I am (Finally) Ready for Love.

When you’re ready to love somebody, you’ll know. You won’t have to conduct interviews…or make comparison charts…or contemplate life decisions in wee hours of the morning. You’ll just know…because love isn’t analytical. It isn’t messy or exhausting like an on-going game of tug-o-war between children.

Loving somebody isn’t about who’s more interested or who exerts more effort. There’s a natural connection and desire to get closer to the other person. You forget to count how many times you’ve called versus how many calls you’ve received. You forget to stay upset and obsess about all those little details that leave you wondering whether your muse is sincere.

There’s a moment when everything feels…authentic. Love isn’t the chase. It isn’t the light-hearted outings or the hand-holding or the eye contact. Love is what happens once you give someone 3,000,000 reasons to leave…yet he or she continues to come back.

Hint: Key to His Heart...Isn't in Your Panties.

Once every 7 years or so, I'm awestruck by the celestial timing of things. Today, I'm literally stunned/stilled by the wisdom I just received from a woman I've talked with on numerous occasions...but never shared life stories with (I don't think she even knows my last name). We've never gotten beyond the kind-hearted, Southern greetings. We've never hugged...or cried together. But, the way that she just spoke to my heart has me convinced that she's been carrying this little seed of brilliance since she met me. And I have no choice but to forward it on to you.

For the sake of the story, we'll call her Michelle. Now-Michelle is a Southern Belle in the worst way. She was raised in Georgia, talks with a twang and walks with a Beyonce switch. She thinks her doodoo don't stink. She has a daughter that I nicknamed "diva" because she's only 3 yrs old and her attitude is twice her size. I think they're both adorable. For whatever reason, Michelle felt talkative today. We exchanged light comments about the weather...cost of living in our cute suburbia town...etc.

In the middle of our dialogue (while I was holding "diva" on my hip)...my loud, obnoxious, unattractive, and seemingly drunken co-worker blurts out the following: "AWW! YOU LOOK SO GOOD HOLDING THAT BABY. YOU REALLY NEED A BABY OF YOUR OWN."

I immediately put Diva down, held up my hands and, with my index fingers, formed a cross because I was convinced that this delusional nutcase was trying to put some sort of voodoo hex on me. She was so unneccesarily enthusiastic about the idea of me having a child-like-today. (I should inform you that I'm not married...and I can barely afford my lifestyle. I have no idea how I'd provide for a child).

Michelle passionately whispered to me, "DON'T LET THAT CRAZY B(with an)ITCH TELL YOU THAT YOU NEED TO RUSH AND HAVE KIDS. YOU'RE DOING FINE AS YOU ARE."

That's what started our 1-hour pow wow about women, relationships, and children. Michelle told me that she was proud of me (though she barely knows me) for representing women well by not rushing to have a baby with some man who doesn't know if he's coming or going. She reminded me that young women are going about "catching a man" all wrong. She said that we're all trying to catch men between our legs instead of with our hearts.

I was inspired to share that tidbit because I've noticed that when I really care about someone I tend to withhold the most intimate portions of myself for as long as possible. I don't like to hand out my love like samples of mixed nuts at the grocery store. I was raised to believe that I'm unique and phenomenal. So, I live that way. I think the problem is that most women want so desperately to be accepted that they reject their personal standards in order to get the attention of men who really can't tell one hole from the other. I'm not trying to be vulgar...but if we keep putting ourselves in these assembly lines and trying to fit in, we'll never stand out in any man's memory.

Show him something he hasn't seen recently. Show him something authentic. Remind him that good conversation isn't found via text at 3am. Don't be flattered when he buys you one watered-down drink and some hush puppies from Cook-Out. Your love is worth more than $9(the cost of the drink and the hush puppies).

I'm no saint. I can't say that enough. People seem to think I'm sharing from some stage of devout perfection. And that couldn't be further from the truth. The truth is: I'm not willing to have a broken heart while attempting to capture some man's heart the wrong way. Sex isn't what really intrigues anybody these days because it's readily available and watered down...

What's intriguing is finding 1 person out of the thousands you'll be exposed to daily, that you actually want to interact with...share your ideas with...grow with...and potentially, love. Love isn't extinct. But it is endangered.

The key to his heart isn't in your panties...it's in your feminine touch, your embrace, your kindness, your beauty, your intelligence and ultimately, your self-worth. If you don't think you're worth loving, you'll always give away free samples of your body. And you'll always wake up alone...wondering what you're doing wrong.

I promise.

Wisdom for the Woman Within

You have every right to fall, to fumble…to feel and to become. Each person you’ve loved, whether serving in a familial or a romantic role, has probably tried to portion you by telling you just how much of yourself you’re permitted to be.You’ve most likely been restricted, caged, and controlled for the better span of your life. Everyone loves your free spirit but no wants to hear it when it coes at night. No one wants it to become a monster that grows at the sight of anything slightly desireable. No wants to deal with the reality that you’ll never be trained, you’ll never entertain on a stage for the admired but untouchable, and you’ll never tame your natural tendency to roam.

I know that you’ve never found a home…and when you have established your own haven…someone has always invited him or herself into your sanctuary. You’ve never known the powerful hum of loneliness. Because there is always someone who wants to put you in a glass display case and own you.

You hereby have the permission to become who you want to become. It doesn’t matter where you’re going or where you’ve come from. I suggest you find the will and the means to soar beyond and above their restrictions. Run, like the redeemed flee from the wrath of hell. Journey through and to the pain that waits for you…because eventually pain blossoms into potential. I’m convinced that there is more for you on the other side of your own sanity.

Stop thinking. Start experiencing. Fall in love and let it drown you. Give away your power. Then claim your joy.

HOW TO BE A BARBIE

The 1950’s was marked as a decade for feminine submission and male “dominance” in both the home and work place. Traditional women were proud to dress in their finest garments to wait for their men to arrive home from work, in order to serve mixed drinks as well as that day’s paper. Women aimed to represent their husbands well by maintaining a sophisticated, feminine image at all times.

Fashion Flashback: Women were (almost always) in perfectly tailored dresses and gowns. Point being? Women took pride in their appearances constantly and were committed to be refined, easy-on-the-eyes, and classy.

This is probably a good time to mention that there are 50% more women between the ages of 15-29 who haven’t been married (in 2010) than there were in 1952. That means that roughly 40,000,000 more women are single today than 50+ years ago.

In 2010, most women grow nauseous at the idea of serving as the more domesticated partner and essentially, a trophy for an egotistical man. But there’s something that I think we all need to be viciously real about…and I just can’t keep this dose of relentless to myself any longer. Because, I am one of few who believe (wholeheartedly) that the truth isn’t only liberating but it is vital for the survival of relationships. Now, I realize that everyone isn’t ready for the truth. I can accept that. But in due time, everything surfaces…no matter how weighted down or how defecated…there will come a time when all that is hidden will wash up onto the shore of discovery.

And the buried, murdered, drowning truth is that women are letting themselves go at a fierce rate. I think that we’re all too modern and appropriate and empowered to talk about how important appearance still is!

I’m not suggesting we all get barefoot and run to the nearest kitchen, but I am wondering when women started associating sloppiness or laziness with independence? I know that there are currently more women in the workforce (in America) than men. I know there are more female CEO’s every year. We are powerful and proud of it…but we’re also becoming more obese, more sloppy…and consequently, more lonely. We also misrepresent ourselves by thinking that bleach-stained sweatpants and a baseball cap is appropriate happy-hour/errand attire.

Anyone who loves having a beautiful woman around can tell you that beauty is exhilarating. Effort is intoxicating. And finesse is erotic. So when…did it become okay to leave the house without your ‘face in place’. Why do women think that it’s okay to look like they’ve just been mugged when they arrive at the workplace? Why are stilettos heels somehow considered condescending and ancient? As far as I can tell, most women still want to get married…but most women don’t take the time to represent themselves as desirable and fascinating.

I, for one, will not be in that clump of women who want to sit at home alone on Saturday night because I’m too “independent” to put on some MAC gloss and a LBD (little black dress) in order to gain an admirer or two. I’m not too proud to be pretty. Therefore, I’ve defined my attitude about this topic as “Barbie Basics”.

Being a Barbie, in my opinion, is about glowing in spite of burdens and baggage. Barbies know how to laugh at the right moment in the right pitch, tilt the head at the right angle, and get results by cutting the eyes in the right direction. Barbies accentuate their partners…not overshadow. Intelligent women, who are entrepreneurial and have their own wealth, are capable of being Barbies. Because true Barbies know that being feminine isn’t somehow a threat to the Women’s Movement of 2010. I love being on the arm of someone who is proud to have me near, who wants to protect me, and boasts a little just by having me around. I do dress to impress. And it’s not that I do it for everyone else, I dress because I know that I am God’s ornament on this Earth. I take pride in how I present myself. I’m not insulted by the reality that being pretty is important, that being attractive is imperative, and being feminine makes me all the more fabulous.

Women need to be a little more willing to play dress up. We should be eager to get up each day and get ready for life. A college friend, who is now Miss North Carolina, once told me what she wore heels every day because she could meet her soul mate anywhere (in the drugstore, at the carwash, etc). And I admit, she is and always has been a stunning woman who turns heads 24 hours a day, 7 days a week. Her philosophy seemed slightly desperate at the time, but I later realized that her goal wasn’t to “catch a man” but to keep herself up. If we were more willing to represent ourselves well more often, we wouldn’t be so likely to let ourselves go so quickly after finding love. We’d get “in the habit” of being visually phenomenal. We’d realize that we feel more alive and more alert when we feel beautiful.

Being a Barbie isn’t about submitting to any man or wearing uncomfortable shoes to the grocery store. Being a Barbie is about being willing to be just as pretty as you are powerful. I just think every woman should be willing to strike a balance between ambition and attitude about living a fabulous, fashionable…fulfilling life.

...A COLORED GIRL WHO’S CONSIDERED SUICIDE…

It’s about so much more than causing words to coordinate…compliment…and cohesively tell my story. This isn’t a hobby for me. This is the food I eat, more significant than the air that I breathe because when I didn’t want to live anymore, I used language as a life raft. The more I bled on paper, the less I wanted to shed my own.
I tend to write in a satirical tone, intended to make you chuckle or cause the corners of your eyes to crease when clever ideas flirt with your imagination. I try to reach you on a level that keeps you comfortable and protects my privacy. But beneath the relativity and humor, there is pain from my past…pain that boils like Ramen noodles in a college dormitory.

This life isn’t what they said it would be. Opportunity isn’t knocking or calling or chasing me. Whatever “big breaks” I get, I have to sweat for. For my generation, opportunity is barely a distant light in the darkest night. We’re all just trying to make it, gracefully. I can admit that I think more about who I have yet to become, than I do about who I already am. I’ve never been one to enjoy my accomplishments for too long. I look at my achievements like a child does a present the day after Christmas. I’m impressed for a few minutes, but then my senses grow restless and I need more. I need something new.

When I was a sophomore in college, I was convinced that I hadn’t accomplished enough. When I looked at my life, I didn’t think that I had contributed enough to society or saved enough lives or told enough people about Jesus. I sincerely thought that my life wasn’t really worth living. My joy left late one night, while I was living in Collegiate Courtyard, and it didn’t return for 5 years. There is so much that a young person faces once he or she leaves the nest…so much that wasn’t covered in AP English or AP European History. No one makes it clear that a break up can literally break a heart, stop its beat, or slow its pace. No one warns you about the professors that are blatantly and shamelessly racist. No one tells you that the Office of Admissions doesn’t really want black students at the University…but quotas must be filled. So, when you’ve grown up in the suburbs, protected by God and family, and then get exposed to a world where the strong barely survive…every day becomes its own battlefield.

I considered suicide because I thought God had given up on me. I considered suicide because family stopped calling me. I considered suicide because I thought I’d never be good enough for anyone to love for a lifetime…

But what I’m most proud of, after 24 years of life, is that I considered suicide then opted to conquer my own demons by shedding light on my insecurities, my burdens, and my personal mistakes. I had to realize that my destiny is my own. Feeling alone is merely a consequence of failing to connect to those with similar tragedies. Having a purpose (and never abandoning that purpose) will keep you alive when nothing else will. I know now that I’m here to do something really special. College nearly killed me…but it didn’t. So I carry my story of triumph like a torch. It is my light when the electricity (motivation, vision, strength) in my life fails me. I want to live until there’s no power in these lungs to pump oxygen. I want to live until my eyes can no longer open to witness the sunset. I want to live until everyone I’ve ever loved is on the same bus that I’m taking to heaven’s gates.

Key phrase in today’s post: I want to live.

How to: Be Sexier.

Let me tell you something right now...I am not (in any way) one of the writers who thinks that she knows everything about everything, or a little something about everything. I just know what I know. Like Oprah, there are a few things I know for sure. And one of those sureties just happen to surround the idea and conceptualization of the modern 'sexy' woman. You don't have to agree with anything that I write in this post, but promise me that you'll take something from it. Because, it's true.

Being sexy isn't complicated. Take it from me. I've been sexy (according to my own standards) since 1986...which might sound a little awkward but just hear me out. Sexy is a mentality. I'm certain that I've said that before in one of my previous posts but the reason I want to hone in on the idea today is because I've realized that, in modern media, we're beginning to turn our attention away from the classic beauty and zoom in on modern women who have a style and image all their own. Their no longer looking molded and created, they just exist in the center of their feminine happiness. And that excites me.

I'm not suggesting that you aren't already sexy. Hence, "sexier" in the blog's title. I'm simply insinuating that your sexy may be able to benefit from a tune up. And here's how:

1) Put your insecurities in storage. Box up all of your ideas about yourself...i.e. thighs too jiggly, hair too brittle, head too big, etc. and start over. How you look is HOW YOU'LL ALWAYS LOOK unless you take advantage of plastic surgery. So, I suggest that you own it and wear it like this year's freshest fur fashions. Because, everyone can smell your insecurities (seriously). The people who don't like you are thrilled because you don't love yourself and those who really want to like you are turned off.

2) Rate your mood in ALL of your clothes. If you have clothes (like most of us do) that you wear but you never, ever feel attractive in...what the heck is the point? Clothes aren't cheap. Every purchase is an investment. So, do me a favor and stop wearing your jeans from middle school okay because a)your ankles are cold and b)dungarees are for the cotton field.

3) Date someone new. Okay, don't take this the wrong way but so many of us are involved with people who don't make us feel sexy. When you're around that person, you have the subconscious desire to wear sweatpant-capris and avoid a comb at all costs. So...either you're too comfortable or you don't care what your beau thinks. You're both suffering...and it's sad. So, start fresh and date someone who you want to impress or do what I do...wear pumps when you're cooking for the one who's loved you for years.

4) Look alive. This is important to me. Seriously...because you've taken the fact that "black is slimming" too far. If someone is always asking you if you've just attended a funeral, you need to make some life changes. Think about what makes you glow. If drinking tea makes you sparkle, then for God's sakes buy more LIPTON'S. If you love lip gloss, why are your lips always dry? I've realized, in my short lifetime, that women tend to suffer for no reason. We have long lists of things we love, but we rarely do them. The things and activities that fulfill us are always at the end of the to-do list and its a shame. Just give to yourself as much (if not more) than you give to everyone else. If you love taking photos, why is your camera in the attic? If you love travelling, why if your passport expired? Do what you love and your glow will be blinding. I'm convinced.

Being sexy isn't hard...but once you've established and maintained your sexy...it's hard to get sexier because you are so certain that your old tricks don't need editing. And they do! If you're no longer turning heads, its because you need to change your mind about yourself. Maybe your red pumps were hott in 2000, but now they look a little more like brown mules from all the club hopping you've done. So refresh. Rethink. And...re-do. If you don't feel sexy, that's your fault. There's no requirement to be a certain size, complexion, or have a certain hair cut/grade. EVERY WOMAN should feel sexy in 2010. There are no excuses.

And that's real.

The "Home Boy" Syndrome

Thousands of women are affected, daily, by a syndrome that they won't even acknowledge...and this syndrome is detrimental to the potential development of a relationship. Every woman I know has suffered from it or knows someone who has it right now...it's a syndrome that sneaks into the equation and eventually poisons a connection and leaves nothing behind but the residue of old love and good memories.

I consider it my duty to expose such monstrous tendencies, which become habits and eventually get filed into the permenant category..."syndromes". I'm sharing because I've been there and I'm sharing because you might be there right now. Let me dissect the entire definition of home boy for you so that we're clear on a few things.

HOME BOY: Someone 1)who is reliable and consistent 2)who is willing to be supportive and accepting, no matter what 3)who isn't demanding and overbearing like women in pursuit of a relationship 'typically' are...4)who has no true title or role and cannot 'legitimately' petition against...anything 5)who is sexually involved with someone who has made no commitment and has no intention of making a commitment

Now, most women I know are well aware of what it takes to be the home boy because we've all either voluntarily accepted that role or have been subjected to the role. As far as I'm concerned, it doesn't matter how you got there...just get the hell out! Fast. Because this syndrome is a one-way route to a lifetime of disappointments.

If you find yourself biting your tongue each and every time someone you're involved with talks about a future that doesn't involve you in it or every time that person emphasizes how important having personal space is, you're most likely suffering from the home boy syndrome.

Because, let's just be real, you want to seem like you're down for whatever (meaning you are willing to go with the flow and let things just 'happen'). I'm here to tell you hunny...nothing is going to just 'happen' if you allow yourself to constantly be downgraded to the friend role each and every time some one that you're loving decides that he or she is 'searching for self' or 'taking some time to heal'...from a relationship that ended in 1999.

It's all bullsh!t and you know it. Somewhere deep down...though you're waiting for a proposal or a commitment or to hold hands in public...you are well aware that a woman who doesn't express her expectations is never going to be respected or revered or appreciated. And she certainly will never be anyone's wife.

I'm just being raw...because I think the home boy syndrome is preventing the women in my life and in my generation overall from being authentically happy. You're worth more but you live like you're worthless. And don't get me wrong, not for a minute. I know what it is to keep denying your right to be someone's only priority in fear of losing that person as a part of your life. Sometimes it feels better to have someone hold you twice a week, than not to have someone hold you at all. It's better to have a missed call every once in a while than to never have any activity in your call log...right? Not necessarily.

Not if, every time you try to express your right to be respected...you're reminded that you signed over your rights when you started laying with someone who always calls you 'friend' when introducing you to the outside world. On holidays, you're put it your place because you have no right to gifts or a date or...a phone call.

The fact that you'll always be around doesn't make you a hero...it makes you a back up plan. And the saddest reality about the syndrome, is that it's becoming a norm. Until you (or your sister, cousin, whoever) is able to say "I deserve your love. I deserve your respect and commitment, exclusively."...You're just going to live your life as everybody's homie. The one that everybody comes back to, eventually. And that's not honorable...that's just the food chain for the restless & lonely.


Signing out,

NNL

JUST STOP.

I talk to myself sometimes. (Don't act like you don't). And lately, I've been using the word 'stop' more often than ever. Because there are negative thoughts that loom like bats in dark caves...in the corners of my mind. Those thoughts taunt me and I am tortured by my past, reminded of my short-comings, and minimized at every opportunity. So, I now use 'stop!' as a means to quiet the voices and remind myself that I am in control of my destiny. I can't let anything taunt or break me. So when I hear those antagonizing voices, I speak right to them and demand them to cease. In order for me to move forward...

Here's a short list of things I've committed to stop doing and thinking...


1. I will STOP delaying my future. I will walk into a future of financial freedom and abundance by chasing the dreams I've had my entire life.

2. I will STOP believing the lies of my enemies. I will allow myself to stand out and reach unimaginable heights. No one is better than me. I am my only competition.

3. I will STOP walking backwards and lingering on failures of the past. I will embrace the present day and current opportunities.

4. I will STOP waiting on others to believe in/encourage me. I will push and motivate myself.

5. I will STOP saying what I cannot do. I know that I can do all things through Christ.

6. I will STOP neglecting my finances when I feel discouraged. I will push forward with a thorough financial plan of action.

7. I will STOP putting everyone else’s needs and requests before my own. I will tend to my own progress and break internal limitations.


8. I will STOP wasting 9 hours a day by cruising the Internet instead of accomplishing tasks that will push me closer to my goals.

9. I will STOP being random and making up new irrelevant plans to throw myself off course and avoid the future.


10. I will STOP asking fools for advice. I will confide in God and speak to those who He leads me to seek counsel from.

What Nobody Told Me About College (Part 1)

WRITTEN: June 2009...SHARED: August 2010


1. Religion

…can be an overrated, polluted, and is often an opportunity to abuse power. When I started college, in 2004, I was already so in love with God. My relationship with Him was simple and based on trust. At the age of eighteen, I did not truly understand the importance of reading the Word, fasting, or any other of the “hubbub” that so many “churched” students created a fuss about once I got to school. I’d always been to churches where the message was the meat of the experience. I had loved being at church, going to vacation bible school, and being around believers…until I arrived in Greensboro.

Freshman year, I started visiting churches in an attempt to stay active like I’d been my entire life. I met a couple young ladies on campus who were already “ministers” in their own right and seeking students (stalking students) who seemed slightly vulnerable or in need of some guidance. Though I’ve always had a mind of my own, I was suffering from homesickness and craved the familiarity and comfort I’d always found in church.

There were two groups of young black women when I started school, those who were in Christ and those who were in the club. The “Christ-like” women were mature, conservative, and (as I later learned) extremists. The “Club-goers” were empty, desperate, and expired by the end of freshman year. I was pursued heavily by recruiters for each group. I dipped and dapped in both areas. But going to the club on Wednesday, then waking up for a 9:30 class on Thursday just didn’t work for me. I wasn’t raised that way. In my mama’s house, everyone was asleep by 11:00pm, Monday through Thursday. Naturally, when I first moved away from home, I wanted to test the waters. Eventually, I discovered that the waters were cold and I was more comfortable being a home-body. I wasn’t completely innocent though. I was young, slim, and outrageously social. My confidence was unmatched on campus. I’d lost forty pounds the summer before college began and I was tiny. My skirts were tinier. By November of 2004, I had at least 8 gentlemen on rotation. My entertainment came to me. I shared a room with a young woman who was excessively religious, involved in Gospel choir, and every other ministry on campus. I couldn’t stand her. She was a hypocrite. I was convinced that she wanted to be me, but she also used religion to persecute me.

Most of the young ladies, who were heavily involved with church, were viciously unattractive. I was expected to pick sides. I was told that I could be desirable or sanctified, but not both. My roommate was no exception to the rule. Physically, she was lacking the assets most brothers on campus whispered about and longed for. Bitterness surfaced in our room often and she would quietly reprimand my actions or mention that she was “praying” for my deliverance. I hated her. A year in that room would confuse even the strongest of personalities. I started to question myself. When I attempted to have guys drop by the room, she responded with discomfort and envy. I thought she was pathetic. I spent a lot of nights in the parlor of the dormitory, studying and talking on my cell phone. But, I started to wonder if I needed prayer and if I was doing something wrong. I started attending on-campus bible studies as well as weekly church services at a small church on the East side.

[I met both of my college sweethearts at that church…and that is all I gained from that experience].

After a few months, I moved on to a more impressive mega-church that hosted a massive college population. Let’s just call the church “EF”, a house of lies and corruption and stage lights, not a house of God.

EF is the church that nobody warns you about. If they do, you probably can’t hear their warnings over the big concerts and flashy fundraisers. It is the church that you spend hundreds of dollars (in both retail and real therapy) trying to forget. But there aren’t enough shoes, vacations, or Coach Bags in the world. There aren’t enough therapy sessions and certainly not enough fake friends. I will never forget EF or the corrupt Christians who “worship” there. I will never forget the burning sting of persecution or the burning sensation that accompanies betrayal. I started going to the church to grow in love and gain a church family, but I lost so much more than I gained. I don’t regret visiting that church, however; I learned an important lesson while I was there. I realized, hundreds of dollars later, that God lives within. No one can tell anyone else how to experience and celebrate His love. No one can censor Him or translate for Him. God is a gift, for the least of us and the greatest of us. I am more in love with Him now than I have ever been. I am not an extremist. I am not judgmental and hateful like those ugly people who tried to break me. I am not wandering, in search for answers and truth. I am confirmed in Christ. I am seeking Him for myself.

The Ultimate Lesson? Never, ever go through people to get to God. Call him on the mainline and just tell Him what you want.

Frozen by Fear.

Every night, I plot a scheme to take over the world. I am the Brain behind an operation that could change history. I'm capable of building brands, changing lives, and uplifting entire nations. I chuckle quietly. I'm dangerous and fearless...as I write on the tablet within my mind. I chart out a timeline and I count (in my imagination) the millions of dollars that I will, one day, accumulate because I am a genius. Because my ideas will reconstruct America. Because I am of a chosen generation. Because my vision is based on promises from heaven...

Then...every morning, I surrender to my exhaustion. I remove my superwoman cape that I wear in my dreams and I replace my heroine mask with a simple grey blouse that matches my safe kitten heels. Then I turn on the coffee maker and wait for my chocolate-tinted, liquid addiction to settle in to a pot that will cradle my energy booster until I'm out of my morning shower and ready to gulp it down. I tease my golden highlights and I make sure I have my lip gloss in my purse. Then I go to work.
9 hours later, I arrive back at home...and I start brainstorming again...

This is my process. I am a self-proclaimed, fear-frozen genius. My plans are immaculate, impressive and intended to change the world. But I can't even figure out how to change my attitude about success. Because, in my opinion, once you succeed...you have no choice but to keep succeeding. Life is easy when no one knows your name, when no one notices you. But as soon as you've accomplished something(whether you've been on a reality show, won a talent search, or rescued a cat from a tree) people watch your life waiting for your next big stunt.

I'm afraid to succeed, because I'm afraid I may not have enough ambition to last the rest of my life. That may sound crazy...but I swear that every time I start a project...I start sweating profusely when I imagine the outcome. "What if" is like a gremlin in a scary movie that taunts me in my slumber. "What if" is the phrase that is going to kill me. Because "what if" is prohibiting me from living my life to the fullest. I am a just a heap of potential, stinking up the Earth's surface and taking up space. Take it from me, allowing fear to prevent you from accomplishing what you were put here to accomplish is pathetic.

I often wonder if anyone will ever see who I really am and what I'm really capable of contributing. Or will I always dream at night then try to blend in and avoid causing any ruckus throughout the day? I can't even figure out exactly why success is so terrifying...I don't know why all of my best ideas are still in notebooks. But slowly, over the years, I've stopped talking about what I dream of doing while I'm here on Earth. I've started to mimic my mother and talk about what's "not practical".

And I hate it. I make lists of little things I should do to get closer to my dreams. But those lists get lost beneath the bills, the grocery lists, and the "what ifs".

I'm convinced that the only way to thaw the fear...to avoid being frozen and stagnant forever...is to keep dreaming, no matter what, and then allow those dreams to dominate both the days and the nights. I have to stop shutting down my free spirit in order to get through the days and blend in with my co-workers. I have to use every free minute to chase my dreams...while managing to earn a paycheck. I have to realize that fear can be the fuel I need because we can use fear as the fire beneath our butts. Eventually, we'll get so tired of being afraid that we'll run, like wild beasts, toward everything we've ever wanted. Because the worst that could happen, has already happened. If you're anything like me, you have a tendency to sit around...not accomplishing anything significant. And nothing (NOTHING) is worse than that.

The Secret to Being Beautiful...

Being beautiful is a phenomenal journey that is only embarked upon by those who are wise enough to know how intricate and expansive the process is. I see young women and seasoned women, alike, attempting to buy beauty at a MAC counter or in BeBe. And I laugh to myself because I feel like angels shared a special secret with me at such a vital point in my life.

This beauty that we seek in malls, the gorgeous bodies we starve ourselves to attain...is all pursued in the most blind vanity. There is such a sad undertone to it all. Though it is 2010 and we are all so "aware" of ourselves, I realize that commercials are still geared toward the 3% of women in this country who have size 2 waists. And its unfortunate because being booty-licious with a tiny waist won't help keep a family together. Being America's Next Top Video Vixen won't help young women around the country increase self-esteem.

Even young men obsess over abs and biceps, but don't understand simple concepts like: chilvary, kindness, and respect. Yet, we're all so damn beautiful. I'm convinced that no one even knows what beauty really is anymore. There's some ridiculous misconception that it is reflected in a mirror or defined by the waist-to-hip-to-chest ratio. But the truth is...beauty is in an embrace. When a person is able to sincerely hold you at the weakest moment you've ever faced and when his/her touch makes you more aware of yourself than you've ever been...beauty is present. When someone kisses you and your pain melts like ice cubes in Savannah heat...beauty is legible and interpreted like the clearest font. Beauty is an action. It is the momentum that's necessary in order for one person to (not only attract) but magnetically draw another. People don't stay together anymore because no one has any idea what the hell "being beautiful" is all about.

In order to be beautiful, a person must live from the depths of the soul. There should be a radiance present whenever the room is filled with such rare, clean beauty. There must be a powerful empathy within and a concern for the well-fare of others. The willingness to forgive makes us beautiful. The desire to love after redundant heartbreak makes us beautiful. Bright-ass lip gloss and skinny jeans does not.

Taking care of your appearance is vital. True beauty can be stifled and ignored if the exterior of your temple is abandoned. People can't see the sunlight through dirty windows so I suggest that your image be fabulous...but what's truly important, is your soul.

Perhaps, if you knew how beautiful you were...beyond the blond highlights and that big ghetto-booty...you'd be able to hold on to love for longer than a week and a half. Maybe if you realized that love isn't about finding someone who has 4 Escalades and an urban apartment, you'd have a life partner by now. Maybe if someone told you that Drake is never going to marry you, you'd stop trying to look like the hoes in his videos and you'd accept the fact that you're gorgeous already...stretchmarks and all. (Yeah I said it).

Beauty is in the eyes of the beholder...so if you'd measure your own beauty with your own eyes...you'd be a lot more particular about you let be(with and)hold you.

And that's real.

Tomorrow can take care of itself...

It’s terrifying to think about what I really want. There are so many potential pursuits…so many opportunities that seem appealing. And it’s not that I’m scared of what the future holds. It’s just that failure is such a terrifying, illumination above all that I do. I’ve waited a lifetime for most of what I have now, and though I’m grateful, I’m also wondering…what next? What will this life show me and teach me? Who will be by my side during the entire journey? With the state of our nation being so flimsy and unpredictable, making decisions is a lot more difficult than ever before. I feel like every wrong turn might never deliver me to that gorgeous door for “second chances”. Second chances almost don’t exist anymore. Everything scars forever…credit delinquencies, bad break-ups, tasteless FB pictures…

People don’t forgive and forget anymore. And what’s worse, we are forgetting how to forgive ourselves. Already at twenty-four, there is so much that I would’ve done differently if I had known years ago what I know now. There is love that I regret losing, love that I regret giving…and opportunities that I regret missing. And although I am well aware that I am right where I am supposed to be, I can’t help but think that I’ve made the journey a little more difficult than it needed to be.

In my lowly opinion, this life should be lived passionately and courageously. We should be challenged every day by the work we do and the service we provide in our communities. And don’t get me wrong, I’m not signing up to be the next Mother Teresa…
I just think that we spend a little too much time consumed by nonsense that will be irrelevant next year instead of making contributions that may change history.

For example, I’ve spent the last 10 days pouting about turning twenty-four. I’ve been focusing on everything that I don’t have and all that I haven’t accomplished (that I feel like I should’ve accomplished long ago). I failed to appreciate the fact that for 7 days, I was pampered by family and friends who have their own lives and schedules but they chose to spend some quality time helping me celebrate life.
And for the most part, I was a brat the entire week!

I just want to place a little more emphasis on what matters. I’d rather focus on the growing portion of the phrase “growing older” than zeroing in on the age factor. I’d rather enjoy the people who love me while they are near, than pout and sour when they have to say “farewell”.

Today, I’m implementing some new policies in my life. I refuse to obsess over what I am not and what I have not…when there is so much to be thankful for. I want to be ridiculously wealthy one day, but for now…I’m just glad that I have a great relationship with the cable lady because I get my premium service for free. I want to have a mansion in the mountains eventually, but right now…I’m grateful to have 1000 sq. foot bachelorette pad in one of North Carolina’s most prestigious cities. I also want to squeeze all this voluptuous-ness in tiny jeans by December...but, this month, I’m going to just enjoy this body because God designed it and it’s beautiful. And I really, really want a love that is healthy and amazing…but until I’m ready for matrimony I’ll find that love in the form of life-long friendships.

I don’t have it all figured out…not at all. I just know that being obsessed with what isn’t…is just a really foolish way to miss out on all that is. I want to embrace today…tomorrow is perfectly capable of taking care of itself.

Is It Me?

Being beautiful-black-and blessed (i.e. independent, smart, and financially stable)is the most phenomenal burden that any woman could ask to carry. And though this topic is difficult to discuss, it is pertinent to the sanity of the women that I know...and the woman that I am. I am-both-disappointed and emotionally distorted due to the on-going battle that we, as women are constantly facing in the dating realm.

Today, I was told for the 1,000th time that I am perfect. And the man who told me that I am perfect followed the compliment with "that's why I know we could never be together. I could never be with a girl like you. You have so much going for you and you deserve the best. I'm so far from the best. I don't have a lot of money and I barely know what I intend to do with my life..."

What's sad is the fact that I didn't ask this fool to sweep me off my feet or to father my unborn children. He just happens to drop in to my office once a day to awkwardly talk about random subjects that I find irrelevant (i.e. the weather, the traffic on 40, and...the weather). And today, for whatever reason he thought it would be appropriate/appreciated if he told me that I was the woman of his dreams.

Interestingly enough, I've heard the same speech (in different forms) so many times before. And I'm not tooting my own horn. Trust me. I have better things to do than to tell you as my readers that men think I'm perfect. I know for a sad fact that I am not. But, the purpose of today's post is to rag on these low self-esteemed, fruit cake-ish, intimidated, foolish, bum-like, broke, pathetic, excuse-making, bad-credit having...pansies that are always talking about what and who they can't handle.

Maybe-if I purchased all my furniture from 'Rent-a-Roo', wore dirty sneakers and a gold weave, had an 8th grade education, couldn't make subjects and verbs agree, bought my shoes at 'Heels 4 Hoes', drove a 1992 Honda Accord with Rainbow paint-leopard seat covers and foil paper rims from Wal-Mart...if all my jeans were 2 sizes too small, if my favorite holiday was SuperJam in Greensboro,and if I named my pitbulls Cadillac & Caprese...I'd have a husband by now.

Because then, and only then, I wouldn't intimidate every man over the age of thirteen. It seems like the women who are weak-minded, financially retarded, uneducated, and hoe-ish, never have trouble keeping men around. Why? I don't know.

Wait...Backspace. Delete that. I do know. I know that men these days, these young boys, are afraid of everything. They don't know how to use the head above their collars so they live from the head below their belts. They're always talking about sex and money...and the sad truth is...they barely know what sex is because they can't get any because they DON'T have money. They don't have money because they're too busy watching 106 & Park and fantasizing about being Drake. And that's RIDICULOUS!

I simply cannot stand it. I swear on my life if one more "grown" man tells me that I am too good for him, I am going to slap him with my credit report and then run over him in my new coupe. Because I'm nauseated with the severe lack of self-worth that these men have today.

What are we, as successful young women, supposed to do? We could all marry each other...but most of my friends aren't really in to that. So there must be another way. I'm tired of looking in the mirror and wondering..."Is it me?" Is there something about me that prevents men from being attached to me and satisfied with me?

I realize now...that I am exactly who I am supposed to be. I am strong, capable, powerful, and beautiful. And I won't apologize for that. So until these immature, chimpanzees get themselves together. I'll keep myself occupied by enjoying my favorite hobbies...making money and looking ridiculously fabulous ;-)

I'm just being real.

Adults Believe in Cooties...

It's been a while since I've blessed the universe with my run-on sentences about life, love, and ludicrous discoveries. To be quite honest, I haven't had a thing to say. I've been too busy observing, learning, living, and loving. I think that's how life should be. We should all free ourselves from the confines of these devilish devices (computers) and get to know each other. That's exactly what today's rant is about...interaction.

For the past few months, I've been spying on my generation. That might sound ridiculous...but, for most of my life, I've lived like I'm a decade older than I actually am. I've never really been the clubbin', drinkin', late night hook-up type. I've always been a 35-year old woman (in my heart). When I started college, I went out a few times but after realizing that I was paying $10 to stand in a crowded venue with drunken peers who are feeling courageous because tequila is involved...I decided that I'd have to find other forms of recreation. And I did. I fell in love...and laid in love for years. Then, at the end of 2009, I decided to relocate and take a break from the intensity of commitment.

It was then that I started spying on people my age...clubbin, traveling, going swimming at 4am...and more. And I had a ball, for the most part. But...I noticed a disturbing trend that I can't help but share here in my precious blog space.

Adults are AFRAID of eachother! In the clubs, grown men stand on one side of the venue while women wait like desperate doves to be noticed and pursued. Everyone is texting and gluing their nervous eyes to their cellphone screens...because interaction is just too frightening.

Night after night-there were so many people, dressed for social success, who had no intention of mingling. They only peeled their faces from their phones to take pictures... in order to perpetrate and post them on Facebook...so that their "friends" would be convinced that their lives are so fabulous.

The first few times I went out and no one approached me, I thought to myself (it must be me...maybe i'm just not cute). Then I thought about it...and I realized...I'm cute as a button. So, clearly, there must be some other issue! And sure enough, there it was.

The obvious dilemma. Grown people don't know how to converse if a keyboard or a monitor isn't involved. And that's a shame.

We all seem to believe in adult cooties...if contact is made, there will be some tragic result like (oh I don't know) a relationship.

I'm Allergic to Wedding Rings

I tend to let the fear speak for me...because ignorance is easy

And when the love burns like last night's liquor

I let the silence simmer

I let the night wash in...I make excuses and pretend that I despise the idea of living in sin

...Some call this sinful, I call it fate. I call it compassion. I call it purpose.

You call it matrimony...and I think that may be a bit too much for me

Because who's to say that one day there won't be a white horse carrying a long-haired white man who will want me to ride with him toward the white sun on white sand

I've waited twenty-three years for Prince Charming (the Disney version) to take my hand

And I've prayed that he'll understand all the pain that I've endured...memories of airports and fake hugs, burning lungs and goodbyes

I remember that childhood didn't host nearly as many highs as it did lows

I remember regretful salutations and timid hellos

I remember being referred to as the new girl...the one nobody knows

So excuse me for designing my own fantasy...the unrealistic life-to-be that will prevent me from ever belonging to you.

I'll do what most terrified, complaint-driven women do...

And I'll pretend that I just need a little more time to perfect this life of mine

I'll push you and pull you until one heart divides into two...slices that I'll eat when I get ready...

You want steady, smooth, on-going loving and all I've got is earthquake, birthday cake(once a year) type affection. It'll change your life...

But it won't convince me that I'm destined to be your wife or anything...

Because women like me (the one's who refuse to be happy) are allergic to wedding rings

SELF R-E-S-P-E-C-T

Ladies,

There is nothing like watching you mutilate your spirits...as you prostrate yourself before the men who want to be worshipped and celebrated, yet there is nothing celebratory about them or the way they treat you. You allow disease to infest your bodies. You allow yourselves to be referred to as hoes. And you think its funny. You think its funny because no one has ever told you that its not. No one has ever referred to you as a queen...or royalty.

And it saddens me. Not because I am some esteemed advisor who's never lowered her standards...but because I am no better and no different than you. I crave the attention of men who are willing to be what my father never was. I like them to be built just like him...tall, broad, fair-skinned with pouty lips and mysterious eyes. I am desperate for someone to stay in my life, even when caring for me seems overwhelming. I want someone to hold me. And though I die inside each time the intimacy becomes unhealthy, I tolerate it because anything is better than being alone...better than feeling abandoned. (Sound familiar?)

I decided, yesterday, that I wasn't going to continue living this life in search of affirmation from men. The father that "gave up" on me 20 years ago lost an opportunity to raise a strong, sassy young princess. I can't find his love in any other man. The only fulfillment I need is provided by a God who won't ever abandon me or misuse me.

I hope that you too, will realize that your beauty is your own. No one can increase your value just by being by your side. You don't have to curiously sneak from bed to bed hoping that some man will fulfill you physically and then, permanently, serve as your knight in shining armor. Because, if he's only around at night...and he leaves long before the morning sun is shining...you really are better off on your own.

There is nothing wrong with longing for the support, strength, and beauty of a man. Any woman who wants a man, should have a man. Just know that these men can smell your insecurities. You can't lack love for yourself and then expect a man to honor and adore you. If you think you aren't valuable, you'll attract men who have no intention to increase your worth. If you think that your ass is the most valuable thing you have to offer, then you'll find men who only want you because you have a Georgia peach, stripper booty.

Seeking fulfillment, seeking joy, and seeking validation in someone else is toxic-unhealthy-deadly. We have to start to realize our worth, without anyone elses input. It is then and only then that we'll attract the type of attention we want. Because whoever it is...that is purposed to love you will love and respect you as much as you love and respect yourself.

It's just that simple.

Lame & Lonely

How ridiculous is it to spend this life pretending not to feel anything? What is going on in the world? People are so cold and so broken. When I know that I know...I'm in love for good...I'm going to scream it from a mountain top. Nothing else makes any sense to me. Pride is a silent killer. Be real with each other, people. More importantly, be real with yourselves.

The Waiting Room (of Life)

"Wait here", they say. "Sit right here and patiently deny the reality that you have no idea who you are, what you want, where you'll go, and what will happen to you if this recession lasts for five more minutes."

They are our parents, our professors, our mentors, and our predecessors. They have no idea what they're talking about...but they give the best advice they can. Because deep down inside, they're mad about paying for and supporting an education that hasn't amounted to a hill-o-beans.

We're all just really, unnecessarily intelligent...and broke as hell. I know some of the most ambitious people on the planet (I'm sure of it). And almost 70% of them have jobs that they can't wait to escape as soon as things get better/improve/mull over/look up...or whatever clever phrase of optimism you'd like to insert. And it hurts to sit in this damn waiting room, with some of my best friends, talking about what we'll do when the struggle ends.

I remember when things were good, in the 90's. We were young, hopeful, and sure of ourselves. I used to talk about being 25 like it was going to be the age of abundance. I intended to have 2 Benz coupes, a Range Rover, and a boat by my mid-20's. These days, I'm just day dreaming about a bicycle or anything else that doesn't need $45 worth of gas every week.

We used to flip through the pages of Cosmo and whisper oooo's and aaaa's while staring at Louis Vuitton & Guess ads. We'd talk about the lovers we'd have once we could travel the world and the countries we'd see. We tip-toed around the house in heels we could barely walk in and chatted about the catwalks we'd sit around during fashion week.

Now, the only fashion week I enjoy takes place at Target during their summer sale. The heels I strut around in are 1.5 inches so that I can wear them EVERYWHERE. And the only pages I flip are the classifieds...(I'm exaggerating to make a point).

Everyone I talk to just says they are "waiting" to hear back about grad school/better jobs/new opportunities/the military. So, here we are, crowded in this little room. Our dreams, hopes, fears, prayers, frustrations, and doubts are all stacked like old luggage around our seats. We're waiting on everything...on God, on wealth, on tomorrow. And to be quite honest, I'm tired of it.

I'm waiting on an angel to come from heaven, into this waiting room, and call my name like a nurse in Urgent Care. And when she does, I'll jump up...eager to see the results of my patience...my endurance...and my optimism.

I know one thing though. If I have to sit here much longer, waiting on everything I've always wanted, I'm going to start slapping random strangers with this thick stack of resumes that I take every where with me. I may even blow the entire waiting room up...because I'm losing my mind.

And that's real.

20 Things a Real Man Won't Do

1) He won’t show up like a thief in the night, rob you of your love then disappear before the sun comes up
2) He won’t whisper sweet nothings in your ear because nothings don’t amount to anything. Everything he says will be something of substance
3) He won’t call you another woman’s name “by accident”
4) He won’t tell you that he is interested, then “forget” to text/call you for a few days
5) He won’t remind you that he can have anyone he wants…every single day
6) He won’t hit you…ever.
7) He won’t have Daddy’s Home by: Usher as a ring tone for his “home girl”
8) He won’t have a wife…and 2 kids…and a dog named Spike
9) He won’t invite you over at 11pm, then ask you to leave at 12:30am because he’s gotten what he wanted from you and doesn’t like sleepovers
10) He won’t make you question yourself, your body, and your intelligence by failing to reassure and encourage you
11) He won’t let you forget how beautiful you are
12) He won’t hurt you, intentionally…
13) He won’t make you abandon your friends and loved ones
14) He won’t live off of you and watch you work to feed him and the children you may have together, while he sits on the couch from 9-5 like a failure
15) He won’t constantly complain about life and everything he hasn’t accomplished and subsequently, bring you down into depression with him
16) He won’t think that seeing you cry is funny
17) He won’t lie to you like you’re a 9-year old naïve little girl, then get angry when you question him or attempt to speak up when you’re in pain
18) He won’t allow your insecurities to intensify because of neglect, nonchalance, and laziness
19) He won’t ask you to be his mistress while he “works on” leaving his wife/girlfriend
20) He won’t be typical. He won’t disgust you.

Slap me, Jesus. I'm Ungrateful and Ignorant.

"A 7-year-old Trenton girl was sold like a prostitute to a pack of perverts and gang raped by up to seven men and boys. And the person who pimped out the grade-schooler was her 15-year-old stepsister, cops said." Horrific, right? -WEEN

There are days when, like a child wading in a kiddie pool, I sit in shallow water convinced that I'm deep sea diving. I wake up each day at the same time, climb into the same shower, enjoy piping hot water from a Moen-designer spout, and sing to whatever hums from Pandora on my BlackBerry. I apply MAC shadow to sleepy lids, pick out the pumps of the day, and straighten my highlighted tresses with a zebra- patterned flat iron. And I sigh.

I groan because its only 7:30am. I moan because I have to drive 25 minutes to my office. I mumble expletives because I can't decide what I should have for breakfast. And I curse my life. Because I am ungrateful and ignorant.

In Trenton, a young girl was distributed for sex...stripped of her innocence and her womanhood before life had an opportunity to offer her anything at all. A baby, in a sense, sold by her own family member. She'll never sleep soundly at night again. She'll never trust a hug. She'll never believe that the dark can be therapeutic and serene. She'll never know what shallow is like...because the deepest corners of her soul burn from invasion.

I woke up today, convinced that my problems were monstrous. I was annoyed with my commute, agitated with my current beau, and afraid of an upcoming presentation this week. I was wrapped up (like I often am) in the land of NNL.

I never stopped to realize that I could've been raped in my home, robbed, beaten, or even killed last night. I never paused to thank God for waking up every member of my family and (as far as I know) everyone I love. I concentrated on my miniscule troubles instead of embracing the reality that nothing (not safety,not food, not shelter) is promised.

I've lived for 23-years, without ever being sexually harmed or threatened. I've never been brutally beaten or robbed. I've never even known the true existence of hunger. I am, and always will be, severely blessed. And I refuse to pout for one more minute! I had the most serious Aha! moment of my life, when I read about that 7-year old girl. I realized that I need a swift kick in the ass. I need for someone in heaven to come down here and slap me. Twice. I'm guilty of being an idiot. Blessed and bratty. But all that stops here.

And that's real.

When Keeping it Real Goes Wrong...

You all know me pretty well, by now. You know that I am Miss Relentless, full of clever diddies and chide remarks about everything and everyone that I cannot stand. I'm the real-ist of the real. I'm fearless. And I'm bold. At least that's what I want people to believe.

But there is something you don't know, something I've kept to myself...and that is the fact that I'm terrified of what might happen when I'm a little too real with the wrong person. I mean...I'm not anticipating being the victim of assassination just because my opinions ruffle feathers. And I don't expect for anyone to punch me in the throat while I'm shouting my wild ideas about freedom and personal expression to the masses.

But, I do think that if I say a little too much to certain people in my life...they may decide not to be in my life at all. And that's painful. I wish we could all just throw reality around like a football on a warm summer day. I wish the truth could just sail through the air and land gracefully like a well-piloted jet. But, life doesn't work that way. The popular slogan "Fake it until you make it" needs to be expanded. Seems like we will all have to "Fake it until (we) make it (in to heaven)" because reality is fading like a summer tan in November.

There's so much I would say if I knew that the truth wouldn't take my loved ones away. There is so much that I'd confess if I didn't think I'd be left love-less. But, instead, I let the truth build up inside me like indigestion. I toss and turn at night wondering when it'll be appropriate to say that powerful phrase [I love you] without anticipating tortured silence on the other end of the phone. I sit still at green lights sometimes, because my mind is so lost in the fairy tale of what my life would be like if I told everyone, everything.

But instead, Miss Relentlessly Real...is also Miss Shamefully Secretive. And the things I keep to myself are 1000x more valuable than the things I share with the world. Because I was taught that this is what strength looks like. We must keep our deepest, most powerful thoughts and beliefs tucked away so that no one will be offended. And we must love bashfully so that no one will get uncomfortable. And we should nonchalantly laugh when we'd rather sob because emotions are messy. And no facial expressions are necessary while having sex because affection is annoying.

I'm from the tribe of technology-birthed babies. Everybody in my generation "searches" instead of finds. We "chat" instead of converse. We press a "like" button rather than give compliments. So keeping it real is something that people stopped doing in the 90's. In 2010,if you like somebody...you just pretend you don't know they're alive until Auntie Patron or Uncle Jose Cuervo introduces you two and helps you become comfortable enough to "mingle".

I'm disgusted. What the hell happened to authenticity? When did keeping it real go so unfathomably wrong? Can't even fall in love these days...because we're all so full of the most potent shit. It's too hard to let the heart soften. It's too risky to open up, because someone might steal something.

I just wish I could be relentlessly real...and open and honest...all the time. But I'm afraid, that if I tried to do so, I'd spend the rest of my life by myself.

And that's real.

What's Love Got to Do With it?

I just can't help myself. Can't keep these words...thoughts...that are purposed to penetrate the minds of the ignorant to myself. Because I think the truth is terrifying and liberating in the same breath. I think that people want the truth, they search for and hunt the truth in order to be freed from the exhausting cycles of redundant bullshit in their lives. I think the truth is an antibiotic for my generation. Most of us, need a vaccine that might help us distinguish authenticity from the plastic idols that we worship. Everything is labeled "real"...and I'm starting not to trust the word because its connotation is being insulted. Reality TV makes me queasy. Processed food boxes that are proudly labeled when containing real ingredients (i.e. these cheese-curls contain real cheese!) are just ridiculous. And punk ass little rappers who claim to be "so real, so raw and so hood" make me want to go on a karate-chopping spree. I just can't take it anymore. So I have a point to make. A very important point. And it's about the way members of my generation "love" each other.

I'm convinced that love used to be about something. I can tell, from watching my parents and friends' grandparents, that love isn't supposed to be so flimsy and temporary. I know, in my heart, that there is an unbreakable connection between two people after they're intimate. I know that a woman who lays with someone she loves can, for the rest of her life, feel when that person is in pain or in trouble. No matter how much we disrespect, forget, and run from each other, we are incapable of ridding of each other spiritually. We walk around with bitterness stored in our hearts, depositing filth and brokenness into each other. We are careless and relentless...in the worst way. We're all lost, but some of us hide it better than others. We throw the word "love" around like a damn Frisbee hoping someone will catch it and throw it back to us. And for what? We don't know anything about what love is. Most of us don't deserve to use to word. It's blasphemous.

If people are going to continue to use each other, walk away from spouses and children, split assets, raise kids in tormentuous environments, abandon new borns, and abuse each other...then we should all just leave the L-word out of it. Because love doesn't have shit to do with the way we're operating in modern times. It's despicable. It's painful. But, most importantly, is animalistic.

Actually, I take that back. Animals are more charismatic, gentle, and charming than most of the people I'm talking about. Animals only kill to protect and to survive. They break bones. They don't break hearts. Bones can heal. Hearts can only mend but the repair is never 100% effective. Everything is never going to just be alright. Something is broken inside most of us. And two wounded people can't save each other. That's how I know love is rarely present among us. There's not enough love left to go around. For me, love is truth. Truth is love. And where there is no truth/no reality...love isn't present.

I'm not being relentlessly real for my health. I'm doing this so that I can be set free from my own limitations and fears. I'm dealing with the fact that I'm surrounded by so much fallacy, that I'll I have to trust...is me. I hope that I'll spend my life with someone who isn't allergic to the truth, someone who believes that real love isn't about egos, selfishness, and pride. When I vow to spend the rest of my days with someone, love will have EVERYTHING to do with it.

And that's real.

WHAT...are you looking at?

I love when people watch me live. It's enticing...in that "I wish I could shoot you without being imprisoned" kinda way. It's fulfilling...because, when people watch me live, I feel like I must be 1000x more interesting than anything else in their pathetic, tortured, popular opinion-driven lives.

And by "watch me live" I mean, stalk me or judge me while sitting in the bay windows of their pathetic cottage-like minds. I love when people make little gargling sounds when I walk by. Groans...like they're in agony because my smile is so abnormally sincere. I am consumed with glee when I'm in a restaurant, and I laugh 12 decibels louder than the appropriate indoor level, and some angry black lady wrinkles her ugly nose and frowns at me and whoever I'm laughing with. That's exciting. Why? Because my life is unusually fabulous and every person who life-stalks me by pessimistically watching every move I make, is just a part of a very important audience. I would be nothing without those who hate me. I would be bored...and insanely average...if I didn't have people who couldn't stand the idea of me being successful and fulfilled.

There are people, in and around my life, who try(try=pretend)to be happy for me and celebrate my accomplishments but instead, my progress seems to sit in their jealous stomachs like an inflamed tumor. They can't be happy for me because their lives are so mediocre, so pathetic that the sight of someone growing and prevailing is nauseating for them. So...even though I see them watching me/hating me...and I know they would assassinate me if there were no consequences...I'm still overwhelmed with appreciation. Because, if it weren't for them, I would have no idea how magnificently important I am.

So instead of growling, "WHAT...are you looking at?" when people life-stalk me...I'd like to accept the role as the most fascinating, beautiful person that they know. It's an honor. Really. I'm humbled by this opportunity ;-)

If Only You Knew...

Some of us waste our lives...obsessed with and infused by fear. Even our risks are calculated, thought out, and analyzed. People think we're edgy and rebellious. They admire the way we go against the grain, refusing to care what people think. Everyone knows that we'll do whatever we want to do, whenever we want to do it. We're untameable. We move with the wind and we refuse to commit to anything but life itself.

Yes indeed. We're so damn cool from surface-view. Everybody wants to be like us. But, there's only one problem. We hate ourselves.

The most rebellious people I know, including myself, are obsessed with order. We hunger for lives that mimic movies (fairy tales). We want a spouse who won't ever leave or cheat. We want low-risk jobs that overpay. We want houses with picket fences. We want our parents to live forever and be the ideal grandparents to our ideal children. We want it all...and somewhere along the way...we realized that having it all wasn't an option. And since most of us live with an "all or nothing" mentality...we give up on everything that we really want in order to avoid dying from the heartbreak that accompanies disappointment. We figure that if we don't expect much for ourselves, life will be easier and less eventful.

Each time we're hurt or let down, our standards lower. Instead of the fairy-tale marriages we once dreamt of, we start looking for lovers who can't cause pain...who aren't powerful enough to break our hearts. We start holding on to people who aren't worth our time...because they keep us comfortable. And when family/friends tell us that we can do better...we spit in their faces and defensively protect our little, raggedy ass piece of the pie.

And relationships aren't the most brutal example. We perform below our potential in almost every area of life. We want so much, but settle for mediocre lives that are typical and, well, downright pathetic. And as sad as that is, most of us will acknowledge that truth and do nothing about it. We'd rather protect pride and egos than share ourselves with people and opportunities that could change us forever.

I don't want to be the rebel without a cause anymore. I don't want to sabotage myself anymore. I don't want to give all of myself to someone else in order to avoid giving myself to, well, MYSELF. It's just ridiculously foolish to live life halfway. I'd rather start to chase the things I want and deserve, no matter how terrified I get, than to sit back and safely try to slide through this miraculous life.

I believe that this life has beautiful opportunities for me, waiting just beyond the darkest forest I'll ever know. I think that, on the other side of that massive mountain, my promised land is complete with a beautiful marriage...healthy children...a fulfilling career...and the strength to face every giant that attempts to intimidate and break me.

So how about you? What are you waiting for? If only you knew...how much this life has to offer you, you would get off your scared ass and join me. You'd chase your dreams relentlessly. ;-)

CASH your reality check here!

I spend a lot of time...waste a lot of time worrying about days that I may not live to see. This recession has changed me...transformed me into a paranoid prick. I don't want to take risks anymore, don't want to explore the world. All I want to do...try to do is save for the rainy days that I now pessimistically expect. When I spend money, I feel guilty. When I eat out, I feel guilty. I have these goals that taunt me in my sleep. Save $10,000. Buy a house by December. Avoid gaining weight/lose 10 more pounds. Get a better job. Avoid losing the job you've got. Be nicer to your mother...because she's gonna have to feed/house you if you lose your job.

It's all so ridiculous, right? I'm 23 for Pete's sake. But (REALITY CHECK BEGINS HERE)...23 isn't what it used to be. I don't have the option of spending my days in Wilmington, sitting on the boardwalk and eating $4 nachos. I can't go to St. Thomas every summer like my dad did in the 1980's and party/drink for 3 months at a time. I can't live in the Bronx, pay $350 for rent and survive off of a hair dresser's salary like my mom did in the 1970's.

Why? Because it's 2010 fool. And that means that, after college, your young ass better buy a brief case and sneakers and get ready for the rat race. Don't get me wrong. I still don't do cubicles. And I refuse to drink coffee from the break room. I don't party with my co-workers and I don't wear navy blue every day. But I do...like most of us...wait on that fatt paycheck with an eager heart and wide eyes. Being 20-something is all about preparation. If you want to be 32, living in your parent's attic (the basement isn't available-your cousin already lives down there), working at Burger World, and wobbling the whole way to work on your bike...because your fat, depressed ass can't afford a car...then go ahead and party hard!

Seriously, act like you're on the show JERSEY SHORE and fist pump with the best of them every weekend in the same lame club you've been going to since high school. Don't worry about your credit score. It's just a number. And keep buying cheap shoes to impress Tyrone (who works with you at TJ Maxx). Because that's what being 20-something "should" be all about.

But, the reality check of your lifetime and mine is...nobody gives a hot damn how young we are. We're a part of a society that is indeed paranoid and preventative. We've lost a lot of the freebies that young people were once given. The mistakes/choices we make now could easily prevent us from ever retiring, owning a home, or sending our own children to college.

So, no, I don't want to spend every day thinking about days up ahead that I may never see. But I also don't want to live my life like an untouchable idiot. I've got things to do, people to influence, and a world to change...so I've got to be better than my personal best (which means-I have to reach heights I once thought were impossible). This isn't a drill people. This is the real deal, we're in the real world now. Carpe diem! Translation? GET IT TOGETHER.

He's Just Not That Into You

I've never known an animal so instinctual, so prey-driven, so relentless, and greedy. I've never known a creature who would sacrifice religion, kingship, nations, and family just to satisfy lust. I've never seen such a monstrous oddity...as man.

For 23 years, I've watched the cycles. I've watched men come and go and come again. I've watched them weasel their way in to the hearts of unsuspecting women, claiming to want to love and honor and protect. But, in the end, the entire mission is just a conquest.

And even though its 2010 and women are hunters too, I still see an unfair ratio. I still hear conversations among friends who've been hurt or disappointed. I still experience my own distaste for the male species because when given the chance to do right...they often don't.

But this isn't the male bashing blog. And I am not another angry scarred woman. I'm just "Miss Reality Check" and I think that heartbreak is preventable. That's right, I said it! Heartbreak is preventable and often self-afflicted. Because the signs are there people. And when denial moves out of the way, the truth is waiting like a glorified sunrise...unavoidable and magnificent.



You want to know more about the signs? I thought you'd never ask. Let's start from the top.



1) Phone calls. If you've been waiting for him to call since 1998, its time to let go. No, your phone didn't just fail to record a missed call and No...he doesn't have the wrong number saved. No! He didn't get hit by a short bus on the way home from work. He's just...not that into you.

2) Text Messages. If you text him...daily...and he either doesn't text back or texts one word answers every once in a while. He's gently saying that there just isn't much to say. And even though guys can be nonchalant and laid back, when they want something...really want something...they go full throttle. If you can't get him to respond to a text, you probably won't be able to get him to do much else.

3) Dates. I just need to take a moment and define "date". A date is not just an event that two people attend together. It isn't a date just because he paid. He might've just been raised by parents instead of bears or baboons. He might just be a nice guy. It's not a date until he makes it clear that he wants it to be a date. Reaching for your hand and asking when you'd like to go out again are good signals but him talking past you while gawking at another girl's butt...not so much.

4) Sex. If, after a night of romance, he sees you downtown with your friends and fails to acknowledge your existence...please don't assume that he didn't see you. He definitely saw you. You were damn-near river dancing to get his attention, but he avoided you anyway. The simple truth? Sex doesn't bond souls...it bonds anatomy. Nothing less, nothing more.

To be continued...

That's all I've got for now people. It's really not that deep. Either he's into you or he isn't. Save your tears for real tragedies. This whole relationship thing is overrated. A woman's intuition is so powerful. I believe that every woman knows when she is being authentically loved. There is a constant presence of security, compassion, and sincerity.

When you constantly have to vouch for your love or validate your man by talking about all the "nice things" he's done in the past (keyword: past) it's time to let go and let life heal you. I know that men can be absolute dogs. But if women wouldn't be so quick to let the dog catch the pussycat...there'd be a lot less broken hearts in the love doctor's office.

I'm just bein real.

Whose Voice am I Hearing...?

For years, I only heard their voices. I only heard criticisms. All I knew was what they wanted me to know. I was instructed to be strong, to never need a man for anything, and to be slim in order to attract that man that I’d never need. I knew I had to go to college, but no one ever explained why. I had to keep my hair straightened, kinky contradicted classy…according to those who raised me. Love was just a distraction and money was the ruler of all things beautiful (at least that’s what they told me). I heard what they said and I saw what they did. The two never aligned, and when their words and actions corresponded…the picture wasn’t as pretty as they thought it was.

As a child, with wide eyes and huge cheeks, I waited for my mother to come home from work for most of the 1990’s. And when she did, her only mission was to prepare me for another school day or for church. I never got to “know” her, never got to hear about her childhood play dates and teenage dreams. I just knew that she left every day with burden in her slanted eyes and returned with a toy or treat of some sort. My caretaker (a relative) helped my mother raise me. Together, they were a female powerhouse…married to men yet independent and sassy. They were always shopping…and always skinny. They’d go on absurd diets weeks before huge parties. They’d go entire days without anything to eat besides soup or oranges. And then, they’d look at me and with complete sincerity say, “you should want to grow up and be just like us.”

I didn’t want to be like them, but I was too loyal to admit that I was disgusted with their tactics. I was confused most of the time. I spent most of my childhood hating my body because they told me I was unacceptable. I hid my “crushes” because I was convinced that emotions were a woman’s internal poison. I was always told to “focus on my lessons” and to “make money, then fall in love”…as if I were in control in the natural order of things.

I accepted their teachings as scripture for eighteen years. Then I went to college. And it was then, that I went on a rebellious rampage. I quit every job I accepted within a few months. Money meant nothing to me. When I had it, I spent it on others…just to rid of it quickly. I wanted to prove that I could be successful without their instructions so I bought big-ticket items with rent/book money and fell “in love” at nineteen just to prove that love could conquer all.

(It didn’t).

When I left home at eighteen, I was tiny and “adorable” according to my mother. By age twenty, I’d gained a total of 65 pounds. I was unhealthy and unhappy. But I thought I was proving a point to everyone whoever tried to control and mold me. Every time I lectured myself for being overweight, I’d eat more just to silence the voices that I thought were echoes from childhood. I was miserable.

It wasn’t until a year ago that I realized how much I admired my mother, not for what she said, but for who she was. I started to understand that her advice wasn’t intended to burn me but to build me up. I started to understand her messages and her cautionary lectures. It became evident that she wanted me to be the very best version of myself. And though she didn’t have the best delivery, her intentions were good.

I realize now, when I sit still and hear my own voice, that she and I don’t want different outcomes. The “me” I see up ahead is a woman that she’ll be very proud of. But, what’s more important is that I am proud of the woman I am becoming. I do want to pursue more schooling and to learn all I can. Because knowledge is powerful. I want to be in great shape because that’s when I’m most confident. I just intend to take my own customized avenues to feel fabulous. When I hear myself, I realize that no one controls my destiny but me.

Everything that I did out of rebellion failed. I had to realize that I respected the teachings provided for me as a child, but I did not always have to embrace the lessons that contradicted my own beliefs.

I now know how to differentiate between what “they want” and what “I need”. And knowing the difference…saved my life.

Love?

It's defined as a profoundly tender, passionate affection for another person & as a sexual passion or desire. Biblically, its the existence of all things wonderful and the absence of selfishness and sin.

In this world, in the present day, its just an overused term that keeps insecure people comfortable. When the term "love" flies from our lips during casual exchanges or after 3 weeks of dating, it loses its precious essence and rarity.

I'm not cupid's assassin, but I am relentlessly real. And I know that there are days when I say " I love you" without connecting my heart to the valve that leads to my lips. To be frank, the words escape me. I am a habitual lover. I don't need a good reason to tell someone I love them. I don't have a dating timeline. Sometimes, saying "I love you" is easier than admitting that there is actually a lack of passion present. I think people sometimes say "I love you" when they run out of other, more original, things to say to each other. Love is often a form of comfort.

There was a time, I think, when love made people brave. Love wasn't always synonymous with safety/security. I think that love and passion were once cousins, but now love seems to resent passion altogether. In an attempt to clarify, I'll present an example. People who get married vow to love each other. People who've been in relationships for a considerable amount of time say "I love you" at the end of every phone conversation.

But those people, statistically, are often among the most unhappy individuals on earth. They talk about lacking excitement and variety. They talk about how redundant their days are. They seek fulfillment in other areas in order to substitute the inevitable boredom.

Love is like a nightclub that no one wants to wait in line and pay for. Everyone just goes on "free before 12" night to enjoy whatever easy perks are available. Love is like a ditch and no one is interested in falling in it. Members of my generation just carefully step around it, avoiding it and its exhaustion at all costs.

I wish that we could all start saying "I passion you." But that would be ridiculous. I've used "love" like an arrow for most of my life. I penetrate everyone with it, hoping to put a spell on an innocent recipient. But spells don't last forever...

The way I feel now can't be verbalized. I feel something magical but I can't define it. Don't want to. But I know that it isn't love. Because love has a dry connotation. There's nothing safe about what I'm feeling...nothing guaranteed or predictable. My heart stops beating sometimes, I'm sure of it. My palms get itchy, my mouth gets dry, my face gets red, and my tummy hosts a party of obese butterflies. I want to call it something. I want to name this feeling. But love? No. I wouldn't dare. You can find that anywhere. It's no longer rare and exceptional. It's overused and undervalued.

I'm certain that I'm experiencing something that is bigger than love. And though I can't find it in the dictionary, I know that it's real. And raw. Love might just be a box that I dance on top of. I don't want to be in it. I'd rather have something other people can't understand or label.

You can keep love. Enjoy it. Indulge in it. Pretend to be fulfilled. I'll be up here, chillin on my high horse...keeping it real.

I Wish...

...winter wouldn't last so long and leave such a miniscule slice of the annual pie for spring and summer. I lose my glow and motivation in the winter. Seems like the whole world is just waiting. I sit in a warm place, surrounded by blankets and coffee cups, daydreaming about the beach and its charming echoes. Water crashes against land and land dribbles into the water. The cycle is miraculous. And there is nothing that can compare to it...certainly not snow or sleet. I feel deprived in the winter, like I'm cheating on my favorite seasons with a less capable lover.

On days like this, I wonder if I'll make it through such a bitterly cold season. It isn't compassionate or gentle. It is bitter and lonely...and it taunts those of us who were born in the most beautiful months of the year. If I make it to spring, I'll kiss the ground and worship the spring's flowers. I vow to spend more time on the grass than on carpet. I'll admire my own mosquito bites and I might even welcome a bee's sting. I'll grin when I see bird droppings on my car windshield. I'll welcome nature back to the Carolina's. Because...anything is better than this.

Next year, I may fly south with the birds or find warmth among the bears. Hybernation is a brilliant concept. I intend to embrace it. You see...this post isn't really about weather. It's about a season of lack. It's about a lack of color and warmth in life in general.

I need more...more color...more fulfillment. So, with a wishful heart, I wait for spring.