concerned. They thought maybe I'd experienced some sort of post-traumatic stress as a result of seeing the movie. I guess their diagnosis was right.

The bottom line is that I was stunned. Stunned that people lived like that. Stunned that children and teenagers were killed for such trivial reasons. I mean, when I was growing up, DC was no "safe" place. When I was a child, people were getting shot and stabbed for their Jordans. Then, I got a little older, crack ran rampant throughout the city and people died daily in the drug wars. I grew up at a time when Rayful Edmonds ruled my city, so death and dying were not new concepts to me. (If you've never heard of him, Google him. He was major.) But still... those people I saw on the news weren't "real" to me. I didn't know them personally and had no idea of their stories (because the news did not do an adequate job of humanizing the victims of these crimes). Ricky changed all that. (And to this day, I cannot see Morris Chestnut without thinking "Hey! It's Ricky!" Lol!)

At any rate, eventually the tears stopped flowing, but I seem to remember a dramatic shift in my thinking after seeing that movie. I started to recognize that the world wasn't this safe, comfortable place where I'd been living my life all these years. I realized that there were people out there in the world who experienced that type of loss on a daily basis, having friends and family killed over dumb shit. My eyes had been opened to the harsh reality of our world and the fragility of life... that it could be gone in a second... taken away by someone who has NO RIGHT to determine when it should end. And that made me angry.

I got mad all over again when I heard about the video that showed the murder of 16 year old Chicago high school student Derrion Albert. I refused to watch the video because I knew that, for me, it would be just like watching Ricky get shot in the back all over again... except this time, it would be REAL. I couldn't watch. I wouldn't. But it still made me angry. How DARE this happen in broad daylight with a crowd of people watching it all go down? Who is protecting our children? Who is telling them that their blatant disrespect for their brothers and sisters is destroying our community? We're failing our children. We're not doing what is necessary to help them see that there is another way. Killing one another is getting us nowhere. But we have become so desensitized to killing... this kind of thing happens everyday in communities across the country, but unfortunately, it take something egregious like catching it on tape to cause any real outrage.

And then, just a few days later, Ashley "AJ" Jewell, the fiance of Kandi Burruss (formerly of Xscape and now a cast member of Bravo's Real Housewives of Atlanta) was killed outside of Body Tap, a well-known strip club in Atlanta. I'm saddened by AJ's death... I wasn't exactly a fan of his in life (although I was only going by what I saw on the show), mostly because he was the father of six children by four different women, which is overdoing it just a tad if you ask me (condoms, anyone?!). I tweeted about the fact that I found his obvious promiscuity and aversion to prophylactics to be a symptom of severe lack-of-judgment-itis. But the fact remains that last Friday night, when his grown ass stepped out of Body Tap to fight another grown man in the parking lot, he didn't take into consideration that he might be putting his well-being AND that of his SIX children at risk. Why, oh why, are you 30+ and still fighting in (or outside of) the club? I'm floored! So now, a woman is without a fiance, and six children are without a father. And what kind of example was AJ setting by even taking it there in the first place?! We need our men to stand up and show us what's right. Lead, don't follow. Use your head sometimes! Don't always be lead by the rules of your testosterone fuled pissing contests. Sometimes when I get angry, I don't break things or scream and shout, I cry out of frustration.

I read the headline about AJ's death and I got choked up. I didn't know him personally, I didn't have to.

These young men are gone too soon.

And I'm pissed (and still crying).

The Shoe Game

2009-08-19T21:28:00.001-04:00

This past weekend Bestie and I took a long overdue trip to the City to visit Jenna. We had an absolutely fab time! A good friend invited us to a white party on Saturday night, and even though I think white parties are lame (nobody has any business throwing a white party unless you’re name is Diddy and your venue is the Hamptons), I made a good effort to find a cute white dress and I recruited Bestie and Jenna to come along with.

Before I left Jenna’s apartment, I threw on a pair of gold flip flops and wrapped my heels in a plastic bag, which I tucked neatly in Bestie’s oversized handbag. I adore fashion just as much as the next chick, but I’m well aware that my feet have an expiration date and I can only rock out in heels for so long before I have to make the switch to a more comfortable pair of shoes.

We pre-gamed at this Moroccan restaurant that Jenna’s current boy-toy owns, and he kept our glasses filled (and didn’t charge us!). So, needless to say, by the time we made it downtown to the white party, we were a bit tipsy. It honestly never even occurred to me to change my shoes, and once I saw the early-birds at the party, I wasn’t impressed by anyone enough to be concerned about my footwear. I didn’t get any cell service in the venue, so I walked away from where Jenna, Bestie, and I had posted up near the bar and towards the hallway. Out of the corner of my eye, I spotted two men checking me out, but I didn’t see anything particularly interesting about them so I continued on in my attempt to find a signal for my Crackberry. Just as I pass the duo, one of them leans down and says, “I hope your heels are in your bag, baby. I don’t know what’s wrong with all these women wearing flats. Y’all don’t believe in heels these days?”

This stopped me in my tracks. I turned and looked him up and down. He was wearing a white and turquoise Western style (think Cowboy) shirt, and a matching hat.

“You’re wearing a cowboy costume and you’re worried about me wearing FLATS?!,” I snapped. “You’re kidding me, right?”

He chuckled and I kept walking, but he got in my head. When I returned from checking my messages, I asked Bestie to hand over my heels and I slipped them on. By the end of the night, my feet were numb, but I endured the pain because I figured if that fool from earlier had a problem with women in flats, a lot of men probably did. And not that I was at the party to attract or pick up men, but... let’s face it - everybody wants to be attractive to someone and apparently this heel thing is a big deal!

When my book club read the Steve Harvey “Act Like a Lady, Think Like a Man” book, I got to the chapter of frequently asked questions and someone asked Steve whether men prefer women in flats or heels. His very enthusiastic answer basically said that men will choose heels every time and, in fact, he’d never even MET a man who would say that he preferred to see a woman in flats. He said that if men had their way, they’d even put heels on gym shoes. That’s how much it matters. My heart sank... I was really hoping that he’d say that it doesn’t matter. I’d like to think that Steve Harvey doesn’t speak for all men, but my gut says that he does.

I had a friend in law school who told me that she didn’t feel like she was dressed unless she had on a pair of heels, which I thought was ridiculous at the time, but she actually meant what she said. By the time we graduated from law school, I’d never seen her in anything less than a 2-inch heel. She took her shoe game very seriously, and I couldn’t be mad. In her heels, she looked like a grown-up, and I looked like her kid sister in my flats and sneakers.

I’m definitely the shortest chick in my crew and also the one most likely to wear flats. I have what some would call “bad feet”. They’re cute... I keep a pedicure (even in the winter... I hear some women slack in the winter time...) and my shoes are always cute, they just might not be HIGH. That’s because, for me, comfort is the top priority. When I go out, I like to be social, carefree, and I party hard. How can I do that when my feet hurt?! Impossible!

So, I’ll tell you my secret: I tend to carry large bags because I always have a change of shoes handy, and I have a cute pair of flats that are appropriate for every occasion! I love putting them on after I’ve been suffering in heels at some event and walking comfortably to my car while I watch other women hobbling along with pinched feet after a long night in stilettos. Don’t get me wrong, I feel bad for those women, but I’m proud of my foresight.

For instance, about a week ago, I’d been wearing a cute pair of heels at work, but when it was time to head out for lunch, I knew I wanted to try a new place that was a couple blocks away. I reached into the box of shoes I keep under my desk and slipped on a pair of flats to match my outfit. I walked past Starbucks and there was a young lady standing outside in a chic outfit and a haute pair of stilettos. She was propped against the wall in a pigeon-toed stance... you know that position you take when the balls of your feet hurt so bad, you’re trying to keep from toppling over?! Yeah... that stance. I looked at her and threw her a sympathetic smile as I skipped past in my ballet flats. Sure, she looked great in her heels, but I felt a whole lot better than she looked!

And then there was the time a few weeks ago when one of my girls ended our night early because her feet hurt too badly to carry on. We started at one end of the city and then got the invite to go downtown to check out the rooftop of the new W Hotel. My girl Pam was wearing a pair of streetwalking stilettos, which looked fierce, but also looked a bit masochistic. You could take one look and know that she wasn’t going to last long in them. Now, the W’s rooftop is arguably the sexiest spot in the city and we’d even been told that without a reservation we could NOT get in. Well, we didn’t have a reservation, but thanks to a friend of a friend we got in with no problems. When we got upstairs to the roof, we took in the beautiful view of the city, got a few overpriced drinks and commenced to people watching. There was a lot going on, the vibe was cool, the drinks were good (although overpriced) and everyone was having a great time. All of a sudden in the middle of things, Pam announces that her feet are hurting and she’d like to leave. Ordinarily, we’d blow air-kisses and send her on her way. Tonight, we’d all driven over to the W together, so we had to leave with Pam in order to get to our cars. Thanks, hooker heels, for ending our night before we’d even begun!

So, is this what it comes down to? Women must suffer in an attempt to try to attract the opposite sex? I rebuke that! But, sadly, I think it’s the truth. Men like women in heels. And they particularly like women in the most complicated, highest of high, most uncomfortable heels they can find. I’d like to tell you that if a man really likes you, he’ll like you regardless of the shoes on your feet, and I think that’s partially true. I know that even me - Miss Anti-Heels herself - will put on a pair of heels if I’m going out with a man because I feel like it formalizes the outing if I wear heels, like maybe he’ll notice that I put some effort into my appearance just because of what I’m wearing on my feet.

And one of the things that I hate to see more than anything is a woman hobbling along in heels, obviously uncomfortable, walking alongside her significant other who’s rocking sneakers. You like heels so much, but yet you’re wearing comfort footwear while I’m suffering next to you all to in an effort to appeal to you? Fck you, dude. Seriously. YOU put on some stilettos and traipse around in them all night and see how you feel. It’s just not fair! It just seems so shallow. But, then again, LIFE is not fair. *sigh*

An acquaintance of mine used to always say that stilettos were certainly created by a man. And not just ANY man, but a man who doesn’t like women. I’m going to have to agree. But I also have to admit that, despite the fact that I fight wearing heels tooth and nail, I recently bought my first pair of stilettos. I’m 30 now... it’s about time. They’re fantastic and REALLY high. But, hey, I hear “stripper-chic” is the new trend. And with these heels, I’ll fit right in. They’ll for sure make Cowboy (and other guys like him) proud.

A Million Little Pieces

2009-08-10T15:52:00.005-04:00

I’ve been farting around at work all day and could’ve used this time to catch up on some blog posts, but instead I’m spending my time playing around on Twitter (check me owwt!) and Facebook. I gotta get focused.

This weekend, the Kappas took over my city for their Konclave and their presence made for quite the interesting weekend. On Wednesday, I received a text from Mr. Ex saying “Hey Brown Girl, I’ll be in town this weekend and was hoping you might be interested in having a drink with an old friend :)”. Um… a fcking smileyface?

Really?

Clearly this dude is off his rocker if he thinks that I’m going to voluntarily meet up with him and we’ll smoke the peace pipe together. Never gonna happen in a million years. I figured that Mr. Ex was coming to town because his older brother is a Kappa and they must have decided to make their way south for the Konclave festivities. I was disgusted that he AGAIN tried to reach out to me. But in a way, I was sort of glad that he had given me a heads up that he was going to be in town. As usual, I was out on the town with the Conglomerate (that’s what my friend Erica calls our little crew) for the whole weekend and knew there’d be a chance that I could run into him at any one of the parties that we hit up and that would’ve been uncomfortable for everyone since Mr. Ex regularly acts a fool at the most inappropriate times. And let’s not forget the time I ran into Mr. Ex’s brother on U Street during Inauguration… so I know that the brother and I have similar tastes in party venues, which could make for a precarious situation.

I haven’t seen him in person since the middle of 2007. It’s been two years. If I saw him, how would I feel? What would I say? Would he look the same? Smell the same? If I hugged him would I feel the same? Would I feel like a weight had been lifted off my shoulders? Would our encounter bring back all the memories of our bad times, and cause me to have a new appreciation for the single life when we parted company? Or would I look at him and realize that I have some regrets, and then I’d discover that deep inside… buried beneath my disdain for him was a small part of my heart that wished things could’ve worked out between us?

Well, it turns out I wouldn’t have to find out.

I made it through the entire weekend unscathed… no Mr. Ex OR Mr. Ex’s Brother sightings. When I crawled into bed at 3am on Sunday morning, I breathed a sigh of relief that I didn’t have to face him. Upon further reflection, I’m not sure that I’m ready to see him. Even all these years later. He cut me deep. And the wound, although far from fresh, has not fully healed.

Another Monday comes and I make my way to lunch with the Girl from Marketing. I was waiting in line to pay for my food with my Crackberry buzzes, I break it out and check my messages and feel nothing but annoyance when I discover that a text message from Mr. Ex is waiting for me. This dude does NOT give up! WTF?! Turns out it’s actually a 4-screen text, which is equivalent to a modern-day 4-page letter (R.I.P. Aaliyah), explaining that he still loves me and desperately wants us to be friends. I waited almost four hours to send a response and when I did, I was disappointed that there was no real venom in my words. I just don’t have anything left for him. He’s literally drained me of all emotion. I have no passion, no zeal when it comes to him. I basically just told me that, as usual, he’s about a week late and a couple hunned bucks short, and that I wish nothing but the best for him, but I respectfully request that he leave me alone.

I’m ready to move on with my life. In fact, I’m not just poised and ready, I’ve already done it. I have never been so happy to see a person in my rearview mirror, but I see him back there, running behind the car, refusing to let me go. Man… eat my dust!

So, anyhoo, since Mr. Ex there have been a couple of men who’ve taken my heart by storm. I saw this tweet earlier today that was so poignant: “Hearts will be re-broken in an effort to heal properly.” It’s so true. My heart broke, only to become whole again. And became whole again, only to be broken into a million little pieces by someone else. But that’s life, right? We live, we laugh, we love, we cry, only to do it all over again.

Truthfully, I wouldn’t have it any other way.

Why "settle" is not a dirty word

2009-08-05T17:13:00.003-04:00

Alright, so obviously I totally dropped the ball on reporting about my diet on a daily basis. Given my post history, I should’ve known that I wasn’t going to follow-through with that! Before I go into today’s post, let me give a brief update about the new eating plan. So far, I’ve lost a grand total of 11 lbs, and I’m going into my fourth week on this program. I’m VERY pleased with the results and I’m looking forward to taking off a few more plans before I transition into a more normal eating pattern.

Right now, I’m eating roughly every two and a half hours, which averages out to about six times per day. Before I started this plan, I would’ve NEVER thought I could eat six times per day. I mean, I like to eat just as much as the next fluffy chick, but… six times per day is A LOT! My meals are so tiny, though, that six times is just right, and even though my meals are small, I’m never hungry because as soon as my stomach starts to rumble, it’s time to eat again. Hallelujah! I even managed to stay on this plan while I was out of town (my cousin passed away and my dad and I flew to his hometown for the funeral). I always, ALWAYS gain weight whenever I’m away from home, but this time, I lost a few pounds! Amazing!

Anyway, I plan to stick to this plan for a few more weeks because I’d like to lose at least another 10 lbs. I’m shooting for a grand total of 30, but I don’t know if I’m going to use this plan to lose all of it. I’m currently researching other options and might transition to something else before the month is over. We’ll see! I know that some people might advise me to stick to what I’m doing since it’s working for me. Why fix what ain’t broke, right? But, at the same time, I think the reason a lot of people end up cheating on diet plans is because they get bored. And this plan doesn’t leave me with a lot of options on a daily basis. I could see how one day I might just be like “Fck it!” and eat an entire pepperoni pizza. And that would just be sad! So, maybe it’s better to just find another diet plan that’s equally as good and go from there.

In any case, I’ll keep you posted about my progress and I’ll share information about the next plan I decide to try out.

Now… without further ado, let’s move on to today’s topic.

“Some people are settling down, some people are settling, and some people refuse to settle for anything less than butterflies.” – “Carrie Bradshaw”, Sex and the City

When did “settling” become a dirty word? I mean honestly, if you tell a woman she’s “settling”, it’s like you’ve called her a btch or something. It’s just become a nasty term and I’m not sure why.

The quote above (in bold) is a quote from my favorite TV character of all time, the ultra-fab Carrie Bradshaw from my favorite show, Sex and the City. And I totally understand where she was coming from with it. I mean, sure, I’ve dated guys that were only given the time of day because I was completely bored and needed something to do to occupy my time until the next Mr. Right came along. And, then, I’ve had those experiences where I date someone and immediately there are sparks (a.k.a. “butterflies”).

Admittedly, the butterflies are the better feeling (duh!), but Lord knows that those damn butterflies are elusive. They are RARE and it takes the perfect combination of a lot of factors to be all cosmically aligned before they make an appearance.

And what do you do if those butterflies are misleading. What if you meet someone, feel butterflies, and it’s obvious that the feeling is not mutual. That happens, too, and it SUCKS! Or, what happens if you meet someone, feel butterflies, he feels ‘em too, but sooner than later the butterflies fade? You went with your gut and your gut lead you in the wrong direction? You’re left alone with the memories of the butterflies and not much else.

Anyway, so I’m stuck in a predicament. Saturday night, I went out with my friend Teresa from law school, and I met two guys. Sparks flew with one of them… like, they were popping all over the place and even Teresa noticed. The other guy? Ehhh… not so much. But he was perfectly fine! He is a nice guy, respectable job, normal looking, pleasant smile, kind and courteous. The other guy is just… dreamy! I don’t use that adjective often, but… it’s true! He’s got all the things I’m looking for. He was smart, funny, kind, great career, etc., plus he was super-cute in a quirky sort of way (the guys that I’m most attracted to aren’t really “traditionally” cute). I liked him right off the bat for no particular reason at all. And he was so charming! We spent the evening, laughing and giggling, and while the other people around us were talking, we made faces at each other across the table.

So, here’s the thing… even though sparks flew between me and Prince Charming, he didn’t ask me for my number and I left without getting his. The next day, I took matters into my own hands and decided to let cyberspace bring us together. I immediately logged-in to Facebook, found his profile and sent a friend request with a short note reminding him of who I am. That was Sunday. Today is Wednesday and I still haven’t been confirmed as a friend. (Brown Girl Note: I swear that FB has changed up the entire way the dating game is played!)

Now, there are a lot of reasons why he might not have responded to my request. Maybe he’s not as stuck to FB as I am and logged in this week. If he has logged in, maybe he just hasn’t looked at his friend requests yet. Or, maybe… he’s just not as into me as I was into him.

Meanwhile…

Mr. Right Now called me Monday evening. He was very nice… nothing to complain about, but there definitely weren’t any sparks flying. He wants to hang out this weekend and I’m going to meet up with him and give him a chance. After all, personality matters most, and maybe after getting to know him, sparks will fly. But I’m still disappointed that I’ve been put on “ignore” by Prince Charming.

So, anyway, I told my girlfriend Monica that I’ve decided to go out with Mr. Right Now and she scolded me!

“Brown Girl, you’re settling! That is so upsetting… you’re better than that,” she said.

“Huh? Settling? Look, I’m not gonna stalk Prince Charming. There’s no point. I threw the pass and now he can either fumble or score. The ball’s outta my hands now.”

Monica let out a big sigh. “I just hate to see my girlfriends settle. I mean, it’s not like you could get somebody you actually like. Why go out with someone you’re not really interested in?”

“He’s fine! Nothing is wrong with him. No, I’m not crazy about him, but I wouldn’t say I’m ‘settling’. And, besides, what’s so wrong with settling anyway?”

Now, don’t crucify me for saying that, but in all honesty, I really do find it confusing as to why the settling thing is such a big deal. Obviously, everybody wants to fall madly in love with someone with the hopes of having that person be equally as mad about you. But, how often does that REALLY happen? When I was a kid, my dad told me to “like those who like you”. And, my Godmother told me that “In a relationship, there’s always a person who loves more than the other. Make sure you’re the one receiving the extra love and not the one giving it.” I’d never put much stock into either of these two pieces of advice. Why would I? I was young, and idealistic, and still had crushes that drove me to distraction.

These days I’m different. Some might call me cynical, or jaded. I’d say that the better word for all this is “realist”. The truth is that my Godmother is probably right. There are definitely people who are in lopsided relationships, and why not be the one to come out on top instead of being the one who is constantly getting kicked in the stomach by love?

In 2008, an article called “Marry Him!” was published in the Atlantic. The author basically said that women have two choices – either to be alone, or settle for someone who will marry them. And she argued that, really, there’s nothing horrible about settling for someone who loves you. She also said that she was tired of married people patronizing her about the fact that she was still single. And while her position was radical, controversial, and completely extreme… she made a whole hell of a lot of sense!

Anyway, the second it was published, it met a shitstorm of controversy. Women were emailing the article to friends, and posting it on blogs, and talking shit about the author and her position on the issue. But in reality, I think the article hit home for a lot of women. I mean, nobody WANTS to settle, but we’ve also got to recognize that women have been fed a line of bullsht about how we’re all princesses, and that one day Prince Charming is coming along to save the day. But when it’s time to fight the dragon and get rescued from the ivory tower, what if Prince Charming never shows up. Or, what if Mr. Right Now shows up before he gets there and does an adequate job of taking me away from alla dis here? Should I tell Mr. Right Now to keep it moving and stay locked in the tower until Prince Charming finally decides to show up (if he even shows up at all!)? I should think not!

But honestly, the most profound part of this particular article (in my opinion) is when the author says that many times we marry the person that we’re absolutely crazy about… but how do we know they’re not just “settling” for us?

That’s a rather UN “settling” thought, isn’t it?

If I decided to heed Carrie's advice, and wait until the butterflies show up again, I might be waiting forever! And besides, sometimes the butterflies are a little off schedule and show up when you least expect them. I'm not desperate for a man, but I'm definitely interested in dating one again some day! Whether women want to admit it or not, that is a priority for most of us. Let's be real with ourselves and others... everybody wants companionship. Nobody sets out in this cold, cruel world, intending to be alone...

So, I’ve given up on Prince Charming. Sure, it’s only been three days, but with communication being nearly instantaneous these days, I doubt he wants to connect… we definitely would have by now! And that’s fine.

Despite Monica’s tongue-lashing, I’m going to go out with Mr. Right Now and I plan on having a good time. Nobody is saying that I’m going to marry him (that’s certainly not in my plans), or even that he WANTS to marry me in the first place. After all, Mr. Right Now is a kind and decent guy (from what I can tell) who wants to spend time with me. And that’s what I need in my life… Right Now. ;)

Getting Un-Fat Part II

2009-07-17T01:01:00.003-04:00

Just FYI - I got the term "un-fat" from an acquaintance who mentioned that he'd begun a running program and was ready to stick to it... and he coined a battle cry of "Let the Un-Fattening Begin!". I liked it. Because I don't want to be skinny or even thin... I just wanna be UN-FAT. See? It works. By the way, said acquaintance has lost 40 lbs since his first day of un-fattening, which - all things considered - hasn't been so long ago. I only hope I can do half as well as he has!

DAY 2: Tuesday, July 14
For the first three weeks of this diet you are not supposed to do any strenuous exercise, which was music to my ears… mainly because I am hella lazy. I don’t like the gym, don’t enjoy working out, but I’ll do it because I think I have to. So, don’t let a doctor tell me I don’t need to exercise because I won’t! But then I realized that I’d probably have better results if I did a little bit of something, even if it was a quick walk or some light stretching. So, I grabbed Capone and we went for a stroll through the neighborhood. It was a fun time and I felt great afterward, so I’m sure I can continue to do this throughout the three weeks without any adverse effects. Besides, I think that mandate is really for people who’ve never exercised before. Unfortunately, I HAVE exercised before and probably should continue to do so because my body only takes a few days to fall completely out of shape!

No headache today, but I did experience a few… ahem… digestive issues late in the afternoon. Luckily, they didn’t really hit until I got home from work, so I didn’t have to torment my coworkers with that. Really, it was more embarrassing than anything and I’m not sure what exactly brought it on. Everything I ate today was rather tame, but something clearly didn’t agree with me! I’m happy I had no headache, but I also had a cup of coffee this morning. I tried sweetening with a little Truvia and some fat free cream and it was disgusting, so I poured most of it down the drain. But at least I got a little caffeine pumping through these veins.

I didn’t encounter a work-sponsored lunch today, but my assistant asked me if I wanted to head down to this Asian restaurant for a bento box, which I love! But I had to tell her no. I don’t really want to share the details of this diet plan with anyone because the last thing I need is to be discouraged by criticism and skepticism, so I’ve just been telling people “I’m on a new eating plan” and I’m leaving it at that. No further explanation required… respect it and be gone!

Dinner, my most liberal meal was great! Pork chop (the other white meat), broccoli, and salad. Yummy!

DAY 3: Wednesday, July 15

I’m a little discouraged because I don’t notice any difference. Now, you may be chuckling to yourself says “silly girl, it’s only been two days. Wtf are you talking about you ‘don’t notice any difference’?” Well… it’s just as I said… I don’t notice any difference. I lose weight quickly and my father even says that I can exercise once and you can immediately see that I’ve done something to help me get my body together. That should be even more incentive for me to do stuff, right? Wrong! Up to this point, nothing has lit a fire under me that burned strong enough to make me get off my ass and do something about my body. Well, until now…

Anyway, I don’t see a difference and it sucks. My clothes still feel the same, my tummy hasn’t gone down any (it’s usually the first thing to change), but I’m not gonna get discouraged. I’m just gonna remind myself that this is weight loss and weight loss takes time. Quick fixes are short term resolutions, but not long-term solutions. Yes, that’s it. And really, I’m doing well. Haven’t even thought of cheating even though the food is nasty! What I wouldn’t give for a burger right now!
According to my mother (who is still not on the diet pending approval from our doctor), it takes three days for the body to go into ketosis, which is the fat-burning zone. Who knew? So today is my first day of fat-burning. Seems like a lot of fat should’ve been burned by now, but hey… it’s only been three days! I still don’t feel a difference in my clothes and it would really hurt my feelings if I’d make all these sacrifices and then not lose weight! Ugh!

No headache tonight and no… digestive issues (thank God!), but I did have a weird rumbling in my tummy late this evening. AND, my stomach growled ALL DAY! But I went for another walk and it was nice. I don’t have my usual stamina (which wasn’t much to brag about to begin with), but I am walking pretty briskly, which the doctor says is fine. He has confirmed my suspicion that the limit on exercise is pretty much in place to help people who are not ordinarily involved in healthy eating and exercise to get fully adjusted to the healthy eating before they begin an exercise regimen (I had a hard time spelling this word for some reason!).

Dinner tonight was broiled lemon pepper salmon, spinach, and fresh tomato slices in a lemon/balsamic vinegar dressing. Wasn’t quite the burger I was craving earlier, but still delish!

DAY 4: Thursday, July 16
Alright, you beat it out of me. I cheated. Here’s what happened: I planned an event tonight… it was a cooking class in a gourmet kitchen. The menu consisted of six appetizer/small plates and I was involved in cooking all of them. One of the items was a mini Cuban frita, which was a mini-burger with ham, swiss cheese, roasted garlic mayonnaise, Dijon mustard, and pickles. Then, you put all those ingredients into a panini press, which causes everything to meld perfectly… que sabroso! Given my cheeseburger craving from yesterday, I took one look at those things and knew I was a goner! I had to have one! So I did. Just one. And it was all that I dreamed that it would be… and maybe even a bit more! Thank goodness I got the recipe because I’ll be making them again once I’m able to be more liberal with my food choices (which won’t be for a long while, but at least this gives me something to look forward to).

Today, I had NO issues… no headache, no digestive issues, no stomach rumbling. Well, my stomach did growl, but it wasn’t the echoing thunder that I heard yesterday! I did so well sticking to the diet this morning, and I had gone into the cooking event with my eyes open. I figured that I’d have to eat at least one of the small plates. But, to keep it real, it probably shouldn’t have been the burger of all things! No sense crying over it now, though. Whats done is done and now it’s time for me to put this cheat day behind me and move forward!

Mommy finally got the okay to start the plan. Yay! She is ready to start, but is jealous because I am almost half a week ahead of her. I told her not to worry because I’m sure she can catch up, especially in light of my slipup with the cheeseburger tonight. She told me that eating that burger could’ve thrown my body out of ketosis and if that was the case, then it would take me another three days to get back into it. Ugh! I wish I’d know that before I ate the cheeseburger! I figured that I’d just ramp up the exercise, drink copious amounts of water, and eat right for the rest of the week and I’d be fine. Apparently, it’s not that easy! This especially sucks because today is the first day that I actually noticed a difference in my clothes and in my body generally when I looked in the mirror. It was a welcome sight! And now I may have counteracted the work that I’ve put in these last three days! Grrr!

The real test will be this weekend. Alcohol is not a part of my diet and even though I am a one-drink girl, that ONE drink has become a pretty big staple in my weekend activities. I’ll just get a mocktail (probably club soda with a twist of lime) and nobody will notice the difference… especially if they, themselves, are sloshed! So, I’ll be good. But the food thing… that’s gonna be hard. With some planning it doesn’t have to be difficult, but we’ll see how it plays out.

Tomorrow is Friday, which is Day 1 of the “real test”… will I last through the weekend? Stay tuned…

Ready! Getting Un-Fat Part I

2009-07-15T00:57:00.003-04:00

I finally decided to do something about my body image. Like, something drastic. I’m not getting paid to big-up anybody’s company on this here blog, so I won’t go into detail about what I’m doing, but should I stick to it (which is the biggest “if” in the world!), then I should have some pretty spectacular results. So I figure since I’m doing something drastic, something that all people talk about doing, but most never do, and I also like to write, I might as well journal my experiences. Now, please know that this will not be easy for me. And I’m still going to write about all my romantic foibles, but I also think some people might want to know that I do more than sit around and complain about my job, write funny stories, and pontificate about men, love, sex, and relationships. For real… I do have other things going on in my life and this weight-loss effort is one of them.

I’ve explained that this has actually been an ongoing battle for me over the years. I started off as a skinny kid and progressed into a chubby tween, lost weight and became a slender teen, and packed on the pounds again in college. Since then I’ve never managed to get that “Freshman 15” (which in my case was more like the “Freshman 40”!) off my very small frame. And the fact that my frame is small actually exacerbates the issue… a bunch of extra pounds doesn’t spread well on a short person’s body. As such, I haven’t been happy with my outward appearance in quite some time.

Sick of being overweight, I decided to go on a healthy eating/exercise kick a few months ago in preparation for my 30th birthday. I stuck with it and shed about 11 pounds, but went through something (Hormones? Depression? Who knows?) that caused me to pack on half of that before I even left to go on my trip to the Caribbean.

Yet another failure, which didn’t sit too well with me. *sigh*

The worst part about it is that everyone in my family kept warning me that if I didn’t lose the weight before I turned 30, it’d be next to impossible to get it off. That’s NOT the thing that I wanted to hear from folks, but it was enough to kick my butt in gear. I’d had some success with the last diet/exercise program that I’d tried, so I considered just going back to that. But, then, my mom stepped on to the scene and my plans changed.

Now, I’m sure all our parents have quirks and my mother, God bless her, is no exception. Mommy is obsessed with the business of losing weight! She has every weight loss book known to man and every workout DVD ever made. Weight loss, health, and wellness are more than just hobbies to her, they’re passions. I think her fascination stems from the fact that she spent her whole life as a thin person and then put on a bit of weight later in life. She’s still not “fat”, but she definitely has put on a few pounds since her 40s. But please don’t get it confused, my mama looks great! She’s going to be 60 this year and I swear on a stack of Good Books that she doesn’t look a day over 45. Ask anybody!

Mom came to me recently and told me about a very extreme diet that her sister my aunt has been following and, in six weeks, Auntie has lost 25.5 pounds. My mother was encouraged by this news and decided that she wants to try the diet, too, but was afraid to take on the commitment alone. (My mom’s other quirk is that she always wants us to do things “together”.) My personal belief is that weight loss comes much easier when you have a partner, so I was all about jumping on this bandwagon with her. we took the plunge together and hopefully we’ll both have results worth writing about.

I haven’t decided whether I will blog about this daily, weekly, or sporadically (a.k.a. whenever I get the urge to write about it), but I WILL write about it. This post will cover the first four days and we’ll go from there.

I’m a bit shy about sharing this with the world, but I figure that if I mess up, the WORLD (cause every person on Earth reads my blog, right?!) will hold me accountable! That’s a great incentive.

DAY 1: Monday, July 13
Yesterday, Auntie came to talk to Mom and me about this new program that she’s on. It’s medically-supervised, so I’ll have to meet with a physician and a dietitian weekly, but it’s probably for the best. I have to admit that I’m scared shitless. I mean, this is a radical program, but luckily, it doesn’t take a lot of prep work or anything. All it’s asking from me is a little discipline… and that’s the though part!

Last night, I took pictures of myself in my one bikini and, let me tell you… it was NOT pretty! I want to burn my memory card so that there’s no evidence of the way that I look in a bandeau top and bikini bottoms, but if I burned the evidence then I’d have nothing to use as my “before” picture when I finally (hopefully) get to be an “after”. *sigh* I can’t believe I’ve let people see me naked and I’ve looked like this. I look at myself in the mirror everyday and all it took was a photo to make me see what’s been there for awhile. I tell you, a picture really is worth a thousand words! Oh well, it’s just more inspiration to get right!

It turns out Mom can’t start today because of restrictions as a result of a preexisting condition, so I’m on my own. This will be hard for me because this is a busy time for me at work with lots of fancy lunches and dinners and its going to call on my non-existent discipline and restraint! I was excited because it looked like the week would be clear of temptation, but as soon as I got in the office, I realized that I had a lunch meeting. The lunch was a great one – with shrimp, steak, chicken, grilled veggies, Caesar salad, fruit, and fresh-baked cookies and brownies. I thought about not partaking at all, but then I grabbed three shrimp, some grilled peppers, and a few lettuce leaves. Just having that little bite helped me to feel like I was part of the event, but I didn’t go overboard and didn’t break plan. I was SHOCKED that I had the discipline to be conservative with my portions. That’s usually a big problem for me. Even if I don’t eat all the food, I just like to see it on my plate. A full plate is just so comforting to me, but guess how I solved that problem? I used a smaller plate! I got one of the dessert plates (but none of the desserts!) And put my food on there. it made it seem like I was eating a lot more than I really was. I was proud of myself!

I left work and my head was pounding, but I’m not sure if that was a result of the diet or of the fact that I’d skipped my coffee this morning. It also could’ve been because I was hungry, so I went home and prepared a very quick and sensible dinner – Chicken with spinach and salad and that really hit the spot.

Auntie sent me a text tonight to check in and I let her know that everything was good and that I appreciated the support. She is my inspiration! I want to be like her!

Shallow like a kiddie pool

2009-07-13T14:29:00.002-04:00

Welp! I’m still in mourning over Michael. That’s why it took me so long to come back to this blog and post something. I was emotionally-drained. I loved me some him. And now he’s gone. I was devastated! I didn’t think I’d be able to watch the memorial, but not only did I watch the live streaming coverage on CNN (brought to you by Facebook) DURING the workday, I DVR’d it and have watched it again several time since then. This can’t be healthy!

It was a life-changing moment, though… one that I will probably remember until the end of my days. And I’m not the only one who feels that way. On the night that Michael passed, the girls and I had dinner/movie plans. The details were sketchy and Michael’s death hadn’t been confirmed when we met up at the restaurant after work. While we were there, CNN broke the news that he had, in fact, passed away. We were sitting at the table, getting misty-eyed and talking about how unbelievable the news really was. Our cocktails arrived, and Teresa looks at me and says, “You know, no matter where life takes us, no matter where we end up, we will always remember each other because we were together when we received the news about Michael’s passing.” There was an empty water glass on the table, so each of us took a turn pouring out a little bit of liq for Mike and then we did a toast to him. Because the whole situation was putting a damper on the night and more than one of us were dabbing at our eyes with our cocktail napkins, we dashed off to see “The Hangover”, which left us crying (but this time because of laughter!).

But I am comforted in knowing that I’m not the only one who’s obsessed. The media can’t keep his name out of their mouths, so this will be an ongoing topic of conversation for the foreseeable future. There’s no doubt about that. But, I vow that I won’t dwell on it for too much longer. Instead of mourning so hard, I should just be celebrating the fact that God blessed us with such a tremendous talent. And for that, I am truly grateful.

Now, on to today’s post…

Major personal admission forthcoming:

I once broke up with a guy b/c he owned a cat. Okay, actually, he owned TWO cats, which turned out to be a problem for me. In my opinion, a straight guy wouldn't own a cat. And, if he wouldn't own ONE cat, he damn sure won't own TWO. I called him "Cat Daddy" behind his back. Not only did this dude just own the cats, he was also borderline obsessed with them. He gave them real names (Serena and Angelica), and he would talk babytalk to them and coddle them like toddlers. But they were cats. That sht was lame. And so I broke up with him. Now, of course, I didn't tell the dude that the reason he didn't stand a chance with me was because of his taste in pets. At the time, I made up some other reason for why things wouldn't work out (I can't remember exactly what I said), but we went out separate ways and I didn't miss a beat. And one day years later I was having a cup of coffee and thinking about my life when a memory of Cat Daddy popped into my head and I realized that sometimes I am shallow.

Nobody WANTS to be shallow, but all of us fall victim at one point or another, and I was saddened to realize that I'm no exception. So, anyway, I was faced with my shallowness again recently. I met a guy. Nothing new. The Earth did not move, and sparks did not fly, but he was nice and he seemed really into me. We met halfway through a bourgeois happy hour and within an hour of the first word spoken between us, he handed me his credit card and told me to buy drinks for me and my friends. See? Generous. At the end of the night, I was still debating whether I would give him my number, but he asked for it so nicely I felt compelled to give it to him. So I did. He sent the first text before I even made it to my car.

I noticed that he didn't use any punctuation in the message. And, while this isn't, like, a dealbreaker, it also didn't really work in his favor. I couldn't help but think that Mystery Man texts in full sentences and uses proper grammar, too. And then, I admonished myself for using Mystery Man as the standard to which I compare every single man that I encounter. I gotta stop doing that! And anyway, the punctuation thing was annoying, but it was a text and everyone knows that you use shorthand in a text message situation. No biggie.

He called me a couple of times and the conversation wasn't terrible, but it also wasn't the most stimulating. We had a few laughs, talked again the next night and had a few more laughs. On the third day after we met, he sent another text:

Guy: How was your day (noticeably absent punctuation)

Brown Girl: Fine & yours?

Guy: Not to bad

I stared at the screen on my Blackberry for a while. Did this guy really just type "Not TO bad"? Now, anyone who knows me knows that I'm a stickler for grammar, punctuation, spelling, etc. (even though you can't always tell from this blog, which I rarely edit or proofread before publishing!) So, it bugged me that he hadn't used the right to/too/two. But, again, I tried to give him the benefit of the doubt. I mean, this kid was supposedly a college graduate, so it had to be a slip of the finger. The next day, he text me again.

Guy: Playin bball today what are you doin (noticeably absent punctuation)

Brown Girl: Brunch & movies with a friend. What time is your game?

Guy: At too but I shouldn't be done to late

Okay, now if you're like me, the "too" and "to" mixup jumped out at you right away. What does this guy have against the extra "o" on the end of that "too"? How could he mix up "too" and "two"?? To make a long story short, we exchanged text messages a few more times over the course of a few weeks, but I noticed that this guy was consistently challenged by the difference between to/too/two. I don't know what's so hard about it because it's something most people master in elementary school! EARLY elementary school at that. And the fact that he kept getting those three words confused really bugged me!

Eventually, the texts stopped coming. He'd initiated all of them anyway, and it was my duty to respond whenever one was received, but soon I stopped responding and he stopped initiating.

Now, the truth is, if I'd really been feeling this dude, I probably wouldn't have let his difficulties with the English language get under my skin. But since I was on the fence about him anyway, it was enough to push me over the edge into "not interested" territory. So, again, I'm faced with the realization that I'm somewhat shallow. But I think I'm justified in finding this whole to/too/two thing disturbing. I don't think it's unreasonable to desire a man who has a basic command of the English language. Do you?

For the record, I think the cat thing was worse. I probably shouldn't have ditched a guy because he was showing so much interest in his pets. It probably just meant that his heart was kinder than most... Oh well, that's water under the bridge now.

For what it's worth, I did feel bad about ditching the dude with the language issues, but I'm a writer who loves words and would prefer my partner to have a similar respect for the English language. I think to/too/two is setting the bar pretty low, actually, sort of a minimum standard. The next guy that I allow into my life should at least be able to tell the difference between the three. And, if that makes me shallow, then I'll be that.

Michael Joseph Jackson (August 29, 1958 - June 25, 2009)

2009-06-26T17:14:00.002-04:00

Yesterday, my life was forever changed. The "King of Pop", Michael Jackson, died suddenly after suffering cardiac arrest in Los Angeles. (If you didn't know this, you must be living under a rock because there's been wall-to-wall news coverage for the last 24 hours.)

No, I didn't know Michael personally, but his music and his videos were pretty much the soundtrack to my childhood. And, everyone knew that you better not talk shit about my boy MJJ in my presence or else you would get a pretty scathing (and vulgar) earful. I have so many memories of Michael. I inherited the Jackson 5 "ABC" album (on vinyl) from my older sister. She was born in the early 60s, so she'd actually owned the album when she was a kid and by the time I got it, it was well-worn and the grooves were almost flat. I played that thing on my Fisher Price record player over and over again. We also had the soundtrack for "Going Back to Indiana", and my mother has an audio recording of me singing that song at the age of 3 (and I knew all the lyrics!).

The first album that I ever bought was Michael Jackson's "Off the Wall" and then I followed that with "Thriller". I was freaked out by the video, but I couldn't stop watching it. My aunt bought my cousin Michael's red jacket with all the zippers from the "Beat It" video and I begged my mother for one, but she wasn't having it. I got Michael Jackson's "Moonwalker" video on VHS for Christmas one year and watched it so much I knew all the lines from the movie, all the lyrics to the songs, all the dance moves. I was hooked!

As I got older, my affection for Michael grew even more and I became a true fan. Everyone in my family knew how much I loved him. Whenever he was giving an interview or making an appearance, someone would call or text me to let me know that I should switch to such-and-such channel to watch. And, just a few years ago, my father bought my Michael Jackson's #1s album for Christmas. I couldn't have been happier.

But the best memory that I have of Michael was when I actually got the chance to meet him in person. My brother was invited to a private reception for him at the home of a big-wig entertainment executive and was told that he was allowed to bring a guest. Well, he knew that if he took anyone OTHER than me, our relationship would never be the same because I would never forgive him. At the end of the night, the organizers set up a receiving line for people to go up and shake Michael's hand. The line was so long that we kept our seats on a nearby sofa and waited for things to die down. Eventually, we made our way up to the velvet rope, which was being guarded by a beefy bald man, and were about to be turned away. "Please, man. My little sister (at the time I was about 25, but I guess to him I will always be his "little" sister) loves Michael and I just want her to have a chance to shake his hand," my brother pleaded.

I could tell that the tough-guy was cracking and after a minute he actually cracked a smile and let us through the line. We were the last ones through the line and it was rushed, but I did get a chance to shake his (gloved) hand and tell him that I was a HUGE fan. He smiled and said, "Thank you. God bless you," and then... it was over. We were ushered away. It sucked because cameras weren't allowed, so I didn't get a chance to take a picture of this phenomenal moment. I didn't want a picture to prove the meeting to other people, but to prove it to myself! Even today, looking back on that night that I met Michael, it doesn't seem real. But I do know that I was blessed to have the opportunity to interact with the "King of Pop".

He was a very peculiar person, I won't deny that. He lived in an amusement park and had a chimpanzee for a best friend. He was really out there. But genius is a lonely thing. It separates you from the rest of the world. He lived a very troubled life, plagued with scandal and controversy in later years. He was never truly comfortable with the man that he was born to be. Being a brown girl with a broad nose and kinky hair (without a relaxer), I can understand what it's like to want to look different. Unfortunately, because he had the means to change his appearance, he did. And because he had the money and power and influence, he had no one who dared try to stop him. Michael, poor thing, was a tortured soul who's only consolation was to put everything he had into his music... which, in turn, was his gift to us.

I hope he has found peace and that he is finally able to see himself for the gifted and special person that we all thought he was.

Music will never be the same as a result of Michael Jackson. If it wasn't for him, our current R&B stars would be devoid of personality. Think about it... Ne-Yo, Chris Brown, and Usher would've had nobody to swaggerjack!

John Mayer put it best, I think, when he posted this tweet on Twitter: "A major strand of our cultural DNA has left us." We are forever changed and forever in his debt. Gone too soon, but never forgotten. We love you, Michael. Rest in peace.

Here are some of my favorite songs of Michael's. Rock on!

Got to Be There

I Want You Back

Remember the Time

Off the Wall

Billie Jean (Most Famous Moonwalk at 3:39 and 4:28)

Letting go...

2009-06-25T17:38:00.001-04:00

I’ve been beating my head against the wall trying to formulate a five year and 10 year life plan. I want to set attainable goals and come up with the best methods to achieve them, but… this is really hard! A lot harder than I thought it’d be. And I’m beginning to realize that the reason why it’s been so hard for me to achieve goals is because I don’t really have any goals in mind! That’s scary! I was always the kid who knew exactly where I wanted to go and how I was planning to get there. And somewhere along the line, I lost my way. It makes me sad and scared and frustrated to think that I don’t have any clear plans for the future.

I really tripped out when I wrote out the heading for my plan

“Lovely Brown Girl
5 Year Plan
(Deadline: 2014)”

Seeing 2014 written out seemed so surreal to me! And to think that a date like 2014 is only five years away! That seems a bit crazy…

The only thing I do know is that in the next five years I’d like to be making more money… and I’d like to have a kid. And maybe be married.

Okay, I know what you’re thinking… that sounds backwards. The thing is, I KNOW I want to have a child. And I’d prefer to be married before that happens, but the likelihood that I’ll marry in the next five years seems particularly slim these days. I’m not giving up hope or anything, but it just seems so far-fetched!

The closest I’ve come to linking up with a guy who wanted to wife me was The Older Man. He was a really great prospect. He was mature (or so I thought), professional, spiritual, respectful, protective, kind, full of compliments, attractive, and marriage-minded. But, for some reason, even when things were good, I was constantly pushing him away. He even said that for some reason I loved to tell him no. Anything and everything he asked me, my answer was always no. And, even before things fell apart, that’s why we could never progress past a certain point.

This weekend, I sat back and reflected on all my past relationships and realized that none of them have been particularly healthy, which was, on the one hand, shocking; and on the other hand, not at all surprising. I analyzed every relationship I’ve ever been in… including those that were “unofficial” and those guys that I “just dated”. My dating relationship with The Older Man replayed itself and I had an epiphany of sorts: one of the reasons why I was never able to go with the flow of that relationship was because, in my head, I was still tied up in knots over Mystery Man. Even though I didn’t move forward with anything with The Older Man until Mystery Man made it clear that he wasn’t interested in pursuing anything with me, I hadn’t fully let go.

I realize now that wasn’t fair to The Older Man. Even if circumstances hadn’t gotten in the way, the potential seed of our destruction had always been there, lurking under the soil anyway. We never would’ve made it anywhere because he wasn’t the one I really wanted. And coming to that conclusion led me to another revelation: I was guilty of doing to The Older Man what Mystery Man had done to me. I’d moved into a new relationship too quickly. I’d thought only of myself, without taking the feelings of the person who really liked me into consideration. I’d tried to cover a fresh wound with the flimsy band-aid of a new relationship.

None of that stuff ever works. The only things that truly get a person out of your system are space and time. I didn’t give myself either of those things. Oh sure, I told him (and myself) that I needed space… and that he needed it, too. But I’m still his friend on Facebook… I still check in with him from time to time. I can’t seem to leave him alone. And, so, probably the next guy that comes into my life will meet the same fate that The Older Man met.

As I sat there thinking on these things, I started feeling overwhelmed. This was a lot of information to process… a lot of inconvenient truths made themselves apparent.

I still think about him a lot. I wonder whether he thinks of me. I wonder why all the things I hoped for with him never actually materialized. I wonder why he didn’t want those things with me at all. And, typically, by the time I get to that final question, I feel hurt and then… anger. But, for some reason this time, although the hurt was still there the anger had nearly dissipated. So, now I think I get it. The things I felt for Mystery Man… those are the same things he feels about his ex. The same way that I couldn’t move on from him… and couldn’t let The Older Man into my heart, that’s the same reason why Mystery Man kept pushing me away. I kept wondering how he could think I was wonderful, and beautiful, and smart, and funny, and all those things that he always said I was, but then couldn’t bring himself to be with me. How could I not see? I did and said all those same things with The Older Man. He didn’t stand a chance. I guess I didn’t either…

But, nothing I did was done out of spite. I never meant to hurt The Older Man and I didn’t mean to cut him out before he could even really take a shot at building something with me…. but I did. I hope I won’t make the same mistakes with someone else. And I hope that, if by chance I do make those same mistakes, that they will be patient with me and won’t hate me in the end.

I don’t hate Mystery Man… I don’t think I ever could. He’s a good person and will always have a place in my heart (just hopefully in the future not such a big place). And now that I’m getting a better idea of where he was coming from, I’m not even angry about the way that things turned out. I am finally realizing that, as tempting as it might be, you can’t hold someone’s love against them. He loves her and not me and, even though that seems unfair, I gotta just let that go.

And, so, I begin again.

Online Dating Bytes

2009-06-18T17:14:00.004-04:00

Three new posts in as many days? I'm on a roll! I've got more to post, too! I should hold back and just post one every week and then at least I could be consistent, but... I'm gonna go ahead and post them as they come to me. I'm going to try to do at least two posts a week from here on out, but I've made that promise before... several times. And I've never held up my end of that bargain. So, I'm gonna stop lying and just commit to posting when I can. And hopefully "when I can" will translate to at least twice per week :)

As I was walking home from the train today, I was hit by the most overwhelming sense of loneliness! It was a gut-wrenching feeling that left me scared shitless. It’s not that I haven’t experienced this feeling before, but today I noticed it had a new intensity that I was not at all prepared for. I mean, I’m 30 fucking years old with no man in sight! To me, that’s sad. And it’s scary! If anybody had told me when Mr. Ex and I went our separate ways 2.5 years ago (describing it as “going our separate ways” makes it sound so civilized, and it really wasn’t at all) that I’d be single at 30 with no prospects on the horizon, I would’ve found that laughable. Today, it is my reality. And it sucks. Sometimes I’m okay with it… sometimes I’m not. Today was one of those “not” days. *sigh*

I guess that’s the same feeling (or something similar) that my homegirl was feeling when she notified me that she was going to start actively participating in online dating. I listed as she explained why she had decided to go that route and I actually provided her with some pretty sound advice on the issue. But I wish I could’ve been more supportive of her decision. It’s just that my homegirl is a black woman, and she’s seeking an educated black man. Online. And I have my theories about why she will be more likely to get struck by lightening than to find a man that meets her standards through an online dating site.

So, of course I’m not just going to tell you that I have theories about a particular subject and then not tell you the theories right?! Well, my main thought about this is that in theory, online dating is a great concept! It gives you an opportunity to make contact with a potential suitor… without actually having to make physical contact. That’s awesome! It also easily connects you with people that you might not ordinarily meet. For instance, maybe your soul mate lives in Philadelphia and you live in Atlanta. In the “old days” before the internet, you would only have a chance of meeting that person if you went to Philadelphia or if s/he ventured to Atlanta, or if a mutual friend introduced you… something like that. The chances that you’d cross paths with that person while sitting in your living room were pretty damn slim! But now, all you have to do is logon to Match.com or BlackPeopleMeet.com or Yahoo! Personals, set your search terms to meet your criteria, and you are instantly connected to likeminded singles around the world.

It works for a lot of people! On a weekly basis I read the B.I.O. section of the Washington Post Express, which is where the paper publishes wedding announcements. I would say that probably 80% of the people featured in B.I.O. met online! I also watch “Platinum Weddings”, “Bridezillas”, and “Who’s Wedding is it Anyway”, and a large majority of those couples also meet online. But the thing is, most of the people that publish their announcements in B.I.O. and are featured on those wedding-focused reality shows are… well… they are… not black. I’ve heard of and have known personally so many people who met their significant other/spouse on sites like J-Date or Match.com or whatever, but those people are all white!

See, black men… black men in DC especially… aren’t really hurting for dates. And, if they want to become involved in a relationship, it’s really rather easy for them to meet a very deserving woman just by walking out of their front door. It really is that easy. Around this town, a guy can trip over 10 beautiful, successful, educated, witty, and VERY SINGLE women just going from his house to the grocery store. The market is flooded with these types of women. And all these women are looking for the same (or similar) type of man. So, my thought is that any man worth his salt who even remotely meets the standards that women have set for being “eligible” won’t need the assistance of the internet to find a date.

I belong to this social group on Facebook that’s always sponsoring speed dating events in DC. Every time they host something, the group always sends out an email that says something like:

“Speed dating event in 2 days! Registration for women is closed. More men needed!!”

See how sad and pathetic that is? Women have overwhelmed the registration for the event while men are elusive. And if men know that tons of women are going to be in a given spot, why wouldn’t THEY be flooding the group with registrations? The answer is that men don’t need to participate in something like speed dating because they’re not desperate for dates!

So, what makes a man eligible? Well, if he’s employed, reasonably good looking, semi-literate, clean, and… well, really, for a lot of women, that’s about all it takes. Sad, huh? Yeah, the bar is set pretty low. I guess I should add “breathing” to the list. Anything else? Hmm… maybe I should add single, but then again, for some women that is not a requirement (shocking!). Any man who meets these minimum requirements probably has at least two women in the queue. While women who bring a lot more to the table than this are sitting around twiddling their thumbs on any given Friday or Saturday night.

But I digress…

Those same men are not going to end up paying money to participate in an online dating service when they can pull chicks for free. So who are the black men who actually throw dough at services like Match.com or Eharmony.com or BlackPeopleMeet.com? Outside of the (very rare) exceptions, the black men you’ll meet on the internet are likely womanizers, illiterate, seeking random sex partners, or socially-inept weirdos. That’s my theory, and I’m sticking to it.

I kept this theory to myself but I eventually ended up sharing it with my homegirl. Especially after she started sharing some of the messages she was receiving. Which proved my theory.

Like I said, in theory, internet dating is AWESOME. Like, I mentioned J-Date before. Just in case you were wondering, J-Date is a dating website that pairs up Jewish singles. My coworker met her husband on J-Date. My colleague who’s a few years younger than me met her fiance on J-Date. Apparently, she has three friends all around her same age who are all engaged and they ALL met on J-Date. After hearing these stories, I am thinking – wait a minute… you just go online, plug in your search terms and walk away with a cute guy and a 2-carat Tiffany engagement ring?

Sheeeeiiiiiiiit! (a la Clay Davis)

Sounds like a sweet deal to me!

I wish there was a J-Date for black folks. A B-Date, if you will. But unfortunately, as soon as sites pop up, they become hoodielicious (a word from my good friend) and or slutted out with people posting half-naked pictures and making open propositions about random sexual encounters. Just take a look at BlackPlanet. It has become a thugged out haven for illiterates and semi-professional prostitutes. And then, there’s BlackPeopleMeet.com. It started off pretty well, but as I was helping my homegirl sift through profiles on that site, I realized that none of the decent looking me on the site knew how to spell. But, wait… I guess that’s okay because it’s actually not one of the eligibility requirements I outlined above. *rolleyes*

I can’t tell you how many times a week I hear the question “Where are all the good black men?” It gets old. I’m tired of hearing it. And, I’m not one of those people who believe that there are no “good” black men out there. I think they’re out there... I just don’t think you’ll find him online.

5 Random Thoughts

2009-06-17T16:18:00.004-04:00

So work is not just slow… it’s basically come to a grinding HALT. And that’s fine by me! I’m using this time to make me a better person… and trying to help make my friends better people, too! I think my friends are fabulous and I love them for who they are, but there’s room for improvement in all of us! I hope that my idle time can result in some positive results for us all.

Since I’ve been back from the 30th bday vacay, I’ve been obsessively nursing this allergic reaction and the aftermath and also looking for ways to better myself (did I already mention that? LOL!), so that hasn’t given me much time or energy to write. I wrote yesterday’s post last Friday, but didn’t post it until yesterday because I was being lazy and didn’t want to proofread it. And I figured that I’d continue to write posts until I couldn’t write anymore and that would put me ahead of the game. I could enter them all into Blogger and set the little timer that allows me to have them publish whenever I want to see them show up on here. But, sadly, the “couldn’t write anymore” part came sooner than I expected!

It’s crazy because sometimes I’ll be on the train or walking home from the train station and all these blog post ideas will be swirling around in my head, but when I sit down and actually put fingers to keys… my brain shuts down. I guess that’s what people call writer’s block. It’s not that you don’t’ have the ideas, it’s just that something is standing in the way and preventing you from actually putting those ideas down on paper. And the shit is really frustrating! I think I mentioned this before in another post, but having writer’s block could be likened to being constipated. It’s no freakin fun… and unfortunately, there’s no such thing as Ex-Lax for writers! So basically, this mess has been kickin my ass! Ugh! I think I’m just going to regularly throw some bullshit on paper and post it… at least until I’m able to put a coherent thought together for y’all.

So, let me start by listing some things that have been on my mind this week:

1) I am really, really feeling Drake. I downloaded one of his “mixtapes” and I love every track! If you don’t know who Drake is, Google him… but be sure to say you’re looking for “Drake the rapper”. Otherwise, you’ll get a bunch of random rock bands and stuff and it won’t be who you’re looking for.

2) I still don’t get Twitter. Like… at all! I mean, wtf am I supposed to do – catalog my life in 140 characters or less? And the little text box at the top of the screen says “What are you doing?” But the worst part about it is that usually the only time I remember to tweet is when I ain’t doin shit! And who wants to hear about me twiddling my thumbs?! Nobody. My point exactly. And if I was legitimately busy, would I interrupt the flow to come up with some witty 140-character recap purely for the entertainment of my handful of followers? Probably not. Hence the one-month tweet hiatus. Don’t know if I’ll go back, but I’m highly doubtful.

3) I need a boo. Badly. I am still on this celibacy kick and, frankly, it’s getting old really fast. Unfortunately, I respect myself too much to make just anybody a jumpoff. I’m one of those breeds of women who finds it imperative to have the emotional/physical/spiritual connection fully poppin before the clothes come off. Sucks for me! I’ve put both MBF and TDH on notice that they are to be on the lookout for potential boos within their circles (they both know a lot of people!). They both agreed but neither was enthusiastic. Selfish bastards! Although, I guess TDH really isn't that selfish since he offered his services to me instead of helping me find a boo. But, as we discussed in a previous post, he is a fan of "no strings attached" sex and I am NOT. So, since we're not on the same page, I'll hold out until I run into someone who shares my sentiment on that. *sigh*

4) Facebook. I love it. I’m obsessed! I’m on it all day, everyday! I found this way to make myself only appear online to some people because I kept getting these random IMs from people I hadn’t spoken with in YEARS, asking me why I was on FB all day! It was embarrassing. So I figured if I made myself invisible to most people, then I can play around on FB whenever I want and nobody would know how obsessed I am… er… I mean… damn, I guess now the cat is out of the bag! Anyway, I tried to “detox” from Facebook a few months ago and wouldn’t let myself log on even once during the work week. I started on Monday, but by Thursday was so compelled to login, I broke my promise to myself logged in to see how many notifications I had. Lol! Pathetic. My sorry ass couldn’t even make it to Friday! I have to break the hold this thing has on me!

5) I want to move. Not just to a new place, but to a new city!! A new state! A new country! Okay, not a new country. I love the US of A way too much to cross borders and shit, but still… I need a change of scenery and a change of pace. I’m starting to feel like I’ve outgrown this city of mine, which makes sense since I was born and raised here. It just seems like every time I go out, I see the SAME people, I am constantly frequenting the SAME venues, and I end up with the SAME results – utter boredom. So, I want to move. Let’s face it, I’d really like to relocate to New York, and New York ONLY. No other location seems remotely appealing to me right now. If I wasn’t going to live in New York, then DC is the only other place I’d rather be. So, why is it so dang hard to pick up and move?! I’ve been asking myself that for 10 years now! For some reason, it’s not getting any easier. *sigh*

That’s all I’ve got for you at this moment. I’ll be back to shoot more random shit tomorrow (or the next day).

Toodles,
LBG

Fanning old flames...

2009-06-16T17:11:00.004-04:00

I just realized that I totally jacked up the formatting of my last post AND I cut off half of James's original article! But like I said, it was past 3:30 in the morning when I entered that last post and I hadn't slept all night. Then, in the middle of posting, my ride to the airport showed up and I had to jet... literally! Apologies, Jamesy! But I'm sure everyone got the gist and, by the way, I received a lot of positive feedback about your material. You can be a guest blogger @ Lovely Brown Girl anytime! :)

The 30th birthday celebration is officially over and the time spent in the Caribbean resulted in a delicious tan and five extra pounds!! But it was well worth it. I have NEVER had so much fun on a vacation. EVER! Glorious, glorious fun! The day after I returned to the States, I woke up with a fat lip, which then quickly progressed to a majorly swollen face! I was horrified when I looked at my reflection. I ended up calling out sick that day and spent the day icing my face and popping Benadryl like candy, but it was to no avail because the next day I woke up looking like Hitch! I'm telling you, my face looked a hot mess! So I called out again. At this point, I'm sure my boss thought I was making all of this up in an attempt to extend my vacation. But no such luck... I called out sick because I was really, really not in a position to show my face to anyone outside of my immediate family. My mother drove me to the doctor on Thursday and she kept stealing glances at me and making these weird faces (my mother is a lot like me in that she has a hard time controlling her facial expressions!). "Why do you keep looking at me like I'm some walking freak show?!" I snapped. "Sorry," she mumbled, quickly turning away. Yeah... my face was THAT bad. It was even beyond a face that "only a mother could love". My doctor, whom I ordinarily love, had very little to offer in terms of what was happening to me. She suggested that it could be a result of sun poisoning. And, believe me, I was definitely in the sun enough to have been poisoned. I was laying out from sun-up to sun-down, which was probably not a good idea seeing as I didn't use any sunblock the whole time I was away. (Hey, I am a BROWN girl, remember? We don't burn!) She also said it was possible that I could've gotten it from a tropical fruit like pineapple, or maybe, possibly I'd been bitten by some tropical bug during the night and my body was reacting. Whatever the case, I looked a hot mess and earned myself two additional sick days tacked on to my already too-long vacation and that resulted in a one-day work week that started and ended TODAY!

I still looked a mess when I walked in to work, but at least my boss knew I had not been lying to her. The minute I walked in, she gasped. Apparently, my face was taking everyone by surprise! But, whatever. She wanted me to come in to work, and I came in. Now, she was going to have to deal with looking at me all day. That's what she gets! I was sitting at my desk catching up on emails when an IM pops up from my friend Deon. D and I went to high school together and he's definitely a looker, but he just doesn't see it. An interested woman would have to hit him over the head with a frying pan before he would get that she was interested. He can be just that dense when it comes to affairs of the heart. That's why it didn't surprise me when I read this:

4:01 PM Deon: hey i got a message from a girl i went on a date with 7 years ago
on facebook
4:02 PM so im really confused
why she would contact me?
Brown Girl: lol
Deon: she is married w/ kids
BG: maybe she just wanted to say hi?
LOL
what did the mssg say?
Deon: Hi Deon,
I hope you remember me...it's Melissa!
We met about 7 years ago at the grocery store, went on a couple of "dates"...I've always wondered how you were. Let me know if you remember me, okay...
4:03 PM BG: uhh... clearly she's unhappily married?!
LOL
wow
Deon: theres more
BG: uh oh
4:04 PM ok
Deon: me: Yes it's me... How is everything?
her: I'm great. Married with two beautiful daughters, Krista is 4 and Grace is 2. I live in Delaware and I've been working at a hotel now for 5 years. How are you? Married? Kids? You still look the same...
Deon: Congrats on Marriage and the kids. I'm good. Single and living in DC
4:05 PM BG: k
i see where this is going
LOL
Deon: her: Still single, huh? I thought for sure you would be married with beautiful babies by now. I would love to see you and catch-up...I will be in DC on K Street next week for happy hour. A bunch of my friends and I are celebrating our birthdays with dinner and a little dancing. If you can make it, let me know...My cell number is XXX-XXX-XXXX
Deon: Things have been really busy lately...so I'll let you know next week
her: So, still single? I find that hard to believe. The Deon I remember was quite the charmer, witty, and has the most beautiful eyes ever!
4:09 PM BG: ooooh boy
yeah, that sounds like trouble
LOL!!
Deon: yeah ... thats what i thought as well
4:10 PM thought this was strange
not sure what to do about this

Wow. A MARRIED woman is making an attempt to link up with Deon - a single man she once dated - and proceeds to throw a slew of compliments his way in an attempt to lure him to the meeting place. I find it interesting that she would be so bold. And I wonder what would make Melissa contact Deon so many years later. Facebook and the internet, man... their power is often used for evil and not for good. But I just find stories like this so interesting. I mean, sure... I often think back to guys that I've dated in the past and wonder what happened to them. And sometimes, I even reach out just to say hey and see if anything interesting is going on with them. A handful of them were even cute and/or intriguing enough for me to be a little flirtatious when I reached out. But will I continue to do that sort of thing when I'm married? Geez, I hope not! And, believe it or not, it's not the first time I've heard something like this.

Several months ago, I had a conversation with Mystery Man about something similar. An old girlfriend from college emailed him out of the blue. This girl had broken his heart by dumping him for some jock and then marrying him a few years later. She'd Googled him and found his website and sent an email gushing about how she never should've married the jock and, instead, should've stayed with him. Clearly, she was unhappily married (with children), and she was mourning what "could've been" had she continued her relationship with MM. So, she tells him that she is coming to his city to visit an aunt in February and she hoped that the two of them could get together.

"You know she's making up a reason to visit. I bet she probably doesn't even have an aunt in your city?"

"You don't think so?" he asked.

"Heck no!" I laughed.

"So, when she comes to visit this phantom aunt, are you going to see her?"

"'Phantom' aunt?! That's funny!" he says.

"Well, are you?"

"Probably not. I might have to travel for work that weekend. Or at least that's what I'm going to tell her."

Dude, what?! "Probably not?!" This woman is married!! Anyway, I guess I shouldn't judge him because clearly she's the one who initiated this... and she's the one who is making up fake family members to visit in hopes of rekindling an old flame with her high school boyfriend.

Man, even though this happened days ago, I am still LOLing at unhappily married women contacting men from their pasts and making FB and email propositions. But actually, this is not a laughing matter. This is actually really, really sad. When your marriage is that bad, it seems to me that instead of trying to rekindle sparks, you should instead focus on either improving the marriage that you have, or taking steps to get out of it... BEFORE you go trying to start an extra-relationship with some old boyfriend. Granted, these two women are not representative of the myriad married women in the world, but the fact that I personally know of at least two who are trying to reconnect with old "friends" over the internet leads me to believe that this may be a pretty common occurrence.

I always knew that dating sucked, but... does marriage suck just as bad? I'm starting to lose hope again. *sigh*

The People You Meet on FACEBOOK!

2009-06-08T03:38:00.002-04:00

So, its 3:38am on Friday, June 5 and I'm waiting for my ride to the airport so I can catch a flight to the Caribbean to celebrate my 30th birthday. Surreal.

Anywho, I discovered this nifty little thing on Blogger that lets me post things today, but they show up whenever I want them to... who knew!?! So, this post is scheduled to show up on my birthday, which is June 8th. Happy birthday to me! I'm 30! Wow.

I wanted to make sure that you didn't get bored while I was gone, so I went ahead and asked James (jdavermann@yahoo.com) to be Guest Blogger again and he's provided me with another witty, insightful post. This was written a few years ago, so if it sounds dated, that's why! Enjoy!

being a relative term, of course, since I’ve only had any contact with roughly half the people I know on here in person. Does art imitate life, life imitate art, or does Facebook imitate life? Because like life, Facebook certainly has its share of characters. Here are a few...

The Friend You Never Knew You Had
This is the person who randomly adds you as a friend one day, and you’re absolutely certain you guys do NOT know each other. Yet when you go check to see if you have any mutual friends, you see some insane number like 300. How we've managed to have so many friends in common without ever having seen each other is beyond me. Seriously, How the fu-- do we have 300 friends in common and I’ve never met you?? This person has somehow existed in a parallel universe where they’ve been to the same places as you, same events, even met the same people, yet somehow never managed to cross your path until now. Amazing.

The Lovebirds
That friend of yours who is now in a relationship…and wants the world to know. Do they simply list themselves as being ”in a relationship” like normal people? Of course not. Instead they create multiple albums entitled “me and my boo” or “me and my baby” or “I’m in love”…where basically you see about 50 photos of them playing kissy face with their boos in each album….even worse are all their wall signings to each other that show up in your update: “I love you, sweetie” “I miss you, honey”. ABSOLUTELY SICKENING. Two things I find comical about this, though. #1 maybe it’s because I’ve been single for several years, but when the hell did couples ever spend the majority of their time just taking photos of each other together in a room? is that foreplay? #2 When breakup time comes, their entire page gets blown up. They’re now listed as single, albums are missing, photos are missing, notes and poems come down, a depressing status message comes up, and that boyfriend/girlfriend is de-tagged out of existence. You almost wonder if they were ever there in the first place..they disappear worse than one of the twins' exes on sweet valley high. Don't ask me how I know about sweet valley high.

The App Acceptor
This is the person who cannot or will not stop accepting facebook applications, no matter how useless they may be. You go to their wall to say hi, and you end up waiting half an hour for their page to load, because in addition to their regular wall they’ve got a superwall, funwall, top friends, music player, gifts, growing gifts, stickys , scrapboxes…the list goes on. So you say “fukk it” and just send them a note. But it gets worse…they start sending YOU vampire bites and zombie bites and superpokes and compare requests and “you’re a hottie” and motherfucking TV show trivia…wtf??? Tv show trivia??? DO I LOOK LIKE I CARE YOU GOT A 75% ON A ‘FAMILY MATTERS’ QUIZ? SHYT WAS ON FOR 20 YEARS YOU SHOULDA GOT A HUNDRED!

The Repressed Homosexual
For all the men on here…ever had a man send you a “poke”? Put a smiley face at the end of a sentence? Or maybe compliment you on any of your photos? They’ll say something like “looking good in that suit, man!” Pretty weird, isn’t it? It’s because those dudes are BLADES…and trust me, they’re lurking on the book. You suspect something when you get that random friend request, but you let it rock because you don’t want to seem shortsighted or ignorant. They then start signing your wall, commenting on your photos, and sending you notes, all without saying anything overtly gay, but you know better; they’re just a little TOO friendly. I personally raise an eyebrow when dudes I don’t know from Adam start greeting me with exclamation marks in their sentences. But you still don’t have enough hard evidence to rush to judgment. Then one day they hit you up on facebook chat at 3 am with a “hey, you”. If a man hits me up at 3 am it had either better be an emergency, he's in a different time zone, or he has some chicks lined up somewhere for us. Otherwise it gets filed under "gay".

The Birthday Greeters
You wake up one morning and there’s a friendly greeting on your wall…”happy birthday!” That’s strange…you don’t recognize this person…in fact you’ve never met them: It’s that girl you added as a friend a yr ago because you thought she was cute. For whatever reason, she accepted…but you 2 have never so much as said hello to each other. But because her feed shows it’s your birthday, she greets you with it. Still kinda strange but you appreciate it because it’s a nice gesture and she didn’t really have to do it. Then you see the rest of your wall throughout the day…who are these people? When did you make so many friends? Why haven’t we spoken in 364 days? Should I send each one of them a thank you ? (For the record I try to greet them on their b-days as well-no way I’m sending back 300 thank yous.). But there is something to be said for a person you hear from once a year like clockwork. It's like that deadbeat dad who sends you 50 bucks every b-day and proceeds to ignore you the rest of the year.

The person You Haven’t Seen In DUMB LONG
You were real cool w/ this person some years ago but they just vanished off radar one day…until you get that friend request on Facebook. They won’t even send you a message or anything asking how you’ve been…just a friend request. ITS UP TO YOU to then investigate their whereabouts. You hit them up and ask them “where the fukk have you been?” and they tell you “just been working and chilling”. Is that so? For years that's all you've been doing, huh? Motherfu---r, I’ve been doing the exact same thing but people still know where to find my azz!!!

JPD on CGI
JPD stands for Just Plain Delusional. I do believe beauty is subjective. I believe looks are not important. I am not superficial at all. BUT COME ON…WHAT ARE SOME OF THESE PEOPLE THINKING WHEN THEY POST PHOTOS OF THEMSELVES IN THESE CGI GROUPS? Why do you want random strangers rating you? What’s hilarious is that they will get on there and try to argue with all of the people clowning their photo. If you have to try to CONVINCE people that you’re attractive…well… it probably means otherwise. Then there are the ones who post up photos that HIGHLIGHT what might be wrong with the way they look. They’re just asking for trouble. If you have a unibrow, for example, is an extreme closeup really necessary? Is it really a good idea to include your way better looking friend in your photo? Is it really a good idea to appear shirtless if you way 91 pounds?

The Millennium Pic Club
I have 40 photos you can view on facebook and I willingly pose for maybe 12 new ones a year. There are some people on Facebook with 3,000…and counting. That’s a ratio of 80:1. For me to catch up, I would have to quit my job and sit in front of a camera 8 hours a day for 2 years, assuming I could snap 2 photos a minute and had access to 412 double A batteries and 100gb of memory, while giving up up food and water during those periods. The point being that having 3,000 photos on facebook might be a little bit excessive, especially if you’re not employed as a professional model. You do realize we have a pretty decent idea what you look like at about the 20th photo, right?

The Expensive Party Thrower
Say one of your friends has a birthday coming up. They’ll send out a mass note (which appears in your inbox about a half dozen times) announcing the party is at some nightclub, right? But they’ll try to make it seem like its not gonna cost you an arm and a leg to go. The note will typically read something like this:
“Just say you’re on Ramona’s guest list and admission is only 25 dollars before midnight!”

WTF kind of discount is that?

The Excited Freshman
Their page says class of ’13. Yup, this is that naive 17 yr. old headed off to college for the first time so they spend the entire summer prior adding everyone they can find from their school to their friend’s list and go on a wall signing rampage. It goes pretty well at first-until they stumble upon an athlete or frat dude’s page. This is where you better hope they have a strong father figure in their life because things are about to get very interesting from that point on. She can either become a) the groupie/passed around chick with a nickname, or b) the feminist academic who won’t take crap from men. If they ever land on my page I'll try to sway them towards B, although I’m more inclined to turn off my computer and consult with my attorney if I get a friend request from someone whose birthday is 1990.

The Facebook Player
First off, you can’t really be a player on facebook. Well you probably can, but it’s not without its challenges. The problem is, the chicks that you’re fucking like to monitor your wall and photo albums, not just occasionally, but VIGILANTLY. And if there is a woman she suspects has something going on with you, she'll make sure she monitors that page and wall as well. This is the guy who spends an absurd amount of time deleting comments and wall posts from girls that might get him in trouble, or detagging himself out of incriminating pictures he appears in with random women that would arouse suspicion from his main girl. These photos usually include him kissing and cuddling, or have descriptions from the girl putting them up like “me and my boo just hanging out”. He likes to hide his relationship status, so instead of being single or in a relationship, it will simply not have anything there. You can try Limited Profiling yourself but you will come to find that women who have sex with you HATE being limited profiled! Facebook has ruined as many relationships as it’s started, and you can be damned certain that your girl(s) is monitoring your page as we speak. So unless your women are all really stupid, one of them will notice the constant deletions or get to your page before you do. Then you end up like this guy:

http://dontdatehimgirl.com/posts/144276/

The Enthusiastic Tagger
This person will tag everyone and everything they can in every photo that they take. They'll even go to OTHER people's photos and start tagging people they know on there as well. Sometimes they’ll tag someone who just randomly wandered into the background. They'll even tag people who are NOT on facebook. This practice isn’t bad in itself, but it gets ridiculous once they start tagging people’s body parts that just made the frame…like a leg or the back of a person’s head. I can assure you, no one will be scanning your photos looking for Valerie’s arm or Jason’s elbow.

The Frienemy
You accepted this person’s friend request because you vaguely remember them from school... but some time later you realize something: you hate this guy’s guts. In fact, you’ve NEVER liked this guy, but for some reason they always considered you a friend. Then you find out they haven’t changed a bit. The reason you hated them in the first place is because they’re egotistical, pretentious, arrogant, brag too much, and are selfish. So you try to be nice and ask them what’s going on, and they send back a paragraph on your wall bragging about what they’re doing, what degrees they have, what model chick they’re dating, how much money they have, places they’ve been, etc. you’d like to write back and let them know you could give 2 fucks, but restrain yourself because doing so would mean you DO care. It’s a losing battle, man.

The TMI Feeder
Ever have someone you know leave something totally inappropriate on your wall? It’s like they don’t realize all of your mutual friends will see it in their feed. I’ve read stuff like “what happened with that guy you went home with last night?” or “still waiting on my STD results keep your fingers crossed!”

The Wall Terrorist
Aptly named, because this person literally blows up your wall. You ask them what’s up? They respond with a 2 paragraph biography…on your wall. You try to end the wall exchange by saying “ok, thanks talk to you soon” and sure enough you get a response 4 minutes later...on your wall. You ignore that last response and they just tack on something else in a couple hours...on your wall. These people are intent on actually carrying an entire adult conversation via your walls, and seem to have all the time and resources in the world to accomplish this. Can anything stop them?

The guy with no shot
This is the guy on facebook who has a crush on someone, but makes it ridiculously obvious. He always leaves a complimentary comment on any new photo she adds, and the compliments in question are usually so transparent you can picture the drool on his keyboard. But you notice she never hits him back. He tags her first in anything he writes, but she won't even respond to that. In fact, if he wasn’t the one hitting her up each time, they would never speak. For some reason, he thinks communicating via facebook increases the odds that she’ll go out with him, but that’s about as likely as having a black president Michael Jackson getting a babysitting reference.

Jeff Johnson
No introductions necessary. I'm Pretty sure every single person who reads this knows who I'm talking about. This man knows everyone-I mean everyone- on Facebook, even more so than the creators. I believe he is the one they call on for any Beta testing. There isn't an application that gets put in without his approval. What I'm trying to say is that this man is quite possibly Facebook's version of a higher power. Yup, God MC, him, J-hova. Were Facebook to go public, I suspect that his shares would be worth north of a billion dollars. To put things into perspective, since 2003, I've had about 1300 people sign my wall. In that same timeframe, I believe he has amassed 6 million. Let us pray.

The People You Meet at the Club (Guest Blogger!)

2009-06-02T09:49:00.003-04:00

I believe I mentioned this in my previous post, but... in just a few days, I'm headed to the Caribbean with some of my best friends to celebrate my 30th birthday! Unfortunately, this is also a really busy time for me at work, so between working late everyday this week and preparing for my trip, I'm not going to have much of a chance to write. But for your entertainment, I've invited a guest blogger to fill in the gaps. I've never used guest bloggers before, although I have lifted posts (verbatim!) from other sites when I was too lazy to write something original. Lol! Relax, I've given credit to the authors! I'd never try to pass off anyone else's writing as my own.

For our first guest blogger, I've enlisted my friend James Davermann. James is a twentysomething professional, smart, funny (hilarious, in fact), extremely observant, and majorly insightful guy. He also asked me to mention that he's SINGLE and looking for a little summer romance. LOL! Anyway, I've never been disappointed with James's writing and I'm excited to share it with you. If you've got questions for James (or want to set up a blind date), you can contact him directly at jdavermann@yahoo.com.

So... this is my last post as a twentysomething. That shit is surreal! And when I return to the blog for my next post, I'll be lovelier (hopefully!), BROWNER, and (Dear God!) one year older...

Toodles,
LBG

Nightclubs are peculiar places. Where else will you find dudes paying 20-30 dollars just to get in while dropping another 50 -100 on watered down drinks for the privilege of dancing w/ females in a cramped, crowded spot to really loud, horrible music?

Personally, i hate those places and stay as far away as i can, but i have a number of friends who insist on dragging me to after work events, parties, birthday parties, etc...all at nightclubs. I'm more likely to just play the wall and observe, and I've seen a pretty interesting cast of characters. Here are a few:

The Usher Wannabee:
You know the outfit. dress shirt. jeans. white air force ones. Topped off With a Blazer and a fitted (baseball cap). Walk into any club on any given day and there will be at least 25 dudes with that exact same outfit on. It's one thing to want to be like Usher so you can bag chicks...but Usher circa 2005?? can we get an update?

The Dude Who's Too Old To Be At The Club:
These are the dudes that just refuse to let go of their glory days. They're not super old, but definitely closer to their 40s than their 20s. Fairly easy to spot. sometimes they'll have one thing on them that gives away their age. It might be a pink suit. A jheri curl. Some orange gators. A perm. Maybe they're carrying a pimp cane. Receding hairline a given. Might have the top buttons on their shirt unbuttoned with plenty of chest hair visible. NO BUENO. Sometimes they'll say stuff that gives them away. like calling girls "sugah". or ordering a "Colt .45" at the bar. Oftentimes they just look like that uncle you see at your family reunion feeling up on all your cousins. They should realize that kicking it to 18 yr olds makes them look even older, like grandpa old.

The Ugly Blocker:
Every group of pretty girls you meet has that ONE ugly chick whose sole purpose is to hate on you. They may not be nearly as attractive as the rest so they make it their mission to c-ck block any man who dares approach a pretty one. Their job is to keep you from bagging any of their friends at all costs...and they do it well. I swear every time i see a group of dimes come in they have one of these with them. The minute you approach the girl you're into her DESIGNATED U.B. springs into action. She'll start rolling her eyes at everything you say, will interrupt you nonstop, and will keep saying slick shyt in her girl's ear. Her body language and constant interference will make it impossible for you to get a rapport going. Here's a sample convo:

dude: excuse me, I...
UGLY BLOCKER (rudely interrupting): AIN'T NOBODY ASK YOU FOR YOUR EXCUSE!
dude: I wasn't talking to you.
UGLY BLOCKER: and you WON'T be talking to my homegirl either! go try to run your game on the next chick cuz she ain't the one!
dude: you don't even know me and you're jumping to conclusions. I'm a good guy and...
UGLY BLOCKER: N---AZ AIN'T SHYT! Come on, girl let's get out of here.

Worse, the pretty girls will look to her to determine whether to give you a shot or not! so if you end up telling the UGLY BLOCKER off, you may as well kiss the friend goodbye. Unless you have a good wingman willing to "take one for the team", your chances of success are slim at best.

The Professional Dancer:
ever start dancing with a girl and she treats it like a Ciara video shoot? She'll start doing backflips, pirouettes, spin moves poplocks...damn! they don't know anything about regular one on one dancing. Same with dudes. instead of grinding on a chick like a normal male, these dudes are out there looking like chris brown's little brother, spinning on their heads and shyt. This ain't Step Up 2! Is anyone really impressed with these displays at a nightclub?

The Fake Lesbians:
Ever been to a club and spotted that group of pretty girls who ONLY want to dance with each other? These ladies will turn down every request to dance-from a male. they will instead dance all over each other, feel each other up, get up on a bar and start doing it, and basically spend the night acting like lesbians. The kicker is they're really straight. Oftentimes they're having a "Girls Night Out" or are just on some man hating shyt (bad breakup, found out they were a jumpoff, etc) and this is the routine they use to keep the thirsty dudes away.

The Real Lesbians:
They do everything the Fake Lesbians do, except that they'll be making out in a corner before the night is over. Most of them go to regular clubs because they don't like clubs with labels (gay, straight, black crowd, white crowd, etc.). It's also probably annoying fighting over girls with the manly butch ones.

Jailbait:
Every club is littered with these 15 and 16 yr. olds trying to act grown. Nowadays you can't even really tell by looks alone. My advice to you: if she giggles alot, thinks you're smarter then you really are, can't accurately describe specifics about her career, wont let you call after 11, always has to meet you or get dropped off at random locations, and seems to be REALLY into you even though you have no prior history of being a ladies' man, you might be looking at 10-20 w/ the possibility of parole in 8.

L.L. COOL J:
This is the dude who is DIESEL AS HELL, but has on a medium shirt and walks around flexing. What a tool. You want nothing more than to pull him aside and say "dude, i can see your heartbeat-please go get a 3XL". But that would be suicide. So you let it rock.

The Pretty Bartender:
You can never tell if they're really flirting with you or just want a better tip. considering i've never managed to successfully date any, but probably handed over hundreds in tips over the years even though i don't drink, i'm inclined to believe the latter.

The Strobelight Honey:
Depending on the lighting in a club, sometimes you'll find yourself grinding on the girl w/ the sexy silhouette. Until the strobelight hits and you catch a glimpse of the face. Yuck. yup, it's the ugly blocker. You then proceed to do the running man.

The Big Girls:
If you're ever bored at the club do yourself a favor and find that group of Big Girls. Guaranteed they're the people having the most fun there. They just don't give a damn. You gotta chill w/ them...if anything just to see what happens when that song "Watchout for the Big Girls" comes on. you won't regret it. Time of your life.

The Thugs:
These dudes are somehow able to make it in despite the dress code. They walk around mean muggin' EVERYONE in the joint...even chicks. They roll deep and have enough drug money in their pockets to buy out the bar. They have more tattoos than the Denver Nuggets. if the song "Ante Up" comes on, hit the deck. The women there will all be strangely drawn to them. Tread lightly, don't make any eye contact, and apologize to them even if they're the ones who bump into you or step on your white kicks. They're the number one reason why clubs in the hood get shot up and your mans still has that champagne bottle stuck in his frontal lobe.

The Antisocial Dime:
Dresses very provocatively, holds on to her drink tightly, and looks like the 2nd coming of Rosalyn Sanchez. Simply put, a very aesthetically beautiful woman. But that's where it ends. Will stand smack dab in the middle of the place by herself....and proceed to turn down EVERY SINGLE MAN who approaches. She won't want to chat, talk, or dance. She will turn her head or roll her eyes if you even try to greet her. I'm still trying to figure out what they're doing in the club in the first place.

The Guy Who Cant Dance:
This dude is a pretty good catch. well dressed, educated, women think he's cute, etc...then some lucky girl will slowly creep up on him after T-Pain comes on, and she'll find herself witnessing a grown man doing the robot. This guy has spent so much time going to school and going to work, he never actually picked up dancing. he's stiff, never seems to get into a rhythm, goes in all the wrong directions, and looks very uncomfortable when a woman puts her a$$ in his crotch. DAMN SHAME.

The Dude Who Can Salsa:
you could be the best looking dude in the room. you can be the richest. you can be the tallest. You can be all three. BUT YOU WON'T STAND A CHANCE AGAINST THE DUDE WHO CAN SALSA. When he comes through, clear the floor. makes the biggest Alpha Male look average in comparison. he will have chicks swooning with his moves. He'll be dipping them, spinning them, and doing things that completely take their breath away. doesn't even matter what he looks like; the chicks will be lining up for this guy. Even if you're there with your wifey she'll be tempted to jump ship. This guy probably has the best chance of pulling a one night stand out of all the dudes in there.

The Single Girl With The Boyfriend:
This girl is actually pretty receptive to your advances initially. maybe you dance a couple of times-VERY closely. go to the bar and chit chat, or just hang out. FOR HOURS. You'll start feeling like you bagged yourself a good one. Not so fast... time and again, and i mean this never fails, she will find the most RANDOM time to tell you she has a BOYFRIEND. It's like clockwork! Never fails to amaze me, the creative way she manages to randomly insert mention of a BOYFRIEND into the conversation right when you've hit it off. you feel even stupider if you've bought her drinks by that point.

sample convo:

YOU: wow, we've danced all night; even to merengue. that's crazy cuz those songs run about 20 minutes
Her: I know, right! I didn't think you'd be able to keep up with me
YOU: Normally I wouldn't. but I was really having a good time
Her: me too. I had fun
You: Glad to hear it. Maybe we should do it again? well, anything else besides dancing, i mean
Her: Definitely! I'd like that.
You: great. so what do you do for fun?
Her: I like to go skiing. What about you?
YOU: Oh, that's cool. I pretty much do anything that keeps the adrenaline going. Skydiving, for example. And i like to race my bike
Her: oh, my BOYFRIEND just got a motorcycle. Those things are scary. He tries to get me to ride with him but I always turn him down. I'm worried he'll hurt himself one day.
YOU: umm...I beg your pardon?

Irreplaceable

2009-05-26T19:25:00.006-04:00

Well, well, well... I realized that my May 11th post was my 100th post as the Lovely Brown Girl! I cannot believe that I even had enough material to fill 100 (extra-long) posts on here... and I've still got more to say! I felt like that was an accomplishment worth recognizing... Thanks to all of my faithful readers and many thanks to those of you who have shared my blog with your friends, family, and co-workers. Your support and interest in my boring little life is much appreciated! Here's to (at least) 100 more :)

It’s been a long time… I shouldn’t have left you…

Yeah, yeah, yeah, I know. But I’m back. After my ego was beat down enough times, I figured it would be good for me to take a break from all my pontificating and just work on healing myself. I had taken on the project of trying to get myself in the best physical shape I’ve been in since high school, which included a strict eating regimen as well as a pretty rigorous exercise schedule. So, I worked on that and actually managed to get a little over 12 lbs off my frame. I was pleased with my progress because I had planned to lose 15 lbs for my birthday, which is about two weeks away. I don’t know the exact number of days between today and my birthday because I am trying not to countdown since I’m not really that excited about what awaits me when the countdown concludes. But I AM excited about the fact that, when I turn 30, I will not be on American soil… because I am taking a trip to the Caribbean with my girls! Yay! But, of course, I am nowhere near swimsuit-ready and that’s what motivated me to stick so rigidly to my stringent eating/exercise plan.

And then, I had those few episodes with Mystery Man and it was just all too much. So, I totally took a break from eating right and working out for awhile. And, lo and behold, I gained 3 lbs. I mean, what did I expect, I was eating whatever I wanted whenever I wanted. Anyway, what that means is that now, to be down 15 lbs by my birthday, I will have to lose another 7 or so pounds! That sucks! So, after I had my fill of crabs and bbq on Memorial Day, I decided that today would be the day I’d get back on track. I had egg whites, spinach, and coffee for breakfast. I packed my healthy lunch, which included a turkey sandwich on “diet” bread (45 calories a slice), one serving of green peas to go with it (since I’m officially bored with salad), berries, grapes and an apple for my “3rd meal”, and two 100-calorie snack packs to fill in the blanks when the hunger pangs hit. By the end of the day, I was STARVING… my stomach was rumbling, and I was feeling faint and everything! I grabbed my last 100-calorie pack and almost bit my finger off trying to shove the shit down my throat!

I literally couldn’t wait until 5:30 so I could get my happy butt on the train and head home to eat some dinner! The fact that I was so hungry made me really sad. I thought to myself - if this is what it means to be healthy, I am destined for a lifetime of misery!

I have this new friend, y'all... But before I tell you about him, let me ask you a question: Have you ever met someone and immediately known that the only thing you’d get out of knowing them is a broken heart? Yeah, well, this guy… he’s one of THOSE guys.

We’re gonna call this one Tall Dark and Handsome, or TDH for short. And, yes, I do mean this dude is Tall (well over six feet), Dark (a whole lotta chocolate), and Handsome (gorgeous eyes, and a killer smile that I’m sure has broken its share of hearts) and his “swagger” (I hate that term, but it IS very fitting in this case) is off the charts. We met through a friend who gave him a glowing recommendation, and we really hit it off. But, given my dating history with guys who possess loads of good looks and tons of swagger, this all sounds great, but have proven to be nothing but trouble!

Now, before you go stringing me up for breaking my promise to you AND to myself of staying out of the dating game until a bona fide miracle occurs, let me stress that TDH and I are NOT “dating”... for several reasons. For one, we’re long distance. Number two, he’s a “party boy”… he has a very active social life from what I can tell and he's stressed to me that he's "not looking for anything serious", which is a kiss of death in itself, but also directly opposes my desire to be in a healthy romantic relationship. Number three, we haven’t spent any significant "quality" time together, so I don’t think you could call what we’re doing “dating”. I guess that means that, TDH and I are “friends”, but we’re not really friends... if you get my drift. He’s good for a provocative text message here and there, a flirty phone conversation, and he’s great for my self-esteem. He regularly calls me “sexy”, and “beautiful”… and even if he doesn’t mean it, it sure is nice to hear it every now and then.

Anyway, I’ve explained to TDH that I’m celibate and he has made it very clear that he just thinks I’m a great person and he's cool with my sexless-life. He knows that my goal is to abstain until I’m in a committed monogamous relationship, and since he is definitely NOT capable of giving me that right now, we’re just kickin it, and choppin it up on a regular basis but it goes no further than that. But, I have to keep it real - I do think he’s hot and I’d like for him to think I’m hot, too.

I mean, I’ve gotta be honest. Yes, I work out for my own self-esteem, and to make myself healthy on the inside and blah, blah, blah. But, the REAL reason why ANYONE works out and/or diets is because they want people to find them outwardly attractive. And anyone who tries to pretend that they’re working out or denying themselves their favorite foods for any reason other than that is lying. Point blank, period. So, yes, I want TDH to find me attractive. I wanted Mystery Man to find me attractive, too. In fact, when I worked out with my trainer, I would picture Mystery Man in my head as I ran those last five minutes (always the hardest!) on the treadmill. He was my motivation. I’d just gotten it in my head that TDH would be my motivation, and then something happened to totally change my perspective.

So, TDH and some of his friends decide to go away for Memorial Day Weekend and, like they’ve always done for as long as they have been friends, they head to South Beach. Their South Beach trips are famous. Every year, when TDH returns from Miami, he posts pics from the trip on his Facebook page and hundreds of photo comments pop up within minutes because the people, places, and things that he captures with his camera are so outrageous. With the scantily-clad, far-from-respectable girls who go down to Miami for Memorial Day weekend, I can totally understand their motivation for the trip. But, why would any half-way decent respectable woman worth her salt (and over the age of 22) ever go to Miami for Memorial Day weekend? Unless she is just clueless, I’ll never understand this choice.

At any rate, as I’m starving myself at work today trying to get my body ready for the beach, I’m flipping through some of his pictures and I see a few pics of him hugged up with the same random chick throughout his Miami album. Oh… so TDH got himself a boo while he was in Miami, huh? Interesting! (LOL @ the things you find out on Facebook) But as my hunger pangs grew to a crescendo, I noticed something about her… she was fat! I mean, maybe "fat" is insensitive, so I'll say she was more sloppy than anything else. With a penchant for wearing too-small clothing. Complete with VPL (for all the male readers, that stands for visible panty lines), and muffin top (gut hanging over the jeans), but she was posin like she was a contestant on America’s Next Top Model or something! And despite her physical appearance, TDH was lovin her up!

I mean… maybe she has a wonderful personality. Although, if she was anywhere near as old as she looked, she had NO BUSINESS in Miami on Memorial Day, so I highly doubt she’s worthy of me giving her the benefit of the doubt on that! And maybe TDH just has bad taste… but… he also finds me attractive, so I’m going to abandon that line of thought!* Now, I'm not mad at TDH for meeting someone in Miami. After all, Miami during Memorial Day is "hook-up central" and I would think something was wrong with him if he hadn't met at least one chick while he was there (I'm sure there were more, this chick is just the first to post pics on Facebook and tag TDH in them! LOL!). And, really, how can I get upset when I'm SURE that she gave up the goodies and he won't be getting close to mine anytime soon... or ever? So, this is all fair game. But, as I expressed in my last post - my new goal is to look for the lesson, so... here it comes!

Lightbulb moment: So I guess it really IS all about the confidence? You can be 600 lbs, but as long as you think you’re the hottest chick in the game, someone else will think it, too. But if you’re not convinced, 9 times out of 10 it’ll be hard to convince anyone else to believe it. So, I just have to believe in my own beauty and my own sexiness. I can work out 24 hours a day and have six-pack abs, but if I don’t think I’m hot my sexy quotient drops significantly.

Okay. I get it now.

No... I'm serious. I really do get it now.

After I glanced at the pics one more time, I sent TDH a text: “Who’s this chick ur all hugged up with?”

“A girl I met this weekend. Why? U worried I replaced u?”

“Dude, I’m irreplaceable :)”

I’ve said stuff like this before, but this time, I really believed it! I’ve got a ways to go and all, but hey… that was a step in the right direction.

His response: “Damn right ;)”

I smiled to myself. Then, I laid my Blackberry on my desk and went downstairs to get a real snack.

*DISCLAIMER: By many people's standards, I am considered "fat", "chubby", "overweight", "sloppy", etc., and I know those words are hurtful; however, this girl was clearly a mess. Besides, I'm not going to be a slave to political-correctness on this blog, nor will I ever be able to fully rid myself of some of my hypocritical tendencies, so please don't reprimand me for my terminology. Thanks in advance!

HOPE

2009-05-11T23:33:00.005-04:00

So, I finally decided that this blog will be all about relationships, and now I’m afraid that I’ll soon run out of things to talk about here. Especially because I’ve recently decided to give up on men and romance and all that junk… at least for the foreseeable future.

Stop LOLing. I'm serious.

As I was walking the dog tonight, I looked back over the last year or so of my life and realized that I’ve been disappointed by EVERY man I’ve dated since… well, actually, since FOREVER. The thought made me chuckle, but there’s not a thing funny about it. My relationships with men have been a major disappointment in my adult life.

In less than 30 days, I’ll be 30 years old, and while I’ve mentioned here that 30 is my “scary” age, I’m actually going to welcome this new decade with open arms. I mean, the way I’ve got it figured, anything has got to be better than these last 10 years! My 20s were basically one romantic disappointment after another. And I guess I’ll keep on being disappointed until I meet the man that doesn’t disappointment anymore… you know, The ONE. Then again, I suppose even he will disappoint me at some point. After all... he will be human (I hope), but maybe he’ll actually feel bad about disappointing me, and maybe he’ll actually try hard to correct his mistakes or to keep them from happening in the first place. Maybe…

So, I haven’t heard a peep from the Older Man and it’s just as well because the more that I contemplate that whole situation, the more I realize that the Older Man was just infatuated with the idea of me and I was infatuated with the fact that he found me worthy of infatuation. That was the extent of our relationship. It never would’ve worked between us… infatuation starts off ferociously, and then it ends. Rather suddenly, I might add. Our little situation is proof of the temporary nature of infatuation. But it was a great learning experience! (silver lining)

And Mystery Man... *sigh*

What can I say about Mystery Man? Well, for one… he’s not a “mystery” anymore. I’m not really sure why I started calling him that in the first place. It’s just that I tried to be as vague as I could about his identity because I suspected that he read the blog and I didn’t want him finding out how I felt before I had a chance to express my feelings to him. But recently, Mystery Man discovered his identity (with no help from me!). And he also discovered the existence of the Older Man and Charlie. He was none too happy about the fact that they had been in the picture and he didn’t know about them. He confronted me about the Older Man and Charlie after he read my last post. I was genuinely confused by the confrontation because I was certain that when we’d had “the talk” he said he wasn’t interested in pursuing things with me any further. I’m pretty positive that’s what he said because otherwise, I wouldn’t have cried most of the way home after we had that conversation. But it turns out that he has feelings for me and reading about me and other men made him uncomfortable. And here I thought it was safe for me to date other people because he had given up the right to question my relationships with others when he told me to my face that he didn't want to be in a relationship with me. Guess I thought wrong!

I swear I’ll never understand these dudes. So, Mystery Man doesn’t want me, but doesn’t really want anyone else to have me either. It’s a classic case of a man wanting his cake and eating it too (What a strange saying… what in the world does that mean? Of course you want cake and also want to eat it! Who doesn't want to eat cake?). But anyway, what a horrible conversation that confrontation turned into. I basically spent the entire time pouring out my heart to him and trying to convince him that the Older Man and Charlie weren’t “significant” relationships, and that he was the one that I really wanted to be with (which is the absolute truth).

Now, let’s remember that I’d already TOLD him that he was my priority when we’d last seen each other. In fact, I’ve told him this repeatedly – well, not the part about the Older Man and Charlie, but the part about him being the one that I want – in nearly every conversation we’ve had in the last 8 or 9 months. It’s not like he doesn’t know how I feel. But, yet, I felt a need to keep reminding him of my feelings over and over again because I felt like he must not understand what I’d been saying or something (although I’ve been very clear about everything).

Anyway, I spill my guts to him during this conversation, and although he’d initiated the confrontation about the other men in my life and revealed that he had feelings for me, he just listened to me gush and then spent the remainder of the time trying to convince me that things wouldn’t work between us because of his schedule and the fact that he’s been hurt in the past and doesn’t “have room” in his heart for romance.

Soooo… basically, I played myself. And then, I played myself again. About a month ago, whenI initiated that conversation about where we stood, he told me that he didn’t want to start a serious relationship with anyone. And I was okay with that. I just took it to mean that he didn’t have time to devote to a relationship given his hectic travel schedule and the other demands of his career. Based on those reasons, I could understand why he'd want to keep things casual.

But, then, this past weekend, he divulges information about his ex. Now, this is the ex about whom he has “unresolved” feelings. This is the ex who, despite being an “ex” for quite some time, continues to influence this man’s personal life. Well, this very same ex, who is hearing her biological clock ticking in her ear (she’s 35… yikes! That’s WAY scarier than 30), has decided to circle back to my Mystery Man and try her hand again. Yep, that's right. She wants to get back together with him, but... he’s not sure what to do.

Yes, I said HE IS NOT SURE WHAT TO DO. So, do you see the mixed message in all of this? He says he didn’t want to be in a relationship. But the ex comes back on the scene and all of a sudden, the possibility of a relationship is back on the table. If he legitimately didn't want to be in a relationship, the answer would've been a clear and resounding "no". But, it wasn't. The answer was an "I'm not sure what to do," which is just a painful reminder to yours truly that it’s not that my Mystery Man doesn’t want to be in any old relationship… it’s that he doesn’t want to be in a relationship with ME.

In a nutshell, he’s just not that into me. That’s a real slap in the face, but such is life, I suppose. Man I tell you, being disappointed is never a good feeling, but being disappointed by someone you held in the highest esteem is even worse. Suffice it to say, this is a pretty big letdown. After he told me that he was thinking of getting back with the ex, I felt like the biggest fool on the planet. But, as the song goes – everybody plays the fool sometimes… especially when it comes to love. And, I am living proof that there’s no exception to that particular rule.

Now, don’t get me wrong… I may come off like I’m being hard on myself, but, honestly, I do think I’m a great catch. I definitely see myself as the marrying kind. In fact, I took a quiz on Facebook (and isn't everything you read on Facebook absolute LAW?) that told me I’d be a “loving” wife. Isn’t that the kind of wife every man would want? Guess not. But, it’s no big deal. My personal belief is that, even in the rough times, one should always look for the lesson. Here, I’ve learned that not every guy that I like is going to like me back... and he may choose someone else over me - for any number of reasons. Not that I haven’t had to learn either of those lessons before… numerous times. I guess I needed to learn them again. And I’m convinced there’s another lesson here somewhere. I refuse to believe that I’m being disappointed continually just for the heck of it. God/the Universe/Mother Earth… one of those beings is trying to teach me something! I’m sure of it!

So, I’m going to stay away from men until I figure out what the true lesson is here, and once I’ve identified that lesson, I plan to learn it, memorize it, and then take it with me into my next dating situation. Because, believe it or not, I do plan to date again. Just not anytime soon. It’ll take a miracle to pull me back into the game before 2010. That’s my word.

Yes, I’ve been the common denominator in all these disastrous relationships with men, so am I crazy for believing that I’m not really the issue? My friend JD says that I seem to be pretty laid back in relationships, I'm hella understanding and - from what he can see - I don’t place any unreasonable demands on any of the guys that I date. I tend to agree with all of that (of course, I’m a bit biased, but…). So what’s the problem? Why haven’t I found a guy who will appreciate me?

But here's the thing - despite my dismal track record, I still believe that there’s someone out there who’s just right for me… who’ll appreciate all my quirks and will love me flaws and all. someone who will be sure about me from the start. Someone I won't have to convince of my worth...

I know he’s out there. Even though I’ve yet to meet him, I expect to meet him... and I’m confident that he exists and we'll find each other some day... hmm... I believe they call that HOPE.

The Lowdown on the Letdowns

2009-04-29T09:47:00.000-04:00

The painful truth: in the last couple months, I’ve been effectively “let down easy” a.k.a. DUMPED by two very eligible bachelors. And, the ironic thing about it is that both men started off pursuing me… hard! But when I let it be known that the feeling was mutual, they both backed off rather quickly.

Now, the articulated reason for their collective retreat had something to do with the fact that they are both on the path to achieving really big things professionally. And, each of them is dedicated to making that happen within a certain time frame… therefore, neither was willing to let something as silly and insignificant as love get in the way of their hopes and dreams. Neither saw that it was possible for them to balance both romance and entrepreneurship. And, Lord knows that the last thing I want to do is stand in the way of a man and his dreams. In fact, I had this fantasy that I’d be the background to their foreground, so to speak. I’d wake up next to my man, sit up in bed and watch him get dressed to go out into the cold cruel world and fend for our family. And when he sat down to put on his socks, I’d lean over and rub his shoulders, and give him an enthusiastic pep talk about why his family needed him to, yet again, brave the shark infested waters of the business world to make sure that our family not only survived, but thrived. No, for real. I had this all laid out in my head. For these two men, I’d be the best damn cheerleader I could be. But neither of them gave me a chance to be that for them. Instead, they chose to end things so that they could focus on bringing their dreams to fruition.

I can’t be mad at that. But I CAN be suspicious.

Suspicious of what, you might ask. Well, see, the stated reason for why they ended things with me had to do with sacrificing love for the greater good of their eventual professional success. And, if that’s true, then more power to them both. But, both of these men also had unresolved feelings about previous tumultuous relationships with unstable women. They both admitted to suffering from “trust issues” and they both were hesitant about getting into a romantic relationship – with anyone – in the first place.

Now, what’s really crazy about both of their circumstances is that in both cases, based on the information that has been given to me, I’ve basically concluded that the women they’re still somewhat pining for are both NUTS. You know, it amused me that these two men, who are so fundamentally different, were basically saying the exact same things about their previous relationships.

Okay, number one, they both had gotten out the relationships approximately 1 year before they became involved with me. Number two, in both cases the women did dumb shit and made incredibly retarded mistakes in the months leading up to their eventual breakups. Number three, both men are bitter about their breakups. Number four, I honestly believe that, in both cases, if their exes came back and wanted to start over, the men would jump at the chance. And, I believe that this last part really explains why these two men couldn’t settle down with ME. It was because in the back of their minds (consciously or subconsciously), they are still waiting for these women to come back to them!

Now, I just want it to be known that I think that’s crazy! The fact that these two men would still be caught up in the relationships that they had with two crazy chicks is just silly to me on one level, but on a deeper level, I get it. I had just had a conversation with a friend of mine about the difference between the way a man handles a breakup and the way that a woman handles a breakup. And, believe it or not, I believe that there are some key differences between the two approaches.

First of all, I believe that women are dynamic, ever-changing, unpredictable beings. So, there are not any clear-cut rules to their reactions. Men, on the other hand, respond to bad breakups in one of two ways:

1. They do whatever it takes to get right back into another long-term relationship with the first woman they come into contact with;

2. The decide that they won’t get into another relationship again unless it’s a last resort, and until they encounter that last minute situation, they will be the most skittish, most suspicious, most down-on-love, and most promiscuous person they can be.

The Dynamic Duo that recently decided they wanted nothing to do with me, ended up in the second category. They were both scared shitless at the thought of being ever trusting a woman again, failing to see that I was NOTHING like either of the women who had hurt them. And, everyone knows that a relationship cannot survive without trust. So, rather than let down their guard a trust again, they’d rather just throw all energy and effort into building their empires. Great. Go for it, boos.

So, anyway, where does that leave me? Well, for starters, it leaves me ALONE. Which, for all intents and purposes, is not necessarily a bad thing. But it also leaves me confused. Who were these women who could do so much damage. And, also, I’m a firm believer that nothing that leads to the demise of a relationship is a “surprise”. What do I mean by that? Well, for instance, let’s say a couple breaks up because the woman discovers that her man is on the down-low. I personally do NOT believe that this should come as a shock to any woman. I don’t care how well the man covers things up, the woman would have seen as least a few signs along the way that would stir up her intuition, but because she didn’t WANT to see those signs, she’ll claim that his status was a TOTAL surprise. And, it won’t have been. After the relationship is over the person will say, “I remember when he did thus and such… and right then I should have known that something was up.” Yes, I am aware that hindsight is 20/20, but if we learn to let our intuition lead us, it can save us from a lot of potential heartache.

Now, I’m not saying that these two guys were completely innocent bystanders who just stood around and let their exes eff up their relationships. Oh no, they DEFINITELY played a part in the downward spiral of their relationships, but their exes certainly hammered some nails into the coffin as well. But when one of these guys tells me that he was totally surprised that his ex was so evil, vindictive and conniving… well, you can see why I was skeptical. I suggest that we go back over the relationship and look for signs that might have indicated that she was all those things and more BEFORE things really got bad. And, as we go back over the relationship, he points to lost of legitimate signs that the girl was a nutjob! So, I ask him why he stayed and he said that he just couldn’t think of a reason not to stay. Wow. It was that simple, huh?

I was thinking about this conversation while I was sitting under the hairdryer at the salon last week. I was flipping through a magazine that my stylist had handed me before I settled in under the intense heat shooting out of the hood of the dryer, and came across an article that purported to have the answers to why men find it difficult to move on from bad relationships. I rolled my eyes and chuckled to myself, preparing to read a bunch of dime store psychology that didn’t really answer any of the questions women have about men. But, in the article, a 23-year-old broke things down in a way I’d never considered. He basically said that men stick around because they’re afraid to give up on something that is broken. It goes back to their need to always “fix” what is broken. And if they walk away from a broken relationship, it’s almost like they’re admitting that they were unable to make the situation better.

Hot damn, a real answer! An answer that made sense! An answer from a… 23 year old?! But, who cares about age. This dude just made a really damn good point! So, what it comes down to is that men are stay-ers. If they care about someone (and it’s important to emphasize this aspect of things… if they don’t care about their partner, then none of this applies) it’s difficult for them leave a relationship, let it go, or really even accept the fact that it is over. That’s deep, but boy do I get it! These unresolved feelings also have something to do with the male ego. And we know that damn ego is a powerful influence. If it’s not feeling right, then everything else will go wrong.

I’m hoping that one day both these guys can get over the unresolved feelings they have about their past relationships. And, I’m hoping that they both realize that throwing themselves into their work is only a quick fix for the unresolved and unaddressed feelings that they still have about their exes.

I once heard a pretty interesting quote that said: “The only thing that keeps a good man away is a bad one.” Translation – lose the chicken dinner and get with a winner, if you know what I mean! I want to yell this to these two guys. They’re hung up over two nutjobs and have essentially sacrificed the potential happiness that they could’ve had with me for the guaranteed misery they’d already been subjected to by their exes. I mean, we already know it’s their loss (so don’t patronize me by telling me so!), but it doesn’t make it an easier pill for me to swallow. The shit sucks. It is what it is.

The End of a Beginning

2009-04-21T23:56:00.004-04:00

I haven’t written in awhile because, frankly, I find it quite exhausting to write about my love life. Writing about love in the hypothetical sense is, naturally, much easier… and it’s pretty easy to write about topics that have nothing to do with love at all. But, like it or not, this blog has become a “relationship” blog. I mean, I want to write about my life, and the most dynamic and dramatic part of my life is not work, family, or hobbies, but rather my romantic exploits.

Don’t get me wrong – writing about my love life was fun for awhile. I created “characters” who symbolized the guys that I’ve dated and I gave them aliases and then I thinly-veiled their identities and wrote about real-life experiences. And I did this all operating under the assumption that I was safe because I was blogging (semi) anonymously. And, for the most part, I was able to publish private thoughts and incidents and still emerge unscathed because the guys that I dated were either too stupid to read or too self-centered to take my little “blogging hobby” seriously. But, if they’d just read my blog, they would’ve learned a lot about what I was thinking and seeking and maybe it would’ve lead to much healthier dating experiences that actually resulted in legitimate relationships. But, again, that didn’t happen, so those guys didn’t know what I was thinking or seeking and, alas, we never ended up on the same page.

And, then, there was Him. So, “Him” actually refers to someone that I’ve introduced before. Back then, I called him the Older Man. He wasn’t really a dynamic character on the Brown Girl blog because I didn’t know enough about him to flesh out his personality. And I personally never thought he’d be interested enough in what I wrote to actually check out my blog.

A few weeks ago, I discovered that my assumption was wrong when he flat out told me, by email, that he reads my blog. And, yep, he said it just like that: “I read your blog.” That’s all the message said. He doesn’t mince words – there’s no time for that. Immediately after reading the message, I freaked. It had been awhile since I’d posted anything at all on the blog, so I couldn’t remember the last thing that I’d said about him. But, I didn’t freak completely out because I figured that I’d been vague enough about his identity, so (because I’m the only person in the world who knows how to read between the lines, duh!) he would never figure out the role he played.

I responded to his email, saying “Do you? I had no idea.”

He replied, “Yeah. I posted something a few weeks ago.”

Pause.

Yes, that’s right. Not only did Homey READ the blog, he also commented. “Anonymous”ly, of course.

I chuckled, frowned, took a deep breath and grabbed my laptop. I logged into my Blogger account to pour through any and all comments posted by “Anonymous” to try to determine which comment was his. As I was doing this, I receive another message from Older Man saying, “I’m going to sleep, baby. ‘Older Guy’?!?”

Now, THAT… well… THAT stopped me in my tracks. So, he knew I was referring to him, huh? Wow. Okay… then, of course I had to go through all the posts that mentioned the Older Man to determine whether I’d said anything that would be potentially damaging. But as I did a quick rundown of the timing, I realized that he’d probably read everything I had to say to him before any romance began between us anyway.

So, yeah, that deserves a little update. The Older Man – and, if you’re reading this (and I know you are!), I’m sorry Older Man… but I just can’t think of anything else to call you right now! – turned out to be absolutely wonderful! The few weeks that we spent being enamored with each other included some of the best dating experiences I’ve had in my young life. (Which, now that I think about it, is pretty sad and serves as a testament to the fact that I need to step up my dating game. Not that time spent with the Older Man wasn’t wonderful… it was just very short-lived. But, I guess it’s true what they say – it’s more about quality than quantity.) He held my hand, opened doors, told me (quite regularly) that I was beautiful, paid for meals/drinks/cab rides/etc., respected my boundaries, and just generally treated me like a lady. Good times… *sigh*

Anyway, all that pursuing shit that I talked about? He introduced me to it, and then he showed me how it was supposed to be done. Boy have I been getting the short end of the stick with all these other losers I’ve been dating. But the Older Man really raised the bar. And for that I’ll be eternally grateful.

Unfortunately, though, things didn’t work out between us. I could go into detail, but I won’t because I respect his privacy. And just like he saw through my little alias for him, someone else familiar with our circumstances might as well. He doesn’t at all deserve for me to put him on blast, so out of respect for him, I’ll leave the details out. Let’s just say that he’s very generous, respectful, and protective. I felt safe and cared-for whenever we were together. He is ruled by rationality, and is extremely methodical and deliberate about every move he makes. While that could be nerve-racking to some people, I found it oddly comforting. He reminds me SO much of my father! And, you all know the kind of volatile relationship that I have with my father. But I understand my Daddy… and I know that at his core he’s a solid and noble person and that he’d lay down his life for me. I honestly think that had things developed further with me and the Older Man, I could expect the same type of care and concern from him. And that, to me, is the ultimate

At any rate, he could’ve been the Great Romance of my life. I honestly believe that things could’ve been that good. But as people say, when something seems too good to be true, it likely is. He wasn’t the problem… I mean, he was, but not really. Let’s just say that there are a lot of little things that contributed to the breakdown of this really fragile but beautiful thing that we’d worked to build. We were just laying the foundation for something greater when circumstances caused us to have to change course midstream. And it turns out that our change in course is leading us in different directions. We had to end when we were just beginning. It sucks, but… it’s the way it has to be for now. I understand that and I’m okay with it.

Oh, and, after Easter Sunday, I didn’t talk to Charlie again. I guess he finally gave up, which is fine with me. I was pretty much done with him anyway.

Anyway, I’m a firm believer that everything happens for a reason and everything happens in due time. For some reason, this just isn’t my time… but, I’m remaining hopeful!

And, I know I started this post talking about how difficult it is to blog about my personal relationships, but no… my blog didn’t directly contribute to the demise of my relationship with the Older Man. But… he did admonish me for constricting him to such a one-dimensional character… the Older Man. He thought that was so boring. And, he warned me to be more sensitive, saying that I should recognize that some of the people I’m writing about DO read my blog. He has a point. I’ve gotten some negative feedback about my blog from two men I care very much about. But it’s so hard to write posts and then have to edit them to make sure that they’re sensitive yet honest. Sensitivity vs. Honesty. That is a VERY delicate balance. If I’m sensitive to the people of whom I speak, do I end up writing a less honest blog post? Sure. And if I’m too honest about my thoughts and feelings is there a chance that I might end up being insensitive to someone I care deeply for? Of course.

Sooo… what to do, what to do?

With no real solution, let's get back to the real topic.

Yeah… so… things are finished for me and the Older Man. I miss him, though, y’all. He was good to me and he taught me to want more for myself. (Another Lesson in Love. Yay!). I think there’ll be another man in my future that’ll take things even a step further. I look forward to that. But, for now, I’m in mourning for what could’ve been with the Older Man.

And, yes, even though shit gets touchy when you post stuff on your blog for (potentially) the whole world to see, I'm still writing about it all on the internet. (for now)

Conversations and Revelations

2009-04-14T23:07:00.004-04:00

I need my behind kicked. It's almost been a month since my last post, and a lot has happened. I'll give you the gist, but I'm gonna do it in two parts because I have a bunch of shit going on and don't have time to hammer out an extra-long post to fill you in. Plus, I'm sure you wouldn't want to read some monster essay on my life for the last three weeks. So, here's the beginning:

Whaddya know, peeps? I actually had that conversation with my Mystery Man a few weeks ago. We spent the day together and it was absolutely fabulous. And, as usual, I was afraid to rock the boat, so I didn’t want to bring up any volatile subjects that might ruin the good time we were having. But, as I stated before, this is the reason why nothing ever gets accomplished – because I’m too afraid to rock the boat.

In the evening, we were sitting outside on a bench looking at the goings on around us, and I just asked… “So where is this going?”

It was almost like he was prepared for the question, but I didn’t get the answer I’d wanted to hear. I recovered quickly because it was like I already knew what his response would be. After all, as I’ve said before, if I have to ask the question, I already know the answer.

But, I wasn’t mad. I just figured that our timing was off and I held in my tears until I was in my car headed home. Only then did the tears begin to flow, but I didn’t even cry for long. Mostly I cried because I was embarrassed for putting myself out there and then getting rejected. But then I stopped crying when I realized how good it felt to have taken matters into my own hands and gotten the answers I needed and deserved. It became apparent to me that if I’d never asked the question, we probably would’ve continued down the path we were headed, which wasn’t necessarily bad, but it wasn’t good either.

There’s not a lot to tell after that. I mean, I knew we’d still keep in touch after that because we’d been friends for a long time prior to our recent romantic escapades… and I knew that I wasn’t comfortable with just letting all that history fall to the wayside. So, we’ve talked… and we’ve even seen each other since then. But, I’m trying to keep my wits about me. I have to recognize that just because he’s still nice to me and just because we are in contact pretty regularly doesn’t mean that his feelings about us being together have changed. It’s hard to keep that in perspective, but… you know. Handling this situation with the appropriate level of care and conscientiousness is an uphill battle and all, but so far it seems to be one that I am winning.

Steve Harvey was right… you gotta ask those ever important questions EARLY to make sure that you’re not wasting your time with the wrong person. I don’t think that I wasted my time with Mystery Man. He's an excellent person and I'm especially fond of him for sure. I'm not giving up hope on him yet... (this may sound pathetic, but it's true!). Not that my Mystery Man is Mr. Wrong, but I do know that he’s not Mr. Right... for now at least. There are so many things that I adore about this man and my feelings haven’t changed just because he’s not ready to take things to the next level. But, the bottomline is that my experience with Mystery Man allowed me to recognize that I want to date and eventually be in a relationship… particularly in a relationship with HIM, but if that doesn’t work out (and it seems that it won’t), then with another worthy candidate. I’ve been single for over two years! That’s too long for a girl like me to be living the single life. I’d like to at least be dating someone seriously and I know that in order for that to happen, I’ve got to make myself available and receptive to meeting new people and allowing them into my life. Believe it or not, that’s really hard for me. I don’t readily allow people – men in particular – to win my trust. So, I figured that it’d be best for me to PRAY about being receptive and willing to put myself out there to meet new people.

Now, I pray often, but I’ve been backsliding on the church thing. However, as I'm sure you know, this past Sunday was Easter and every Christian worth his/her salt makes a trip to church on Easter. It’s the one time out of the year that Christians feel so guilty about all their hedonistic activities that not only will they attend church service, but they’ll show up on time (or early!) and in new clothes to boot! So, anyway, I performed my familial dduties and drove my grandmother to church on Sunday morning. I dropped her off at the handicap entrance, parked the car around the corner, and headed inside.

When I got to the vestibule of the sanctuary, who do I run into but Charlie! I have to admit that he looked quite dapper in his pinstriped suit and he had a fresh shape-up… Lord knows that I have a weakness for that! He immediately walks up to me and asks why I haven’t returned his calls. I don’t even remember the last time he called me, so I realize that I must’ve left him hanging for quite some time. I play it off the best I can (obviously I can’t lie given the fact that I’m standing in the church house!) and he brushes it off and tells me he forgives me, but doesn’t want it to happen again. He smiles and I suddenly have the thought that I don’t remember him being this handsome before.

“Where are you sitting?” he asks, as we wait in the vestibule for the ushers to let us into the sanctuary.

“I’m not sure yet,” I say.

“Well, I’m sitting wherever you’re sitting,” he says.

We go inside the sanctuary and there are hardly any seats because every Christian and his/her mother is present on this day of worship! Finally, we find a seat in the second row, which makes me very uncomfortable. I prefer to sit in the back of the sanctuary… and I certainly would’ve preferred it with Charlie at my side. People in the church talk and I don’t need anyone asking any embarrassing questions after the service is over. We sit down and I can feel the eyes of the older ladies who are friends with my mother and grandmother boring into the back of my head. I ignore them and actually really enjoy service. For one, Charlie smells really nice. Then, I notice that he’s singing along with all the hymns… and he knows all the words without looking at the hymnal! And, he and I share a Bible during the scripture and he lets his finger run along the page to help me keep up with the minister who’s doing the reading. These are not big things, but they are impressive to me for some reason. I started to view Charlie in a different light. He’s not so bad after all.

He’s been pretty consistent about the fact that he likes me and I have to respect that. After all these years, I am still fascinated when someone tells me that they like me in a romantic sense. Not that I don’t believe that I’m worthy of being liked… it’s just really a good feeling to know that all the things about you have come together nicely and caused another person to be attracted to you… for whatever reason. It’s a phenomenal feeling to be liked.

Now, this doesn’t mean that I’m in love with Charlie… or even that I like him enough to date him (!), but after church he hugs me and, as we part company, asks me to call him later… and I know that I will.

Standards

2009-03-24T12:02:00.001-04:00

I’m sure you’ve all heard about Steve Harvey’s new book “Act Like a Lady, Think Like a Man”. If you haven’t, Google it and read the reviews. Now, before I go into my personal thoughts on the book, I gotta self-disclose that I’m no fan of Steve Harvey. For the most part, I think he comes across as a corny old man who’s trying to be cool, and that irks the hell out of me. But I kept hearing great things about this book and I decided that I’d better check it out for myself before I passed judgment. After all, corny, un-cool old men can be a wealth of relationship knowledge. My dad often says that he learned everything he knows about sex and relationships from his days working as the shoe shine boy in his older brother’s barbershop. He said those old dudes really had the game figured out.

So, anyway, I go and pick up the Steve Harvey book and I enjoyed it SO much that I devoured it in less than three days. It’s a really quick read. I only read it on the train going to and from work, which is about an hour of reading a day, and I finished it in 3 workdays. I read fast… always have, but even I was surprised at how quickly I flew through this book. And mostly, it was because the book was SUPER entertaining and highly-informative. I’m a relationship junkie, so I’ve read just about every trendy relationship book that’s ever been released. “Men are from Mars, Women are from Venus”? Read that from cover to cover at approximately 13 years old. “He’s Just Not That into You”? It’s still a favorite. I keep it around and review chapters over and over again, especially in case of relationship/dating emergency. “Why Men Love Bitches”? Copped that, too. Read it in a matter of days, and really loved some of the tricks and tips the author shares. “Why Men Marry Bitches”? Yep, bought that one, too! Although I didn’t love it as much as I did the first one.

And, now, “Act Like a Lady, Think Like a Man”. The title itself is intriguing. Why would a LADY want to think like a MAN? Well, it makes sense, really. If you’re interested in building a solid relationship with a man, you’ve got to know how he thinks. What IS going on in those little minds of theirs? Steve claims that men aren’t that complicated… and I guess he’s right because he claims to have captured everything a woman needs to know about a man (and more) in 15 SHORT chapters.

Anyway, I learned a lot from reading the book, and I think you will, too. One of the most important thing that I learned was that men respect standards, and so, I need to get some. This is an important lesson and one that I think that many women are afraid to put into practice.

The truth is… I already do have standards and I in the past have not been afraid to make them known. For example, I was dating this guy about a year ago. He was cool. I liked him and was interested in taking things further with him, but at my own pace, of course. The thing that bugged me about the guy was that he repeatedly asked me to spend the night at his house. Now, I’m the type of woman that likes to go out, and I am clear about that from jump. I hate it when a man suggests early on in our dating relationship that we spend “quality” time together in my house or his house. Blockbuster nights, or – in this day and age – OnDemand or Netflix nights – are nights to be shared with someone with whom you’ve built some sort of relationship… they are not appropriate for a wo/man that you are trying to woo.

So, I casually deflect this dude’s invitations by making up mad excuses about why I couldn’t stay over on a particular night. Why did I make stuff up? Mainly because I was afraid that if I laid out any rules, he would think I was lame and walk away.

This guy was persistent about an overnight visit until finally one day I say, “Listen, I just have a personal rule that I don’t go to a man’s house until I’ve been out with him at least 5 times. I mean, before then, I don’t really KNOW you at all…” He was quiet for a few minutes and said something like “Oh, well, why didn’t you say so? That’s cool. Stick to your guns. I meant no disrespect.”

Huh? Did he actually say that he was cool with me not coming over?

He never asked me to spend the night with him again, but he kept taking me out and we had a lot of good times together. Our relationship didn’t blossom into a great romance, but we remain friends to this day.

Honestly, I was surprised that I didn’t have to acquiesce to this man’s requests in order to keep his attention. I was sure that after I’d put my foot down he would lose interest, but that didn’t happen. Now, I’m not saying that all guys will respond in this way. Guys who have one goal in minda (namely S-E-X) will probably weigh the costs and benefits of respecting your standards… and if the cost seems to high and the benefit too low, they’ll break out. But good riddance to them!

What I’ve learned from both Steve and The Older Man is that there are guys out there who don’t let their one-track minds rule their interactions with women. Some men actually have a genuine interest in getting to know you better, and simply enjoying your company. I’m certainly not going to lie to you and say that these men are in the majority, but they ARE out there. And a good way to weed them out is by outlining some standards and sticking to them.

So, now the hard part: putting this lesson that I’ve learned into practice. After all, I can’t do all this preaching to you about what you should and shouldn’t do and then not follow-suit. That would be hypocritical… and hypocrisy is one of my BIGGEST pet peeves.

You probably think this won’t be hard for me because, yes, I laid down my standards with the guy I mentioned in the story I just told you, I’ve laid them down with Charlie, and I’ve laid them down with The Older Man. They’ve all heard some variation of the many rules and standards that govern my dating life, and they’ve all chosen to respect those rules or standards (for the most part)… and that’s great! But, the thing about them is, I laid out those standards with them because I figured that with them, I don’t really have anything to lose. The guy from the story you just heard was someone I’d only been on three dates with… while I liked him, I certainly didn’t have much vested in that relationship. You already know how I feel about Charlie – I just entertain his bullshit when I have nothing else better to do. He’s certainly not someone that I take all that seriously, so of course I could lay down rules/restrictions/etc. without caring about the consequences because I didn’t care if he walked away. The Older Man is great, but he’s playing by a different set of rules given his age and not being a part of my “generation”. Plus, he thinks I’m young and naïve and probably would expect that I’d set up a whole bunch of hoops for him to jump through before he won the prize (the “prize”, in this case, being lil ole me!).

But, now, the question becomes, will I be strong enough, and bold enough, and fearless enough to lay out some standards with someone that I really, really like? I mean, the guy I like… he’s great, y’all. He really is. The problem is that he and I are not “defined”. We have had some really great times together, have discussed the future, have made it perfectly clear that we like each other. But, we’ve been at this for MONTHS and he’s still not my “boyfriend” or really anything more than just a friend that I like. (And Steve Harvey says that when a man goes “all-in”, he’s not afraid to PROFESS that you are his woman… a.k.a. he will give you a TITLE.)

This “thing” I’m in is almost like having a crush. And I can’t imagine that I’ll be comfortable going on this way for much longer. So, I think the next step is to explain to this man that I can’t continue this type of “pseudo-relationship” any longer and that I need to know where this is going. I should’ve done this awhile ago, but I was afraid to take the risk of pushing him into something “official” before he was ready. So I’ve just remained silent and continued to go with the flow and hope against hope that he would finally see the light at some point and profess that he wants ME to be his “woman”.

He still hasn’t. *sigh*

And, so, I’m going to have to say something. I don’t want to, but this conversation that I’m planning will separate the boys from the men. The Older Man says that if you have to ask the question, you already know the answer. I hope this is the one thing he’s wrong on.

Not likely, since he’s been right on just about everything else up til now, but… *fingers crossed*

(Trivial) Pursuit

2009-03-16T20:55:00.000-04:00

I am so flattered that people have been asking when I was going to post again. I took almost a 2-week hiatus because I just couldn’t think of anything to write about. I mean, sure, the men in my life have given me PLENTY of interesting topics to discuss, but I lost motivation for a few days. It’s back now, I think.

So, here we go…

I’ve recently had the opportunity to converse with a man almost 10 years my senior. It seems that this decade really makes a difference in terms of our perspectives on dating and relationships. The Older Man sometimes makes me forget that he is older because his outward appearance suggests that he is actually pretty young. But no dice. He’s near 40. And he’s actually quite wise when it comes to relationships.

We went out this weekend and had a really great conversation about all the things that women are doing wrong. He said a lot of things that made a lot of sense and a lot of things that took me completely by surprise.

One of the things he said about women was that we are taking all of the fun out of dating.

“Taking all the… what?” I ask, baffled.

“Well, my JOB is to pursue women. That’s what I’m supposed to do. But women throw themselves at me. This is not a compliment. I’m mentioning it because I hate it. If women make it easy for me then, essentially, I am jobless.”

Wow.

He went on to tell me that I should expect a man to pursue me and that I should allow the man to do so with little interference from me… because that’s what excites the man. To which, I replied, “But the men that I encounter almost act like they expect me to be the one doing the pursuing. They know they’re a hot commodity and they make ME work for their attention and affection. That’s why I’ve effectively given up on dating altogether.”

“Oh yes,” he chuckled. “The men of your generation are some interesting characters.”

“They don’t even buy drinks!”

“Really? Man… that’s… crazy.” He seems genuinely baffled by this piece of information.

But it’s true. A lot of men these days… especially those of my “generation” (a nod to the decade that The Older Man has on me)… expect to be the ones who are chased, not to be the ones doing the chasing. That sucks for me because it is not in my nature to pursue…I am not good at it. Perhaps, this is why I am single.

Shawna, a good friend of mine, actually had a man TELL her that he thought she should be the one pursuing him. Wayne, one of Shawna’s coworkers, had been asking her out for a few months and she had politely declined every invitation. Finally, she decided that the next time he asked, she would give-in and go out with him just once to see if he was worth her time and attention. One day, he called her and asked if he could buy her lunch.

“Hey Shawna, I was gonna grab some Chinese food for lunch,” he said. “How about I pick up something for you and bring it to your office. Then, we can have lunch together.”

“Sure,” said Shawna. “I’ll have whatever you’re having.”

“Great, see you soon!”

About 30 minutes later, they meet in a park across the street from Shawna’s building to have lunch together.

“So, now that I’ve bought you lunch, next time YOU can buy lunch for ME,” Wayne says.

Shawna, taken aback by his comment, continues to chew her food and decides not to respond.

“Did you hear me?” he asked. “I said that next time you can buy ME lunch.” Now, obviously Shawna heard him. They were sitting right next to each other at a table in the park and although the park was located in the middle of a large city and there was traffic noise to contend with, she had heard him loud and clear.

“Yes, I heard you. Don’t you think that you should take me out before we start talking about what I can do for you?” she asked.

“What?!” he exclaimed. “See, that’s what I’m talking about. You think you can just get a man by sitting around and letting him do all the work. YOU need to work on pursuing ME.”

Shawna started packing up her food, smiling sweetly all the while, gathered her things and prepared to go back to her desk.

“Thank you for lunch, Wayne,” she began. “But, I don’t think that we’re right for each other. Have a great one.” And with that, she turned on her heel and headed back inside.

My own personal experience with this happened just this evening with Charlie, a guy who’s been calling me for months. Now, Charlie calls… a lot. but when he calls, he has absolutely NOTHING to discuss with me. So, I honestly see his conversations as a waste of my time. But, every now and again when I have nothing else better to do, I might entertain one of his phone calls. At any rate, tonight, Charlie calls and after we exchange the usual pleasantries, we end up listening to each other breathe over the telephone line. The conversation was basically dead.

“Charlie, why do you call me if you have nothing to talk about?” I asked him.

“I’m not a phone person,” he says with a slight attitude. “I’d prefer to talk to you in person.”

“So, why don’t you make plans to speak to me in person? You don’t invite me out, but you complain that I’m ignoring you. Why don’t you make an effort more significant than dialing my telephone number?”

“Don’t blame it on me! You could plan something. Why don’t you ask ME out?”

“You are the man, Charlie!”

“Oooh. I’m ‘the man’. I forgot I was dealing with a DC woman.”

At this point, I was so angry that had I been a cartoon character you’d literally have seen smoke coming out of my ears. This dude has got to be kidding me. Why do I need to plan something for the two of us? Whatever happened to men taking responsibility for starting the relationship off on the right foot? Whatever happened to flowers, candy, love songs, good old fashioned courting?

I know that we’ve been taught that we, as women, need to take the reins in our relationships. And I do agree… to an extent. Like, I think that we should let our intentions be known up front, I think that we should set standards so that men know what we can and cannot tolerate in a relationship, I think that we should require men to come correct, but I do not think it should be the woman’s responsibility to pursue her partner. I think that The Older Man has a point… in a way, it emasculates the man. And no real woman wants to date a eunuch.

Men, stop being lazy already. I mean, really. Woo me, dammit! Show me that I’m the one that you want to be with. Let me know that you think I’m worth the effort… if you’re trying to get into my pants, which – let’s face it – is the ultimate goal almost 100% of the time… there is no greater aphrodisiac than true romance. Put in the work and you WILL reap the words.

I don’t know about the rest of you, but I have had it with passive men. Maybe it really is a problem that plagues the men of my “generation”. Or, maybe it has nothing to do with the age and/or race of the man and more to do with his character.

Either way, I’m going to learn to be more discerning. And the next man that indicates that he’s the one that deserves to be pursued can see himself right out of my life.

The Rare Find

2009-03-03T19:36:00.002-05:00

So, today, I discovered something that truly shocked the hell out of me. Honestly, not much shocks and/or surprises me anymore… especially when it comes to men… and this particular thing that I learned did, in fact, involve a member of the other gender.

Remember when I told y’all about the dude that actually WANTED to exit the dating game to settle down and get married? And remember I told you about how great he was and how he was so smart, and educated, although he was a lazy Christian, but still a good catch and an overall rare find? And remember, again, when I told you that he wasn’t interested in me?

Well, I was wrong.

No, I wasn’t wrong about the fact that he actually WANTS to get married. He does.

And I wasn’t wrong about him being great, and smart, and educated, and a Christian (albeit a lazy), or about him being a good catch and an overall rare find. He is.

But guess what? Turns out he might’ve been interested in me after all.

Go figure.

The reason he’d not expressed this interest to me before was because he’d asked our mutual friend for my phone number some time ago and she quizzed him for 30 minutes about his intentions. I love that girl. She’s no-nonsense. I remember the mutual friend mentioning to me that Rare Find had asked for my number. She told me that she’d questioned him at length about why he would need my contact info and he said he needed to “ask [me] a question”. I didn’t think much of it at the time. After all, I’d encountered him at plenty of events that we’d both attended over the years and he never seemed to pay me even a little bit of attention. So, I figured that he, indeed, just needed to “ask [me] a question”. I told her it was cool to give him my number. He never called. Said question was never asked. Life moved on.

Rare Find stressed to me that he does not have “permission” to pursue any of our mutual friend’s friends (he was friends with our mutual friend first, obviously). And, I can TOTALLY respect that. The last thing I’d want is for us to become involved and then for things to get ugly and THEN for things to get weird between the three of us. Three's a crowd. And, that’d be no fun at all.

He told me that he’s thought I was adorable since he first laid eyes on me.

Like, whoa! Really? Mmmkay. I like the sound of that.

Later in the conversation, he mentions, again, that he’s found me adorable since Day 1. I blush uncontrollably in an “aww shucks”/ “golly, these compliments are too much for me to handle” type of way, which he finds even more adorable. A lot of “adorable” gets thrown around and, even though it sounds a lot like “cute”, which we all know I hate, and it’s not really the equivalent of “beautiful” or “sexy”, I know a compliment when I hear one and I gladly accept it.

But, by Rare Find’s own admission, he actually isn’t the nice guy that I think he is. (I believe this is a bunch of bullshit… he is actually a kind man with a beautiful mind, but if he wants to believe he’s a bona fide heartbreaker with quintessential asshole qualities, I’m gonna let him live.) Rare Find told me that he thinks that I’m an “angel” and because he’s not… well, he’s no “demon”, but he’s no “angel” (according to his own assessment, mind you)… he wants to save me the heartbreak of getting involved with him. He doesn’t do so well with “nice girls”.

Okay.

Whatever.

I’ve learned the hard way that, as the saying goes, “when someone tells you who they are, believe them the first time”. No sense waiting around to see if he’s telling the truth. He likely is. Although I consider myself to be a good judge of character and I think he’s harmless, I’ll take his word that he’s a d-bag.

I am saddened that I missed out on an opportunity with him. I still think he’s a decent catch and I’d love to have been the one who caught him (or, in this case, perhaps, the one who got caught). But just knowing that he found me interesting (and “adorable”) enough to even ask for my phone number – even though he never used it – is comforting. (Maybe I'm the marrying kind after all!) And being reminded of all those good things - like the fact that in at least one person's eyes, I'm "adorable") about myself did a whole lot for the ol’ self-esteem... if you know what I mean.

(Self) Doubt

2009-02-25T22:16:00.002-05:00

So, I know you all remember me mentioning that Mystery Man reads my blog. When he told me that he read it, the conversation went something like this:

MM: [in mid-thought about a totally different subject] … I read some of your blog today.

BG: Really?

MM: Yeah… I read about your emotional cleansing and Mystery Man and some other posts.

BG: Oh yeah? And?

MM: Oh, you expected a review?

*slightly embarrassed silence*

BG: Uh… no. I just thought you were going somewhere with that.

MM: Oh no. I wasn’t. *thoughtful silence* You’re a very brave writer.

“Brave”?

I suppose that was intended as a compliment (I didn’t ask), but I was expecting… something else. Maybe “funny” or “engaging” or “talented”, but what I got was “brave”. For some reason, I felt discouraged by that. I don’t know why.

He’d asked if he could read my blog one night awhile back before we decided that we were interested in each other, and without hesitation, I said yes. But by the end of that same night, my feelings toward him had changed and I never took the initiative to give him a link to the blog. Not because I was afraid for him to read anything I’d written, but moreso because I was frightened that he’d think that what I’d written wasn’t good enough. But, it wasn’t hard to find the blog, especially since I post announcements about the blog in my Google Talk status and on Twitter AND the link is on my Facebook profile.

And anyway, I’d suspected that one day he’d ask again if he could read the blog and that after I got over my initial self-doubt, I would give him the link without any serious second-thoughts just because I trust him that much. Afterall, I feel kinda like Erykah Badu when she said, “I’m an artist and I’m sensitive about my shit.” I mean, I have this huge fear of not living up to the expectations of others. I am a good writer and I don’t apologize for the fact that I genuinely believe that with all my heart. Am I a GREAT writer? Well, that remains to be seen. But what I do know is that I love writing and when I can muster up enough creativity and motivation, I do it as much as I can. Still I didn't want him to think I was crazy for all the shit that I say on here and I was really very worried that he'd think I was a talentless hack that was doing nothing but wasting her time on this writing thing.

Because I feel so strongly about writing as my creative outlet, I guess I was just a little disappointed about the fact that he really didn’t have anything else to say about it at the time… other than that I was “brave”. He’s said that I’m a good writer before, I think (now, of course, the only thing I can remember is the “brave” comment, but I’m almost positive that he’s said something encouraging about my writing… probably many times… in the past) but I was a little taken aback by the fact that after he read the blog, the most descriptive word he could come up with was “brave”.

Plus, I am FAR from brave… believe me! Why do you think I post this shit as “Brown Girl”? ‘Cause I’m scared to be completely honest AND have my name associated with that honesty. That’s right… SCARED, not “brave”!!

Maybe my “bravery” was in my word choice? After all, he did read all about me giving people "A Piece of My Mind"… and while I didn’t intend for it to be bitchy, it definitely came off that way to a lot of people. And I guess bitches are brave, right? But, I’ll stress… that post was an EXERCISE. That’s it. And I’ll also let you all in on a little secret – in at least two of those opinionated blurbs, I was writing about MYSELF. See if you can guess which ones are about me…

I’d like to think that one day I’ll be more than just a “good” writer. One day, I’d like to be GREAT. And, I do believe that I’ll get there. I just need to find my voice, and I also need to garner the discipline that it takes to perfect this craft. Even though I was kind of thrown off by the “brave” description, I’ve decided that I’ll take it as a compliment. After all, being brave means taking risks… it means going where others won’t… it suggests a certain level of boldness and confidence. I like it...

So, I guess I’ll be brave until I’m great. For now, that’s fine with me.

Pumping Gas

2009-02-18T22:03:00.004-05:00

For a few days, I’d lost my will to blog. Why? Well, because I realized… sadly… that blogs are like opinions and buttholes: everybody has one. (Paraphrasing a saying that my father used to use.) Seriously, though, I have recognized that just about everyone I know has a blog, or is planning to start a blog in the near future. And, I fully encourage everyone to blog! Really, I do. Blogging is truly a therapeutic experience… to see your thoughts and opinions – uncensored – in print and to know that the world could be (but probably isn’t) reading your most personal and astounding admissions. Well, I think it’s great. Obviously, I find some joy in it because – as a very smart man recently reminded me – I continue to do it. For free. And with little assurance that anyone even cares or enjoys what I am writing. I guess that has to mean something, right?

And when my friend pointed out that clearly there is something about my personality that drives me to even WANT to share the most intimate details of my life, I felt the need to search my soul to figure out just what motivates me to continue to do this. There are days when I don’t want to post and mostly on those days, I just don’t (in the last few years I’ve had more of those days than I would have liked). And then there are days that I don’t want to post, but I do it anyway because I am committed to keeping this blog afloat.

But why? Who knows. I drive myself crazy with this back-and-forth about why I blog, what it all means, what it tells me (and others) about myself, etc. So, I'm gonna stop asking... for now. Anyway, since I'm questioning my desire to continue to chronicle my life online, I had a really hard time coming up with a post. I went back and read a few old posts that I had saved on my laptop... and I realized that this one below was never posted. And it's over a year old. I remember the day to which I refer in the post like it was yesterday, which is sort of funny. Oh well.

The post:

So today, the most annoying thing happened. Not that it hasn’t happened before, it’s just that today I found it particularly disturbing.

I was driving and realized that I only had a quarter tank of gas. I never let my car get down to less than a quarter tank per instructions from my late uncle – my mom’s baby brother – who had to come and pick me up and take me to the gas station when my car ran out of gas on Sixteenth Street when I was in high school. He told me to never let my tank get to less than half a tank and then I wouldn’t ever have this problem again. And, so far, I’ve taken heed. There is nothing worse than the feeling I felt as an extremely young looking 16 year old, dressed in a Catholic school uniform, sitting inside of an SUV that is blocking rush hour traffic on a major thoroughfare waiting for her uncle to come and rescue her. This is why I swung my new car into the first gas station that I saw.

I hop out and begin to fiddle with my car. Truthfully, my car is so good on gas that I’ve only had to fill-up once since I’ve had it, so I had forgotten which side the tank was on AND how to open the damn thing. So, I’m standing out there fiddling with stuff and I notice a guy about my age pull up to the pump on my left. I continue to fiddle and look for things and I could tell he was checking me out. In my heart there is a glimmer of hope that, perhaps, he might say something to me. And, in that moment, I realize that my loneliness has finally gotten to me and I am now officially desperate, which is scary. A few seconds later, I realize that it’s not so much that I am lonely OR desperate, it’s that my friend Kyra and I keep saying that maybe we’ll run into our next (in)significant other at the grocery store or the gas station, so it’s best to keep one eye open and to always be looking your best.

Anyway, said guy gets out of his car (a Dodge Magnum – for the record I was not impressed with it) and looks over at me.

“Hello,” he says.

“Hello,” I say curtly, still fidgeting with the pump.

He walked right past me into the 7-11 where the gas station attendant was located (this was a gas station/7-11 convenience store combo). I guess he was only exchanging pleasantries, and not trying to spark a conversation after all. Well, I’m ok with that. I’m only here to get gas and I’m trying to convince myself that I am not desperate for thinking that just because I see a man my age without a wedding ring that it means he may be my future husband, so I went about my business and finished pumping gas. I wanted a receipt, but the printer in the pump wasn’t working, so I had to go inside the 7-11 to get a copy.

As I was crossing the parking lot to get into the 7-11, I noticed a man get out of a BMW station wagon, open the passenger door and help a young, pregnant woman out, kiss her on the mouth, and watch her walk toward the 7-11.

I get near the Beamer and the man says, “Did you drop that?”

I didn’t answer because I was certain that I didn’t drop anything, and so I figured he must’ve been speaking to someone else.

“Hey,” he said.

I turn around, thoroughly confused. “Yes,” I answer.

“I think you dropped something,” he says slyly, and a slow grin spreads across his face.

Just in case I’m wrong, I check the ground behind me and around me and don’t see anything at all on the ground.

“I think you’re mistaken,” I say, continuing my trek to the 7-11.

“I think you dropped my number,” he chuckles. “Come on, talk to me for a minute,” he pleads.

I stop for a second because I’m sure that this is not happening. Not only was the young lady he kissed on the mouth currently knocked up, but there is also a baby seat in the back of the station wagon, which means that they’ve already popped out one kid. He can’t be serious. But… I think he is. I checked his left ring finger and there, in all its glory, was a very conspicuous gold wedding band.

“I think you need to be concerned about your wife and kids,” I say, and continue walking. When I reach the door of the 7-11, I turn and look over my shoulder and dude is standing next to the Beamer, watching me. I am heated. I roll my eyes and walk to the cashier. The man’s preggy wife walks past me and brushes me with her belly.

“Excuse me,” she says, and smiles sweetly.

I feel terrible. And I didn’t even DO anything. But her man… her man! How could he be so obvious about his trifling ways? Now, suppose I had stopped to talk to him as he requested. His wife was just a few feet away inside the 7-11 and could’ve walked out and caught us talking at any moment. I wonder how he would’ve played it off. I’m positive he would’ve found a way to talk himself out of hot water. I know I’m not the first woman he tried this with, so I’m sure he has worked out all manner of alibis.

As I was driving home, I began thinking of that conversation that I had with Agent all those years ago. Maybe Agent did the right thing by walking away from “the one” because he wasn’t ready. I mean, after all, if he had stuck around and wifed her, it’s possible that he could’ve been the man with the Beamer in the gas station parking lot. And that would’ve just been sad.

Just yesterday, the very married Governor of New York admitted that he had been involved in a sex scandal involving high priced prostitutes. His wife sucked it up, and stood by her man during the press conference where the governor made his announcement. It was really quite sad and I’m sure she had to swallow a LARGE amount of her pride and I’m certain that it left a bad taste in her mouth. In the wake of this scandal, people everywhere are discussing why politicians always fall prey to this demon of infidelity. According to statistics given on the TODAY Show this morning (during a segment that sought to answer why men cheat – a topic that was derived from the governor’s announcement) approximately 33 percent of married men cheat. In other words, one-third of married men cheat, which means that 1 in 3 married men cheat. So, the next time you are in the grocery store or the gas station or coffee shop, count the first man you see, then the second, and then the third. And then think that if all three of those men were married, at least one of them will eventually cheat (or already has).

Sobering thought, isn’t it?

Things to Do Before 30

2009-02-12T16:48:00.001-05:00

A very significant birthday is approaching. In June, I’ll be 30.

Let that sink in...

Man, I don’t know why 30 freaks me out so much. I just remember when my brother turned 30… I thought “Wow… he’s so old. That’s so sad. He’ll never have fun anymore!” How funny! Now, here I sit, staring down the barrel of the 30 year old gun.

My cousin and I are six months apart and he turned 30 on January 2. My aunt had a party for him and I was at that shin-dig when it hit me – in half a year, I’ll have reached my “scary” age. Why is 30 so scary, though? I mean, my cousin wasn’t afraid to turn 30. But he’s a guy... and no matter what anyone says, I’ll always defend my position that men and women feel differently about aging.

As I told the Mystery Man: Men age like a fine wine… they get better with time. Women age like… bananas. There is nothing good about an old banana.

I firmly believe this. As men age, they become “distinguished”. As their faces wrinkle, they are told that the wrinkles build “character”. Now, give me a synonym for “distinguished” as it relates to women. No such word exists. All words used about older women possess some sort of negative connotation. And, Lord knows that if wrinkles cause a face to develop “character”, then “character” is a woman’s worst nightmare – as evidenced by the myriad ads for Botox and wrinkle cream that litter the media.

Women have been taught that they should not embrace the aging process, but rather that they should fight it tooth and nail, every step of the way. And even though I think that phenomenon is really unfortunate and it makes me sad, the fact remains that I still look like I’m 12, so I’m not really worried about the physical effects of the aging process… yet. So, why exactly does 30 freak me out so much?!

I took some "me" time to reflect on a number of things this past weekend. Since my 30th birthday is never far from my mind these days, it was definitely on the agenda. What I realized is that - to me - 30 signifies adulthood. I still TO THIS DAY, feel like a kid sometimes. Sure, I have my days when I feel mature and independent, but for the most part (aside from a hefty dose of additional wisdom gained from just living) I still feel the same way I did when I was 21.

And you know, I always thought of myself as having “older” parents (when compared to the parents of my peers) and I was born when my mother was 29 years old. She was the same age that I am now when she brought me into this world. And, I’ll be honest… I cannot even imagine what I would do with a child if I popped one out right now. I am not financially or professionally or emotionally ready to handle a child. And I feel like I should be ready by now. I'm 30-friggin-years-old!!!

At 30, people stop calling you "young", and you damn sure aren’t classified as a “kid” anymore. Because I look so young, I am often carded at bars and restaurants. But, as soon as the server looks at my birthday, they are embarrassed to have asked. I am SUPER of-age… I've had the right to consume alcohol for almost 10 years!

I guess I feel weird because none of the things I thought I’d have accomplished by now have been accomplished. There are no children on the horizon… I’m not where I want to be in my career… my significant other is extremely INsignificant a.k.a. non-existent. Maybe if I had those things in place, 30 wouldn’t be so scary. Besides, now I look at my brother and I realize that his life didn’t really begin to take off until around 30. That’s when he really started becoming successful. And he didn't get married until he was 35. Of course, he’s also a man and I’ve already explained why that makes him different. I also think about the fact that my sister didn’t get married until she was 30 and my fist niece wasn’t born until my sister was about 34. That gives me some time to get my shit together... I guess...

I’m still trying to get used to this “growing up” thing. It happened so damn fast. Just yesterday, I remember wearing my hair in two pigtails to school and running through the sprinklers in my swimsuit. Now, I wear slacks and severe buns to work and the only time I get remotely close to being sprinkled with water is when I shower before heading out of the house.

Times, they are a-changing.

I’m afraid of getting “old” I guess (although even I will admit that 30 is not “old” per se). I’m not sure I’m ready for this transition into bona fide adulthood, but as my father always says – you either get old or die young. I’d say that, if I'm given a choice of those two options, I’m picking the getting old option every time. Hands down.

I didn’t post my new year’s resolutions this year, but I do feel like it’s important to document the goals you set out to achieve… mostly for the purposes of accountability. If I tell you all what I wish to accomplish I’ll work harder to meet those goals because I hope you’ll hold me to what I've set out to do. And, if I fail, I’ll feel like an ass. And I don’t like feeling ass-ish.

So, anyway, although I didn’t post resolutions, I did come up with this “Things to do Before 30” list. I created it about a year ago and have pretty much done nothing with it except pull it out and look at it every now and again and then kick myself for not taking any steps to accomplish anything on the list. I don’t think I’ve posted this before, so here’s the list:

1. Get out of debt
2. Travel to Europe (specifically Rome and Paris)
3. Become fluent in Spanish (Which now that I think about it will not actually be helpful to me during my travels to Italy & France. Whoops!)
4. Lose 20 lbs!
5. Learn to play the flute
6. Get published (in a magazine, book, whatever)
7. Learn to swim (I can swim, just not well)
8. Run a 5k

Boy, this list is ambitious! It wasn't ambitious when I wrote it... back then, it was definitely doable cause when I sat down and came up with the things I'd like to accomplish before I hit 30, I had plenty of time to achieve everything on this list. Unfortunately, I did what I've always done, which is procrastinate like it's my JOB and wait until the last minute to get started on anything.

So, let's review this list piece by piece:

1. This is the one thing I've pretty much accomplished. Mind you, here, I am only referring to personal debt, which is just my credit card debt and a few small personal loans that I took out for school. I am almost finished with all my credit card debt... and I owed a lot, so I am really proud of myself for that. The rest still needs some work.

2. I probably will not be able to travel to Europe before June because, well... because it's already February and I haven't asked for the time off from work, bought a plane ticket, made a hotel reservation, or renewed my passport. So... I'm pretty certain that Europe isn't happening by June. Scratch that one off the list.

3. My mother bought me Rosetta Stone Spanish CDs for my birthday last June because I told her I wanted to try to become fluent in the language. I maybe used them twice. They're currently in the drawer of my bedside table... and they're basically brand new. I should be ashamed of myself.

4. Losing 20 lbs. A coworker once said that she quantified her weight by comparing it to those one-pound packages of ground beef at the grocery store. If you tried to think about what a pound consists of in your head, it's hard to picture and it doesn't seem like much, but when you think about the fact that for every pound you've shed you've gotten rid of something comparable to a package of ground beef, that's pretty impressive! So, 20 packages of ground beef? That's a lot of frigging meat! Now I'm intimidated. Forget 20! At the rate I'm going, I'll be happy if I lose two. 'nuff said.

5. I've wanted to play the flute since I was a kid, but my parents thought the clarinet was more "practical". (I'm not really sure what their reasoning was, but back then I didn't ask questions... I just did what I was told!) Anyway, I promised myself that someday I'd learn to play. And, I set up some private lessons and everything, but I never went. I'm not sure why. By the time June rolls around, if I really try hard, I might be able to play "Mary Had a Little Lamb". If I learn one basic song, that still counts as "playing the flute", right?

6. It occurs to me that I've already been published... sorta. My friend has a blog and I wrote for her a couple times and I guess that counts. Then, there's this blog right here. I guess that sorta counts, too. But I meant it would be cool to see my name in print. I'd like to be published in a magazine or a newspaper or an official news website... not just a blog. I'm still working on that and I hope to have that nailed down by June for sure.

7. Okay, so I can swim enough to save my life, but I can't swim-swim. Like, you'll never catch me just doing leisurely laps in the pool. I want to get to that point. Can I get there by June? I'm not sure. Maybe if I start tomorrow... like, literally TOMORROW, I could get to that point by June. But I just got my hair done yesterday, so I probably won't start tomorrow cause that would be wasting the money I spent in the salon. Damn... I'm already making excuses. So, I guess we'll wait and see how this goal goes, but let's face it - it's not looking good.

8. I have always wanted to be a runner. I have so much admiration for people who go for a run and then feel GOOD afterward. I run (okay... let's be honest, I don't run. I wog.) and feel like I want to pass out, or run/wog and feel like I want to throw up. But I NEVER run/wog and feel good after. So, first of all, I'd like to run, NOT wog. And second, I'd like to run and feel good about it at the end! So, I've started this running program. And now, instead of wogging, I am trotting (not yet jogging). I'm hoping that in the next four months, I'll be able to RUN. Pray for me.

Well, after a quick review, it turns out that I'm not doing so hot with my list. I was probably better off not publishing it here, but now you know what I hope to accomplish and now you can scold me if I don't... or, if you're nice, you can just encourage me along the way as I attempt to at least make a little bit of progress on this list. I'll be back with regular updates, but I really need to get a handle on this if I hope to accomplish any of this stuff by June! Damn me and my lofty goals!

Words of Advice for Daddy's Little Girl

2009-02-04T14:13:00.009-05:00

So, I’ve recently discovered that my “Mystery Man” (remember him?) reads my blog. I don’t know how long he’s been reading or how much he’s read, but I know he’s reading. I don’t think it’ll change the way that I write, but it might. I can’t lie. For some reason, I care too much about what he thinks of me. And he always seems to be “discovering” things about me from what I write. We communicate a lot through writing (which could be our first mis-communication issue!), and he is always catching me with my damn foot in my mouth. And the worst taste in the world is that of your own foot! I want to stop inserting my foot in my mouth. Honestly, I do. I believe in the power of words, yet, for some reason, I am consistently careless with them. I'm gonna try to get better, though, I really am. I think part of the issue is that I've got to learn to think things out BEFORE I speak. Novel idea, huh? I've done this more than a few times recently – was careless with words. I fly off at the mouth (or at the keyboard) and then have to backtrack, explain, and apologize. Boooo! Hopefully, I won't have to do that anymore...

Anyway, I had a conversation with a male friend about relationships recently, and I was explaining to him that I keep falling for guys that aren't necessarily as into me as I am into them. I don't know how/why it keeps happening, but it does! (Sadly, this thing with "Mystery Man" is no exception!) And, this guy says to me "Didn't your daddy school you about the game?"

Well, yes. Yes, he did. My father taught me many things about dating and relationships... admittedly, some of it went in one ear and out the other, but I retained a lot of it. Actually, I think that the lessons that I learned from my father (and my grandfather, and my brother, and my cousins) actually saved me from a lot of potential heartbreak that I instead avoided as a result of heeding their advice. They put the lessons out there and I learned them... most of the time - because they'd shared their knowledge with me - I didn't have to learn the hard way! But, some of the hurt was unavoidable. Women have feelings... we meet great guys (or at least guys we THINK are great at the time) and we get caught up. That's life.

I'll never forget when I got dumped for the first time by my middle school boyfriend, Chase. Valentina delivered the news and I was devastated. I cried for days... maybe even a week (I was 13, hormonal, and had just had my heart broken for the first time... gimme a break!). My dad listened to me sob about how hurt I was, and he awkwardly hugged me and rubbed my back, and told me that "this isn't the end of the world", and that I was "the prize and it's his loss". Then, he told me that all boys wanted to do was get into my pants anyway and they'd say anything to get access to my goods. I was 13 and afraid of anything below the belt, so I didn't necessarily believe him. But when I got to be about 14.5 years old and started getting a little more bold with mine, I had a crush on this dude who tried telling me all sorts of false information in an effort to be my "first". And, every time my heart would flutter at the bullshit he was feeding me, I'd hear my dad's voice telling me that this dude was full of shit and I should proceed with caution. Needless to say, I held out for several more years and that conniving boy in particular never got close to my goodies. Thanks, Dad!

Anyway, after reflecting on my father's efforts to protect me from heartbreak got me to thinking... there are rules to this here game called love, right? So, if my guy friends were given a chance to formulate a list of lessons they'd like to teach their daughters, what would that list include? I posed the question to some guy friends and they came up with the lists below.* Do you agree with anything here? Disagree with anything? Wish to add lessons of your own?

Take a look!

1. Most men only want 1 thing
2. Never depend on a dude for anything
3. Whenever you go out with a dude keep money on your person in case he tries some BS.
4. Always keep pepperspray/mace/tazer/stun gun.
5. Learn how to fight (my daughter's gonna learn how to kick some ass male or female).
6. Don't be as pathetic as these women
7. Don't do anything to embarass Daddy.
8. I have no problem disowning you if you violate rule number 7.
9. Dudes ain't shit and your daddy's included.
10. Fuck dudes get money.

1) all men want is sex.
2) we will tell you anything to get it
3) men will only change when they want to on their terms
4) only way to really tell if he cares about you is to take sex out of the equation and see if he still tries to "earn" you
5) we are not above saying we love you when we do not mean it as long as it keeps you docile
6) men judge things in terms of power relationships and results. if we know we can cheat and you will take us back, we will cheat.
7) if he REALLY loves you, he will always put you first. i know some DAMNED good men out there but the woman don't ever appreciate them.
8) stop dyckriding alpha males. they get away w/ murder because they know women are desperate for them
9) being single is a PRIVILEGE. most of your friends in relationships are miserable as hell
10) don't let other chicks tell you about dudes cuz they aren't holding their own shyt down right 90% of the time

10. Men cheat
9. Men tell there friends everything, unless they really like a girl
8. Men dont believe in emotionally cheating
7. Not all men are the same, but 95% of them are.
6. You cant change a man.
5. Men can smell desperation and insecurity.
4. Trapping a man is the worst thing you can do.
3. Take your time when dealing with a guy. Go Slow. (In all aspects)
2. Love and respect yourself more than anything else.
1. If you are into/attracted to a guy, 2000 other women are too.

1. Make sure he Loves God, good character, and is attractive to you and your values.
2. See how dude treats people who can't do anything for him. If he is kind and can have conversations with janitors, trash men, etc, then he has character.
3. Dress to attract the type of man you want.
4. Read Proverbs 31. Do that.
5. Look up to your moms who ... Read Moreare the best role models.
6. Study the career of Jurnee Smollett. That girl has got it going on in every way.
7. Have your own identity apart from your man. He will respect you more for that.
8. Make sure he is a clean and tidy dude. Nothing worse than a messy man.
9. Cook for him on occasion, and have a lot of sex (after married).
10. I'll kill anyone who hurts you, so pick a good one.

1) Men are good at Math (There's a 10:1 chick to dyck ratio, you're replaceable)
2) Although men are good at math, you do not have to settle
3) Men are selfish
4) Want to find out if a man is really into you? Make him wait for sex (not all men are patient enough to wait you out AND play the numbers game on the side)
5) Make sure your man handles business like me! (I plan on being a model citizen by then, lol)
6) Always have your own money, especially on the first date (You don't want him feeling entitled to "more" just b/c he let you supersize...also may need cab fare home if he's acting up)
7) Men will sleep with girls, but marry women...RESPECT YOURSELF!
8) Do not compromise who you are to fit one man's requirements
9) Refers to #6, allow a man to be a man (i.e. provide, take care of you, etc.) but NEVER become dependent on him
10) You're daddy's "little" girl (and daddy has a BIG gun!)

1. The importance of family. How one treats their family is how one will treat you.
2. All men are attracted to one thing at first meeting you. But that does not mean that he is not going to get to know you.
3. #2 gives you the power , watch my ACTIONS
4. Have respect for yourself and no one will be able to disrespect you
5. You can be fly but if you dont't carry yourself with dignity you will look like trash and trash will be attracted to you
6. Keep a positive attitude and treat all people equally because you never know who is who, no matter where you are or how they look.
7. Do You. Have goals, task and aspiration to accomplish on a daily basis and you will attract the same type of individual.
8. You can fall in love more than once, FOCUS

1. Your confidence and self-respect should do a good job eliminating the type of guys you do not want.
2. Don't look to TV for your model life.
3. Listen to me and your mother!
4. Try to walk the line of being stern without being rude.
5. Smile. Look happy.
6. Listen well. If it sounds like a duck and looks like a duck...
7. Stay focused. Keep things in perspective.
8. Talk to other people! Especially us!! (a wise person has many counsellors)
9. After a date, keep the goodbye short. LOL Long goodbyes turn into other things.

*I didn't edit these lists at all, so please forgive any weird formatting or typos. These are the exact words of the guys who wrote these lists with no interference from me.

The one time I'll blog about work...

2009-01-31T10:35:00.002-05:00

So one of my friends has been pushing me to post more regularly. And I love her for it. My last post was on a Tuesday. By Thursday, I got an email from her asking me when I was going to put up new material. I didn’t get around to it until Saturday. Now, I’m gonna tell you… I had that post written for days. But my laptop is having technical difficulties. It no longer connects to the internet! I am going to have to do something about this as soon as possible. I am like a lost soul without the internet. It’s really pathetic. But, without the internet, I have been so creative! It’s really been amazing how much writing I can do when I’m not interrupting my flow to check my Facebook account every five minutes. That damn Facebook… it’s an addiction, I tell ya!

Friday was one of the most uneventful days I’ve ever had at work. My office and my boss’s office are separated by a super-long hallway. But that doesn’t mean that it keeps us from being in touch. Oh no! If she wants me, she’ll shoot me an email about this or that, she’ll stomp (because even though she’s small and thin, she stomps everywhere) her way down to my office, or she’ll call me. About random shit. Okay, I deal with it because that’s my job. But on Friday, I didn’t get any of that from her. In fact, I barely heard a peep from her all day. I wasn’t complaining, that’s for sure.

I did my work, went to lunch with some coworkers, and caught up on what some of my favorite bloggers were saying. It wasn’t until the end of the day that something out of the ordinary occurred.

Now, I leave everyday at 5:30pm. During my busy season, sometimes I don’t leave the office until well after 6:30. But recently, things have been slow and overtime is no longer approved. So, you know what that means… I start gathering my things at about 5:25pm, then I sit in my chair until the clock reads 5:30pm – on the dot – and then I clock out. (Yes, I punch a clock. Yes, it is bullshit. Don’t ask.) They won’t get a minute more out of me if I’m not getting paid for it!

Anyway, Friday, I was working on a spreadsheet up until 5:30pm and that’s when The Boss called. Now, The Boss, is not to be confused with my boss. The Boss is actually my boss’s boss. Okay, so you all know that the Brown Girl doesn’t take any shit off of ANYBODY. But, for some reason, The Boss really intimidates me. And, I’m not easily intimidated, so you know she must be a ballbuster. First of all, she’s HUGE. Both tall and heavy. She was born and raised in NYC, so she has a thick accent and a very direct way of talking to people. She wears many hats, so she doesn’t have a lot of time to play around and she lets that be known. Whereas my boss is warm and fuzzy, this woman is cold and distant. But, hey, I’m not here to be her friend. I work for her. That’s it.

My boss does a very good job of shielding me and my assistant from The Boss. We rarely deal with her directly. But, every once in a while, we will have to field a phone call from her or respond to an email from her. Now, I, for one, have NEVER had a good experience with her. For some reason, whenever she’s around, I get flustered, I never have anything worthwhile to contribute to a conversation that she’s a part of, and I always seem to be incapable of doing the smallest things. Friday was no exception to this general rule.

So, The Boss calls me at 5:31pm. Ordinarily, I would’ve been out the door and in the elevator bank by this time… especially on a Friday during the non-busy season. But this particular Friday, I happened to be sitting at my desk at 5:31. And immediately when I see her name on my caller ID, I feel a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach. I have no clue why she has this effect… I’ve never felt like this about a “superior” before.

I don’t know why I answered the phone. I could’ve just pretended I had left for the evening. It would’ve been perfectly acceptable. But, I did. And, boy did I regret it.

“I can’t find your boss,” she says. “She just sent me this email with a spreadsheet and I need to know what it represents. I just sent you the email she sent me. Can you look at it and tell me what this is supposed to mean.”

I fumble my way through opening my email and I see that it’s a spreadsheet that our assistant has created, not me. I breathe a sigh of relief. I am not the culprit here. “Um… it looks like…” I stammer.

“Oh. Your boss is calling now on my other line. Do you want to conference her in?”

“Sure,” I say.

“Do you know how to conference?” she asks.

“Of course,” I say, clicking over to connect the calls.

So, I hit the second line on my desk phone and dial my boss’s number. But nothing happens. So, I dial it again. Still nothing. I end that call. I press the button for my second line again and all I hear is silence. There is no dial tone. Shit. The Boss is on the first line. I think I might have to end that call in order to conference. No, it can’t be that complicated. I’ve done this a million times before. Why can’t I get a fucking dial tone!

Now, I consider myself to be a pretty smart chick. My teachers wanted me to skip first and second grade, but my mom declined for fear that I’d miss out on important “socialization skills” that children learn in early childhood education (whatever that means). I was in gifted and talented programs all throughout elementary school. I graduated high school with honors. I was in an honors living/learning community in college. I was educated at one of the top 15 law schools in the nation, where I made pretty decent grades. I passed the Maryland bar exam on my first try and scored high enough to waive into the DC bar. I can write. I am a damn good presenter. I can do wonders with a PowerPoint presentation. I can work an Excel spreadsheet like it’s nobody’s business. And now I can’t figure out how to connect two calls on a fucking land-line phone?? I felt like I was trapped in a very un-funny episode of “The Office” or maybe even “Candid Camera” (do they even still make that show?).

It seemed like minutes had gone by (but looking back on it, I’m sure it was only seconds) and I still couldn’t get a fucking dial tone! I click back to the line where The Boss had been not-so-patiently waiting for me to play operator.

“Um, I can’t seem to connect the calls. My phone won’t let me conference her in,” I say weakly.

Now that I’m looking back on it, I wonder why I didn’t just say that my boss didn’t pick up the phone… or make up some other excuse that didn’t leave me looking like a complete retard. But, unfortunately, I was honest.

The Boss let’s out a loud impatient sigh.

“You should really get that fixed,” she said, clicking over to connect the calls herself.

I wasn’t sure if she was talking about my phone or my brain. I’m figuring she was referring to both.

In these economic times when people being laid off for the most basic shit… or, really, for no reason at all, this was not the opportunity for me to demonstrate my ineptitude to The Boss. It was definitely NOT my most shining moment. I am good at my job. I am. That’s just a fact. But, for some reason, The Boss rarely gets to see that.

In the grand scheme of things, I guess my little conference call mishap doesn’t really mean much. I produce results and, in a business sense, that’s all that I really need to define me. What I don’t want to happen, however, is that The Boss hears my name is mentioned and the first thing that comes to her mind is not my Excel and PowerPoint abilities, not my effective communication skills, not my management prowess, but rather “Oh, Brown Girl? Yes, that’s the young lady who doesn’t know how to operate the telephone.”

They DO Exist!

2009-01-30T21:41:00.007-05:00

You know that M&Ms commercial where the two M&Ms are discussing Santa and all of a sudden, Santa makes an appearance, and one M&M turns to the other and says "He DOES exist!" (referring to Santa) and then Santa mutters, "They DO exist" (referring to the talking M&Ms) right before he passes out on the spot from sheer surprise? Yeah, well… I find the concept of a good, professional, minority man of a certain age who actually wants to get married and settled down about as unrealistic as a walking, talking M&M. Mmmhmm… it's gotten THAT bad out here. I find the existence of anthropomorphic candy covered chocolate more believable than a smart, good-looking, professional Black man who is actually seeking a wife. Sad, isn't it?

I mean, when you are a minority man of a certain caliber in Washington, DC in particular, you really have your choice of equally impressive minority females. You can't walk two blocks on a DC street without running into 100 beautiful, independent, educated, professional minority women. The streets are also littered with an opposite sort of minority woman, but you're almost as likely to find a good one as you are likely to find a dud. I know I'm making some generalizations here, but I think if you talk to any aware man, woman, or child in the DC area, they will tell you that this much is true.

Now, most women, when they reach a certain age grow tired of the games and the competition, and they become enamored with the possibility of finding just ONE man who is interested in making them their ONE woman. You know, commitment, monogamy… all that jazz. To a woman, it sounds like paradise. To a man, it sounds pretty much like hell. As I've said before, there are distinct differences between how (some) men and (some) women view marriage. I've heard it said that to women, marriage is a beginning and to men, marriage is THE END.

You might be asking yourself: "The end of WHAT, exactly?” Well, the truth is that I don’t know and they don’t know either. For many women, life… REAL life… begins with marriage. For instance, I can show you at least 15 beautiful, smart, professional women who are just waiting for their “adult lives” to begin… and the first step in the direction is marriage. A law school friend and I used to have an “inside joke” about what law school meant to us. We both worked hard and hoped to be successful in our careers, but we both also admitted – on a regular basis – that law school was just a “space-filler” until we could get married and have kids.

Sure, we live the single life. We go out with our girlfriends, get cute, and socialize, the whole time hoping that this night we dressed cute enough for Mr. Wonderful to finally notice us, sweep us off our feet, and carry us off into the sunset to the land of (breast) milk, and honey (do lists). That quest for the perfect mate becomes the center of the world and consumes us. Our very happiness, our sense of completion, depends on whether we find that man, marry him, and build a family with him.

It is what it is.

Men, on the other hand, see marriage as the end of life as they know it. They don’t look at it with excitement, they face it with impending doom. And, as a result, they prolong the decision to get married… they hold off for as long as possible. They learn to love the single life and take full advantage of all the rights and privileges associated with that status. And, marriage signifies not an exciting new beginning with the woman they love, but the end of their perceived life of freedom to date whomever they so please. I call that freedom “perceived” because it’s not reality. Sure, theoretically, they could date anyone they please but, in reality, they can only date those women who are actually INTERESTED in them and… that’s number of women is a lot smaller than these men think! These guys mourn the end of being able to date the small number of women (What are we talking here? 5? Maybe… 6 women?) who are out there in the dating pool willing to date them.

I know there are exceptions to both of my general rules. There are women out there who couldn’t really give a flying fuck about finding a man. And, although I’d never personally encountered one, people alluded to the fact that there might be men out there… real, intelligent, good-looking, professional, respectful, funny, living, breathing men… who were looking forward to the prospect of marriage and who were actively seeking wives. Could this be true?

Well for years, I held out hope that I’d meet one of these men… that I would run into one at the supermarket or the gas station. And, I’m not selfish… I know that this is such a rare breed that, if this mythical man happened to be uninterested in making ME his wife, I surely wouldn’t have hesitated to introduce him to a girlfriend or acquaintance with whom he might wish to settle down. Hey, at least one of us could be happy, right?

But this kind of man turned out to be as elusive as a pot of gold at the end of a rainbow. I mean, sure, I've met men who pretended that they wanted to be married… men who claimed they were searching for a wife… but they were just in love with the CONCEPT of marriage, they didn’t really want the real thing. The thought of actually following through with a committed monogamous relationship with ONE woman (And believe it or not MEN… in order for a relationship to be monogamous it can involve ONLY one woman. Look it up!) was a bit too much for these guys to handle. For some reason, they just can't stand the thought of being "locked down" (notice the negative connotation there... marriage is NOT like being imprisoned, despite what some may think!).

The whole phenomenon is really discouraging and was making me wonder whether I'd ever encounter a man of a certain age who wants to... not even settle down with ME... but who wants to settle down. PERIOD.

So, imagine my surprise when I met one!

This guy is a friend of a friend... he's 37 years old, good looking, Black, Christian (although, admittedly, a LAZY Christian), educated at fine institutions, professional, no children, never been married before, not stingy with his money (praise Jesus), witty, and on the road to homeownership. Hallelujah!

So, how come I never noticed him before, right? Well, this guy does a pretty damn good job of disguising the fact that he's searching for a wife. (Does it really count if he's trying to do it on the low? Maybe it does, maybe it doesn't...) But, he had been dating this one woman for over a year and really loved her. He thought that relationship was leading toward the altar. Then, they broke up... (her choice, not his) and he was depressed for awhile. One of our mutual friends edits a blog and she asked this man to blog about his dating experiences after ending this particular relationship. So, he blogged. And it was funny. Hilarious, really. I had no clue that he had been writing. But he told me about the blog this week, which was almost six months after her wrote his last post in the series. I read his dating column and was surprised at how sincere this guy was about finding a wife. He is, like, really looking for someone to settle down with. Then, he goes on to prove my theory by saying that his guy friends all are wondering why in the world he would want to settle down (assholes!). He ignores their wonderment and continues to search. But, he claims he can't find a good woman to settle down with in DC, which surprises me because he hangs out with a ton of "good women" (including me).

Well, I'm not sure what he's looking for, but I know that he's looking for it. And that is ENcouraging. I also know that he's chosen to be abstinent while on the search for this future wife, which I just find so endearing. He's friggin awesome!

Anyway, I really hope he's successful... somebody out here deserves to be happily married to a guy like this!

So, no, he doesn't want to settle down with ME. But that's fine. Just knowing that this man is actively seeking someone to settle down WITH is enough.

And now, I can shout from the mountaintops: They DO exist!

Thank God.

Random Ramblings...

2009-01-27T00:12:00.025-05:00

Some of you thought that my New Year's "emotional detox" was a little harsh. I explained that the post was a mental and emotional exercise... it was a cleansing of sorts. I didn't say anything to be spiteful or mean. Hence, no names are mentioned and no identifying characteristics are shared (with the exception of the two very obvious blurbs about my Mom and Dad). I hope that nobody thinks I'm being purposely bitchy for what I wrote. As I've explained, this blog has become something like therapy for me... my very public "diary", if you will. I hope I don't share so much that it scares you away!

Now, in keeping with the "diary" theme... here are some brief updates about my life:

First of all, I'm getting fat. Okay, I've been fat... so this is not news. I guess it would be more accurate to say I'm getting fatTER. I'm not sure how this happened although I think it had something to do with the various holidays that have occurred over the last few months. Those damn holidays always set me up, man. I have a sweet tooth. I like sugar, but it doesn't like me. Unfortunately, I can't seem to get enough of sugar... but my hips are begging me to take it easy.

I have made a promise to myself that I will not shop for clothes at this size. I need some new jeans and a few new pairs of slacks for work. But I refuse to buy anything new and, instead, I've relegated myself to spandex (American Apparel is my best friend right now) until I'm back to a "normal" size. The other day, I went out with MBF wearing my signature leggings and he said, "I see you're wearing your favorite pants." He's an asshole, but I was sort of embarrassed that he noticed that my spandex was making a repeat performance. But, unless he's going to buy me new jeans with his own money, then he should really just shut the hell up! It's a good thing for me that leggings are currently considered stylish. But, knowing the fickleness of fashion, I'm sure that it'll only be a matter of time until they're passe again and I'll be an embarrassing fashion faux pas.

Next on the agenda: work. I am bored. My job doesn't challenge me. In fact, the only two challenging things about my job are

1) Making myself get up in the morning to GO to work.
2) Keeping myself awake when I get there.

Yeah. That's really it. My job is weird. The work ebbs and it flows. And when it flows... it really gushes. But when it ebbs, there is literally NOTHING to do! So, yeah. I basically have no excuse for not updating this blog on a more regular basis because I clearly have a whole hell of a lot of time on my hands to write and edit posts while I'm on the clock at work. But, that wouldn't be ethical... right? So, I'll keep my blogging to a minimum at work and instead use it to pass the time while I ride the Metro.

Ahhh... the Metro. My next topic of conversation. For those of you that know me, you'll know that I have a germ phobia. I cringe when people cough or sneeze in enclosed places, I nearly vomit if someone spits as they talk, I cannot stand to eat at buffets because the thought of all the hands that have touched the serving spoons drives me up the wall, I prefer for people not to wear shoes in my house and certainly NOT in my bathroom. I could go on and on. But, I have to relive what is essentially a germaphobic's wort nightmare... I have to ride the Metro.

This morning, I got on the Metro and there were a ton of sick folks. It had been flurrying outside and, there were a lot of people who were coughing and sneezing on the train. I noticed that the FOUR people who surrounded me (one in front, one to the left, one to the ring, and one behind me) were all coughing without covering their mouths (HUGE pet peeve of mine!), and continuously sneezing. I was surrounded. I'm thinking WTF?! Why are these bastards allowed on the train?! There should be a "sick car" just for people with sniffles and hacking coughs so they don't infect the rest of us with whatever germs they are carrying! Just for that, I came straight home from work and started gulping down Vitamin C and echinacea. I am NOT trying to get sick. But, sadly, I already feel the tickle in my throat. Thanks, you sick fuckers!

Finally, I'm realizing that the cost of living in DC is continuing to increase while my salary remains the same... and I'm pretty pissed about it. The other day, Karina sent me an email advertising the 2BR Brooklyn apartment that she's moving out of at the end of the month. She asked me to pass the ad around to my friends to see if anybody would be interested in subletting her apartment. I sent it to a group of professional (employed) young friends who all live in New York. The ad listed the 2BR/1BA apartment at $1295. Can you believe these people started complaining about the fact that $1295 for a 2BR apartment was expensive?! Please show me one liveable apartment building in DC that is currently renting a 2BR apartment for $1295. You won't be able to show me that. Because it doesn't exist! At least not in a neighborhood that isn't decidedly "fringe".

The bottom-line is, WE ARE GETTING RAPED IN DC. So, how come the cost of living continues to rise, but no companies are throwing cost of living increases into our paychecks? Honestly, as you all know, I don't even care for this city, so as soon as I identify someplace that's more reasonable, and more fun with a more defined culture, I'm out of here!

I am just generally annoyed about a bunch of things (as is apparent in this post). My life is good, though. No real complaints, just a couple of random thoughts.

The Boys Are Back in Town: The Return of Mr. Ex

2009-01-24T16:14:00.007-05:00

On Monday night, I ended up at an "Ethiopians for Obama" celebration on U Street. It was pretty random considering that I'm not anywhere close to being Ethiopian and I did little to help Obama get elected other than casting a vote in his favor on Election Day. Anyhow, the event was a ton of fun. Ethiopians really know how to party... Who knew?! The real news for Monday night was this: I ran into Mr. Ex's much saner, much more accomplished older brother at the party. He's ivy-league educated with an MBA (compare that to Mr. Ex's basic level of literacy) and his spirit is generally calmer than Mr. Ex's. If it wasn't for their dark and handsome good looks and charm, it'd be difficult to tell that they're even related.

Our encounter was awkward even though he and I had always been cordial even after my breakup with Mr. Ex, but I was thrown off by seeing him at this particular event (he is also NOT Ethiopian nor did he assist with the campaign) so our conversation was stilted. I noticed him watching me while I was making conversation with other partygoers and I knew that hed be texting Mr. Ex before the night was over with news of our run-in. That's why I was surprised - but not shocked - when Mr. Ex called me early the next morning.

I was watching CNN footage of President Obama leaving Blair House and on the phone with a friend when I got the call from an "unknown" number. Normally, I don't answer calls from blocked numbers, but I'd invited a number of people over to watch the Inauguration and I wasn't sure if maybe one of my guests was calling from an unfamiliar location. I answered and he said "Good morning [Brown Girl]. It's [Mr. Ex]. Happy Inauguration Day!". His voice was thick with sleep, so if he hadn't announced himself, I wouldn't have known it was him. He attempted to carry on a conversation with me, but I shut down every opening that he tried to create. He asked why I was being so short with him and I told him it was because we are not friends and that, from my perspective, there was nothing left to discuss. He asked if I still had his number. I'm not sure why, but I was honest with him. I told him that I did.
"Well, if you have my number, why don't you ever use it?" he asked playfully.

Dude, didn't I just tell you we have nothing left to talk about? I think to myself. But I don't say anything in response to that question.

He continues: "I think I'm still a great person and so are you and I always thought that, no matter what, we'd be close."

All I could do was laugh at that one. I mean, HE thinks HE is a "great person"?? That's pure comedy if I've ever heard it!

In his defense, he really sounded sincerely confused about why I wouldn't want to maintain a friendly relationship with him. In a way it was funny, so I laughed. He laughed, too.

Wow... this dude thinks I'm laughing with him when I'm really laughing at him. In a way, the whole phone call was just pathetic. Why wasn't he this interested in establishing a good rapport while we were together? Instead, he was off sticking it to the world... literally.

At any rate, I told him I was on the other line and had to go and he asked me if I would come to visit him in New York. I politely declined and, as I was hanging up, I heard him make a request for me to call him sometime. I've gotta give him credit for something - the dude is persistent, that's for sure!

I quietly reflected on that phone call for about two minutes, and then I allowed myself to once again get swept up in OBAMAnia. I spent the morning cleaning and the afternoon cooking for the friends who'd stopped by to watch the swearing-in and parade with me. We'd considered going down to the National Mall since it's only about 30 minutes away by Metro. But most of the natives I know decided to watch from home like everyone else across the world was doing. Sure, it would've been nice to BE there, but then I wouldn't have been able to SEE anything. With CNN, I had a front row seat!

At my house that day, everyone was in a jovial mood and we were all just in awe when Obama was sworn-in. Even when Justice Roberts flubbed, we just grinned through it. The time spent with friends and family was the perfect way to end such an amazing and historical weekend.

And, after I hung up with (on) Mr. Ex, I can honestly say I didn't think of him again for even a moment that day. I thought of him again a few days later when I decided to document the phone call in this post. But I can remember a time - and it wasn't too long ago - when any contact from him would've sent my world spinning off it's axis. I would've been second-guessing myself, analyzing every second of the conversation, or just would've been feeling generally BAD and uber-pensive. But, this time, I didn't even think about it. It was so irrelevant to me, I even forgot to mention it to my girlfriends until DAYS later (this was major).

It felt so liberating to not let him alter my mood. Just one word from him can turn me into a bitter, brooding, bitch... but not this time. My President is Black. On January 20, I was rejoicing. And nobody could take that joy away from me. Not even the infamous Mr. Ex.

To me, my reaction to his phone call was a sign of something...

Growth.

I like the way it feels.

Sent via BlackBerry from T-Mobile

OBAMAnia!

2009-01-24T11:59:00.002-05:00

Monday through Friday, I rely on DC public transportation to get me to and from work. I ride the Red Line, which has to be one of the most traveled Metro lines in the whole Metro system. Nearly every morning, there is some sort of delay that prevents me from getting to work on time. Of course since I know that I’m certain to run into delays and such, it might make sense for me to start leaving my house earlier… but I’m not a morning person so if sleeping an extra ten minutes means I’ll be 20 minutes late for work, then so be it!

As the Obama Inauguration approached, it seemed as though Metro was becoming more and more inefficient. Everyday there was some mechanical problem with the track, or a train had broken down, preventing other trains from getting through, or there was a sick passenger on a car and the entire train had to be evacuated. One evening, after a particularly grueling day at the office, I couldn’t wait to get home. I walk into the station and immediately notice that the line to board the train is six people deep. It turns out that earlier in the afternoon, one of the rails at a station along the Red Line had broken and, although it had been repaired hours earlier, the trains were still delayed. See what I mean? Inefficient!

Anyway, looking around at all the people waiting to board the train, I know that I probably won’t make it onto the first train that comes, so I stand back, pull out my book and start reading. There are Metro cops trying to direct people so that there won’t be a mad rush of folks onto the approaching train. They are yelling, pushing, it’s really a madhouse. And I think to myself, if this is the way that the Metro runs on a regular day, how in the world will they be able to accommodate 2 million extra people during Inauguration weekend? It wouldn’t have been such a puzzling question if an announcement hadn’t been made earlier in the week that bridges, tunnels, and major streets leading into the District were being shut down and all Inauguration spectators were now encouraged to walk into the city or take the Metro.

Having heard that news and having witnessed the incredible ineffectiveness of Metro’s plan to move people in and out of the city quickly, I just knew that Inauguration Day would be a clusterfuck. It was during those 30 minutes of waiting on the platform for a train to take me home that I decided I would not be making my way downtown to witness history on January 20. I went back and forth about whether it mattered for me to be there “in person” or to be watching the event from my couch like the rest of America would be doing. And I came to the conclusion that we are all “witnessing history” just by being alive during this time. We are living this moment together and physically being in that throng of people wouldn’t have made the moment any more real or significant for me.

Will I look back and regret that decision? I don’t think I will. Friends of mine ventured out into the cold just to “see” it, but ended up watching on the Jumbotron, which isn’t really that much different from watching it on your television when you really think about it… is it? Plus, I got to see things up close and personal thanks to CNN and MSNBC. So, I don’t regret it at all.

What I might regret, however, was my decision not to attend any “official” Inauguration celebratory events (aka PARTIES). I definitely went to a few shin-digs to celebrate Obama, but they weren’t “balls” or anything like that. I’ve been seeing pictures that my friends have been posting on Facebook and it looks like a good time was had by all. There were tons of parties where gobs of young, Black, professional people were gathered together all in the name of history. I think it would’ve been good to be around that. But… I’m really just a quiet type of girl. I’ve realized that, while I like to have fun, I am really more attracted to a low-key lifestyle than a high profile one. Or, am I?

For years, I’ve felt this internal struggle about where I fit in. On the one hand, I’ve always wanted to be on television. I’ve wanted to be a news reporter for as long as I can remember. But when it came time for me to be in front of the camera, I decided that I preferred the writing and production aspect of the news… something more behind-the-scenes. I abandoned my journalism dream for law school and even when I got to law school, I had to decide whether I wanted to be a litigator or a transactional attorney. Law school is filled with type-A personalities (as I’m sure you can imagine) and tons of them wanted to be litigators… high-profile, quick on their feet, zealous advocates… the true rockstars of the legal world. I, on the other hand, was more attracted to the transactional lifestyle… the behind the scenes, thoughtful, much more low-key choice.

I’ve noticed that my party preferences are very similar. I could walk the red carpet or I could be at the small and cozy lounge located down the street from the big-ticket event.

Nine times out of ten, I’m going for the lounge.

The thought of preparing myself to look like I belong at a glamorous event is exhausting… the name-dropping at the door (you already know how I feel about that!)… the schmoozing… fighting to get through the crowds… it’s just so… not ME. So, I decided to avoid it.

And I was regretting that choice BIG TIME on Sunday morning. The night before, I’d been at what I thought was a “houseparty” (that’s the way the evite had described it), but what really turned out to be a 400-person private party with free food and free drinks. It was a great time. But I also knew of about 100 other black-tie and/or semi-formal events that were going on… including the BET Honors, which was being held in my office building and featured appearances by some big name celebrities. (You have to understand, DC is not a big-name celebrity sort of town. People slide through and then they slide right back out. So this Inauguration was a big deal to us natives and meant a whole lot more than just a moment in our nation’s history.) There were definitely no celebs at the “houseparty” that I attended, and we had a good time, but should I have at least TRIED to get into a more glamorous event that night? I really wanted to have an exciting story to tell my kids. Something more poignant than “mom went to a few casual parties and watched the Inauguration from her couch”…

Well, the best part about Saturday night was that the party started early… and ended early. I made it home by about 3am (I guess “early” is relative, huh?) and was able to hit the sack for a few hours before I woke up to attend church. Now, ordinarily, I wouldn’t have even tried to attend church after a night like the one I’d had, but I decided to give it a go since the word on the street was that the Obama family would be attending that morning’s service. Pre-election, he was slated to attend our church and he didn’t make it, so I wasn’t convinced that he’d actually show. My parents, who had some sort of inside scoop on the whole thing because they are on the Deacon and Deaconess Boards, suggested that I head over to the church around 7:30am even though service began at 11. I was a little skeptical, but figured I’d take their advice to be on the safe side. It’s a good thing I listened because when I arrived at the church, by about 7:50am, the line to get in the front door was wrapped around the block! I found my friend in the crowd and joined up with her and her two friends that she’d brought along. I figured that Obama would actually show this time because there were police officers and bomb-sniffing dogs, DC police, fire marshals, and secret service swarming the place. At around 8:45am, my mother called us to the front door. There was a secret service officer standing there, and he was joined by the President of the Usher Board.

“Where are my ushers?” he asked. “Kelli, are you ushering today?” (I’ve been a member of the Usher Board for about 2 years, but I rarely usher.)

“Uh… sure,” I say, walking through the front door leaving the cold and the crowd behind.

When I get inside, I see that there’s a metal detector set up at the front door. A metal detector… in a church? It seems strange, but I understood it was necessary. I spent the next few hours trying to direct people to seats so that counts could be taken. There were about a thousand people outside waiting to get in and only 700 seats in the sanctuary. Secret service let it be known that they would not allow more people than could be seated in the main sanctuary, so at 700, we were cut off.

Finally, we got everyone into a seat and they closed the doors. Service began and the ushers remained in the back to assist with any latecomers. I noticed that our pastor was missing. About 10 minutes into the service, the doors opened and Pastor came through. The ushers stood and watched. Following the pastor, was Barack Obama… the President-Elect (at the time) of the United States. By his side was Sasha. He stopped and greeted us individually, as did the First Lady who was flanked by Malia. Grandma Robinson brought up the rear. They moved quickly, but I did get a word in with all of them. And it was such a thrilling moment that it really all seems like a blur. I mean, I remember that the President seems much smaller in person. He’s extremely skinny, has a few more gray hairs than I remembered, and has large ears… and he’s DEFINITELY hotter in person than he is on TV. Good lawd! And I remember that the First Lady was absolutely stunning. She wore a deep purple sleeveless number and her arms are toned and fabulous… sort of like Angela Basset channeling Tina Turner in “What’s Love Got to Do With it” only less muscular. In-person, she’s very feminine, delicate, and petite, which are character traits that don’t always shine through on TV. The kids are just angels and they are all so gracious and personable. They stayed for the entire service, and after service was over, they shook hands and hugged and allowed folks to take pictures. It was really great.

Sure, there were a lot of people in town fighting to find their place in this moment in history. And some of them went to glamorous parties… and some of them met celebrities. But, I met the reason for it all. And I didn’t have to drop a name, or fight through throngs of people to do it. Best of all, I got my story out of it. I can tell my children that I not only met the President and the First Lady, but I met the First Kids, too… and Grandma! It was an amazing experience and one that I won’t soon forget.

After I church, I decided to rest. I’d been partying two days straight and really didn’t have the energy to do it all over again. Plus, I felt like meeting the President was the pinnacle of such a weekend. There was really no need to do anything more than that. My story might trump those of others who did nothing but party for the whole weekend.

So, instead, I stayed home and just reflected on things. I asked myself stuff like what do I want to get out of this life? And who do I want to be? Will I be happy having lived my low-key low-maintenance life? Or should I try for more? And, trust me, you definitely have to TRY to live a life like that! An acquaintance of mine who knows EVERYONE and was at the middle of all the Inauguration-mania, hitting four parties a night and rubbing elbows with mucho celebrities, even admitted that it was tough work getting into all those events. It takes EFFORT. Maybe that’s what I’m lacking… the energy, will, and drive to make that effort. Maybe that means I don’t really want or need anything greater or more glamorous than the life I’m living…