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… 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.


(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.

The Same Things You Do in the Beginning…

marriedDomesticity 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 bed death (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.