She’s so beautiful. She’s fun. She’s easy to talk to. She’s educated. She has a J-O-B, and a budunkadunk and a nice set of big umms.
She is vivacious and full of life and fun to be around, most of the time.
Fellas, you enjoy her conversation, but something makes you feel uneasy at times.
The feeling is a bit like someone riding behind you with their bright lights on and you are not sure if it's really their bright lights.
Ummm, it could very well be mental illness rearing its not-so-pretty head.
According to WebMD, depression in women is very common. In fact, women are twice as likely to develop clinical depression as men.
Seriously, depression causes irritability, feelings of sadness, hopelessness, helplessness, and worthlessness. Depression can be mild to major and cause difficulty sleeping, low self-esteem, decreased energy, lead to overeating or undereating or inappropriate social behavior and a loss of interest in sex.
And fellas, you wondered why you got your windows busted out and tires flattened because you said hello to a childhood friend while out with Ms. Sunshine.
Or maybe Ms. I'm Not Gonna Take It No More put all of your clothes in the middle of the floor and used Clorox like a salt shaker. Ummmm, inappropriate social behavior.
The information provided does not give you fellas a pass to begin calling a wife, girlfriend or date "Crazy." Pluuueeze don't do this. You might get your house burned down.
But if you begin to see unusual behavior that causes pause, ummm, don't ignore it. Or go ahead and put your belongings in a piece of clothe, tie onto a stick, throw it over your shoulder and run away from home.
Soooo, depression disproportionately affects women. This means that a lot of ladies are popping anti-depressant medication. Zoloft, Paxil, Cymbalta, Effexor, Celexa.
I just heard medicine cabinets opening and damn, damn, damn.
But hold up.
With fellas, Erectile Dysfunction causes problems in the bedroom and beyond. The strength of a Man Muscle makes a man feel reeeeeal good or reeeeeeal bad. And it's established that sometimes MM needs help from the little blue friend.
With ladies, sometimes there's the not-so-pretty face of Depression that causes highs and lows and may end up turning a life upside down.
OK, OK, OK, medication is needed for both. And sometimes anti-depressants can make a women become No Libido Noelle, so there will not be a need for the little blue friend.
So while dating when should it be revealed that there's some instability? You know, that the headlights that you thought you saw were really on high beam. Really, pay close attention to folk's eyes. Craziness shows in the eyes first and then manifests itself in other ways.
Fellas, you ask a girl if she is on birth control right before or during that first sexual encounter, right? But ummm, you may want to ask if she is popping the other pill. Or do you wanna just wait until your car has been keyed?
Leave your comments here or e-mail me at choosingmrwrong@gmail.com.
Tuesday, March 31, 2009
Monday, March 30, 2009
Man Muscle Needs Little Blue Friend
Dating is interesting.
One guy may give you the I’m-gonna-play-this-cool space. Another may call A LOT. Still another may try to take up your every free moment.
Some are adventurous and yet others are dud spuds.
And then of course, there’s the Man Muscle.
Some are little. Others are Yikes! Don’t-come-near-me-with-that thing. And then some are a perfect fit like an Isotoner glove.
Some are strong and some, ummmm ummmmm, are not strong.
But what is a girl to do if she comes across a dead-on-arrival DI? Yep, DI is exactly what you think it is?
Should she?
A.) Act like she doesn’t notice that there is a PROBLEM and let the guy bounce on her like a fool.
B.) Try, use your imagination, to get the soldier to stand.
C.) Tell the guy to BEAT IT, and not that beat it, but the get outta-here-before-I-pull-my-gun on you and tell the police I shot you because of misrepresentation.
D.) Tell Mr. I Can’t Perform, it’s OK and give him another try at a later date.
After talking with some of my friends, D seems to be the most common answer -- at least with my circle.
But I think dead-on-arrival DIs, should be something that is dealt with before trying to approach a Va-jay-jay.
Why are you standing at the ice cream counter and you don't have any money to buy ice cream?
Get some money first and then return to the ice cream counter. She doesn't want her ice cream wasted, wink, wink.
On a serious note, research indicates that black men are up to 20 times more likely to have ED than white men. The condition is also linked to cardiovascular disease and diabetes, two diseases that run rampant in the black community.
Other problems such as high blood pressure, obesity, high cholesterol, depression, alcoholism, oops, I mean drinking too much are also linked to ED, so deal with those conditions before trying to meet a Va-jay-jay.
And I know that a guy has to know when his Man Muscle doesn’t work. I mean really. If it's just a little hard, then you have a "big" problem.
Butt-er-uhhhh, should a guy then tell a woman with whom he is sexually active that he pops the little blue pill? Or Sees Cialis on a regular basis?
I’m not talking about in a marriage.
I’m talking about while dating or on sexcapades. Or should he just DI a girl down and leave her thinking that the lights and noise are going off and she has hit the jackpot?
Remember, sex is important to a lot of people in relationships.
The lights and noise recently went off for one of my gfs.
“Oh, girl, it was nice, very nice,” she said.
Her voice was filled with excitement and I was excited for her.
“Gone girl.” “Ahright!” “Ooooooweeee.” “Have fun!”
But then she said he really lasted a long time. And I responded, “Girl, he may be on Viagra.”
Just then I realized I deflated her.
I slapped myself on the hand, “bad girl, bad girl.”
“Girl, he isn’t that old,” she responds.
"Ummm, yes he is!” I say. “And nowadays, young dudes pop those pills.”
The erectile dysfuntion industry is a multi-billion, that's a B, multi-billion dollar industry so I think a lot of Man Muscles get help from their little blue friend.
Soooooo, is using erectile dysfunction medication a non-issue until things get serious or should a man ease the information into a conversation? Or ladies, do you even want to know?
Leave comments here or e-mail me at darlene@choosingmrwrong.com.
One guy may give you the I’m-gonna-play-this-cool space. Another may call A LOT. Still another may try to take up your every free moment.
Some are adventurous and yet others are dud spuds.
And then of course, there’s the Man Muscle.
Some are little. Others are Yikes! Don’t-come-near-me-with-that thing. And then some are a perfect fit like an Isotoner glove.
Some are strong and some, ummmm ummmmm, are not strong.
But what is a girl to do if she comes across a dead-on-arrival DI? Yep, DI is exactly what you think it is?
Should she?
A.) Act like she doesn’t notice that there is a PROBLEM and let the guy bounce on her like a fool.
B.) Try, use your imagination, to get the soldier to stand.
C.) Tell the guy to BEAT IT, and not that beat it, but the get outta-here-before-I-pull-my-gun on you and tell the police I shot you because of misrepresentation.
D.) Tell Mr. I Can’t Perform, it’s OK and give him another try at a later date.
After talking with some of my friends, D seems to be the most common answer -- at least with my circle.
But I think dead-on-arrival DIs, should be something that is dealt with before trying to approach a Va-jay-jay.
Why are you standing at the ice cream counter and you don't have any money to buy ice cream?
Get some money first and then return to the ice cream counter. She doesn't want her ice cream wasted, wink, wink.
On a serious note, research indicates that black men are up to 20 times more likely to have ED than white men. The condition is also linked to cardiovascular disease and diabetes, two diseases that run rampant in the black community.
Other problems such as high blood pressure, obesity, high cholesterol, depression, alcoholism, oops, I mean drinking too much are also linked to ED, so deal with those conditions before trying to meet a Va-jay-jay.
And I know that a guy has to know when his Man Muscle doesn’t work. I mean really. If it's just a little hard, then you have a "big" problem.
Butt-er-uhhhh, should a guy then tell a woman with whom he is sexually active that he pops the little blue pill? Or Sees Cialis on a regular basis?
I’m not talking about in a marriage.
I’m talking about while dating or on sexcapades. Or should he just DI a girl down and leave her thinking that the lights and noise are going off and she has hit the jackpot?
Remember, sex is important to a lot of people in relationships.
The lights and noise recently went off for one of my gfs.
“Oh, girl, it was nice, very nice,” she said.
Her voice was filled with excitement and I was excited for her.
“Gone girl.” “Ahright!” “Ooooooweeee.” “Have fun!”
But then she said he really lasted a long time. And I responded, “Girl, he may be on Viagra.”
Just then I realized I deflated her.
I slapped myself on the hand, “bad girl, bad girl.”
“Girl, he isn’t that old,” she responds.
"Ummm, yes he is!” I say. “And nowadays, young dudes pop those pills.”
The erectile dysfuntion industry is a multi-billion, that's a B, multi-billion dollar industry so I think a lot of Man Muscles get help from their little blue friend.
Soooooo, is using erectile dysfunction medication a non-issue until things get serious or should a man ease the information into a conversation? Or ladies, do you even want to know?
Leave comments here or e-mail me at darlene@choosingmrwrong.com.
Sunday, March 29, 2009
I'm An Arm Woman
There are various features that cause pause when viewing the opposite sex.
I hear guys say, "I'm a butt man." I'm a boob man." "I'm a leg man."
Well, I'm an arm woman. There is nothing better, in my opinion, than nice, chiseled, strong, muscular arms on a man.
Nah, not the uuuuuhhhh-I-can-lift 500 pounds type of arms, but just nice and strong.
I like other features too, beards, oooweeee, love beards. I like chocolakah, much more than caramel, but I like sweets so caramel is not bad at all. I am just really more attracted to men who have a darker complexion than mine.
I like tall, too.
OK, OK, OK, enough of what I find handsome. I think that my deal with arms actually speaks volumes about something else I crave -- security.
Ummm, arms secure. Strong arms equal safe. I mean really, who wants Mr. Puny Arms if a fight breaks out? Or when things get rough?
Strong arms mean you are safe with me. Strong arms mean I will look out for you. Strong arms mean I gotchu.
But then if my theory is true and my love of arms reveals something about me, what could be the theory behind women who love chests, legs, butts, backs, abs?
Leave comments here or e-mail me at darlene@choosingmrwong.com to tell me what type of woman or man you are? And please tell me why.
I hear guys say, "I'm a butt man." I'm a boob man." "I'm a leg man."
Well, I'm an arm woman. There is nothing better, in my opinion, than nice, chiseled, strong, muscular arms on a man.
Nah, not the uuuuuhhhh-I-can-lift 500 pounds type of arms, but just nice and strong.
I like other features too, beards, oooweeee, love beards. I like chocolakah, much more than caramel, but I like sweets so caramel is not bad at all. I am just really more attracted to men who have a darker complexion than mine.
I like tall, too.
OK, OK, OK, enough of what I find handsome. I think that my deal with arms actually speaks volumes about something else I crave -- security.
Ummm, arms secure. Strong arms equal safe. I mean really, who wants Mr. Puny Arms if a fight breaks out? Or when things get rough?
Strong arms mean you are safe with me. Strong arms mean I will look out for you. Strong arms mean I gotchu.
But then if my theory is true and my love of arms reveals something about me, what could be the theory behind women who love chests, legs, butts, backs, abs?
Leave comments here or e-mail me at darlene@choosingmrwong.com to tell me what type of woman or man you are? And please tell me why.
Friday, March 27, 2009
I May Be In Love
I just got a divorce and I haven't been looking to find someone but I have met HIM and he is really, really, really nice.
I want to be around him all the time and I just can't imagine living without him.
What did I do before he came into my life?
He smells good. And he is not cheap. Yippeee!
My best friend introduced us. Thanks, guuurrl.
He is nice looking and has a nice build. Ooooweee, Sexy! Shoot, I think I've gotten turned out.
He is easy to handle and he likes to wear orange, my favorite color.
Just when I think things are as good as they are going to get, he throws something else at me. He has a lot to offer.
I get compliments galore. You look good in this. You look good in that.
And he doesn’t make me get a funky attitude because he is so calming and soothing. He makes me feel soooooo good.
Whew, it’s just something about him.
When he wraps his arms around me, he leaves his scent on me. I just love that I can smell him all day. And I love to snuggle up with him at night.
Mmmm, I think I am in love, so I’ve ditched my old laundry detergent for GAIN.
I want to be around him all the time and I just can't imagine living without him.
What did I do before he came into my life?
He smells good. And he is not cheap. Yippeee!
My best friend introduced us. Thanks, guuurrl.
He is nice looking and has a nice build. Ooooweee, Sexy! Shoot, I think I've gotten turned out.
He is easy to handle and he likes to wear orange, my favorite color.
Just when I think things are as good as they are going to get, he throws something else at me. He has a lot to offer.
I get compliments galore. You look good in this. You look good in that.
And he doesn’t make me get a funky attitude because he is so calming and soothing. He makes me feel soooooo good.
Whew, it’s just something about him.
When he wraps his arms around me, he leaves his scent on me. I just love that I can smell him all day. And I love to snuggle up with him at night.
Mmmm, I think I am in love, so I’ve ditched my old laundry detergent for GAIN.
Sex Starts In The Eyes
You can tell by the way a man looks at a woman if he is in love.
This is one of those things that a man can definitely show you better than he can tell you. It’s all in the eyes, ladies, so pay close attention.
It’s a loving gaze. It’s that sexy glance. It’s that eyes first move and then head follows stare. It’s that I-wanna-rip-your-clothes-off-you-and-ummm-do-you-right-now-right-now look.
I have always been into reading body language.
So if he has his back turned to you when you are talking about an important relationship matter, ummm, you have slipped on a banana peel into the oh, oh category.
And then if he stops with eye contact altogether, just know that you have fallen into the Dis Isn’t Working For Me Ditch.
A look is an amazingly powerful tool in relationships.
A new study being released in the Archives of Sexual Behavior finds that it takes less than 10 seconds for a man to fall in love.
The study says that on average men gazed at women they considered beautiful for 8.2 seconds. It drops to 4.5 second when they are not interested.
I wish I could have gotten to the researchers before they installed cameras and discussed the methodology for this study. They could have given me that money because I knew that it was all in the eyes a long time ago.
As a matter of fact, I think I have always been able to tell if a man is giving me a mmmm, I like you or a nah, you aren't doing it for me shorty.
But men aren’t the only ones who tell it on the mountain with their eyes. Women do too.
It’s that umph, ooooowwweeeee, whew look. The eyes focus but not necessarily follow. Nah, fellas, women don’t do that because we are a bit more discreet. It’s more of a locked-in look that if you don’t catch quickly you will miss.
In seconds, our eyes have sent a signal to the brain saying, Oh, Yea or Aaaannnnt!!!
A lady usually tries to get another peep later to make sure that what she thought she saw was actually what she saw. Arms, chests, legs, butt, eyes, abs, lips, hands and even the walk have all been viewed. Yep, we are fast.
The study didn’t say this but men aren’t the only ones who fall in love or ummm lust in less than 10 seconds.
Women decide faster than that, and sometimes not a word has to be muttered.
In our minds, we have said, “He Can Get It.”
This is one of those things that a man can definitely show you better than he can tell you. It’s all in the eyes, ladies, so pay close attention.
It’s a loving gaze. It’s that sexy glance. It’s that eyes first move and then head follows stare. It’s that I-wanna-rip-your-clothes-off-you-and-ummm-do-you-right-now-right-now look.
I have always been into reading body language.
So if he has his back turned to you when you are talking about an important relationship matter, ummm, you have slipped on a banana peel into the oh, oh category.
And then if he stops with eye contact altogether, just know that you have fallen into the Dis Isn’t Working For Me Ditch.
A look is an amazingly powerful tool in relationships.
A new study being released in the Archives of Sexual Behavior finds that it takes less than 10 seconds for a man to fall in love.
The study says that on average men gazed at women they considered beautiful for 8.2 seconds. It drops to 4.5 second when they are not interested.
I wish I could have gotten to the researchers before they installed cameras and discussed the methodology for this study. They could have given me that money because I knew that it was all in the eyes a long time ago.
As a matter of fact, I think I have always been able to tell if a man is giving me a mmmm, I like you or a nah, you aren't doing it for me shorty.
But men aren’t the only ones who tell it on the mountain with their eyes. Women do too.
It’s that umph, ooooowwweeeee, whew look. The eyes focus but not necessarily follow. Nah, fellas, women don’t do that because we are a bit more discreet. It’s more of a locked-in look that if you don’t catch quickly you will miss.
In seconds, our eyes have sent a signal to the brain saying, Oh, Yea or Aaaannnnt!!!
A lady usually tries to get another peep later to make sure that what she thought she saw was actually what she saw. Arms, chests, legs, butt, eyes, abs, lips, hands and even the walk have all been viewed. Yep, we are fast.
The study didn’t say this but men aren’t the only ones who fall in love or ummm lust in less than 10 seconds.
Women decide faster than that, and sometimes not a word has to be muttered.
In our minds, we have said, “He Can Get It.”
Wednesday, March 25, 2009
Hold My Hand And Rub My Feet
I remember attending a dinner party about three years ago and hearing about a bestseller book, “The Five Love Languages” by Gary Chapman.
The man talking about the book said, and people can tell you anything, he was happily married.
Most of this happiness was due to understanding his wife’s love language. I cleared my throat and turned my bionic ears on. I was all over this conversation. Happy. Love. Language. Satisfying. Fulfilling. Happy. Exciting. Fun.
Ummm, did somebody say happy?
Mind you, his wife wasn’t at the party so I couldn’t see her face and gauge for myself if she was happy.
And then I was thinking about something one of my girlfriend's pastor said, “If you want to know the state of a marriage, look at the wife.”
Nevertheless, I thought he was really excited about the book and how it helped his marriage so I said what the heck, I’m getting it.
I remember going out a few days later to an area bookstore to pick it up. I thought this could be the key to a happy marriage and understanding my husband and he understanding me.
When I got the book, I read it from cover to cover, OK, OK, OK, I skipped around a little bit and went back because I wanted to understand these Five Love Languages with the quickness. They are Quality Time, Words of Affirmation, Gifts, Acts of Service and Physical Touch.
After reading and skipping around and reading, I determined that my love languages were Acts of Service, Physical Touch and Words of Affirmation. I show love in those ways.
Acts of Service is ummm, exactly what you may be thinking. Service! Cooking, washing, cleaning. All those fun and exciting things my mother said I should do for my husband.
Physical touch is ummm, exactly what you are thinking too. Diggity fa shiggidy, but also kissing, hugging and holding hands. You know, affection.
Did you realize that the tip of the tongue is highly sensitive but the back of the shoulders is least sensitive? The book also says the tips of the fingers and the tip of the nose are other extremely sensitive areas. Mmmmmm, Eskimo kisses might be worth trying.
And then words of affirmation is when we affirm our mate. This is using words to build a person up. “You look good in that dress.” “Thanks for taking out the garbage.” “I love that meal you prepared for me.”
So, I have determined how I show love, but how do I need to be loved?
Hmmmmmm.
Quality time jumped off the page and sat beside me. How Uuuuuu durrin?
And physical touch is something I truly enjoy and not just diggity. I really like to hold hands, have the back of my neck touched and my feet rubbed.
And then there’s words of affirmation. Pre-divorce I might not have said this, but I’m like a runaway slave so I get to say what I want. I love compliments.
If I get my hair done, I want a compliment. If I get foxy fabulous, tell a sistah she is foxy.
Knowing your love language doesn’t mean that the other languages should not be involved in the relationship because gifts, yep gifts, are good. Help around the house is also good.
However, identifying your top three love languages provide a better look at how you show love and if you are showing the love that your mate needs -- ummm, one more gen. Identifying your top love languages provide a better look at how you show love and if you are showing the love THAT YOUR MATE NEEDS.
If you aren't, a little change here and there may be necessary.
But what is even more fascinating about this book is that it talks about how we all have LOVE TANKS and if our mate knows that our love language is words of affirmation, he or she can keep that LOVE TANK full by paying compliments.
It’s crucial to have our LOVE TANKS FULL in relationships, ummm good relationships.
If your mate is buying gifts and you need quality time, the LOVE TANK may not be empty but it’s not filling up as quickly as it could if there was a date night.
So the next time I meet a guy I will ask, What is your name? I'll wait for him to answer and then tell him mine.
What do you do for a living? Uh Hum.
Do you have any children? OK.
Do you have a personal relationship with Christ? Ahright.
And ummm do you know your love language?
The man talking about the book said, and people can tell you anything, he was happily married.
Most of this happiness was due to understanding his wife’s love language. I cleared my throat and turned my bionic ears on. I was all over this conversation. Happy. Love. Language. Satisfying. Fulfilling. Happy. Exciting. Fun.
Ummm, did somebody say happy?
Mind you, his wife wasn’t at the party so I couldn’t see her face and gauge for myself if she was happy.
And then I was thinking about something one of my girlfriend's pastor said, “If you want to know the state of a marriage, look at the wife.”
Nevertheless, I thought he was really excited about the book and how it helped his marriage so I said what the heck, I’m getting it.
I remember going out a few days later to an area bookstore to pick it up. I thought this could be the key to a happy marriage and understanding my husband and he understanding me.
When I got the book, I read it from cover to cover, OK, OK, OK, I skipped around a little bit and went back because I wanted to understand these Five Love Languages with the quickness. They are Quality Time, Words of Affirmation, Gifts, Acts of Service and Physical Touch.
After reading and skipping around and reading, I determined that my love languages were Acts of Service, Physical Touch and Words of Affirmation. I show love in those ways.
Acts of Service is ummm, exactly what you may be thinking. Service! Cooking, washing, cleaning. All those fun and exciting things my mother said I should do for my husband.
Physical touch is ummm, exactly what you are thinking too. Diggity fa shiggidy, but also kissing, hugging and holding hands. You know, affection.
Did you realize that the tip of the tongue is highly sensitive but the back of the shoulders is least sensitive? The book also says the tips of the fingers and the tip of the nose are other extremely sensitive areas. Mmmmmm, Eskimo kisses might be worth trying.
And then words of affirmation is when we affirm our mate. This is using words to build a person up. “You look good in that dress.” “Thanks for taking out the garbage.” “I love that meal you prepared for me.”
So, I have determined how I show love, but how do I need to be loved?
Hmmmmmm.
Quality time jumped off the page and sat beside me. How Uuuuuu durrin?
And physical touch is something I truly enjoy and not just diggity. I really like to hold hands, have the back of my neck touched and my feet rubbed.
And then there’s words of affirmation. Pre-divorce I might not have said this, but I’m like a runaway slave so I get to say what I want. I love compliments.
If I get my hair done, I want a compliment. If I get foxy fabulous, tell a sistah she is foxy.
Knowing your love language doesn’t mean that the other languages should not be involved in the relationship because gifts, yep gifts, are good. Help around the house is also good.
However, identifying your top three love languages provide a better look at how you show love and if you are showing the love that your mate needs -- ummm, one more gen. Identifying your top love languages provide a better look at how you show love and if you are showing the love THAT YOUR MATE NEEDS.
If you aren't, a little change here and there may be necessary.
But what is even more fascinating about this book is that it talks about how we all have LOVE TANKS and if our mate knows that our love language is words of affirmation, he or she can keep that LOVE TANK full by paying compliments.
It’s crucial to have our LOVE TANKS FULL in relationships, ummm good relationships.
If your mate is buying gifts and you need quality time, the LOVE TANK may not be empty but it’s not filling up as quickly as it could if there was a date night.
So the next time I meet a guy I will ask, What is your name? I'll wait for him to answer and then tell him mine.
What do you do for a living? Uh Hum.
Do you have any children? OK.
Do you have a personal relationship with Christ? Ahright.
And ummm do you know your love language?
Tuesday, March 24, 2009
Locked Out After Sex
The following is written in the voice of Denae Shelton, a 30-year-old entrepreneur in "Choosing Mr. Wrong." Denae is the owner of a successful dog boutique called Dogilicious.
------------------------------------
I need to get up to go use the ladies' room because I have to get this out of me because I do not want any mishaps.
I soon return to the bed and slip my nude body between the crisp white sheets and lay my head against the king-size pillows.
Devin touches my stomach and then my breasts.
“I really enjoyed that,” he says.
“I did, too,” I respond because I’m still tingling on the inside.
“Are you on the pill?”
“No, and we have discussed this, Devin.”
“Well, I think we should go get one of those morning-after pills for you.”
“Are you serious?” I ask.
“I think we will be OK, Devin.”
“Are you sure?” he still questions me.
“Yes, Devi. We should be OK.”
I push the day-after pill thought out of my mind and try to doze but I end up tossing and turning.
“What’s wrong with you, Denae?”
“Nothing, just restless.”
I'm naked and while I should be going for Round 2, I'm starring at the beige ceiling wondering, “Why does he want me to take the morning-after pill?”
I was thinking that we were building a really good relationship.
“But why does he only want to see me on weekdays?”
I should not have purchased that computer for him.
After deciding that I need to have a conversation with Devin about where we are going with this relationship, I finally doze.
The next morning, I’m up early. It’s 6 a.m. and I didn’t sleep well. Something about Devin’s request last night is gnawing at me.
I don’t want to overreact so I decide to take a stroll in a nearby park to clear my mind before addressing my concerns with him. I have to know how he really feels about me.
On my stroll, I see three couples walking hand-and-hand in the park. Boooo! I say in my head. The guy I just became the freak-of-the-week with wants me to take the morning-after pill.
As I approach Devin’s house, I see yet another couple kissing each other goodbye.
“Get a room,” I think to myself and then go to push on the door that I left unlocked.
But it’s not unlocked.
I ring the doorbell and begin knocking. "Devi, Devi," I say in a loud but sweet voice.
My eyes end up peering over to the corner of his patio porch. I see my baby blue bag and keys on top.
Before I even know it, I’m sitting on his porch sobbing. My tears are streaming quickly down my face and soaking my pink T-shirt.
I jump to my feet and begin banging on the door. “Devin, Devin!” I scream.
But then I think of the scene that I’m creating. It’s not even 7 a.m. so I pick up my bag and keys and go home.
------------------------------------
I need to get up to go use the ladies' room because I have to get this out of me because I do not want any mishaps.
I soon return to the bed and slip my nude body between the crisp white sheets and lay my head against the king-size pillows.
Devin touches my stomach and then my breasts.
“I really enjoyed that,” he says.
“I did, too,” I respond because I’m still tingling on the inside.
“Are you on the pill?”
“No, and we have discussed this, Devin.”
“Well, I think we should go get one of those morning-after pills for you.”
“Are you serious?” I ask.
“I think we will be OK, Devin.”
“Are you sure?” he still questions me.
“Yes, Devi. We should be OK.”
I push the day-after pill thought out of my mind and try to doze but I end up tossing and turning.
“What’s wrong with you, Denae?”
“Nothing, just restless.”
I'm naked and while I should be going for Round 2, I'm starring at the beige ceiling wondering, “Why does he want me to take the morning-after pill?”
I was thinking that we were building a really good relationship.
“But why does he only want to see me on weekdays?”
I should not have purchased that computer for him.
After deciding that I need to have a conversation with Devin about where we are going with this relationship, I finally doze.
The next morning, I’m up early. It’s 6 a.m. and I didn’t sleep well. Something about Devin’s request last night is gnawing at me.
I don’t want to overreact so I decide to take a stroll in a nearby park to clear my mind before addressing my concerns with him. I have to know how he really feels about me.
On my stroll, I see three couples walking hand-and-hand in the park. Boooo! I say in my head. The guy I just became the freak-of-the-week with wants me to take the morning-after pill.
As I approach Devin’s house, I see yet another couple kissing each other goodbye.
“Get a room,” I think to myself and then go to push on the door that I left unlocked.
But it’s not unlocked.
I ring the doorbell and begin knocking. "Devi, Devi," I say in a loud but sweet voice.
My eyes end up peering over to the corner of his patio porch. I see my baby blue bag and keys on top.
Before I even know it, I’m sitting on his porch sobbing. My tears are streaming quickly down my face and soaking my pink T-shirt.
I jump to my feet and begin banging on the door. “Devin, Devin!” I scream.
But then I think of the scene that I’m creating. It’s not even 7 a.m. so I pick up my bag and keys and go home.
Monday, March 23, 2009
Is It OK To Accept But Not Give Oral Sex?
At first, I wasn’t going to write about this but I just gotta.
Hopefully, you saw Steve Harvey on "Oprah" Monday? If not read anyway because I really need some help understanding the women who used Skype, teleconferencing software, to ask questions.
Harvey has a bestsellers book, “Act Like A Lady, Think Like A Man.” He was on the show to answer questions in front of an all-female audience.
This was Harvey’s second time on the show. I didn’t see the first show so I can’t speak on it.
OK, OK, OK.
I agree with everything that Harvey said. He said women shouldn’t lower their standards or give out sex, “cookies,” soooo quickly. He also said women shouldn't seek closure in relationships just move on.
But then there was a girl named Tenecia in Washington, D.C., who asked a question using Skype. She asked if it was OK to accept oral sex and be involved in heavy petting although she has decided to be celibate until marriage.
Nah, she didn’t use Skype to ask a dummy question like that. Nahhh. Nahhhh.
Where are her friends? Ummm, did she ask that question and still have parents or other elders in her family still on this planet that may be watching Oprah?
Harvey and Oprah were puzzled by her question, at first. But then finally gave Ms. If-I-Only-Had-A-Brain a big fat NO.
I’m throwing my boot at the TV saying, "girl get off of this show acting like you dropped out of school in the 6th grade. You are not serious and you are really embarrassing yourself."
But then there was another woman. I can’t even remember her name but she had a hairdo from the 1950s. She was 53, I believe, and she was asking how can she keep men from thinking that they are going to get sex after they buy her dinner and drinks.
Harvey’s answer was the best I think I’ve ever heard. Romance is different than finance. Just because someone buys you drinks shouldn’t mean you give sex.
In my opinion, (and my mom always told me an opinion is like an A$$hole everybody has one) this woman’s self-esteem wasn’t in the toilet, it was in the sewer. She looked a mess and it seemed like she felt like she was a mess. Uggg. Just pitiful.
Run out to the self-esteem store and buy two bulk packages.
And then there was another lady in the audience who had a list that was soooooo long Oprah couldn’t keep up reading it on the monitor. I mean, really, this woman had it narrowed down to dress well, nice shoes, and a millionaire.
OK, my other boot is off and I’m throwing it at the TV.
This woman was even featured in Essence or Ebony as a bachelorette.
Lady, come on. I’ve got a list too but really.
And I wasn’t alone in thinking her long list was far-fetched and ridiculous. Harvey told her that the man she was looking for is Jesus. She wants a perfect man and he doesn’t exist.
And ummm girlfriend could actually use a kickboxing class or a jog or stroll around the block because she wants 1 hun and ain’t 1 hun.
So ladies, are we really as silly and stupid as these three women made us look?
I don’t have another boot to throw, but don’t make me throw my socks at the computer monitor.
Give me your thoughts, fellas you too, at choosingmrwrong@gmail.com or leave them here on the blog.
Hopefully, you saw Steve Harvey on "Oprah" Monday? If not read anyway because I really need some help understanding the women who used Skype, teleconferencing software, to ask questions.
Harvey has a bestsellers book, “Act Like A Lady, Think Like A Man.” He was on the show to answer questions in front of an all-female audience.
This was Harvey’s second time on the show. I didn’t see the first show so I can’t speak on it.
OK, OK, OK.
I agree with everything that Harvey said. He said women shouldn’t lower their standards or give out sex, “cookies,” soooo quickly. He also said women shouldn't seek closure in relationships just move on.
But then there was a girl named Tenecia in Washington, D.C., who asked a question using Skype. She asked if it was OK to accept oral sex and be involved in heavy petting although she has decided to be celibate until marriage.
Nah, she didn’t use Skype to ask a dummy question like that. Nahhh. Nahhhh.
Where are her friends? Ummm, did she ask that question and still have parents or other elders in her family still on this planet that may be watching Oprah?
Harvey and Oprah were puzzled by her question, at first. But then finally gave Ms. If-I-Only-Had-A-Brain a big fat NO.
I’m throwing my boot at the TV saying, "girl get off of this show acting like you dropped out of school in the 6th grade. You are not serious and you are really embarrassing yourself."
But then there was another woman. I can’t even remember her name but she had a hairdo from the 1950s. She was 53, I believe, and she was asking how can she keep men from thinking that they are going to get sex after they buy her dinner and drinks.
Harvey’s answer was the best I think I’ve ever heard. Romance is different than finance. Just because someone buys you drinks shouldn’t mean you give sex.
In my opinion, (and my mom always told me an opinion is like an A$$hole everybody has one) this woman’s self-esteem wasn’t in the toilet, it was in the sewer. She looked a mess and it seemed like she felt like she was a mess. Uggg. Just pitiful.
Run out to the self-esteem store and buy two bulk packages.
And then there was another lady in the audience who had a list that was soooooo long Oprah couldn’t keep up reading it on the monitor. I mean, really, this woman had it narrowed down to dress well, nice shoes, and a millionaire.
OK, my other boot is off and I’m throwing it at the TV.
This woman was even featured in Essence or Ebony as a bachelorette.
Lady, come on. I’ve got a list too but really.
And I wasn’t alone in thinking her long list was far-fetched and ridiculous. Harvey told her that the man she was looking for is Jesus. She wants a perfect man and he doesn’t exist.
And ummm girlfriend could actually use a kickboxing class or a jog or stroll around the block because she wants 1 hun and ain’t 1 hun.
So ladies, are we really as silly and stupid as these three women made us look?
I don’t have another boot to throw, but don’t make me throw my socks at the computer monitor.
Give me your thoughts, fellas you too, at choosingmrwrong@gmail.com or leave them here on the blog.
Sexy Sapphire Is Sore
I got a text last week from a friend who was embarking on a milestone birthday.
“Hang out wit me this Friday nite 4 my bday. One of my friends is having a pole dancing party. U owe me homie!” the text said.
OK, she’s right. I owe her because I didn’t go to a girl’s nite out party that she had at her newly purchased home.
I respond by saying, “OK.”
A pole dancing party sounds like fun to me so I am there.
She shoots back, “Details to come soon.”
As I go about my week, I can’t help but be really excited about the opportunity to pole dance.
Fast forward, Friday is here. I have a hair appointment and a mani and pedi appointment to get myself back tight. This is a feel-good ritual that I try to indulge in a couple times of month. An old boyfriend once told me that “if you look good, you feel good” and he’s dead on.
A co-worker comes over to my desk before it’s time for me to get off and get to my appointments. “What’s up for the weekend?” he asks.
Whew, did somebody just ask me 'what is up for the weekend?'
"Ummm, I’m going to a pole dancing party."
He laughs. I’ve got some appointments to get a transformation, I joke.
"So who are you becoming? Sapphire.” Dere it is, I think to myself. That’s going to be my name tonight.
And even though he’s still standing at my desk, my mind wonders off and I picture myself dancing like a pro in my gladiator high heel shoes, lace leggings and blue jacket shirt I have purchased for Sexy Sapphire's debut.
But first I’ve gotta get rid of this cauliflower growing from my footsies and change this curly ponytail I’ve been wearing into a sleek hairdo.
The clock strikes 2 p.m. and I’m rushing out the workplace to turn this pumpkin into a princess, ummmm Sexy Sapphire.
Hair is done. Thanks, I tell my male hair stylist and I rise from the salon chair completely satisfied with what I see.
On to footsies and hands. I plop down in the pedicure chair and stick my feet in the water.
I pull up my pants and discover that my transformation also needs lotion to be involved. I’m light skinned, but my legs have a chalk-like film that scream, you know you didn’t put on lotion this morning.
OK, OK, I know.
The guy who does my feet comes over to get started and I say, “Don’t talk about my ashy legs!”
“Your secret is safe with me.” And then he looks up and smiles.
I’m finally out of his chair and I have a lovely Easter pink on my hands and feet. Tah Dah! Buuuuuuuteeeful.
I rush home because the party starts at 8 and it’s 7.
I’m soon driving to the dance studio, and I’m excited. I’ve never done anything like this before and shoot, any one who knows me know that I like a good partaaaay.
I’m finally there. I jump out my car and head inside.
As soon as I hit the door, I hear, “She made it.” “You made it.” Yep, I’m a little late.
The dance instructor asks, “What is your name?”
Did she just ask me my name?
“Sexy Sapphire,” I blurt out quicker than my brain processed the information.
Oh, I’m for real. I am really Sexy Sapphire I smile on the inside.
OK, it’s time to start. First things first and the first thing is a sexy stroll. All the ladies are taking a stroll down one side of the studio and then stopping in the mirror for their moment. Everyone has on high heels, some cute but ummmm ummmm some ugly.
Some ladies get their stroll on – no problem. But some ladies act shy. “Ummmm, what did you come here for?”
Ahright, it’s my turn for my sexy stroll.
Oh, I’m walking slowly and ironically, the dance instructor said to touch yourself like you are putting on lotion. Ummm I can do that!
So it’s Sexy Sapphire's turn. I step onto the walkway and roll my head, play with my hair and act like I’m slowly putting on lotion.
I hear a few “gone girl,” “ohhh” “alright.”
But I don’t need any urging on. I’ve come to dance.
Next up is the sexy crawl. This dance is done on your hands and knees but slowly crawling but your legs are not under you, they are out to the sides. And you are also touching the floor in the sexiest manner you can.
OK, I’m in line. And it’s my turn and hey, I’m bout to do this.
Soon I’m on the dance studios’ wooden floors crawling. Put one foot, ummm knee, in front of the other.
OK, it’s over but that didn’t go so well. And like one of the women in the crowd asked, “When do you actually do a sexy crawl?”
The dance instructor said you can do a short one in your bed or if you are giving a lap dance, you can do the sexy crawl to your man. OK, but err ummm there definitely has to be carpet because that made my knees hurt.
Ahright, I’m back on my feet and it’s time for the lap dance session. I’m on it like bees on honey. My eyes popped out of my head and moved through the crowd to get a front row seat.
The dance instructor goes through a series of motions using one of the other women as a man.
She sashays over to the girl pops her legs open and dances around her in the most provocative way. Oh, yea, she’s good, real good.
OK, I can do that. I may need a couple shots of Tequila but I can do that.
But then she does something called the back bend.
What?
Oh, I like that. I really like that.
Soon, she is asking does anyone want to learn the back bend.
In my mind, I’m like the guy on “Welcome Back Kotter” Ooooooooo Oooooo.
“Me!” I say and walk over to the chair and the instructor.
She sits in the chair and provides instruction on how to use my hand to lean back into my man’s chest.
Oooooooweee, I like it. I like it.
Next up is the pole. Oh, I’ve been waiting on this for a lifetime.
The instructor dances around the pole and then she grabs the pole and does a swing. She’s holding to the pole but her body is situated like she’s sitting on a chair. Legs up and bootie poked out.
Oh, I gotta learn that. I just gotta.
So it’s finally my turn. I grab the pole just like she did and take a twirl.
Butt errr uhhh, it didn’t look quite like the instructor’s twirl. It was OK, but it was not like hers.
I soon get another chance. And Sexy Sapphire steps up to the pole and this time it’s a little better butt errr uhhh, still not like the instructor’s.
I see another pole free. It was three in the studio. I’m back on the pole again. Twirlie, twirlie, girlie.
Hmmmm, am I getting better or worse?
Ok, one mo gen and again and again. I was getting better, but you need more than lace leggings, high heels, a fresh hairdo and a new mani and pedi to pull this off.
It’s a workout.
At the end of the party, I ask the instructor for a card and about the fees for the pole dancing class.
I’m coming to take a class but my new name is Sexy Sap. I haven’t quite earned the fire!
“Hang out wit me this Friday nite 4 my bday. One of my friends is having a pole dancing party. U owe me homie!” the text said.
OK, she’s right. I owe her because I didn’t go to a girl’s nite out party that she had at her newly purchased home.
I respond by saying, “OK.”
A pole dancing party sounds like fun to me so I am there.
She shoots back, “Details to come soon.”
As I go about my week, I can’t help but be really excited about the opportunity to pole dance.
Fast forward, Friday is here. I have a hair appointment and a mani and pedi appointment to get myself back tight. This is a feel-good ritual that I try to indulge in a couple times of month. An old boyfriend once told me that “if you look good, you feel good” and he’s dead on.
A co-worker comes over to my desk before it’s time for me to get off and get to my appointments. “What’s up for the weekend?” he asks.
Whew, did somebody just ask me 'what is up for the weekend?'
"Ummm, I’m going to a pole dancing party."
He laughs. I’ve got some appointments to get a transformation, I joke.
"So who are you becoming? Sapphire.” Dere it is, I think to myself. That’s going to be my name tonight.
And even though he’s still standing at my desk, my mind wonders off and I picture myself dancing like a pro in my gladiator high heel shoes, lace leggings and blue jacket shirt I have purchased for Sexy Sapphire's debut.
But first I’ve gotta get rid of this cauliflower growing from my footsies and change this curly ponytail I’ve been wearing into a sleek hairdo.
The clock strikes 2 p.m. and I’m rushing out the workplace to turn this pumpkin into a princess, ummmm Sexy Sapphire.
Hair is done. Thanks, I tell my male hair stylist and I rise from the salon chair completely satisfied with what I see.
On to footsies and hands. I plop down in the pedicure chair and stick my feet in the water.
I pull up my pants and discover that my transformation also needs lotion to be involved. I’m light skinned, but my legs have a chalk-like film that scream, you know you didn’t put on lotion this morning.
OK, OK, I know.
The guy who does my feet comes over to get started and I say, “Don’t talk about my ashy legs!”
“Your secret is safe with me.” And then he looks up and smiles.
I’m finally out of his chair and I have a lovely Easter pink on my hands and feet. Tah Dah! Buuuuuuuteeeful.
I rush home because the party starts at 8 and it’s 7.
I’m soon driving to the dance studio, and I’m excited. I’ve never done anything like this before and shoot, any one who knows me know that I like a good partaaaay.
I’m finally there. I jump out my car and head inside.
As soon as I hit the door, I hear, “She made it.” “You made it.” Yep, I’m a little late.
The dance instructor asks, “What is your name?”
Did she just ask me my name?
“Sexy Sapphire,” I blurt out quicker than my brain processed the information.
Oh, I’m for real. I am really Sexy Sapphire I smile on the inside.
OK, it’s time to start. First things first and the first thing is a sexy stroll. All the ladies are taking a stroll down one side of the studio and then stopping in the mirror for their moment. Everyone has on high heels, some cute but ummmm ummmm some ugly.
Some ladies get their stroll on – no problem. But some ladies act shy. “Ummmm, what did you come here for?”
Ahright, it’s my turn for my sexy stroll.
Oh, I’m walking slowly and ironically, the dance instructor said to touch yourself like you are putting on lotion. Ummm I can do that!
So it’s Sexy Sapphire's turn. I step onto the walkway and roll my head, play with my hair and act like I’m slowly putting on lotion.
I hear a few “gone girl,” “ohhh” “alright.”
But I don’t need any urging on. I’ve come to dance.
Next up is the sexy crawl. This dance is done on your hands and knees but slowly crawling but your legs are not under you, they are out to the sides. And you are also touching the floor in the sexiest manner you can.
OK, I’m in line. And it’s my turn and hey, I’m bout to do this.
Soon I’m on the dance studios’ wooden floors crawling. Put one foot, ummm knee, in front of the other.
OK, it’s over but that didn’t go so well. And like one of the women in the crowd asked, “When do you actually do a sexy crawl?”
The dance instructor said you can do a short one in your bed or if you are giving a lap dance, you can do the sexy crawl to your man. OK, but err ummm there definitely has to be carpet because that made my knees hurt.
Ahright, I’m back on my feet and it’s time for the lap dance session. I’m on it like bees on honey. My eyes popped out of my head and moved through the crowd to get a front row seat.
The dance instructor goes through a series of motions using one of the other women as a man.
She sashays over to the girl pops her legs open and dances around her in the most provocative way. Oh, yea, she’s good, real good.
OK, I can do that. I may need a couple shots of Tequila but I can do that.
But then she does something called the back bend.
What?
Oh, I like that. I really like that.
Soon, she is asking does anyone want to learn the back bend.
In my mind, I’m like the guy on “Welcome Back Kotter” Ooooooooo Oooooo.
“Me!” I say and walk over to the chair and the instructor.
She sits in the chair and provides instruction on how to use my hand to lean back into my man’s chest.
Oooooooweee, I like it. I like it.
Next up is the pole. Oh, I’ve been waiting on this for a lifetime.
The instructor dances around the pole and then she grabs the pole and does a swing. She’s holding to the pole but her body is situated like she’s sitting on a chair. Legs up and bootie poked out.
Oh, I gotta learn that. I just gotta.
So it’s finally my turn. I grab the pole just like she did and take a twirl.
Butt errr uhhh, it didn’t look quite like the instructor’s twirl. It was OK, but it was not like hers.
I soon get another chance. And Sexy Sapphire steps up to the pole and this time it’s a little better butt errr uhhh, still not like the instructor’s.
I see another pole free. It was three in the studio. I’m back on the pole again. Twirlie, twirlie, girlie.
Hmmmm, am I getting better or worse?
Ok, one mo gen and again and again. I was getting better, but you need more than lace leggings, high heels, a fresh hairdo and a new mani and pedi to pull this off.
It’s a workout.
At the end of the party, I ask the instructor for a card and about the fees for the pole dancing class.
I’m coming to take a class but my new name is Sexy Sap. I haven’t quite earned the fire!
Sunday, March 22, 2009
Individually Diamond
I know that you may have come looking for a different type of blog posts today, but I thought I would share a poem that came to me. Yep, I like to write poetry.
I am a beautiful heart-shaped diamond that sparkles galore
With intricacies that I want people to see more
I sit comfy on my royal blue plush ring holder
Thinking for a second that the round shape may be bolder
But then I remember when the jeweler carved me just right
Look at the colors I emit under a perfect light
With intricacies that I want people to see more
I sit comfy on my royal blue plush ring holder
Thinking for a second that the round shape may be bolder
But then I remember when the jeweler carved me just right
Look at the colors I emit under a perfect light
Thanks for reading and be sure to check back Monday for a post on Sexy Sapphire.
Saturday, March 21, 2009
Trippin' Over Shoes
No alarm clock. Ohh, it feels so good.
I get to open my eyes and just relax. Whew, it feels sooooooooo good. I’m not running late. And I’m always running late.
I peer over at Carmen on the floor and she’s snoring and laying on her back, yep, her back. I don’t want to disturb her because then I’ll have to get up and let her out. And I do not want to do that.
Soon, my mind is full of thoughts of errands I need to run and chores I need to do. I need to vacuum, clean the bathroom, wash, load dishwasher – all the things that I have put off until this very day.
And I have about five pairs of shoes downstairs by the door. This was one of those things I did that drove my ex-husband buzzzonkers.
After a long day or night or walk or anything, I typically enter the door and kick off my shoes. Yesssir, right there by the door. And it’s not because the shoes are hurting my feet because I do it with all my shoes and ummm all my shoes don’t hurt.
Shoot, I don’t know why I do it.
So, yea, I need to get all those shoes and put them where they really belong.
And then I look around my bedroom, there are some things out of place.
I transformed into Sexy Sapphire (read about it Monday) last night and a few things are out of place. Well, actually my bedroom looks like a lab where two incorrect chemicals got mixed, causing an explosion.
I couldn’t find this black shirt I wanted to wear. Grrr, I hate when that happens.
So yea, I need to put things back where they belong.
I manage to push those thoughts out of my mind because they are making me tired. I want to start my day in a calm fashion. I’m about to have a good, productive day.
But then my mind is back to thinking about those shoes at the door.
I actually tripped over one the other day. It was like a misstep. My body flailed to the left but I grabbed the chair to keep from falling. I hurt my baby toe, though. Ouch.
Why put off until tomorrow what you can do today? I spring from the bed bubbling over with motivation.
Plunk. Plunk. I reach for my knee. The white robe I grabbed and threw on is no longer tied. It’s hanging off one shoulder. My headscarf wasn’t tied tightly so it’s moved a little more to the right.
While looking for that shirt, a boot managed to get just enough in the path from the bed to the bedroom door.
Yep, I’ve fallen and I can’t get up.
Carmen is awaken by the crash. I’m sitting on the floor holding my knee. Dag. I’m glad nobody saw that.
But then just when I feel relieved that my embarrassing moment is private, Carmen looks at me.
Her eyes appear to be wider than usual.
Her lip (snout) seems to be a bit tucked on one side.
One of her ears is standing straight up in the air.
Her head is tilted a little to the side.
And nah, she can’t talk but I could have sworn I heard her say, “My daddy told you to put your shoes up.”
I get to open my eyes and just relax. Whew, it feels sooooooooo good. I’m not running late. And I’m always running late.
I peer over at Carmen on the floor and she’s snoring and laying on her back, yep, her back. I don’t want to disturb her because then I’ll have to get up and let her out. And I do not want to do that.
Soon, my mind is full of thoughts of errands I need to run and chores I need to do. I need to vacuum, clean the bathroom, wash, load dishwasher – all the things that I have put off until this very day.
And I have about five pairs of shoes downstairs by the door. This was one of those things I did that drove my ex-husband buzzzonkers.
After a long day or night or walk or anything, I typically enter the door and kick off my shoes. Yesssir, right there by the door. And it’s not because the shoes are hurting my feet because I do it with all my shoes and ummm all my shoes don’t hurt.
Shoot, I don’t know why I do it.
So, yea, I need to get all those shoes and put them where they really belong.
And then I look around my bedroom, there are some things out of place.
I transformed into Sexy Sapphire (read about it Monday) last night and a few things are out of place. Well, actually my bedroom looks like a lab where two incorrect chemicals got mixed, causing an explosion.
I couldn’t find this black shirt I wanted to wear. Grrr, I hate when that happens.
So yea, I need to put things back where they belong.
I manage to push those thoughts out of my mind because they are making me tired. I want to start my day in a calm fashion. I’m about to have a good, productive day.
But then my mind is back to thinking about those shoes at the door.
I actually tripped over one the other day. It was like a misstep. My body flailed to the left but I grabbed the chair to keep from falling. I hurt my baby toe, though. Ouch.
Why put off until tomorrow what you can do today? I spring from the bed bubbling over with motivation.
Plunk. Plunk. I reach for my knee. The white robe I grabbed and threw on is no longer tied. It’s hanging off one shoulder. My headscarf wasn’t tied tightly so it’s moved a little more to the right.
While looking for that shirt, a boot managed to get just enough in the path from the bed to the bedroom door.
Yep, I’ve fallen and I can’t get up.
Carmen is awaken by the crash. I’m sitting on the floor holding my knee. Dag. I’m glad nobody saw that.
But then just when I feel relieved that my embarrassing moment is private, Carmen looks at me.
Her eyes appear to be wider than usual.
Her lip (snout) seems to be a bit tucked on one side.
One of her ears is standing straight up in the air.
Her head is tilted a little to the side.
And nah, she can’t talk but I could have sworn I heard her say, “My daddy told you to put your shoes up.”
Friday, March 20, 2009
Don't Drive Thru Stop Signs
On our journeys to work or play, we obey certain traffic signs along area highways and roadways.
Stop signs make us stop.
Yield signs cause us to pause.
Flashing School Zone lights tell us to slow down.
Green lights give us permission to keep going.
When we are on the roadway alone and don't follow traffic signs no one knows.
Other times when we don't adhere to traffic signs, we see the dreaded flashing red and white lights appear out of nowhere in our rearview mirrors.
And sometimes we may even cause a crash.
So if we adhere to traffic signs on our journeys to work and play, why don't do we do the same on our journeys for love?
We want children, but we will date someone who doesn't want any more or someone who has even had a vasectomy.
"Oh, he will get it reversed."
We want to get married, but we will date someone who says, ummm, "I don't wanna get married."
"Oh, I will change his mind. He just hasn't met someone like me."
We say that we didn’t realize he was married or in a relationship with another woman.
Ummm, sure you did!
His inaccessibility at certain times of the day and mmm, maybe holidays, were the clues. And errr ummm, possibly him getting out of your bed at the crack of dawn to ummm go home is another.
We aren't sure if he likes us because he only calls sometimes.
Nope, he doesn't like you. He's only using you as filler. He's likely saying, "Ummm, I'll fill-her time, fill-her space, fill-her needs until someone I really like comes along."
I didn't know he had a temper. OK, so the hole he punched in the wall didn't give you any indication?
Ladies, we get signs all the time. We just choose to ignore them. We think we got away with it because no one saw us commit the love journey offense.
We may be in a rush, ya know, that biological clock is ticking.
You've seen the flashing red and white lights in the rearview mirror and you've gotten the ticket and you just accept it. You settle.
So don't get mad at HIM when you choose to run through that stop sign and cause an at-fault relationship crash.
Stop signs make us stop.
Yield signs cause us to pause.
Flashing School Zone lights tell us to slow down.
Green lights give us permission to keep going.
When we are on the roadway alone and don't follow traffic signs no one knows.
Other times when we don't adhere to traffic signs, we see the dreaded flashing red and white lights appear out of nowhere in our rearview mirrors.
And sometimes we may even cause a crash.
So if we adhere to traffic signs on our journeys to work and play, why don't do we do the same on our journeys for love?
We want children, but we will date someone who doesn't want any more or someone who has even had a vasectomy.
"Oh, he will get it reversed."
We want to get married, but we will date someone who says, ummm, "I don't wanna get married."
"Oh, I will change his mind. He just hasn't met someone like me."
We say that we didn’t realize he was married or in a relationship with another woman.
Ummm, sure you did!
His inaccessibility at certain times of the day and mmm, maybe holidays, were the clues. And errr ummm, possibly him getting out of your bed at the crack of dawn to ummm go home is another.
We aren't sure if he likes us because he only calls sometimes.
Nope, he doesn't like you. He's only using you as filler. He's likely saying, "Ummm, I'll fill-her time, fill-her space, fill-her needs until someone I really like comes along."
I didn't know he had a temper. OK, so the hole he punched in the wall didn't give you any indication?
Ladies, we get signs all the time. We just choose to ignore them. We think we got away with it because no one saw us commit the love journey offense.
We may be in a rush, ya know, that biological clock is ticking.
You've seen the flashing red and white lights in the rearview mirror and you've gotten the ticket and you just accept it. You settle.
So don't get mad at HIM when you choose to run through that stop sign and cause an at-fault relationship crash.
Wednesday, March 18, 2009
Praying In The Parking Lot
My cell phone alarm is blaring.
Oh, shoot, it's already 8 a.m. I realize as I reach from under the sheet to push END on the phone.
It's the day after St. Patrick's Day, but I didn't have any green beer or my favorite Irish drink, an apple martini.
I hug my pillow, but it's not saying, "Kiss Me, I'm Irish," so I force myself to let the pillow and mattress go.
As I turn on the water for my shower, I'm thinking of what I can wear. It has to be something quick. And then Carmen (my dog) is giving me a look that says, "Come on mom, I gotta pee."
I jump in the shower and out. I'm feeling refreshed on my 6 hours of sleep.
"Come on," I say to Carm as I grab my robe and rush down the stairs to let her out to take care of her business.
Before long, Carm is back in the house and I'm standing in front of the mirror, pulling my hair back into my supa bad hair day hairstyle -- a curly ponytail.
Deodorant on. Lotion on. Now, it's time for those gray slacks and a white shirt. Yep, that's easy.
Not bad, I compliment myself as I glance over at the clock and it shouts, "Time to go" because it's 8:30.
OK, OK, OK.
Carm gets her treat. I grab my purse and keys and say, "Be good big girl."
I have to stop at the bank so I call my supervisor and tell her I'll be a few minutes late. The bank doesn't open until 9 a.m., but the bank is right around the corner from my workplace.
8:57 my car clock reads. "Great! Great!" I say pulling into the parking space. I lunge from my car and race like a track star to the door.
I pull on the handle but it's locked. I'm a few minutes early so "slow your roll, missy," I tell myself.
While parking, I didn't realize that there were three other vehicles in the bank's parking lot.
Within seconds, people emerge from their vehicles and join me at the bank's door.
"You are a few minutes, early," one guy says.
"Yea, we've ALLLLL been waiting for them to open," another guy says.
I want to ask him is he telling me that I jumped the line, but I say to myself nah, D, forget it. I need to get in this bank and get this done.
"A pretty woman and you smell good," the first guy begins talking again.
"Thanks," I respond.
"And you got pretty feet, too," he adds.
"Thanks," I say again, and then glance down at my feet and think this is a paint-over-pedi job. You know, when you use polish over your last pedicure to hold you over.
"I would like to have your business card," the man says.
"Sure," I say quickly.
I often need sources in my line of work. He told me he works at a nearby doctor's office, so hey, he may be a good source one day.
Before I know it, I'm in the bank and then dashing back to my car.
"Are you gonna give me your card?"
"Oh, oh, you can e-mail me at" ... he cuts me off and says, "Write it down."
He hands me a folded check, yes, a check and I write it down.
"Thanks!" he says and then, "Let's pray!"
"Huh?"
OK, before I know it I'm standing with a stranger in a bank's parking lot and we are praying. Well really, he's praying. I'm on guard even though he is a seemingly nice man.
His eyes are closed. His head is bowed. Oh, he's praying for real.
I hear a little of what he's saying. It was something like, "Protect this beautiful woman as she goes about her day."
But then I find myself looking at his teeth.
"Good googly moogly what happen to your toothies?" I think. They remind me of yellow crime scene tape. They were tartar-filled and jiggy jaggy.
The prayer is soon over.
"Amen."
"Amen."
"Have a nice day," he says.
I'm in my car and yep, the doors are locked. He seemed nice but my mother always told me everything that glitters ain't gold, so he may be a nut.
While driving I begin to feel a little bad because I made fun of his teeth. Well, I didn't say anything to him, but I thought it. And for people who are striving to be good Christians, thinking it is just as bad.
"Dag, Darlene," I say aloud.
Because of the onslaught of guilt I feel I begin praying while riding to work.
"Forgive me, Lord, please. Lord, I know I said I wanted a praying man but whew, I need to modify my request because I really know you are listening. I want him to pray but I want some other qualities, too. I want him to be smart, witty, considerate, ambitious, handsome, kind, loving, adventurous, funny, family-oriented, financially stable, and have an average build and one kid, if any. I also want him to adore me. And ummmm while I have your attention, Lord, can he please have nice teeth?"
Oh, shoot, it's already 8 a.m. I realize as I reach from under the sheet to push END on the phone.
It's the day after St. Patrick's Day, but I didn't have any green beer or my favorite Irish drink, an apple martini.
I hug my pillow, but it's not saying, "Kiss Me, I'm Irish," so I force myself to let the pillow and mattress go.
As I turn on the water for my shower, I'm thinking of what I can wear. It has to be something quick. And then Carmen (my dog) is giving me a look that says, "Come on mom, I gotta pee."
I jump in the shower and out. I'm feeling refreshed on my 6 hours of sleep.
"Come on," I say to Carm as I grab my robe and rush down the stairs to let her out to take care of her business.
Before long, Carm is back in the house and I'm standing in front of the mirror, pulling my hair back into my supa bad hair day hairstyle -- a curly ponytail.
Deodorant on. Lotion on. Now, it's time for those gray slacks and a white shirt. Yep, that's easy.
Not bad, I compliment myself as I glance over at the clock and it shouts, "Time to go" because it's 8:30.
OK, OK, OK.
Carm gets her treat. I grab my purse and keys and say, "Be good big girl."
I have to stop at the bank so I call my supervisor and tell her I'll be a few minutes late. The bank doesn't open until 9 a.m., but the bank is right around the corner from my workplace.
8:57 my car clock reads. "Great! Great!" I say pulling into the parking space. I lunge from my car and race like a track star to the door.
I pull on the handle but it's locked. I'm a few minutes early so "slow your roll, missy," I tell myself.
While parking, I didn't realize that there were three other vehicles in the bank's parking lot.
Within seconds, people emerge from their vehicles and join me at the bank's door.
"You are a few minutes, early," one guy says.
"Yea, we've ALLLLL been waiting for them to open," another guy says.
I want to ask him is he telling me that I jumped the line, but I say to myself nah, D, forget it. I need to get in this bank and get this done.
"A pretty woman and you smell good," the first guy begins talking again.
"Thanks," I respond.
"And you got pretty feet, too," he adds.
"Thanks," I say again, and then glance down at my feet and think this is a paint-over-pedi job. You know, when you use polish over your last pedicure to hold you over.
"I would like to have your business card," the man says.
"Sure," I say quickly.
I often need sources in my line of work. He told me he works at a nearby doctor's office, so hey, he may be a good source one day.
Before I know it, I'm in the bank and then dashing back to my car.
"Are you gonna give me your card?"
"Oh, oh, you can e-mail me at" ... he cuts me off and says, "Write it down."
He hands me a folded check, yes, a check and I write it down.
"Thanks!" he says and then, "Let's pray!"
"Huh?"
OK, before I know it I'm standing with a stranger in a bank's parking lot and we are praying. Well really, he's praying. I'm on guard even though he is a seemingly nice man.
His eyes are closed. His head is bowed. Oh, he's praying for real.
I hear a little of what he's saying. It was something like, "Protect this beautiful woman as she goes about her day."
But then I find myself looking at his teeth.
"Good googly moogly what happen to your toothies?" I think. They remind me of yellow crime scene tape. They were tartar-filled and jiggy jaggy.
The prayer is soon over.
"Amen."
"Amen."
"Have a nice day," he says.
I'm in my car and yep, the doors are locked. He seemed nice but my mother always told me everything that glitters ain't gold, so he may be a nut.
While driving I begin to feel a little bad because I made fun of his teeth. Well, I didn't say anything to him, but I thought it. And for people who are striving to be good Christians, thinking it is just as bad.
"Dag, Darlene," I say aloud.
Because of the onslaught of guilt I feel I begin praying while riding to work.
"Forgive me, Lord, please. Lord, I know I said I wanted a praying man but whew, I need to modify my request because I really know you are listening. I want him to pray but I want some other qualities, too. I want him to be smart, witty, considerate, ambitious, handsome, kind, loving, adventurous, funny, family-oriented, financially stable, and have an average build and one kid, if any. I also want him to adore me. And ummmm while I have your attention, Lord, can he please have nice teeth?"
Tuesday, March 17, 2009
E-mail Piques Penelope's Curiosity
The following is written in the voice of Penelope Foster, a 30-year-old newlywed in "Choosing Mr. Wrong." Foster is an executive with an advertising agency.
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There's been an e-mail that I've been wanting to check out all day.
The bright orange and blue ad only featured women laughing and smiling, saying "Women Seeking Married Women." There was a light-brown attractive woman with long, black wavy hair that really caught my eye and so did the Web site's name: womensexinwomen.com.
The e-mail flashed in my Google account while I was at work. It was, of course, junk mail. But I can't get Ms. Long, black, wavy hair off my mind.
Once I was home and had a few minutes away from Ted, I made my way to the computer. I was a bit nervous and kept looking over my shoulder, checking to see if he was coming.
I typed in the domain name w-o-m-e-n-s-e-x-i-n-w-o-m-e-n-.-c-o-m, entered my information and established an account with the username Foster Care. I cropped Ted out of a photo that showed off my creamy mocha complexion in a silk peach dress.
Before I was logged in long enough to look around on the Web site, a chat popup window was on the screen: "Hello, Foster Care!"
MMMM, what do I do? What da fuck do I say?"
"Hello, Purr4me," I respond.
"You are new?"
"Yes, just joined tonight."
"Are you looking to meet someone soon?"
"I'm not sure. I was just wondering what the site was all about."
"It's about women seeking married women :)"
Another entry pops up quickly.
"And I want to meet you, married woman. I think I need Foster Care. You are a lovely lady."
Ted yells out: "Are you coming to bed?"
"Yes," I answer.
I log out quickly before even realizing that I didn't respond.
I slide into bed trying not to disturb him. Hell, I don't want to hear his mouth.
But oooweee, I can't believe I just did that. Would I really sleep with a woman?
--------------------------------------------
I'm definitely interested in knowing what you think after reading this snippet about Penelope. Please e-mail me at choosingmrwrong@gmail.com
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There's been an e-mail that I've been wanting to check out all day.
The bright orange and blue ad only featured women laughing and smiling, saying "Women Seeking Married Women." There was a light-brown attractive woman with long, black wavy hair that really caught my eye and so did the Web site's name: womensexinwomen.com.
The e-mail flashed in my Google account while I was at work. It was, of course, junk mail. But I can't get Ms. Long, black, wavy hair off my mind.
Once I was home and had a few minutes away from Ted, I made my way to the computer. I was a bit nervous and kept looking over my shoulder, checking to see if he was coming.
I typed in the domain name w-o-m-e-n-s-e-x-i-n-w-o-m-e-n-.-c-o-m, entered my information and established an account with the username Foster Care. I cropped Ted out of a photo that showed off my creamy mocha complexion in a silk peach dress.
Before I was logged in long enough to look around on the Web site, a chat popup window was on the screen: "Hello, Foster Care!"
MMMM, what do I do? What da fuck do I say?"
"Hello, Purr4me," I respond.
"You are new?"
"Yes, just joined tonight."
"Are you looking to meet someone soon?"
"I'm not sure. I was just wondering what the site was all about."
"It's about women seeking married women :)"
Another entry pops up quickly.
"And I want to meet you, married woman. I think I need Foster Care. You are a lovely lady."
Ted yells out: "Are you coming to bed?"
"Yes," I answer.
I log out quickly before even realizing that I didn't respond.
I slide into bed trying not to disturb him. Hell, I don't want to hear his mouth.
But oooweee, I can't believe I just did that. Would I really sleep with a woman?
--------------------------------------------
I'm definitely interested in knowing what you think after reading this snippet about Penelope. Please e-mail me at choosingmrwrong@gmail.com
I Promise To Love, Honor, Obey And Agree
Two seemingly wonderful people meet, fall in love and get married.
Each person has his and her own likes and dislikes, strengths and weaknesses, quirks, pet peeves, personality traits, you know, all the stuff that make us uniquely individuals.
He likes everything about you! She likes everything about you! Well, almost everything.
You vow to honor, love and obey.
HONOR in my eyes, in the context of marriage, is to hold higher than all others. Respect above all others and to place on a pedestal. Yes, my king.
LOVE in my eyes is to jump in with all fours -- both arms, both legs. Look up the word in the dictionary.
LOVE has a big sign hanging from the capitol L that says timid and immature need not apply for marriage licenses. This is strictly for adults willing to give it the old college try.
OBEY in my eyes is just that. Listen. Follow. And ummm Obey!
Yea, I heard you ladies: "Obey! She is trippin." "Obey, nah, I didn't say that when I got married." "Obey, he is not my father." "Obey, I not obeying a man."
OK, whatever. But that's what you are supposed to do.
So, I'm on board with LOVE. I'm giving all I got. I'm like that empty bottle of ketchup that you didn't realize was empty until you are back from the store and you got a pot full of hot dogs and a house full of kids. You shake it and squeeze it and turn it upside down in an effort to get every drop.
Honor. I'm on board. Cooking, cleaning, washing, you got it. And umm, I'm still going to work, so I got a 'lil bacon for you babe.
Obey. I'm listening but I do have an opinion sooooo..., but when it comes down to the nitty gritty, it's all love, honor and YOUR way.
But being able to talk, provide an opinion, interject, discuss, converse -- not conversate y'all -- is crucial.
But do you have to agree to obey? I say no, butt errr ummm, do you?
It's important to understand what place comments are coming from, too. Stay with me, I'm about to explain.
I disagree with people I love all the time. Most recently, my sister said on my second time around I should marry someone who loves me more than I love him. "Nope, you wrong," I tell her. "Plus, how do you gauge love?"
Conversation over. I love her. She loves me. We respectfully disagree. She just wants the best for me, so while we don't agree I know it comes from a place called love, concern and care.
When a wife disagrees with her husband, isn't it coming from that same place called love, concern and care?
Or is a disagreeing wife "a big mouth," "negative" and "a complainer?"
Each person has his and her own likes and dislikes, strengths and weaknesses, quirks, pet peeves, personality traits, you know, all the stuff that make us uniquely individuals.
He likes everything about you! She likes everything about you! Well, almost everything.
You vow to honor, love and obey.
HONOR in my eyes, in the context of marriage, is to hold higher than all others. Respect above all others and to place on a pedestal. Yes, my king.
LOVE in my eyes is to jump in with all fours -- both arms, both legs. Look up the word in the dictionary.
LOVE has a big sign hanging from the capitol L that says timid and immature need not apply for marriage licenses. This is strictly for adults willing to give it the old college try.
OBEY in my eyes is just that. Listen. Follow. And ummm Obey!
Yea, I heard you ladies: "Obey! She is trippin." "Obey, nah, I didn't say that when I got married." "Obey, he is not my father." "Obey, I not obeying a man."
OK, whatever. But that's what you are supposed to do.
So, I'm on board with LOVE. I'm giving all I got. I'm like that empty bottle of ketchup that you didn't realize was empty until you are back from the store and you got a pot full of hot dogs and a house full of kids. You shake it and squeeze it and turn it upside down in an effort to get every drop.
Honor. I'm on board. Cooking, cleaning, washing, you got it. And umm, I'm still going to work, so I got a 'lil bacon for you babe.
Obey. I'm listening but I do have an opinion sooooo..., but when it comes down to the nitty gritty, it's all love, honor and YOUR way.
But being able to talk, provide an opinion, interject, discuss, converse -- not conversate y'all -- is crucial.
But do you have to agree to obey? I say no, butt errr ummm, do you?
It's important to understand what place comments are coming from, too. Stay with me, I'm about to explain.
I disagree with people I love all the time. Most recently, my sister said on my second time around I should marry someone who loves me more than I love him. "Nope, you wrong," I tell her. "Plus, how do you gauge love?"
Conversation over. I love her. She loves me. We respectfully disagree. She just wants the best for me, so while we don't agree I know it comes from a place called love, concern and care.
When a wife disagrees with her husband, isn't it coming from that same place called love, concern and care?
Or is a disagreeing wife "a big mouth," "negative" and "a complainer?"
Monday, March 16, 2009
Ladies, Be Quiet!
When I started looking for a place to live, it was crucial that it be dog-friendly. I have an 8-year-old chow-sheltie mix and we are a package deal. I call us the Darlene and Carmen special. You take me, you take my dog. You like me, umm, you better like my dog.
I looked all over the city. Surprisingly, there weren’t many places that were dog friendly in Cleveland’s eastern suburbs. I can’t say I blame landlords because if dogs are not taken care of properly and housebroken, things could get messed up and funk-a-dunk stanky.
When I met my landlord, he explained that single women lived on each side of my unit. He said it was quiet. Although dog-friendly was most important, the noise level was also a concern since a few days a week I am at work at 6 a.m. OK, 6:10.
He said it was a quiet area and that he would take care of plowing the snow in the winter and cutting the grass in the summer. Ahright, that sounds good to me.
And then not only was the landlord accepting of Carmen, the unit had its very own entrance. This is like striking gold for a dog owner. Taking long walks down hallways when nature calls is not the move. When you have your very own entrance, you can stand in the door in your robe.
OK, I have my very own entrance. It’s dog-friendly and quiet. He provides snow removal and lawn care. And oh yea, it’s centrally located for work and play. And umm, I forgot the rent is just right for my pocketbook.
But when the landlord said there are two ladies, albeit single ladies, that would be living on both sides of me, I should have understood what else that meant.
Ummm, first off when I said it’s me and Carm. It’s true. It’s me and Carm who reside in the unit on most days and nights of the week.
Nope, not for my neighbors. One has her daughter and her daughter’s daughter so I hear “Didn’t I tell you to go to bed.”
OK, I can deal with this.
On the other side, it’s the woman and her daughter and her daughter’s son.
But OK, OK, I can deal with this.
It’s sorta like the 80-20 rule that many use in relationships but I’m applying to life. You can get about 80 percent of what you want most of the time. If you think you have 100 percent – give it a month or two. Things will change. :)
Fuhget the crying kids who don’t want to go to bed.
I don't hear it most of the time cause when my head hits the pillow, it’s lights out and my heavy breathing begins. Yep, heavy breathing, no snoring.
On a recent weekend night, I was a bit restless.
Ahright, I’m gonna lay on my stomach. Nah, my side. Shoot, my back. OK, OK, my side. Nah, my stomach.
Any who, I couldn’t get to sleep.
But then I was dozing. You know, that sleep when you don’t even realize that you're sleeping?
It was just at that moment, I heard “Ah, Ah, Ah.”
Nah, nah.
“Ahh, ahhh, ahhhh,” I hear again. And as I try to get my wits about myself by rubbing my eyes and stretching, I think I hear a bed squeaking.
Nah, nah.
“Ahh, ahhhh,” female voice. And then dude asks the classic question, “You like that, baby?”
“Ummm, NO!” I do not. These walls are too thin.
OK, I grab the remote to increase the volume, and danggone, my remote ain’t set up right. Grrrr, so now I gotta get out the bed to turn up the volume.
OK, volume up and the oohs and ahhhs are down.
But then while I’m lying there, I’m thinking about my own behavior.
Conversations and ummmm…. I grab my pillow and cover my head thinking, “What the freak!???”
I looked all over the city. Surprisingly, there weren’t many places that were dog friendly in Cleveland’s eastern suburbs. I can’t say I blame landlords because if dogs are not taken care of properly and housebroken, things could get messed up and funk-a-dunk stanky.
When I met my landlord, he explained that single women lived on each side of my unit. He said it was quiet. Although dog-friendly was most important, the noise level was also a concern since a few days a week I am at work at 6 a.m. OK, 6:10.
He said it was a quiet area and that he would take care of plowing the snow in the winter and cutting the grass in the summer. Ahright, that sounds good to me.
And then not only was the landlord accepting of Carmen, the unit had its very own entrance. This is like striking gold for a dog owner. Taking long walks down hallways when nature calls is not the move. When you have your very own entrance, you can stand in the door in your robe.
OK, I have my very own entrance. It’s dog-friendly and quiet. He provides snow removal and lawn care. And oh yea, it’s centrally located for work and play. And umm, I forgot the rent is just right for my pocketbook.
But when the landlord said there are two ladies, albeit single ladies, that would be living on both sides of me, I should have understood what else that meant.
Ummm, first off when I said it’s me and Carm. It’s true. It’s me and Carm who reside in the unit on most days and nights of the week.
Nope, not for my neighbors. One has her daughter and her daughter’s daughter so I hear “Didn’t I tell you to go to bed.”
OK, I can deal with this.
On the other side, it’s the woman and her daughter and her daughter’s son.
But OK, OK, I can deal with this.
It’s sorta like the 80-20 rule that many use in relationships but I’m applying to life. You can get about 80 percent of what you want most of the time. If you think you have 100 percent – give it a month or two. Things will change. :)
Fuhget the crying kids who don’t want to go to bed.
I don't hear it most of the time cause when my head hits the pillow, it’s lights out and my heavy breathing begins. Yep, heavy breathing, no snoring.
On a recent weekend night, I was a bit restless.
Ahright, I’m gonna lay on my stomach. Nah, my side. Shoot, my back. OK, OK, my side. Nah, my stomach.
Any who, I couldn’t get to sleep.
But then I was dozing. You know, that sleep when you don’t even realize that you're sleeping?
It was just at that moment, I heard “Ah, Ah, Ah.”
Nah, nah.
“Ahh, ahhh, ahhhh,” I hear again. And as I try to get my wits about myself by rubbing my eyes and stretching, I think I hear a bed squeaking.
Nah, nah.
“Ahh, ahhhh,” female voice. And then dude asks the classic question, “You like that, baby?”
“Ummm, NO!” I do not. These walls are too thin.
OK, I grab the remote to increase the volume, and danggone, my remote ain’t set up right. Grrrr, so now I gotta get out the bed to turn up the volume.
OK, volume up and the oohs and ahhhs are down.
But then while I’m lying there, I’m thinking about my own behavior.
Conversations and ummmm…. I grab my pillow and cover my head thinking, “What the freak!???”
Sunday, March 15, 2009
You Get What You Give!
I don't think I will ever understand human behavior.
Why do people think that they deserve to get treated better than they treat others?
Haven't these folks heard of the Cardinal Rule or the Ethic of Reciprocity?
Greek philosophers taught this many, many years ago.
"Do not to your neighbor what you would take ill from him," Pittacus says.
"Avoid doing what you would blame others for doing," Thales says.
"What you wish your neighbors to be to you, such be also to them," Sextus the Pythagorean says.
"Do not do to others what would anger you if done to you by others," Isocrates says.
The bible says, "Love thy neighbor as thyself."
And then the man on the street says,"One favor deserves another." Or "you wash my back and I'll wash yours"
And schucks, parents tell kids, "keep your hands to yourself, but if he hits you again, you hit him back!"
It's easy to understand. In science, they say for every action, there is a reaction. Well, I think that's what they say. Science wasn't my best subject. But umm in writing classes it's called cause and effect.
So what the heck should happen after you call someone and tell them you are stranded and they say, "I am shooting pool with my father and best friend."
Ummm, ummm chello, "I'm just wondering if you can come get me and take me to my car because I have a situation...."
Voice on the other end says, "I am shooting pool with my father and best friend."
OK, now I've got to make sure that what I hear is what I think I heard. I'm rubbing my eyes 'cause I'm only wearing one contact. I'm blinking -- blink one, check, blink two, check, blink three, check. I'm reaching into my ears to make sure there is not a massive amount of wax that I missed that could be causing me not to hear things correctly. And then, shoot, I even bop myself on the head 'cause I thought I dozed off and was dreaming.
But I heard it right, so I say OK and get off the phone.
Let me provide a little background. This person thinks my conversation is great. He thinks I'm foxy. (Yea, hands in the air doing the happy dance.) We've been out a couple of times. And we're supposed to hook up this purrrr-tick-you-lure evening that I need a ride to my vehicle.
OK, my phone is ringing.
Shoot, I've batted my eyes a few times and turned on my female charm. I'm rollin' with some guy who didn't feel I was putting him out by giving me a lift to my roller.
Ummm what! What?!! Ummm, what? Aren't you shooting pool? I look at the phone and say. The guy giving me a ride chuckles and nods his head in agreement.
So what did this teach DJ (Darlene Jeter) Stranded?
One monkey don't stop no show.
If you miss one bus, catch the next.
Everything happens for a reason.
A person can show you better than they tell you.
And oh yea, you get what you give! -- NEXXXXXXT!!
Why do people think that they deserve to get treated better than they treat others?
Haven't these folks heard of the Cardinal Rule or the Ethic of Reciprocity?
Greek philosophers taught this many, many years ago.
"Do not to your neighbor what you would take ill from him," Pittacus says.
"Avoid doing what you would blame others for doing," Thales says.
"What you wish your neighbors to be to you, such be also to them," Sextus the Pythagorean says.
"Do not do to others what would anger you if done to you by others," Isocrates says.
The bible says, "Love thy neighbor as thyself."
And then the man on the street says,"One favor deserves another." Or "you wash my back and I'll wash yours"
And schucks, parents tell kids, "keep your hands to yourself, but if he hits you again, you hit him back!"
It's easy to understand. In science, they say for every action, there is a reaction. Well, I think that's what they say. Science wasn't my best subject. But umm in writing classes it's called cause and effect.
So what the heck should happen after you call someone and tell them you are stranded and they say, "I am shooting pool with my father and best friend."
Ummm, ummm chello, "I'm just wondering if you can come get me and take me to my car because I have a situation...."
Voice on the other end says, "I am shooting pool with my father and best friend."
OK, now I've got to make sure that what I hear is what I think I heard. I'm rubbing my eyes 'cause I'm only wearing one contact. I'm blinking -- blink one, check, blink two, check, blink three, check. I'm reaching into my ears to make sure there is not a massive amount of wax that I missed that could be causing me not to hear things correctly. And then, shoot, I even bop myself on the head 'cause I thought I dozed off and was dreaming.
But I heard it right, so I say OK and get off the phone.
Let me provide a little background. This person thinks my conversation is great. He thinks I'm foxy. (Yea, hands in the air doing the happy dance.) We've been out a couple of times. And we're supposed to hook up this purrrr-tick-you-lure evening that I need a ride to my vehicle.
OK, my phone is ringing.
Shoot, I've batted my eyes a few times and turned on my female charm. I'm rollin' with some guy who didn't feel I was putting him out by giving me a lift to my roller.
Ummm what! What?!! Ummm, what? Aren't you shooting pool? I look at the phone and say. The guy giving me a ride chuckles and nods his head in agreement.
So what did this teach DJ (Darlene Jeter) Stranded?
One monkey don't stop no show.
If you miss one bus, catch the next.
Everything happens for a reason.
A person can show you better than they tell you.
And oh yea, you get what you give! -- NEXXXXXXT!!
Thursday, March 12, 2009
Sex Is As Easy As Brushing Your Teeth
Sex is an intimate act and should not be engaged in without serious thought and consideration. In other words, people should be picky when choosing someone with whom to lie down.
And nah, I’m not going to say if you lay down with dogs, you get up with fleas.
My feelings about sex and my Va-jay-jay go back to when I became “a missy.” Ladies, y’all know what I’m talking about. Fellas, ask somebody if you don’t catch on soon.
When my mom realized I had become “a missy” she told me that it was very important that I do not give myself to every boy because what I have is really special. My mother looked me straight in the eyes and said, “You are like a treasure box. You are full of rubies, emeralds, pearls, sapphires (and that’s my birthstone!) and diamonds. So whenever you decide to give yourself to someone you are giving him one of your jewels.”
My mother is old school. She was a virgin when she got married and she was trying to explain the birds and bees to me at my tender age on the most basic level that she could.
I think she was quite successful! I’ve never been promiscuous and while I can’t claim that I was truly deserving of a white dress on my wedding day, it definitely shouldn’t have been a deep cream, or beige, like some brides should wear.
But I’m wondering why more mothers didn’t or don’t share the “treasure box story” with their daughters because I hear women, who are sometimes raising children, openly saying, “I F$%^&* Him!”
Ummm, WHAT? Did you really just say what I thought you said? Ummm, did you just reveal who you shared your jewels with? Ummm, do you know that he is married? Ummmm, do you know how you sound?
Uggg!
I might be a lil old-fashioned in my thinking but ladies shouldn’t talk that way.
One of my friends, and not that kind of friend, a friend, friend – for real, for real -- explained to me how he looks at a woman differently if he gets it too quickly. And yea, all guys are different.
Heck! Determining what is too easy, as an adult, is like walking a tightrope at the circus so no wonder there’s soooooo much confusion.
Should I just have oral sex with him? Or should I just get bucket A$$ wild 'cause shoot “I ain’t had none in a while.”
Well, here we go hoooooes, here we go.
A good way to gauge if the guy you are dating should get IT is by performing the toothbrush test.
Yeah, he’s sexy. And oohhh, his arms. And ahhhh, his flat abs. And oooh, it's so hard. But would you use his toothbrush?
Ah, shiggidy! "Use his toothbrush?" I hear as hands are put on hips and fake nails pop off and necks loosen and heads full of weave jerk from side-to-side.
Yep, dere it is.
‘Cause some of y’all don’t even have any more jewels.
And nah, I’m not going to say if you lay down with dogs, you get up with fleas.
My feelings about sex and my Va-jay-jay go back to when I became “a missy.” Ladies, y’all know what I’m talking about. Fellas, ask somebody if you don’t catch on soon.
When my mom realized I had become “a missy” she told me that it was very important that I do not give myself to every boy because what I have is really special. My mother looked me straight in the eyes and said, “You are like a treasure box. You are full of rubies, emeralds, pearls, sapphires (and that’s my birthstone!) and diamonds. So whenever you decide to give yourself to someone you are giving him one of your jewels.”
My mother is old school. She was a virgin when she got married and she was trying to explain the birds and bees to me at my tender age on the most basic level that she could.
I think she was quite successful! I’ve never been promiscuous and while I can’t claim that I was truly deserving of a white dress on my wedding day, it definitely shouldn’t have been a deep cream, or beige, like some brides should wear.
But I’m wondering why more mothers didn’t or don’t share the “treasure box story” with their daughters because I hear women, who are sometimes raising children, openly saying, “I F$%^&* Him!”
Ummm, WHAT? Did you really just say what I thought you said? Ummm, did you just reveal who you shared your jewels with? Ummm, do you know that he is married? Ummmm, do you know how you sound?
Uggg!
I might be a lil old-fashioned in my thinking but ladies shouldn’t talk that way.
One of my friends, and not that kind of friend, a friend, friend – for real, for real -- explained to me how he looks at a woman differently if he gets it too quickly. And yea, all guys are different.
Heck! Determining what is too easy, as an adult, is like walking a tightrope at the circus so no wonder there’s soooooo much confusion.
Should I just have oral sex with him? Or should I just get bucket A$$ wild 'cause shoot “I ain’t had none in a while.”
Well, here we go hoooooes, here we go.
A good way to gauge if the guy you are dating should get IT is by performing the toothbrush test.
Yeah, he’s sexy. And oohhh, his arms. And ahhhh, his flat abs. And oooh, it's so hard. But would you use his toothbrush?
Ah, shiggidy! "Use his toothbrush?" I hear as hands are put on hips and fake nails pop off and necks loosen and heads full of weave jerk from side-to-side.
Yep, dere it is.
‘Cause some of y’all don’t even have any more jewels.
Relationships Should Be Password Protected
Are you one of those secret-squirrel types?
OK, maybe that isn’t the correct way to pose the question.
Would you have a problem sharing your password to your cell phone, e-mail or Facebook account if you are married or in a committed, monogamous relationship?
Ummmmm, ummmm or are you sleeping with your cell phone under your pillow or leaving it in your truck or car and then hiding your keys?
I heard a whole gang of people in my left ear shout, “He must be insecure. She must be insecure, if she wants my password. Why doesn’t he trust me? Why doesn’t she trust me?
And then the gang of folks in my right ear screamed, “If he or she doesn’t want me to see their e-mails, texts, hear voicemails, they must be doing something that they should not be doing?”
Hmmmmm, interestingly, I don’t subscribe to either school of thought so stop all that noise.
I’m sitting in the front of the class of the school of thought that believes what’s done in the dark shall come to the light.
And let's back up for just a second, committed and married couples share banking accounts. Their names are likely on a home or a lease together. They share a bed together. They may even share a few kids together and live in the same home. They file their income taxes together. And they share responsibility together. If you can't relate, it means you ARE NOT in a committed relationship.
But any who, back to seeing the light.
Odd behavior, you know, like nervousness when the phone rings; closing out a browser when she walks into the room; telling him you are with your girlfriend when you are really with your “friend”; showing up later than you promised or not showing up at all; not returning phone calls or clearing out all your texts from the sent and the inbox folders of your phone. But oops, you would have to snoop to know that was being done.
Strange behavior is the light. Does he really need to show you a used condom? Does she really need to hand you a photo of her getting bizz-A with dude?
If there’s no strange behavior, there’s no inclination to think anything is going on. There’s no gut feeling that something is wrong. There’s no sixth sense that she is lying. She doesn’t feel that something just isn’t right.
But if your spouse or committed, monogamous partner asks for the passwords to your e-mail account, cell phone or whatever, it may shock you. You might be caught off guard. You may even ask why? But if you don’t have anything to hide, you’ll give it up freely.
And if you don’t give it up freely, go ahead and try to bury that nut you secret squirrel.
OK, maybe that isn’t the correct way to pose the question.
Would you have a problem sharing your password to your cell phone, e-mail or Facebook account if you are married or in a committed, monogamous relationship?
Ummmmm, ummmm or are you sleeping with your cell phone under your pillow or leaving it in your truck or car and then hiding your keys?
I heard a whole gang of people in my left ear shout, “He must be insecure. She must be insecure, if she wants my password. Why doesn’t he trust me? Why doesn’t she trust me?
And then the gang of folks in my right ear screamed, “If he or she doesn’t want me to see their e-mails, texts, hear voicemails, they must be doing something that they should not be doing?”
Hmmmmm, interestingly, I don’t subscribe to either school of thought so stop all that noise.
I’m sitting in the front of the class of the school of thought that believes what’s done in the dark shall come to the light.
And let's back up for just a second, committed and married couples share banking accounts. Their names are likely on a home or a lease together. They share a bed together. They may even share a few kids together and live in the same home. They file their income taxes together. And they share responsibility together. If you can't relate, it means you ARE NOT in a committed relationship.
But any who, back to seeing the light.
Odd behavior, you know, like nervousness when the phone rings; closing out a browser when she walks into the room; telling him you are with your girlfriend when you are really with your “friend”; showing up later than you promised or not showing up at all; not returning phone calls or clearing out all your texts from the sent and the inbox folders of your phone. But oops, you would have to snoop to know that was being done.
Strange behavior is the light. Does he really need to show you a used condom? Does she really need to hand you a photo of her getting bizz-A with dude?
If there’s no strange behavior, there’s no inclination to think anything is going on. There’s no gut feeling that something is wrong. There’s no sixth sense that she is lying. She doesn’t feel that something just isn’t right.
But if your spouse or committed, monogamous partner asks for the passwords to your e-mail account, cell phone or whatever, it may shock you. You might be caught off guard. You may even ask why? But if you don’t have anything to hide, you’ll give it up freely.
And if you don’t give it up freely, go ahead and try to bury that nut you secret squirrel.
Wednesday, March 11, 2009
Core-ore-din-ation, Ladies, Core-ore-din-ation!
Most women go out of their way to look their absolute best for that special someone.
We tell our gfs: Oh, girl he is so sexy. Oh, girl he has a good job. Oh, girl he is so smart. Oh, girl I like him. Oh, girl I'm so excited.
We make hair appointments, mani and pedi appointments. We may even go shopping for that perfect lil' outfit or spend a good amount of time in front of our already-packed closets hunting for THE outfit. You know, the one that will make everything look just right. And oh yea, the shoes that give the right amount of lift.
OK, the hair is poppin' and rockin.' Footsies are real cute. When looking at your hands, they are absolute perfection – tah dah!
Your date, your boyfriend, your husband or somebody else's husband – and yea, I went there – is picking you up at a specific time and you have about an hour before the chariot or bucket arrives.
Ooooooweee, you think to yourself. This outfit is going to be sooooo cute. These jeans fit just right – not too loose, not too tight. Oh yea, they look good on me. And this shirt is supa sexy. Not slutty. Not matronly. It's just enough. Piddow!
It's time for a mad dash to the bathroom mirror to put on a little foundation, powder, bronzer, liner, mascara, lip gloss or whatever is fancied. And yea, you look pretty.
But did you forget something?
All of this preparation went into getting ret-2-go, but are your undies matching?
Pluuuueeeeze don't tell me you are one of those red-bra-with-purple-panties type of girls. And nah you can't be one of those these-are-my-cute-panties-I've-been-wearing-for-about-a-year girls. And fuhget it if you say, you are a he-ain't-gonna-be-looking-at-my-panties type of girls.
Ladies, men are visual. Umm, ummm that's why they subscribe to Maxim, FHM, King and Playboy.
Go to the nearest mirror and make a pledge to yourself:
"For that special someone, I will rarely get caught not looking my best. And I will make sure that when I get undressed I do not look like a color-core-ore-din-ation mess."
We tell our gfs: Oh, girl he is so sexy. Oh, girl he has a good job. Oh, girl he is so smart. Oh, girl I like him. Oh, girl I'm so excited.
We make hair appointments, mani and pedi appointments. We may even go shopping for that perfect lil' outfit or spend a good amount of time in front of our already-packed closets hunting for THE outfit. You know, the one that will make everything look just right. And oh yea, the shoes that give the right amount of lift.
OK, the hair is poppin' and rockin.' Footsies are real cute. When looking at your hands, they are absolute perfection – tah dah!
Your date, your boyfriend, your husband or somebody else's husband – and yea, I went there – is picking you up at a specific time and you have about an hour before the chariot or bucket arrives.
Ooooooweee, you think to yourself. This outfit is going to be sooooo cute. These jeans fit just right – not too loose, not too tight. Oh yea, they look good on me. And this shirt is supa sexy. Not slutty. Not matronly. It's just enough. Piddow!
It's time for a mad dash to the bathroom mirror to put on a little foundation, powder, bronzer, liner, mascara, lip gloss or whatever is fancied. And yea, you look pretty.
But did you forget something?
All of this preparation went into getting ret-2-go, but are your undies matching?
Pluuuueeeeze don't tell me you are one of those red-bra-with-purple-panties type of girls. And nah you can't be one of those these-are-my-cute-panties-I've-been-wearing-for-about-a-year girls. And fuhget it if you say, you are a he-ain't-gonna-be-looking-at-my-panties type of girls.
Ladies, men are visual. Umm, ummm that's why they subscribe to Maxim, FHM, King and Playboy.
Go to the nearest mirror and make a pledge to yourself:
"For that special someone, I will rarely get caught not looking my best. And I will make sure that when I get undressed I do not look like a color-core-ore-din-ation mess."
Tuesday, March 10, 2009
Praying Man Is Best Type Of Man
Say what you want, a praying man is the best type of man.
Don't get me wrong a praying man still sins. He still falls short. He doesn't do everything correctly, but a praying man is the best type of man.
My parent's religious roots can be traced to a church called Jeter Chapel AME in Union, South Carolina.
When my father reached the age that he could make his own decisions about church attendance, he fell off in a major way. In fact, most of my adolescent and teen years, my dad didn't go to church but he always said that he prayed.
When I started dating, I thought about my preferences -- the skin complexion, the height, the facial hair and even the build. I thought of personality traits or characteristics such as ambitious, fun, zest for life and intelligent. But I didn't, and I'm just being honest, think about dating someone who talked about Jesus as their savior or God or prayer or church.
I didn't see it as necessary because after all my father didn't go to church.
But my mother likely knew that because my father had a foundation in the church that he was like a lost puppy and would, one day, return. And she was right.
It was the summer of 1991. I remember it like it was yesterday. My parents were on a trip to their hometown in South Carolina. I didn't go that year because of a summer job. My mother called home and told me that my dad had accepted Christ as his savior. And oh yea, the cooler full of beer was given away to my cousins.
Since that day, he hasn't had anything to drink. And no, he wasn't an alcoholic. He just enjoyed a "cold one" from time to time.
But it wasn't just giving up beer, my dad changed his ways. He became really active in the church. He joined the brotherhood who helps in the parking lot, he joined the male chorus, he attended Sunday School and many other church affairs.
And he isn't just a bible-toting type of guy. He tithes faithfully. He studies his Bible. He kneels in prayer before he goes to bed at night. And he lives his life like a true Christian.
While growing up, my dad talked to me about the importance of education. My dad taught me to stand up for myself. Before he darted out the door for work each day, he gave me a hug and kiss and said he loved me. He worked hard to put me through Catholic School. He spoiled me. He complimented me. He taught me to believe in myself.
But I'm most grateful to my dad for what he showed me.
My dad has shown me that a praying man is the best type of man.
A praying man is a family man.
A praying man is a confident man.
A praying man is a handsome man.
A praying man is a righteous man.
A praying man apologizes.
A praying man doesn't anger easily.
A praying man stays in prayer so that he can be the best type of man.
Don't get me wrong a praying man still sins. He still falls short. He doesn't do everything correctly, but a praying man is the best type of man.
My parent's religious roots can be traced to a church called Jeter Chapel AME in Union, South Carolina.
When my father reached the age that he could make his own decisions about church attendance, he fell off in a major way. In fact, most of my adolescent and teen years, my dad didn't go to church but he always said that he prayed.
When I started dating, I thought about my preferences -- the skin complexion, the height, the facial hair and even the build. I thought of personality traits or characteristics such as ambitious, fun, zest for life and intelligent. But I didn't, and I'm just being honest, think about dating someone who talked about Jesus as their savior or God or prayer or church.
I didn't see it as necessary because after all my father didn't go to church.
But my mother likely knew that because my father had a foundation in the church that he was like a lost puppy and would, one day, return. And she was right.
It was the summer of 1991. I remember it like it was yesterday. My parents were on a trip to their hometown in South Carolina. I didn't go that year because of a summer job. My mother called home and told me that my dad had accepted Christ as his savior. And oh yea, the cooler full of beer was given away to my cousins.
Since that day, he hasn't had anything to drink. And no, he wasn't an alcoholic. He just enjoyed a "cold one" from time to time.
But it wasn't just giving up beer, my dad changed his ways. He became really active in the church. He joined the brotherhood who helps in the parking lot, he joined the male chorus, he attended Sunday School and many other church affairs.
And he isn't just a bible-toting type of guy. He tithes faithfully. He studies his Bible. He kneels in prayer before he goes to bed at night. And he lives his life like a true Christian.
While growing up, my dad talked to me about the importance of education. My dad taught me to stand up for myself. Before he darted out the door for work each day, he gave me a hug and kiss and said he loved me. He worked hard to put me through Catholic School. He spoiled me. He complimented me. He taught me to believe in myself.
But I'm most grateful to my dad for what he showed me.
My dad has shown me that a praying man is the best type of man.
A praying man is a family man.
A praying man is a confident man.
A praying man is a handsome man.
A praying man is a righteous man.
A praying man apologizes.
A praying man doesn't anger easily.
A praying man stays in prayer so that he can be the best type of man.
Monday, March 9, 2009
Look In Mirror And Say 'I LOVE YOU!'
As a cold knocked me on my butt, for some reason, I thought about my marriage vows.
"I take you ________ (I'm just gonna leave this blank :) ), to be my husband, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better or for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish; from this day forward until death do us part."
Better or worse is the toughest in my eyes. As a matter of fact when the pastor said it to me, I probably should have responded, "What you talkin' bout Willis?"
But before I knew it I had put on my big girl panties and my tough girl Tims and was standing in the middle of the room with both hands in the air saying,"What, What, What?" Oh yea, I WO-manned up.
But it didn't work!
And then there is sickness and health. And yea, I purposely skipped over richer and poorer. That's a blog topic I will write about in the voice of Penelope Foster, a newlywed in my book, "Choosing Mr. Wrong."
I haven't been sickly but there have been a few situations for which I needed a little more compassion, consideration and patience. I have a MAJOR fear of needles. Really, just looking at a needle causes me to break out in a sweat and feel faint. I also have a very low tolerance for pain. OUCHH! And my monthly visitor brings the noise.
During my marriage, I often put on my nurse outfit and jetted to the store for medicine or warmed up chicken noodle soup. I can only remember a few times when I got the patient's treatment but why cry over spilled Nyquil.
I'm the baby of my family but no babying was needed. A compassionate "Are you OK?" or "Are you feeling better?" would have been nice though.
I'm into a treatment called say-positive-things-to-yourself-in-the-mirror and I often look myself in the mirror and say things like, "Gone girl!" "Do it Foxy Roxy!" "You are the best, girl!" and "Hey, Cutie."
Although my head makes me feel like I'm a big head infant with a weak neck and this danggone cough makes it feel like a weight is being dropped on my chest, I pushed my way to the mirror and said, "I love you girl! Feel better."
"I take you ________ (I'm just gonna leave this blank :) ), to be my husband, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better or for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish; from this day forward until death do us part."
Better or worse is the toughest in my eyes. As a matter of fact when the pastor said it to me, I probably should have responded, "What you talkin' bout Willis?"
But before I knew it I had put on my big girl panties and my tough girl Tims and was standing in the middle of the room with both hands in the air saying,"What, What, What?" Oh yea, I WO-manned up.
But it didn't work!
And then there is sickness and health. And yea, I purposely skipped over richer and poorer. That's a blog topic I will write about in the voice of Penelope Foster, a newlywed in my book, "Choosing Mr. Wrong."
I haven't been sickly but there have been a few situations for which I needed a little more compassion, consideration and patience. I have a MAJOR fear of needles. Really, just looking at a needle causes me to break out in a sweat and feel faint. I also have a very low tolerance for pain. OUCHH! And my monthly visitor brings the noise.
During my marriage, I often put on my nurse outfit and jetted to the store for medicine or warmed up chicken noodle soup. I can only remember a few times when I got the patient's treatment but why cry over spilled Nyquil.
I'm the baby of my family but no babying was needed. A compassionate "Are you OK?" or "Are you feeling better?" would have been nice though.
I'm into a treatment called say-positive-things-to-yourself-in-the-mirror and I often look myself in the mirror and say things like, "Gone girl!" "Do it Foxy Roxy!" "You are the best, girl!" and "Hey, Cutie."
Although my head makes me feel like I'm a big head infant with a weak neck and this danggone cough makes it feel like a weight is being dropped on my chest, I pushed my way to the mirror and said, "I love you girl! Feel better."
Sunday, March 8, 2009
Stitches, Band-Aids Are On My Heart
It's Sunday. It's raining and the sun isn't shining. I have a cough, and I didn't push my way out the door to early-morning service. "Shame on you," I hear in my head. I snap back, "The Lord knows my heart."
And HE really does.
I've shared with some of my very good friends that a heart after a tough relationship and divorce is a bit battered and bruised. The description I provide is that my heart has a couple stitches and a few Band-Aids on it. Some laugh at the mental picture I provide while others really understand the pain I've experienced.
I've taken a few blows over the years, and I can't pretend it left me unscathed. Whew, words hurt!
In relationships, people always say things that they don't mean. But sometimes it's just downright cruel. It is like being in a battle of words. Oh, what you say! I gotchu. And then more mean words are hurled about like frisbees, but there's nothing fun about it. And when it's over, there's another bruise on one's heart. This one isn't dead center, but a little to the left.
We reason on a very elementary level "sticks and stones may break my bones but words will never hurt me." But who was the liar that came up with this? It should be: "Sticks and stones hurt my bones and words hurt me even more."
But I guess that's no way to make a kid feel tough on the playground or an adult feel tough in life for that matter.
Going to church in many ways helps to heal my heart. It also keeps God and the Cardinal Rule "do unto others as you would have them do unto you" front and center in my life.
Everytime I go to church and hear my pastor's sermons no matter what the topic, I can feel the itchiness of my heart's wounds. Oh, they are healing.
And while I estimate my capacity to give love at about 75 percent, one day soon I will be one-hun again! I mean really -- can you imagine giving someone a heart that has stitches and Band-Aids on it? :)
When I give my heart, it will be shined all up and my battle wounds will be covered with tattoos that say, Live, Laugh and dare I say LOVE!
And HE really does.
I've shared with some of my very good friends that a heart after a tough relationship and divorce is a bit battered and bruised. The description I provide is that my heart has a couple stitches and a few Band-Aids on it. Some laugh at the mental picture I provide while others really understand the pain I've experienced.
I've taken a few blows over the years, and I can't pretend it left me unscathed. Whew, words hurt!
In relationships, people always say things that they don't mean. But sometimes it's just downright cruel. It is like being in a battle of words. Oh, what you say! I gotchu. And then more mean words are hurled about like frisbees, but there's nothing fun about it. And when it's over, there's another bruise on one's heart. This one isn't dead center, but a little to the left.
We reason on a very elementary level "sticks and stones may break my bones but words will never hurt me." But who was the liar that came up with this? It should be: "Sticks and stones hurt my bones and words hurt me even more."
But I guess that's no way to make a kid feel tough on the playground or an adult feel tough in life for that matter.
Going to church in many ways helps to heal my heart. It also keeps God and the Cardinal Rule "do unto others as you would have them do unto you" front and center in my life.
Everytime I go to church and hear my pastor's sermons no matter what the topic, I can feel the itchiness of my heart's wounds. Oh, they are healing.
And while I estimate my capacity to give love at about 75 percent, one day soon I will be one-hun again! I mean really -- can you imagine giving someone a heart that has stitches and Band-Aids on it? :)
When I give my heart, it will be shined all up and my battle wounds will be covered with tattoos that say, Live, Laugh and dare I say LOVE!
Friday, March 6, 2009
I'm Having A Drink To My Divorce
People love to say, "You can't live with 'em or without 'em" referring to both men and women when relationships get a bit complex.
Clearly, men and women do not think alike, act alike, see things alike, feel things alike or do things alike. We are different. Women are more emotional and less rational, some may say. Men are more logical and tougher, others may say.
But barring all the differences, men and women make love connections, fall in love, get married and have bay-bays and not necessarily in that order.
Men love on women. They send roses and balloons, give cards and candies. Women love on men. They prepare dinners, show up at doors wearing long coats with either lingerie or nothing at all underneath to get diggity.
As relationships grow, the dynamics change. There is compassion, gentleness, kindness, patience, understanding, thoughtfulness, flexibility, helpfulness and honesty. Ah yea, he is diggin' on you and you are diggin' on him.
Then, the relationship graduates to another level and really becomes supa dupa.
On top of all the other character qualities, there's acceptance, forgiveness, sincerity, encouragement, trustworthiness and dare I say folks have fallen in LOVE.
OOOOOOOOWEEEEEEE!! When it's good, it is good.
Buttttttttttttttttt er ah, when it's bad. It's bad!
So what if all those character qualities start to disappear and when you say patience, it echoes in the halls of the relationship. Encouragement looks back at you with contempt and honesty just called you out of your name?
OK, OK, I believe in the institution of marriage. Yea, I'm divorced but I do, I do, I do.
But when I heard about two recent studies on divorce, I listened intently.
One study said divorce will not necessarily lead to happiness. In fact, a divorce may cause more stress. The study said stay, get some counseling and work on it. And another study says a divorce will make you look about two years older. YIKES!!!
My mouth twists and I say to myself, "a bad marriage is what will age you, make you gain or lose weight and make you look sad and dare I say bizzad!"
And then there's another study that says women who drink have higher incidences of cancer.
OK, you can't have a drink because of the effects it will have on your health. If you are in a bad relationship, you will not be happier if you get a divorce and if you get a divorce it will age you.
Ummm ummmm, I'm not listening. I want a drink. I already have the divorce.
Clearly, men and women do not think alike, act alike, see things alike, feel things alike or do things alike. We are different. Women are more emotional and less rational, some may say. Men are more logical and tougher, others may say.
But barring all the differences, men and women make love connections, fall in love, get married and have bay-bays and not necessarily in that order.
Men love on women. They send roses and balloons, give cards and candies. Women love on men. They prepare dinners, show up at doors wearing long coats with either lingerie or nothing at all underneath to get diggity.
As relationships grow, the dynamics change. There is compassion, gentleness, kindness, patience, understanding, thoughtfulness, flexibility, helpfulness and honesty. Ah yea, he is diggin' on you and you are diggin' on him.
Then, the relationship graduates to another level and really becomes supa dupa.
On top of all the other character qualities, there's acceptance, forgiveness, sincerity, encouragement, trustworthiness and dare I say folks have fallen in LOVE.
OOOOOOOOWEEEEEEE!! When it's good, it is good.
Buttttttttttttttttt er ah, when it's bad. It's bad!
So what if all those character qualities start to disappear and when you say patience, it echoes in the halls of the relationship. Encouragement looks back at you with contempt and honesty just called you out of your name?
OK, OK, I believe in the institution of marriage. Yea, I'm divorced but I do, I do, I do.
But when I heard about two recent studies on divorce, I listened intently.
One study said divorce will not necessarily lead to happiness. In fact, a divorce may cause more stress. The study said stay, get some counseling and work on it. And another study says a divorce will make you look about two years older. YIKES!!!
My mouth twists and I say to myself, "a bad marriage is what will age you, make you gain or lose weight and make you look sad and dare I say bizzad!"
And then there's another study that says women who drink have higher incidences of cancer.
OK, you can't have a drink because of the effects it will have on your health. If you are in a bad relationship, you will not be happier if you get a divorce and if you get a divorce it will age you.
Ummm ummmm, I'm not listening. I want a drink. I already have the divorce.
Wednesday, March 4, 2009
My Little Black Dress And A Flat Tire
Stop-and-go traffic, frozen lettuce, flat tires oh my!
When I slipped into a cute little black dress and decorative tights, I just knew that it was going to be a good day. Wrong!
As I drove into work in stop-and-go conditions, I refused to let my less than smooth commute get my day off to a bad start. Nope, the sun is shining and hey, I have a J-O-B in this tough economic climate so I'm gonna count my blessings.
I was about 15 minutes late. I get my coffee and start my workday. And it's not tough at all.
Lunch time rolls around and I grab my Applebee's ceasar chicken salad out the fridge and I'm ready to grub a dub. But the lettuce is frozen. Gosh darnit, I left my salad in the car overnight in below-freezing temperatures. Whew, real smart - just brilliant you are girlie.
Quitting time is 5. My eyes gaze over at the clock. Well, I've actually been staring at it since 4. The clock finally strikes 5:15 (remember I was late). I pack up my belongings, grab my coat and feel like wheels are spinning under my feet as I make a dash for the door.
"Hey, there! It's quitting time," I say to the security guard who has taken the receptionist's seat because it's after hours.
I place my sunglasses on my face and hit the door.
As I walk across the street, I faintly hear a guy whistle but every whistle is not for me so I don't even pause.
My ear-to-ear smile is greeted by a woman standing on the other side of the street who politely informs me that my purse is causing my dress to rise on the side. I think, "Oh schucks, the whistle was for me and I probably showed a little bit too much to a stranger."
Without hesitation, I pull it down and keep it movin' because I have things to do.
As I approach my car, I hit the chirper-thingy-majiggy, open the door and get in. Music adjusted, heat on low and now it's time to roll. I slip my 5-speed in reverse and something doesn't feel quite right, bump da bump da bump.
I put the car back in park and jump out to take a look. And yep, it's a freakin' flat tire.
There has to be a Mr. Wrong, Mr. Right or Mr. Right NOW to help me with this tire.
And then I smile and think, "I knew I wore this dress for a reason."
When I slipped into a cute little black dress and decorative tights, I just knew that it was going to be a good day. Wrong!
As I drove into work in stop-and-go conditions, I refused to let my less than smooth commute get my day off to a bad start. Nope, the sun is shining and hey, I have a J-O-B in this tough economic climate so I'm gonna count my blessings.
I was about 15 minutes late. I get my coffee and start my workday. And it's not tough at all.
Lunch time rolls around and I grab my Applebee's ceasar chicken salad out the fridge and I'm ready to grub a dub. But the lettuce is frozen. Gosh darnit, I left my salad in the car overnight in below-freezing temperatures. Whew, real smart - just brilliant you are girlie.
Quitting time is 5. My eyes gaze over at the clock. Well, I've actually been staring at it since 4. The clock finally strikes 5:15 (remember I was late). I pack up my belongings, grab my coat and feel like wheels are spinning under my feet as I make a dash for the door.
"Hey, there! It's quitting time," I say to the security guard who has taken the receptionist's seat because it's after hours.
I place my sunglasses on my face and hit the door.
As I walk across the street, I faintly hear a guy whistle but every whistle is not for me so I don't even pause.
My ear-to-ear smile is greeted by a woman standing on the other side of the street who politely informs me that my purse is causing my dress to rise on the side. I think, "Oh schucks, the whistle was for me and I probably showed a little bit too much to a stranger."
Without hesitation, I pull it down and keep it movin' because I have things to do.
As I approach my car, I hit the chirper-thingy-majiggy, open the door and get in. Music adjusted, heat on low and now it's time to roll. I slip my 5-speed in reverse and something doesn't feel quite right, bump da bump da bump.
I put the car back in park and jump out to take a look. And yep, it's a freakin' flat tire.
There has to be a Mr. Wrong, Mr. Right or Mr. Right NOW to help me with this tire.
And then I smile and think, "I knew I wore this dress for a reason."
Tuesday, March 3, 2009
Some Women Act Like Female Dogs
Carmen is a bitch.
Whenever a man steps foot in my home, she is doing everything possible to get their affection -- sashayin' across the floor, being extremely affectionate, and even flipping on her back for a belly rub.
My dog likes when men pay her attention, and it shows. I love Carmen Electra because she is the sweetest dog ever, but her look-at-me-behavior reminds me of some of the women I see when I am in a social setting.
Some women get up to go to the restroom. Some increase the volume on their voice. Some walk, with a lil extra-oh-yea, you-see-me, I-got-it in her step, across the floor. Some show a lil piyow! (extra cleavage) or wear are-there-any-room-in-those-jeans that Ginuwine sings about.
Oh schucks, I'm guilty of the tight jeans offense.
Anywho, all of this is done to get a guy to look.
Uhew, look at me!
When I see this type of behavior, I think of Carmen. If I'm in a really silly mood, I might think and sometimes even say "work it," or "gone girl."
But shouldn't women get that attention we crave effortlessly.
I'm not saying don't practice good hygiene, wear clean clothes, comb your hair and be well put together. Ta Dah!!!
But we shouldn't have to jump up and down in the crowd shouting, "Ovah here, look at me, you see me?"
If a woman is trying, and I mean really trying, I'm reminded of that bitch at home.
Whenever a man steps foot in my home, she is doing everything possible to get their affection -- sashayin' across the floor, being extremely affectionate, and even flipping on her back for a belly rub.
My dog likes when men pay her attention, and it shows. I love Carmen Electra because she is the sweetest dog ever, but her look-at-me-behavior reminds me of some of the women I see when I am in a social setting.
Some women get up to go to the restroom. Some increase the volume on their voice. Some walk, with a lil extra-oh-yea, you-see-me, I-got-it in her step, across the floor. Some show a lil piyow! (extra cleavage) or wear are-there-any-room-in-those-jeans that Ginuwine sings about.
Oh schucks, I'm guilty of the tight jeans offense.
Anywho, all of this is done to get a guy to look.
Uhew, look at me!
When I see this type of behavior, I think of Carmen. If I'm in a really silly mood, I might think and sometimes even say "work it," or "gone girl."
But shouldn't women get that attention we crave effortlessly.
I'm not saying don't practice good hygiene, wear clean clothes, comb your hair and be well put together. Ta Dah!!!
But we shouldn't have to jump up and down in the crowd shouting, "Ovah here, look at me, you see me?"
If a woman is trying, and I mean really trying, I'm reminded of that bitch at home.
Monday, March 2, 2009
My WasBand Is Super Sexy
On my wedding day, I was the happiest girl in the world, nah the universe. If there are Martians out there they don’t know anything about this feeling weeez humans feel.
In fact, I was told by many of the older folks in attendance on that grand thousands-upon-thousands-of-dollars-spent-day that they wished that they could bottle up my happiness and sell it. And in this recession, folks would be rich.
Well no one really said that, but I was happy.
Urgggggg fast forward! It’s 8 years later and I’m divorced. Prince Charming got the house and I got the dog. And don’t get me wrong, I love my dog -- for real, for real.
When I look back on 8 years of my life with a man I loved crazy, I realize that we really only shared a house and a dog. Yea, we traveled to many places together. We went to many social functions together. We went to many partaays and shared many toasts together. Oh, we had fun, fun, fun.
We talked about professional dreams and goals, but we didn’t ask about each others day. Ah schucks, we didn’t really talk.
Ummmm, ummm, ummm hello, what yo name is?
Now don’t get me wrong, my “was”band (was+husband) is a nice guy. He is ambitious, scholarly intelligent and yep, ladies, he’s foxy – brown-skinned, bald, about 6 feet with an average build. And if you are one of those ladies who loves a man who looks good in a suit -- that’s him. Eye candy with Super Sexy on top!!!
And while we may all want the eye candy, ambitious, handsome man in a suit, do we get sidetracked and possibly sacrifice the other character qualities that we know deep, deep, deep down in our hearts we really need to be happy.
The book I am writing is not solely about my relationship. It is a compilation of stories I’ve heard about relationships. It will be serious. It will be funny. It will make you angry. It will make you cry. What I hope most of all my book will do is get my readers to stand in the mirror and be painfully honest with that reflection and say, I need someone who is…..
Share your comments or relationship stories.
In fact, I was told by many of the older folks in attendance on that grand thousands-upon-thousands-of-dollars-spent-day that they wished that they could bottle up my happiness and sell it. And in this recession, folks would be rich.
Well no one really said that, but I was happy.
Urgggggg fast forward! It’s 8 years later and I’m divorced. Prince Charming got the house and I got the dog. And don’t get me wrong, I love my dog -- for real, for real.
When I look back on 8 years of my life with a man I loved crazy, I realize that we really only shared a house and a dog. Yea, we traveled to many places together. We went to many social functions together. We went to many partaays and shared many toasts together. Oh, we had fun, fun, fun.
We talked about professional dreams and goals, but we didn’t ask about each others day. Ah schucks, we didn’t really talk.
Ummmm, ummm, ummm hello, what yo name is?
Now don’t get me wrong, my “was”band (was+husband) is a nice guy. He is ambitious, scholarly intelligent and yep, ladies, he’s foxy – brown-skinned, bald, about 6 feet with an average build. And if you are one of those ladies who loves a man who looks good in a suit -- that’s him. Eye candy with Super Sexy on top!!!
And while we may all want the eye candy, ambitious, handsome man in a suit, do we get sidetracked and possibly sacrifice the other character qualities that we know deep, deep, deep down in our hearts we really need to be happy.
The book I am writing is not solely about my relationship. It is a compilation of stories I’ve heard about relationships. It will be serious. It will be funny. It will make you angry. It will make you cry. What I hope most of all my book will do is get my readers to stand in the mirror and be painfully honest with that reflection and say, I need someone who is…..
Share your comments or relationship stories.
Getting Started!
I am excited about what the future holds. Be sure to check back soon because I'm interested in your stories of how you chose Mr. Wrong.
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