And No One Even Noticed...

I know that the tone of my blogs vary, but I want to tell you a story. It is entirely true and it is something that I will never forget...

Monday night, October 11, 2010. I was sitting in my latest graduate school class, cracking jokes with one of my classmates via e-mail. Our professor was new and felt the need to inform us that this course was his first as a graduate school professor.

He shouldn't have done that.

We didn't give him a hard time. We were adults after all. But, I couldn't help but notice how hard this guy was sweating. He had on a navy blue button down shirt and there were ever growing rings of sweat spreading across his chest.

I send an e-mail to my classmate: "Hey, why is your boy sweating so hard? Stop making him nervous! He's gonna drown himself by the end of the class."

I hit send, not thinking anything of the silly banter that we usually exchanged during these classes. My classmate got the e-mail and erupted into laughter, so much so that he began to choke and had to leave the room to get water. His coughing and walking out was all it took to send me into a giggle fit of epic proportions. As laughter is contagious, the whole class began to laugh, not knowing what the hell I was laughing about, but amused nonetheless.

The professor didn't have much to talk about and the giggle fit pretty much changed the whole mood of the room, so he dismissed us early. Yes! Out of class before 10 PM on an already long day. I had just started working a job where I had to be in a chair and coherent at 6 AM. I was grateful for the hour reprieve to go home and get into bed early.

My classmate recovered from his coughing fit and told me that I was terrible for making him laugh like that as we walked to our cars. We wished each other well and all set off to our respective homes. I had no idea that my mood and life would change in the next twenty minutes.

Leaving Torrance, I took my usual route home along to 405 North and navigated the hills to my humble abode in View Park. I got on the freeway and the traffic was light, which pleased me even more. I turned the radio up and looked forward to getting into my bed because 4:30 AM was going to come faster than I'd like.

I was passing the El Segundo Blvd. exit on the freeway when I looked up to the 105 freeway which loomed overhead. A stopped pick-up truck caught my eye. I was stopped on the overhead ramp, where cars NEVER stop. It's a transition road. Something must have been wrong to cause this vehicle to stop there. But, why was the driver's door open??

I returned my focus to the road ahead and just as I approached the Century Blvd exit, I noticed that there was something in the roadway in the lane next to me. It was kinda big and covered the whole lane. Maybe a roll of carpet or an animal. But, as I passed it, I realized what I saw.

That was a person. On the freeway. Not moving.

I immediately pulled over and stopped my car. I looked in my rear-view mirror to make sure that I hadn't hallucinated seeing this body in the road. I had been up for a while. That couldn't possibly be. But, I was wrong.

I looked in my rear-view and saw the body, laying lifeless in the roadway. I saw her. Oncoming traffic did not.

I grabbed my cell phone and my hands were trembling. I called 911 and other vehicles started to pull over. The operator asked me what happened and I told her that there was a woman in the road on the freeway and traffic was quickly approaching.

As I was trying my best to give my exact location to the operator, my eyes stayed fixated on my rear-view mirror. It was like the worst horror movie I had ever seen. This woman's body was laying in the lane, presumably landing there after jumping from the freeway overpass 50 feet above the lanes.

Cars were coming down the lane traveling upwards of 60 to 70 MPH and some did not see her until it was too late. I saw this woman's body get sideswiped, dragged, run over and maimed by the unsuspecting 405 motorists just trying to get to their next destination and there was nothing I could do to help.

I did not even realize that I was screaming or that I was in hysterics until I realized that the 911 operator told me that she couldn't help unless I calmed down. A stranger with an English accent walked up to my window and asked me if I was OK, as he heard my frantic call through my passenger's side window, as he watched the scene unfold.

The dispatcher assured me that there were patrol cars in the area and that one was en route to the scene to help. It seemed like an hour before I saw any kind of police lights. What I did see still haunts me from time to time. A gas tanker was coming down the lane where this woman lay. I know for a fact that the driver did not see her body re-positioned in its lane after being tossed under the tires of sedans and crossover SUVs. The tanker rolled over the woman's body like a speed bump. I saw the jump of the headlights and the accompanying rise and fall of the tanker behind it. It kept traveling down the 405, never even braking to see what just fell victim to it's monster tires and crushing weight.

After the tanker truck passed, a couple of pedestrian cars parked across the lane that the woman was in to prevent any further damage. It could only be hoped that the woman was dead. To survive all of that would be nothing short of hell. Eventually, a Highway Patrol cruiser showed up and stopped traffic all together. No traffic moving whatsoever on the 405. I got out of my car and walked to the nearest CHP officer. Another had taken his standard issue yellow tarp, spread it over the body and was now lighting flares.

I had stopped screaming at this point, but I was extremely dazed. Stunned. In a supremely altered state. I told the officers about the truck parked overhead with the door open and the vehicles running over her body like a stray German Shepard. The officer said that he didn't need any further information and released myself and the other witnesses from the scene.

I got into the car, took a deep breath and started driving. I needed to talk to someone. I had to tell someone what just happened. I needed to say the words to make sure this wasn't an extremely horrific nightmare.

I called Andrea and proceeded to breakdown... While driving. I'm really surprised that I made it home. Though, it wasn't far, I was still hysterical. All I wanted to do was see my child. I went to my mother's house, where she was sleeping, and stared at her.

My mother saw me in the room with her and asked me what happened. I told her in the most coherent manner I could muster about the truck, the body, the tractor trailer, the CHP... She said that it was a good thing I didn't get stuck in the traffic of the freeway being closed. I kissed my baby and went to lay down. There wasn't much I could say to that.


I went home and my brother was in the living room. I recounted to him the events of the evening. He asked me if I was OK. I said that I was and that I just wanted to lay down. It was 11:00 by this time and he began to flip through the local news stations. No mention of any freeway closures or suicides. I went to my room and sat in silence for 30 minutes. I then got ready for bed. I suddenly realized that I still had to work at 6 AM the next day and the asshole I was working for at the time could care less about me being traumatized.

I prayed and thanked God for keeping me & my daughter safe. I asked Him to comfort the family of the woman that died such a horrible death. And I closed my eyes.

No sooner than I did that did I see the body of the woman laying right next to me in my bed. I jolted awake and screamed. I ran downstairs to the kitchen in a panic, not knowing what I was looking for at all. My brother came in and asked me if I wanted tea. I said no. I needed to sleep and I needed to not remember. My eyes fell to my birthday bottle of Grey Goose. I grabbed it and took 4 shots. It took effect quickly and I was satisfied enough that I could at least drift off.

I slowly started to fall asleep and the woman appeared again. I again sat up with a start and turned on every light in my room. I cried until I couldn't anymore and eventually got a small amount of sleep.

4:30 AM came very quickly the next day and I awoke in a fog, literally and figuratively. I looked out into the still dark morning and a thick pocket of fog had rolled in from the coast. I did NOT want to drive in that weather, but had no choice. Moreso than the fog, I did not want to get back on the 405. Unfortunately, there was no other way to get to the office on time without taking that route. I dressed and cautiously drove to work. As I passed under the 105 interchange, a chill shot through my spine and I began to cry again in my car.

The whole next day was a blur. I spent most of the day crying and had to recount what I saw for the CHP investigator when he called on my morning break. I finished the day and went home to try and recover some of the sleep that I did not get the night before while the sun was up. I was somewhat successful, but was a bit bothered by the fact that I had heard NO news coverage about this woman and her last act.

I went online the next night to see if there were any print articles written about her and what may have driven her to this point, but I only found an uncredited blurb in a local Bay Cities paper that focused more on the freeway closure than the reason why.

In the days and weeks following this tragedy, there was never a mention in any public forum. I was talking to my father about the situation and he gave me a very heavy thought to consider: Imagine doing the most dramatic thing you could possibly do and no one even notices...

So, I recount this tale not as a homespun Halloween tale, but as a simple call to duty. Pay attention to one another. Don't let another cry for help go unanswered to the point where a voice is silenced. One person can make a difference.

When It's REALLY Bad...

Put the kiddies to bed. Time to have a grown folks conversation.

So, you meet someone. You vibe with them and let your guard down. You laugh at the same jokes, order your coffee the same way, and even want to name your future imaginary kids the same thing. You spend time together and decide to take your relationship to the next level. Then, you find out an ugly truth...

The sex is awful. I mean, TERRIBLE. I mean, the Worst.Shit.Ever.

What do you do??

Well, beyond figuring out the quickest escape route out of the room, there needs to be a decision made. Is bad sex worth putting up with if you really feel strongly about a person?

In my humble opinion, HELL NAW.

Look, I'm not about throwing folks away for small issues because we all have something that doesn't work for someone else. But, if you KNOW the sex if totally wrong and can't possibly get better, I say cut your losses and roll on.

I have never been the type to suffer through. If his piece isn't making you feel like the most special woman in the world or her "cave of wonders" is a bit too cavernous for you, stop. When you keep going back, you're sending the wrong message to the other person that they garbage they are offering you is acceptable.

I was once involved with a young man that proved to be one of, if not THE most, selfish sexual partners in history. Reciprocity was not in his vocabulary. His sexual philosophy was simply "get yours before I get mine". If I didn't "get mine" in the process of our session, I either needed to make myself useful after I kicked his ass out or enlist the aid of my BoB (who was never too far away, anyway).

Isn't that like hiring a contractor to place new tile in the kitchen and finishing the grout yourself??

Who wants to live life that way? Not I, says the shoe whore. Besides there are far too many day laborers out there willing to get an honest day's pay for a full day of work.

Wait...

OK, I don't want to turn this into a PSA for "screw whatever moves" because that is SURELY not my message nor my personal approach to life. All I'm saying is that life is too short to spend it rolling your eyes at a lame attempt at boot knocking. If you don't enjoy it, SPEAK UP!

Closed mouths get left high and dry... literally.

He Touched Me...: My Night With Idris Elba

*hits beatbox* It's been a long time. I shouldn't have left you without a dope blog to... Never mind.

Hi, y'all!! *dodges tomatoes* I know, I know. It's been forever since my last post. But, I promise I'll be better about writing from now on. *crosses heart*

For those of you that follow me on twitter, you know I have a tendency to "live tweet" certain events that I go to. If you don't follow me, then I'll just say that you miss out on a LOT of foolishness that happens in my world.

Two weeks ago, I had both the most irritating and exhilarating night when I got up close and personal with Idris Elba. Yes, that Idris Elba. Mr. Idris "That one scene in 'Takers' when he's getting out of the bed gets me through those lonely nights" Elba. Sexual, English Chocolate... *fans self and swoons*

Of course, the exhilarating part was shaking his soft, beautiful hand and watching him up close. (We'll talk about his dj'ing skills in a bit.) The irritating part was what I had to get through to get to that point.

Never.Again.

It all started one night on twitter. I saw someone tweet that IE was going to be at The Savoy "Entertainment Center" in Inglewood for the owner's birthday party in a couple of weeks. I had to seek out some confirmation because, you know, it's twitter and folks like to kill people and pretend that sexy, British, Black men are going to be 2 miles from my house in 140 characters or less.

I got my confirmation by way of a radio commercial on KJLH. After hearing IE's lovely accent inviting all the "lay-ees" out to see him spin, I knew that I had a decision to make. Do I risk it all by going to a club that I HATE to see this man up close or just wait until another opportunity presented itself God knows when...

I consulted with my partner in crime, Britni D., and we both decided to risk it all for THAT MAN. We weighed the ratchet/hoodrat quotient versus the old pimps looking for leftovers and figured that we'd at least try to get in and see how things played out.

Saturday arrived and it was time to get dressed. What to wear? I mean, in the fantasy land of my mind, I may get invited back to the SLS to do lurid things in 1000 thread count sheets with him. (Hey! Chunky, red bone girls have fantasies, too! Stop hating!)

After snapping myself out of La La Land, I decided on a cute dress that made me presentable, yet ready to run, should some isht pop off. After all, this is The Savoy.

Britni and I got to the club at approx 9:45 and there was a fairly good sized line formed outside, comprised of 95% women. (Shocker.) The outfit selection in this line ranged from the swapmeet to Macy's, with a good touch of "WTF" splashed in every now and then. The first severe faux pas that Britni spotted was a pair of tan orthopedic shoes being worn by an ambitious club goer. The woman had on a black tank top, black shorts, black slouch socks a la 8th grade, and TAN orthopedic tennis shoes.

After trusting the vehicle to the valet, we entered the line which moved fairly quickly. Women were in free before 10 PM and wouldn't you know that it magically became 10:01 when we got to the check-in desk. "$20", said the jerk ass dude behind the podium, as he tapped his watch to signify the time change. I begrudgingly turned over the money and headed towards the sauna ahead. I got no further than 3 steps when a burly security guard in a cheap suit taps me on the shoulder and says, "Yo, he said $20!" I gave security the side eye of death and walked back to the podium. I looked the clerk in the eye and said audibly, over the 90's groove playing loudly, "I already paid you, muthaf***a!!" (When in Inglewood...) He looked up, nodded, and I was well on my way.

My mood sufficiently sullied from that initial encounter, we headed into the abyss. It was just as I remembered The Savoy: Large, hot, crowded, and filled with men 5'4" and under. With Brit leading the way, we elbowed our way to the bar, where the china bang wearing bartender with the half-shirt asked us what we wanted. I ordered a vodka & ginger ale. "We ain't got no ginger ale." I looked at Britni and asked her to confirm that this yaky weave model just said that this BAR had NO GINGER ALE. I was appalled. (I'm bougie. Sue me.) I settled for a vodka and Sprite. *eye roll*

As we were waiting for our drinks, I spotted 3 very nice gentleman standing to our right at the bar. One in particular caught my eye and I nudged Brit. She gave a "he's aight" shrug. (Britni says more non-verbally than anyone I've ever met, btw.) So, I adjust the girls and tap him on the shoulder. I ask for his name, which I don't remember, and introduced myself. We exchanged pleasantries and I told him that he was an attractive guy. He said thank you and that's where it all ended. I got shut ALL the way down. I nursed my wounds with my vodka and Spite, I mean, Sprite.

We moved to another part of the club, in search of ventilation, and I spotted a childhood friend sweating profusely near another bar. Brit and I walked over and said hello and continued our migration.

During our travels, comedian Michael Colyar (A Comic View regular) kept floating around among the foolishness, with a rather large guy, who I assumed to be his bodyguard. Why he was chilling at The Savoy with a bodyguard, wandering the floor looking lost is beyond me, but I thought I'd throw it in there for color.

Brit and I ended up posting to the right of the club and to the right of the stage. (This will play favorably into my story later.) I promise you that I was standing as still as possible and was sweating like a marathon runner. If I wasn't afraid of attracting either someone's grandfather or someone else's baby daddy on his 2nd strike, I would have put some ice on myself. But, I opted for a stray flyer to use as a makeshift fan, which did nothing.

I took the time while I was evaporating to survey the crowd. Aunties, grandmamas, grandpas, brim wearing uncles, a mini pimp in a white suit, neon colored leggings on a size 28 woman...

Wait...

Did that 5 foot tall dude just walk by my elbow in a teal and white Steve Harvey collection jacket and white hat?? Why, yes. Yes, he did.

At this point, I'm beyond irritated, nowhere near drunk and my phone was going dead, so I couldn't finish live tweeting the f*ckery I was experiencing, and I was just completely unamused. Britni actually has a picture of me standing at the bar looking completely unamused. To top it all off, it was 11:25 and there was NO Idris to be found in the proximity.

Around 11:55, the DJ announces that Idris is "in the building, y'all!" and that starts the game of how long it will take him to get on the lonely looking turntables on the stage. (The house DJ has a booth near the rear of the club, so the turntables were especially for IE.)

In true *Rox Fontaine voice* RATCHET fashion, a fight breaks out on the dance floor between some girls. Britni taps me and we make our move toward the closest exit. We know the drill, having survived many USC Lyons' Center melees. Run and ask questions later. Security came through and literally carried the rowdy broads out and the crown calmed down within a few minutes. In our dash to safety, we landed at the edge of the stage. Finally, a win!

Soon after, Idris was given the microphone as he began to purr his sweet nothings to the "lay-ees" over the loud speaker from the not-so-VIP VIP section. I'm just saying, how is it the VIP section if it's at the same level as the rest of the club?? Who does that?

He slowly makes his way from the shoddy VIP to the DJ booth in the back of the club, where no one could see him and threatens to stay in it! I wasn't having that. No, sir! No, ma'am! At this point, 12:10 in the AM, I have lost 1/3 of my water weight and am now being eyeballed by a very large person, whose gender I am unsure of. Idris is getting his West End ass on that stage!

He finally arrives on the stage and it is well worth the wait. He was adorable in khaki pants, a crisp, white, cotton shirt, his dark shades, and a drink in his hand. He's still on the mic cooing about it being his first time in Inglewood (whoopty-doo) and talking about other things I do not recall. I was visually appeased. That's all that mattered.

Sexual Chocolate began his DJ set with his Serato supported music library and played some jams that were along the lines of the music the house DJ was playing, late 90's/early '00s R&B and Hip-Hop. Idris was rocking it until it came time to transition to another song and it was a rough transition. I mean, rough...

But, that's alright. Coulda been jet lag. Coulda been him being mesmerized by my smile. Whatever. We'll let it ride.

Yeah, he did it again...

That's alright, though. Maybe he's nervous because he's heard stories about the hood. He's trying to watch his back. Umm, Brit, he let that song play too long, didn't he??

He gets on the mic. "Sorry, y'all. I let the song play too long."

Aww, how cute! He admitted it! How humble and endearing! Let's keep the party going. Wait, he just played that song...

But, it's cool. It's Idris. He's fine.

As I said, there was a sizable person, who I later found out was a man (swear I couldn't tell) deposited on the side of the stage, sizing me up like he was picking a steak. I'm in my IE daze and Jabba grabs my hand. I look down and he's holding my hand up, as if he was asking me to twirl around to completely check me out. I was horrified. He then goes, "Damn, you a sexy, big girl." I smiled, put up the church finger and took two giant steps to my right.

Back to Idris. Aww, he loves whatever is in that glass. Aww, he missed another... That's OK.

I feel a tap on my shoulder. I turn around and no one is there. I feel another tap and look again, this time down. It's the mini-pimp in the Steve Harvey suit. He beckons me down to his level, as he has a question for me. I literally have to bend my knees and lean to get my ear to her the general direction of his mouth. As I got closer to him, I see that this guy looks like Gary Coleman, postmortem, in the face.

"Who is dat dude up there?", he asks, face contorted in supreme confusion.

"Idris Elba!", I say. I'm trying to get away from the goblin ASAP.

"Who is that?"

Now, I'm looking perplexed. "He's an actor. Have you seen 'The Wire' or 'Takers'?"

"Naw. He know Jaime Foxx??" He was SO serious with this question.

At this point, I'm looking for the cameras because this shit can't POSSIBLY be life. "I don't know. Possibly."

"Oh. Let me ask you a personal question..." The gremlin is really pondering this question of his.

Now I'm just bracing for a fight. "What, dude?"

"If I had money like that dude, would all these hoes be in here to see me?" He looked up to me, waiting for the answer.

Before I could even filter my response (hell, he might have had a razor blade), I said, "HELL NAW!! BWAHAHAHAHA!!"

He was pissssssssssed... "WTF you mean 'hell naw'??"

I stooped down one last time and said, "Sir, we're not here for his money. You have a good night."

All disturbances now quelled, I was back to my focus. Drunken lovliness finished his set and got on the microphone and apologized for messing up, even asking people to edit out his mistakes before they uploaded videos to youtube. Awwww...

As he was preparing to leave the stage, Idris went around to the left side and across the front and shook hands with the ladies. Then, he went back to his glass. I recognized the DJ from my cousin's wedding on the stage (Shout out to the McLain's!) and Britni & I shouted his name. He turned around and I gestured to have Idris come and greet the right side of the stage. And come he did.

Though it was only for a few seconds, it can say that he touched me and now I am no longer the same. Oh, the joy that floods my soul... Oh, wait, that's a church song, huh? My bad.

He is fine, though.

National Women and Girls HIV/AIDS Awareness Day

Today is National Women and Girls HIV/AIDS Awareness Day in the United States. I wanted to share some information with my readers from The "Rock the Red Pump" Campaign.

Today is National Women and Girls HIV/AIDS Awareness Day (NWGHAAD) and we're proudly and fiercely Rocking the Red Pump with over 1,200 bloggers from around the country (and the world). Created by the Office of Women’s Health, NWGHAAD is recognized on March 10th of every year with the goal is of bringing women together to encourage dialogue and educate women and girls about the increasing impact of HIV/AIDS epidemic on our lives.

Every 35 minutes, a woman tests positive for HIV in the United States. Though much progress has been made in the areas of HIV/AIDS prevention and treatment, women still represent 27 percent of all new AIDS diagnoses, with African-American women making up an overwhelming 66 percent of that number. In 2006, teen girls represented 39% of AIDS cases reported among 13–19 year-olds. Black teens represented 69% of cases reported among 13–19 year-olds; Latino teens represented 19%. These startling statistics are the driving force behind Red Pump's message.

Fifty days ago, we launched our 3rd Annual "Rock the Red Pump" campaign with the goal of getting 500 blogs involved. Today, we're ecstatic to be standing over

1,200 blogs strong, all uniting to represent the courage of all the women and girls who are infected and affected with HIV/AIDS.

In addition to commemorating NWGHAAD today, we are also recognizing the 2nd Anniversary of The Red Pump Project. What started as a small idea has blossomed into a movement that has grown beyond any of our expectations. We'd like to thank all the bloggers who are "Rocking the Red Pump" on their websites today and are using their voice and influence to shine a light on this issue. We'd also like to thank the women everywhere who are rocking their favorite pair of red pumps (or flats) today. We created a video thank you all! Visit HERE to watch it!

To commemorate the day, we're having official Red Pump events around the country. Please read more about them on our events page. We will be hosting a Twitter Townhall from 1:30-3:00pm CST. Please join us as we ask people to talk about why they find it important to recognize NWGHAAD. Follow us on Twitter (@RedPumpProj). Today, we will be tracking the use of the hashtags #RocktheRedPump and #NWGHAAD on our website.

As you honor NWGHAAD, we ask that you take the time to ask a friend and/or family member when is the last time that they've been tested. Knowing your status is such an important step in the fight against HIV/AIDS. For a list of HIV testing sites, you can visit hivtest.org.

Thank you again for all of support of The Red Pump Project and, more importantly, your commitment to the fight against AIDS. We're all making a difference one red pump (or flat) at a time. And we'll continue to do work that shows that "Awareness is Always in Style!™"

Luvvie & Karyn

The Red Pump Project Co-Founders

What Red Pumps are you rocking today? Know your status!

All About ME! (Venting)

I feel like I have entered a new stage of understanding and enlightenment in the last year. Things that I may have listed highly before have found their way at the bottom of the pile. People I valued before have been reduced, or in some cases eliminated, from my life. In short, things have changed.

One of the things that I am finding myself having less and less patience for is selfishness. We all have moments of self-absorption, which is understandable. The level of selfish I am talking about involves those who have no concern beyond their own well-being consistently and make it known at every opportunity.

We all know at least one chronic commiseration agent amongst us. This is the guy who can relate to EVERY story you tell and can one up your version. It's the girl who has to be heard and will go to any lengths to ensure that this happens. It's the one "friend" that we have that has no suspicion that you are not listening to them drone on about some inconsequential event in their life. It's the person that gets pissy because you refuse to coddle them into a false sense of security when they are obviously on the wrong path.

It amazes me that some people expect that the world should be delivered to their feet without any consequence or sacrifice on their end. I've come to realize that the unhappiest people in the world are those that do not know how to give. Sure, it sounds good to run down your resume and all of your past volunteer opportunities, but what do you do for others on a DAILY basis just because? Do you give to get or give to give?

I'm gonna take a chance and say that God doesn't advocate letting people run over you just to get more jewels in your heavenly crown. Enough is enough.

Where Yo Man At???

Yay! I'm back from my #Dirty30 festivities! Thanks to everyone for the love!

Let's keep it real. I'm a decent looking kid. I'm not your average woman. I am not a size 8 and do not aspire to be. I like artsy things and unconventional places. I keep weave hair in the trunk of my car. My shoe game is pretty impressive. I'm definitely an original by any standard, yet I find it difficult to find someone that is even down for a Starbuck's session. I like to go out and have a little fun every now and again. But, apparently getting a date requires a percentage of detectable, injectable plastic or an advanced degree in whoring, neither of which I am in possession of.

With all that being said, I still find myself catching the eye of a gentleman every now and again. But, that's usually where it ends. They look and say nothing. Smile, nod, and never break stride. Guess I attract attentive mutes or something. *cue Kenan Thompson* What's up with that??

I learned a long time ago that if you don't speak up, you WILL be ignored. Rejection is a part of life, so in some cases, it was better to get the "no, thanks" out of the way instead of sitting around twiddling my thumbs and staring at the phone. That's yielded a 50/50 result for me.

I remember writing a detailed (read: long) e-mail to a classmate expressing my interest in taking things to another level and getting an equally detailed (read: soul crushing) e-mail from him stating why he wasn't interested. But, hey, at least I was aware, right?? *tear drop*

Now, ever so often, one of the mutes decides to dead his inner Helen Keller and strike up a conversation. And for some, that's when I realize that he should have kept walking. For those that pass the preliminary interview stage, there is a usually a key phrase uttered in the next round that solicits an immediate and involuntary *side-eye of death* stare:

"You're too (insert potentially polite adjective here) to be single. Where's your man?"

I don't know if they teach that line at Mack Daddy Academy or if it's one of those things pubescent boys are taught to say to chicks right after they're given their first wallet condom. Either way, it is the epitome of a backhanded compliment. What is essentially being said is:

"You are very (insert same potentially polite adjective here), but there has to be something wrong with you to not be in a relationship."

And, men, even if that's not what you meant, that's what I heard. I have yet to hear a woman come at a man with the same line. It reeks of judgment and I say this after polling several other women on how they respond to the same line. So, it's not just me.

If there is actually someone who has enough sense to not insult or piss me off during the initial conversation, there is usually one MAJOR issue blocking the arrangement of a social outing, outside of scheduling: After asking for a phone number, the fool won't call.

Umm, why ask for a number if you're not gonna use it?? I'll wait for an answer...

That makes absolutely NO sense to me. Why go through the trouble of requesting a number that you're never going to call? Did you have a bet with your 30-something that the first dude with 5 numbers today gets free lunch? Do you call 411 and ask for random numbers not to call, too?

But, despite these constant and troubling pitfalls, I'm gonna keep trying. There's gotta be a coffee-drinking, movie watching, dinner eating guy in the LA area that'll call sooner or later.

Letting Go...

I know that it's officially a week until Valentine's Day and all, but I am feeling compelled to write about the loss of love. Well, at least the loss of what I thought may have possibly been love. I don't write this from a bitter place, but rather from point of gratitude. Sometimes, we need to get rid of hindrances in order to prepare for the receipt of greater things.

In the last two years, I have lost three men in my life that I never would have imagined would go. One of these men I loved romantically. The other two were connections that I had never experienced nor doubt that I will ever experience again. I'll give a brief summary of each to catch you up. Ready??

The first man... Without question the most physically attractive man I have ever been involved with. Everything and nothing all at the same time. All the relationship, none of the commitment. Terrible communicator with a good heart. Affectionately distant. *My Heart*

The second man... The unexpected connection. Friends on levels that most involved people never get to, minus the physicality. I'm talking telepathy, finishing each other's sentences, same likes, similar dislikes, matching attitudes. And we danced. *My Mind*

The third man... The jumpoff that stayed around. The puppy dog that adored me, yet pissed on my favorite shoes after he chewed the heel on them. Unnaturally attached and dependent upon me. Cried to me in private and lied to me in public. Your quintessential shady bastard. He tried, but sincerity just wasn't his strong point. *My Pain in the Ass*

*My Heart*

I was smitten with this man from the minute I saw him. Just a big 'ol, chocolate, dimple having, piece of gorgeous. When I gave him my number, I told him to list me as "his wife" in his phone. (I know, I know. Lol.) What resulted from that night was two plus years of affection, beautiful moments, estrangement, teeth pulling, ignoring, pleading, and finally, a realization. Without the right words, I was just hoping against hope. I had to stop chasing him because he didn't want to be caught. Not by me, at least. The release wasn't easy, but it was so necessary.

*My Mind*

Unorthodox beginning to a truly unorthodox relationship. Met online, considerable age difference, from different places in the world, but there was something there. The more we spoke, the more quickly the Grand Canyon became a crack in the sidewalk. But, though it all sounds like sunshine, there were plenty of storms. There is something so delicate about a man in transition. In my own way, I tried to be supportive, but sometimes, my extended hand of friendship was seen as a jab at his manhood. And as a man, he moved to defend his manhood by lashing out. Yes, I know it was coming from a place of pain, but it was still too much for me to endure. I had to let him go to heal himself. The sad part is that what we had, a genuine friendship and connection, can never be recaptured.

*My Pain in the Ass*

I blame myself. I should have ended this one before it got as far as it did. Shoulda stopped the good time where it was. But, no. So, I endured almost 4 years of lies masquerading as adulation. I mean this guy would start using words that I used. Wanted to eat where I ate. Work where I worked. Became very jealous of *My Heart* when he entered the scene. Enough was enough. Had to remove the leech. The drain was too much on my life.

I learned a lot from all of these situations and I definitely thank God for the lesson and the experience. I have grown as a woman and evolved into a better person for having gone through these relationships. I love me a lot more and welcome the more suitable replacements into my space.