Platonic My Ass!

Some people say women and men can never JUST be friends. That eventually someone will want to fuck while the other develops feelings.

My best friend is amazing.

I really love this man. He’s intelligent, ambitious, handsome, everything another woman would dream about.

He’s got these thick lips that sometime distract me during conversation. Its not like I need to change my draws when around him, but dude does have some pussy eating lips.

But I have no desire to be with sexually…well sometimes I do.

But I’d NEVER take it there even though I’m sure, more than sure, he wouldn’t do anything to stop me from sitting on his face.

He’s the most consistent man in my life, which is kind of sad. Even when I had a boyfriend, he was always my true confidant.

So you can see why mixing my adoration and respect for him with passionate sex is NOT the best idea.

I know sex would confuse the fuck out of me, even though I know he has no interest in being with me. He says I whine too much. I only whine about him being overbearing.

My friends claim Lovely is “the husband I’ll never have” (not as comforting as they may think). Even random classmates think we’re perfect for each other. I always play it off and remind them dude is JUST my friend, but there are those days when I fantasize about being with him. Sometimes I think he does like me and would actually be with me. Then I’m reminded that his dresser is crowded with pictures of his ex-girlfriend who lives in Florida but just passed the NY bar. So I’m sure chick has got that shit on lock.

And the truth is I’m sure if I were his woman, he’d start slipping and things would be so different. Because men are always better men to their friends than they are to their woman!

I don’t want to be with him, but he makes me feel so damn good. I just want to meet a man who can replicate that consistency and dick me down so good I want to revert back to my pass/puff days, cook him dinner, and relax while spooning to Sade.

Ten Years Later...

I’ve been jamming to Sade’s song Skin for like three days (its off her upcoming album Soldier of Love, go to http://www.bet.com/music/newreleases/818427/Sade to check it out). I freaking LOVE this woman’s voice and the band is AMAZING. When Maxwell resurfaced last year, I thought my life was almost complete but this woman right here! I hope she’s touring in NY this summer because it is a MUST! I will sacrifice a day (or two) of bar prep to see her...yes, it IS that serious.

The Color Wheel

My father has a lot of ties.

He’s monochromatic, just like his ties.

He breaks up the routine with a splash of crimson, worn on special occasions to represent his pledge of brotherhood. And I can’t forget his dash of garnet and gold, worn to represent his pledge to love Bowden forever (even though the last few seasons have been short of the dynasty status created).

I came home this weekend. I’m at my father’s house, sleeping in a room I have no connection to. They call it “my room” but it’s more like a guest room, and is perfect as such because that’s exactly what I feel like when I’m in his presence. A guest. A stranger passing through the night, welcomed to stay but only for a limited time.

The closet is filled with clothes. Not mine of course. My dad hides his suits and ties in here.

The only thing that represents me in this room is a porcelain doll that sits on the dresser. Her cheeks are red. I remember adoring my Addy doll as a child, so I’m sure this curly haired Becky is not mine, but who knows…maybe he won this piece of nostalgia in the divorce settlement.

I don’t know anything about my father. I mean, I know his occupation and that he loves football. That he’s a Republican and loves slender women who wear 20 pearls. But I don’t know him. And he doesn’t know me.

His tie collection is the complete opposite of how I live my life. It’s boring. Stale. Safe.

He always said I was special child. Different. Artsy. Filled with too much spunk to be his.

Maybe that’s why we never clicked; because he lacks color in his life. And like that red tie, I don't work with his everyday attire. I'm only appropriate for special occasions.

And like being my father, that title is only revealed to the world during holidays or graduations. But once the tree is put away or the cap and gown removed he goes back to being the monochromatic Major.

While the crimson tie and I are stored away until the next event.

I Was Once Lost But Now Am Found

Four years ago I wanted to learn Creole.

I wanted to visit Haiti.

I wanted to master cooking griot and sos pwa.

I wanted to grow my Nia Long hair cut, cover my tattoos, and wear skirts to church.

I wanted to immerse myself in my boyfriend's culture to the point where his old school Pentecostal mother would forget that I was American.

An American girl with relaxed hair. Who rocked makeup (flawless makeup I might add lol). Had piercings. Wore pants. And wanted to be a lawyer rather than a nurse.

I wanted to be the perfect girlfriend, and in the process completely lost myself.

We secretly lived together and three months into the residential lie, while plating his dinner I realized the domesticated ME was a complete façade.

I realized that I hated cooking his meals.

Hated wearing weave because his mother thought short hair was demonic.

Hated the sound of his language (only because he spoke mad Creole in my presence even though he knew damn well I ain't understand it).

Hated fucking him.

And most of all, I hated that rather than walk away from their lifestyle and the lies I created, I served him dinner and convinced myself that being content was as good as it gets.

I wasted nearly $2,000 on hair that wasn't even mine. I wasted countless nights moaning his name, when all I wanted to do was lie on my back and fall asleep. I wasted two years of my life being content when I deserved to be ME.

Oops, There Goes My Shirt Up Over My Head…

I have two B.O.B.

Battery Operated Boyfriend.

An orange g-spot boyfriend, and a pink clitoral stimulator boyfriend.

I keep them in separate drawers, so they don’t find out about each other. As of right now, I’m actually seeing Mr. Grafenberg exclusively. The clit B.O.B. is wonderful and all. Sensual. Patient. Reliable.

But Mr. Grafenberg is…well he’s able to hit that spot that my other B.O.B. will never be able to reach. And sometimes a girl needs a vaginal orgasm. I don’t like messy sheets, but as my girls love to chant, “Lay the towel down!”

So my home girl Darling, has been pleasuring herself MANUALLY for like a decade. When I found out she was letting her fingers do all the talking, I took her to the local sex store and introduced her to the best boyfriend money can buy.

A boyfriend who consistently provides stimulating conversation as he vibrates sweet-nothings upon your clit.

A boyfriend who doesn’t make false promises of multiple orgasms.

A boyfriend you can easily get rid of after you cum.

She purchased a pink g-spot B.O.B. (why do women love pink vibrators lol).

So Darling and B.O.B. have been dating for almost two weeks. Last night I decided to be nosy and check on the status of their relationship.

“So, how’s B.O.B. treating ya?”

"I don’t like him," she responds.

Uhh…how do you not like a boyfriend who can easily be turned off and dismissed when you’re done using him.

“He’s distracting, I can’t deal with it.”

Poor baby…lol…apparently her boyfriend’s sweet-nothings are too loud. She can’t focus on what the hell he’s trying to say. I suggested adding music to their triple A battery sessions but I think she’s too fed up with him to even care.

I blame myself for this failed relationship (and the 6’3, 260 lb. brother who sold her the damn thing). I bragged about my boyfriend so much that she figured hers would be just as good, if not even better.

But he let her down.

So my thing is, if you can’t purchase non-refundable pleasure…if you can’t even get off from a battery operated piece of plastic…if you can’t meet a REAL man who will stick around long enough to be your boyfriend so you can give B.O.B. a few months to charge…what the fuck are you suppose to do?

How 'Bout Them Balls In Your Mouth!

I feel in control when a man’s dick is in my mouth. I’ve asked friends, both female and male, why they think women suck dick…

for Submission…or Control?

Most of the men polled stated that women do it to please their man. That being in the position of balls in one hand, shaft in the other is a position of weakness…ultimately the woman is submitting to her male counterpart.

But to me, balls in one hand, shaft in the other is far from a position of weakness.

If anything, a man should be thankful that his “weak, submissive” counterpart doesn’t dig her nails into his balls, or worse graze her molars against the head of his penis.

“She’s weak…because the man is looking DOWN on her while she sucks his dick…”

But I’m looking UP at you. Watching your face contort in pleasure. Watching you squirm. Watching you lose CONTROL as my tongue gingerly spells the alphabet upon your balls.

And then the other thing is, “Women don’t suck dick because they like to, they do it because they have to.”

Errruhh…I HAVE to suck dick? To what, keep a man? Get serviced afterwards? Ensure my rent is paid on the first of the month?

When did giving brain become a requirement? And if it is a requirement, at what point in the “relationship” does it become such?

I suck dick because I love sucking dick. Some women only give head, to get head. But I don’t. Sucking dick turns me on. While I’m between a man’s legs slurping and sucking and swallowing (and trying not to gag), not only do I feel in control…my pussy is wet, my clit is throbbing…add some friction to the combination and I’m a happy camper.

And as a wise woman once said, “Oral sex is God’s gift to women…you can get off without being worried about getting pregnant.”

Amen to that.

What’s In Your Diet?

I sucked my first dick at 16. It was my high-school boyfriend. He was a basketball player. Tall. Red bone. Green eyes. Sexy.

And he had an even sexier dick. But dude had the worst tasting spunk I’ve ever encountered in my life. Like, back then I didn’t know semen wasn’t supposed to have a concentration of 100% foul.

His spunk made my body shiver. It had a salty, bitter, sting to it. And since we weren’t fucking, dude always let off a massive amount of semen in my mouth. So every time he came, it was like Old Funky Faithful spraying the back of my throat.

I never gagged or regurgitated, but I always followed his rancid release with a gulp of his mom’s red diabetic-coma kool-aid.

She would always laugh and say I drank her kool-aid like it was water. That she made an extra pitcher whenever she knew I was coming over.

If she only knew…

Do Black Folk Blush?

I went to client intakes last night. The supervising attorney and another male student started a love, relationship, when you gone get married? conversation. And for some odd reason my love life, or lack thereof, became the hot topic.

“So when are you getting married?”

*blank stare*

(First of all, I think asking a single woman when she’s getting married should be on the Never Ask A Woman This Question, Unless You Want to Get Cursed the Fuck Out list...and it belongs right under “How old are you?” “When are you expecting?” and “How much do you weigh?”)

But I played it off, or so I thought…

The problem is, the supervising attorney knows Deondre (and if you don’t know Deondre, than be thankful you don’t…no, really…dude is like my Big and I’m his Carrie and literally it’ll be 10 years before we have a fairy tale wedding, or wait…didn’t Big leave her at the alter the first go around?)

I don’t know who characterized my “special un-named boo” as THE ONE but omg…how easily Pandora’s box is opened.

Both men started trying to decode THE ONE into a name. So I completely denied there even being a “special un-named boo” that one day will become THE ONE…huge mistake.

The supervising attorney took this denial as an admission and stated, “So there isn’t anyone in particular”.

(Notice I wrote stated…because that’s what dude did. He didn’t ask a question, because why ask a question you already know the answer to…asshole!)

I wanted to shout NO but I didn’t want to portray Deondre as unimportant, because the truth is I’m head over heels for this man. Like in love with. Like I’d marry and have children with. Like, I’d even put a baby on board sticker in the car just for him…

this is SERIOUS shit people!

Next thing I know, I’m allegedly blushing and fidgeting in my seat. Now, I swear I didn’t blush. The only hint of color upon my cheeks was Nars Taj Mahal, but Darling said she saw this glow appear upon my face that gave the “special un-named boo” away.

“It’s so obvious you like him. Like, love him. I never knew until tonight how much you care about him.”

So intakes ended, 9pm morphed into 2am and I found myself blushing and fidgeting underneath my sheets. I couldn’t stop thinking about Deondre and what we don’t have, what we have, and what I want us to have by 2011.

I have all these hopes and borderline expectations (which I know he can’t achieve short of a miracle). I want to be with this man, but I know its not our time because he's MARRIED.

Married to his job. Apparently the marriage is going well because he was recently promoted to felonies, not to mention dude leaves for JAG in October. His career timeline extends each year, and I don’t see a relationship in the near future.

I don’t think he can make time, more importantly, I don’t think he WANTS to make time for us until he’s settled in his career. Which means what?

After he’s stationed?

Or before he’s deployed in two years?

Or after he returns and renews his contract with the military?

Like really, when will it ever end. When will he ever stop and realize that what we don’t have, what we have, and what I want us to have by 2011 is the BEST thing he’ll ever stumble upon.

So I’ve made the declaration to stop talking to him. To let him do his thing, and I’ll do mine. That maybe after I study for the bar, take it, pass both NY and NJ…after he leaves for basic training, is stationed God knows where, is deployed to Iraq…we’ll meet up again and he’ll tell me that I’m THE ONE and I’ll finally have a reason to blush and fidget.

This Shit Is For the Birds

The word LOVE is abstract.

I don’t have faith in love.

I need to SEE

TOUCH

FEEL

HEAR

love.

And since you never visit, text, or return my phone calls

I don’t believe in love…

and I don’t believe in you.

My First Photoshoot

My camera phone is amazing. Like the pixels are better than my Sony digital camera.

I have a picture of the tree at Rockfeller Center. It’s so clear, you feel like you’re in the freezing cold with me on Christmas Eve thinking this whole “tree shit mess” is for the birds.

And now thanks to Poetic, I have a picture of me spreading my pussy lips open. It’s so clear you’d think you were between my legs taking a deep breath thinking this chick better not suffocate me.

I’m comfortable with my sexuality.

I masturbate.

Have phone sex.

I’ve even sent my fair share of sexually suggestive pictures to a few lucky viewers (suggestive being me in a pair of lace boy short underwear…very PG-13, I know).

But I have NEVER taken nude pictures with the purpose of revealing them to another person.

So after the Vikings lost, I had a nude photo shoot featuring my clit and breasts.

I don’t hate my body, but I don’t love it. I’m what people call “thick”. I have 38 DD, a small waist (which isn’t looking its normal small self), wide hips, a big ass, and a bare pum pum.

Yes, I have a bare vagina. My roommate says it looks like a baby’s pum pum, but I like it…and I’m hoping ole boy does.

My home girl coaxed me into taking a pum pum picture. “Use your fingers to spread the lips wide open”. “You gotta get a picture of your pussy open, but make sure he can see your clit.” “Oh yea, and make sure its not a wrinkly pum pum picture”.

Uhh…aren’t pum pums kinda wrinkly in their normal state?

But I listened, and now I have like 9 pum pum pictures on my phone that must be deleted before I go home and my nosey siblings mistake my photo album for BrickBreaker.

I swear I thought this was America’s Next Top Model and Mr. Jay had awarded me with 100 extra frames because I just went crazy with this whole nude picture mess.

I ran into the living room to reveal my last few frames to my home girl. I was a little apprehensive because she has the cutest shape and well to be honest…my breasts don’t defy gravity quite like hers do.

Scrolling through the pictures, I began to feel vulnerable.

Exposed.

NAKED.

Before I knew it, I was becoming nervous and critical of my body.

Are my hips too wide?

Are my areolae too big?

Does my pum pum look fat?

So before I could punk out, I sent dude three pictures. I’m hoping he doesn’t wake up and call me because even though I’m on an adrenaline high from snapping shots of my pussy lips spread wide open, I need to be reasonable and realize that its mad late and I have voir dire tomorrow.

Night!

Who Needs Couples Counseling When There’s the Internet

This summary is not available. Please click here to view the post.

What’s For Dinner, Rice or Mac-n-Cheese?

An old friend of mine recently got back together with her favorite bust it baby. This man has managed to avoid commitment for two years but I guess he lost stamina because before the holidays hit he was bit by the “love bug”.

Now, I’m all excited for chick because she really loves dude. I don’t support the relationship, but hey, if you’re disillusioned into believing you’re happy than I’m happy for you.

I tell my girlfriends and they start laughing. One chick is like “hell no, I don’t believe it!” and the other simply states “sweat rice”.

Errruhhh…what rice? So she informs me that sweat rice is a recipe used by a woman who desperately wants to keep her man (more like a man that was never hers to keep in the first place). It’s a simple recipe that only requires rice and menstruation.

Yes, ladies and gentleman rice is needed! Oh wait, so is period blood…so pretty much the woman needs to cook her boo some rice and while it’s boiling, put the pot on the ground, stand over it with no panties on, and wait for her menstruation to drip drop into the pot.

Yummy much?

Once there’s enough menstruation in the pot, the desperate psycho woman can continue cooking the rice as usual and once cooled serve her man. Of course, chick can’t eat her own menstruation so she has to cook a separate pot of rice for herself or just claim to be on the Atkins Diet.

So my thing is, really? Rice and blood. What the fuck? Both women mentioned are from the West Indies, so I’m thinking this rice voodoo recipe is culturally influenced, but as a Southern Belle will the same affect occur with macaroni? Or cornbread? Or cheese grits? Or any other starchy southern delight?

I’m thinking sweat sweet potato pie may have sweat rice beat.

Aside from the disturbing recipe, I can’t fathom that chick would really menstruate into a pot of bubbling rice and peas just to get a nigga to stay.

That by far is the craziest and most desperate shit I’ve ever heard. Fuck poking holes into the condom! Is a dude really worth compromising your Christian beliefs for? So much for a blessed union…

And why the hell does the recipe call for blood from your cycle? So if a dude hits it raw while you’re on your period, will your flow upon his dick cause him to rethink leaving you for the other woman he’s scheduled to fuck later that day?

And why the fuck does the recipe call for rice? Like, what are they really trying to hint at? Now I love me some rice and peas, but I’m more of a macaroni and cheese girl. So are you saying my choice of starch won’t work. Will the noodles and blood make him LEAVE instead? Oh, the tragedy.

I’m just amazed that there’s such a thing as sweat rice. I don’t think chick would stoop as low to bleed into a pot of rice and then feed it to ole boy, but who knows, they are STILL together…*blank stare*

Swallowing Is So 2009

So I’m thinking my sexual practices may need to be revamped a little.

I met this guy. We saw a movie. We had a few meals. We had oral sex and I swallowed.

So he’s like yelling at me because I refuse to fuck him. The thought crossed by mind, but once I felt pressured I threw on my chastity belt and caught a major ‘tude. Dude was like, what the fuck are you scared I have something? Because whatever I have is already inside of you by now (FYI: hinting that you have a virus is not the way to convince a girl to fuck you).

So I start thinking and I’m like you’re right. He takes this RIGHT to mean sure we can fuck. I meant it as, omg I need to get tested ASAP and then get re-tested in 6 months and then pray and vow to never swallow semen again.

So here’s my problem, everyone’s all concerned about condoms during intercourse but what about during oral sex. I don’t now anyone who practices safe oral sex. I can’t imagine being lured into getting my pussy ate and then dude whipping out some dental dam. Talking about false pretenses!

Like, what the fuck. I wouldn’t dare suck a penis and not swallow, nor would I put a condom on a penis and suck it. But obviously swallowing isn’t safe. But neither is sucking the penis.

So what is a girl supposed to do when a beautiful, long, smooth, chocolate penis is an inch away from her mouth?

I guess grab a Trojan and sit on it instead.

14K Baby-girl Hoop Earrings

So the Facebook has really gotten out of hand, like the shit is ridic. It reveals way too much, and is at this very moment telling me I need reconnect with Genise Coleman. Uhh…maybe I don’t want to reconnect with her, ever thought about that Mr. Zuckerberg.

Ultimately, FB allows you to passively keep in touch with people you have no business keeping in touch with. Cue the worst date I’ve ever been on…

So dude was a complete engineer dork in undergrad. He was skinny and had alopecia (like REALLY bad). I met him through a mutual friend, Genise Coleman (go figure) and we hit it off. Not in a sexual way, it was platonic…or so I thought. Years past, we fall out of touch but of course the FB kept us connected enough to inform dude that I’m single and have posted 12 new photos.

He took this “news feed” as the perfect opportunity to send me a message, but it turns out dude isn’t skinny anymore and his hair has grown back. He has an amazing body and hello! the electrical engineering degree doesn’t hurt either. We start poking and messaging one another. Numbers are exchanged. A date is set…and cue Scene 1.

Dude came to pick me up and I met him outside. The plan was dinner and a movie, so I had on a sexy red dress, black pumps, make up on point…your girl was scrumptious if I must say…and obviously dude thought the same thing because when he saw me his jaw dropped.

And so did mine.

Lets just say the FB is deceitfully reconnecting folk! Dude was still skinny. He was rocking black and white Chucks (guess I should have wore my Dickie dress and 5411's). Skinny jeans. A blue collared shirt that for some reason was unbuttoned to the middle of his bird chest. A dog tag necklace (minus the military necessity). Glasses. And earrings.

But not just any earrings. No they weren’t over-sized cubic zirconia studs. They were hoops. This negro had on TWO, baby-girl hoop earrings. For y’all that aren’t getting the visual, please imagine your little sister’s/nieces’/daughter’s first pair of earrings. I’m talking about a hoop so small they can never be worn past the age of two without looking utterly ridiculous.

But no…this negro thought stealing his baby sister’s hoop earrings as she slept in the crib was acceptable.

So we walk to the car and dude doesn’t even open the door for me.

We get to Brio. Conversation is good. Lighting is low, but not low enough to hide the fact that not only does he rock baby-girl hoop earrings, dude also wears colored contacts.

Brown, colored contacts.

And wait, his tongue is pierced.

So the romantic vibe in the room obviously skipped our table, because before I could fill up on bread dude admits to being a weed head.

He LOVES marijuana. Smoked some maryjane that morning. Claims that his herbal friend saved his life (and hair, hence the cured alopecia).

Turns out during his senior year of undergrad, dude was diagnosed with anxiety disorder. He took the prescribed medication for awhile but stumbled upon medicinal weed and hasn’t turned back since. Unfortunately, the campus police weren’t too fond of his new habit. They pulled him over one night but before the officer reached the car, dude swallowed the blunt. So even though no drugs were found on his persons or in the car, the campus legal department made him write a paper on what motivates him.

And of course, Ricky Williams is his role model.

I know this shit sounds made-up, but it gets so much weirder…

So dude tells me that he has a dealer in California and that the medicinal shit is like “…the best thing since Mary giving birth to Jesus”. I don’t know if characterizing an illegal substance as being almost as amazing as Jesus being born is correct, but hey…I’ve never smoked weed that keeps you high for three days so who am I to judge.

After learning all this shit in less than an hour, I wanted to skip the movie but all my friends were too punkish to see Paranormal Activity, so I figured a free movie wouldn’t hurt. Plus, who talks during a scary movie, riiight?

So we’re walking into the movie theater and dude stops me. He needs to go back to the car. Okay, cool right? It’s a tad bit chilly, I’m sure he needs to grab a jacket for the theater. He wants to make sure I’m warm, be a gentleman and make up for the car door mess-up.

Oh no…this nigga wants to go to his car to SMOKE some MEDICINAL WEED.

WHAT THE FUCK?

Like, are you serious? Like, do you really have weed in your car and are you really pressing pause on our date to get high? Oh wait, lets not forget I’ve been riding around in a car with a high black male who has at least ten ounces of prime marijuana in his possession. So now we’ve added a charge possession with intent to distribute to my date, yay…

There goes that bar card.

I try convincing him that he doesn’t…can’t…will get cursed the fuck out if he smokes. But he needs it; “it’ll make the paranormal even more paranormal”.

The date ends but dude has that I wanna come up look upon his face. He tells me that I have a nice ass and would love to see me again.

FUCK MY LIFE.

I rushed inside to tell my home girl about the date. She was ubberly excited, thinking this was it; I had reconnected with the man of my dreams. I told her that I was never going to talk to dude again, but she rationalized that people don’t always know how fucked up they are, and that I need to keep it real and let him know that baby-girl hoop earrings mixed with medicinal weed is unacceptable.

So this is what happens when keeping it real goes right…

When Keeping it Real Goes Right...

Me: So after last nite, I had a lot on my mind. I think ure a really cool person and I appreciate that u felt so comfortable that u were willing to open up to me. However, the weed seems to overly consume u. I sincerely thought hard about the way things went down & how u couldn't leave it alone; even for a few hours. We all have anxiety but it seems u cannot function w/o it. But to each his own. Yet, what really bothered me was that u put me in danger when I got n the car not knowing u had product w/u. U can do what u want bc ure grown, but my career aspirations r something I do not take lightly. U jeopardized my career by not telling me u were driving w/it n the car. Pls let ppl know b4 u offer them a ride so that they can make an informed decision whether or not to take a risk & ride w/u. Bc when u get stopped, the law says they can search me too. If they were 2 find something, I'd b taken down to the station until everything was sorted out.

Me: Next, & I may not b privy to this information but once I thought hard about it I had to ask, r u bisexual? It's nothing wrong w/it all. It's just there were a few things that went unmentioned but not unnoticed. I'm cool either way. Just thought I'd ask.

20 minutes later...

Ryan: Ugh, accidently erased what I was saying! Gimmie a min...

Me: Ok. Cool

Ryan: I didn't mean for you to feel uncomfortable in any way, my bad. I can completely understand where you're coming from and I wouldn't wanna be in the passenger seat if I was in your position.. It was VERY little :-/

Ryan: And I didn't mean to bring it up so often. U should'a just pointed me out on it + told me to STFU, j/k. Guess I'm use to hangin' around people who are smokers I guess.

Ryan: And the GAY thing really threw me off, but for some reason I got a good laugh out of it...

Me: Ok thx 4 understanding. I appreciate it. I guess next time I will tell u stfu lol but I just want u 2 b able 2 function...that's it

Ryan: If I seemed uncomfortable to u in any way it was b/c I was... Don't mean that in a bad way @ all. U're really a great person, just didn't know what 2 expect i guess.

Me: What do u mean by uncomfortable??

Ryan: Once I find a job I'll be strait. Really frustrated about not finding anything out there.. So wait, there's a next time? Hmmm....

At this point, I'm slamming the phone on the couch and yelling "FUCK!"

Ryan: U gotta explain the gay thing to me first. I'm finding this interesting. And I'm glad you're being honest w/ me.

Me: The reason I questioned ur sexuality was bc I have a very close gay friend & he looks like u... the baby girl hoop earrings, colored contacts, tongue piercing, & belly ring are all apart of his style. Those were the reasons

Ryan: There's a funny story behind the contacts too! (Ask me later)

Me: Ok r u high right now??? LoL

Ryan: No, making soup

Probably soup with weed in it...

Me: Well I'm just telling u what I perceived but I'm glad u cleared it up 4 me. My friend has all of those piercings!!! And contacts n every color LoL just b aware when a dude tries 2 brush up on ya lol

Ryan: It's actually happened B4 (dudes hittin on me that is)...

No shit Sherlock!

Me: I'm glad u c what I mean; men hitting on u lol

Ryan: ................ It all makes sense now...

10 minutes and half a bowl of weed soup later...

Ryan: WAIT - hoop earrings are gay???

Ryan: Damn, somebody forgot to send me the memo!

Ryan: So would u be willing to chill some other time? I PROMISE I won't bring up any of my smoking habits! Although I'm not really sure what 2 expect, I'd like 2 see u more often than once every 2 years, lol.

Me: Maybe...I have finals coming up so my time is limited. U still didn't answer my ? About u saying u were uncomfortable. U didn't explain??

Ryan: Well, I remember meeting u through that traitor Genise and I remember you being a really cool person. Guess I wasn't sure if it was a DATE or just 2 old friends going out, that's all. You were lookin' GOOD last night btw! My mind was all over the place.

The End.

If you don't have a blackberry get one! and if you have one but don't utilize your blackberry messenger, please do so! Saving a chat and emailing it to yourself is golden.

No, I'm Not Dead

It’s been a year since I’ve written anything and had enough guts to publish it. I made the mistake of letting my blog become privy to certain classmates, and lets just say...some folk are too sensitive for the subject matter.

So all of a sudden I became this passive-aggressive person who was too scared to write shit about people’s relationships and sex lives and just gave up on the blog. Not to mention school got a little too hectic to write about sex or lack thereof.

But I’m back…like for real for real.

Not much has changed. I’m in my last semester of law school, yay! I’m still single. And yes, I still loathe baby on board stickers.

I’ve been writing in my diary like overload, but some of those thoughts are too dark and Adele on repeat-ish to reveal.

2008 came and went. I spent New Years in Atlanta and the resolution was to “stop enabling folk”. How’d that shit go? Pretty darn well I'd have to say. Lost a few friends and family members, but all in all I feel good about my actions.

So for 2010, the resolution is to work on becoming MORE “self-aware” (as though self-awareness has infinite levels to achieve). I’m almost 25 and about to step into the real world. No more school. No more “Mommy can I borrow some money because financial aid hasn’t hit yet”.

No more childhood (@ a low volume, this is when MJ’S Childhood would come in…“Have you seen my childhood?”).

Guess it’s time to grow the fuck up. Pay back these student loans. Take come state’s bar exam. Get a salary job (with benefits, oh my!). Who knows…maybe I’ll even get fucked on the wall this year, eh?