Blessings

I read a blog this morning that reminded me of the blessings in my life. What I’m truly grateful for is everything, from the close relationships with my family to even the hassles at work. I know eventually those headaches will lead me to the path I’m meant for. And with me along the way, there’s that special someone in my corner. That is also a beautiful blessing.

Love…

I’ve been blessed when it comes to relationships – whether because they simply existed or because they finally ended. Every experience teaches you something.

I’ve far from mastered this thing called love. I can only tell you what I’ve learned so far.

Love….

Love… Is reciprocal. Do your best to take care of me, I will do the same for you. That means everything from respect to affection to security. Love should be based on trust, and I have to feel secure in your love for me to give you everything and more. It’s a Capricorn thing, what can I say.

Love… Is not a power struggle, and not about roles. Who’s right, who’s wrong, who runs things, who has the upper hand. Femmes vs. Studs. None of those things mean a damn thing. Being hard or playing games to prove your studhood, or trying to use the femme upper hand in a relationship is not where it’s at. When I’m weak, I need you to be my strength, and vice versa. I’m not afraid to show you that, and you shouldn’t be either.

Love… Shouldn’t be harsh. Truth means tact. Remember that. Calling your woman out her name – don’t even.

Love… Isn’t love if my heart isn’t in it. One song, R. Kelly’s “When a Woman’s Fed Up,” rings so true when it comes to a female’s heart. A woman will endure a lot when she’s in love, but there’s always a breaking point. When she hits this level, there’s nothing short of a miracle that can make her –  femme or stud – get that love back. Once the bloom is off the rose, what more can be said? That’s why you should never take her for granted.

Love… Should mean my lover is my best friend. You laugh, you share, you make love – but on a deeper level, it should be built on a foundation of genuinely liking the person you’re with. How can you share intimacy with a woman that you wouldn’t be friends with outside of the relationship? If you wouldn’t, that’s a problem.

Love… Should last longer than the honeymoon. Here’s where love gets tricky. In the beginning, two people always put their best faces forward. Flaws may surface, but we’re blinded by the admissions of love, the spontaneous gestures, and the orgasmic sex that allow us fall deeper. This passion should continue after those sweet nothings become fewer, after you see her in the same undies over and over or she knows you drool on the pillow, after bills and work play a bigger role in your day to day lives. Which leads to my next point…

Love… Is craving her. If you’ve watched Kissing Jessica Stein, one of my favorite movies, there’s a pivotal scene where Jessica and Helen are breaking up while Helen packs her stuff.

Helen: I wanna be with someone who wants me.

Jessica, crying: I want you.

Helen: I wanna be with someone who craves me.

Jessica: Well, I crave you.

Helen: I want to be with someone who wants to rip my clothes off.

I must admit, there are going to be times when the clothes-ripping isn’t necessary, but I want someone who sees the sexiness in me, along with all my other good (and bad) qualities, of course. In other words, it’s the zsa zsa zsu, what Carrie Bradshaw refers to as “that butterflies in your stomach thing that happens when you not only love the person but you gotta have them.” Theoretically, when you’re with the person you feel is truly meant for you, that feeling should be there, even if it fades over time. Lust built on love is the best feeling.

Love… Is between two people. What goes on between two women is nobody’s business. Though Twitter or Facebook statuses permit you to see what is said between a “happy” or “dramatic” couple, it only paints a diminutive picture of their relationship. What someone says about their significant other is just as important as what she doesn’t say.

Love… Means making you and me happy. While I believe in sacrifice and unconditional love, one can’t compromise her own happiness to make her significant other happy. No one wins in that situation. The things I do for you are because I love you, but also give me some fulfillment. It doesn’t mean that I have to totally change myself to be with you.

Love… Is responsibility. Taking care of another person’s heart is a huge task. Ensuring that you have a future together is also a ginormous job. Be sure the one you’re with is worth this undertaking.

Love… Should always involve humor. What is love without laughs? Boring as hell.

Divalicious Divas: White Girl Edition

I can’t say that I’ve been attracted to many white women. Nothing against  fairer-skinned women, but I prefer the mocha, caramel, and burnt sienna hues of my fellow sistahs. However, these ladies have made it on my Divalicious Divas list, and can either get it or could hang out with me.

Christina Aguilera. Recently separated, the songbird is now free to be with anyone (or woman) she chooses. And I kinda like that she’s acquiring more “curves,” ones that were made much ado about at last Sunday’s American Music Awards.

Joss Stone. The voice alone qualifies her for this Divalicious Divas distinction, but it doesn’t hurt that she’s gorgeous, intelligent and strong-willed. Serenade me with Spoiled anytime.

I.love.Diane.Keaton. Her talent, her quirkiness, her ability to wear a tie and look good. Put her in any movie and you’re guaranteed to get me there. I’ve been digging her since The First Wives Club, and fell in love with her watching Something’s Gotta Give. Olderwomansexy.

Jane Lynch is also on my radar. I’m more attracted to The L Word version of Jane than the Sue Sylvester caricature seen on Glee.

Be my Giada De Laurentiis at Home, why don’t you?

Asshole though she is, Whitney from The Real L Word is somewhat hot to me, but she would be worth a drunken romp only.

(The idea of) perfection

(The idea of) perfection will be my downfall.

As much as my head realizes life isn’t perfect, tell that to my heart. I don’t like to show the hurts, the flaws that come with love. Therefore this post has been in my head for while and not on this blog, an outlet I’ve been neglecting.

Lebron and I are far from perfect. In fact, there are issues we’re both know are there. We’ve been glaring at them for months. We talk, and try, and still have the best time together. The love is still there.

But in my heart, things have changed. I don’t know what will happen. And I hate to admit that, because the looming feeling of failure (Lord, I hated even to type that word) creeps in.

I remember the days of our blossoming friendship years ago, hours spent on the phone and Yahoo messenger, feeling like I’d known this person all my life. We stayed connected through other relationships, distance and time. When we were finally at the place where we could be together, it was on. I felt like I’d finally found the romance that was based on a long and loyal affection.

Now I wish we could go back to those days, when all we did was laugh endlessly. We would talk about something serious - about friends, family our feelings - and then joke, “Okay, let’s talk about rainbows and kitties now.” (You had to be there.)

We’re older though, and the best friend is now my lover. She’s still my best friend, but those rainbows and kitties can’t save us. The only thing that save us is ourselves. Coming to terms of whether we should fight or let it go.

And in the meantime, I have to figure out what’s best for me.

Loving Christina Aguilera's Not Myself Tonight

One of my favorite artists, Christina Aguilera has topped her usual naughtyness! I’m so digging this video. ”Not Myself Tonight,” from her upcoming June 4 album, Bionic, is a visual raunch-fest featuring that gorgeous voice.

Worth me coming out of blogger hibernation for. Enjoy!

Back in 2010

It’s bittersweet to be back.

In the year since my last post, I missed blogging, and the many drafts I began – then abandoned – are my proof. There would be times when I had a thought I’d want to share, and somewhere between work and home, the motivation would be lost (one of the reasons I long for an office with unrestrictive Internet usage). But I’m back, and hopefully for a long while.

The reason I say being back is bittersweet is that a lot transpired  in 2009. Family issues took some of my inspiration to write, and I felt as if my mojo had dried up.

While I lost my grandmother in August, the most significant event was the death of my father. I hurts just to put into words how this tragedy has affected me, especially since it’s still fresh. This is the first time I’ve been able to write about it, even to myself, to get those feelings down. He was sick, but we never expected him to go so soon. In the past few months, he was in and out of the hospital, and it was difficult to see the man who had always been my hero become helpless to the cancer taking over his body. To erase those negative images are the memories of him teasing me mercilessly and our long talks at the kitchen table just me and him talking about life. Even now there are times I’ll think about something funny he said (my father loved to make people laugh), or remember his smile, and the tears begin to flow. I cry as I write this now, but every day it’s been getting better – or at least that’s what I tell myself.

Thankfully, with a loving family and my girlfriend, Lebron, I do have a support system. I’ve laid in her arms and shed tear after tear, happy I have her in my corner. Was everything perfect between us in 2009? Not by any means, but we’re still together after three years. I still feel attraction, in love, and like she’s my best friend, yet I know we’re at a crossroad. Three years is a long time, and I ain’t getting any younger. (In fact, shhh, I have a birthday coming up.) As everyone keeps pointing out, to my chagrin, I’m in my 30s with no kids on the horizon; and as I always say, I’m not married yet. I’m not in a rush, because things happen when they’re supposed to.

Last year also proved that my daily grind of a job is makes me wish I was doing something that truly made me happy, as well as paid the bills. The thing that makes me happy: reviewing books. That’s why I run Sistahs on the Shelf. I’m embarking on another adventure in reviewing, and hoping to have it up and running by summer. I’ll post more about it later.

Because I’m back. Sadder, wiser, but full of hope for 2010.

Goodbye 2008, Hello 2009!

It was a year ago today that I was involved in a life-profound car accident.

Luckily, or should I say because of a higher power, I made it out an accident scratch-free that most people, including the officer that found me in my car upside down, said I shouldn’t have survived.

I won’t rehash the details, considering it’s still vivid in my mind, but I will say a prayer tonight that I’m still here. It set off a year that wasn’t my best, I can admit. From that accident, I had a lot of financial setbacks, including having to buy a car after living years without car payments. Because of it,  I realized that I needed to get my money situation in order.

The accident also reemphasized the importance of family. The night of the accident, I was riding in my car alone, following behind my parents in one car, and my sister’s family in another. Our three cars were headed to a family restaurant, and I remember being upset that no one took into consideration my feelings about riding with them. I had a small twinge of feeling left out, and everything was put into perspective after that night.

I say all this to say that this is a new year, 2009 to be exact. I want to leave all the baggage of 2008 behind me. There are some things I need to do and things I want to try, cause you only live once. I don’t really have any resolutions, per se. I just have this urge to be more involved in my community, and focus on something besides myself, you know.

It all began when I saw Milk a week and a half ago. (The movie was wonderful; you must see it). The film about the first openly gay man to be elected to public office inspired me. It will show you we need people who will stand up for us – and that things really haven’t changed that much when it comes to gay rights. Here we are in the same situation we were 20 years ago, when Proposition 6 was introduced to fire any gay teacher or their supporters in 1978 . Except Prop. 6 was defeated, whereas last year’s Prop. 8 won. Harvey was just getting started politically when he was brutally assassinated. It’s no telling what he could have accomplished.

The other thing I’ve toyed with is writing erotica. It’s been on my mind for a minute. I have a vivid imagination, and I should be putting this stuff down on paper. I hope to have a few pieces published this year, at least that’s my goal. I’ve been reading everything I can get my hands on to give me a little inspiration. Maybe Lebron can give me a little motivation, as well

Oh, I want to lose weight. Just though I’d throw that in for good measure.

I see many good things occurring this year. And I want to be the one to make it happen.

Delaying the Inevitable

The past few days have been a blur for me. Today was co-worker’s retirement party, one I had been in charge of planning for the past month and a half. The hectic scramble of trying to get everything taken care of (my boss is very detail-oriented) and combined with work has had me a little drained. I think it’s finally starting to hit me how tired I am. And you know it doesn’t take much to make me exhausted.

The effort was worth it, as the co-worker had over 35 years with my company and was highly respected. When I first began working there, he was my first supervisor, and I will have very fond memories of him. The party went swimmingly, if do say so myself, and everyone had a good time.

Thirty-five years is a long time to be with one company. Hell, nowadays when I tell folks I’ve been there 8 years myself, they’re pleasantly amazed. When I began, I had no idea how long I would be there or how much of an impact it would have on my life. I applied for the job only a month or so after graduating college, with the impression that it would be a part-time gig while I attended graduate school. It was when I arrived for the interview I was quickly informed that this was a full-time, 40-hour position.

In my naivety, I prayed over the next couple of days not to get it. I hoped the phone wouldn’t ring, cause honestly, I was enjoying my freedom of being a undergrad, not having to wake up before 10 a.m., rolling out of bed, going to class and hanging out with my friends. Working an 8 to 5 was not in my vocabulary – or in my blood. The jobs I did have when I was in college were just enough to pay my eating out and miscellaneous items, nothing too major.

When the phone rang about weeks later, I knew I had gotten it. And because I needed the experience and could use the money to support my after-hour activities, I took it.

The job wasn’t all that strenuous. In fact, there were days I could finish a book or surf the Internet to my heart’s content (boy, how times have changed). The work was cyclic, meaning certain times of the month meant more work. There were days I was really busy, and some days where I didn’t have thing to do. At first, I didn’t like the repetitiveness of it. There were a couple days I shed a tear in the restroom thinking, I can’t stand this. But I knew there was a reason I was there.

Being one of the first of my friends to have a regular, full-time job (most of us delayed the inevitable) was the catalyst to my growing up. I learned, and still am, about people, the responsibility and having to support myself. I can honestly say the job I never wanted was the job I was meant to have. Since then, I’ve gotten a few promotions and proved how much I could accomplish.

Reading Alix’s post about Sweet Hill made me think of time when I pondered becoming a housewife, being taken care of by some stud and birthing babies. Now, I can’t even imagine. I would have been bored out of my mind.

Working everyday taught me that.

Post-Thanksgiving/Pre-Christmas Post

It’s not good to get out a groove for blogging, which is like sleep – the more you sleep, the more you want to sleep, and then you never get anything done.

I’ve been enjoying myself since Thanksgivingdinner. I was lucky enough to have two dinners to attend, one with my family and one with Lebron’s family. I dined on enough turkey, dressing and mac and cheese to choke a horse, and have a little laughter with Lebron’s mom and relatives, who always manage kill me with their homespun wisdom. It’s always great to be with people who keep it real and believe in the simple things in life.

Other than that, I did manage to attend a couple of Black Friday sales, first at Office Depot, then at Best Buy (a hot mess!). Since I got there two hours after the doors open, of course I was left with nothing. I was attempting to buy a laptop, and with sales of $349, that seemed right up my alley. Instead I was told that I needed to be there at 4 in the morning to get those sacred deals. Needless to say, my shopping visit was in vain. I probably won’t look again until after Christmas, when things might be a little less hectic and a little more financial friendly for my wallet.

Christmasthis year, shopping wise, plans to be short and sweet. I’m only buying gifts for my parents, three-year-old nephew, and two teen nieces. Other grown folks can fend for themselves. I went shopping with my brother last weekend, him in search of a bicycle and a cell phone for his daughters. We went to three Wal-marts in the city. Talk about tired.

It still hasn’t made me get in the Christmas spirit yet. Considering I’m a last-minute, procrastinating shopper, it’ll probably be the day before Christmas eve before I even finish what’s on my list.

Is it beginning to look a lot like Christmas where you are?

Bad Boys, Bad Boys

There used to be a time I wanted a thug. Yes, that Timbaland wearin’, jersey-sportin’, jean-saggin’, swagger-havin’ stud that would just scoop me up and give it to me rough and sweet. (I drew the line at gold teeth. Yuck!) The perfect example: Felicia “Snoop” Pearson from The Wire. I used to have a small crush her – until I heard her talk. It was all over.

I’ve dated a couple of these women, ones who grew up rough around the edges but could hold a sistah down.

One such stud, “Redd,” was my first thug-stud. Really, she was my first everything: first lover, first real adult relationship. I shouldn’t say Redd was a bad boy, just that her growing up was far from a white-picket fence existence, and it hardened her attitude to the world. Redd was always in survival-mode from being ejected from her home as a teen for being gay, so she had that street-smart swagger that made her seem dangerous almost. When one of my friends first told me about her (as a set-up), I asked what Redd looked like.

Her words I would never forget: “Well, she looks like the kind of woman no one would mess with.”

And she did. With her muscled arms and stocky body, Redd gave off that “don’t fuck with me” vibe. That was until you got to know her, because then she would do anything for you. Especially me. With me, she could let her guard down and open up about the things she had been through. Redd was my my protector, I felt safe. Where I was more book smart, Redd was head smart, and it made for a great combination – at least until it ended. (That’s another story for another day).

The second and last bad boy was a stud I’d label “Nate Dogg.” Nate was a woman I met online, when I was going through a dating dry spell. Exchanging short emails, we got a good vibe going on the phone, talking about life and our past relationships. Although we hit it off, we were opposites in our backgrounds. Nate was a smoker, with hardly much education, and later I discovered, a convicted felon. A dark-skinned homegirl with blonde (yes, blonde) close-cropped hair, she wasn’t what I thought once we met, appearance-wise. But nonetheless we hung out frequently, not doing too much other than chillin’ at her apartment. She worked from paycheck to paycheck and her resources were tight since she had recently relocated to my town.

While there were a few spaghetti dinners here, and a few nightcaps there, we never really defined what we were doing. We weren’t exclusive, as I could tell by the inconspicuous phone calls she got. And, truth be told, I wasn’t even sure if I wanted a relationship with her. The felon thing freaked me out at first (although once she explained, it didn’t seemso bad; a white-collar crime). But the way she looked in her wifebeater and low-riding jeans with just a peak at what was underneath her boxers had me all flustered.

It was no-strings fun. Then after a while, it kind of fizzled out. The calls and text messages slowed down. She had told me she was planning to move again, and I just figured she followed through on her move. It was confirmed when she texted me one day.

“Deepdiva, this Nate. I’ moving to Georgia today. Ive transferred my job.”

We lost touch after this point. Then a month or so later, Nate called me, and explained the real reason she left. Apparently, Nate had been cultivating a relationship with another woman while seeing me. She moved in with this new chick and her houseful of kids. However, Nate’s bad boy persona had met her match when things went horribly wrong after a month - the girl pulled out a butcher knife on Nate during an argument, chasing and threatening to kill her. She was then forced to relocate again (her third city in six months), and now that that drama was out of her life, she was blowing up my phone. Nate wanted me to visit her. I declined.

By then, I had gotten those bad boys out of my system, and was looking forward to a new relationship with my soft-stud Lebron. I didn’t have time to go backward. I haven’t looked back since.

Yep! Wanda's Gay!

Not that it comes as any surprise to me, but Wanda Sykes has recently come out. She says because of the recent passing of Proposition 8, she had to speak out by proclaiming herself as a lesbian.

“Now, I gotta get in their face,” she said. “I’m proud to be a woman. I’m proud to be a black woman, and I’m proud to be gay.”

She was at a gay rights rally in Las Vegas on Saturday, where she told the crowd, “You know, I don’t really talk about my sexual orientation. I didn’t feel like I had to. I was just living my life, not necessarily in the closet, but I was living my life. Everybody that knows me personally they know I’m gay. But that’s the way people should be able to live their lives.”

I am proud of Wanda. My gaydar was way high on this one, coupled with the fact you never saw her in dating men. I’m also glad that she opened herself up to her fans. Maybe that will inspire other black gay celebrities to come out. Hmm…Queen Latifah, anyone.

Saturday Morning Ramblings from Borders

This morning, I’m doing my weekend routine of sitting in my favorite bookstore, Borders, reading magazines, drinking iced coffee and enjoying the beauty of being around readers like me who just enjoy a good book. Call me a nerd, but it’s comforting. I love ambiance of a bookstore and reading has been a passion of mine since I was an 8-year-old spending her entire allowance on paperbacks at $2 (yeah, remember when they were that cheap?). I remember reading such classics as The Baby-Sitters Club, Just as Long as We’re Together (Judy Blume is the bomb!), and Roll of Thunder, Hear My Cry. Now, the paperbacks are $15 and even more for hardbacks. Books aren’t cheap but totally worth the enjoyment they give me.

People-watching is one of the things I also enjoy. It’s interesting to see the different walks of life, from students armed with laptops and iPods to retirees lounging reading the newspaper without a care in the world. It’s even better when I spot a girl like me, a rare occasion. Spotting them with my gaydar, it’s so sexy to see an intelligent sistah getting her studying on. A few years back, there was a girl I noticed reading Curve and chatting it up on her Yahoo messenger. Single at the time, I found her to be attractive and even more so that she seemed to be playing on my team. But alas, I never approached her. I can be shy when it comes to those situations, and usually, I need an encouraging sign to approach a woman in public. You never know about those kinds of encounters.

But I digress. So today, I have picked out the following magazines to read: Essence (with Will & Jada Smith on the cover), Sister 2 Sister (simply to get my black gossip on), US Weekly (to get my mainstream gossip-on), and The Advocate (to read for gay issues). Every one offers something different, and knowledge is definitely power. I begin with The Advocate, which has a column about a woman’s struggle with money living in the high-ass city of San Francisco, an article about the recent approval of gay marriage in Connecticut (yeah! ), and an interview with E. Patrick Johnson, who wrote the book Sweet Tea about gay men living in the South. I need to pick that one up. I love reading about our stories, from self-acceptance to coming out to being in love. I guess that’s why I’ve been absolutely drawn to the women on my blogroll. We all have being a lesbian in common, but each have our own stories and journeys that make us different. I love it, and can’t get enough.

The gossip mags, Sister 2 Sister and Us Weekly, offer the same ole thing, but Essence is one of my favorites. The article about Will and Jada is just beautiful, wherein they interview each other about love, marriage and children. The way they interact is just real and refreshing. Listen to this quote from Will to Jada:

“Well, the truth about life is that we’re all alone. But when somebody loves you, right, that experience is shared. Love is the only real connective tissue that allows you to not live and die by yourself. It gives you purpose beyond you. You don’t necessarily have to get married have that, but I’ve always wanted to be married. I knew you were that person for me because you’re loyal, to a fault…”

That’s deep. And considering the fallout from the defeat of gay marriage in California and Florida, it seems to be right on time, and leads me to think of something I read recently about gay marriage. Elton John, that flamboyantly gay icon, said he thinks gays had it wrong when it came to California’s Proposition 8. He believes it was a mistake to go strictly for gay marriage, suggesting that maybe they should have asked for civil unions instead – a move that would have been easier for the mainstream to swallow. I do understand where he’s coming from, considering England approved civil partnerships four years ago and gays have the same rights and benefits as married couples. Maybe it would have been easier for straights to accept us having civil unions, but who says they should be the only one to have the privilege of marriage. They aren’t respecting the institution of marriage any better, so why can’t I have the right to marry my lover?

Actually, California surprised me by opposing gay marriage. Considering how metropolitan the urban areas are, like Los Angeles and San Francisco are, I didn’t see that one coming. Florida, yeah. We’re so conservative as a whole that it was just expected to say Yes to Amendment 2. Considering the protest I saw in front of the Capitol building, and how muddled the language was on the issue, I didn’t have much hope for it to pass. The protests this weekend should show the public just how disappointed we are, and we’re not going away.

Also on my Borders reading pile is Hiding in Hip-Hop by Terrance Dean. It’s an interesting look at the gay world of entertainment from the eyes of an insider. He gives you the skinny on how gay men deal with being on the down-low to achieve further success in Hollywood. There isn’t much name dropping, unless you count pseudonyms he gives actors, singers and rappers to shield their identities. Some of them I’ve been able to figure out, like Ne-Yo (surprise, surprise), but others are like a riddle. I’m excited trying to figure it out. Terrance portrays his life in an honest fashion, from growing feeling abandoned to trying to make heads or tails of his sexuality. You should check it out.

Well, back to my reading. Essence awaits…

Beyonce Bootylicious?

I must preface this post by saying I like Beyonce. I’m very impressed with her, uhh, assets. She is a beautiful woman and can sing her ass off (no pun here).

But let me tell you something. As stimulating as it is to she her shake her, uhh, assets, I’m tired of seeing her shake ‘em in a video. Single Ladies, her newest, is her in a bathing suit, popping and dropping and shaking what Tina Knowles gave her. I love the song; it’s catchy and gives trifling men fair warning about taking women for granted. While it does a lesbian’s heart good to see this, it’s tiresome that she can’t make a video without her trademark ass-twirling.

Have you seen this? What do you think?

The Same Things You Do in the Beginning…

Domesticity has become us. Us meaning me and my lover of two years, Lebron. After a year of living together, the mystery is gone. Perhaps this has happened to you; maybe the sweet nothings have taken a back seat to the day-to-day duties of running your household.

It’s not that you don’t love each other. Lebron and I still have fun as a couple, still laugh at the silliest things, still love being around each other. Our favorite pastime is laying in bed together, talking about our dreams and our childhoods, in that easy way we always had since first becoming friends almost six years ago. Or at dinnertime, when we catch up on our day and watch our favorite shows (which if it’s Saturday usually means college football).

But here’s the thing: We’re comfortable. I know that can seem like the kiss of death, one or two steps away from the dreaded lesbian death bed (thank God we’re not at that stage). That sounds bad, I know. Without children, it’s just the two of us, and the same things we did in the beginning of our blissful honeymoon stage, we ain’t doing now.

For instance:

• In the beginning…I wore sexy matching underwear, something cute and involving a thong or boy shorts, showing off all my curves like my baby likes.
• Now…I’m typically decked out in a basic black bra (for work) and Hanes panties (at least it’s hi-cut), with the matching sets and teddies saved for special occasions.
• In the beginning…I got bi-weekly pedicures and was never seen too often without French-tipped nails.
• Now…I’m lucky if I go once a month. Hey, it gets expensive.
• In the beginning…we called each other five times a day, speaking all lovey dovey and saying we couldn’t wait to see each other.
• Now…one phone call in the afternoon, with Lebron whispering such sexy phrases as, “What’s for dinner?” and “We need some toilet tissue.”

Don’t get me wrong, I love our life. It’s times when Lebron looks so sexy cooking dinner, I have to contain myself. And we still give each other knowing looks that speak more volumes that the love notes she used to email me. I guess after a while, all couples hit the old married stage, the one where you love each other, couldn’t imagine life without one another, but get used to each other’s daily habits.

Like Lebron’s routine of leaving the door open after a No. 2 session. Or my habit of leaving my clothes lying around the house. Or hers of eating and leaving crumbs everywhere (even on our beige-colored couch.) Or mine of leaving the toilet roll empty after using the last of the tissue paper.

It’s just one of those things that come over time. As much as I complain, it’s good between us. I feel a coziness I haven’t felt with anyone as I do her. I can let my guard down, and she can, too. That’s not to say we don’t have our moments. It’s times I want to choke a bitch from the annoying things she does, but when it’s good, it’s beautiful.

Except for that damn No. 2. Now that’s some damn shit.

Yes, We Did: Things Overheard Since Election Day

“After 7 o’clock, don’t call me. I don’t want to talk to nobody. I’m watching the election.”
-My father, who didn’t want to be bothered with any foolishness while watching the poll results. He was joking (I think)

My mother: “Oh, he won?”
My father: “Yeah, he won. It’s over.”
-My parents, talking to both of them on the phone right after the returns showed Obama had won the election and John McCain had already conceded. Apparently, my mother fell asleep before Obama’s victory had been announced on the news.

“A little while ago, I had the honor of calling Senator Barack Obama to congratulate him on being elected the next president of the country that we both love. In a contest as long and difficult as this campaign has been, his success alone commands my respect for his ability and perseverance. But that he managed to do so by inspiring the hopes of so many millions of Americans who had once wrongly believed that they had little at stake or little influence in the election of an American president is something I deeply admire and commend him for achieving.”
-Senator John McCain in his concession speech

“I guess the election makes people hungry.”
-An employee said to a long line of people in the cafeteria at work. She got no response.

“Why y’all so quiet? I’m the one who should be upset.”
-A Caucasian co-worker who was a big McCain supporter. As the black folks in my office began to congregate first thing, we turned silent when he passed, as a sign of respect. This was his response.

“Come January, I’m gonna electric slide down Pennsylvania Avenue.”
-A Black co-worker who of course voted for Obama

“I’m so happy for you all. Y’all needed this. This is something y’all been needing for a long time.”
-A Caucasian employee to a black employee, overheard in the hallway after having lunch with three of my co-workers. We were about to get rowdy, until we found out she was talking about a new supervisor who had just been hired.

“I’m happy. I believe marriage should be between a man and woman, not a man and a man. It’s not right.”
-My co-worker, who was happy Amendment 2 was voted in, which upholds the law that marriage should be defined as only between man and woman in Florida. She believes in gays having domestic partnerships but not have the right to get married.

“I can’t believe we lost.”
-One Caucasian worker to the next, overheard in the parking lot.

 ”It’s been a long time coming, but tonight, because of what we did on this day, in this election, at this defining moment, change has come to America.”
-President-elect Barack Obama during his acceptance speech.

Sam Cooke – “A Change is Gonna Come”

Superwoman

As I was on my way home from my nephew’s soccer game, I began to grow tired. It doesn’t take much now days, since I’m a constant anemic. Sometimes it’s all I can do to stay awake soon after I come home from work. The low-iron levels in my blood get to me sometimes, but as a “diva,” I still try to take on way more than I can handle sometimes.

Between family, my honey Lebron, and websites I manage, I feel pulled in so many directions and attempt to handle so much that it wears on me. Just yesterday, I left work early to have bi-monthly blood work done. Apparently, my iron levels are getting better, but it’s still not where my doctor wants it to be. It doesn’t help that the medicine he recommends has some ill side effects.

After my date with blood lab, I ran to pick up my nephew from school. Then I went to find something to wear for my night out with my girlfriends. That was relaxing, spending time with my homegirls, women I’ve known since my college days.

We ate at Carrabbas, where I indulged in Chicken Parmesean and white Sangrias. Lovely. We laughed and caught up on everything in our lives, including jobs and relationships, bonding over the fact both partners are a lot of work, but worth it. It was chill just to relax and take my mind off the week.

The night ended with one of my girls running to the bathroom with the quickness. I guess her Pasta Carrabba just didn’t agree with her stomach. All I know is her legs couldn’t carry her fast enough up the stairs, and she was clamoring for the air freshener after blowing up the bathroom. All in all, a good night.

This morning I woke up around 7 a.m. with a pounding headache. With plenty of things on my to-do list, this was the last thing I needed. I still got out around 9, taking my nephew to his last soccer game (mom and dad were tied up), got some high-maintenance stuff taken care of, and hit the store for a much-needed router for my laptop. I should have been grocery shopping, but after the eyebrow waxing/painful plucking I was done.

What a day, what a day.

And tomorrow I get to do laundry How fun! Luckily Lebron is taking me on a date, probably a movie and dinner, which is usually the most we do in our lazy college town.

I’m still tired, though. Laying in my bed with my laptop, I realize that I can’t do everything, and can’t be everything to everybody. I have to take time for myself. I can’t afford to have my body shut down on me.

That would be so undivafied.

Right to Vote?

Although politics has never been my cup of tea, I already know whom I’m voting for. It’s been no secret. I love Obama and what he stands for politically: change and more change. I couldn’t stand to go through another eight years (or even four years for that matter) with a bull-headed idiot running the country. It’s been tough enough watching Bush turn this country into a country with worse debt than a five-year unemployed dude with child support issues up the ass and creditors calling him after 8 p.m.

If I seem a little riled up, it’s because we have a lot riding on this election. The fate of the free world lies with who will win more electoral votes. Personally, I would love to see the first black man in office (and no, Clinton doesn’t count), running things and helping us to get out of this dismal situation. I know he can’t solve all our country’s problems, but at least it’ll be a start.

One thing that irks me about Obama’s campaign success is when black folks say, “I hope he doesn’t get shot.” Yes, he has had opposition, mostly in the form of rednecks who would rather eat shit than see a black man occupy the oval office. But we need to stop being so negative. This man, the son of a white mother and African father, a Harvard law school graduate and Illinois senator, could become the first black president. It’s hard to put into words what this mean.

My father, who lived and survived through the civil rights era, has waited for this day to come. He grew up in a time when there were separate water fountains at the local courthouse and cringed to hear a white man call him boy. He tells me experiences of being considered inferior, when he knew it was simply for the color of his skin. I still get chills remembering his recollection of the night Martin Luther King died, and being under fire by white authority figures. They asked him to tell where the blacks had congregated that night; my father refused. On that night, at that moment, it could have been a different story altogether, one that could have lead to my father being attacked or, God forbid killed, but he said he wasn’t afraid. No person, black or white, would ever make him afraid.

That’s the kind of hardship he endured, so we could have the liberty to vote. That’s why it’s important.

And that’s why Obama’s my choice, because he believes in change. He understands nothing’s going to improve without it. He’s just the man to see this thing through.

Happy Birthday to Lebron!

Today is Lebron’s birthday.

She turns another year older, and our relationship grows another year as well, with our anniversary only two days away.

It was two years ago today that I surprised her with balloons and a card, even though we weren’t “officially” together yet. She had just moved back to my hometown, and we were seeing where things were going at that point. We had a long history, one where we always cared for one another, but just couldn’t work out the logistics of a relationship.

When she was ready for something more, I wasn’t. When I finally figured she was who I wanted, she had moved on.

But with her arrival, we were finally on the same page – and realized that with each other was where we wanted to be.

Today, we still continue to have the same feelings we had back then, but now it’s more of a comfortable relationship…dare I say complacent. We’re still in love, still are best friends, still can’t be without one another.

However her birthday makes me realize how long and how much we’ve really been to each other – through loving, arguments, struggling, crying, cursing, kissing, smiling, pining, sexing, annoying, hugging and everything else that comes with a long-term relationship. There are times when I can’t get enough of her, and times when I’ve almost left her.

Love is like that. Two years is a very long time.

Back to School Shopping

See that mannequin on the left, all hunched over and worn out? That’s me, how I felt after a day of shopping with my 15-year-old niece, “Neecee.”

On this Labor Day, my mother, Neecee and I hit the mall for a little Back-to-School retail exercise. We took her to shops that were age appropriate, filled with teenage girls with moms and young-looking college women. What I realized as I browsed from store to store, was that everything Neecee picked up was either too tight, too short or too expensive. That’s what they make for girls her age.

And granted Neecee’s not a big girl by any means. She probably wears a solid size 5, however with the way the clothes fit, she needed a 9 to have enough room to grow into. The new trend now, I suppose, is “skinny.” Skinny jeans, skinny tops…blah blah blah. And with my niece being as endowed as her beautiful older aunt, she doesn’t need any skinny top that clings to her in all the wrong places.

Like she wanted a high-wasted pencil skirt; it was what she was dying for. We finally found one in the store Forever 21, which should be called forever 5 cause that’s the only size they fit. And they have this weird size system, where a size 27 would be a size 7 and a size 29 would be a 10 (or some variation thereof). It was hard to get a straight answer from any of the clerks, who kind of looked at me like why is this big girl even in this store.

Anyway, Neecee finds a “29″ and proceeds to head in the longest dressing room line I’ve seen. You’d think they were handing out food stamps the way they were clamored together. When Neecee finally gets a room and tries it on, it’s a little tight. Not in a bad way, like if she breathed a button would pop you in the eye kind of way, but like if she washed it one too many times, she wouldn’t get in it – ever again.

And of course, one of the lovely ladies (plus one gay dude; there’s always one, ain’t it?) of Forever 21 told me there was no size 30 (and proceeded to give me the mean eye like why did I even ask). We did end up getting it, though, because it was so darn cute.

I guess this is what young girls have to contend with nowdays. Nothing ever fits with room to spare, and the clothing lasts far shorter than what it used. But Neecee came away with some good stuff, with the money she was alotted, and she will be cute for her first week of classes.

Which is all she really cared about anyway.

Diary of a Mad Black Lesbian: Perception is Everything

I’ve been told I don’t look gay, whatever that means. As a matter of fact, one woman’s exact words — and mind you this is from a girl I was crushing on at the time — were, “I just can’t see you being gay.”

Maybe it’s because I dress a tad bit on the conservative side. Maybe it’s because of my petite stature, standing at around five feet tall. Or maybe it’s because I look young for age, as I’ve been told many a time (I was carded for lottery tickets a couple weeks ago; I’m 30.

But the gist is that, apparently, I’m straight-looking. To some, I don’t look like I have girlfriends or could kiss a woman, among other things. It used to bother me back in the day, especially when I was single and looking. Whereas my former roommate could simply walk on campus and meet several new female friends at the drop of a hat, I was stuck with the perception that I just needed “a good man in my life.”

It also made it harder for my mother when I came out to her. In her head, she had seen me wear dresses and makeup (unlike my older sister) and have boyfriends. In her view of me, my mother could never imagine me as a lesbian. To this day, she still utters, “I just can’t believe it.”

It’s that age old debate lesbians have about which role has an easier time coming out - femmes or studs/butches. Lebron would argue that it’s better to come out as a femme because afterward, a feminine women can blend bend in society — and at least your parents hold on to the dream of you having kids. This is where I disagree, because as a stud there are no misconceptions about (usually) your role. Growing up tomboyish or even flamboyantly can almost always be detected at an earlier age. Haven’t you ever seen a boy who seems a little bit too interested in dolls, instead of Tonka trucks at age 5? Let me just say that it doesn’t guarantee he’s gay, but chances are likely. And in growing up stud, the idea of being gay is always in the back of someone’s mind. Nobody blinks when they say, “Hey, Mom and Dad. I’m gay.”

“Okay, pass the peas.”

Like I said, perception is everything.

I can’t say that being straight looking is a bad thing. Most people at work don’t know about me, and I’d prefer to keep it that way. Because the things they say to me about gay folks would make them feel like assholes if they knew about my sexuality. Like the co-worker who once said to me, “If I had a friend who was gay, I would drop them.” She was serious, yet this is the same one who will tell me all her business — about how many men she’s currently juggling — but can’t understand how being gay isn’t a perversity.

And I hear these lovely tidbits only because I don’t look gay. Cause like I said, perception is everything.