Love from a Good Man

   I often write about the pitfalls of love. I find some strength in looking back on past heartaches, and realizing I came out stronger, and wiser.

     In my short dating life I have kissed my fair share of frogs, but I've also had some amazing princes; the kind of men you see yourself walking down the aisle with, the kind of men that give you goosebumps when they enter a room. I have been loved by a good man.

   When I was 21, I met the kind of man you instantly want to take home to mom. When he walked into the room, it felt like the world stopped, and everything was in slow motion. He looked like he was ripped right out of a BET spread on 'Black Love.' I remember these light blue pants he wore that hugged his butt just right, and how his muscles bulged out of his shirt. His bald head was always smooth, and whenever I walked by him I got a little intoxicated from his Cologne. He was so sexy. I thought there was no way this GQ model would want to date me. But, he did.

     On our first date, he opened the door, and called me "lady" in is this smooth, loving way. He took me to this wine festival with his friends, and it seemed he was proud to have me on his arm. I fell hard and fast. Before long, we were spending every weekend together. He wanted to hear about my dreams, my ambition, and he wanted to help me get there. He fixed every flat tire, he comforted me all the nights I cried when my mom was sick, and in the early morning with no makeup on he told me I was beautiful. I met his mother, his father, his sisters, his brothers. I let him into my home, my heart, and my head. And, I felt totally safe.

   We had this thing called a "wedding kiss." One of us would say, "I want a wedding kiss." Then, we would embrace, and try with all our might to put all our passion in that kiss. I loved those kisses. I would close my eyes and imagine standing in a white dress walking towards him. But, even the everyday kisses were magical. When I graduated from college he took me to the Big Apple, and before long we were looking at rings. We were so close, but we were also so different. We lasted off and on for about four years.

     When I was about 25, I fell in love with my best friend. He was the kind of man who I knew loved me for my heart, and my mind. He was the kind of man you could talk to all night, the kind of man who laughed at quirky girl jokes, the kind of man who helped me love myself. He was the kind of man who massaged my feet when I got off work.We met at work. I'm noticing a pattern here. Maybe I should stop falling in love with men I meet at work. When he walked into the room I'll admit it wasn't love at first sight. He was slightly cocky, he wore glasses, and was a bit of a video game nerd. But, he was also very sensitive, sweet, and he always made me laugh. After a while, he became my confidant, and biggest supporter at work. He pushed me to make my reporter reel, motivated me to ask for a shot at managing the station website, and believed in every pipe dream I threw at him. He could have been anywhere, but he would stay up all night watching my outtakes, and help me apply for jobs. He would always tell  me, "I wish you could see what I see. You can do this." He listened to me cry when I lost my first love, aapplauded my successes, and when I felt insecure he did all he could to build me up. He was the kind of man who surprised me with flowers at work for no reason, and covered my apartment with heart-shaped post-it notes with loving compliments. He was always so passionate when he kissed me, and he looked into my eyes like he could stare into them forever. He became a part of my family, and I became a part of his. One night while we were talking on the phone, he told me that when the time was right he wanted me to be his wife. I cried in joy, and sighed in relief. I had finally met him, "The One." We were so close, but had very different takes on life. We lasted off and one for almost three years before we said goodbye.

    I have known good love. And, even those these princes were only in my life for a season I'm glad I had the chance to be loved by them. And, while they didn't end up being "The One" I know they have taught how to love "The One." Through loving and losing these princes, I have learned so much about being a good partner. When I do give my heart to someone again it's going to be so much deeper, because I was once loved by a good man.

When We Were Younger

When we were younger... I could never quite get my words right.
I was so worried about how I looked, the way you looked at me, and deep down I did not think I was pretty.
You had these beautiful gorgeous girls chasing after you, why on earth would you want me?
I made up these silly jokes, and funny ways to get next to you.
I tried to be one of the guys so you would talk to me.
My palms would sweat when I got close to you.
I would talk about guys things,  even talk about other girls.
When really all I wanted was a little recognition from you.
A pat on the back, a smile, maybe even a hug.
The times we were close were so rare..
When you did hug me, pull me in for an embrace .. I knew for you it was nothing.
A little hug to your tomboy friend.
But, I melted a little bit when our bodies got that close.
When we were young there were so many things I could not say.
The rejection I could not bare to endure.
Instead I kept thinking of you from far away.
I think you knew I had a thing for you...
When we were young there were so many things I could not say.
Time has passed, and even though I never knew what it was like to be liked by you..
I do like to remember... and ponder if you ever had these feelings too..
I can now smile about the girly way I acted ....how afraid I was to step to you.
I still blush a bit when I imagine kissing you....
I know this..you and me can't be.... but I love to remember...look back, and reflect on the time when we were younger.... and all I wanted was for you to be with me

If I Were a Boy!

            I wish I weren’t a girl sometimes. I wish I could lie next to someone, hold her, caress her, kiss her as if our moments together were our last and then just disconnect. Enjoy the moment, relish in the sheets with her, fall sweetly into her arms, breathe in her scent, and as night turns to day just disconnect. Why weren’t we equipped with these skills? Surely they would have come in handy. We wouldn’t sit around in circles analyzing men, wasting perfectly good productive time wondering why he didn’t call, why he doesn’t care.

           I’d hang with my boys, then effortlessly leak the details of my escapades. I’d tell them how sweet she smelled, the softness of her skin, the expressions of her face, and how I handled her as a man. They’d relish in my explanation, giving me the male equivalent of a Oscar.

  I’d leave her at home while I hung out.  I would have her so into me that she won’t make me live up to the standards she so deserves. I mean hey it’s her fault not mine. She doesn’t make me come home. I come home when I want. Smelling of alcohol I slide back into her bed, wrap my arms around her and try to oblige her. If I’m lucky, she’ll roll over and show me a little something. Even if inside she’s hurting, disappointed that love didn’t bring me home last night.  I will continue living the bachelor life when I know she gave up everything for me.

            If I were a boy I’d know which roles to play to get which women. I’d play the good boy to get next to the good girl, I’d be bad if she so desired. I’ll spit game about being honest, about caring for her feelings, and then the second I get her I’ll proudly exclaim to the world how I played her. How stupid do women get? I will feel no remorse for the girls I’ve hurt in the process cause it’s gotten me what I’ve wanted. I don’t care how I’ve damaged their hearts, how my actions make them want to give up love, think we’re all useless, hey man that’s the next dude’s problem.

I’d whisper to her that I believed in making love, real love, and tell her I would never leave her. But then I’d do just that whenever I got the chance. It’s not my fault she gave it up.  If I were a boy I’d be content getting everything I wanted without giving her anything she needed to feel whole, appreciated, cared for or respected.

But even if I could I wouldn’t play this game. There is something endearing about feeling with my heart. And while I feel exposed and vulnerable I’m not going to stop feeling because some men can’t. I won’t stop sharing my heart with people even when they mishandle it. I’ll learn to move on faster and not waste as much time on men who don’t have time for me. And I’ll be more careful to let people close to me, but not at the expense of shutting good men away.

Being a girl sometimes means getting hurt. Putting yourself out there only to discover you're out there alone. It means being disappointed, hurt, and used. But this is true for anyone looking to find something, some affection, some desire for another. While I don’t get men, I know the inner workings of being a woman. And maybe I do need to keep my heart a little closer to myself, not leaving it so exposed. There is something to be learned from all these games men play. Maybe this whole thing is learning from the game.

I won’t sit by phones hoping my stare will make them ring. Feeling foolish when I make the call or text that is unanswered. This girl has learned men who want you want to text, call, be near you. No job, circumstance, or event is going to stop them from being close to you. And if they don’t then honey as the author Greg Bernhardt says HE’S JUST NOT THAT INTO YOU!

It’s so true ladies… … if he cares he makes the effort. This girl will start changing lanes when she sees the red flags. The distance, the neglect, the past issues with other women, all signs he’s not ready or able to be that into you!

As a Carrie Bradshaw once wrote, “Some people are settling, some people are settling down, and some people are settling for nothing short of butterlies”. Here’s to waiting for the butterflies……

Dedicated to every girl who fell victim to a man’s game. Be happy you are a girl. Keep loving, keeping hoping. Sometimes we kiss a lot of frogs before we meet our prince.

A Force in Flats

A Force in Flats

I’m in Virginia Beach for Easter weekend and I’m noticing all the interesting fashion trends I’ve been missing out on in the burg. I mean in the past two days I’ve seen two people with their chests pierced. Their chests! Who does that? I’m told they are called ‘Dermal Anchors’, and yes they are very much a trend. But, that’s not what this blog is really about.  It’s about all the fierce new shoes I saw this weekend.

I can’t get my eyes off all the creative foot coverings people wear in VA Beach.  It seems the predominant walking apparatus of choice is high heel. Spiked heels, sparkly heels, peek-a-boo heels, you name it I saw it. I understand why woman gravitate to heels.  They exude confidence, power, and sex appeal. And, you have to give props to a woman who is balancing all of her weight, and will power on tiny, thin pieces of shoe material. I mean it requires some skill. High heel shoes make everything more fabulous, including the person wearing them.  Unfortunately I don’t know how that feels.

I cannot walk in heels. I truly believe there is a window of opportunity in a girl’s life where heel walking skills are developed.  You know how they say kids soak up language between certain ages I feel like there’s a time when little girls are more receptive to heel walking. It probably starts the minute you discover heels in your mom’s closet and stick your tiny feet in her oversized shoes. You clunk around her bedroom, and look in the mirror. Standing there looking at your reflection, you get that first surge of power, and sexiness. You feel more beautiful, more adult, like somehow you’re tapping into that elusive elegance you see your mom carry so well.  From there goes the practicing, and sneaking into heels when your mom is not home. Well I missed all of that.

During the time when most girly girls are in cultivating their heels skills,  I was scuffing up my new kicks on the basketball court with my cousins. Or I was kicking up dirt on our homemade baseball field in the backyard. I love sneakers and flats.  As a tomboy shoes were not fashion accessories they were game gear, work out gear, walking gear.  The only time I remember getting super psyched about shoes was when L.A. Knights came out with a light up shoes. When you walked, these lights would activate in the bottom of the soles, and sparkle. They were the must have shoe in my day. I remember begging my mom for a pair.  Then there were those kicks with the air pumps. They had this pump on the flap of the shoe that was supposed to give you more height in your jump, and game like Michael Jordan. I’m not sure this was actually true, but I wanted to find out. My parents forked over a lot of dough for to help me find out. Needless to say they did not improve my game, but I feel pretty cool sporting them around school.  As you can see I am a lover of functional not fashionable shoes.  But sometimes I wish I could master the whole heel thing. I just can’t get it right, and believe me I’ve tried.

Whenever I dare to put on heels for a few minutes I feel amazing, and sassy. Then, I feel agony, and stress. Is it this painful for every woman? My heels are rubbed raw for the back of the shoe; my toes are scrunched up and pinched. And, I can hardly focus on anything other than trying not to fall. Every step becomes a small victory. The whole time I’m thinking to myself, Yes, I made it. I didn’t fall. Now just 10 more steps until I can sit down. This is why I have embraced the fact I may never been sexy in heels, but I am a force in flats.

I love flats. They come in sparkly, bright, shimmery, colors too. They can add a splash of color to an outfit, and I can strut my stuff without worrying about falling on my face. Flats say this woman is cute and comfortable, this woman is practical. Sure they may not be head turners, and they don’t exude sexy.  Flats seem to epitomize the type of woman I am. I am not roll out the bed sexy, I am not what you would call gorgeous or head turning, but like flats when put together with a good outfit, I can be quite fierce.  I clean up real nice. Give me a splash of foundation, and high hugging dress, and a rocking hair-do and I’ll show you sassy. That is how I feel about my flats, they are the kind of shoes that may not look fabulous on their own, but sparkle when you see the whole package. Heels say I am fabulous, and sexy. Flats say look a little closer, I am cute, I am fun, I am spunky, and I a force in these flats.