Time To Celebrate Me!

Even though February is the shortest month of the year, to me it’s the BEST month of the year…why you ask?

Well HELLO!! My birthday is on the 22nd! This year truly marks a turning point. I’ll be 25 with a J.D., in April I’ll be moving relocating somewhere and taking someone's bar exam, starting my career, paying (more life deferring) my student loans, and becoming even more fabulous than I already am.

Here’s a peek into my schedule:

Sade returns: 9th
Valentine’s Day: 14th
Trial Time: 15th
25th birthday: 22nd
DC Conference: 23-25th
ATL Freakum Dress Weekend: 26-27th (its more like the Flying Biscuit Weekend… my roommate and I are more excited about eating there than clubbing on Spring Street…damn, I love that city and them cheese grits!)

Cheaters Never Prosper?

Type in cheat and the synonyms provided are: deceive, trick, con, swindle, defraud, bamboozle, take advantage of, etc…

So if you’re fucking someone, but have escaped the “What Are We” conversation and no titles, boundaries, or rules have been established, when you fuck someone else is it considered cheating?

Did you deceive anyone?

Have you taken advantage of the “in limbo” status?

Has your partner been bamboozled?

Readers, how can you hold someone responsible for conning you out of a relationship that never really existed?

What Exactly Are the Elements of Cheating?

Jody: You got my son and you'll probably be my wife. You want me to be honest?
Yvette: Yeah, I do.
Jody: You're my woman. Them other hos is tricks. I make love to you, I want to be with you, but I fuck other females occasionally. I don't know why, I just do. That's the situation. You feel better now? That's some honesty for you. Deal with it.

(Baby Boy 2001...got to appreciate ghetto love at it’s finest)

Dayum Jody, why you gots to be so trill! Truth is, women cheat too. I’ve cheated twice actually. Once physically, the other emotionally. I’m guessing the latter is worse, considering now I’m in love with the other man and my ex is well…my ex.

I’m not sure who cheats best, but I can definitely say the term “cheating” should only be afforded to two people who have verbally agreed to be in a monogamous relationship (and don’t get me started on the term monogamy and is infinite implausibilty). So if broken down, cheating would be:

Two people
In a relationship
Who verbally agree
To NOT fuck anyone else
So if one element is missing, it can’t be considered cheating.

For instance, my home girl found out her friend slept with another woman. She was livid. Vowed never to speak to him again. Deleted his number. Resaved it but changed his ringtone to Regrets by LeToya Luckett.

Her friend obviously dodged the “What Are We” conversation and no titles, boundaries, or rules were established.

So my thing is, did dude really cheat?

Like, there needs to be another word for people who are only fucking, but believe they are only fucking each other (even though that rule hasn’t been established either), and step out to fuck someone else.

The real problem is, folk need to stop entering into these quasi-relationships with no definition, and try to define everything only after someone fucks up. If dude isn’t your boyfriend, then why can’t he fuck someone else?

No it’s not nice or fair or safe, but umm…you can’t curse him out, accuse him of cheating, and claim he can’t be trusted because he fucked another chick when you were NEVER his girlfriend.

And I know, some people abhor the titles boyfriend/girlfriend, because what do they really mean? The only thing some consider a viable status is engaged and married. And I totally understand, but perception is a beast and if I perceive being your girlfriend and you being my boyfriend as something special, sacred, monogamous…then shit, that’s what it is!

Lovely always warns me: don’t ever let a man get away with never establishing what y’all are. No man wants to have the dreaded conversation where he’s faced with cutting off his other bust its to knight you as his only and number one, but hey…shit be like that sometimes.

Thing is women know this, so to keep the man around we avoid the conversation or let him shirk away from the responsibility of claiming you outside of the bedroom. Next thing you know, the nigga fucks up and you want to cry, curse, and blame him.

But my dear, you can only blame yourself for subjecting your heart to a quasi-relationship where the crime of cheating does NOT exist.

Maybe he can be charged with lying after he’s asked about said mentioned girl and denies her existence and/or their sexual relationship…but people lie every day, and lying doesn’t get you a stunning 8-carat purple diamond ring worth about $4 million (oh wait, neither does cheating…you need to be charged with rape for that mess to happen).

So stop fucking dude, become his girlfriend and then come holla at me about how the nigga ain’t shit, otherwise I don’t want to hear it.

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…