A Quarter Life Crisis

Of late I’ve been staying up to catch the shenanigans over at VSB. The blog is very well written and takes a sometimes comical approach to men, women and this thing we call love and relationships. New posts arrive promptly at the stroke of 12AM and then the magic happens. The comment lounge has become my hangout spot…I feels at home even though I’m just a lurker.

Yesterday’s post penned by Champ, “If Women Ruled the Dating World Would Monogamy Still Exist?” got me thinking about what it means to truly be 100% monogamous to someone. It also made me lose a bit of beverage, specifically at this…there’s absolutely nothing more damaging to the well-being of society than an abundance of perpetually sexually frustrated men. (Why? Well, perpetually sexually frustrated men kill random people and occasionally kill random people in bulk). Touche!

Is it possible to be monogamous, the practice of having only one mate at a time? In our society we are told that the rightful order of things goes something like this:

Boy and Girl meet
Boy pursues Girl
Girl agrees and accepts Boy’s pursuit
Courtship begins
Love blossoms
Boy and Girl marry (promising to love, honor and do the grown up with only each other)
Girl and Boy have 2.3 children and live happily ever after

What the storybook fails to mention is that life rarely happens this way. I would argue that even though our goal is monogamy it is not our practice especially with research suggesting a 30-60% chance that your partner will commit some form of infidelity. We all fall short. In reality we subscribe to assumed monogamy and to some degree live happily as long as we don’t see, hear or smell cheating. Even with good intentions sometimes something new is just that something new. I’d even argue that is it 100% possible to cheat, for lack of a more technical term, on your significant other and still 100% love that person. Variety is the spice of life and not for nothing every person is not great at everything. This is not to say that monogamy is impossible but damn if it ain’t highly improbable.

Case in point the person who fixes your car is probably not the same person who does your taxes. In our society folks specialize, becoming an expert in one area of life while just being average or ok in others. There’s nothing inherently wrong with this and hell that’s the way capitalism made us. Renaissance men are a needle in a haystack which means finding emotional support, financial assistance and chexual satisfaction in a single body, in this day is damn hard. I’d even go out on a limb and say that most of us compromise on one or more of these things in order to fit the monogamous model society set for us. As a result of said compromise some, remember 30-60%, fall weak at the feet of a specimen possessing one of your compromised elements.

I don’t think there’s anything wrong with compromise because let’s face it, most of us aren’t hitting the mark on all the items I mentioned above either. Accept that you’re a specialized being as well and hope that someone is willing to compromise your hashish and call it love.

But even knowing the above I would still argue against Champ and say that if I ruled the world, I’d free all my sons…oh wait that’s a song. What I mean to say, his thought process is not off balance in theory. (And let’s be clear his theory was focused on polygyny meaning a man can take more than one wife not polyandry where a woman can take more than one husband.) In theory women are driven by security more than anything and it would stand to reason that being a sister-wife provides more security than a single-wife. But only if we equate security to finance, to site Champ…one seven figure earning man can support 10 women easier than one $50k a year guy can support one. For some women security (and when I say security I mean financial security) is the only thing that matters. I’m not sold that financial security drives all women today though. Like communism while fantabulous in theory hits a big not gonna happen wall in practice.

In sheer numbers alone this can’t work. I could be wrong but I think the US population is about 300 million. Half of that being able bodied adults so 150 million. Based on the US economy, only 0.1% (150,000) of US households earn a seven figure salary and that figure includes women. For the pure funk of it, let’s say that that number does not. Multiplying that figure by 10 (assuming that one seven figure gent could handle 10 women successfully which I doubt given my taste for Gucci handbags) it would still only cover what 1% (1,500,000) of the adult population. Of course my numbers could be wrong since I only took Excursions in Mathematics and White Collar Statistics in college.

While we’re at it let’s be even more realistic and say that a lot of women, sorry chicas I am a proud card carrying member of the titay committee, can be batsh*t crazy when it comes to romantic love. Must I bring out the cracking e-mail/cellphone generalized internet stalking cookbook written by and for women? Did I need to go there? Those things alone clearly point to the fact that most women aren’t down with OPP.

Of course there’s always a wrinkle to this theory. Honestly I believe any woman married to a politician, famous actor or sports star knowingly practices a form of polygamy. Yes that is my opinion. You are free to disagree. Knowing that slores follow money and power and men are generally swayed by poon if thrown hard enough it would be borderline retarded to believe any of these men are faithful. Yes I am a cynic. But seriously if Troy Polamalu type men were in my face everyday offering the peen with no strings I’m not sure how long I could turn that offer down. Honestly I’d break out of sheer want to try it-ness. Temptation is a snaggatoof bish.

Additionally I’m not silly enough to believe there aren’t women who prefer mistress status, especially since 2010 was a Ho-a-thon. I can’t remember a better year for the Ho in all my 29 years on this planet. Ho aspirations hit an all time high. And not for nothing Hos stayed winning this year*cough*Alicia Keys*cough* with the exception of Kat Stacks. The 1% discussed above swallows up knowing polygamist and gutter butts. Unfortunately that leaves a whole 99% of the female population that won’t get down with the get down for the sheer mathematics or the batsh*t craziness of it all.

At the end of the day if women ruled the dating world I don’t think it would be any different than it is today. People believe and agree to monogamy while practicing pseudo polygamy. Meaning, that on the surface we are with one person while secretly entertaining others, if you don’t believe this you have no better place to look but to the 30-60% infidelity rate. Clearly lots of folks aren’t practicing what they preach. Hell folks go to great lengths to live in a world of oblivion about their significant other’s outside trysts. Ignorance is bliss.

Maybe I’m jaded, what do you think?

Under normal circumstances I am not a jealous person. I rarely ask The Spaniard who he was with or where he’s been. It’s not because I don’t care…well a little of it is because I don’t care but to some degree I operate under the system that any dirt that you do will eventually come to light. My battles with him come down to when I’m actually in his presence. He incomparable to any other knows how to trample my last nerve. And I’m not a violent person but I’ve wanted to, in the not so recent past, punch him in the face MMA style.

But yesterday I felt something odd. We were talking, just chatting really about nothing in particular. OK we were talking about nude beaches and if I agreed with him that they were a no go. In honesty I don’t care. My concern, be respectful. If a woman or man for that matter drops trou at the beach it isn’t for your viewing pleasure, this ain’t the sckrippa club. Don’t ogle some chick because she’s got a great body and cause Mr. Happy to get…you know Happy!

Sidenote I don’t have an issue with sckrippa clubs either, if you wanna pay for something folks show for free be my guest just don’t come to me afterwards smelling of rachet gutter butt hos or classy tramp perfume. Both will get you major side eye action.

He kept going on and on about men wearing shorts above the knee which he also considers a no go. I told him that if his inner metrosex sought my approval for such, he had my blessing. Considering his partial European upbringing I expect latent metrosexual behavior…it’s kind of a given. American men are overly masculine while the rest of the world, save for the Caribbean islanders, march the masculinity/femininity thin line.

Yes I know I just stereotyped men, whatever it’s my unscientific biased opinion so lump it.

None of this made my pressure rise or my antennae perk. But mid conversation just as one passenger left and another entered his cab the wind shifted. Granted the nude beach convo was going nowhere but I was just bored enough to continue with it a little while longer. There was a casual exchange between him and the rider, clearly someone he knew. Most of these people I recognize by name but not this one. I could hear her voice, soft, happy and young I’d bet money between 25-30 give or take a year or two. She asked him about his day, he answered in Spanish, mas o menos (rough translation alright literal translation more or less moving right along). Then this chick asked him to spot her some money to get lunch and he agreed, where they do that at??????

What did I listen to? Is this normal passenger cabbie talk or some other hashish that requires sleuthing? And I totally disapprove of the flirty Spanish talk. Anyway, antennae perked pressure slightly above normal I was at a loss for words. This never happens. Normally I am quick tongued but I immediately felt white hot with anger impeding my ability to talk. I kept turning the small but very telling conversation between this not so random passenger and The Spaniard around in my head. Then he awkwardly mumbled something like, I’ll talk to later ok, dial tone.

This is the same man who called me back angry after I accidently hung up the phone on him screaming about never ending a conversation with OK. He never ends any conversation even if he’s angry with me by saying talk to you later or OK. He always says I’ll see you soon hun or bye love…am I tripping?

Am I becoming one of those girls that sniff tests? Have I morphed into that girl? You know the one who sits outside of her boyfriend’s house/apartment when she knows he’s home and calls him to ask where he is to see if he lies? Did I just stumble into the realm of crazy jealous? Am I taking a brief conversation between casual acquaintances out of context? Is my gut right when it tells me to bring this up in random conversation to see if he stutters and if I get a whiff he’s lying about this bish chuck the deuces? See and there you have it I just called some female I don’t know from jump street a foul name at the hint she’s drinking my kool-aid.

I have no clue where jump street is and I’m not even sure where that colloquialism comes from. Not to mention I’ve declared ownership over The Spaniard, this isn’t 1815 as far as I can surmise slavery no longer exists.

This is weird crazy jealous woman hashish I know it is but I can’t stamp the thought out of my head. I’m obsessing about it a little. And you know what I blame this on, my current employment situation…if I were consulting busy my mind wouldn’t have a chance to over-process nonsense. Oh see the right side of my brain, you know the practical side that processes things logically, told me to stop this hours ago, but the left side, creative domain also known as drama girl central won’t let it go hence the blogpost.

So am I blowing this out of proportion? Side note, jealousy much like wool itches and is uncomfortable without a camisole. Me no like it!

Chello bloggers and blog-ettes I’m back with a little ditty I like to call the Week in Review.

When last we spoke I was battling Hurricane Spaniard. A surly storm that arrived on my shores a few months shy of two years ago. Sad as I am to say it burdens me still. As soon as I think I’ve out maneuvered the storm it loops the corner and hails all over my parade. In this case the Summer O’ Men…causing it to end just as abruptly as it started.

I agreed to have lunch with the Spaniard. After Wander made the waterworks the other week I felt I owed him and largely myself to put whatever we have to bed. Well much like fighting a pre-pubescent boy to shower and a toddler to sleep resolving our hashish wasn’t getting done over one lunch. We met at this quaint French spot that sells the most amazing crepes on 6th and Bainbridge. I can’t remember the name but it matters not.

Over a few savory and sweet crepes we discussed the relationship. A lot of our problems revolve around communication. In addition to him thinking I know exactly what’s going on in his head he has an issue with apologizing. Stubborn much! And granted I’m probably the most arrogant, unapologetically sarcastic person one will ever meet but for folks close to my heart I push those character flaws to the side, most of the time. I recounted the late for the train station incident where I got my ass chewed out by a banshee aka Spaz Manager. And still he didn’t offer an apology. Just coughed up an excuse, he confused the times. If assault weren’t against the law I would have hit him with my glass of water. He’s an asshole, sometimes! We parted ways that day with a hug and peck on the cheek.

Side note: When this man touches me I feel electricity run through my core…this cannot be a good thing.

Since we weren’t together I didn’t expect a gift for my birthday. Actually we’ve been conveniently unattached when my birthday rolls around. In any event I spent the early part of the day with Wander, Pudding Pop and Granny SJ. In the evening Wander took me shopping and I headed home relatively early, 10ish. Around 12 I get a text message from The Spaniard asking me to come downstairs. My first mind said to go downstairs and see what he wants but my second mind said total bad idea. Of course my first mind won this battle and I took the trip down the interior stairs of my apartment and was greeted by 5 or more bouquets of flowers, mostly lilies. Sometimes he’s not an asshole!

I was proud of myself that night because despite raging hormones amongst other things I kept my resolve and sent him on his way with nothing more than a Spank You kindly and a peck on the cheek….ok the lips but you get the point. I left most of the flowers on the doorstep. What was I going to do with 5 bouquets of flowers in my apartment?

After sharing the birthday flowers story with some of my close friends they were all somewhat surprised I didn’t give in. And The Best Friend, always a Spaniard supported was her usual self and told me I was dumb for not blurring the boundaries and taking a short ride on the ho train. Of course sex does not love make, so sometimes her advice is to be taken with a grain of salt.

But I digress.

Pretty Skin faded to the land of obscurity, also known as Never-Never land. By no fault of his own, well maybe a little, but with work and my see-saw appetite for The Spaniard I didn’t have the stomach to digest anymore of PS’ references to me as a man or his otherwise lack of genuine communication skills. I’m sorry I just can’t. Believe me there was no judgment here, I thought and still think some chiquitta will be hella happy to find and refine Pretty Skin. He’s a diamond in need of a little elbow grease.

PS did surface briefly this weekend. I quipped that I hadn’t been discarded to the do not call list. And his response was no but if you think it didn’t contain a man reference you’d be wrong. Ugh! Anywho I asked out of pure curiosity what he was up to this weekend. He responded that he had his daughter Saturday but would be free later in the evening. Clearly my conversation politeness was misconstrued. I told him that I had belated birthday plans with my cousin but I hope he enjoyed his weekend.

Was that rude of me?

Mailroom Boy to my utter surprise crawled from under his you got to be kidding me rock with a happy birthday salute. And believe it or not he was only about two days late despite having a phone reminder. His words not mine. Being late to everything but work is part of his je ne sais quoi…not. I was touched, don’t remember his birthday but that’s beside the point. Once I check out I check out, not that we had anything serious…please check the $14 incident that broke the camel’s back.

Since that time he’s been texting me on the regular. He even sideways mentioned that his daughter asked about me and she never asks about his friends. Hmm, I’m still not interested but am rather impressed that he’s getting his hashish together. Last we spoke Mailroom Boy was living in his aunt’s house, carless and working in the mailroom because it was easy. Now he’s taking classes to get his degree, driving his own car and living by himself. Not too shabby if I do say so myself.

Even Jon B. jumped back on stage for a small cameo in this show I call my life. I cancelled his performance before it could even start though. After the traditional how have you been what have you been up to chatter he asked if I ‘d like to come by on Sunday to “catch up.” Is that what the kool kids call it these days? Considering we’ve only known each other for roughly three months time and about a month of it we had no real communication I’m not sure we have any catching up to do. I mean in my book catching up is reserved for friends you’ve known for years but speak to infrequently because of schedules or proximity of course I could be wrong. Clearly his Kangol is too tight. I told him it was doubtful I’d be stopping by to “catch up.”

I’m seriously considering chucking up the deuces. I think Chris Breezy may have been onto something…all the bullshits for the birds…you judge it!

Most days consulting frustrates the hashish out of me. Moreover when Senior Managers escape into the land of make believe expecting 20 weeks worth of work in 15 weeks I go apeshit (inside – hey momma needs her job and I just got me a raise). It’s even more frustrating when the managers sell this work and get clients to believe it’s humanly possible. Granted most clients think consultants are robots in human packaging but I’m here to say this is not the case, at least not for me.

In any event this Technology Senior Manager, The Hobbit, sold a piece of work that required at least 14 weeks of full time consulting for 4 resources. And when I say full time consulting I mean 60-hour weeks, as this is the typical schedule. Instead The Hobbit sold the project for 10 weeks with 3 full time resources. Clearly he missed a very important memo about true possibilities.

In addition to under staffing the project, the Hobbit also pulled in the absolute complete a$ backward resource to manage the project a butt spanking new manager to the firm, Stutter Step. With only 4-5 weeks of company experience under Stutter’s belt and no actual project experience, he was eaten alive by the client by the middle of the first week. The slaying performed by the client project manager, Russian Sorcerer, was of epic nature. Thank God, and I know this is going to sound shady as hashish, I’d already fully aligned myself in her graces because two heads might have gotten chopped. Hey consulting is 25% politics and 75% work…I’m just being honest.

In my defense as well as the team, we tried to cover Stutter’s mistakes and limit his interaction with Russian Sorcerer as much as possible. To his detriment he kept interjecting with ridonkulous questions (in consulting there is such a thing as a dumb inquiry). Additionally he kept starting, ending and throwing in the middle of every sentence the phrase you know or you know what I’m saying. Of course they don’t know what you’re saying because you haven’t actually said anything. Communication skills of all kinds, written and verbal, are absolute requirements to last in the consulting business

Attempting to mask Stutter’s incompetence the Hobbit brought in a second manager but this only helped to illuminate his lagging skills. In the end the client formally requested Stutter’s removal from the project. Bummer for him, it will not reflect well within the firm that he was removed from his first project in particular because it wasn’t just a personality conflict but an actual lack of appropriate talent.

On the way home from the client site I decided to return PS’ calls from earlier in the week. As it turns out Pretty Skin would be out of town for the holiday. I learned this after listening to him talk about nothing for damn near an hour on my drive back from Jersey, did I mention the client site is in Warren County NJ, which makes for a 2hr drive home. PS did mention he’d like to take a trip with me to Maine. I’d told him that Maine is nice if you like lobster and lighthouses and bed n breakfast-llike cities and stuff like that to which he replied that none of those things really interested him. Because I enjoy being stabbed in the eye with glass I asked why. To which he responded, “Man cause!” I didn’t have the energy to remind him that I’ve had no sex change in the past week and would appreciate not being called a man…it’s probably just his thing but I don’t like it, sorry!

Y’all already know I’m siddity, it’s a gift!

After a politically charged and extremely tense workweek coupled with mindless chitter chatter (I can’t really call it conversation) from PS I was more than ready to enjoy the summer’s last hoorah, barbecues. Fellow Traveler, Nurse Friend and Uncle Mid Life Crisis all tossed invites my way. Unfortunately my hair affair shattered any attempts of making Fellow Traveler’s but Nurse Friend and Uncle Mid Life’s were both still on the table and I felt like indulging.

Both provided a necessary distraction. I laughed with Nurse Friend’s family as if they were my own and I was given an honorary pass. I laughed with my family like old times with little drama. I mean it wouldn’t be a family gathering without a little ball busting and ribbing. And yes I needed those laughs to mask all the other emotional hashish (technical term) I was and am still working through.

If you haven’t guessed this has everything to do with the Spaniard. It’s funny I’m sensing a theme. I can’t shake him. Either I’m a lunatic or madly obsessively in love with this man, at this point I’m throwing money on both just to cover all bases.

Right before my pick up from the Best Friend to head to Nurse Friend’s barbecue I get a call from the Spaniard. In my defense all his prior calls and text messages since our last “discussion” I left unanswered. Everyone has her breaking point. For the life of me I don’t know why I decided to on the second ring just pick up the phone...here I go again with the glass shards in my eyes.

Me: What do you want?

My new inspiration!!

On Tuesday instead of working in the office I opted to work from home because it gave me the opportunity to wear my pajamas all day long. It was great! That is one of the benefits of consulting. My office exists wherever I have Internet access. If ever I find a new position this will be one of the few things I miss about consulting.

If you recall I agreed to “chill” with Jon B on Tuesday evening. In the back of my mind I considered, strongly, cancelling but sometimes curiosity gets the best of me. As you know curiosity killed the cat but satisfaction brought her back.

I knew what this chilling would entail, hosh*t. Not that I’m above hosh*t because I’m not sometimes but I am somewhat feeling Pretty Skin and Jon B has done the major slide from grace. But who said liking someone was a prerequisite…

Remember that scrumptilicious text pic that made me even consider hosh*t with Jon B, yeah total angle shot but workable. Granted I didn’t really hold up my part of the bargain either, my enthusiasm level was on a 2 out of 10. We ended early and as I pulled away from his cul-de-sac block I waved goodbye and good riddance to Jon B. The feeling was way mutual. Our parting hug spoke for itself. It was one of those trying not to touch you even though I’m touching you kind of things, way awkward. Everyone doesn’t fit with everyone you judge it!

In even more depressing news, the Spaniard crawled from underneath his asshole rock. This is surprising and not surprising simultaneously. His message was true to his form.

Not sure if you tried to reach me or not but I got a new number since I came back home. I just wanted to say hi, see how you’re doing and let you know that I miss you.

Typical!

Let me dissect his message for the sake of running my head into a wall.

Not sure if you tried to reach me or not but I got a new number since I came back home… which actually means he knows I didn’t try to get in touch with him but he had to find a “logical” reason to get in touch with me. You know just in case I needed him for something I’d have to know he had a new number since returning from “our” vacation that he went on alone.

…I just wanted to say hi, see how you’re doing…, yeah sure! What he really wants to know is if I still have enough feelings for him to take a walk on the ho side of life. I don’t!

…and let you know I miss you. LOL. Of course! This is the panty dropping back up! He wants me to believe while he was gallivanting around Spain playing friendly with old chums and family he actually thought about me. Hmmm, I don’t buy it for one second.

I didn’t respond the first day. I couldn’t! Fits of uncontrollable anger welled up in me every time I thought about the text. The Best Friend said I should take the ho stroll, at least I’d be in better spirits…she thinks too physically. Sometimes a roll in the hay is more than a roll in the hay. Nurse Friend said ignore, ignore ignore. My decision was somewhere in the middle.

It’s funny how things change. You know the last time I saw you in person you were talking about marrying me. I’ve been really happy the past few months without you. I’d like to continue that level of happiness. I’m gonna ask you a favor, if there was ever a part of you that cared about me, please don’t call or text me again. I wish you the best.

After sending that text message and deleting traces of his new number from my phone, it felt final.

It was not.

He called…of course! I had the will power to ignore the first. He called again. My will power waned by that point. He asked something in Spanish. He does this from time to time; I used to think it was cute. When we were out, surrounded by groups of people he would speak to me in Spanish and even though I know tons of people speak Spanish it felt like he was speaking just for my benefit.

¿Por qué no me amas?

For those out of the Spanish loop, that means, why don’t you love me…I hate him for this. Cleary he doesn’t recall our last conversations/arguments before his departure to Spain. How I can’t count on him. How he doesn’t respect my feelings. How he doesn’t listen to my wants or desires…bottom-line how he’s a selfish a$$hole.

His selective memory fuels my anger. The argument that ensued was of an epic nature but I won’t go into the details for my own sanity just know by the end he agreed reluctantly to let me have my peace.

Shortly afterwards Jon B sent me a message via yahoo messenger. I was curt. Sometimes the messenger gets shot.

The rest of the weekend, way low key, I mean after that emotionally draining experience the last thing I needed was male female interaction. I hibernated with a few of my closest friends and tried to keep my mind off of the What If Game!

As the summer rounds the bases on fall I’m busy reflecting. Yeah I know that we technically have about 4 more weeks left however, I can smell da rain coming – in my Sofia from The Color Purple voice. It’s been fun! I accomplished the summer ‘10 goal: meet a bunch of random guys. Gone on plenty of dates and burned more daytime minutes than I care to discuss.

At the same time, I failed. Here’s the thing. I decided that I wanted the summer o’ men out of rebound-ness. Some chose to screw their way out of break-ups I chose to date, po-tey-to/po-tah-to, whichever you prefer! Dating buffet style allows you to sample without over indulging in one flavor, and as we know variety is the spice of life.

This summer I needed He Who Must Not Be Named so removed from my bloodstream that at his name antibodies attacked. It didn’t happen, my body, forever infected by this man! I haven’t built enough immunity to ward off thoughts of him, comparison of him or in general I want him back-ness and it makes me feel weak. And weak much like can’t should never exist in an adult woman’s vocabulary. But maybe its not weak maybe it’s human! How could it be that there exists one absolute feeling that with all my jujitsu defense mechanism I’m incapable of thrashing? Me, the emotion catcher can’t bottle this one man up and let him go to never be spoken/contemplated again. Really I detest the What If game I’ve begun to play.

I played the What If game a lot after Future Ex Husband. What if I never went to that last party? What if I never met Struggling Athlete? What if I was capable of compromise? What if I put my career goals aside? What if I overcame Faith? Those damn What If bandits hit below the belt, and those imps like it!

I’m positive the What Ifs keep me up at all hours of the night thinking about things that I cannot change. And I’m equally positive my thoughts of him are photographs of yesterday that I can’t have tomorrow because time moves forward not in reverse. I understand it, but I don’t have to like it. Not for nothing, the mind also plays a funny game with you, allowing you to fantabulize the past into something it wasn’t. I wasn’t 100% happy with The Spaniard. I wasn’t! Ask any of my friends. But the What Ifs play a role here too. What if 70% happy is enough, how can one be 100% happy? It’s impossible because perfection outside of chocolate doesn’t exist.

So that was a hella long stream of consciousness and randomness I will get into the deets of the week right about now!

As mentioned I’m having a serious problem with sleeping. For whatever reason, I cannot find comfort in my bed, whatever conclusions you can draw from that let me know. Tuesday I avoided plans with Jon B. In the land of ho-ness there are few opportunities. The night I semi passed out was his missed chance at freakiness. Considering his intentional and calculated move from potentially datable to only freakable leave him very few openings for Faith-time. He is feeling the burn as evidenced by his multiple text messages and phone calls dripping of teen spirit aka desperation. He is losing cool points and cuteness simultaneously…a bad look.

In between Jon B’s slide from grace I avoided calls from Zack Morris. He smells of I’m Just Not that Into You! True I like nerds but his ongoing conversations about Sonic Burger and Saved by the Bell make me wonder if he majored in Serial Killer for undergrad. I am no one’s Criminal Minds episode mmkay!

On Friday I had plans with Pretty Skin. It was nothing major just a movie date. It didn’t require actual outfit thoughts, which was good because work shattered most of my brain fabric by mid afternoon. I’m just saying reviewing functions in excel is not my forte.

I met PS at his house, yup still not ready for that know where I live thing. Unfortunately he lives in one of my least favorite neighborhoods in Philadelphia, North Filthy! My siddity came out heavy, initial thought: Is my car safe? I pocketed that thought and pulled up in front of his house with a smile that faded extra quick. Insert doorag stage left. I don’t do doorags worn as fashion…we are not 18 anymore. He eased my irkness by stating that he meant to remove it before he came outside but forgot, then flashed his 1000 watt. I melt for a man with a great smile of which Pretty Skin qualifies. He dressed way casual, but still cute. Did I mention that PS is of the handsome bred that chicks of all ages swoon for, what luck!

We went to see Inception at the Loews in Cherry Hill. That was the first time in a long time that I saw a theater packed. Typically I go to Warrington to see movies to avoid the riff raff from the city. In any event, great movie! We saw the 9:05 showing and midway through the movie the sleep monsters started attacking. The movie was so incredibly good that I fought them off but not without leaning my head on PS’s more than capable shoulders. He gave me both a hand and leg massage during the flick. It felt natural, unrushed and I didn’t move his hand, maybe I like this guy…hmm!

On the drive home we talked about past relationship baggage. This is never good date convo but I guess it had to be done. I told him about my commitment issues, maybe it was too soon! He told me about his ready to settle down stories and how he wants to enjoy all part of being in a committed relationship with one special woman. Cap up, possibly but it did sound good despite my fear of waking up next to the same man every day of the week. We parted ways with a single kiss, nice lips! No sparks though, I fear it has something to do with my earlier ramblings, you judge it.

Shortly after driving off of Pretty Skin’s block I receive a text message from Jon B. I believe these two men have some weird telepathy. Seriously every time I’m talking to one the other calls or sends a text message. And it wouldn’t be so bad if their names didn’t rhyme. I guess that’s the powers that be idea of irony or sarcasm.

Anywho, as expected he was feeling out my chilling inclination! Believe me it wasn’t there. I’d just locked lips with PS and honestly felt some type of way about potentially locking fuglies lips with someone else in little over an hour. Bottom line I wasn’t feeling it, point blank period. I proceeded to tell Jon B a half-truth, that I was too tired to make it out for any “fun.” And it was true in part, you read my randomness above but you didn’t know that I’d been up since 3:30AM staring at the patterns the moon makes on my ceiling, playing the What If game and not winning.

He texted a joke about cuddling that I found funny. Then he texted something semi vulgar that sparked my interest, I shain’t tell a lie but I just didn’t feel like entertaining it. And more importantly I don’t like folk taking the ho stroll unless I’m right there walking the plank with him. I ignored the last message, which sparked a phone call. His voice is like butter, oh my frigging God! After the initial pleasantries he asked when we were getting together again. Earlier in the week I’d learned that Saturday was a no go for him so I said Sunday might be open if he so chose. He told me something about work but possibly switching schedules. I responded that it wasn’t that deep and he should keep his schedule in tact, we ended on Tuesday.

On Saturday I spent the day with Granny SJ, Wander and Pudding Pop, a close cousin. We went to the Hibachi grill. Awesome! I’d never been but upon walking in it reminded me of the Benihana I went to in Toronto. I tasted fried ice cream for the first time, quite an experience. Next week we’re supposed to get together again and hopefully Granny Frannie will be able to go with us as well. It was cool having a three-generation brunch/lunch.

Later that evening I packed a bag and made my way to the Best Friend’s house for her impromptu sleepover. Half of the Doublemint Twins was there along with Nurse Fried. We played truth or dare Jenga for shots of our drinking buddies, Vodka and Rum followed by a rousing game of Scattergories. Between the shots and scattering of Jenga pieces we discussed our favorite topic, men! By night’s or better yet morning’s end there were no conclusions. Men are as easy as they are complicated, and that is my final answer.

The combo of Jenga and Vodka resulted in me falling asleep on the Best Friend’s couch in my clothes. Luckily I was of sound enough mind to wrap my hair in my headscarf. Faith would have been a very unhappy butterfly come morning if this didn’t happen considering I’d just gotten the do tossed on Friday before my date with PS.

By midday Sunday everyone had surfaced with stomachs rubbing their backs. We crowded into a booth at Michaels, ordered breakfast food, bussed each other’s chops and talked men for a couple of hours. This is typical behavior after late nights with the girls.

After brunch I sent a text message to Pretty Skin to see how his trip down south was going to which he responded it was going well. In between my text back to him to ask when he was coming home, a text message came in from Jon B. I told you these two are like conjoined twins or something. I finished my textversation with PS before responding to Jon.

As luck may have it or not Jon B was off early from work and had a few hours to kill. Hmm, oh how I love being someone’s afterthought. It makes me feel all warm and tingling inside. Anywho I explained to him that I was in North Wales and wouldn’t be back to the city for a little while but I’d give him a call if I made it back early. He didn’t get that call. Believe me when I made it back home not even an hour after texting him I thought about calling but bailed on the idea relatively quickly. His windows of opportunity are closing fast…we’ll see what happens Tuesday.

This is what it actually looked like on Sunday, I wasn't being completely vain!

After returning from vacation I settled back into my life of working until 8 at night. Old habits die hard people. But before you go all ape shit on me I was able to squeeze in some me time. And by me time I mean I was a regular chatty Cathy with a bunch of the gents from the summer line up.

Jon B and I were communicating quite well. We chatted every night before I went to bed making his the last voice I heard before shuteye. As the boys go he was making quite the impression. Every night was a new discovery of things we have in common, writing, music, politics etc etc etc. The cautious Faith inside says this man is too good to be true. I must keep his red flags front and center and of course remember he is one amongst in the summer o men.

By midweek it was clear a third date/get together was oh so necessary with Jon B. We agreed since he’d missed all but the season premiere of True Blood he’d come over Sunday early afternoon to get caught up on the older episodes and stay for the new one. I was schoolgirl giddy which is a sharp contrast to my cool as the other side of the pillow demeanor.

The Best and Nurse Friend said that with him coming over I’d most definitely lose our summer bet. The summer bet, Wander earmuffs, that for every week we go without having sex we have to add five dollars to the pot. At the end of the summer, if we all make it we’ll collectively use the money toward some group fun. If there’s only one frustrated chica left standing, she wins the pot. Oh yeah Wander you can de-earmuff now!

Unfortunately after setting up our date all communication ended between Jon B and I. No responses to my two feeler text messages. True I’m knocking the rust off my dating skills but I didn’t think I was that far removed. I thought I was reading his signs very well I mean how else should one take goodnight beautiful I will talk to you tomorrow. Clearly these days that’s code for I’m just not that into you! Such as life!

My initial reach out to Pretty Skin was via text. He was surprised to hear from me. That night at Copa I didn’t give him my number. Instead I elected to take his and ponder some more if I can stomach the whole I’ve been home from jail for 6 months. Hmm….if this ain’t a red flag I don’t know what is. I’m uncomfortable with the idea of dating or co-mingling with ex-felons. Of course before we judge a man by his past actions we must first know what those past actions entail. I mean the man did say, before getting caught in his double life, that he worked at an architectural firm in the city. He has the potential to jump right back on his feet, right? I decided to schedule an official first date with him Friday you know just to get a little more of his felony story.

My Friday was looking quite packed. Before agreeing to the date with Pretty Skin I’d set up to some time with the realtor to look at some properties in the city. This is my final step into adulthood. I figure it’s time to own something or let me rephrase pretend to own something while the banks sucks the life energy from my paycheck. I assume after I sign all that paperwork the last ounce of anything kid will ooze out of my body. I’m just assuming. The condos were nice but not what I’m looking for. The Realtor got a kick out my many jokes about boys and deduced that my square footage restriction will be 1200sq feet of mostly closet space. I need somewhere to house all these shoes and clothes and what not.

Anywho I bailed on my Tuesday date with Argyle Freak. He just wasn’t my cup of tea so I sent him off the island never to be heard of again. A-freaking-mazing body and all didn’t wool my eyes from his true intentions. Curiosity has in the past made me do some not mama proud things but I’m not 19 hell I’m not even 24 anymore so I can’t blame poor life decisions on being young and dumb. I’m sure someone else will fall victim to Argyle’s abs of steel.

I had random not sure if they are going anywhere conversations with Mr. Late Nite, Jamerican, Italian Stallion and Trini Man. Yeah I know I sprung some names on y’all but they are in the background dudes that I’m not sure will make it to prime time.

We called it a night around 2ish. I ignored the bouncer’s attempts to woo and walked back to the car unscathed by his advances with my girls. We’d decided to crash at The Best Friend’s house, alls yeah an impromptu sleepover.

Clearly we, me and The Best Friend that is, were not up for the challenge of the sleepover because as soon as I had hair in scarf my eyes closed. I was down for the count. And I do mean the count since I didn’t wake up until well after 12 in the afternoon. Now that’s not something I typically do, y’all know my battle with that biotch, Insomnia.

Anywho, Nurse Friend met the Best Friend and I at our favorite diner in North Wales. Since we’d canceled our trip to Ocean City due to inclement weather we needed to replace that with some equally fun thing for Saturday night. Ended on gambling in Chester. Not exactly the best replacement but we were working with limited options. And I really wasn’t in the market for hanging out in the city again. Don’t get me wrong there’s nothing wrong with the city, I mean I hearts the city in a major way but I’d played the city ticket all week and wanted to spice it up a bit.

Harrahs in Chester was just going to have to do. We parted ways for a few hours, so I could catch up on some e-mail from work and Nurse Friend needed to meet her family for her mom’s birthday celebration. By 9ish Nurse Friend was on her way to scoop me up so we could meet the Best Friend. My bestie was on point for driving since I’d played designated the night before.

Needless to say I didn’t win any money. Well let me not tell a lie. I won about $120 dollars but I ended up giving it all back to the casino. Nurse Friend did tell me to cash out once I was up but I just didn’t listen...hindsight is 20/20. Not counting the $120 that I gave back I only really lost about thirty bucks of my hard earned cash so I’m not gonna complain. Did you know they still have penny machines? It was a bunch of blue haired ladies with ciggies (cigarettes) and drinks pulling slots anxiously watching pennies (yes I said pennies) fluctuate.

Some troll at the bar kept making impromptu eye contact and I wasn’t feeling any of that. No cuties that night, but considering the growing roster that might not be a bad thing. My thought, summer o’ men should include a man for every day of the week. Is that being greedy?

Casino security harassed us for taking pictures, ugh what janky rules. I was actually told I needed to delete any photos, me thinks not! Oh did I forget to mention the drink The Best Friend spilled on me, and she wasn’t even drunk.

During our stint in the casino I could have sworn I saw Jon B saunter by with a less than attractive chic-let, competition. I like competition. Part of me wanted to swing by him so he’d see my hotness in comparison to the dud he had on his arm…jealousy maybe. Of course it might not have been him, or was it!

Once we’d gambled away our hard earned thirty bucks apiece we made our way to the car. I switched into some flip-flops for the ride home but not before we got our Ciara on in the parking lot dancing for no one but ourselves and laughing all the way. This is what I love about my friends always up for acting 12!

Overall the weekend was great! I hadn’t decided if I was ready to deal with Pretty Skin’s issue, if I would see Argyle Freak on Tuesday or when I’d catch up with Jon B. Of course there was Mr. Late Night in the background. Clearly this is going to be a productive summer!

Side note I had a very very interesting Sunday night text, cell phone and webcam conversation with Jon B. Spank him kindly for the oh so tasty pictures. Maybe he won’t stay in the friendzone. Only time will tell!

I was feeling slightly tipsy when I left the bar, way irresponsible I know. Since I hate waking up with alcohol on the tummy I decided to stop at the Wawa on Germantown Avenue in Mt. Airy to grab something quick to coat my stomach. Believe me the Wawa is a regular meat market after last call, not my intentions for going but eye candy is nice at any time of day or night.

There were a couple of cuties I saw giving me the eye when I was ordering my food but I didn’t pay it any mind. I quickly grabbed my slip from the counter and went to pay for my items. Mr. Late Nite was in front of me in the line. He turned around, nice shoulders, and said, “Damn you smell good. What is that you have on?” Never one to disappoint a fan I responded that I was wearing Chanel Chance. He said something like he was going to add it to his personal memory because it smelled amazing! Spank him kindly.

When I went to the counter to retrieve my sandwich Mr. Late Nite was still standing there. He started asking the usual questions one ask when he wants to secure another’s phone number. I began tabulating in my mind whether he could be added to the roster of summer potentials. My decision, yes for those shoulders alone he could gain admittance on the island.

Mr. Late Nite walked me to my car so we could exchange numbers. For whatever reason I’d left my cell in the car. Once at the car, I could see Jon B was calling. Probably checking to make sure I’d made it home, so sweet. Anywho I picked up the phone because I didn’t want Jon B to think I’d careened off the side of the road. Mr. Late Nite was quiet while I chit chatted and asked Jon if I could give him a buzz once I was settled and in the house.

After I hung up, Mr. Late Nite asked who I was talking to, to which I responded, some dude. I’m not into lies people and I don’t owe either one of these gents anything. Mr. Late Nite said he liked how smooth I handled the situation and respected me for not lying. Why lie? Either way we exchanged numbers and I made my way home. By the time I got settled it was around 2:30ish. I called Jon B back, promises must be kept, and we talked until about 4. By that time my eyelids were heavy and I had to get some sleep to prepare for ladies weekend.

Friday was packed with an ish load of errands. I woke up and cleaned the kitchen and bathroom while I waited for The Little Brother to come home with my car. I finished reorganizing my room, you know de-Spaniardizing. Once The Little Brother was home I made my way to the hair salon to get my do tossed. Side note my hair is on a growth spurt and I like it. I was slightly annoyed that my stylist was overbooked and I ended up waiting for several hours, the usual but for whatever reason I was irked.

After leaving the shop I headed down to the Urban Outfitters on 36th and Chestnut to see if I could pick up something cute for the night. Originally the Best and Nurse friend decided on Cuba Libre in Olde City but to be honest I wasn’t feeling salsa all night long, papichulos yes salsa no! In any event I was able to convince the girls that a nice low-key night out was far better. We agreed to go to Copacabana on 40th & Spruce. Side not I didn’t even wear the outfit I picked up out that night instead I opted for an oldie but goodie from my closet.

At first Copa was looking dead. I almost regretted my not so subtle suggestion of forgoing Cuba Libre. Once we got to the door we realized it was in deed in rare form inside, great! The doorman was giving me the eye but I wasn’t returning the favor. Sorry friend just not my type but he was nice and he carded us so my still looking under 21 card is still in effect, fantabulous!

The music was knocking; this is slang for good, carry on. The DJ spun a good mix of oldies and new school hip-hop and r&b. The vibe in Copa was nice. I ordered my signature and my friends ordered there’s. We were partying with our best friends, Vodka and Rum. Sometimes that’s all you need. Mid way through the evening Pretty Skin (PS) asked if he could join our trio.

My initial reaction was to blow him off because this was in fact girls night out but I had to remind myself, quickly, that it is also the summer of men. I didn’t want to be a cock blocker. Not to mention the man is easy on the eyes. He’s not what I would call a charmer but he did make me laugh a bit especially when Nurse Friend refused to shake his hand. He asked her if she was protecting herself from H1N1. Y’all know I have issues with shaking as well however I was fully prepared to anti-bacterial my hands once he left.

For whatever reason Nurse Friend was being a bit of a ball buster, not typically her lane. We reserve the busting of balls especially for The Best Friend. But I guess everyone has her night. At some point during the conversation that ice wall Nurse Friend was building came tumbling down. Could it have been the Vodka, one never knows. She was most definitely feeling a little nice because when PS asked her the best part of her former relationship she said the SEX. I almost spit out my drink for laughing so hard. No shocker to me being her friend and all but I was real horriprised sort of like seeing your grandparents knocking knees that she even said something like that to him.

Eventually PS asked if he could get my number. Before he revealed his little secret I was all ready to pony up, if he was in fact interested in me. There were three of us at the table all equally attractive; I can’t be that vain chick to think every guy wants me. In my mind they do but that is beside the point.

Anywho the man’s skin was glowing. I mean his skin was so smooth and so medium chocolate-esque I considered touching his face but I thought it might be rude. The Best Friend just came out and said something like you know your skin is gorgeous. She ain’t never told a lie! In any event I took his number to mull over if I can deal with his issue before he left us to return to his friend.

My highpoint of the night was when Nurse Friend stormed back to the table from the bathroom. As it turns out some sloppy whores where screwing some dude in the ladies room. Side note they could have been doing lines but me doubts it from the way they walked out, no eye contact after The Best Friend knocked on the door po-po style. Pretty Skin offered to watch the door while Nurse Friend used the men’s room. Now wasn’t that nice of him, trying to earn brownie points!

This will be the summer of men no doubt. If you speak these things into the universe sometimes the universe will give you what you want in return. Someone up there is smiling down on me….and I likes it!

So I had a double booking on Thursday night. An early test the waters with Argyle Freak and a late night chit chat with Jon B. I was looking forward to both for different reasons. To get up to speed read the prior post.

As luck or fate may have it, Argyle was way late getting back to me about what time we should meet up so I cancelled our plans in my mind. By 9PM it was entirely too late to squeeze him in before Jon B. Jon B and I were tentatively scheduled to meet for drinks at 11PM. Around 9:40ish Argyle sent a text message about just joining him at his house…hmm late night with Shemar Moore look-a-like probably not the best first date experience. Wander didn’t raise no hussies round these parts.

Immediately texted Argyle back and let him know I made other plans because he’d gotten back to me too late in the day. Clearly he was on his period because he threw a small tantrum. Men with women’s mood swings aren’t attractive however did I tell you how a-freaking-mazing Argyle’s body is…concessions can be made. After his b*tch-fit subsided we agreed to meet up Tuesday. Side note I am strongly considering kicking this one off the island though. I mean there is but so much concession in me and well, this is the summer of men. He is one amongst.

Jon B got stuck at work later than anticipated, I truly dislike waiting for people, and we didn’t end up meeting until 12:30. Did I forget to mention that Benson (my cat) destroyed the orange sweater I was going to wear? Part of me wanted to kick the cat but I decided against it.

Anywho we met at the Tavern on the Hill in Chestnut Hill. I ordered my usual, vodka and cranberry with a splash of pineapple. It is my signature drink. Jon B ordered Absolut on the rocks no chaser, a man’s drink. Granted I hadn’t had much food, when it’s hot outside I tend to eat less food it makes me hot or something, but my damn was that drink strong. After a few sips I was feeling a little too nice. I decided to nurse it for the rest of the evening as to not sound borderline retarded while holding conversation with the man.

We conversed about a number of things in particular legalizing drugs, great date convo I know. We debated the pros and cons and came to a general consensus that if alcohol is legal, also a drug, then why not open the lid on controlled substances. One of the early benefits of legalizing drugs would be a swift decline in the crime rates, mainly because trafficking won’t be considered a punishable offense. Two, there is already a market of highly intelligent salesmen and women to continue distribution. Three, and this is the one that should have wayward politicians skeeting in their seats, we could solve a lot of the social ills with the taxes collected from the sale and distribution of said controlled substances. I’m just saying, please don’t hate me for my politics. Consider this, you can never solve a supply and demand problem by attacking the supply.

Slightly before 2ish the barkeep yelled for last call. I was still nursing that extra strong drink and Jon B was yawning something vicious, not because of me but he’d worked a 13hr shift. We parted ways with a hug and his casual we should do this again soon. Hmm I’m feeling friendzone at this point, what do y’all think?

As I mentioned this summer is going to be the summer of men. OK maybe I didn’t mention the summer of men; maybe I told Nurse and Model Friend about the summer of men, whatevs consider this the formal notice!

In an effort to maximize my seven-day vacation I packed a ton of fun things into the week. As a result I’m now double booked! Double bookings are not uncommon in the world o’ singles. Considering I’m slightly rusty dare I say out of practice navigating out of the double booking is becoming quite tricky. Feelings could get hurt, not to mention ruin my free dinner invites in the recent future.

My dilemma is simple. I like Jon B. We’ve chatted it up all week since date numero uno. He’s…mature. Now I know that’s not typically something that people swoon over but I genuinely enjoy hearing his perspective on things. He’s really mellow and I like that. Oh did I mention the butter smooth voice, booyah! He wants to do late night din din with drinks tonight after he gets out of work….I wanna go blog friends.

On the flip side of the house is Argyle Freak. Now I wasn’t too sure about this one early on. Officially we haven’t had our first date due to some scheduling conflicts but he’s sezy. Now when I say sezy I mean if Halle Berry and Shemar Moore had a love child he would be it. His body, A-freaking-mazing! He looks great in round the way boy clothes and a suit, hence the Argyle part of his moniker. He definitely gets the blood pressure elevated but me-thinks he’s in it for the a$$. Not my style friend so I’m leery, but can’t deny very very curious.

Curiosity killed the cat but satisfaction brought her back right!

WWOFD aka What Would Old Faith Do, in my dating past I would schedule an early day date with Argyle Freak and late night dining with Jon B. My first reason for this, I trust myself more during the daytime in public places. Second, if Argyle Freak lives up to his name and I have to deliver a quick shot to his Johnny Rockets I’d want to end the night in buttery voice bliss with Jon B. This seems 100% practical to me.

So I’m jumping back into the dating game feet first. Feet rather than head because head implies over thinking things and I’ve already been there and done that.

The first summer prospect is Jon B. Jon B is all types of scrumptilicious for a number of reasons but the first is because when I see him I think of Jon B. Yes I had a thing for Jon B’s buttery voice back in the day. Maybe it was the way he sang those ballads all Babyface-like that made me melt. Maybe it was a his undeniable good looks, whatever it was I was way into Jon B back in the day. Not that my Jon B is the Jon B, although he used to be a hip-hop group some time ago.

Second Jon B also has the best phone voice this side of the Philly! When he called to let me know he’d be 15 minutes late for our Starbucks meet and greet I nearly crashed Juan The 2nd. Prior to this our convo had been completely e-mail, Yahoo messager, text chat Yuppers it’s a sezy phone voice…could come in handy on those travel away from home trips.

We had our official first date at the Starbucks in Chestnut Hill. As first dates go, on a scale from 1-10 I’d rate it a 6.5, outside of the Ex Future Husband I’ve never had a 10 first date. There was something all types of special about that boy. The convo flowed, Jon B didn’t seem in any way socially awkward and he’s a smart ass, which is right up my alley. I can see myself chillaxing with him again in the near future.

Since life rarely hands you a dozen roses without thorns there were a couple Debbie Downers. Now they weren’t earth shattering but time will tell if I can deal. The man, 34, lives with his father. Hmmm, I listened to the “reasons” and found them totally logical however it doesn’t change the fact that Jon B lives with his daddy and he’s a grown a$$ man.

Who am I to complain, The Little Brother cohabitates so this might be the pot calling the kettle.

I’m sensing the possibility of male patterned baldness. He was wearing a cute Kangol, not the grand pappy one but the fitted kind that all the hip-hop heads wear, side note it was way cute. Y’all know I loves me some hair to run my fingers through. I’ve never dated a bald guy before my system might go into shock. Yes this is way superficial but come on now I’m a work in progress OK.

Jon B is still paying some bills for his ex. Red flag, I think yes! As he tells it, he is the only father figure his ex’s daughter has and he doesn’t want her to go without even though he is not with her mother. Awl that sounds all helping elderly people across the street sheltering stray kittens-esque but in the my mind it also signifies deep unresolved emotional ties to his ex, whether Jon B’s willing to admit it or not.

At the end of the day I’m not looking for a relationship so these few items aren’t gonna stop me from going out with him again. Oh did I mention we dig on the same type of music. He’s way into olde skool hip hop and r&b. This is right up my alley. I sense a live music partner in the making. Of course it doesn’t hurt that he’s sort of a Baldwin (ha ha I was watching Clueless the other day and will be bringing this back to my linguisticals for hot guy).

It’s odd because I’ve always touted my love of the single life. Don’t get me wrong I’m not saying that single life is bad but it’s definitely for the birds. Dare I say I enjoyed the laziness of being in a relationship….not so much the work that it took but definitely enjoyed the benefits.

Oh God, who am I turning into these days?

Jumping back into the single’s game is not as easy as I would have hoped. Damn, I settled into that whole relationship thing too quickly. Oh side note: Did I mention that I gave it the ole college try for the second time around with The Spaniard. I won’t subject you to the boring deets (stole that from Lotusb), just know it ended in a fall out similar to this.

Did I mention my single and ready to mingle skills are a bit rusty. I’m sure they will come running back shortly bike riding skills style. One never forgets how to ride a bike she’s simply out of practice. Granted I was out this past weekend and didn’t feel the least bit fierce…although my shoes were screaming fierceness from the bottom of their souls!

Yes, shoes have soles and souls in my book!

It was good to be out and about, that I will admit. I enjoyed people watching especially when this sloppy hooker almost broke her ankle trying to cross the cobblestone in Olde City. Side note I must have missed the romper memo because I’m not all over this fashion trend. Needless to say Nurse Friend is way up to speed. Although some of the one-piece cat suit-esque numbers I saw on passersby left little to the imagination and kept me wondering if people have mirrors and where the ef are their friends.

In situations when outfits go ape shit, I don’t totally blame the wearer. Remember peeps everyone has that moment where you throw something on and you’re deluded by sheer ignorance or that imagine in your mind that you look like Dorothy Dandridge. Whatever the case may be you’re not in the right mind to make sound dressing decisions. This is when friends should step in and say, “Faith what the ef are you smoking? Take that hashish off before I smack the taste out of your mouth!” If that doesn’t happen your friends are scandalous whores who delight in other’s misfortune.

Anywho back to my single-ness, this summer should be fun. I anticipate a lot of late nights with the chicas and some date nights with some boys. Don’t worry I won’t rush to get boo-ed up too quickly even though the delights of couple-dome gave me a new perspective on relationships. The bennies (aka benefits) are amazing, like sleeping in my headscarf because the boy already knows my sezy! That hashish isn’t going down with new boys off the bat. Men have to be broken into the headscarvf cause ba-bey that thang ain’t the least bit cute.
The next few months should be interesting!!!