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How the Marie Kondo Movment Is Making Us Rethink Our Stuff

bed bedroom ceiling fan chair

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

I think I saw the memes and gifs on social media before I even realized that best-selling author and decluttering/organization expert Marie Kondo dropped a series on NetFlix.

I remember hearing about Kondo, the bubbly clutter-buster from Japan, and eventually buying her equally well-edited, straight to the point book, “The Life-Changing Magic of Tidying Up.”

We overindulgent, down for instant gratification, multiple-trips-to-target-taking Americans were in desperate need of some help. We’ve been buying things we don’t need for a really long time, to address other deeper things. Also, having “stuff” is a big marker of success in these parts, across socioeconomic status.

Armed with her translator, Marie floats into various homes in each episode helping families figure out how to get rid of all of the stuff and find the joy that’s been hiding in their homes and in themselves all along. Her title is right, discovering that is pretty magical and certainly life-changing.

I did engage in this process a few times in preparation for my move earlier this year.

The rules were simple. Start with your clothes. Dump everything out and sort through them, keeping only items that spark joy.

I love that Marie was wise enough to create a criteria of elimination by joy, because sometimes that’s a hard and elusive thing for us. We know pleasure, we know happy, but I think she strategically instructed people to think about how deep and lasting joy is. But when we pick up an item and actually ask if it sparks joy, for a lot of the things we own, instantly know it doesn’t, and so, we have to force ourselves to follow the criteria and let it go. She is a genius for wording it this way.

It’s a real challenge. And for that reason, you’ll see a lot of tears and a lot of a ha revelations going on with each of the families as they break mental contracts they made with the stuff they won’t let go of because, “It was such a good deal.” Or, “This was really expensive.”

Another word that I think Marie expertly uses is tidy. It’s not a word we use often in America. We love the word clean and we will dabble with the word neat, but tidy, to me is more specific and suggests like joy, it is a regular practice. Anyone I’ve heard use the word tidy, tended to be older women, with immaculate homes, and clothing, who were highly disciplined, and followed their cleaning routines religiously and were highly likely to have hard candy in their purses to share with you at church.

Tidy always seemed aspirational to me and highly disciplined. And on the show Marie had guests whose homes were clean, they just had a lot of crap in it. In the one episode Marie complimented a guest for having a really clean home, and the woman admits she hides a lot of things or stuffs them in closets, counters, and drawers.

With some elbow grease, a few tears, and several trips to the Goodwill, we can be tidy and we can have some joy, and save a few bucks reminding ourselves that we really don’t need it.


Hindsight Twenties Twenties- A Review of VH1’s Hindsight

There’s a saying that hindsight is 20/20 and it’s totally true.
Looking back in retrospect, we can say that if we made different choices our lives would have turned out differently and we’re absolutely right, but for all the wrong reasons.
A semi-new scripted tv series bearing the name “Hindsight” on VH1 is my latest obsession.
Let’s not even mention the fashion references to the 90s or the awesome music they’ve been playing from those times. It’s like going down memory lane and it’s fantastical.
But to me the mark of a great show is having a main character or even a cast of characters that you can’t decide if you love them or hate them from one moment to the next.
The main character Becca basically has a mishap the night before her second wedding that lands her right on the day of her first wedding as a young twenty something.
Armed with knowing how the “future” turns out, she’s spending this series trying to correct what she got wrong, but not only turning her life upside down, but every one else around her too. This obvious point, which seems to be lost on our protagonist quite regularly is made repeatedly by her wild and crazy friend Lolly, who Becca doesn’t give enough credit for actually being smart despite her free-spirited, IDGAF, video store job-having ways.
One of the things Becca is desperate to not have happen again is a serious falling out between her and Lolly that basically ended their friendship and caused them not to speak for a decade.
The most amazing thing of all about this entire storyline is the fact that Lolly, as a true ride or die homie, is certain her bestie is going nuts under the pressure of her thankless entry-level job and pending nuptials, claiming she’s back from the future. Lolly’s participation is honestly what keeps this thing afloat. Becca can’t do this by herself. But as certain things start to happen in real-time that Becca mentions, Lolly quickly becomes a believer and stands by her friend, while hoping to reap some benefits of the info too. But knowing the future and Becca’s arrogant responsibility to keep everyone from making mistakes, will likely be the straw that breaks the camel’s back for their relationship all over again. Being the free spirit Lolly, is she’ll only take but so much…
Unfortunately, Becca gives away all of the suckie information like the ending to “Friends” and breaking the news that REM will break up, and is shocked to find out Patrick Dempsey will become hot.
Becca does use her knowledge of the future in really fun ways regarding the work world and I’m sure as I continue to watch, it’s going to be entertaining.
I’m most amused by how people really did manage to live without cell phones, but how inconvenient it must be for Becca’s character when she got lost and lamented having no GPS, or just being able to call or text a contact to make sure they had the concert tickets they promised. I was tickled when she searched high and low for the Keurig… Nah boo, you got to brew the hard way…
This show is further proof that yes, the decisions good or bad that you make in your 20s have very real and lasting effects for better or for worse. Even if you have an opportunity to go back and change things, knowing exactly what the future holds, doesn’t mean making the opposite choice is going to make your life better… Becca starts finding out the hard way and also in some rewarding ways how fate can totally be changed off of a series of decisions, even if you think you’ve inserted yourself at the right place at the “right time.”
One thing I’m noticing a couple of episodes in is that in this version of her life, she and her mom are doing a much better job of connecting with each other, and keeping it realer. I sure hope the coming episodes will show Becca really coming to this realization and that they in fact, get closer. I’d like to see this relationship grow and improve.
I haven’t even gotten into homegirl’s love life. That requires a post of its own. This chick in the present, past and future has more drama than Netflix and how she navigates figuring out who is really the one, and how she’s rewriting history with her future husband #2… I’m worried she’s going to mess herself up trying to “fix things” and write herself out of a future with the right man.
I can’t wait to continue watching this show because I really, really dig it. I’m also waiting to see if and when Becca gets the courage to take an elevator again (the ill-fated place where the Back to the Future/ Freaky Friday time travel takes place) and if her return to the present/future is going to look anything like she imagined or attempted to plan for.  For the sake of great television, It probably won’t. I have finals this week, so I have to resume my binge later!!!

“Black Don’t Crack, But You Should Start Early, For Only $500…”

I knew I was in trouble when the siren call of the mall was completely drowning out that of the gym during the later hours of work yesterday.

So I listened. After all, the day after tomorrow, I will be in the fabulous city of New Orleans for the Essence Music Festival.

This will be the third time I’m going. I went for the first time in 2005, and then again in 2008.

Let me break this down for you. The Essence Music Festival is always held fourth of July weekend and draws hundreds of thousands of primarily black women from all over.

This straight up is black woman/girlfriends/exhale weekend. It’s a spring break for black chicks with wall-to-wall concerts with the most amazing R&B, neo-soul, jazz and gospel artists on the planet. Beyoncé is headlining. That alone is a reason to go, but I’m foaming at the mouth to see the following artists:

Friday, July 5: Maxwell, Jill Scott, LL Cool J and Brandy will take the mainstage. While Blackstreet, Anthony David, Les Nubians, Emeli Sande, Maya Azucena, Simphiwe Dana, Mali Music, Shamarr Allen and The Underdawgs will perform in the superlounges.

Saturday, July 6: New Edition, Charlie Wilson, Trey Songz, Keyshia Cole and Solange will grace the mainstage. Faith Evans, Bridget Kelly, Big Daddy Kane, F. Stokes, PJ Morton, Jody Watley, Leela James and Avery*Sunshine will rock the superlounges.

Sunday, July 7: Beyoncé, Janelle Monáe and supergroup TGT (Tyrese, Ginuwine and Tank) will storm the mainstage while Rachelle Ferrell, Mia Borders, Mint Condition, Luke James, Daley, Tamia, Kourtney Heart, Greta Prince and Alice Smith perform in the superlounges.


Let’s also keep in mind that every year I’ve gone, I’ve gone with dear friends that I really love. We’ve enjoyed the amazing food that only New Orleans can offer (including Brothers chicken, the most amazing chicken you can buy in a convenience store 24 hours for like $3 for a three-piece), the drinks (I will have a hurricane or a hand grenade or both at nearly all times) and just the fun and revelry of being in such a sexy, awesome, historic city.

This year is the first year I won’t be with one of my most fabulous travel partners. I’m going to miss her. Instead, I’m accompanied by some EMF virgins- my college roommate, and two older cousins. These ladies are a lot of fun, so I’m sure they will bring an interesting vibe to all of the festivities.

This will also be the first year I actually spring for nicer seats at the concerts, so it’s going to be cool to enjoy that perk. I had loads of fun in the nosebleeds getting plastered and making friends with the bartender, but it’s nice to take it up a notch in that department.

Because there are droves and droves of women, men make it their business to come and take advantage of women loosening up because they are on vacation and in New Orleans, fueled by liquor and the atmosphere.

I won’t lie. I’ve packed short, shorts, revealing tops and a freakum dress or two. I’m ready to get loose. I’ve got cute flats, breezy summer dresses (truth be told I’ve been shopping for this trip since March.)

But the initial inspiration for today’s post comes from my visit to the mall. A sweet charismatic young lady got me to walk over to her kiosk for high-end, paraben free, mineral make up.

Her presentation was impressive. I did enjoy how the eyeshadow could transform to a lip gloss with just a little bit of water. I was most impressed with the foundation.

I won’t lie. I hate make up and I want things to be as simple as possible. If someone can help me find a foundation, that’s half the battle and that’s why I let her do her thing, and that’s why I forked over the ridiculous amount of money for it. It was light and it did make my skin look great and naturally glowy.

But what killed me was her partner who was giving me a facial with all of this stuff that’s supposed to tighten my face and fight aging. He went on and on about botox and how even at the tender age of 31, the key is to start with all these creams and gels.

“You look great, you look beautiful. But everyone thinks in 20s and 30s they don’t have to start with the creams. In 40s and 50s, you are already too late. You must start now. Black don’t crack right? But you should start early. For $500 I will give you…”

And he starts stacking boxes of so many products, I just couldn’t take it and I knew for damn sure I wasn’t going to spend $500 on any of that mess. I’d buy a new bag or some damn Jimmy Choos before I spend that on those kinds of products. Beauty products are not my drug of choice. They just aren’t.

The women in my family age beautifully. My late aunt was a faithful Oil of Olay user. So I’ma stick to that and my occasional bentonite clay mask.

He can go somewhere with all of that.


So I would like to share a few tips for the newbies.

You need flats. Or wedges you know you are comfy walking or standing in (standing particularly if you hang in the superlounges). Most people walk to the Superdome every night because the weather is awesome, the people watching is great and most people want to burn off the calories from all of the amazing food. Now for the more practical reason. Traffic near and around the Superdome is stupid. You’ll just be sitting in your cab. You’ll get there faster if you walk. If your hotel is in a mile radius, hoof it.

DRINK LOTS OF WATER. I know, you are going to be taking down those hurricanes and hand grenades, but seriously, get you some water, you are going to need it.

Sundresses are the way to go. It’s a music festival, they are cute and sexy and women of all sizes usually look pretty nice in them. You feel better when you catch a breeze. Trying to teeter around in heels or things that are too tight, you are going to end up looking silly as the night goes on, unless you have VIP tickets. Keep it simple.

Buddy system. Ladies, you are grown, but seriously stick with at least one other person in your party at all times. It’s easy to get lost. Put your section number in your phone and text it to yourself. One of my homies came up with the brilliant idea of texting the address and room number of our hotel to herself. I’d suggest that too. The street names can be hard to pronounce anyway and when you are stumbling in with the sun in the a.m. remembering your room number is harder than it looks.

Keep your cell phone charged. For some reason, I remember my service being spotty in the Superdome. But who needs a phone? It’s too loud to talk. Just use it for selfies and cute pics with the homies.

Safe sex. That’s a no-brainer. Let’s keep it real. People relax their standards during these kinds of trips. Wrap it up. No exceptions.

It’s always a good idea to have blotting papers and hand sanitizer. The heat and the nastiness of Burbon street will get all up on ya. It’s nice to be able to freshen up a little.

No large bags. You do not want to be fumbling with a huge handbag. Get yourself a cute, small cross body or a wristlet with just enough room your id, cash, cards, room key, phone, lip gloss and blotting papers and hand sanitizer.

Carry a little cash. The restaurants are packed. If you and your party pay in cash you can get the hell out a lot faster. Also if you pay in cash, you may be able to haggle with the fantastic street vendors for art and various things. Now, I’ve never managed to make it to the convention center, but this year, I plan to check out the day time events over there. It should be pretty cool. So I don’t have tips for that.

Oh yes! The superdome is freezing. A cute cardi is a must.

So if you’re going, have a fantastic and safe time! It’s going to be amazing!!!




Dating Has Become My Second Job

Yesterday morning I woke up feeling like crap.

I spent a greater part of the previous night chatting with a guy on the phone into the wee hours. You’d think it was awesome until my high came down.

I was achy, tired. Grumpy. Work dragged on and I was edgy. Didn’t want to be bothered with anyone. Finished a project and left early to get some chicken pho (my go to cure-all for everything) and some sleep.

Talked to the same guy again for a while, while languishing on my couch last night, but it was almost like the club effect. Turn on the lights and you don’t see the same person you thought you were dancing with. You see a slovenly drunken, ugga bugga.

Beer goggles. Ciroc shades.

The really funny, easy guy I was talking to the previous night turned into a judgemental, Uncle Ruckus, who has an issue with my hair all of a sudden. I decided I didn’t care about his opinion because he is an unexposed, non-cultured person. And I’m not even being jerky about it. This guy really hasn’t been exposed and I don’t think he cares to expand his world view at all.

Black people who go on ad nauseam about how they hate large groups of black people or neighborhoods with too many black people irritate me. He actually said he feels better when he sees more white people. This guy is from the South and I can’t decide to call him Uncle Ruckus (A black self-hating, black people hating character on The Boondocks cartoon series) which I did to his face or Jim Crow.

He went on and on about how black people just want to eat fried food all the time with hot sauce and are unhealthy. Have you looked at the entire country? Poor eating habits are rampant across color lines. GTFOH. Negro, you probably have too many people in your family with diabetes and high blood pressure! Earlier he asked me to send another photo of myself and asked me, if I had just gotten out of bed, because my hair looked messed up.

Clearly, I was wearing full make up. I felt insulted. I’ve been getting a lot of reactions to my hair. Some men think it’s pretty awesome, which makes me very happy. Some just don’t really mention it, or they may ask me when I decided to go natural and why and when I explain my reasons, they tend to leave it alone.

My hair was styled in a similar way to how I had it styled in my profile pics. I told him “um, yes, it’s styled. I have natural hair.”

“Well do you wear it straight?”

“I can wear it straight, but it doesn’t last for very long, especially in warm weather. I’m getting braids next week because I don’t want to fuss with it on vacation.”


I’m thinking the whole time, “Seriously, Negro? Seriously?”

Then when he talked about all of the foods he wouldn’t eat or try, and asked me if Vietnamese food was Oriental, I decided this ain’t gonna go far.

Oriental? Might as well call me colored.

So I’ve decided that he has a serious self-love problem and no wonder he’s screwed up. His mother named him after one of the biggest white American Rock and Roll stars of all time and he grew up in the south. So I give him a pass and pray for his happiness someday. Anyone who knows me knows I am obsessed with African-American history and with Pan-Africanism. I love talking to my friends from other cultures within the Black diaspora and understanding their experiences and how they look at the African-American experience. I love my heritage. So someone like him, yeah, I have no patience for it at all.

So after further discussion, this dude got married early, to a woman who barely out of her first marriage (who wanted to be with him during this first marriage) and asked HIM to marry her.

Like I said, “Well, I mean she was barely out of the first marriage what made you ask her?”

“Well, she asked me.”


Because she was his first and only sexual partner he agreed. The marriage lasted 10 months.

She was cheating.

No kidding.

So yes, yall. Dating has become my second job and the stress from it I think caused me to just break down yesterday.

I foolishly tried to plan drinks with Kyle Barker, because he said something about him no longer being immune to my intoxicating vibe and energy. And of course, he stood me up.

I didn’t go to the gym as I planned and I sat at home eventually shedding clothing and pouring wine in a glass, disappointed in myself.

But the pull of new messages from POF keep making me go back and try and try again.

There’s one guy, who is really wordy with the most wonderful lips who I’m talking to and another guy who’s messages I seem to enjoy. I’ve booked drinks with him after I hang with some friends tomorrow night.

I don’t even want to get into the one dude who I talked to off and on and have never gone out with yet.

He asks me to a barbecue this weekend. Cool. Then he says it’s a guy from work, there’s free food and a dj.


Then he says he only knows the guy from work, so it’s a great chance for us to get to know each other.

Record scratch.

I tell him, if he wants to get to know me, we don’t have to go to the barbecue. Barbeques are social and honestly, if we don’t know the people that well, we are going to look like moochers.

So he said he agreed and would like to do lunch. I told him lunch was cool. Besides I didn’t want to drive all the way to that side of town to be non-social and looked upon as a mooch. I can afford to make my own burgers. Come on dude.

But I haven’t heard anything else sense.

So do you see why I’m drained folks? Do you see?

One more work week and I’ll be vacation bound in New Orleans. It won’t just be a vacation from my real job, but a much-needed one from dating…

It can’t come soon enough…

Punishment for the Pressed

Oh folks.  Call me “can’t get right.” I messed up with The Candidate yet again. Being emotional and silly from my weekend of self pity, I woke up this morning with the bright idea to send him a message and get ahead of what I figured was his impending rejection.  All of a sudden he didn’t contact me and it continued for a few days.

So in my message I say, “Happy Sunday hope all is well. I thought we were going to talk some more.  But it’s ok.  Take care. ”

Several hours later after I finish a long and intense workout to get my mind right and blow off steam, he hits me back. He said he hasn’t been in contact with anyone because there was a death in the family.

I felt smaller than an ant.

My Nike sneaker tasted salty, sweaty and leathery.

I responded with an apology and my condolences. I said I had now a total of two times putting my foot in my mouth and that I was very sorry.

If this man manages to still be interested in me,  I’ve decided it will be a miracle. I let myself get pressed and crazy-the very things I never want to be. And it looks like me and my pride and ego have had to pay dearly and I deserve to learn my lesson in such a manner.



Sniffing Coffee Beans

I was in a funk for the entire weekend.

Guys who seemed to be interested all started flaking out at levels of disbelief.

These were people who initiated contact with me, flattered me, talked about the future, blah blah.

But when it came down to it, it was all talk and no action and no follow through.

I haven’t heard anything from the Candidate and I’m a little disappointed.

I had a long heart-to-heart with my favorite cousin and she said that I need to just stop.

She described my recent Plenty of Fish binge as being at a department store fragrance counter and smelling every cologne without sniffing coffee beans in between to clear my nostrils so I can actually smell each, distinctive scent.

Well hot damn. She dropped some knowledge on me.

I have been acting like an unsupervised fat kid at Golden Corral.

I’ve been wanting to feel something, meet someone great so badly that I haven’t really been taking time to nurture any real friendships or relationships. I’ve been getting frustrated by non-responses, or responses that I thought were stupid and checking people off of my “good enough for me list” that I started becoming the women I make fun of.

I was going out on dates because I was bored and they actually asked, but I didn’t have a genuine attraction. And with every new conversation, I feel my patience getting shorter and shorter.

My cousin is right. I need a great whiff of coffee beans to reset my mind. I need a break from POF.

I thought going into it with such vigor, would give me the results I wanted because I was actually trying this time. I was showing the universe that I could handle this that I was truly ready for love. So bring em on.

I’ve run into a number of issues. Good looking successful men who thought they were too good-looking and successful to even talk to me.

Men who live at home with their folks, which seems to be not so uncommon these days, but they seem to have a chip on their shoulder about it because of the way other women have responded to it.

And dream sellers, the men who compliment, flirt and say the right things, yet they fade away.

I’m not sure of where my next guy is. I’m just not.

I don’t want to get married today.

I just want someone in my life who I’m excited about and who is equally excited about me. Someone who wants to spend time with me, a person’s whose company I can enjoy. Where we can be quiet all night or laugh all day. I can’t be crazy. This has to exist somewhere.

Friday night I felt this insane claustrophobic feeling. It felt like I was starved for love and it hurt and the panic set in. Where was it? Would it be coming?

It made me wonder if I made a mistake by ending things with Officer Cutie. Should I have given it a try despite my gut feeling about the drama to come with his child? I knew I did the right thing. That baby is too young, the relationship between he and the mother has not matured enough. I did the right thing. I know I did.

But feeling like this hurts. And I don’t want this feeling to drive me to desperation. That’s totally unattractive and I’m better than that.

I’m a jerk. I’ve turned down nice guys, but I wasn’t attracted to them. And that makes me a horrible person. But I’ve tried that stuff before. I tried to look past my unattractedness and kept saying this person is nice, this person is nice, and it still didn’t work.

Coffee beans.

I can’t seem to get this shit straight.

Once my ipod recharges, I’ll hit the gym. Maybe that will help…

Kyle Barker Returns, Again

A situation that took place yesterday kind of starts out the way the guy from the barbershop in Coming to America tells his story about meeting Dr. Martin Luther, the kang.

Clarence: “One day, I was walking down the street, just walking along, feeling good. I walk around a corner, A man walk up, hit me in the chest. I fall on the ground, right. And I look up and it’s Dr. Martin Luther King. I said ‘Dr. King?’ and he said ‘Ooops, I thought you were some body else.’ ”
Sweets: Oh man, you lyin’. You ain’t never met Martin Luther the King.
Clarence: Knocked the wind out of me, yes he did.
Sweets: No, he didn’t.
Clarence: Yes, he did.
Sweets: No, he did not!

Well. No, someone did not hit me in the chest after I walked around the corner, but it felt that way. And I was left feeling like the wind was knocked out of me, just the same.

I was rushing off to the metro near my job, to meet up with friends in DC after work. I looked great, felt great, like my friend Clarence and all of a sudden, I hear a man cat-calling me.

I’m grown. I aint got time for that. So then, the voice yells my name.

I twist around to see where this is coming from.

Lo and behold, it’s Kyle Barker.

Damn. Dressed like Harrison from Scandal (Always has. He’s been wearing gingham dress shirts for ages. I joke with him and call them picnic basket and graph paper shirts), looking so good and smiling that million dollar smile.

Oh he has a great smile.

So, I smile say hello. He asks me what I’m doing here and I tell him that I work nearby. He’s shocked because basically he works in the building across the street from me. He asks me how long have I been working in that building, and I tell him rolling my eyes, six years.

So we laugh at the coincidence. He asks me where I am going and tells me to hop in and allow him to drop me off to the metro. He has to switch out of the turning lane to get back toward the Metro, but he does. As we get closer, I tell him where he can drop me and he says, no, he wants to wait for another car to move out of the way to keep me in the car longer. I laugh him off and switch subjects.

I ask him if he’s still djaying and to let me know when he’s having the next gig. “Maybe I’ll grace the place with my face,” I said playfully.

“And your ass too?”

“And my ass too.”

He tells me he likes my hair and continues to look at me like a desert cart. I’m taking in the view myself. Damn, sir. Trying to fight instant flashbacks of old, naughty behavior, I’m calm, I’m cool. However if he saw or felt what was going on in my panties, I would have been a goner. My cover completely blown.

The sun was shining, I had on an amazing, super flattering Ann Taylor dress. It was, the peeerfect moment you pray for to have the man who pisses you off yet, curls your toes see you. I mean, I would have never calculated that moment for myself so well.

I was laughing at the irony. Kyle Barker hadn’t really crossed my mind. And BOOM. There he is.


But before I drifted into my primitive thoughts and had Ciara’s “Body Party” playing in my head on repeat, upon entering his vehicle, the smell of stale weed met me in his car. I had to laugh about that too. He’s fine, he’s smart, he’s educated and has a good job, but him and that damn weed.

I used to smell it on him and taste it on his lips, back in the day. But I didn’t care, not one frigging bit. He put it all the way down.

I was having an Olivia Pope moment. He’s my Fitz. He’s my Mr. Big. No matter where I go, or what I do, I can’t seem to escape his draw. The magnatism.

He makes me primitave. It’s intense, the desire. He’s no good.

We’ve gone over this numerous times on this blog. No good. But uh, uh, uh. He’s fine.

So we make a little more small talk, I keep it short. Got places to be. I bid him adieu. So he purposely says the corny line, like, “I hate to see you leave, but I love seeing you walk away.”

I laughed, and casually said, “Thanks for the ride, darlin.” And stomped off like a true G.

And like a true G, I never turned around to look back at him in the car.

Yes, hunty! Go in and let have! I was giving it everythang, strutting to the Metro like he didn’t phase me. (Inside, I wanted to straddle him in the car. I need Jesus. For real.)

Oh rapturous fabulousness!

And in honor of our ridiculous fauxlationship, Wale’s Bad. Shout out to Olivia and Fitz and Olivia and Jake… Bad girl…

Since I mentioned Body Party, why not?

Mama I Want to Sing

These folks make me want to drop everything and find a vocal coach.

I saw Nick Hakim open for Emily King at the Hamilton and have been in love with him and his background singer Jamie Woods… Oh wait. I’ma share my favorite video of her too…

So here is Ms. Woods. They both need to blow up, like today. I’d love to see her sing with Chrisette Michele.

Can’t stop playing that one. Effortless. She kills me.

I also need this fellow to drop another album. BJ the Chicago Kid. I just enjoy watching his vimeo videos where he freestyles. This boy can sang. Effortless. Swoon.


From Outta Nowhere

Sometimes our most pleasant surprises are, well a surprise. They come from out of thin air.

It’s sooo early in the game.

But I like this new dude. I may have made a reference to him before.

You know, the one who ended our first date on Halloween night doing the “Thriller” dance in the street.

Well, Friday, we went to see a movie and had a great time making jokes about everything.

And yesterday, I invited him over to take some baked ziti off my hands.

I’ll admit it. I like this dude.

He’s smart, he has been respectful. He is funny and corny, which makes him more funny to me, which in my book makes him even more endearing.

Make no mistake, I’m not saying corny in a negative way. Corny men have an insane ability to win me over.

He reminds me of Kevin Hart.

He’s so short.

God bless him.

He talks kind of fast and his facial expressions are just too hilarious. They like bring it all home.

But in between all of the jokes, we have some pretty good conversations.

He asked me about what went wrong in my last relationship, and I told him the sad, pitiful story.

He had a very serious look on his face and said how sorry he was how things happened because I seem like a really cool person.

I told him it was all good, and lessons were learned and that’s just life.

So he paused for a moment, then asked, “Well, is there closure? Are you over him?”

To which, I responded yes. I explained that I talked to him about two months ago and I knew there was nothing left, when I asked him if he learned anything from all of this and he asked, how could he?

Even saying it out loud, I wasn’t giving the new guy a good answer that he’d want to hear. I knew I was telling the truth.

He shared some interesting info about his last relationship, and what struck me is that as jacked up as the situation was, he handled it with a lot of maturity, and the fact he could stay with someone for four years being kinda young, was interesting to me too. So, just off of stats, he may be able to help me break my two year curse/record.

My favorite serious quote from him was the following:

“I couldn’t let that situation stop me from being who I am. I’m a giver and I’m going to always give people my best. It’s who I am. It’s up to the other people. If they treat me wrong or badly, God’s gonna deal with that. I”ll always know I did the right thing. That’s on them.”

We know the words to the same movies. We like a lot of the same music, even the stuff that no one else knows about that I can’t convince my other friends to listen to.

I asked him a few nights ago, what is a song that always makes him smile as soon as he hears it. And knock me down with a feather, he said, “Yellow” by India Arie.

Now, yall know how much I love this song, because I wrote a post about it months ago. It’s not a very popular song, so it just freaked me out. He knows nothing about this blog.

What’s even more crazy is the night after our first date, I wrote a few things on a slip of paper, put it in a sealed envelope and put it someplace special.

I wrote down some predictions about this guy and just some gut feelings I had. Like I wasn’t going to be able to sleep until I wrote it down, so I could be proven right later.

I wrote. New guy’s name is smart, and kind (I didn’t steal that from “The Help”). He has a big heart and he has a story that makes him who he is.

I’m going to open it at some undisclosed time, if we ever become an item. Which I think may be imminent, as long as nothing ridiculous happens. I think in another blog I said he was 22. He is not, he is 28. So it’s not that bad.

Either way, there is a feeling about him. That thing that I’ve been describing to you all over and over, that I just wasn’t feeling. I may be leaning towards that gut feeling of, I like this guy. I like him. Goofy, short, younger, whatever, I like him.

I can’t wait to see how this all unfolds. I’m trying to be cool about it, but this is absurd. Like, we’ve been sending texts in old English British accents. One will ask, if you can’t hear it, how can you tell? One you have to read with imagination, and two, you write *old timey british accent at the end.

Now I am going to have to get the BBC show Chef on DVD, so we can watch it together.

I have met my goofy, nerdy, musical, male match.

And God, he smells good and has a job…

Lord, I’ve created a new Spotify playlist… My friend accused me of googly eyes last night. This is bad. Geez….


Addictive Tendencies

I’m watching myself as of late, because I’ve been on some addictive type stuff.

I love shopping, but I think I have a problem. I’ve been spending my lunch breaks buying stuff.

Last week, I bought two shirts one day, and a pair of shoes the next.

Today, I bought a clutch (but I’ve wanted this kind of clutch since last year and they never had the right color or style).

Like I’m not spending crazy amounts of money, but after a while it adds up.

My latest addiction is that stupid online dating site I signed up for almost two weeks ago.

I’m checking the stupid thing all day, even on my phone, draining the battery.

I must be bored. Most of these men, I’m not even interested in, but I’m digging the high I get from opening my mailbox everyday to like 20 guys.

Some of them, I’m actually sending messages to, and some of them seem kind of nice, or interesting.

But something tells me, I’m not really going to find that super dooper love connection.

Before, I was being very strict about men who are long distance since we know I’m the queen of that, and now, if the man seems like he’s got some sense, I’m willing to have a conversation.

What’s most interesting is, as some conversations are fading out and interest is waning, there’s always a new guy to start a new conversation with.

There they are. All laid out. Every time I log on, I hear Arsenio Hall’s voice in “Coming to America” where he tells Akeem, “apparently these are the best women Queens has to offer. Pick one and let’s go home.”

Pick One and Let’s Go Home

I keep hearing, “Pick one and let’s go home.”

I put myself out there and reached out to some guys who I thought were good-looking and had something decent to say in their profile, but I’ve not gotten any responses from those guys. I guess I’m not their type.

Side note: This dating site allows you to rate your level of attractiveness. Some of these fools really have the nerve to say stunningly good-looking.

I mean seriously, “stunningly”? Like damn, you got big ones.

I just put good-looking. I refused to put average and I certainly wasn’t nuts enough to put stunningly good-looking. I’ll let you decide that for yourself potential suitors.

Just wow. These dudes are a trip.

But that’s ok.

I’m restless, I cannot sleep, STILL! If any of you have any good suggestions for insomnia that do not include, NyQuil, child Benadryl, hot baths, orgasm, or sleepy tea (not saying these are bad, these are just the ones that have already been suggested), please let me know.

I had a huge cupcake today, and it was delicious. I was so tired after work yesterday, I did not work out and I had an hour nap. Just an hour. I figured I’d be able to sleep. No.

Still up til nearly two. I haven’t had a solid night’s sleep since last week.

One of my favorite addictions, Kyle Barker has been texting me. And he’s quite a temptation. Usually I stave off that temptation by not shaving and keeping my house a mess, so I’ll be too embarrassed to host him.

One of my good male friends, tells me if I give in now, what will my 11 months of celibacy be good for? What will it have meant?

But at this point, I’m wondering why am I still waiting? I mean, I know why. I want to be in a relationship that’s going somewhere. Wherever somewhere is…

So I’m back to square one.

Food, shopping, self-love, sleepless nights and online flirting.

This sounds horribly sad.

Horribly sad.

I am a real life Cathy comic.

Speaking of rockin single television women who I root for and love, if yall aren’t watching the Mindy Project, yall are friggin slippin. I LOVVVVE this chick.

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