Homecoming Post 1: The Legend of Sphinxie van No-Step

I am not going to lie: On Saturday, by the time I got to the homecoming tailgate, I was in a bit of a mood. I was hangry, my feet were hurting, and I could use a 6-hour nap. I also had on a jacket, and it was unexpectedly HOT. It was the type of heat that makes your eyeballs smoggy.

Why am I here? I asked myself, looking around at the boatloads of people that didn't seem to feel like they were in the devil's mouth. Even my aunty seemed oblivious, eagerly walking from tent to tent. I gotta go, I said to myself, turning on my heels. No sooner did I do that did I run into one of my favorite Alphas: Captain Morgan. This was interesting because the last time I remember seeing him was at my 10-year reunion. I walked over to give him a hug and he pulled me close whispering in my ear, "Don't say anything about the naked picture. My wife is here." That's a story for another time. He had also almost killed me three times in my early 20s. That's another-nother story for another-nother time. I'm not sure if his wife was there yesterday. The last person I remember him dating was that itsy-bitsy Miss Xavier with the big butt and smart mouth. We caught up for a hot second and he gave me a sweaty, alcoholy hug. God, his body felt strong. If my aunty had not come back over, I swear I would have bitten his neck. And if that would have happened, I'd be writing this from a self-imposed, overseas exile.

Once our convo was over, I told my aunty that I was ready to go. I was supposed to meet some people out there; however, being out there felt unbearable. So, I walked around a sea of middle-aged AKAs trying to do the latest line dance when I saw him: Sphinxie van No-Step!

No way! I said to myself. I swear to you, I manifested him! 

You see, my ability to develop a crush on Xavier men that have no idea who I am is legendary. I wish I could say that it was different with Sphinxie. Just recently, his picture had been posted on my friend's IG page and I messaged my friend Bell's hysterically. It's Sphinxie van No Step! I cried through the message. She replied quickly not missing a beat: My God! That brotha could not step. 

Until I saw him attempt to step, I had no idea that you could be Greek and not know how to. I figured if you didn't know how, you would be taught how. If this is the case, somehow Sphinxie slipped through the cracks. I stood in front of the University Center once and saw him and his line brothers performing in the tiny parking lot across the street from my dorm before a bunch of AKAs and doting girls. I mean, I was speechless. Never had I seen such jolty, uncoordinated movements in my life! With 50 AKAs clapping a rhythm to his ankles, he just couldn't get it. It looked like he was doing some ritualistic tribal dance. Aw, he's awkward, I thought, which made my heart smile. And you all know that once my heart starts smiling...

Then I got to know him briefly as the president of the NAACP. Little Miss Texas had invited me to a meeting only after explaining that I was not to humiliate her in any way. And I sat in that meeting watching him whisper in front of the classroom that he wanted everyone to quiet down so the meeting could start. No one was paying attention! Everyone was laughing and talking. I'm not even sure if they noticed him up there. Aw, he's soft spoken, I thought. Insert heart smile. Inevitably, Busty O'LoudMouth  busted into the room and yelled, "Hey, shut the hell up! Don't you see President Sphinxie is trying to start the meeting?!" It was so quiet you could hear a pen drop. 

My last crushable memory of Sphinxie was on a random New Orleans day. I remember thinking that if I had known I was going to run into him head-on, I wouldn't have dressed like an art teacher in a women's jail! I used to love tall tees and baggy jeans because I thought the look made me look thinner. It didn't. He looked up at me with those EYES, smiled with those TEETH, and waved. And I over-waved because I was probably more awkward than him! Aw, he's nice, I said, skipping to class. Heart Smile.

Homecoming Post 2- No Socials and the Flashback (part 1)

Last Friday around 1pm- Me, Aunty and Zay arrived at Xavier's Campus. It was buzzing with excited energy from students and alumni alike. It was a beautiful sight. A lot of laughing. A lot of hugging. A lot of people head-to-toe in Xavier merch. We went up to the bookstore which was crowded with people rummaging through Xavier tees and hats. My aunt and nephew went to go look at some items and I stood there, taking in the scene. However, I very quickly found myself in the middle of a number of Deltas wearing bedazzled tees that read "I am Fall '93 Delta Sigma Theta". Because of a very tragic situation that happened between me and a Delta 15 years ago (who still stands as one of only two people I have ever had to block on Facebook) I sometimes feel uneasy amidst the crimson tide, so I split. I wandered over to a room that I had no business being in and copped a squat. This room happened to be the press area for J. Alphonse Nicholson from P-Valley, who is a client of BOSS, one of my old classmates who is always calling shots and making moves. He said I could sit there as well as Aunty and Zay when they came around. Thank God! My feet were killing me. It pays to know powerful people in high places. 

Anywho, I was sitting there, minding my own business when a tall, handsome man peaked his head in the door. 

"Do you remember me?" he asked. 

"No Socials?" I asked. 

"Yep!" 

I couldn't believe it! I hadn't said his name out loud in over 10 years. I asked him what he was up to. He said that he does something with money, who knows? 

"Do you ever marry that girl?" I asked him, referring to the PYT he used to date when we were in school. 

"Which one?" he asked with a serious face. 

I shook my head. I guess that's a no. 

"Can I take your picture?" I asked, taking out my phone.

"Sure, but you can't post it," he said. And I am thinking to myself, Why would I want it other than to post it? To have as a keepsake?

I took the pic and we said our goodbyes. I looked at it. Man, he essentially looked the same. He was like a year older than me but looked five years younger! Still thin. No gray hair. He hadn't aged a day! That was pleasant, I thought to myself, even though I had a warning pain in my stomach. My gut is always warning me, but I couldn't imagine why it was this time. No Socials was cool! It's amazing what memories you can suppress if you try hard enough. 

Mr. Nice Man

I think that I may have come across America's last nice man.  He is a member of my virtual writing group. He is sensitive. He is kind. He genuinely asks how you are doing, and he has a pretty smile. I told P all about him, and P said that he sounded like a...uh... b&tch ass nig@a who could possibly also be doubling as a gay virgin. This response is to be expected of P. In P's opinion, any man that honestly and openly acknowledges his emotions might as well me be wearing high heels and a pair of cotton panties with the words "insert here" stitched on the backside. What was shocking is that my aunty, who is as sweet as a fresh slice of key lime pie, agreed with P who, for all intents and purposes, is a prick. Aunty says that Mr. Nice Man sounds like a wimp.
Have you all noticed there is a war going on against kindness? I mean, seasoned politicians can't get through a press conference without throwing major, below the belt shade! But when it comes to girlboyness, it is especially dirty. I have been battling this war personally since elementary school when it comes to guys. I had a crush on a boy named Keith Edwards in kindergarten who introduced himself to me by walking over and kicking down my lego town. I have been getting my legos kicked by guys ever since. Ray Henderson in middle school. Adam Reid in high school. To go into the college years, I would need a drink, and to go into life in my 20s, I would need therapy.
The thing is that when I was fake in love with or crushing on or talking to these horrible guys, my heart was still pining for a nice man. A guy so great and available that it would be like he fell out of a Tyler Perry movie and right onto my doorstep. But it seems like NICE is the new NOT and is now equated with being unmasculine, weird, a front for something horrible, or even downright homosexual. I think that the real story here is not only have women become unaccustomed with kindness buy also more accustomed to cruelty, inappreciation, and abuse. For many of my girlfriends, it has gone beyond liking a bad boy and has stalled into unintentionally preferring bad men.  I prefer to no longer be stalled. When a nice man pulls up, I'm getting in the car.

Boy Excited

As many of you know, I volunteer with teen girls. I met with them on Saturday, and many of them were giggling for no reason and walking around with huge, huge smiles. It doesn't take a brain surgeon to know what that means: they have boyfriends. One of my favorite girls who, until recently, only wanted to date a Korean boy similar to her K-Pop crushes has found a super tall boy at her school that she can not stop talking about. He is apparently the best thing to happen to high school since excuses to get out of gym. One of the other teens I mentor is quiet and moody and has found another equally quiet and moody boy to laugh on the phone with. He is into anime and making dance videos on Instagram.
Seeing them made me smile. I remember what it feels like to be genuinely excited about a guy. I would like that feeling again, but I told Kyndra on our ride to church that I am not sure I can ever be again. What my teen mentees don't know is that with every ounce of boy excitement you have, the bigger the shoe is that is inevitably going to drop. I have been excited about so many guys, from the one that had a fat fetish highlighted by the tattoo of a fat woman on his arm to the one that seemed really community minded but only wanted to get close to me to get me involved in a calling card pyramid scheme.  Now, whenever I even so much as see a cute guy, I imagine what could be wrong with him; the boatload of unnecessary drama he could bring into my life.
The last guy I was excited about was Third Ryan. His other shoe dropped when he told me he was in love with one of my best friends. That was the cherry on top of an already melting love banana split for me. Now I kind of look at guys the way I look at purses at the mall that I can't afford: from a distance with a sad face. Just as the purse would be my obsession before it was inevitably snatched from me at an Atlanta bus stop, that man would have me excited before he inevitably lied, revealed his array of side families, asked to borrow money, or ate off of my plate without asking. But hey, who says you can't be excited about an idea? I did. I think I said that.

Unrequited Imaginary Love

Franklin is a young man in my writer's group. He is about 10 years younger than me. That should be the end of the story. But, and this is all my fault, I was overly nice to him a couple of meetings ago. Now he thinks I like him. His whole attitude towards me has changed. He now gives me stiff side hugs, calls me ma'am, and avoids me during the after-meeting refreshments. Feel free to roll your eyes. 

At first, I thought that this was funny, seeing that I am not interested in him.  I thought that everyone in the group knew that I have a huge, embarrassing crush on Ryan, the silver fox that cuts his convos with me short after group to get to the last of the Oreos before Pregnant Patty gets herself out of her seat to ambush the cookies. Now I am a little offended. 

This is not the first time that a guy has thought that I had a crush on him and decided to send me signals that he was not interested as to not hurt my feelings. These signals include but are not limited to: only talking to me in a group, switching from hugs to handshakes, repeatedly letting me know that he has a girlfriend, or even ignoring me altogether. Many times I was not interested in these guys. And it has always been amazing, and hurtful, to see the lengths that these guys would go to let it be known that they are not interested just in case. 

Okay, so I am fat, unemployed, and living with my aunt with a credit score that is in the toilet. I am also hilarious and have a great head of hair! Does that count for nothing these days?

A part of me doesn't want to go back to writer's group, wanting to avoid the scene that is inevitably going to come from this. Another part of me wants to kick Franklin in his balls and tell him to get over himself. I will let you know which way I decide to go. 

Boy Poem

I look in his eyes and I swear
I think I may hate him for real
He ate all my chips
He's relentlessly rude
And he never asks me how I feel.
I be like, "Hey, didn't you say
that you had somewhere to be?"
He be like, "No." But he did.
He'd just rather stay home and annoy me.
Oh yes he lies.
And he thinks I don't know.
He thinks I'm too dumb to tell.
When really I don't want to be alone
So I'm willing to ride his lies straight
to hell.
A hell where the bills are late,
but he don't care.
He doesn't know how to provide.
I get stressed and I sink into my feelings.
He pulls me out.
He doesn't allow me to hide.
Because misery loves a friend,
someone cute to starve with and such.
But hungry and struggling are two different things
and balancing both is becoming too much.
I NEED MY SPACE
That's what I think as he watches cable splashed from next door.
I NEED MY SPACE
I repeat to myself as I pick up his clothes off the floor.
I NEED MY SPACE
I whisper as I watch him nap in my bed.
I NEED MY SPACE
I scream out loud as he lies to mess with my head.
Silence is golden.
Our future is black.
Honest to God, I think he likes it like that.
And I must too
This is a truth that hards to receive
Because if I didn't
I'd stop complaining
ad simply get up and leave.

The Andre 3000 Theory

Sometimes when it's late at night
And you have no one to talk to
Here's what you do, you go through that 
Raggedy cell phone 'bout two or three times
Tracy ain't home, Tina ain't home
The love below starts talkin' to ya 
-"Vibrate" by Andre 3000
The Love Below album

Well ya'll, 2018 is right around the corner. I guess it's time for me to tell you guys all these pie in the sky resolutions that I've created for myself that will never be achieved, thus setting myself up to feel like a loser by Valentine's Day. NOT!
This year, I am taking some things I have learned from watching Aunty Iyanla Vanzant to fix my life. It is time to get down to brass tax. I only have two resolutions this year. On the physical end: to lose weight. I have shared my weight loss struggles with you before and worry not, there are many more posts to come outlining my addiction to sugar and my emotional eating. But here, I would like to focus on my emotional resolution: to clean house, starting with my phone.
If you all have been reading me for the past few years, you know that I have dealt with some real losers romantically. The teens I volunteer with tell me that they are now referred to as "f*%k boys". Let me just tell you, my phone is a Rolodex of "f*%k boys". And really good ones too: ones that have disrespected me to my face, stood me up, demanded sex, ignored my texts, and the list of hurt goes on and on and on. But here is the thing: I no longer talk to most of these men, but I still have their numbers. Why?
This is where Iyanla comes in. Last night, after everyone went to bed, I sat up in the dark, hearing Aunty Iyanla telling me to breathe it out and really think about this. And after a few rounds of deep breathing, I came to the painful realization: I have kept these numbers so I could feel like I had a man. So when I got lonely, I could have some options of some guys I could cake with. These numbers are just tools I have created to sit comfortably in my delusions. I don't have a boyfriend and that's okay. And it really needs to be okay because, let's be honest, I have other crap on my plate that more urgently needs my attention than being single. As far as the caking goes, I better learn how to give myself a hug, because allowing a man that doesn't care to fill my mind with lies to help me feel better for a moment just sets me back on my journey. These numbers are weights around my ankles that are keeping me from accepting reality. I am single. I am going to be 33 TOMORROW. This is life. This is reality. I have to sit in it and start doing my work. BOOM! That's what you call a breakthrough!
Let it rain, now clear it out.
So today, I am deleting a bunch of numbers. This is significant for me, showing myself that I, like Aunty Iyanla would say, am willing to start doing my work. This also means that the next time I am lonely I am going to start texting inappropriate things to my female best friends. This can open up a bunch of issues in my friendships, but we will cross that bridge when we get to it.
Here's to 2018!!

Joel Says Hi

With the cold weather comes loneliness, and with loneliness comes a short memory. This is the only reason I can think of that Joel would text me.
I may not have told you about Joel because I was so humiliated. And I have told you all some pretty humiliating things, so that should tell you how humiliating this was. To make a long story short he stood me up for a date we had, leaving me crying in front of the train station in a brand new maxi dress waiting on him to show. After an hour and a half of waiting for him and not being able to reach him, I just sat on the bench in front of the train station, crying, IN THE RAIN! And no, this isn't a scene from a bad romantic comedy. This was me last spring! I was embarrassed because I didn't pick up that he was a dirtbag when we first met. I was embarrassed because I waited so long on him when it was clear after five minutes that he wasn't coming, and I was embarrassed that, again, I found myself crying over something stupid that a guy did to me. On top of that, I looked hella, hella cute. So I felt like everyone that passed me could tell that the only reason why someone as day-date adorable as me was crying was because I had been ditched. Again, humiliating.
So, being the emotional eater that I am, I gathered my purse and my emotions and crossed the street to the pizza place where my date was to have taken place. There I ordered a pizza while trying not to cry in front of the cashier.
"Do you want a cupcake?" the cashier asked. I frowned. I am a cupcake fan, but the cupcakes behind the glass at that place looked funky. And by funky, I mean vegan. I told her no and was about to sit down and wait for my pizza when I remembered that there was a new cupcake place around the corner.
So, emotionally beaten in cheap, wet shoes, I made my way to the new hipster cupcake shop that offers free wifi and cool seating. I walked in to be greeted by the curious stares of couples which, of course, made me feel more like crap.
I ordered my cupcakes but couldn't find my debit card, which I knew I'd just had because I paid for my pizza. I just couldn't keep it together. I started sobbing as I frantically searched my purse, and I have to say, I had never seen so many people look so uncomfortable at once.
Once I got my cupcakes and pizza, I stood across from the train station, waiting on my Lyft. And can we just say thank God for Lyft and Uber! They have helped me to escape a lot of horrid situations that I otherwise would have had to sit through.
The Lyft pulled up in front of the train station instead of where I was. I didn't want to go back over there because it was embarrassing but I did, ready to go home. Just as I was about to open the door the community wine-o approaches me out of nowhere. She had on a dress that reminded me of Joseph's technicolor dream coat.
"Hey big mama!" she shouted in front of the train station. Everyone stopped to stare. "Let me get a piece of that pizza. I'm hungry!"
I sighed, moving as close to her as her funk would allow and whispered, "Ma'am, I was ditched for a date today."
She nodded and opened my Lyft door for me, allowing me to get in. And that, friends, is what makes this story fantastic.
I came home and shared my food with my aunt and brother and later confided in my brother what happened. He looked at me confused. I was confused too.
But not as confused as I was today when Joel texted me, talking about how he missed my face and voice. Boy bye.
You will be happy to know that I didn't respond. Let this story prepare you. If the cuff texts haven't come yet, they are coming. Stand strong, and remember why you don't talk to the person to begin with.

Sickles Goes Farming

I don't know if any of you remember Sickles. He was a guy I met a little over four years ago and, since then, we have been in a non-serious renothingship. Once upon a time, I thought that we could potentially be going somewhere. Then he stopped talking to me for a year and popped up randomly to let me know that a woman he was seeing had just given birth to his son. Again, I had imagined that I was on my way somewhere special with a man while he, apparently, was on his way to the maternity ward.
Since then, he texts me quarterly just to make sure that I am still single so he can keep me on his list of backup girls. Like a fool, I always respond to his romantic texts, which usually say something like, "Hey, you don't have kids now do you?" I know, I should let this guy go, but I like the twinkle of attention that I get from him, seeing that my platonic male friends have friend dumped me because of how needy I am. That's another post.
Anywho, he texted me this quarter to let me know that he is going to be living on a farm in California for a month. I was sad, thinking that "farm" was some euphemism for jail. But it really is a farm where he will be learning new and innovative farming technology.
My excitement for his news was very quickly followed by my hater voice. How was Sickles making more career moves than me? Not that I want to live on a farm, but this is a guy that has beat more possession charges than Gucci Mane!
He said that he fully expects his time on the farm to be a life-changing experience; an adventure. Now I am really jealous. Am I the only one out there that wants an adventure? I see all of you on Instagram, taking pictures of your feet on the beach, and that seems cool, but I mean a real adventure; something that changes your life for the better. Something that gives you new, fresh perspective. At the risk of sounding optimistic, I think that something like that could totally change my trajectory.
Sickles leaves in September. I told him to bring me something that he grew. He won't. Hopefully, when he checks in around Thanksgiving, I will have something exciting to share with him.

Almost Honest

Just a few moments ago I was texting a cute guy that I met during a girl's night out at Chili's. He asked me how my day was, and I began to respond. Afterward, I read over my text for grammar errors and immediately realized that I had to erase everything I'd written. I was telling him what a poopy day I'd had. This is a no no! I haven't known him long enough to be honest with him. I replaced my bad day rant with some poppycock about today being awesome because the sun was out. This was the biggest lie of all. The pollen was so heavy today that I thought I was going to have an asthma attack as I walked to work.

Every girl that knows something about anything knows that you don't show too much of yourself to a guy too early. For the first couple of months, you have to be on your best behavior. Never yelling. Down to do stupid stuff on dates that don't interest you. No farts. Being an intensely negative person, this means keeping my downer thoughts and the details of my downer days to myself. This stinks because I have so much to say but can't. If you could call my new beau and ask him to describe me, he would probably say that I am quiet. LOL, what a joke!

How awesome the world would be if you could just be yourself off the bat. No secrets. No lies. No wigs- you could just be you. I predict that relationships would end pretty soon, but that would be fine. No one's time would be wasted, and you could move on to the next in good conscience.

But sadly, this is not the way of the world. So for the next month or two, assuming my new beau doesn't drop me because he doesn't get that I'm not responding to him because I literally have nothing nice to say, I have to be Patty Positive, as boring and as fake as she is. You may be shaking your head interneters, but I'm telling you the truth. Nothing puts an end to a young courtship like honesty.

The Coretta Treatment

The other day, when I was out and about, I found men to be very accommodating to me and not the usual a-holes. On the train and the bus, they gave me their seats. This does NOT happen often.
As dumb as it may sound, I think they were being nice to me because I was dressed hella girly. I don't know why I needed lightening to hit me on this. Every girl that I have ever seen treated out-of-the-ordinary nice by men was dressed like Coretta Scot King!
It was so nice not having to stand on the train all the way to my destination while 40 men sat with their ankles crossed. I don't want to set feminism back, but it looks like I am going to have to invest in more dresses. I like the Coretta treatment!

Bad Christian

Question: is it bad that the first sincere prayer that I have had in ages is praying that Faux-Mega would get off work early and answer my text to come over and make out? Sigh, I feel like it is. I know that it is. Unacceptable.

A Week

I woke up, sat up, and looked at the calendar to see if I had any interviews for today. And I saw that today is Tuesday which means two things: that it is buy one taco get one free at Moe's and that it has been one whole week since the Faux-Mega incident.
Guys, this has been quite possibly the most emotional week of my life next to the week after Katrina and the week after I got my first Pap Test! One minute I wanted this guy to come over, the next minute I was writing all men out of my life, then I'd convinced myself I had contracted an STD from a boob lick. The waiting on his return texts, the horniness, the disappointment in myself, the symptom Googling. MY GOD! It has only been a week?! I feel like it has been a month or two! I feel that this is the perfect time to remind myself that I don't know this guy, and that chances are that I probably won't! I hate to be honest with myself, so I had Taji do it, and he told me that the whole thing has no future and to get over it. I presented myself as a hoe for a day, thinking that a first date at MY HOUSE would actually work. The outcome: what usually happens on a first date in a locked bedroom. I wish I had a good friend here to slap me or something.
In this week, I have talked to my friends about this and even Faux-Mega himself the day it happened. And everyone said the same thing: that I am grown. Funny, I don't feel grown. I feel like a10- year-old that was caught doing something she shouldn't have been doing.
I am emotionally drained and clearly not grown enough to do grown stuff...especially on the semi-casual sexual side. I'm too tired to go on with being frantic and replaying things in my mind. I can't let this one slip of judgment continue to make me feel bad. So I declare today on Tuesday that one week is enough. Yet still, it would be really bitchin' if he called me today. OK, OK, I'm done.

What A Dud

So Curious actually did come to Atlanta, but of course, nothing went as planned.
The way I remember it, when he called me, he told me that he was not coming. He tells me that he told me he was coming, but that he would not be able to take me to the movies because he was not driving down, he was driving with someone.
OK. So he calls me early yesterday to tell me that he is here. I was caught completely off guard. I looked like crap. I was broke, and I really had no intention of leaving the house. However, I told him I would come visit him that night and spend the night, which was a big step for me that I was questioning all day. Either way, I was happy to be getting some male attention...FINALLY.
Here is where it goes wrong: I call him on my way to the gym to confirm our plans. He tells me that he is in Decatur, which is quite far from his downtown Atlanta hotel room. Very far for a guy that is not driving. Apparently, he has "people" in Decatur who came and scooped him up. They went to the aquarium and such and were still hanging out. Ok. But ten minutes before I am to go visit, dressed adorably I may add, he tells me that he is still in Decatur, waiting on a ride into the city. Right...so I tell him I am not coming downtown and he not be there. He says we can meet up tomorrow...for like an hour before he takes the bus home.
So it didn't work out. But I have been thinking about how short of a trip he was taking down here to see me. Only a day? Granted he has a job he may have had to get back to, but it is Memorial Day Weekend! So he was essentially going to smash me and go home? Maybe I am wrong, but that is what it feels like. Sigh of relief. God has again saved my hymen from near breakage.

Brotherly Love

On Friday my mom and I drove to pick my brother Cass up from college. I was all super excited! My brother and I are really close, and I get all geeked up when he comes home for holidays. He is closer to my age than my other two siblings, so we have deep discussions and watch racially charged stand-up comedy. I was not aware that I would miss him so much when he went away to college, and with the drama going on in my house of late, I could not wait for his return.
Sadly to say, he has been home for almost two days and all he has done is sit in his room and sext some chick he met online. He has knocked on my door occasionally, I'm guessing when random sext girl was taking a leak, seen what I was doing, then promptly ran back to his room when his phone jingled, alerted that he just got a message. On the bright side, we did watch that Bill Maher movie with me tonight, but he fell asleep.
My brother has always been a bit of a loner, and I guess I should be happy that he making friends, especially girls, but I feel all left out. Could talking on the phone with a girl really be more fun than watching Betty Davis SNL clips on Hulu with your big sis?
I guess so.
I really hope that his whole summer vacation isn't like this.

Introducing B Cubed

So "Jail House Rock," a.k.a. "Margarita Man" had to exit stage left when I found out that he was married with kids. He's still fine, but a girl has got to have principals. Now, on to the next crush. I have named him B Cubed, for, you guessed it, Best Buy Boy!
Although he goes to my gym, I saw him for the first time when I went to Best Buy to buy my new Maxwell album hot off the press. He's tall and dark with a friendly, yet expressionless face. He doesn't strike me as a smiler or a talker, but his hair has a lot of character. He is one of those cats that gets designs cut into his head like boys used to do when I was in kindergarten. When I saw him the first time I was like, "Hey, that guy is fine."
Then I saw him again after the Great August Cell Phone Crisis. My little crap-crap Go Phone completely went south on me, so I had to break down and buy a phone worth something, and there he was, standing around at work, and I was like, "Hey, it's that fine guy."
So Wednesday I was pleasantly surprised when he held the door open for me at the gym. It's a small world...or just a small town.
I was watching him work out that day. He has man pudge. I am a fan or man pudge. You know, when a guy is the guy version of thick? He isn't built, but he isn't fat. He's solid, but not really. For some reason, I feel like you will understand this confusing description.
Anywho, he works out in normal clothes, not those weird garbage bag suits or cutoffs like the other ultra-buff dudes, which, is a big plus. He looks like he may be my age or two years older, and he has these tattoos on his shoulders. They are huge! I can tell that from the outlines. They are the type you have to step up on a guy to read because he is too dark. Yes, the best type of tats. Sidebar: I did not know I was into tats, but I have to say, I'm embracing them.
My spider senses are telling me that this guy most likely would not be interested in me. But as I have shared, I need crushes to survive. Plus, I am working on coming out of my dating shell and approaching men I like, even if I feel the guy may say no. I need to build up my tolerance for rejection.
OK, I will keep you posted. Hopefully he won't be married.

The Rules

Many of my closest friends, especially on a collegiate level, have been boys.
They are good listeners, attentive, adorably oblivious, and funny. The beauty of my platonic boy-girl relationships is that they are just that. There is none of that thick, icky, yucky, sticky emotional goo on top, just the cake that is a meaningful friendship...well, at least not on their end.
Yet sadly, many of my little friendships have come to a screeching halt when the boy involved finds a not so platonic girl, usually equipped with glossed lips and a fat butt.
I am not against my male buds finding beaus. It's bound to happen. What bugs me is the new rules that come along with it.
Let's create an imaginary boy buddy. Let's call him Harry. You and Harry are the hetero Will and Grace, inseparable. However, once Harry meets Sally, you best believe that you will go from talking to Harry everyday to solely hearing from him in between fucks. And when you do talk to him, he will go on and on about how Sally is the best thing since over-the-counter yeast infection medicine.
Then you don't want to call Harry because you don't want to bud into his Sally time. And then you don't want to rub Sally wrong because then she will tell Harry to cut you off. And he won't cut you off...officially. He will text you when Sally goes to pee or is looking for her car keys. But he can not call you, because if she sees your number in his call history, she won't have sex with him. It's a mess.
But as a professional boy best friend, even these unbelievably irritating things don't get to me. I guess in the back of your mind, you figure Sally will meet Henry and dump Harry, and then things will go back to normal.
And sometimes that happens. Yet this year, a couple of times, I have been introduced to a new scenario: When Harry marries Sally. I have found that this situation has no rules. Once they tie the knot, unless you are a mutual friend of them both, which you probably won't be, you can kiss Harry bye-bye.
I don't know what bothers me most about this: how easy it is for friendships you assume are tight to just evaporate, or the possibility that someone you considered a friend 'til the end was not?
So I guess this is the question: what are platonic female friends to males? Are they actually friends, or are they homies with vaginas you keep around for support until you find a girlfriend? I can only go into these friendships as I do every other one, wanting to get to know the other person and wanting to make a connection of some sort. However, I guess another boy buddy I once had in high school said it best, before he dumped me for some cheerleader with glossed lips and a fatbutt: " 'Vagina your getting regularly is always going to overrule friend vagina you are not interested in." As grim as this is, I guess I would have to agree. Perhaps the goal is to be the regular vagina and not the friend one. Is it possible to be both? This I will tell you when I find out, hopefully sooner than later before another boy buddy jumps the broom.