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Archive for the month “February, 2013”

Truth Moment: Confidence Is Key With Me

You know what?

I’m frustrated. Beyond frustrated with the guy formerly known as pseudo-boyfriend boo thang.

I’m irritated because it seems like he’s kind of trying.

But that’s the thing that kills me, he’s kind of trying.

It ain’t a full push, like hey. We are going out to dinner tonight. I want to see you right now, because I haven’t seen you in two weeks and you haven’t really been responding when I hit you up.

It’s a passive aggressive way to date.

It tells me you ain’t sure, but you want to kind of have me around.

I can’t be about that half way life.

I guess it’s because I’m used to being pursued. Hard core.

I’ve actually told men to exit stage left because they were too pushy.

His ambivalence annoys me.

But, he’s young.

I’m finding youth and inexperience is biting him right in the butt.

Earlier today, he talked about some changes happening at his job and how he may take up stripping. In the joke, he asked me what I’d like to see.

I didn’t respond.

After the long 20 min text silence, he says, “LOL never mind that question.”

My thing is, once again. Go all the way.

I call it “George W. Bushing it.” If you wrong, be adamant about going all in and dare folks to question you. Like give them a side eye so strong, that they question their own beliefs.

He punked out of his own joke.

He went on the line, put out a feeler, hoping I’d cosign on wanting to see him naked, hence solidifying his confidence.

I didn’t and I  don’t. Not anymore, because everything else fell apart.

I would have actually given him credit if instead of him asking me what I’d like to see, he’d say, something like, “Girl, you better act right, I may stop by and do the Magic Mike.”

One, you’d still get the laugh. Two, you may get a flattering response, that I indeed, want to see you pop, lock and drop it, and three, you’re showing me that regardless of my reaction, it doesn’t matter and somewhere, somebody is going to dig it.


Sometimes you have to take risks and fake it til you make it.

I’ve mentioned in a previous blog how an ex of mine made the ballsy move to just snatch me up and kiss me. He later told me it could have ended in me reciprocating (as I did) or a slap in the face, but regardless, he went on the vibe and went in for it.

I should have expected this person to be passive because the first time he kissed me, he asked me to and it was on the cheek.

At the time, I thought it was respectful and charming, now I know I need a man who takes charge.

I once boasted that I was attracted to and loved assholes.

I’m going to revise that.

I am attracted to and need confidence.

Things are starting to add up with this person.

He says he wants to buy a home. He can’t decide. He thought about renting an apartment. He backed out of an apartment when someone said he should buy a home instead.

He said he doesn’t like his commute from my neighborhood, but actually looked at an apartment in my neighborhood.

He wants to leave his current living situation with a relative, but now he’s going to move in with another relative.

He’s been real wishy, washy and I’m not liking it. Not liking it one bit. As a 31-year-old woman that grates on my psyche.

Now I thought this person could afford to live alone, but I’m not so sure anymore.

I’m starting to see that he goes wherever the wind goes and according to whatever the last person said to him.

Once again, I feel like he needs more life experience.

He’s a really sweet person, but he needs more experience. He has to be confident in himself and in making decisions.

I feel like he is quick to apologize and people please and take responsibility for things he shouldn’t.

I had to give him a speech about a co-worker basically throwing him under the bus and how he needs to watch his back and stand up for himself and not let people put blame on him for things he isn’t responsible for thinking it’s noble to take one for the team.

In life and in business these days, that kind of thinking is going to get you nowhere.

You can be a team player, but don’t take people’s crap. You can be a hard worker, but when you do something above and beyond, you got to speak up and remind folks, because their memory gets real short if you don’t.

I’ve decided this man is the epitome of closed mouths not getting fed. I’m afraid I’m going to have to lay the complete hammer down on Sunday, when I agreed to see him and let it all out.

I like this person enough to not let him walk around living his life like this.

His last relationship did shake his confidence, but it shouldn’t be an excuse.

There are so many guys not as smart or nice or educated as him walking around like friggin King Tut.

When I auditioned for a fantastic choir in DC a few years ago, during my audition, the vocal coach told me that I should sing with more confidence. She said there were people who came in that didn’t have half the talent and showed up like they owned the place.

Same rule applies when it comes to wooing me.

You are selling yourself. If you don’t believe, I can’t believe.

And ask my friends. When I’m in a relationship with a man, I believe in him to a fault. I am the president of the damn fan club. I see more in him than he sees in himself, and I challenge him to believe in and what I see. Maybe it’s messed up, maybe it’s me kind of wanting to “fix” people, but to me that’s how I show love, that’s how I show how much I do respect you. If I have a high expectation of you, it’s because I know you can do it. With out a doubt.

So if a man questions himself, if a man doesn’t believe in himself, you’ve lost me. You’ve just lost me. I think I’m a great catch, so the fact you’re sharing my company means something. If you don’t understand even that, you got a long way to go.

I’m not even trying to be cocky, but it’s the damn truth. Age, experience, failures have taught me all of this.

If you aren’t giving full effort, I can’t give full effort.

Maybe after my speech he’ll hate me, or he’ll want to at least want to remain friends.

Either way, the truth is in order.

I’m about to explode with it.

Hope he can take it.

I Am Your Husband

I’ve been reading an awesome book called, “Calling in the One.”

There are a number of exercises that they ask you to do. One is very, very interesting to me.

You have to write a letter to yourself as your lover/future husband/soulmate, etc.

You write the things you want that person to say to you and about you. Then, you actually read it.

So I’ma put my business in the street and write my letter right here, on the blog.

To my dearest one,

I know you’ve been waiting for me. You’ve been through a lot. You’ve been hurt, you’ve been disappointed.

It’s taken me so long to find you, because I knew you always existed and because I knew how smart, and beautiful and driven, kind and caring you would be, I also knew I had a lot of work to do before I could even enter your life.

I had to get ready. Woman, you don’t play. You intimidate the weak brothas and if I stepped to you wrong, I’d go running with my tail between my legs. You will crush my soul with the heel of your pumps.

So I’ve been preparing. I’ve been praying. I’ve been working out. I actually just got a promotion at a job I really enjoy.  I’ve been getting my finances in order because you love eating out, you love the theater, but more than that, you really love stability. So I want to give you all of those things and your annual vacation, and if you were short and had a car repair emergency, it’s nothing for me to help you out.

I love to hear you laugh, so I get my Kevin Hart on to hear that cackle. Sometimes you snort and I think it’s cute, especially when you’ve noticed I noticed.

I love to sit with you on the couch and massage your scalp, while you tell me about your day.

I calm you down when you get upset. You actually sneak off to your car at lunch to call me, and I answer. I’m busy too, but even if it’s for three minutes, I make time for you then remind you I have to get back to work to maintain our beautiful life together.

By no means am I perfect. Sometimes I don’t make sense, or sometimes I need attention too, or time to think or hang out with my friends, but I make sure that you know you are the priority in my life.

We pray together. Not just over our meals, but when we are worried, or even just to give God thanks, we take some time out.

I love my family and I’m supportive of them, I’m there for my friends.

You are my best friend.

We can be very focused, serious people, but we get so silly together. It’s one of the things I love most about you.

I love pleasing you in all ways, especially in the bedroom. You a freak girl. Love that, but you’re so classy too.

You are beautiful without your glasses, but you’re darn cute when you wear them.

I love your hair no matter how you wear it. I love how it smells and how soft it is.

You have the most awesome butt. Really, I tried to put a shot glass on it once and you caught me. Then you actually balanced it on there. See, this is why we get along.

But don’t get it twisted. You can be crazy. I mean all passive aggressive, non-confrontational, moody. You over think things and second guess, but I can deal with it.

You don’t scare me.

You give me the gift of learning how to listen and how to be patient.

I can’t read your mind, baby, but I know how to read your mood. I like to think, I’m pretty good at it.

You know how to act at any function at any place. You can hang out at the rib joint on MLK, and you can rub elbows with politicians. I love your writing.

I don’t love when you write about me in your blog…

I hate when you correct my spelling in texts. It’s a text, woman! You know I know how to spell. I was rushing. Emails, correct me. I don’t want to look ignorant.

I appreciate all of your gifts.

I understand your family. And the situation with your mom, it’s really ok. I love you more for being so strong.

You teach me everyday how to be a better man. And besides being with you, a better man is all I ever want to be.

Watching you grow as a woman, as an artist, as a mother, as my life partner. It gives me joy.

I’m proud of you.

I just look at you sometimes in awe. I feel lucky and blessed to be responsible for your heart.

I take it seriously.

I’m excited to wake up everyday next to you (and that dragon in your mouth–sorry babe–it’s true :)), because it means I’ve got another chance to love you even more.

Love, your man.

Inner Freak: Sex, Senusality, Vulnerability, Power

I was having a discussion with one of my besties where she declared I was a freak, but I pretend not to be.

I had to correct her.

I flat-out admitted I was one, but I don’t advertise.

And these days, I refuse to waste it on the unworthy.

A lot of women, young and old have gotten female sexual liberation all twisted up and we’ve let go of some of the things that make us naturally sexy in the process.

We’re getting too literal with it. Too in your face.

We take strip tease classes and learn how to hang upside down from poles. We smack our booties and laugh, surrounded by strangers.

We drop it like it’s hot and make it clap in clubs. “Left cheek, right cheek.”

It’s fun. It is what it is.

But I reflect, and I’ve mentioned this in a post a long time ago.

I had never felt so free, so sexy and at the same time so vulnerable than when I was making love to the man I was engaged to.

I was ridiculously turned on by wearing nothing but the ring during the act and wiping the sweat off his face and looking right into his eyes.

Vulnerability is our strength as women. When we balance that, in my opinion, we’ve won the game.

As women, we are so busy trying to be EVERYTHING, we stop just being ourselves.

We get lost in all of the things we think we are supposed to be, and we don’t listen to who we are. This is across the board, at work, with our families, all of the lines blur and blur, and we are expected to hold every single thing together, we are responsible for maintaining everyone else’s happiness and success, while neglecting our own.

It’s the curse of being nurturers and multitaskters.

Maybe on some level women are the ultimate egoists, because we are convinced that we can and will do it all.

I do this to myself everyday and then I criticize myself.

There’s nothing wrong with being vulnerable in the right arms.

In fact, it’s otherworldly. It’s safe. It’s honest. It’s the realist thing you can reach out and touch and feel and be reminded of how alive you are and how fortunate you are to be suspended in that moment with that person.

There’s nothing wrong with being a freak there either.

I suggest all women figure out what kind of freak they are and accept it, and master it. As I told my friend, even professional athletes go to training camp at the beginning of the season.

Freaks gotta sharpen their skills too.

The most passionate sessions I’ve encountered was when I was giving up more than my body to someone I trusted and felt safe with and it was as equally terrifying as it was intense and freeing. Terrifying because I was being me. Vulnerable, a little nasty, but me.

Nothing is worse than doing something and wondering if your partner is going to think you are too advanced, or too nasty. Your head is already out of the game. You are self-conscious. There’s no way you will come out of this session satisfied.

Your bedroom should be the last place to feel like you can’t be yourself, as reserved or as raging freak as you may be.

On the flip side, you shouldn’t feel like you’ve got to put on a show or pull a hammie in the process.

You should be who you truly are and the person you are with should be enjoying you as you are. Period. If not, you don’t need to be with them. The end.

I hate the pressure placed on women to do all of this extra stuff that they may not be comfortable with to please their partner and his perception of what he thinks great sex should be as dictated by porn or multi-jointed exotic dancers.

It’s stupid.

If the roles were reversed and women had the expectations of male porn stars, just off of size alone, men would throw in the towel and not even show up.

So how is this fair? How is this right?

I’ve got to be able to hang upside down, in heels and have a non-existent gag reflex?

Give me a break.

Women be glad we are the emotional yin to a man’s physical yang. All of these things are connected. There is a reason we are wired the way we are and the whole “having sex like a man” (“no feelings”) thing is a farce. It’s also a farce because men actually have feelings too! What? Nah…

Yes. They do. It’s just about the woman they deem to be the right woman, but hot damn, they have feelings too and are just as sensitive, if not more sensitive than us.

That’s why we bring the spirit of sensuality, we bring the soft side. That is where we specialize. By us setting that tone, just as the right man makes us feel safe, we in turn, make them feel safe to be more emotional. We shouldn’t minimize that very important role or chastise ourselves for being so “emotional.” It is an emotional thing. And that is what we bring. It’s beautiful.

Seems like we women have to exchange a little freak and the men need to exchange a little vulnerablity.

Maybe if we saw ourselves as bringing more than the sum of our body parts to the table, and that we are seeking an exchange that satisfies all of our parts physical and emotional, we wouldn’t give in to men who aren’t worthy. We wouldn’t subject ourselves over and over again to bad sex because we will have recognized our value and not placed our partner’s satisfaction way, way, way above our own.

I’ve done it. It ain’t cute.

It sucks.

Our brains and bodies and soul have to be aroused. And as I get older, I’m glad it works this way. I’m glad it’s all connected to remind me that the person unlocking my inner freak has to have the skill set to get all of those things going.

If not, it’s a disservice to myself. A huge one.

A massive one.

It makes me more selective.

It makes me become a bit more selfish sexually, as opposed to just being proud of myself that I pleased a man and he thought I was great or the best or whatever.

It’s more than that.  We have power. And it’s not the kind you hang over someone’s head, or the kind you use to get rent paid and hair done. Our sensual and sexual power is more than currency, it sustains our own self-esteem and reminds us of our value.

Impromptu Poetry: As the Smoke Unfurled

As the smoke unfurled,

I found myself laughing. Smiling.

We talked about love, we talked about sex, we talked art and argued politics. We talked about the things in between.

What was left?

You said I was uptight.

I said you were too unserious, and what a pity. What a mighty man you could be.

All that mattered to you was the moment.

All that mattered to me was the future and being ready to meet it.

As the smoke unfurled you showed me how to slow down.

You slowed me down.

Slow down, just listen to the music.

The smoke surrounding me, you told me to just breathe slow, listen to my heartbeat.

And soon, you couldn’t tell me that sound wasn’t one in the same.

In sync with yours.

You taught me to play poker, the kind for clothes.

I was a quick study.

You were down to your socks and a smile.

I, in a bra and some jeans.

You may have lost on purpose.

You had a tendency to never show me your hand.

Our time was short. Intense.

As the smoke unfurled, we’d sit and let the music play and intertwine with the funky fog. I hated the smell, I liked you and the feeling more.

It was a habit I was never really fond of, but for whatever reason with you it was kind of sexy.

With you, I got to be the bad girl I knew I always was, deep, deep down.

Your lips were rich with my secret.

When the smoke left my lungs, stung them with the burn, I was someone else, yet so familiar.




Another me.

You saw that other me I refused to show.

You saw that other me I refused to know.

You made me do it.

Nah, I went willingly.

I wanted you to take your art more seriously.

You showed me I didn’t take fun seriously enough.

I miss you now when I hear certain songs play or smell that smell in the air. Sometimes I even get a craving.

I think it’s more you than the smoke and the connection I’ve made between the two.

The sensory memory is insane, like smelling an old sweatshirt or cologne or shampoo, but when I smell the ooh wee, it reminds me of you.

Our paths have diverged.

Fates forever changed.

I went for the sure thing, and that ruined me in the end.

When the morning would come and the smoke would clear, I was back to my old, uptight self.

I was again impatient, you weren’t what I thought you were supposed to be and as usual, you were doing it on your own damn schedule.

We’ll never return to those hot sticky, smoke-filled nights, with scattered playing cards on the floor. Our games left unfinished, but somehow we both managed to win.

I’d like to think I helped you grow. I sure hope you haven’t lost your light.

Because when I see smoke unfurl at night,

I remember I still have mine.


Come and Get Your Little Cousin: The Facebook Edition

The times I realize I’m getting older the most is when it comes to social media and my younger cousins.

It drives me nuts to see them posting inappropriate things or stupid things, or writing like English is not their first language.

I’m old not just because I was content drinking wine yesterday with a heating pad around my neck, and I actually purchased a bubble massage mat for my tub, but because I had to pull one of my cousins into a private convo on Facebook today to admonish him for posting a photo of his brand new handgun with the caption, “My new toy.”

His friends congratulated him and complimented him by calling him a gangsta. He stopped them there, but said he needed it for protection and that he should get one before Obama says we can’t have em.

I’m upset for a number of reasons.

He lives in the south, and a number of people in the south have legal, registered guns. Our grandfather is one of them. They’d shoot guns in the air at midnight on New Years.

But my problem is, he’s in his 20s and is heavily involved in party promoting. Quick money exchanges hands, and in some cities party promoting can be very competitive and when new promoters come on the scene and steal customers from other regular parties, beefs can arise.

My other problem is employers and police check Facebook now.

I can’t tell you how many times I’ve hated when things happen to folks, now the photo that you see on the news is grabbed straight from Facebook and it is the most unflattering, most polarizing photos of young people wearing stereotypical clothing or doing negative things. Then people weigh in that the person had to be a criminal and deserved what they got if they were killed or involved in a crime.

I don’t want my cousin to be judged in that way.

I honestly don’t want my cousin, who is a large, black man to be pulled over with a gun whether it’s registered or not. It’s just one more problem one more reason for potential harassment, or for an antsy police officer to say they feared for their life, he was armed and can kill him justified.

This is the world we live in.

I also told him with what he does, he may have acquired a lot of friends, but everyone isn’t and you have to be careful of what you post. When you advertise that you have a gun, someone is going to test you to see what you’ll do with it. And if you have one you have to be prepared to use it.

My cousin responded that he doesn’t really have haters and he’s friends with everyone.

Everyone please roll your eyes with me.

I think I’m a nice person. But I guarantee there is someone out there who just doesn’t like me for whatever reason. I don’t know why, but that person is out there sucking their teeth at the mention of my name.

His sister is 19 or 20. For the most part, she’s a good kid. She’s just really proud of her body and often gets compliments on how “thick” she is and what a great butt she has. That’s a whole other ball of wax (self-esteem, modesty talk…), but I can’t help but feel protective of them.

I’m not very close to them as I should be, so sometimes I don’t feel like I have the right to jump on their case, but when I see something egregious, I jump in, because I’d be mad if something happened to them and I didn’t. And I care about their future. They don’t need to participate in that kind of social media behavior. They are smart kids who can have a positive future without their bad choices being displayed for the world to see.

Personally, I’ve cut down significantly from party pics, and even if I have a drink in my hand during a photo-op, I put it down, or I put it behind my back.

I don’t want anything to hold me back and I don’t want to embarrass myself or my family.

It’s scary with this generation that is coming of age with Facebook. They are really, really free with it and don’t think about the implications.

Maybe I’m being a 31-year-old fuddy duddy, but this is the one instance where I feel like age and experience comes in handy and whether they want to hear it or not, I have to say something.

Letting the Beauty Rise From the Mess



A fantastic writer, from a fantastic newspaper, with whom I had the privilege of working with and learning from dropped an excellent gem on me one day when I was stuck writing one of the stories I’m most proud of to this day.

She said sometimes, when you write, you can’t have that perfect lede (opening sentence) right off the bat. Sometimes it comes to you midstream, sometimes you write it last.

But to get the creative process going, sometimes you have to just dump, she said. Just “barf up” whatever it is in your head, no matter what it is, and from there your work will rise.

From the madness, from the seemingly non-sensical, beauty will develop. You will be inspired.

Kind of reminds me of the “Do Something” campaign I’ve been on this year. When you feel like you can’t do anything. You can’t work out, you can’t create, you can’t save money. Just do something. You don’t have to win a marathon, you don’t have to put out a best seller, just start the process of doing something. Walk, then jog, then run.

Dump, then dumpster dive, spread out the trash and let the beauty rise.

It sounds counterintuitive, it sounds downright nasty.

Why rummage through our filth to get to the good stuff?

Sometimes that’s just what we have to do.

Has there ever been a time you lost something important?  Suddenly it hits you.

You might have thrown it away.

You pray you didn’t, but you know it’s in your trash and you know you just threw out a lot of nasty stuff.

But how bad do you want that thing? That piece of paper, that ring or earring?

The trash isn’t going to hurt you, but it’s gross. You don’t want to do it.

You even feel like you are lowering yourself to do this. You don’t want anyone to see.

But when you want something bad enough, or you need it, and you know exactly where it is, vis-a-vis the trash, you just got to do what you gotta do.

You’ll clean it off and clean yourself later.

That thing is worth it to you.

We are humbled when we have to dig through our own crap.

Today’s post is a dump.

I’ve got so many random things on my mind, it isn’t funny.

A friend just told me today how impressed he was with my “journey” over the last two years.

I guess a lot has happened, including this blog. I wanted to write. I hadn’t been writing and so I just wrote one day.

And it grew, and the people following the blog began to impact me in ways I hadn’t expected.

I was getting stronger the more I wrote, and the more honest I became with myself and with the folks reading it, cheering me on, laughing with me and pumping their fists against the sky in agreement when something made me mad.

I have been on a journey. An incredible one. It hasn’t been easy.

A lot of it has been filled with pain.

Garbage. With beauty tangled someplace amid the indistinguishable mess.

It’s there.

I’ve been spending the better part of the last two years, digging through the garbage of my emotional and spiritual life.

It was not pretty, I had to lower myself, I had to humble myself, and I had to see the bigger picture and the greater reward for doing so.

Some of the dumpster digging has been private, and some public.

But I had to and I continue to soldier on, because somewhere in the mess, there is beauty. There is victory. There is the prize of knowing myself better than I ever had.

Beauty in the mess.

Rise, beauty, rise.

The beauty in losing something valuable in the garbage is, you know you’re a dumbass to leave it or let it be thrown away just because you couldn’t bring yourself to dig through it.

I had a friend lose a generous gift card in a gas station trash can. Lawd. That’s even worse. You are dealing with stranger garbage! But she had already said she didn’t have much money and couldn’t afford to buy another, so she had to roll up her sleeves turn that joker over, and fish it out.

Have you ever found you lost something in someone else’s trash? Yourself, your emotions? Your self-esteem?

It may be harder, and more embarrassing, but what you left in that mess is worth salvaging for yourself. You can’t leave that behind either.

I need to get back to writing my book. After living more life, having more hurts and triumphs I can finish it the way I was supposed to and add a layer of depth I couldn’t before.

I will get back to my t-shirt company. 2013 isn’t over yet!

I will continue to love myself in all of its drafts and revisions.

I will continue to have a spirit of gratitude in everything.

I will continue to give my love to others to the very best of my ability.

Am I ready for love? I don’t know.

Am I ready to truly receive it?


Do I know what it looks like?


Do I know what it feels like?


Will I recognize it right away?

Probably not.

Will I question its authenticity to death?

Hell yes.

But will I have it?

Super, certainly hell yes.

Rise, beauty, rise.

Fear Makes Us Ridiculous and Unreasonable: The Real Estate Edition

I don’t want to pay anymore in rent to live in my place.

I just don’t.

There is a part of me that feels like I’m going to suck it up and take it, for “one more year.”

But unlike last year, and the year before when I was just super angry and just took it, I’m doing research. I’m even looking into renting a town home or condo. I’ve looked online and sent out a few inquiries. Maybe I will be inspired.

Oh, I hate moving.

Oh, and as I look around, I’m finding what I’m about to pay in rent this next lease agreement, still isn’t horrible in comparison, but it’s bad enough to me.

The only thing that bothers and scares me if I move is, I’m used to a certain amount of noise, or pseudo ghetto behavior that takes place in my complex.

I’d be livid to move and be someplace worse and be paying more money. It’s just so hard. The places that would be better neighborhoods, would be out of my price range.

This real estate situation pisses me off to no end. It’s just not fair.

I’ve also decided if I’m going to spend more, I’m going to get more bedrooms and square footage. It’s only right. Besides, when people visit, I would like them to have their own space and then I’d have a real office space when I work from home.

I’m scared as crap to buy a townhouse or condo. I’m scared of paying the taxes, I’m scared of stuff breaking down and having to pay loads of money to have it fixed. I haven’t saved enough for a down payment. I’m just scared of it all.

I’m more scared of taking on a house alone, than paying more rent. I just am. That’s real.

Don’t know if this feeds into my general problem with commitment, but that’s probably part of the issue. 30 years??? I. Can’t. Breathe.

There’s a part of me who wants to be with a stable man and get married within a year or two so I can move in with him and get a break on my rent and when stuff breaks down, I’ve got some damn help.

There’s a part of me that feels like that stable man can’t be too far away and if I up and buy a condo, I got to figure out how to sell or rent it, and then I’ll be like these crazy folks who I hate right now, trying to make people pay $2000 a month for a two bedroom.

I’m not lying.

Some of you are saying, why go through all of that? Get a roommate.

I don’t want one.

I am 31 years old, and I’m just not going to do it unless I’m helping a friend in transition who wants to move to this area. And even they have a year to get it together and get the hell out.

I want to get married someday, I almost got married, and yet, I’m realizing I have a tough time sharing my space for long periods of time. I clean when I want to, I cook when I want to. If an occupant of my living space has a problem with how I do things, I don’t want to hear it.

My father says you have to “pay the cost to be the boss.”

Being the boss of my damn life and home is expensive as hell.

I need a break.

When stuff runs out, that’s on me. It wasn’t because someone else ate, drank or used the last of it. Stuff doesn’t run out as fast. I like that.

When I have one roll of toilet paper left, I know how long it’s going to take for me to use it and I can delay going to the store.

That’s out the window when you have another occupant. You think you have one more day of tp, you sit down, relax and NOTHING! Now you either have to air dry or hope you’ve got some napkins or paper towel somewhere.

My cousin recently told me I think waaay too much.

She’s probably right.

She joked about going on a Christian dating site, to which I gave her a list of why I think it’s a bad idea, and how I don’t feel like having someone judge me for how much Jesus I have or don’t have at the moment or compare lifestyles. It’s happened with men I’ve met in general who have been Christian. Someone may look cross-eyed if you have a glass of wine, or slip a curse word. I’m judging too. So it won’t work. No gracias. But see, I had already given a dissertation on why I’d hate being on such a site without even trying it.

I pick apart dating.

I pick apart about the men I’ve dated and lost, or threw away, I keep playing over and over again why I should leave my apartment, and why I should stay.

This time, unlike the Christian dating site, I will go out and see some of these properties that are within the price ranges I’m comfortable to pay and then I’ll go on from there.

Take that fear. I’m doing something.

I will not be ridiculous. I will not be unreasonable. I will not marry some man to catch a financial break on my rent in the next three months. That will make me no better than the women of Love and Hip Hop. Someone stop me. Paying a little bit more in rent yet again is not worth my self-respect. Whoo hoo. Pep talk.


Heart, Head, Gut. Do All Three Have An Equal Vote?

I am befuddled.

I really am. I just had an excellent weekend with an older cousin, who I admire soo much. I consult with her about all sorts of things and she gives such great and honest advice.

Spending time with her was just wonderful. Our in-depth conversations, especially about relationships really got me thinking. I was thinking about my patterns, I was thinking about how far I’ve come and the times I felt real love.

I’ve been thinking about what I’m trying to do now with boo thang and my friends have already been calling the time of death, while I’ve been hanging on.

I’ve been seeing things that I’m not a fan of, but as one friend pointed out, I’m holding on to prove to myself that I can do a local relationship.

Valentine’s dinner was ok.

I keep thinking how awesome I felt when I really cared about some one that I’d been seeing regularly for four months.

I shouldn’t be this blah.

There are some major differences in our previous dating pools, and I think he’s dated women with no self esteem or women pretending to be modern and independent and just getting it all wrong. We had to discuss why I felt it’s important that I be picked up and not asked to meet him everywhere.

According to him, that’s how women (in their 20s) are doing it now. They want the freedom to leave when they please, or if they want to go someplace else after.

To me, that makes no sense. My goal on a date is to have such a good time, we may want to find another place to go after to keep on talking. I’m not thinking about the next thing with other people or with my friends.

Who are these women?

What makes me feel particularly odd is I told my cousin, I’ve let a lot of good men go for various reasons.

All of the good men I let go, I was never ready to be with them. I was always coming directly off of a break up. I was always all over the place.

They seemed to be steady. They seemed to know what they wanted, but I didn’t.

My cousin told me to really look at why I wasn’t ready for these men who I knew were good men. Why it seemed I wasn’t ready.

Then, there’s a book I’ve been reading, recommended to me by a fellow blogger Ms. Shoesoverbooze. It’s called “Calling In the One.”

The author said, the love of her life tried to get at her like three times and she turned him down over and over. He was nothing like what she thought her man was supposed to be.

She said we have to close our eyes, and envision how we want our future partner to make us feel. Don’t think about what they look like, what they have. Just start there. If you know what that feeling is, then it’s going to be easier to connect.

She talks about opening yourself up and doing things to prepare for love. All very interesting stuff.

Like clockwork, I was sitting with my cousin and one of the good ones I let go sent me a text to just say hello.

I reminded her of the back story. He had a lot of the qualities I was looking for.



Family oriented

Employed (Owns own business)

Beautiful home

Never married

No Kids

Not too old

Not too young



Loves his mother

Had a good example of marriage through his highly devoted grandparents

Has religious/spiritual background



Great to talk to


Long ass list right? What was my problem?

I was still hung up on my ex.

I was hung up on the fact that he was a bit overweight.

He was very pushy in his pursuit of me, which made me uncomfortable. If I gave him an inch, he tried to take six miles.

After exchanging niceties, he informed me that he lost 12 pounds.

My cousin gave me a grin and said, “Hey, you may want to go out if he asks you.”

This person scares me.

This person scares me, because from jump he was intent on winning my affections. He went hard.

I have been dating people who have not gone as hard.

He made his intentions clear.

He said things like, “Be comfortable. This is your house.”

He wanted to show me off to his friends, and I reacted not so great. I felt ambushed.

I wasn’t ready.

But he kept keeping in touch every couple of months. Nothing long and drawn out, just a hello, or a Merry Christmas.

He’d go in for a kiss, and I just wouldn’t feel it.

Then there was the night he made me cry.

He made me cry on my way home because his kindness embarrassed me. It exposed my faults. It was hard to handle.

This is what happened and I may have shared this story before. I was visiting him, it was getting late, he always fills my wine glass too many times. He did not want me to drive home.

He invited me to stay.

I said I was fine.

He insisted and said I could use any of the guest rooms.

I said, I’m not going upstairs, I’ll stay on the couch.

I fell asleep and at some ungodly hour I woke up and stirred a bit to turn over.

There was a lump at the foot of the couch just below me.

He laid out blankets and pillows and slept down there.

I woke him and told him to get up.

He told me if I was going to be stubborn and sleep down there, that he didn’t feel right with me sleeping down there alone.

Then he said we should go get breakfast.

I said I was going home.

I cried and cried because I felt that gesture was beautiful and respectful and I hadn’t gotten that kind of gesture in a long time.

I was crying because I couldn’t accept what he was giving me and I knew it.

I don’t know why he keeps checking on me.

I don’t know if I tried with him again, with less baggage, would I still have the same physical hangup?

What if I tried only to realize I was right the first time? Is it fair to put him through that again? Am I feeling myself for thinking this man is somewhere pining for me?

Where is the line between settling or going for what seems like a home run on my list of wants and needs?

I know what I need and there’s a part of me that knows that person can give it to me and would put in effort in doing so. But what about me? These temporary relationships, I feel like I’ve been doing a better job at giving, but there isn’t a zeal behind it that I had when I was truly in love.

But what am I really doing right now?

Four months in… and I’m pretty sure four months now I won’t be saying, “I love you.”

The current situation I’m in isn’t the blissful first four months that I’m used to. I usually can’t get enough of the person, and there are days where I’m actually cool with not talking. I don’t go out of my way, and I feel like he doesn’t either.

We’re just two nice people, who are too nice to say we ain’t it.

I’ve been wanting to go out on dates and cuddle and get some, and none of those things are really happening with real regularity.

But then I ask myself are my expectations for local relationships too high.

Is that all there is?

Heart. Head. Gut. Cousins. Friends. Books. I’m not sure who to listen to right now.

But there’s a part of me curious about the nice guy who won’t go away…

You read this blog.

I’ve been wrong so many times.

I Love Others Better When I’m Loving Myself

Photo credit: Dan/freedigitalphotos.net

Photo credit: Dan/freedigitalphotos.net

I woke up this morning and I didn’t want to work out. I just didn’t want to.

But I did.

Because it’s Valentine’s Day and I love myself.

I finished the workout and I felt good.

I was glad I loved myself enough to do what I was supposed to do for myself and my body.

In my Facebook status, I told folks to remember that love never fails, and to celebrate love in all of its manifestations in your life. Be it friends, family, and yourself.

Do not make today just about romantic love. Or dwell on the fact that you have it, or you don’t.

Celebrate love period. Celebrate it with your parents, call your grandparents if they are still alive.

Call your old play cousin.

Give your kids a candy heart or a bear. My dad did this every year in my house and I wrote a very long and heartfelt blog about how this influenced me last year. Folks really responded to it and it was so touching to me.

Tell your close friends you love them.

A dear friend of mine and I were talking about how special it was that our dads gave us valentines every year growing up.

She lost her dad when we were in college, and the memory made her cry. I told her it’s ok to be sad, but also just be thankful that you knew he loved you and showed you how a man is supposed to love and honor you. We were on the phone and I felt so bad I couldn’t hug her. So we stopped talking about it.

When I saw her a few days later, I snuck a saucy valentine’s day card in her work bag.

She saw the card yesterday and she thanked me. She’s going to drop by some valentine’s cupcakes for me today.

That means something.

I will be making dinner for the boo thang. It’s cool, but it’s not a super, big deal.

I did actually wear red and pink today and I feel cute. I found some red pants from Target for like $12 bucks. I’m rocking it hard. And rocking my red lip. Fun times.

Also in my Valentine’s status today, I said that the first person we need to say I love you to, today is the person looking at us in the bathroom mirror.

I can say, flaws and all, I love myself. I love my God and I love my friends and family. It’s not about a man. I’m happy that I can spend the day with someone I like spending time with, but I think if I wasn’t in the early stages of dating someone, I’d feel the same way I feel today and that’s a huge deal and it’s something to be proud of. The more I love myself, the more I can share love with others and give it freely and not fear being hurt or taken advantage of. The more I love myself, the more I can be patient and compassionate with others when they need a little extra love and attention and it won’t cost me anything, it won’t be as emotionally taxing.

Think of the times you are stressed out, and unhappy with your life or yourself. Any problem the people in your life have, it feels ridiculously heavy. You are almost angry with them that they are going through drama at the same time, because you know you can’t give your best to them.

I love the book the Five Love Languages, but for real. You have to fill your own love tank too and do things for yourself, that you know you enjoy and love.

Get your massage. Try a new fragrance. Order from your favorite take out for lunch. Work out. Write a list of things you like about yourself. Smile at yourself in the mirror. Wear your favorite outfit. Listen to your favorite music. Talk to a person in your life that you admire. Be like me and marvel at some new furniture and be happy about the abundance in your life where ever you can find it.

So, today I’m commanding you fabulous folks to look at yourself and love what you are looking at, then smile.

I looked in the mirror with my red lip, dressed and ready to go to work. And oh so quietly I whispered, “I love you.” I watched myself smile and laugh a little, then I turned out the light, grabbed my keys and marched out the door.

Me, Commitment and Furniture

As someone who has lived in various parts of the country, and moved for work, making a house a home would tend to be the last thing on my mind.

I’ve mentioned in other blogs that after being in my place for about six– going on seven years now, I’ve said screw it, this is my home.

Transition seemed to always keep me from settling in, and it was a crutch really that allowed me not to commit.

I don’t know if that ties into my penchant for long distance relationships and why seeing someone local still makes me feel so nervous and with one foot in the door.

As a non-traditional, traditional woman word up. There are times where I have been apprehensive about really settling into my home and buying real grown up furniture because it meant I was really investing in living there. Like, for real.

And it was saying, no, you aren’t going to be bouncing around for a while.

If we drill down a bit deeper, when I was in a very serious relationship about to get married, I was thinking, I’m going to buy new stuff when I move in with my husband. I’m going to be moving and I don’t want to take a bunch of crap with me, and we want to build our lives together and develop our own style.

So two weekends ago, I broke down and purchased a new dining room set and I lovvvve it. I’ve mentioned having a desire to host more and it just makes sense.

I love my old dinette set, but it’s nearly 20 years old (but in awesome condition and I’m willing to give it away for free to a person who will love and appreciate it as much as I did. Tall white table with two tall white chairs and I’ll throw in my hot pink Ikea seat cushions that I bought like a month ago, if you know someone in the DC, MD, VA area. Wink, wink.) and was in my sister’s bachelorette pad and she’s been married for like 12 years. She passed it to me for my apartment when I was living in the South, and I’ve had it ever since.

It’s time to retire our (my sister and my) set.

As I was making room for the new set, that arrives today, I felt excited, and actually a little anxious. Like, for me, this is a big deal.

I made a choice to buy furniture and I didn’t NOT buy the furniture because I’m waiting to move in with my future husband in my future home. And sadly, that was something that has been in the back of my mind. Even though I’ve stayed in my current home for awhile now, I just still feel like my life could shift at any moment and I need to pack light so I can pick up and go.

Oh, well. Those things will take care of themselves. And maybe my future husband will love my furniture and will decide we should keep it and merge it with the new. (Actually he needs to. When I spend my hard-earned money on something, or as you see if someone gives me something, I want to get optimal use out of it.)

There is nothing wrong with making my place as fabulous as it can be while I am by my lonesome, and while I share it with my family and friends who visit. That’s the take home message of the day.

I’m thrilled about my new dining room set and I will be breaking it in, making a sexy Valentine’s dinner for boo thang tomorrow night.

I can’t wait for the countless dinners, lunches, breakfasts and brunches, girl talk chats, and moments I’ll have sitting at that table with the people I love sharing a meal. And that ain’t nothing to be afraid of.



OMG it’s here!! The truck!!!

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