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