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.