Text Sex

I've been traveling a lot for work (currently in Mexico City*) and was texting the cutie with the sweater.

I'd - innocently, mind you - mentioned I was in the tub - and, next thing you know, I started getting these racy texts from he who is not so buttoned up after all. He and I had done nothing more than make out so I was at first taken aback and then...intrigued. After all, I was alone in a hotel room and he was making the 'move'.

So, I put my creative writing skills to the test and started giving him my best stuff. Dirty, yet classy. At the same time, I was on my laptop, writing something for work. So I wasn't actively participating, if you catch my drift.

These texts went back and forth for over an hour.

All I can say is this: if I ever get to the point where I find out, I hope his technique is as good as his writing.

*pic of the Sun Pyramid, Mexico City

Where in the World is V Dot?

Folks...no dating/relationship news to report at the moment.

Work has just been crazy, super busy. I'm currently traveling for work - just left Jamaica, headed to New Mexico tomorrow, then Mexico City, Atlanta, Montreal, NYC and back to Jamaica.

Not a lot of opportunity to date at the moment.

The cutie with the sweater is still in the picture. We haven't seen each other - he travels for work and I am right now, too, but he calls. So cute.

And an ex is really pressed to rekindle our past relationship. He's been writing everyday but I haven't had much time to do more than give him 3 sentence responses to his heart felt missives. He still wants me to travel with him. Another guy I used to date, who I couldn't travel with because of work, is actually headed back to Chicago soon (he lives out of the country).

That's what's going on.

Blame it on the Boots

I've been wondering where my sexy bish had gone. Well, she's been found. And I think the credit goes to my new fuschia suede 3 1/2 inch stiletto ankle booties.

I first tried them out at work over a week ago. I got a 'those are hot' comment from a gentleman in the office (he reiterated how hot they were in an email) and two men on the street stopped to comment on them.

Last week, I had a date with a new guy. He's cute, very cute, but not my type. Very buttoned up. He went to Morehouse, not a plus in my book. But he's cute. And he works in politics, one of the topics that interests me more than anything.

I broke out the boots for our date. I met him at a buppie hot spot for drinks, not knowing most of his friends would be there. Two of his guys spent the better part of the night hitting on me. I made it clear to his boys who I was there with and that I wasn't *that* girl. He noticed the attention they were paying me, was flattered at first but then went on to get a little pissy. Pissy as in holding my hand all night, hugging me, separating me from the pack, etc. He also delivered a line that had me cracking up all night "them ain't my favorite niggas"...in reference to his offending boys.

When we left, he set one serious kiss on me - had me thinking he wasn't that buttoned up at all. He wanted to keep the night going and, even though it was a work night, I was game. So we hit a late night spot. A guy there slipped me his number but I wasn't checking for him because I was kinda digging Mister Sweater Wearer.

Then, things went horribly wrong. I had a shot and ended up getting really sick, something that rarely happens. He was so nice about it. Rubbed my back and all. Stopped and bought me Gatorade. Drove me home, didn't try anything. And he's still speaking to me. After seeing me vomit, I didn't think that was gonna happen.

I broke the boots out again this evening. Two dates, one night.

Granted, these were both men I've dated previously. But it's still two dates in one night. And I managed to pull it off. I even had them in the same room at one point (a complete accident that I rectified immediately).

To be brief, I had a great time. Live music dates with both. And two very passionate kisses. Was taken by surprise with invites for a trip to Japan with one in the Spring and have plans for a 'date' in the Caribbean with the other.

Stay tuned. I think these boots are magical.

Girlfriend Rules: Fade into the Night

A good friend will hold your hair while you are drunk off of your ass, puking in a dark alley, swearing to never touch the sauce again. She will also tell you, after the third occurrence of such an episode, that you need to get your shit together.

A good friend will let you go on and on about your break up, make you dinner when you are depressed to shower, let alone go to the store and buy food. She will also, once she's near her breaking point, tell you to it is time to move on.

A good friend will, when you two are together and you are vibe-ing with a cutie, fade into the night. One minute she's there...the next she's not. Realizing the connection, she makes herself scarce but watches from a secluded place just in case you flash the 'danger' sign and need back up.

I consider myself a good - albeit often absent - friend. Too bad I cannot say the same for a couple of my girls.

I haven't had any drunken, alley puking episodes (that they've witnessed). Nor have I had a break-up that caused me to be so down and out that I forgot how to function. But I have had - you guessed it - many occasions where I've been deeply engaged in convo with a hottie only to be disturbed by my girl who - usually loudly - interjects her unsolicited opinion into the discussion.

Last week I was out with a friend. We were having a decent time. Enter the cute boy. He and I traded barbs; I was impressed. But the energy was disturbed by my girl and her loud, drunken commentary about nonsense. He looked confused every time she spoke, even going so far as to ask me if she was my agent. Too bad I couldn't wiggle my nose and make her disappear.

But this isn't the first time I've had a friend do this. Last summer, I met a HOTTIE. I actually filed him under "Ooo Aaah" in my phone. He was that smokin. As he was talking to me, a friend (different chick) kept jumping in the convo, telling him about her work, how she liked the restaurant we'd just left. If looks could kill...

I won't even spend too much time talking about the one friend who always, whenever anyone is being macked, has to interject to talk about politics and healing broken communities.

All in all, these women are fairly decent people. But, I am wondering: did they not read chapter 3 in the Girlfriend Manual, that clearly spells out that, when your girl is getting her mack on, you should blend into the background?

Does one need to tell her friend "Hey...I'm digging this cat...can you give us a second?" Isn't this something we inherently KNOW to do?

What say you?

Older and Wiser

Today, dear readers, is August 11. It is my birthday.

Inevitably, every year, right around this day, I get calls from exes who wish me a good one or who ask me if I want to go out for drinks and/or dinner. Most of these men I haven't really associated with in years. So it always surprises me that they remember, let alone call!

I received 4 such calls, 3 of them were invitations, before my birthday even hit.

To be honest, such calls are great for the ego and help one maintain a positive state of mind. I mean, there are men out there who dated me and who actually remember my birthday! And better still, they can stomach me enough to take me out for drinks. I can't be all bad, right?

Indeed, I realize a few (all?) are hoping I am vulnerable and lonely on my birthday and will be easy pickings (haven't fallen for that one yet). Nevertheless, the fact that they called is still pretty cool in my book. It even makes me forget that some of them were hopelessly flawed in so many aspects of their personalities. For a moment.

It's a big time for me: new job, personal projects, some exciting trips planned. I'm amped and looking forward to it all.

That said, I have been crazy, crazy busy. Too busy for hanging out with friends, let alone men. Yup: no time for sex.

I have actually ignored the calls of the Caribbean bass player with the magic touch who lives in England but is in town for several months. Last year, I was late to work on a daily basis because I stayed up all night with him. This time around, we hung out when he first arrived but I've blown him off for about three months now. It's sad, really.

Since my last birthday, I've been to Kenya, Portugal and Amsterdam. I've ridden in a Mardi Gras parade. I've gotten and quit a job. I've freelanced. I've landed a new job. I dated a Kenyan living in Michigan. I've gone on dates with not one but two pervs.

It's been fun but I don't want to wake up six months from now and realize I have lost all my friends and self-selected myself out of the dating pool. I mean, really, I'm 34 now. My boobs are only gonna be perky for so much longer. I can't let that go to waste!

With that said, I've got a few birthday wishes (birthdays are to me what New Year's is to others: this is when I make my resolutions):

- I want to be a better friend. I've stood up so many friends over the last few months because I've been busy or needed to get some sleep because I've been so busy.
- I want to rest to ensure that I am in good health.
- I want to finish what I start.
- I want to be a better granddaughter/niece. I've seen some relatives only a handful of times in the last year because - you guessed it - I've been so busy.

I'm trying to figure out a way to fit in some fun. I have so many balls in the air and I'm barely juggling them all. How do you guys manage to juggle work, volunteering, Board duties, hobbies, family responsibilities and dating?

Any tips would be appreciated!

She Needs to Stick With Her Cat

I can honestly say: I have never dated a guy for his "stuff". I'm not one who gets off on what a guy has: his car, his house, whatever. I truly believe that if you can't get it for yourself it ain't meant for you to have and you shouldn't try to cop somebody else's ish.

That said, I have dated guys who have had "stuff". A boat, a BMW, a Range Rover, etc. But I met them in places where I chatted them up a bit, got to see their personalities long before I saw the stuff. The dude with the boat I met at Target. Met the Beamer owner walking down the street. The dude who pimped the Range: met him at a reggae club.

I've also dated guys who didn't have a lot of stuff: a struggling musician, a graduate student, a DJ (not the stalker one. This DJ is still my boy!). Two of these dudes I met at the aforementioned reggae club (what can I say?). The other, at a Harold's Chicken. South side!

All this to say: I meet men and size them up based on their approach: are they witty? Can they make me laugh in the first sixty seconds? Can they say something that sparks my intellect? (And, let's be real: I check the visual, too!).

These are the things I value. "Stuff" doesn't it do it for me.

Now, just because I'm not a paper chaser or a car booty, doesn't mean I knock others who are. Do you. If you wanna dig a guy for his loot, that's on you.

I just ask that you be good at it. Don't be THIS chick.

Gold Digging FAIL | Dlisted

In the history of gold diggers, this chick has to be the worst. ever.

In short, she married a billionaire and left him because he wanted to have sex with her. The pre-nup was iron-clad: if she walked away, she got nothing.

She is quoted as having said "I just could not believe what he wanted me to do. He'd lean over while we were watching TV and grope me. That's not how married couples behave. He expected a feel of tit whenever he wanted, French-kiss him constantly and parade around the house in sexy underwear."

She's 24, he's 85. Did she think he was marrying her for her sparkling conversation and wit? NO. He married her because she had perky boobs. And I'm not buying the whole "I loved him bit". Yeah...love can conquer a lot. But I am extremely doubtful that it can conquer an almost 60 year age difference.

Here's the real: she thought she'd play this old dude for his cash but he ended up being more than she bargained for. Ashamed that she failed at gold digging, she's using the 'love' excuse. She needs to play in traffic because that story is about as believable as Queen Latifah telling the world her 'girlfriend'* is her 'trainer' (ummm...Queen, you've been with her for some time now and your body looks the same. What kind of workout are you doing?)

It's clear ol' Kristin isn't the brightest bulb in the box. She could have gone about things much differently and succeeded in her gold digging plan. A smarter woman would have:

Worked the lingerie angle and let him grope a boob now and then, she could have possibly avoided sex with him. If he was still insistent on getting busy, she could have poured them both a glass wine to 'set the mood'. Wine makes old people sleepy. If that didn't work, and he was still insistent, she could have chased her wine with a few shots of whiskey, taken a few tokes** and just suffered through it. How long could it have lasted? He's 80-freaking 5! Viagra can only do so much.

Had Kristin been bout it, she'd be living like a princess. Yes, the thought of having sexual relations with an 85 year old man when you yourself are well below the age of 70 is gross. That's why young people do not and should not marry really old people.

But if you're gonna go for the loot, you gotta go all out. In this case, she half-assed it and is now back at square one: living with her mother. It's a sad tale, really. And I know that, out there somewhere, there is a TRUE gold digger who is 'bout that loot, telling her friends what SHE would have done if ole Grandaddy Warbucks came knocking at her door.

So friends, what are your thoughts on Ms. Kristin? On gold diggers in general? If you're a guy, can you spot a gold digger? What are the signs? Also, gentlemen: have you ever dated a woman for her stuff? I'd like to know.

While I wait for your responses, I'll busy myself preparing Ms. Kristin's "Girl...stick wit yo cat" award. I will be sending it Federal Express, along with half a brain and a nut sack I found in the garbage.



*Gay or straight, she'll always be The Queen to me.
**This is why marijuana should be legal.

Say What, Say Huh?

Last week, I received an email from an ex. The subject line read: "Just Hear Me".

I opened the email to find the following message:

"You are a truly beautiful and amazing woman! I was thinking about you and looking at some of your pictures and recalling the moments we have spent together. Thank you for have enriching my life. You are truly amazing…"

Ordinarily, this would have delivered a nice confidence boost, making me feel all warm and fuzzy inside. However, I was left with a screwed up face, wondering what the he!! he had been smoking. Because...

He sent another email, about 20 minutes later, that told me he and his wife had filed for divorce, that he was planning his future and wondering if we could revisit our past relationship. He'll be in town in September and wants to meet.

I have not seen this man in 7 years. Yes...7. S-E-V-E-N. We dated in 2000, maybe 2001, for a few months. He proposed then and I, nowhere near the 'love' stage had to *politely* decline. We reconnected via LinkedIn (damn social networks) earlier this year and, since then, I've been getting long missives that describe his feelings for me and how much he misses me.

Here's what I think:

This guy believes me to be a simp who will gobble up all the compliments and readily open my legs for him when he comes to town.


OR

He is unhappy where his life is headed and is thinking back to a more "innocent" time, where he didn't have to deal with the realities of a real job, a family and a failed marriage.

I am going with Option 2.

You see, women do this a lot: cling to old memories because it reminds them of a time when they felt young or hot or both. Some of woman kind makes up ish in their heads, all because they want a better/different life. But you rarely get to witness men in this state.

It's interesting, to say the least.

What is it about life - real life - that makes us create some alternate world where we think we can just pick up with a former flame - one who turned down your proposal(!) - we haven't seen in seven years?

Is the reality of being a grown up - mortgages/rent, bills, family obligations, etc. - so overwhelming that we have to dive head first into a fantasy world? Doesn't creating this fantasy make life that much harder? I mean, won't living in dreamland only make you more frustrated that things aren't working out the way you envisioned them?

You tell me.


In case you were keeping score: Men lost this round, too.

Flashback Friday: My Ugly, Love-less Triangle

Shortly after my 17th birthday, I cheated on my boyfriend of six months. In a very public and embarrassing way.

I was in my second semester of my freshman year in college and he, thanks to my skillful forging of his high school transcripts so he would be accepted, came along for the ride. The only problem was: I spent a lot of time that semester riding someone else. Crass, but true.

My high school boyfriend was cool: he drove a '78 Cutlas, looked kind of like Duane Martin, had a great sense of humor and was probably one of the nicest guys I've ever known. He was never disrespectful - cuz his momma taught him that. He was generous to a fault, would bend over backward for me and had no problem carting my no driver's license having ass any where I'd ask.

I knew early on in our relationship he wasn't the one - is there even such a thing? We honestly had nothing in common save for a love for freshly baked chocolate chip cookies and NBA basketball. Yet, I couldn't bring myself to break up with him. I mean, who dumps a nice guy?

Not me. Nooo. Instead, I cheat on him. Embarrass him in front of...basically the entire campus at an HBCU.

The cheating isn't the worst part: it's who I cheated with. And how I cheated.

I basically carried on a public relationship with RJ, a 21 year old student, who'd been at the school two and a half years yet somehow had only amassed six credit hours. RJ wasn't smart. He wasn't even fyne. He had an S-curl. And was about five pounds away from the chubby list.* Folks couldn't understand it.

But: RJ made me laugh. He was a sharp dresser, never in jeans,always fly. He could cook and would do so for me often. And he introduced me to his friends: older students, who loved to pontificate over wine and games of spades and who broadened my horizons and opened my still very young mind.

I was so sprung, I actually went with him for a weekend to his hometown to visit his mother, leaving my boyfriend on campus, wondering where I'd went. He even came to visit me at home during a long weekend off from school. It didn't take long for things to get sticky. My boyfriend would get teased by his boys and he and I would argue. One night, RJ found his car spray painted and his windows busted. I'm pretty sure the boyfriend did it, but he denied it (I actually confronted him about it).

In the midst of all of this drama with the boyfriend (and yes, I realize I created the drama), tensions began to develop between RJ and I. You see, he was hurting. He'd recently lost his brother and hadn't moved on from the loss. He was depressed. And his depression manifested itself as neediness. He clung to our 'relationship' in the most desperate of ways, fighting with me for spending time with my boyfriend, declaring that I could save him from himself. Lest you think I am being egotistical, he actually said to me once, after I questioned him about his dismal grades "I could do better in school if you were officially with me". Mkay.

So there I was: stuck in the middle of two very needy men who allowed me to walk all over them. I wasn't happy.

Channeling Ms. Winfrey, this is what I know for sure: I didn't have feelings for RJ. Quite the opposite: his lackluster approach to school irritated me and his clingy behavior was a huge turn off (so much so, I made out with his boy one night, in the hallway outside his (RJ's) apartment, just to make him mad). I realize now that I really, really liked his circle of friends. I wanted to be part of a group that I perceived as being on the move: doing things, thinking things, making things happen. My boyfriend's friends weren't like that and the girls in the dorm just weren't cool. I felt alone and found entry into the 'cool clique' with a guy I would not have normally given the time of day to.

Even though I wasn't in love with the boyfriend, I couldn't break up with him. After all, I was the one who convinced him to go to college. I felt responsible to see him through. Besides, he'd gotten arrested for me. I owed him. I had no obligations to RJ so I made up my mind, at the end of the semester, to break up with him.

As fate would have it, I didn't have to: he flunked out. He left campus at the end of the semester and never returned. He called me at home during the breaks and in the dorm when I was back on campus, but I never answered. I screened my calls back then. I still do.

I ended up staying with the boyfriend for another four years - about three years longer than I should have. He forgave my transgression. I couldn't just up and leave him. Right?

As I moved forward, thinking about my life's plans, I finally found the courage to force a separation. The courage came in the form of a new guy. I'd met a 33 year old who was sexy. And educated. I was 21 and impressed. It would make me two years to find out he was an a$hole and that I was still searching, but that was a lesson I was meant to learn.

I wasn't going to cheat so I knew I had to end the five year journey with the boyfriend. He, however, had other things on his mind: marriage. He proposed, I broke up with him. He cried. I sat there staring at the wall.

I am not proud of this chapter in my life. But it's just that: a chapter. I lived through it. And I learned some lessons. I have not cheated on a boyfriend since. And I have been conscious of not dragging relationships out long past their expiration dates". **

Sometimes, we do things that are completely out of character for us. This particular experience taught me to slow down and ask myself "what's up? what are you really trying to do?" when I go against my basic nature. I now try to figure out what motivates my actions before I hurt someone or make a fool of myself. I suggest that everyone do the same.


*His belly didn't cover his schlong, so I was okay with him being a few pounds over weight.

**It would take me two years of living with and being engaged to the 33 year old to realize that, if you aren't feeling anything after six months, you should do everyone a favor and bounce.

Change I Can Believe In

First, I need to apologize to my tens of readers for my laziness. I have neglected this blog, as I have my novel, my running, my guitar playing. I am a loser. Sadly, I have been okay with this period of relative inactivity. I accept it. A schlump is a schlump is a schlump.

But, never you fear: I have been doing SOMETHING. Yes...I have not been a total and complete bumb.

I have been reflecting back on my life with special emphasis on, but not limited to, my dating life.

Good times.

As you may know, I chased a few ghosts. What I learned is that, out there in this world, there are at least three men who, to this day, think I am the schnizit. Though they are married (TL), awaiting child (EJJ) or shacked up (WT) they compare their women to moi and moi wins.

Before you roll your eyes, please know that I too considered this 'game' but since none of these dudes lives anywhere near me and had nothing to gain for stuffing my ego, I am inclined to believe them.

Lest you think this post is a personal ass-kissing fest, let me be clear: though these dudes may think V.E.G aka ManEater aka CrazyMagnet is da bomb, she realizes that her shit is messy. Real messy.

Case in point: these dudes still got a jones for me. I have love for them but didn't love any of them. Not in that way (though some, I realize, came closer than others).

I have commitment issues. Real ones. I get bored with men, jobs, hell...even some friends...easily.

Not a good look.

Truth be told, the only things that I get continuous pleasure from day in and day out are my beloved shoes.

Well, the time has come to get to the bottom of this.

Yes, I've had some fun. And I have had some mind blowing sex. When I am old lady, I can reflect back and smile secretly to myself. The memories are worth their weight in gold.

But I am all about progress.

If I can't overcome this issue - this utter and complete inability to connect to something that will fuel me - then I ain't growin. And if I ain't growin, I might as well stop wasting air. Air should only be breathed by those who are truly passionate about their existence.

Don't get me wrong. There are things that excite me. I am gassed up about an AIDS project that I am working on. I dig my new gig. I have been doing a little writing. Hanging out with EJJ has inspired me, shamed me, really, to pick up the guitar again. Dying 15 miles into a marathon has convinced me that I need to get my arse in gear.

But I need that excitement to last beyond the idea phase and carry me through to completion. Sure, I've completed things I've started but the high I get is never enough.

V.E.G. doesn't want to spend her life chasing a buzz. Well, not a legal one anyway. Hehe.

I also realize that, sometimes, ok, all the time, I try to do TOO much. Learning to say no is a gift. Superwoman is a myth. And black superwomen die young. V.E.G. has too many boys to chase and too many shoes to buy to check out.

So, today, I start a new chapter in my life.

I am calling it the Resurgence Phase. It will have far reaching implications that affects both my personal and professional life.

Step 1: Text the two losers who, despite MONTHS with no reply keep calling and texting me, and ask them to stop contacting me. It is immature on my part to pretend like they don't exist. Yes, intelligent people would stop calling at some point. But it is clear that these two men are not intelligent. And I must treat them accordingly. This leads directly into...

Step 2: Stop messin' with unintelligent men. Pretty is as pretty does. I need more than that. Don't get me wrong: I looooves me a smart man. And the ones that have gone the farthest, i.e. my ghosts, have been pseudo-geniuses. But some of those who have filled the gaps have been oh so segzy but quite dense. I'm too bright for a dim bulb.

Step 3: No more stuff. V.E.G. likes to shop. Yes she does. I say this after engaging in a hefty spree that added 3 pairs of boots, 2 pairs of shoes, 2 pairs of jeans, 2 coats, a necklace, leather leggings and 2 dresses to my closet. And I like the good shit. High end but on sale (trust. Full price is not in my vocabulary). I can afford it. But I realize that I shop out of boredom and not need. I think that clearing my mind of the filler will help me open it up the greatness that I know the good Lord has in store for me. To that end, I have instituted a shopping moratorium. If it is not a necessity and it costs more than $40, I will NOT buy it. And I will not buy more than one unnecessary item per month for the next sixth months.

Step 4: Let fear go. Despite my reputation as a hard core street thug, I am often crippled by my fears. Time to leave that shit behind. Going forward, when I am afraid to do something and my flight or fight response kicks in, I will stand and, not only fight, I will KICK ASS.

So, there you have it. My fourth quarter resolutions. I'm sure I'll fall short on some of these but watch me as I try.

Cats are cool. V.E.G. wants to be cool, too.

Ghosts are stupid

Well, maybe men are. Or maybe it's just my male ghosts who are challenged?

Let me back up...

I am a modern day Ghostbuster...chasing down personal ghosts, zappin' 'em with my proton-pack, trying to exorcise them from my life.

Yup: I've been contacting men I've dated, well...men I've dated who've impacted me...to 'figure' some stuff out. There are four of them and, so far, I've hit up two (well, one was in town and hit me up. But I digress).

This one fool, TL, and, yes, I call him a fool and you shall see why, lives across the country. Is now married with two kids (I did NOT know this. Haven't spoken to him in six years). I looked him up on Linkedin and sent him an email TWO days ago. At first it was all good, nice and polite. Now I am getting emails asking me "Was being with me more than mere frivolity? Did I stir your soul? Are you thinking about the sexual heights we reached and are sorry you didn't explore more?"

NEGRO...I asked how old your kids were and if you had boys/girls or both! How did we get HERE?

He told me he couldn't ignore the green light to look into my soul. WTF?

Call me old fashioned, but I do not think these are appropriate questions for a married man to be asking. I said "hey...how have you been" and he sends me a sonnet. I ask him if his wunderlust has been cured-he used to speak of travel- and he replies "No, it hasn't and my answer has many meanings."

Get the fuck out of here.

This negro seems, at the very worse, primed to cheat, or, at the very least, shady as hell for spewing this kind of shit when he has a wife and two crumb snatchers at home. Maybe I am reading too much into it but I don't think I'd want MY husband telling some chick he proposed to TWICE that he wanted to look into her soul and asking her about sex.

So, yeah...I am getting a clear look into the man Mr. Lt. Commander has become and, frankly, am not feeling regret-ish about this one AT ALL.

I can't come up with a clever segue so I'm going to dive right into this next thing...

Over at Very Smart Brothas, folks are sitting in wet spots, reflecting on those lovers who had them so caught up that they lost their minds: freaking in their offices at work, steaming up windows in a parked cars behind $500,000 condos, getting busy in the Raw Bar's bathroom, touching pe-pes in public just to make sure it was still there and ready for you. Please know that I have not done any of these things. I just have an active imagination.

Thinking about being sprung makes me think about EJJ. One of my other ghosts. He happens to be in town. For five weeks. I told myself I was trying to do something different with my life. That I wasn't going to 'go there' with him. I was strong. I ignored the fact that he lost the weight he'd picked up the last time I saw him. I ignored all the new tattoos he'd gotten though they were hawt.

For 1.5 weeks there was a force field around me, making me immune to his segzy.

Sunday, though, was the day it came tumbling down.

We go to see his father's band play and, next thing you know, HE is on stage, playing keyboard (cutie plays 5 instruments) and singing about Jah Seed, Jah being the guiding light. All that good ish. I loves me some reggae. And I love a talented cutie.

I.was.done.

I was so done, I was making out on the street. If you knew me you'd know that I am not a PDA person so this by itself was shocking. What happened later was just down right derty. The car ride was, um, quite interesting. And hawt. I rolled home at 5 a.m., knowing I had to start work at 8:30. (Nevermind that work is done from my dining room table. I still had to get up and be alert).

Ain't no shame in this game.

But...this scares me. For real.

EJJ is on my top 1% list(y'all know what I'm talking about). If I lost my mind so quickly and so easily with him...I am terrified of confronting my other two ghosts.

WT now lives on the left coast so I seriously doubt I'll have an opportunity to bump uglies with him. But BJ? That fool haunts my regular haunts. He's been MIA for a while but he has a very bad habit of turning up JUST when I've erased him from my mind. I fear what will happen if we meet up, all Patron'd up.

Pray for my soul.

Today's score card: TL, representing for men=0, Cat = 123,590,213

Facing Ghosts

Most of us have ghosts we try to hide from. And not the haunt your house, makes curtains blow when the windows are closed type of ghosts. I am talking flesh and blood ghosts. Chances are said ghost is someone you've dated. It ended and, because you have issues, they - or the situation - haunts you to no end. Sometimes for years.

I have four of these ghosts: TL, WT, EJJ, BJ. For whatever reasons, these four men are men I continue to speak highly of but, for whatever reason, couldn't let myself go with them. TL proposed and, though, I thought he was great, I froze on his ass. WT was the bomb, albeit a tad jealous and crazy. I couldn't allow myself to really connect with him. With EJJ I felt totally comfortable. But he asked me to pack up and leave with him and I couldn't do it. Got myself a tatto that reads "Live for today" to remind me to overcome the fear that holds me back. I still don't listen to it. And BJ...well, I lied to him, told him I could never fall for him, etc. etc.

And here I stand. Well, sit. Because I am typing. But you know what I mean.

Lately, I've had this feeling that my ghosts were going to catch up with me. I can't explain it. But it's a mixture of deja vu and overwhelming fear. I don't like. So I decided to reach out to these ghosts, one by one. And beat them to the punch. I don't even know what beating them to the punch means, but I am going to try to do it.

So I contacted TJ. He's on the other side of the country. But, thanks to my good friend the Internet, I was able to find him and contact him. He even hit me back. So far our convo has been very polite. And I don't know what I want/need to say to him. I am just hoping that when the time is right, the words will come.

I am going out with EJJ tonight. He lives outside the country but happens to be in town for a few weeks. Again, not sure what I need to learn here but I am trying my best to pay attention.

2 ghosts down, 2 to go.

Rub a kitty's belly and wish me luck.

DeJa Vu

dé·jà vu:
(Pronounced dey-zhah voo, vyoo; Fr. dey-zha vy)

1. Psychology. the illusion of having previously experienced something actually being encountered for the first time.
2. disagreeable familiarity or sameness.
3. A hit song released in 1979 by singer Teena Marie, she of the blue-eyed soul fame.
4. A hit song released in 2006 by singer Beyonce, she of the "uh oh oh no" fame. Said song was curiously not about the feeling of deja vu at all.
5. What I am experiencing RIGHT now.

At exactly this time last year, I was groovin. I was 'dating' (I use the term loosely) an older guy, my young guy was in town for a few weeks and, then, I met a fairly decent, really good looking guy. Then the world crumbled around me, in so many ways. It would be too much work to detail everything here. But just know that I was on the top and then I hit bottom (the hitting bottom had nothing to do with either of these men but I'd be remiss if I did not accurately recall the exact chain of events).

What does this have to do with anything?

Well, I recently started 'dating' this slightly older guy (I use the term loosely). Last week, I get a call from my young guy...he's in town. Of course this freaked me out. It is literally, to the day, that I was in a very similar situation last year. If history is in fact repeating itself, I know what to expect in about a week and a half.

So I'm in hiding. Yup. I've drastically cut back on public appearances. Call me crazy if you want, but I am a HAUNTED person. I know this about myself: the ghosts of my past are always chasing me. I, for one, am sick of it. Yes. I am a punk. And I am okay with that.

Until this feeling of deja vu passes, I will only make late night appearances once a week. Sad because I will not be going to my favorite spot (going to the one across the street instead. Ha!). I'll spend my time at home, browsing the Humane Society website, looking at pics of kitties who need a good home and listening to this, on repeat:



**A note about the photo for this post: In the Matrix, Neo mentions that he saw a black cat walk by and then another one that looked just like it walked by soon after. Trinity told him that it was deja vu and that deja vu happens when there is a glitch in the matrix. Yes. I am a geek.**

Maybe it's me...

Some days...hell, most days, I feel that I am wearing some sort sign that says "Are you crazy? If so, holla!"

Case in point: tonight after an evening of drinks, political and workplace discussions with smart, funny people, I am driving home. Driving, in my car...minding my own business.

At a red light, I hear a honk. I ignore it. I hear another honk. So I look over...there's a guy, in a Cadillac Escalade, trying to get my attention. I immediately look away. The very fact that he drives an environment destroying, gas guzzling tacky-mobile is a turn off. Never mind that it is 2 a.m. and he is trying to flag down a woman driving alone. Crazy.

When the light turns green, I continue on my way. After about two minutes, I notice he is following me. He changes lanes when I change lanes and turns when I turn. I ended up driving past my home TWICE cuz he wouldn't let up. During this "chase" he continues to yell through his open window "I just wanna to talk to you."

I finally end up pulling over, just in front of a cop car that had stopped another vehicle. I figure the guy wasn't gonna let up, I didn't want to go into my place with him sitting out there, knowing where I lived, so I'd get it over with, hoping the boys in blue would come to my aid if I needed it. **Note: I was NOT going to go to said cops to tell them I was being followed. I didn't want to draw attention to myself. Even when you are asking for help, cops want to run your plates and ish. I don't trust cops like THAT. End note.***

I'm pulled over, hazards on. He comes up to my car. He's short. And he looks old. He's wearing jeans. A printed Rocawear shirt. A baseball cap. A long chain with a large diamond cross. A watch with a diamond crusted bezel. And a diamond pinky ring. I use the word diamond loosely.

I ask him what he wants and tell him that it's 2 a.m. and I don't talk to strangers on the street. He says that he saw my "pretty eyes" and just wanted to get to know me. Get to know me? By chasing down my car???

He first introduces himself as Michael. Two seconds later, he says his name is Sylvester but people call him Sly. Unable to resist, I say "but you said your name was Michael". He says that's what people call me. Being stupid I ask if it's his middle name. He says "no. My mom has just called me Michael since I was a kid." I was already through, but I was too through at that point.

Putting my car into drive, I attempt to pull off but he's leaning in the window at this point, chatting his ass off oblivious to the death stare I am giving him. I was literally willing him to die. Where are those damn magic powers when you need them?

He says he wants to take me to dinner, tells me he's 37 (the negro looked 45 or older) and that he's an investment banker with no kids and likes the theatre, comedy shows and travel.

I thank him for his resume and tell him I need to go. He won't move until I give him a number so I give him a fake one, tell him to call me tomorrow and "yeah. I'd love dinner." I figured playing along would get me to my house without him pulling up behind me.

He takes the fake number and thanks me for my time, promising we'll have fun.

I pull off and wonder...what is it about ME that attracts these ignant mo fos? This is NOT the first time this has happened to me.

Why would ANY man think this is an acceptable way to approach women?

How do I get rid of the "I love crazies" sign that is posted to my forehead?


Man=0, Cat = 123,590,212

Dirty Talk...

As promised, I am going to divulge some of the dirty talk that the impotent compulsive jimmy whacker tossed my way during our laughable romp.

To be fair, I am also gonna share some of the nonsense I've heard over the years. It's comedy, really it is.

Mr. Muscles (aka impotent compulsive jimmy whacker) - I truly believe he was on the 'rhoids -