It’s way to early for that….

Okay, so I know men think it’s their God-given right to holla at a woman anytime they see fit, but damnit, it’s not. I figured out a long time ago that the holla is less about men getting to know me and more about him doing the verbal equivalent of grabbing his dick and re-proving his heterosexuality to his boys with lustful yelps and not quite witty lines. But for the love of all woman-kind, can ya’ll stop hollering before 11am?

Give me a chance to get really awake, to settle into my day and plan out the next 10 hours, to at least get a Mc’Donald’s Mocha Frappe in me. I mean damn, 9:30 am and you are that lustful? They got to have pills for that. Better, just ease out a good one for free before you leave the house in the morning the way you do for a big date. All that energy in the AM makes you just seem too eager. Round-the-clock bravado sounds desperate and it tells everyone in ear shot that if you are that revved up off the sight of a woman then you’re certain to cum quick. That, or you just got out and /or ain’t seen none, smelt none, tasted none in months.

I am at Hardee’s getting my favorite Wednesday Morning Chicken Biscuit.  I am wearing, black jeans, a a yellow top and black sandals.  It’s the first week of school, and the principal has allowed the teachers to dress down.  The outfit wasn’t one to be desired, it wasn’t even second look worthy.  I see a black truck sitting mid-way down the block. It has tinted windows. Nice rims, I think and go back to lolli-dolly dreamland. After all, it’s 7:30 am and I’m only half awake. The passenger-side back window rolls down.

“Hey, girl, let me borrow them jeans!” a man yells from the truck.

Is this his best line? I know it’s early, but still. And from a car window? Not even the driver or damn, the passenger? The grown man they made sit in the kid seat?

“NOOOOOO!!!!” I shout back loud enough for half the block to hear him get turned down. I never break stride.

“Why you got to be so mean?” he bellows down the block after me.

He interrupts my early morning with a stupid ass question and I’m mean? I keep strutting (cause that’s how I do) then it dawns on me, that it’s 7:30am, on a Wednesday and this loser isn’t on his way to an office some place.   If he spent his time looking for work instead of looking at women, he might one day make enough money or gain enough respect to ride in a grown people’s seat upfront.

Oh, and because I believe some men genuinely think the holler is a way to meet women (and impress their boys at the same time), I want to tell them that 1) it’s not. And 2) there are some other times when you  should just leave women be (this goes for approaching them to speak sensibly too.)

When I am walking down the street with a bunch of white people. Either they are my friends or my co-workers. If they’re friends, I probably don’t date Black men anyway. If they are co-workers, than I’m on the clock. It’s hard enough being the Black woman in the office. Don’t turn me into a sex object in front of colleagues.

The beauty salon. I’m getting did. I’m busy. Speak to me (not holla) when I am done.

Anytime, I look mad. I hate it when men say/yell ”smile girl!” For fucking what? How you know I didn’t just get a horrible diagnosis or maybe my dog died. If I look angry, I probably am. Leave me alone. (Note: I had bronchitis for 5 weeks. You know dudes would holler in the middle of coughing fits? Like I can’t talk and I’m clearly diseased… and you want to kick game?)

I’m reading. I am engrossed in something I enjoy. If you were really that fine, my sensors would have gone off. My book is more important than you. Look, don’t speak.

Va…Va….Va…VOOM!

I spent a recent evening at dinner w/ an amazing guy friend whom shall be called Greg and another girl, Nicole, a friend of ,my bestie,  Ariel. Ariel was supposed to be meeting us, but called after we’d all arrived at the restaurant to say she wouldn’t make it.

The food was great. But the chemistry between Greg and Nicole (both single) was far more interesting than the Pan Asian fusion on our plates. After a bit of unexplained akwardness which I assumed was because Nicole didn’t know either me or Greg, I realize they’ve been friends for a bit. As the evening wore on and Nicole opened up, their banter and cheesy smiles and a million shared interests hinted that maybe there had been more between them at some point. And if not, there should be more than friendship between them in the future.

Hmmm.

Greg excuses himself from the table to take a call and leaves me to chat with Nicole, who I’ve only met in passing several times before. In short, she is single, attractive, and childless w/ a warm heart and a smile that lights up any room. She has common sense, is well read, intelligent, and articulate. Her hobbies include cooking (favorite) and decorating and she is a self-described neat freak. Oh, and she’s a journalist for the newspaper, has a side hustle too and believes in traditional relationship roles, ie let a man be a man, whatever the hell that means.

As far as I can tell, there is nothing wrong with this woman. She’s great, so great that if I were a man, I would date her.

I ask her, ”may I speak freely?” and she agees that I may. So I just say flat out: ”what’s the deal with you and Greg? You guys have great chemistry and you’d be totally cute together.”

”Greg?” I can’t read her reaction. She’s not surprised, excited, or happy, but she’s not shocked, appalled, or mad either. She’s just blank.. and says nothing for an awkward ten seconds, which could have gone longer had Greg not returned to the table.

Ever the gentleman, he apologizes for his absence and offers to buy a round of post-dinner coffee or tea, which I accept and Nicole declines. He and I babble about nothing and Nicole, apparently back in her shell, has gone mute beyond uttering ”yeah, uh huh” and ”hmm.”

As soon as the check comes, Nicole throws down way too much cash, and says she has to go. She gives weak goodbyes, double air kisses to us and practically sprints out the restaurant as we try to tell her to take back $20.

”What the fuck was that?” Greg asks after the door slams back in Nicole’s haste to escape.

”I think I fucked up,” I say.

He quirks one eyebrow really high. I am so jealous that he can do that. ”What’d you say, Cam?”

”I asked her why she never tried to date you casue I thought you two would be an amazing couple and there’s a lot of chemistry between you and you’d be so cute together and- and -and- and she just shut down as soon as I said it and I asked her if I could speak freely before I aksed. I did. I didn’t mean to offend her or anything. And she’s a good woman. I mean really good. She’d be so good for you.”

He sighs and gives me a stern look. ”You shouldn’t have asked that.”

”Well yeah. I know that now.”

Another big sigh. ”We used to hang out a lot. I thought about it but there was no… What do you call it all the time? va va va voom?”

I nod. ”Just cause she didn’t like you then doesn’t mean she wouldn’t like you now.”

”I didn’t like her.”

Huh? ”What?! She’s amazing.” This is fact, not opinion.

”She is.”

”So what’s the problem?”

”She didn’t do it for me.”

”A good woman didn’t do it for you?”

”I’m not attracted to her… I mean physically. I mean I wasn’t then, but I am now.”

I look at him like the stupid he is. ”Did you tell that good woman you weren’t attracted to her?”

He nods. ”Yes,” he sort of squeaks out.

”And you like her now, don’t you?”

”Yes.” Another pitiful squeak.

I shake my head and just stare at him. ”I love you dearly, but you are an idiot.”

”Oh, you have no idea.”

I try–and fail– to do the eyebrow thingy.

”Last month, I told her that I was feeling her now.”

”And if she’s the woman I think she is she told you to go fuck yourself.”

”In so many words. She asked ‘why now?’ first. And I told her.”

”You told her what exactly?”

”That I was attracted to her, that she’s an amazing woman. She said it was too late. She’s over me.”

”You fucked up.”

Long pause. ”I know. Trust me, I know.”

“Now oddly enough, the present finally made sense.”

4:45, 4:46, 4:47……

“One of my Cammies e-mail me a couple of weeks ago, stating that I had the best life, and the best male friends based off my writings. Well I must admit I do have some pretty special people in my life. I’m filled with postive men, and women. Sit back and enjoy the writings of my wonderful friend Ariel!

I don’t know the exact moment I fell in love with him. Somewhere between the 29^th and 30^th of a certain month of a certain year after the millennium between 4:46 and 4:47 in the morning when the sun was squeezing in between the moon and the horizon to peer through my window and cast a slant of light on his caramel face, his mouth slightly opened to leave the most subtle gusts of air on my nose as he exhaled.

And then I inhaled.

Yea, I think that’s when I fell in love with him, as I waited for the hours to pass by so that I could peer into those beautiful eyes and make sure.

Because you usually don’t know love until you see the eyes. The eyes, they burn into yours and suddenly, somewhere in between noses, that spark happens. Maybe “sizzle” is a better word. It’s a feeling so potent that the air between the two people runs away blushing, and suddenly, there’s nothing between you and his lips but that last brave breath.

All happens in the eyes, I used to think.

But as I continued to watch him wrinkle his nose to snub that triangle of light that had dared to interrupt the darkness behind his eyelids, I realized that I didn’t need to see his eyes. Because the way his caramel limbs warred around me, torn between being scared of suffocating me in their tightness and never wanting to let me go, let me know I was in love with him. The fact that, at 4:47 in the morning, I was itching to tell him what I had discovered overnight–that this was it–that I loved him so much, right now, and the first person I wanted to tell was him.

Then, as it often does, my mind began to race and over think what, a moment ago, was as clear as a baller’s wife’s ring. What if he didn’t love me back? What if I let those words leave my lips only to have those eyes, those pools of ink, grow wide as the only reasonable thing, in his mind, to do was mutter a pitiful “…thank you.”

And what if, because I said those words, he began to rethink his forward steps and want to walk a little backwards? Maybe he would ponder if we were moving too fast and he would take moments away from me, running away as those words I had uttered chased his mind and his heart until finally he decided that his emotions just had to be done. With me.

What would I do then?

Suddenly, his limbs that had once been my proof of his love became heavy, suffocating. I breathed deeply while trying not to inhale his smell. I couldn’t be further intoxicated by that vanilla-laced-with-musk smell that lingered in the crevice of his neck. That smell itself would make me utter words that I wasn’t ready to say– confront feelings I wasn’t ready to feel.

As quietly and gently as I could I peeled him off of me. First a toned leg. Then, after three tries, I was able to successfully dodge his arm’s attempts to pull me back in close to him. I reached into my dresser, pushing aside all of my clothes until I found it.

The only thing in the world that would ever know how I really felt.

I would agonize over my decision afterward. I would smile at him and stand on tip toes to kiss him, when, behind my eyes, a war was waging between the tiny inkling of courage I had to tell him, and the fear of what his rejection would do. But in this moment, I had to let these overwhelming feelings out somewhere.

So I turned to the only thing I knew.

“Dear Journal…

Girl you need to learn to swallow!

Ariel had just recounted a story of love and loss.  I did my girlfriend sympathizing duty as we rode with Kewon to Cafeteria, an afterhours restaurant.  Kewon took another approach to Ariel’s dilemma.  you know men stop themselves from solving a problem.

“Learn to swallow,”  Kewon told Ariel…..I think.  “It’ll keep your man happy and at home.  No man will leave his woman if she swallows,”  he added.

The phrase learn to swallow became a running joke this summer.  Every time a woman complained about a boyfriend who was hanging with the boys too much or not showing enough attention, this was the laughed-out advice we started to give.  But it wasn’t for women simply looking for a man.  Male consensus held that swallowing can help a woman keep a man she’s got but will not help her get a man she does not.  The guys unanimously agreed that swallowing without a title will automatically dismiss a woman from consideration for a relationship.  And yes, they acknowledged that it’s not fair.

“Life isn’t,”  Kewon noted.

I took the phrase for the partial joke I assumed it was until one night, I realized Kewon was dead serious.  Kewon came to visit me, with a few of our mutual friends a couple of days after my birthday.  So they are sitting in my living room, and somehow the conversation resurfaces itself.  So I voiced my real feelings on the matter to the guys, which  in a word was “Ugh!”

Sean, a friend of Kewon’s who had become a really good friend to me, became visibly upset.  “Not swallow?”  he bellowed as if I was actually dating him.  “What do you mean, not swallow?”

“It’s disgusting,,”  I shot back with equal venom.  “You watch too much porn.”

“Disgusting?”  Another bellow.  “My seeds are disgusting?”

I kissed my teeth, and rolled my eyes.  “In someone’s mouth or throat, they are!”

The look on his face was pure comedy.  He was appalled that I could not fathom a woman loving his cum.  “Dudes swallow women’s juices all the time.  You think we spit it out when we’re down there?  You think we like to swallow when a woman cums in our faces?  We commit to the act.  A woman has got to commit to the act!”

The following weekend, I broached the subject at Charlotte’s verson of the Pink Taco.

“What’s the obsession with all this swallowing business?”  I ask the Don Q’s pretty boy crew.  Brothers from the Uptown residents in their mid-to late thirties who stay perfectly fly at all times.

“That shit just feels right!”  is the general consensus.  Dap and laughter all around.  Apparently, they’re not as deep as Kewon and his friends.

From Darwin the youngest homeboy of Don’Q comes a bit more explanation:  “Don’t think about it in terms of what it can do for him, think about what it means in terms of the greater good for you.  You swallow, and you can get anything you want.”  He wasn’t speaking of material goods.  More like romance, affection, and attention.

“Does swallowing feel better than sex?”

Darwin is in deep thought, trying to come up with the right answer.  It’s as if I can see the wheels turning as he recounts all his sexual experiences.  Finally, he reaches a verdict:  “Depends on the skills of the woman.”

Eh…..I’m not convinced about this swallowing bit.  I offer an alternative, bringing up the skills of Italia Blue, an adult actress.  She provides a good education, but whenever her mate reaches ultimate joy, she takes it, then spits the contents back onto the rod.

“That’s the equivalent of swallowing, no?  She took the mouth shot,”  I reason.

The guys are horrified.  I get a flurry of “NO!” and “Ugh!” and “She’s gonna spit on me?”

Now it’s my turn.  “Yeah…what’s the problem?  Um, it’s yours.  You want women to swallow something you don’t even want touching you?”

“That’s disgusting, Cam,” says one of the guys.

“But, um, it’s not disgusting for a woman to swallow it?”

He shakes his head.  “No!” he blurts definitively on behalf of the guys.

“Why not?”  I challenge.

“It’s just not.”

“If men want women to do it, ya’ll have to give a valid reason.  ‘Because we want it’ isn’t enough.”

Sensing that I’m not dropping the subject anytime soon, one of the other guys in Don Q’s crew  takes a moment to ponder the question seriously.  “Really?  I’ll speak for all men and say as long as a woman’s down on my dick, no real man’s really going to complain.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO ME!!

So this year is  a “milestone” birthday for me. One I wasn’t ready to deal with. I looked at my professional life, my love life, and decided “Hmm, turning ___ years old? Naw. Not yet.” I  am just having a hard time trying to accept it. You know that moment when you process your new age and what it means and you reflect on that? I WANT TO TOTALLY SKIP THAT PART.   Though the reality is, now, I’m a whole ‘nother year older than the age I turned last year, but I still haven’t turned that age yet. So basically, I am all screwed up in the head. More than usual.

(SIGH)

I’m either going to keep rolling with the age I turned in 2006 for another year or take on my 2009 one. But this 2011 one? Oh no, hell no. Ain’t happening. The last thing I need right now is to go another hour forward on my biological clock (I am hitting the snooze button with a sledgehammer until my Jet wedding, even though the buzzing is getting louder), nor do I need to play “Well, what was so-and-so doing at this age?” or “Why is such-and-such 35 and this far ahead in the life game?” or “When is my passion going to become a career and not a secret side hustle?”

It’s an awkward time of life for me. It’s the crisis before the mid- life crisis: grown, but still a lot of growing to do. Scratching the surface of the lives we want, but still not planted firmly where we’re trying to be. Caught between being ready for families and relishing freedom, while managing the fact that the former is not hardly promised and the latter, quite overrated at times.

Though all jokes aside

My meandering thoughts on turning 3+++++?:

I’ve concluded that most of the commenters on the blog are in their 20s and 30’s. And I largely base that theory on the way turning 35 is viewed as the end all of life. Like if you haven’t found a husband, a career path, bought a house, popped out a kid, finished school or any other so-called markers of adulthood by the time you’re 34 and 264 days, you might as well just call it a wrap and settle for life’s consolation prize. Every thing that matters is just oh-vah for the next 50-60 years once anyone, but especially a single woman, falls off the twenty-something cliff.

A cheating man? Hell no at 25, but okay at 35.

Not married at 30? Give up.  Not married at 35? You’ll be single forever.

Ain’t got a prospect by 30? (love yourself)…..Ain’t got a prospect by 35? L-O-S-E-R!

35 (sigh)……..

Gosh. Sounds… old, huh? Just a lil. LOL.

I know I don’t look my age. Last time I hit the beach, some college boys tried to kick it to me. They looked like babies. Asked to sit by my blanket. Nah, boo. A bassinet is a better look. I feel old sometimes though. Don’t quite get over colds the way I once did and sometimes my knee is achy after a good run or bench lunges. Got some grey hairs too. I don’t even bother coloring them. Such is life.

At some point in this life time I will gradually accept the realization that I am actually over 30.  It’s just that I don’t feel old. Matter of fact, I don’t even feel grown. Don’t feel like I’ve arrived, still got a-ways to go on my path. But I can see the destination. It’s still on a hill, but I’m not looking from the bottom of the valley anymore. I can carve a clear path if I stay focused.  The good in my life outweighs the bad.  I’m happy, I’m able, and I’m breathing…

Thoughts on turning 30 ish!!

“You may not be where you want to be, but thank God you are not where you were.”

That quote was rolling around in my head today.  It’s the eve of my birthday and it got me to thinking about all the things that I’ve learned about relationships and me since moving to Charlotte some years ago.  I’ve encountered my share of bull, and I’ve done my share of it, too.  I don’t regret any of it; I’ve grown and learned from most of my mistakes.  I still have a long way to go, but I thank God every day that I am not where I began.

So that brings me to why I am sitting here making a list of the lessons so I could track my progress.  Most are very simple and very obvious but were very hard to get at nonetheless.  They are the things that I wish someone had told me or the things someone told me that I didn’t listen to.  Sometimes I still don’t.

Going into the next age with a new lease on life 🙂

1. If he doesn’t call, he’s not interested.  Period.
2. It’s impossible to fill an emotional void with a physical act.
3. If he says he’s not read for a relationship, he’s not ready for a relationship.
4. Kings don’t always wear crowns.
5. Wanting to have sex with you and wanting to be with you can be mutually exclusive ideas.
6. Wanting you to want him and actually wanting you can be mutually exclusive ideas.
7. If he has a girlfriend, leave him alone.  If he leaves her for you, he’ll do the same to you.  If he stays with her and deals with you, he’s a whore.  Either option is bad for you.
8. A beautiful face (or body) does not make a beautiful mind.
9. Men don’t read minds; if you want something, ask for it.
10. Just because he’s a good man, that does not make him the right man for you.
11. It’s okay to be alone.  You’ll be fine without him.  Pinky swear it.
12. Sometimes things just don’t work out, and it’s nobody’s fault.
13. You don’t always get closure.  Make peace with it anyway.
14. You have to grow, but you don’t have to change.
15. Just because you miss him, that does not mean you are meant to be with him.
16. Good guys exist, but perfection does not.
17. Learn to compromise, but don’t compromise yourself.
18. Love is a verb.  Having an emotion means absolutely nothing if it is not followed through with action.
19. Know that if he is the One, he will be the One.
20. When you feel as if you’re forcing a relationship, you are.  It’s not working.  Stop and look for the Next One.
21. Complaining about men will not somehow make men better.  It will only make you bitter.
22. If you’re single and can’t find your type, go looking for him.  There is nothing wrong with being proactive about you want.
23. You don’t have to be an angry woman to be a strong woman.  Angry does not equal strong.  It equals angry.
24. Good men make bad mistakes.  That said, there’s a difference between a moral failing and a mistake.  Forgive mistakes.  Get rid of moral failures.
25. Every man isn’t out to get you or do you dirty.
26. If you’re always complaining that men “ain’t shit,” ask yourself what’s wrong with you that you keep attracting “ain’t shit” men.
27. A bad break up is a valid excuse to break down, but to stay down.
28. Wear your size.  Not the size you want to be.  If you wanna be an 8, but wear a 12, buy the 12 and cut the lable out (then go to the gym.)  You always look better in clothes that fit ( and when you work out.  Even if you’re a four, there’s a difference between a flabby four and a tight one.)
29. Figure out which fabrics, colors, cuts and styles fit your body.  Waste a day trying on clothes at your favorite stores and see what flatters and what doesn’t and stick to that and not what’s in style.  Oh, and Spanx are your friends
30. There’s no reason to look bad in pictures.  Too many Facebook and Twitter bad photos floating around online.  Practice your smile and your pose so you know what’s flattering.  Keep in mind that your face changes as you age, so update your pose and your expression to fit.
31. Drop your baggage.  It’s as simple as figuring out what it is, placing it down and walking away.
32. Do stuff alone.  People who can’t be alone drive me up a wall.  If you don’t enjoy your own company, how can you expect anyone else to?  Start with a movie – yes, a movie.  Try a matinee if you’re paranoid.  Then move on to lunch, then dinner, ad finally another country alone.  Yes, yes, you can do it.  And you will be fine.”
33. Read.  It’s not really cute at 20 anything to say, “ I don’t like reading.”  (Actually, it makes you look stupid.)  At 30, you’re a joke.  Not only should you read newspapers online daily and watch CNN, you should read some books too.  Have something to take about other than YBF.com (no that there’s anything wrong with YBF.com, it’s just not the ONLY thing you should read.)”
34. Get your makeup done.  This seemed so obvious to me – until I met grown women who don’t know how to do makeup.  Really?  Go to the MAC store, make an appointment.  It’s $50 to get it done professionally, free if you buy $50 worth of products.  Every MAC store does it.
35. STOP runnin with folks who have your PROBLEMS & START running with folks who have your ANSWERS!

All you gotta do is say “yes!”

Loving you is a like a song I replay
Every three minutes and thirty seconds of every day
And every chorus was written for us to recite
Every beautiful melody of devotion every night
This potion might, this ocean might carry me
In a wave of emotion to ask you to marry me
— Lauryn Hill “Turn Your Lights Down Low”

I don’t know why I was surprised.

I turned on my bedroom TV Saturday night and the channel was on the WE Network. WE would be the home of shows like Amazing Wedding Cakes, Bridezillas, My Fair Wedding, Platinum Weddings, Rich Bride Poor Bride, Wedding Central, and Funniest Wedding Outtakes—see a theme here? So they’ve added a new show, a special really, called Surprise Wedding.

The premise of the show is as follows:

Five men who are in long-term relationships and just haven’t committed to marriage are given a big surprise—[in front of a live audience]— when their girlfriends propose to them on national television. Given a chance to marry their fiances, the potential grooms discuss their choice with friends and family. The program ends with the wedding ceremonies of the couples who have chosen to marry.

Really?

I’ve always had an issue with proposals. It’s supposed to be this hugely romantic moment and the guy—typically—springs a ring on you and right there in the moment you have to decide “yes” or ”no” to a decision that will affect the rest of your life. So often it’s done in public that it just seems wrong to say the practical answer, which is something like “Can I think about it for a week?”, and embarrass the man you (likely) love in front of friends and family or possibly hundreds or thousands of strangers. I mean. he’s not asking you to spend tomorrow with him. He’s asking for forever. That’s a mighty long time. You need to think on that. I guess you can always break it off later if you say yes, but that just seems like bad communication all the way around.

I’m slightly mortified by the premise of the show … and I keep watching to see what a train wreck it’s going to become.

The announcer makes it sound even worse than it initially seemed. All the women were “tired of waiting” on proposals from boyfriends who said, “I’d rather be buried than married” (ie, I don’t want o get married) or “I want to live together but not as husband and wife” (ie, I don’t want a real commitment.) Bottomline: their men would either “marry them tonight on this stage or leave them at the altar.” (Why any woman would possibly subject herself to being left at the altar baffles me.) He spoke of the women “forc[ing] their boyfriends to make a commitment” and “lur[ing]” them to the show. (BTW: the guys all thought they were there to witness their girlfriends’ makeover.) The host ended his opening monologue describing the premise of the show as a man’s “worst nightmare” since he would have to chose on the spot whether to make a lifelong commitment”. “On the spot” and “lifelong commitment” should never be in the same sentence.

By then I was appalled. All I could think was “these women have lost their minds!”

I’d say call me “old-fashioned” because there’s no way in hell I would ask a man to marry me. But after a little research, I discovered women popping the question isn’t new at all. There’s actually an old English tradition of women asking a man for forever-ever that dates back to 5th Century Ireland. According to legend, St. Bridget complained to St. Patrick about women having to wait for so long for a man to propose. St. Patrick’s solution was that women could propose on Feb. 29th during the Leap Year. Ever since, Feb. 29th has been known as Leap Day and tons of women have asked their boo to jump the broom.

Really?

The whole thing sounds desperate to me. I mean, if he wanted to marry, he would ask, right? And are women really supporting this idea en masse?

Turns out, I’m narrow-minded. Gawker.com did a poll last in 2011 with the query asking, “Would You Ask A Man to Marry You?”

Yes: 20%
No: 31.3%
Maybe: 38%
Already Did: 11%

I read through the comments and found some interesting POVs from the female respondents:

*I think, in my opinion that most men would not know how to handle it. On the other hand, many men may feel like the pressure is released if their girlfriend initiated the proposal of marriage.

*If he doesn’t bring it up then he isn’t thinking about it and more than likely isn’t ready.

*The days when a man had to ask a woman were when the man had to be able to independently provide for his wife/family for the rest of his/their life. So he got to decide when that time was. Now that women don’t need a provider, it should be a decision based on mutual readiness and desire. Why should the dude get to decide?
I wondered if Black men would go for this. You know how so many of them can be when it comes to women emasculating them and I could see being proposed to as a quick way to send them bailing. So I asked a bunch of them. Turns out, the surprise angle of the show threw everyone off, but the general idea of a woman proposing? No one objected or felt robbed of their masculinity. In fact, if it was asked by a woman they loved, the answer might just be yes. (Though one said he’d have to initially decline, citing a need to ask her father for permission first (FTR: that was B.) Just because the couple are new school does not mean her parents are.)

I watched Surprise Wedding all the way through. 5 out of 5 men said yes and by the end of the show all of those single ladies had more than just a ring on it, they had a huzzz-band.

Hmmm. Maybe more women should just go ahead and ask him already?

What say you, Cammies?

Are we the problem?

So we’ve all been present for a few “Where Did Black People Go Wrong?” conversations. You can’t gather more than three Black college graduates (or attendees) in one room without it coming up. The answer always goes back to the decline of the Black family, which is always determined to be a result of the cracked-out 80s and absentee fathers (on occasion, someone attributes it to blue-collar jobs going overseas or the “over”- education of Black women.) I read Midnight on Sunday, and I noticed that Sister Souljah threw out another less-discussed reason, one that likely pissed off a good portion of her readers : Black women.

African-American women got a hard way to go in Sister Souljah novels. First there was Winter in TCWE, a cluck if one’s ever been described, and damn near every woman in the book other than Souljah and the Ob/Gyn she rented her place from. In Midnight, we get a whole new host of chickens—from Bangs and Heaven to the Mom who was half-dressed when the 13 year olds came to the house. At some point in the novel, Midnight observes that there are no real African-American men left who protect and provide for their families or anybody else. And in trying to figure out why, he plays with the idea that AA women aren’t much worth protecting and providing for once you take into account the ones that spread for anybody available, walk around half-dressed, or are only concerned with the base-joys of life like money, fly clothes, and men. And that goes for the degree holders and the nons alike.

Because I’m a feminist, you would think that my knee-jerk reaction to this would be to get offended, but surprisingly the idea didn’t seem so preposterous to me. Actually, it kinda made sense. (I’m also a realist.) I’ve heard countless men complain in so many ways that there are not “real women” left (read the male comments to any post on here. It’s the underlying theme in almost everything they write.) In the “real” world, there was the dude I met, who at 28 was obsessed with having children within two years and expressed that his ideal arrangement would be to have a cool baby mama who gave him full custody of his kids. He just didn’t want the headache of dealing with a wife. There was the 35-year old who also wanted children, which surprised me because he’d always said he didn’t want to get married. (Sorry, I’m a tried and true southern girl, the two go hand in hand for me still.) When I stated my shock, he replied, “Oh, I love the kids. It’s they mamas I don’t like.” I’ve also listened to countless men—friends even, and ya’ll know how I love my dudes—complain about how they are ready to settle down, but there are no suitable mates to be found. Hence, why they just play the field with reckless abandon.

Now admittedly, these men could be making excuses for an advancing age and lagging maturity or they could be raging latent misogynists (a lot of men like p*ssy, but don’t like women. Try not to get confused on that one.) But when I get the backstories on what’s brought them to their “I’ll pass on a wife” conclusions, the excuses are pretty valid. One had an ex he was living with. She moved into his space, and in playing man-duty, he was happy to provide. All she had to do was pay cable while she worked full-time (at a job that paid more than his) and go to school. Cool. He falls on hard times after providing steadily for 2 years and picks up an extra job to make ends meet. Never once does she offer to pitch in on a bill to help hold down the spot she’s living in. Another guy currently lives with his woman, they’ve been together forever and they have 2 kids. I ask, “so why not marry her already?” he argues that she doesn’t know how to keep a house and is generally filthy (I’ve been to their house. The floors were caked with dirt.) He doesn’t get why he should step up to the plate and “do right” by her if she can’t even “be a real woman” (I argued back, “why impregnate her TWICE if she’s not a real woman?” But that’s another blog for another day) Another friend was falling head over heels for a chick, but quickly had to shake himself out of haze when the woman confessed she’d slept with her ex recently and contracted a permanent STD. Another guy’s ex-woman cheated on him with some dudes who she willingly let run a train on her and videotape it. Yet another exceptionally attractive friend wants at least a girlfriend, but has noticed that everyone he encounters immediately wants to do him. The common theme among all of them is ‘women don’t respect themselves anymore,’ they don’t act like real woman and they can’t hold a man down. So why should I act like a real man?

I read Steve Harvey’s interview recently for his new relationship book he worked on and in so many ways, he drew a similar conclusion: ie, there are no real men anymore because there are no real women. We were discussing why it seems so few men are willing to man-up and do right by women, ie, protect, provide, marry. And his answer boiled down to women’s standards—and the lack thereof. In so many words, his argument was men will do anything to be with a woman that they value. But the problem is, so many women have set their standards too low and don’t show that they value themselves (ie, dressing crazy, throwing coochie at a man, having sex with too many people). He argued that the world is full of good Black men who don’t have to be such to get with women because we no longer show act right or require men to do so. So they don’t.

I was thinking about some of the standards that are outlined in Midnight, the ones he observes that African-American women lack (while the book generalizes, I won’t go as far as to say “all”, but I will say “many.”) Like most of us won’t be virgins when we marry, and occasionally we like to put on our freak-um dress and let a lot of it hang out when we want to feel sexy. So yes, on ocassion we are scantily clad. And we do holler after guys on occasion, and we do drink to excess, and a lot of us don’t throw down in the kitchen or keep a tight house (grrr. I know. But if his role is to protect and provide, the cooking/cleaning thing falls back on us. We can’t ask for him to step up and not do the same.) In our quest to throw aside “traditional” values and be independent women who can do what we want, when we want, with whomever we want as often as we want, have we somehow inadvertently caused our men to drop the ball on us because we’re not acting like ladies who are worth the effort?

Discuss.

(And yes, I know this whole post wreaks of “traditional” values that some may call outdated. But it really seems like men’s POV on what a “real woman” is has not caught up with the “feminist” movement that says we can act like they do and all is okay.)

Oh, and shot out to Kewon, because he and I have been having this conversation for years!!

Touched for the very first time..

Far and long ago, I was out with my boys at some party Smirnoff hosted for two weeks. At the party, one spotted a young lady he’d met and been lukewarm about, then talked to and become boderline in love with.

After their initial meeting, he’d called when he was free, which happened to be late. Likely 11:30. Yes, it was a booty call hour, but a booty call was not the intent. But nevermind that.

She answered, firmly told him she did not accept calls from men at that hour, and hung up. He was in love.

I wasn’t sure I got why. “Because she’s hard to get and making you chase?”

He shook his head, not even diguising the lovelorn look from his face. (Honestly, he was giddy, but it doesn’t sound right describing a straight man that way.) “She’s a lady.” He added a big sigh at the end for dramatic effect. He sounded like he was talking about a mythical creature.

Another outing. Same boys. Different girls. One boy begins to tell another about this chick he met the week prior at a friend’s birthday dinner. I can’t recall all the details because as a woman I cue in more to description of feelings about women rather than their physical make-up (That and my dudes all have types. If they’re excited about a chick, I rarely need to see her to know what she looks like.)

Anyway, we get through the physical description, then the speaker drops the golden bomb on the mostly nonchalant listener. “And she’s a virgin!”

I cue in to this. “A virgin?! What?!” Turns out chick is 26 and has never been touched for the very first time. (Cue Madonna). It’s a little odd, but I don’t knock it for various reasons, including the reigning STD/HIV rate should make everyone think about becoming a born-again one.

My boys are practically salivating at the mouth over the idea of the 26 year old virgin, but for totally different reasons. They drop words like “pure” and descriptions like “good woman” (apparently it’s not about personality and character, or even keeping a house. It’s about lack of humping. Who knew?). This is all folllowed by their 16-year-old boy notions of being “the first.”

I’m honestly baffled. Like they (as in my boys) like to hump. A lot. So what are they gonna do with a chick who doesn’t? Who hasn’t? Ever!

Try.

He’s single and focused. He holds good conversation and listens to jazz. He’s got swagger and smile that I’m sure has made many a woman say yes when she promised herself she’d say no. The old folks would say he has good disposition. The young folks would call him fine. I’ve had a crush on him forever.

A friend of his found this out at a park picnic and exclaimed, “What?!”

Apparently he has a crush on me too. “He like loves you. Ohmigod!!” she bursts.

Me: (squealing) Really?

Her: Yes, really!! He’s waiting till he has a job to ask you out.

I heard he got a job awhile back. He still hasn’t called for a date.

Unicorns, Mermaids, & Fire-breathing Dragons.

Ladies, Virgins, & Perfect Men.