The (Minor) Epiphany

Um, ok, yeah. So I had tried something new with the blog layout and that shit was for the birds. Sorry if I hurt your eyes, but I was trying to get creative and do my own customized layout. Could you tell I've had little to NO experience with HTML?? If you say you didn't notice, you're simply trying to be kind. I know that shit looked retarded. For your sake (and mine), I've tried something new once again. This is one of those boring-ass Blogger templates, so we'll work with it for now. Test it, try it, and trash it if we don't like it.

Anyways...

After being stressed out beyond belief as a result of my job (which I am totally OVER), I decided that it was time to take a much needed vacation. So my BFF and I decided to take a trip to The Big Apple to visit Jenna. We arrived on a Thursday and we were moving nonstop until we left on Sunday afternoon. Even though we were busy each day and each night with tons of fun things to do, we still didn’t get around to seeing everyone we had set out to see or do everything we set out to do. But we had a lot of fun trying! I am so sorry I left y’all hanging, reading about Love for OVER A WEEK! That’s shameful. SHAMEFUL. And I apologize. If y’all are still interested in reading me despite my abandonment, then just know that this trip is the inspiration behind a lot of future posts (that I haven’t written yet, but they are coming!!) because a lot of crazy shit (good and bad) happened while I was in NYC and hilarity inevitably ensued.

On with the post!

So, while in NYC, I had an epiphany: Gotdammit! I want to be in love!! Ok, so obviously, everyday I feel differently about love. I know, I know. Are you guys confused yet? Cause, I am!

This revelation occurred to me on Saturday night. My bestie had gotten in contact with Asia, a girl we had gone to middle school with, who is now a model living and working in various locales but primarily in NYC. We had a ton of other things to do Saturday, but we were intent on meeting up with Asia on Saturday night come hell or high water. She had told us that she had a view that we didn’t want to miss, claiming that it was “unreal”. I have seen a lot of “views” in my life and have been impressed by a few, so I was curious to see what she described as “unreal”.

After dinner at Melba’s, a soul food spot in Harlem, we cabbed it to 52nd and 8th Avenue. The cabbie dropped us off at a humongous skyscraper that stood out like a sore thumb amongst the much shorter, much less modern edifices around it. We walked in and were surrounded by glass, chrome, and fluorescent blue lights under our feet. The Eastern European doorman made us wait downstairs for Asia to pick us up because… well, because we were three brown girls who probably looked as though we didn’t belong in such a nice building. Within minutes, Asia was downstairs and we all were screaming and hugging and jumping around. We introduced Jenna to Asia and then Asian introduced us all to her boyfriend, Jack.

We got on the elevator and rode up to the 38th floor. When we got off the elevator, our noses picked up on the spicy “new-apartment” scent that permeated the floor. Jack explained that the building was only 6 months old, so everything was still rather new. From the minute he opened the door to the corner unit, the oooh-ing and aahh-ing started. I was standing in the middle of the SICKEST apartment I have EVER seen!! There were two HUGE bedrooms, two HUGE full bathrooms, a totally modern kitchen with stainless steel appliances, a marble floor, a sitting area filled with trendy couches, chairs, and a glass table, and – of course – the requisite 60-inch flat-screen TV and state of the art stereo system.

But, I didn’t even notice all that because I was too busy noticing the fact that there were no outer walls… just FLOOR-TO-CEILING WINDOWS!! And I was also discovering that from every part of the house you could see a New York City from a different angle. It was like being at the top of the world. I walked closer to a window to see the view and started suffering from vertigo and started sweating as a result of my already debilitating acrophobia. But, I was floored. Dumbfounded even. I have never seen anything like this.

“So, Jack. How much does a place like this cost you?” I asked. I know it was rude but I just HAD to know.

“Well, to purchase, probably like $5 million.”

“Probably?” I ask.

“Oh, yeah. This isn’t my place, it’s my uncle’s. He just moved to California and gave me the keys until he sells it. But I can’t stay here for long.”

“Why not?”

“I have a great apartment downtown. I mean, I absolutely love it, but it’s nothing like this. Staying here will make me spoiled. I’ll never want to leave.”

“True story,” I say, already losing interest in the conversation because I am distracted by the blinking lights outside the window.

Jack pours us all glasses of red wine and we sip and watch the view as he points out buildings for us. Over there is the Hudson River. That right there is the West Side Highway. Just behind that building is the Upper West Side. Right there is the Time Warner Center and Trump Tower and Columbus Circle. Jay-Z lives in that building. I stopped listening after awhile, simply mesmerized.

So, then, it hits me that I don’t know their story. How did you meet, I ask. And I am told that they met on a plane from California to NYC. He was in a window seat and she was in an aisle seat. One very unlucky girl separated them, but they hit it off immediately and asked her to move out of the way. They spent the entire five hours getting to know each other and the rest is history. They tell me that they are madly in love with each other –randomly confessing their passion for one another in the middle of serious conversations – and they both imply that a proposal is imminent. I watch them beam at each other and I am overtaken by the desire to be in love with someone.

But then, it occurs to me that I had yet to ask how long they’d known each other. So, I ask, how long have you know each other.

They look at each other and blush. “Ten days,” they say in unison while staring deep into each other’s eyes.

Jenna, my bestie, and I exchange awkward glances over the lovers’ heads and silently communicate our reluctance to believe that two people could meet and fall madly in love in just 10 days. Forever the skeptics (we all take turns seeing who can hate men and curse love the most times in one conversation), we quickly try to size up whether this “love” is realistic, because it seems impossible. So, we begin to pepper them with questions like “how many times have you seen each other in the last 10 days”. The answer: she has been home to get clothes twice, but has come back to his house each time. Other than that, they have not left each other’s site. Then we ask, “how do you know it’s love” and they respond, “you just know when you know”. Ok, we ask, are you really sure about this thing?

And Jack responds, “With us, everything is easy. It just comes naturally. Being apart is the only thing that’s hard.”

Well… that about sums it up.

To me, what he said was beautiful, even if it was a bit cliché. This is the kind of thing that is only said in movies. And classic cinema at that! But, as corny as it may have been on one level, it was touching on another level. I have never in my life had someone say anything like that about me. Mainly because, as I am well aware, being with me is NOT easy. I make a dude put in work. As he should. But, this guy wasn’t slacking off by any means. He had ventured somewhere outside of the city to an Italian bakery known for this delicious, chewy, almond cookie that Asia likes to eat – when she’s eating (afterall, no working high-fashion model can go around in good conscience eating cookies all day, since her girlish figure is what keeps the paychecks rolling in).

At any rate, even though this romance seems doomed from the start – what with them only knowing each other 10 days and the proposal supposedly in the not too distant future – the budding romantic in me would like to see it work out. In a lot of ways, it gives me hope. Hope that there is someone out there waiting for me in the friendly skies.

Anyway, as Jenna, my BFF, and I were riding in a cab toward the Lower East Side later that night (to complete what turns out to be a very disastrous evening), I get to thinking. I want "love" dammit! Even if it's just "love" (in quotation marks). When will this happen to me? When will I be sitting on an airplane, buying apples at the market, pumping gas at the station, asking someone for directions, etc., and encounter Mr. Backyard BBQ?

(A little background on “Backyard BBQ” – because I’m surprised I haven’t mentioned him yet and I am pretty darn sure I will mention him a lot in the future. Backyard BBQ is my dream man, my Prince Charming. I developed this term back in college and it signifies my transformation from thug-loving youngster, to Buppie-loving young adult.

One night, my friends and I were walking toward a club in downtown DC and I see a guy walking toward me. He is dressed in totally preppy gear – he is wearing a blue button down with the sleeves rolled up, khaki pants, and loafers with no socks. His haircut is faded and he’s wearing trendy wire-rimmed glasses. While I’m observing him and the way that he is striding confidently down the street alone, a vision pops into my head. Mr. Khakis and Loafers is in a backyard, standing at a grill, flipping burgers, tiny brown children are running all around him, and he looks happy. I walk out with a pitcher of lemonade and set it on the table and then walk over to the grill to inspect his work. I say something (there is no sound in this vision, so I don’t know what is being said), we laugh, and then he kisses me on the mouth and pats me on my bottom. We are loving life. This man and this vision represent what I like to call “Backyard BBQ” a.k.a. husband material.)

A few years ago, right before I broke things off with Mr. Ex, I complained to my sister-in-law that I was having bad luck with men and she said, “We all have bad luck with men up to a point, because it’s never ‘the one’ until it’s ‘the one’.” What she means by that is that no relationship has a happy ending until you meet your Prince Charming. That’s the only time you ever have a chance to live happily ever after. And, it’s just that – a chance – because in romance there are no guarantees.

But I... I KNOW he is out there. I know that Mr. Backyard BBQ – my Jack – is out there. My desire for romance ebbs and flows… and I KNOW I’m guilty of flip-flopping. I’ll be the first to admit it. Today, I’m love-starved and optimistic that Backyard BBQ is waiting right around the bend. But, tomorrow or the next day, who’s to say that I won’t be back to my cynical old, pessimistic self? In fact, I’ll place my bets that within a week, I’ll be back to normal, and comfy again with my single life.

Until then, though, I want a Jack of my own. I wanna wake up on the 38th floor of a Manhattan skyscraper and make morning love with the NYC skyline as a backdrop. No need to worry about voyeurs that high up. (Like Remy Ma says, “Who’s that peekin in my window? Nobody, cause I live in a penthouse.” Um… yeah.)

I want to come home to a box of my favorite baked goods that BBBQ picked up for me from a specialty shop 20 miles out of his way on his way home from work – just because. I want someone who, when we’re having conversations with different people on opposite ends of the apartment, feels the need to interrupt his conversation and walk over to me to plant a kiss on my forehead just because he feels the need to make contact with my body – even when other people are around and he could be distracted by other things. Cause that’s exactly what Jack did with Asia.

Yes, I KNOW this is only 10 days into the relationship, but let’s just assume – for argument’s sake – that his romantic ways have a shelf-life of more than two weeks. If he keeps all that shit up, then things are looking pretty good for them!

Damn…

Yeah, I want THAT (or something that closely resembles that)!

So my conclusion: I gotta start taking more cross-country trips on JetBlue since this is the airline that brought Asia and Jack together. I’m also told that JetBlue features in-flight DirecTV. And we ALL know how I love to feed my boob-tube addiction as frequently as possible.

Good Lawd, I am sounding schizo than a muhfugga…

Anywho, if you pray, send one up for me y’all, cause I need some clarity regarding this confusion!