She was an exquisite kind of fine. The kind of beautiful that makes you look and never break your stare. You wouldn’t care who was watching. But it wasn’t her features that grabbed my attention as I stared at her across the overfilled train. It was the small gold hamsa that hung daintily from her wrist. It initiated our conversation. And me asking for her accompaniment to my favorite restaurant in the West Village on 8^th Ave. And her saying yes while she blushed beneath her perfectly applied make up. Mac. I could tell. It ended with me asking for her number, and her writing the combination of digits on a piece of bright yellow, unlined paper with a baby pink pen in blue ink. She purposely held my hand a little longer than she needed to. I didn’t mind at all.

After our fated encounter, I couldn’t stop thinking about her. She was it. Everything that I felt like I was missing. And not because I had some repressed fantasy to be with someone that was just like me. Not because I was bi-curious and was using this as an opportunity to find out how it really was to be with one of the same. I had been with many like me before, and many different than me as well. But she had a shyness that rendered her seemingly defenseless. And a ferocity that threatened to swallow me whole if I wasn’t careful.

And consume me she did. After our date to the dimly lit restaurant in the city. After the movie in Queens. After shopping and dinner in Long Island and late night personal sessions in Brooklyn. Those were my favorite. Her always wearing her Hello Kitty boy shorts. Her perfect mix of innocence and enticement. The epitome of her. The embodiment of everything that was so necessary for me during that time and in that space.

But as much as I loved my one in the same, I was that much ashamed of her. Not wanting her to hold my hand in public. Failing to reciprocate her perfectly placed, affectionate kisses in front of our friends. They all were aware. But I was too reluctant to demonstrate what they already knew. I was not her same lover, her same friend, her same partner when her four walls weren’t surrounding us. I cowered in fear when we weren’t protected by the privacy of closed doors and pulled blinds.

Eventually she grew tired of me. Her exceptional kind of fine turned into something I didn’t know how to handle. Into ignored phone calls. Into being stood up. Into boring days and excruciatingly lonely nights. Into a feeling I didn’t think could come from one of the same. Feelings I had reserved for those that were different. But relationships are not so different when the two people involved share the same softness. The same desires. The same vulnerabilities. The same hopes that it wouldn’t end as it always did this time.

She needed me to be different. She needed something constant. Something invariable. A person that was unchanging when she woke up cuddled against them in the morning and when she fell asleep in their arms at night. That would prove to her that not everyone was out to cause her anguish. She needed confirmation. The exception. Her salvation. But I disappointed her. And I’m sorry. I’m sorry. Because when she needed me to be different, I was more of the same. 

I was not searching for you when I put on my black maxi, fitted around my waist, gold collar around the neckline. I simply adored how it glittered in the sunlight. I loved how the detailing glowed perfectly against my melanin kissed skin.

I was not thinking about you when I put on my favorite diamond ear rings and pulled my hair into an immaculate school teacher bun. I just thought a lady only lets her husband see her with her hair down. It should be something reserved exclusively for him. The rest of humanity is only worthy of hair pulled up, tucked away, and pinned to perfection. Call me old fashioned.

I couldn’t have cared less about you when I made up my mind to wear my favorite pair of black Steve Madden wedges, gold buckles shining on the sides. I let my femininity devour me as I slipped my perfectly pedicured feet into that beautifully crafted shoe. I was just taking a moment to appreciate how amazing it felt to truly be all dolled up.

I had others on my mind when I set out to run my errands, clearly over dressed and underestimated. The silly little play things that engaged in the cat calling and hand grabbing as I walked past were simply not aware that I could rip their throats out without ever laying a hand on their pretty little heads. I was just sophisticated like that. I didn’t care about your existence because I was too wrapped up in being admired. Being coveted. Being wanted.

I, in my ignorance and self-centered unawareness, did not notice that my forever had been watching me, studying my arrogant gait. As I pretended to be consumed with the nothingness around me, I was oblivious to the fact that you were following me with the most sacred places of your heart. And the most wicked places of your imagination. I did not even deem you worthy enough for my glance. Your dirt stained hands, your oil filled shirt. Your thick, sweaty brown. My mysticism was too great for you. You were not even worthy of my gaze.

It’s funny how sometimes to find exactly what we’re looking for, we simply have to take our eyes off the ground and look up. And that I did. And there you were. And suddenly, someone that I had not even thought to acknowledge, a person that was invisible for all the moments that we had been standing in that place together, a person that longed for me even though I did not care who they were in this lifetime or who they will be in the next, this person had suddenly become the most important person in my entire life.

And he’s still here. Adoring me. Kissing me. Making me laugh. Filling me with the best parts of him and taking away the worst parts of me. He’s still here loving my pretty dresses and heels too high for me to walk it. My made up face and my perfectly manicured nails. He’s still here adulating me. Especially when I’m all dolled up. What a wonderful man. 

"We are the generation of / Not Being In Love /  And Not Being Together"

Umm....hello? Can anything truer every be spoken? Okay, I'm sure that it can, but this statement here is awesome. And let me be clear, 99.89% of the time, I cannot stand Drake and his whiney voice. But I felt him on this. It's like pulling teeth to get someone to claim you exclusively as their boyfriend or girlfriend. We use phrases like "oh we're just talking"  or "she's my friend" or that God awful phrase T-Pain popularized, the "shawty". It's clear that something is going on between you and whoever you are seeking to get romantically involved with, but the titles are absent, along with the expectation that the person remain faithful to you and practice all the behaviors someone courting you and seeking to enter an "adult" relationship with you should engage in. Let me simplify. They can get all the perks of you being their main squeeze without having to actually work for it.

All over Instagram and Facebook, we see people who practice these behaviors. But why? You know I have a theory. We imitate what we see and what we are surrounded by. Think about this. Aside from celebrities, how many Black people do you know that are married and are not separated or divorced? Now I challenge you to get to ten. One for each finger. Can you? If you can, awesome!! Leave a comment below and tell us about those marriages. If you cannot, you are not alone. I can count my dad's marriage, my mom's marriage (before her husband passed away), my fiancé's parents, two of his sisters, his brother, my old boss, and one other lady whom I adore. I got to eight. But half of my eight are people who are part of someone elses family. So you see my point? How are we supposed to get accurate examples of Black Love and marriage when so few real examples exist around us?

Another pit fall is the idea that Black women and men have unique issues standing in their way that inhibit them from practicing traditional marriage as we know it. This article on Centric raises the issue of whether Black marriages are destined for failure and also asks some great questions. One of them being: are Black women too picky? Now a while back, I did a blog post on Black women and their sometimes unrealistic expectations in regards to the Man List. You can check it out here. But I don't think Black women are too picky when it comes to things like wanting a man that can provide for and support her, wanting a man that is honest and doesn't play games, and wanting a man that is going to stick around. These are all things that go into a stable relationship. No one wants to be constantly guessing where they stand with someone they love and care about. And if you have these expectations, there is nothing wrong with you. Keep on pushing honey!

The Centric article also raised the question on whether or not Black men are able to be faithful. This is a can of worms that I will open in another blog post. But it all depends on what you mean by faithful. Do you want him to be with you and only you? And in what regards? Sexually? Mentally? Can a man still be completely faithful to you if he has kids outside of your relationship? Because he has to take into account your feelings, the children's feelings, and the feelings of the baby mother? These are all great questions. And honestly, before you can assess whether a man can be faithful to you, you have to first define what faithful is and what you're willing to accept. The short answer to this question is, yes. Black men can be faithful, no matter who they are. But they will only be faithful to a woman who they deem is worthy, and who makes it clear that this is her expectation. Period.

Let me say this. It is okay to fall in love. The world will not end. It's also okay to have your heart broken. And there's no shame in having your heart broken more than once. The purpose of dating is to see what's out there, find out who and what you like, and go from there. Every relationship is not going to work out. That's why there are so many songs about breaking up, moving on, and finding someone new. It's just the chance that we take when we put ourselves out there. Just like anything new, there's a chance you may fail. Your partner may cheat on you, they may lie to you, they may not live up to your expectations. And you know what you do? You move on and find someone else. There is absolutely no shame in that. You have to kiss a lot of frogs to find your price is an old cliché for a reason. There's some truth to it.

And in regards to marriage. It's not for everyone. But even if we don't elect to get married, we have to do a better job at showing our children loving, stable relationships. Why? Read this article on fatherless Black girls their difficulty learning how to love. If you decide that you want to just be physical with people, that's perfectly acceptable. But that doesn't mean that your children need to know every man that comes through your home. And that also doesn't mean that you have to air your dirty laundry for all to see. And if you're having some issues deciding whether the feelings toward your person of interest are Love or Lust, you can read this article to gain some clarity. We are surrounded by plenty of images of booty calls and one night stand. Once we reach that point in our lives where we are ready to settle down and make a home, we must make sure that we provide an alternative to the negative media images about Black families and Black homes so the next generation can see that falling in (Black) love is possible, and it most certainly can work.

Side Note 1: Slut shaming in the Black community is a major contributor to why so many Black women cannot find a man to settle down with. If you don't know what slut shaming is, Wikipedia offers a nice definition here. Slut shaming put in more popular terms is "you can't turn a ho into a housewife". Now I'm here to tell you that statement is so very false. And it's so very sexist. Everyone has a past. We all do wild and crazy things. The difference is that when a man does it and it is publicized, it doesn't hurt his chances of  going out and finding a wife. When a woman does it, no man wants to "wife the ho". To all you Ladies out there doing in like a brother, do you. You will find someone who doesn't care about your past. If you encounter a partner that isn't secure enough in himself to accept the fact that you had a life before him that you don't have to answer for, he's just not the guy for you, no matter how awesome he may be. You don't have to feel guilty about anything you've done. And that's a fact jack. Need some reassurance? Watch the Facebook video below.

I just had to sneak away. Parked across the street from your home, nothing but some leggings and a fitted white t-shirt on. Even forgot the shoes. Oh well.

I was waiting for you. Waiting for the silhouette of your car to come into view. Waiting for the fury of you to come into my eyesight. And finally you did.

I was happy to see you were alone. By yourself when you parked your own car. Solitary when walked the pathway to your steps. And I followed you the entire way. Bare feet and all. I pushed you in as you opened the door. You first reaction was to reach out and swing. I caught that arm and forced you against your bare wall. No need for talking. I fiddled with your silver belt buckle. Not caring that there were no greetings shared. Not concerned that my husband was at home asleep. Not giving two damns that your wife was on her way home.

I was nearly set ablaze when your lips covered mine. I couldn’t stop the waterfall from flowing when you pulled my hair and nibbled at my neck. I couldn’t control myself when your hand found all that they were looking for inside those cheap, black leggings. My knees buckled when you gave me what I had come for from inside your overpriced jeans. I missed your passion. I missed the eruption that was set off in the deepest depth of my being when you lifted me up and wrapped my legs around your head. I’d gladly burn in hell forever for this little piece of heaven. For a little slice of you. For this small sample of Love. Of passion. Of this. And I know that despite your weak protests uttered between fiery kisses, you would have gladly gone through hell to be with me. Too bad hell had come in the form of wedding rings and empty promises.

But while we shared this hour of our nirvana, these moments of belonging totally and completely to each other, swimming deep in this ocean of sin, I knew that there must have been a God. Because he made you just for me. And as we dressed again, still not uttering a sound, I knew that The Universe was going to make a way to bring us together again.

Yet as I sat in my car and watched her walk up your stone steps, wedding ring gleaming even in the dark, I also knew that life was never that simple. That when you greeted her at the door, wrapped your arms around her waist, and kissed her like you should only kiss me, I accepted that Heaven was on fire and God was no more. I had to keep these fantasies in my head. Stop hoping for things that would never come.

So with my white tee and my black leggings, I tucked my imagination back into the box from which it came and vowed to leave you alone. No more late night visits. No more fictional adultery. No more butterflies and day dreams. It just had to accept what was there. It’s going to be a long lifetime without you.

Tell me if this sounds familiar. You (or a friend) are dating a guy, and you place no rules or regulations on him. He's a friend with benefits or just a cool guy you hang out with (and happen to have feelings for) and he views you the same way, minus the romantic feelings. You guys go to the movies, but it's not a date. You invite him over for game night, drink, laugh, have a good time, maybe even fornicate a little bit, but there is still no relationship. He sometimes says you're like his "homegirl" or his "little sister". He likes you because you're low maintenance, like to watch football, don't demand to talk about feelings or define your relationship. He doesn't contact you for days at a time but you're always there when he needs you to be. Congratulations. You (or your friend) are officially the chill girl.
Now my issue is not with girls that are genuinely fine with playing this role. Sometimes we have guy friends that are just that, friends. We don't sleep with them. We don't secretly want to be with them. They're just cool. What I do have a problem with is the fakers. The girls that pretend they like sports just to please their crush. The girls that pretend that they don't care about him coming over and getting some and then leaving two hours later. The girls that say they're not like other girls because they don't need to be in a relationship or don't need him to call you his girlfriend. You pretend that the confusing little dance that you and him are doing is just fine although you don't know where you stand or what the future holds. Stop that.
The truth is, this is just another way that we as women try to please men that really aren't worth much of anything. We want to be with them. We want to be in relationships. We want him all to ourselves. But we suppress these feelings and pretend that we're emotionless little robots just so that he'll stay around. But what does that get you? Disappointment. Confusion. Anger. Hurt. You can keep all that too. I don't need any. Thank you. And you have no one to blame but yourself. You made him think you were something that you're not. And don't think he's going to pick up on the signs that you're unhappy or pretending. Men are simple creatures. What you tell them is what they believe. And it gets no deeper than that. Trust me.
Now let's flip this coin here. Say that you actually start talking to a guy and you, GASP!, be yourself?!?! What if when you feel that he's disrespected you or made you feel some type of way, you actually say something? What if after you guys have hung out for a while, you tell him you want something more serious? You actually call him out when he doesn't honor the commitment that you guys made to each other? You let him know that you like to wear heels through the mall? What if you want him to pay for a date and not go dutch? How different would your interactions with this man be? How much happier would you feel when you know what the hell is going on and you don't have to guess and tip toe around his feelings and your own?
Let me warn you. Most guys that are happy to have you as the "chill girl" are not going to like when you start making demands. They're going to high tail it out of there and say that you're too clingy and needy. You'll be characterized as the girl who was trying to tie him down and make him put a ring on it. Be prepared. The men that are not ready for a commitment are going to think you are possessed and avoid you like the plague. And that's fine. At least you know now. Instead of you pretending to be someone you're not to please him and wasting everyone's time anyway. You're not going to die if he stops contacting you.* You might actually start to live a little. You actually have a chance to learn who you are outside of him and use that to attract a man that is ready to take things where you want to take them. Oh happy day!! 
Let me validate you for a second. It's okay to be a girl. It's okay to wear heels and make up for a guy and not be afraid that he's going to think you're high maintenance. It's okay to want to cuddle on the couch while watching a movie. If he's into you, he's going to want to cuddle too. Or not. Maybe he's not a cuddler. But he'll want to be close. It's okay for you to shriek when you see a spider. Being feminine and fitting into the box when it comes to certain things "girly" is okay. It doesn't make you weak or vulnerable. You can be the girliest girl in the world and still kick some ass. You don't have to negate your femininity in order to please a man. Tell him that this is what the package comes with. He can take it or leave it. That simple.
Okay, let's close this puppy out. If you're really a chill girl, go ahead and chill out. But don't pretend to be something you're not. Don't fake the funk when he forgets your birthday or orders food and doesn't get you anything. Your feelings are allowed. Don't believe me? Read it again here. Again, men are simple creatures. How is he supposed to know what you want if you don't tell him, or even worse, if you pretend to be fine with whatever he does. Girl bye. At some point, when you're done playing around and sowing your wild oats, you're going to want to be in a relationship on your own terms. And you should have that right. Just make sure you're you, you don't play those childish games, you make it clear what you want as you go along, and you remain true to you. The only person that can truly keep you in the chill girl zone is you.
*Although you may not die, you may feel like your heart is being ripped out of your chest. You will feel like you did everything in the world for this man and he doesn't appreciate you. You will feel like you want to punch him in the chest. You will cry. You may eat excessive amount of chocolate. It's okay. Let it out. And then pick up the pieces and move on. His loss.

I stole her wedding ring. On purpose. From right under her pretty little nose. While she slept, I snuck into her husband’s head and danced his favorite dance. As she worked to tie ends that he wasn’t man enough to make meet, he layed in my bed, buried by blue cotton sheets. I made sure he always had white pillow cases. He said they made him feel like a king. I liked dating royalty.

As she cut chicken and boiled pasta, he snuck away to enjoy my lips in the back of his car. My ass at our favorite gas station. Other parts of me in the Burger King parking lot. I slipped into her home when the lights were out, through hushed phone calls and late night text messages. I was there in the pocket of his size 34 waist dress pants, wearing only his favorite blue and white neck tie. I crept in on their anniversary dinner. Him saying he had to get to work. Something urgent had come up.

That’s when she suspected that someone had invaded her home. She started to smell the perfume on his collared shirts. She started to time his meetings. His golf games. His trips to the grocery store. She waited up for him one night. And asked him about the pink socks in his car that weren’t hers. Confronted him about the smell on his chin. He liked when I sat on his face. Naughty. She yelled that she never wore glitter, but there it was on the crotch of his pants.

And just like that I had slithered into her home and stole her wedding ring. She yanked it off her finger and tossed it at his head. And it was mine. To have and to hold. Until death do us part. Sneaky. Cunning. Clever. I wouldn’t say I was a thief, but I sure did have the ability to steal. Her life. Her sanity. Her peace of mind. I have it all. And she never saw it coming.

Now as I admire her platinum setting diamond ring on my left ring finger, it’s all so bitter sweet. I love this man. I’ve worked hard to make him mine. Plotted. Schemed. Waited patiently as the walls came crumbling down around her perfect like head. I had played my part and came out victorious. There was no better feeling. Until I began to wonder, who would be the bandit to come and make the walls fall in my own castle. When would my burglar come? Who is going to come and steal my wedding ring from me?

"Here is a man who loves me, and I love him, but he doesn't want to marry me. Here I am, a person that doesn't care about marriage, but I'm heartbroken that he doesn't want me as his wife............I should have just left him a long time ago when I saw the signs that he would never marry me." - The Girl Who Played With Men (Mielech)

In case you haven't noticed, I love Cosmopolitan Magazine. I have stacks and stacks of Cosmo from many years back. I started reading the magazines for the sex articles when I was a teenager because I was a hormone crazed adolescent that was into erotica and all things sexual. Oh well. Sue me. But recently Cosmo has added a Careers section that I just adore.They feature articles about how to ask for a raise and how to deal with work place blunders (which I have many of) in addition to other helpful workplace tips. In the November edition of Cosmo Careers, there's an article entitled "Paycheck Confessions". I almost cringed when I saw that. Not because I think that we shouldn't share how much we make, but because I knew that I was going to be envious of all of the women who made a bajillion dollars an hour doing exactly what they loved. But I read it anyway. After all, we can't hide from the things that we don't want to see. That makes you a coward.  So let me get to the point here. After reading how much and how little all of the Ladies featured made, I noticed a severe income gap. Some people were way high and some were way low. This made me curious to see what my friends and family were making at their own jobs and if the ranges varied as much as they did around the country. Now let me tell ya'll something, some of my friends are making way more than I thought they were, But then again, some of my friends were making way less. The absolute lowest was about $28,600 a year. The absolute highest was around $96,044 a year. That's a huge difference. But I admired how open some people were to sharing their wages and how unashamed some were to let me know what they were bringing home. Hell, we even had a few mention that they were struggling with student loans and other debt. I'm with you guys on that. My student loan payments a month are more that my rent! Now what I also noticed is that my parents, aunts, uncles, and other older friends were not open to sharing their income at all. They really didn't want anyone knowing how much they make, especially on social media. But why? I never understood this. It's so taboo to talk about income, spending, and how many hours we work. This has never made any sense to me. I mean, we want to all get paid good money. We all see different people go to different jobs and we know they're coming home with a paycheck. But I never understand why no one wants to talk about their earnings. Honestly, I blame pop culture. And here's why. What do we see on TV all the time? Expensive cars. Diamond rings. Over sized homes with golden toilet bowls. There are some celebrities with pools that don't even know how to swim. And this makes absolutely no damn sense in the world. Yet we idolize these people. We want to buy Rolexes and spinning rims for our cars but we barely make enough money to buy groceries and put gas in our cars.  But no wants to admit that they're broke. No one wants the world to know that they only have four dollars in their bank account. No one wants their friends to know that the reason they can't go out and get bottle service in the club is because they're behind on their car note and they have payments to catch up on. Well I'm here to tell you. It happens to the best of us. We all face hard times or mismanage our money. And sometimes we even work jobs that don't pay us enough to live comfortably. And that's the truth. When my fiance and I moved to where we live now, we both had jobs. Him full time. Me part time. But there were weeks that we played rock, paper, scissors to decide who's car we were going to put gas into because there wasn't enough money for gas AND food. And I was pregnant. It was real. So if you're in that place, don't worry. It doesn't last forever. I also believe that we're shorting ourselves by not talking about money. Think about this for a second. When we job search or are up for a promotion, we usually don't know how much to ask for. We just tack on a few dollars to what we were making before and put that amount on paper. But it wouldn't it be smart to see what others in your field are making, or what the person that held the position before you was paid? It will make things a hell of a lot easier when trying to negotiate pay. Now of course, keep in mind that experience and qualifications do play a big part in how much a company is willing to pay their employees. But talking about how much you make and how much you're willing to accept is always a good start. Just don't be a blabber mouth. Work place envy is usually caused by people making more money than others and that kind of junk. Get the information you need, use it to your advantage, and keep it private until you can pay it forward.  So the next time you move up or job hunt, keep in mind that there are tools out there to help you make the best money possible, no matter what job you're looking for. Websites like glassdoor.com not only help you look for employment, but also help you to see what kind of salary others in your field are making. Point blank: you have to ask for what you want. That's the only way that we're going to close the income gap, not just for men vs. women, but for women who work similar jobs in the same field. We're all trying to make money honey! And I don't want someone who is just as skilled and talented as I am to be paid more money than me. Hell no.  Be educated before negotiating. Be brave when speaking with employers about compensation. And know you're worth. Once you practice all of these things, watch how much your paychecks increase. And they you won't have to pay rock, paper, scissors, to decide to who's going to get money for lunch that day. It's a great feeling. =) Want to learn more? Check out this link on wealth inequality in America. Blog post on wealth and money management coming soon. =)

I know that I've already done a post about baby mama and baby daddy situations. It was a few years back and you can find it here. It is one of my most popular posts, generating a little less than 1,000 views from people all over the world. In this post I talk about men who abandon their children and their responsibilities. Partly talking to the general public, partly dealing with my own situation I had going on at the time. But a recent post that I saw on Facebook made me look at the flip side of the coin. Check out this video below that was posted by a friend of mine.

Post by Oprah Winfrey.

Now check out the comments that this particular friend received on the post:

"Whatever we believe about ourselves and our ability comes true for us." - Susan L. Taylor, journalist

I've never been the jealous type of girlfriend. I'm all for my significant other having friends, being friendly with girls, and even talking to their exes. My whole thing is, if she was really that great, he would still be with her and wouldn't be wasting his time with me. Period. Plus, I was not above having my own little thing going on. So he could do as he pleased because I was doing the same. But lately, I'm starting to get super duper paranoid. Maybe it's because I'm actually marrying the the guy I'm with now and I don't want any third parties in our relationship. Maybe it's because now I don't have my own thing on the side and it's just me and him rocking this out until death do us part (omg! that whole sentence just scared the shit out of me!). Can you tell I'm scared of marriage? 
So with all this being said, thoughts of snooping have sometimes crossed my mind. Let me define what I mean by snooping here. Going through your partner's phone while their asleep or in the shower? Snooping. Going through Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, Pinterest, e-mails, etc. while your partner is not around because they left it open? Snooping. Going through phone records to see who your partner is calling and what number they contact most frequently? Snooping. Got it? Snooping is basically any attempt to get into your partners private information without their knowledge or consent. That's my definition. Plain and simple.
 Now based on what I've read online, girls are all about snooping!! Demanding that their man unlock his phone any and everywhere to allow her to go through his messages and pictures. Scrolling through his Facebook messages and Instagram DM's, which were created by the devil to ruin relationships, in order to see what he's been doing and who he's been talking to. And heaven forbid she finds something! Sweet baby Jesus. Hell and fury will rain down on his soul and he will forever be cursed with the nagging, insecure girlfriend. Gasp! 
But let's be honest here. When you go snooping, you're already looking to find something. You already have it set in your mind that they've been doing something and you're just looking for evidence to back you up. And I know your reasoning. If he has nothing to hide, I won't have anything to find. Snooping is just your way to make sure that everything is fine and you have nothing to worry about. If they haven't been doing anything than you can look all day long, get caught up on what's going on in their life, and have peace of mind that you and your partner are in a good space.
I have not known or heard of a case of snooping that turned out well. There have even been cases where snooping turned out to ruin the best surprise of your entire life. Check out an example here. And think about this. Even if he texts the cute neighbor across the street and she thanks him for helping her with her groceries, groceries that you saw him carry in, you swear that he kissed her on the way out of the house and that they're having an affair. And what happens when he says it's not true? You swear he's lying! You scream and yell at him. He thinks you're crazy and leaves your crazy behind alone. And rightfully so.
So I've boiled it down to two reasons why we snoop. Insecurities within yourself or lack of trust in your partner. Now for yourself, you have to work on that honey. If he chose to be with you, you're it. You have something that no other girl has and it's what he's looking for. Be proud. Now if you go through his stuff and he's still playing around with other people, obviously he hasn't chosen to be with you. He's chosen to lie to you to make you believe certain things to keep you around as an option. That is not a choice. So go on and let that man go. I know, sounds so simple right? I'm not dismissing that we get lonely and we want a companion. Plus he's cute and drives a nice car. But is it really worth the bullcrap he puts you through? The fights? The toll is takes on your sanity? I think not.
Now as for lack of trust in him, ya'll need to talk that out. If you find something while snooping that is incriminating, I'm not saying to hit the road. I don't believe in that once a cheater, always a cheater. We make mistakes. We're human. I am saying that you guys need to have a frank conversation about it and nip that in the bud. And if he lies about everything? Then you leave his sorry ass alone and keep it pushing. Why are you still lying? I never understand that. I CAUGHT YOU and you still can't come clean. From that point on, there is nothing more to be said. Bye bye Charlie. Hopefully whoever he was talking to on the side will be more understanding.
Now how do I feel about snooping? The crazy, paranoid, about to get married me is all for it. But the rational me thinks it's a no go. My fiance is an expert snooper. He can find anything. But there is nothing for him to find. There are no locks on any of my devices, he knows all of my passwords, and I never sign out of the accounts anyway. But even if I did, he would find a way to get into everything. As I stated before, I'm terrible at it. So I don't do it. I forget his unlock code when he shows me. I forget the passwords he gives me. I just don't care enough to snoop. I have better stuff to do. I'm busy. I have a full time job, I write two blogs, I have a two year old, and I am planning a wedding. I have shit to do. So snooping is nowhere on this agenda. 
And I don't think you should do it either. His phone on the table is not an invitation to go through and see what he's been doing. Ask. The way he answers the question will tell you everything that you need to know. Trust me. Simplify why you feel like you have to snoop and tie it into one of the reasons that I stated above. Then address it and decide if you want to continue with this behavior or trust your partner, address the issues within yourself, and enjoy your relationship. It is such a true statement that if you don't have trust you don't have anything. Take heed to those words.
So to all my expert snoopers out there, ahem ahem, stop. If your partner cannot be honest with you, then you don't need to be with them. We all get those moments when we feel like our partner is being too friendly with the sales girl or we get a knot in our stomach when their phone goes off at three in the morning and it's right there next to you. Unlocked. And the message flashes across the screen. Look at you! I know that light bulb just went off in your head. And I know you would look! It's time to start having some frank conversations. It's time to start putting the trust back into our relationships and the peace back into our homes. It's time to deal with insecurities and lack of pride within ourselves. Take baby steps. The next time you see your partner's Facebook open for all to see, walk slowly away from the screen. Nothing good can come of that.

My favorite moments with you are when we say nothing at all. The moments when your toes touch mine underneath the purple covers as we read our books on different subjects taking us to different worlds. No noise in the background. Just the sound of turning pages and slow, relaxed breathing.

I love the moments we share enclosed within those four automobile doors, saying nothing at all. Listening to the notes that escape out of your overpriced speakers. No noise needed. The sound of the engine going. The sound of the road beneath us. The sound of love dancing between our hearts.

I especially love the moments when it hits me. The bad days. The crippling days. The dark days that come without warning. That is when I love you the most. When you stare into my face, read the sadness in my eyes, and plant kisses along the same path where the tears fell. Those are the moments when I need you most. When you grab me and fall to the floor, holding me the entire way down. You don’t understand how much that means to me. How you help me out of hell with your silence. How you make me feel so loved. So safe. So secure. And you say nothing at all.

It’s not when you ask how my day was when you see the stress resting on my brow. It’s not when you surprise me with trinkets or flowers at work, making all the girls envious. It’s not when we dine at my favorite restaurant or even when you solve the riddle of my orgasm while we make love.

I love you the most in the moments when you say nothing at all. In those moments when your lips do no talking and you let your hands do the explaining. In those moments when the quietness of the room is filled with all the things you want to say. All the things I need to hear.

My God. How I love you. How I love the deafening silence. How I love your ability to decipher when to speak and when to bow. When to bark and when to kneel. When to roar and when to lay. You just know. This is the reason why, of everyone, you are the chosen. Because you understand that I understand you best, I hear you loudest, when you say nothing at all.

So I'm not one to talk about politics or economics, but I find myself doing it more and more these days. I'm more of a love, sex, romance kind of girl. But this is a topic that I just had to talk about. I see friends on Facebook and Instagram promoting their business and side hustles, and trust me there are many, and I wonder how much business they are really getting from these ads, and how many of their friends are willing to support a business that is Black owned. 
It is a common fact that Black People spend a lot of money. I mean, a lot. According to this article, Black spending has hit the TRILLION DOLLAR MARK!! Think about that. A trillion dollars. That's a crap load of money. And what do we buy? You guessed it. Electronics. Shoes. Clothes. Yup, you got it. How many Black Owned Shops do you know that sell these things. Don't worry. I'll wait. Honestly, do you even know where your money goes when you buy the latest iPhone or stand in line at six o'clock in the morning on a Saturday waiting for the latest pair of sneakers to drop? I'm sorry to tell you honey, Jordan, Lebron, Kobe, and all those other ball players and rap artists do not see a large portion of the money you spend on their shoes. Look it up. I'll wait. 
Now everyone is so quick to be politically correct and claim that they would be more than happy to support Black Businesses. They'd jump at the chance to give their money to one of their own instead a member of another race who is probably rich already anyway. But I don't know people. The numbers just aren't there. Asians help other Asians prosper. It is a common fact that Jewish people support their own, keeping the wealth within their community. Same with Indians and other foreign peoples. But Black People are so eager to give their money to people who refuse to build us up. Why? Some day it's distrust. Some say they can't find any local Black Businesses to supply them with good and services that they need. So I had to dig deeper and form my own opinion.
Of course, I had to go to my best friend, Google. A simple search of Black Business or Support Black Business yielded a bunch of articles on the topic, and gave me a general consensus of reasons why Blacks, for the most part, do not shop Black Owned. The main reason I got over and over again was that black goods are of lower quality than those sold elsewhere. I almost fell out my computer chair when I read that. This cannot be life. Let me clarify this. For the most part, Blacks do not make the goods they sell in their basement while their family is asleep upstairs. It just doesn't happen that way unless it is a product that is advertised as homemade or hand crafted. For the most part, it is a process. Manufacturers make the goods, Shop and business owners buy the goods and then they sell them. So the products you buy from your local Black business owner and another shop in your neighborhood most likely originated in the same place.
You think I'm not telling the truth. Okay. Ladies, how many times have you gone to your local mall and shopped in the Asian shops or stores like Rainbow and Denise. Now how many times have you gotten those clothes home and they've had holes in them, your leggings are so see through you can see the pattern of your panties, or the shoes you bought hurt your feet so much you can't even make it the entire night in the club. You know what I'm talking about. Doing that barefoot walk back to the car on those city streets. So are those quality clothes? Nope. And they don't even let you return or exchange at some of the places. That is surely the work of the devil. If I get a product and I am not happy, I should be able to bring it back. Simple. And you think it's better if you go to a reputable place like Dillards or Macys. Nope. I've had dresses that unraveled and jeans that faded with one wash from both of these places. So are those quality? No. You're most likely paying for the name and not the actual product itself.
Now, I also observed this point. We are quick to support those little AfroCentric shops in the mall or those little vendors on the street. You know the ones I'm talking about. They sell all those religious and Black Power paintings. They have a million little pictures of Obama, Malcolm X, and Dr. King. They sell the Shea Butter and the scented oils. And they usually have an entire wall of incense in the back of the store. We will go here to browse around and see what they have. But as soon as the shop keeper or the sales person tells you how much one of those paintings cost or how much it is for one of those oils, you are tripping over yourself to get the hell out of there. Think about this. You'll spend hundreds of dollars on wall decor if it came from a store like Macys or Saks (I don't even know if they sell wall decor!). You'll spend upwards of eighty to one hundred dollars on Michael Kors perfume or Burberry Cologne. But you won't spend ten dollars at the Black Shop, and it smells so similar to the name brands. Hmm........
And to all my Black Business owners out there, I have a few words for you. Owning a business is not a game. If I come to spend my hard earned money at your establishment, I expect respect, courtesy, and professionalism. Do not nickel and dime me.  I expect prices to be clearly marked and I want you to honor the marked price. Don't play with me. I will walk out and never shop with you again. You think I'm playing? I have a list of places I will not patronize. Keep your store clean. I will not shop anywhere that I cannot clearly see what is being sold. Be fair. Do what you say you're going to do. If you give me an estimated shipping date, it better be here on time, give or take a few days. Remember, without paying customers, you have no business. 
So how do we fix this? Easy. Make an conscious effort to shop at Black Owned Establishments. Now I'm not saying shop there for everything. Let's be realistic. There are not enough Black Owned Businesses to provide you with the goods and services that you need. Except of course hair salons and weave places. There are plenty of those. No shortage there. But I digress. Try once every paycheck. I buy all of my incense, oils, loc jewelry, and waist beads (when I don't make them myself) from Black Entrepreneurs. I love Etsy. You can find all kinds of little gems on there and you  know exactly who you're purchasing from. My favorite little shop is Afriquelachic. She sells nose chains, wooden jewelry, loc accessories, and all kinds of little trinkets. Check her personal website out here.
For those of you in the South Atlanta area who love to get dolled up, there is full service salon in Riverdale that you should check out. I mean, you can get EVERYTHING done here. Hair. Make-up. Nails. Hell, she even sells waist trainers. And we know how hot of a commodity that is now. I will admit that her prices are a little higher than the local Asian nail salons but again, you are supporting Black owned and operated. She is also looking for makeup artists, nailtechs, and hairstylists. The contact info can be found here. Go and check her out.
And for those of you in New York who like to get your face beat, my cousin is an AMAZING make up artist. She does photo shoots, proms, weddings, etc. So before you take your behind to MAC, contact her and get that personalized experience. You can also catch her on Youtube, where she gives great tutorials and does collaborations with other artists who can also use your support. Check out her Instagram, where you can find all of her contact information. Contact her directly for pricing.
So now you have no excuse. Be mindful of where your dollar goes and who it supports. Shop at places that respect you and respect your dollar. If you have any other locally owned Black Businesses that you would like to give a shout out, comment below or send me the link at sankofah8@gmail.com and I'll be sure to make a follow up post with all of the businesses I receive. It's advertisement. You never know who's eyes might come across this post. And this is a way that you can actively enhance your community and uplift your people. So why not? I mean, what do you really have to lose? Until next time......

I surely would be in jail had anyone seen me. Peeking cautiously through a gap in our brown wooden fence. 
But here I was peeking. 
And there they were in their backyard. Engulfed in fresh flowers and unhindered lust. She wore an over sized white t-shirt. Her firm nipples peaking through the thin metal material. He wore black basketball shorts. His pudgy belly covering his elastic waist band and braided string. 
She kissed him repeatedly, as if to make sure that he was ready. And to absolutely guarantee that she was too. 
His hands were all over her. Up and down her legs. Over her shoulders. Through her hair. And especially on her bare behind. I was supposed to be watering my herb garden. A new thing I had started ever since my husband decided he was tired of the processed taste of supermarket food. What a hippie. 
But instead, here I was, watching this man slowly slip this white cotton tee over this woman's head and reveal her vulnerabilities to the world. No panties to cover her feminine parts. No top to cover the young perkiness that he was so eager to enjoy. He remain clothed, only pulling what he needed up over the top of his baggy shorts. Her naked and free. Him only giving and revealing what he wanted her to have. The part of him that would give him the most pleasure. What proved he was a man. 
More kisses shared and I realized that my sage was over-watered and my oregano was dry as a bone. But I didn't care. He has begun positioning his body under hers. Ready for lift off. Preparing to enter outer space and shoot straight for the moon and stars. 
He was so rough. But she was so obliging. And commanding. She wrapped his arms around her waist, lifted her hips, and sat down on his pleasure stick. And so she began rocking them to heaven. Slowly. Surely. Confidently. 
I was hypnotized. I just couldn't make myself look away. Not even when I heard my husband come through the front door. They were moving with the rhythm of their own desires. Rocking to their own gratification. Her arms casually draped around his neck. His arms falling lower. His hands gripping her hips, squeezing her behind, causing the cheeks to turn red. 
My husband called my name and I felt the heat rising in my body. This gap in the fence  was consuming all of my thoughts. I was watching the body movements. Watching him rise to her buck. Watching her toes curl. Watching his fingers tremble. Watching her back arch. His chest rise and fall. Faster each time. She bites her lip. He pulls her closer. They dig deeper. Fly higher. Push harder. 
She finally verbalized her gratification. A low, throaty moan. I felt it deep down in the forbidden parts of my own womanhood. And in walked my husband. Not a moment too soon. Perfect. Passionate. Sexy. Edible. 
I gave him the eyes. 
didn't even say hello. He grabbed me. We dropped to the floor. Crushing all of the greenery beneath our weight. I was no longer concerned with the gap in the fence. I had my own zealous cries to make. Our love sounds and passion cries competed with those next to us. 
And quite frankly, there is no competition. 
Perhaps next week they will be peaking at us through that same gap in the fence. Staring. Gazing. Observing. Learning. Taking us all in. And they surely would see a few new things. My husband and I are great teachers. 
But for now, our chords and theirs would come together and create a beautiful symphony of love, affection, and sex. For now, we would prove that Black Love is alive and well. No competition. Just enjoyment. And we had just one for our naughty neighbors. Touché.

So, in case you haven't heard, some compromising celebrity photos have been leaked to the general public. Some people somewhere hacked into the Apple iCloud system, targeted celebrity accounts, and leaked pictures of people like Jennifer Lawrence, Kirsten Dunst, and other celebrities who have no immediate bearing on my life. Of course, I read about it on Forbes and on Facebook, didn't care, and commenced to scroll through cute baby pictures and family photos. I was done with that mess.
What made me stop and really pay attention was when Jill Scott's name got mentioned in this whole fiasco. One of my friends posted this article to their Facebook page and I almost fell out my seat and died! I mean, I love Jilly from Philly. I was introduced to her spoken word by a friend and immediately fell in love with her music afterward. Very rarely do we hear bad press about her. She's graceful, classy, sweet, and sassy. I just love her to pieces. And she was on of the celebrities who's privacy was compromised during this whole picture leak situation. 
Now notice how Jill Scott's name is not mentioned in the Forbes article that I linked above. Now of course, putting that nudies of Jill Scott got spread like wild fire is not going to sell papers or get more readers on a website like Forbes. Maybe in the Black neighborhoods, but certainly not on Wall Street or corporate America. At the very least, it will create some type of diversity in the article. And we all know how everyone is trying to be politically correct and culturally diverse these days. If you don't know, you better ask somebody! 
But anyway, let me get to the point. Why am I talking about this in relation to Black Female Sexuality? Because my dear people, the reaction to Jennifer Lawrence's photos and the reaction to Jill's photos were EXTREMELY DIFFERENT!! The undertone of most articles relating to Jennifer Lawrence and the photo leaking scandal has made J. Law seem like a victim. The big bad wolf blew her house down, leaked her naked photos, and exposed her beautiful body to the entire world. It was an outrage. It was despicable. It was just sad.
But Jilly? There was a bunch of fat shaming. Some of the "that's what you get" kind of talk. I mean, the insults started pouring in. And the thing is, one photo that was leaked was of Jill in a robe recording her weight loss journey. And she has really slimmed down a lot. The other, which is a topless photo, Jill claims is not even her! Now in fairness, the other celebrities have experienced the same back lash. But most of the articles about Jill and this situation have to deal with how harsh the comments and the feedback about her photos have been. I mean, people are MEAN! But these comments are evidence to something much deeper. They are evidence that Black Female Bodies are not viewed in the same way as their white counterparts. And that's where I have the issue.
Of course, we all know that women of all races are objectified and in most cases, still viewed as commodities. But think about this. How would you feel about Jennifer Lawrence or Katy Perry on a Times Square billboard modeling Hanes underwear. Now how would you feel about someone like one of the female cast members from Think Like A Man 2 modeling those same underwear? I'm talking about Meagan Good, Regina Hall, Taraji P. Henson, or Gabrielle Union. Hell, let's not even talk about if you saw Nicki Minaj on that billboard modeling some Hanes underwear. Girl, there would be a first class riot up in that peace! So you get my point. Totally different reactions to the same billboard trying to sell the same product. Only difference is race and body construct. But this makes all the difference in the world.
What I think needs to happen is we as Black Women start to take ownership of our sexuality. For real. Let us take back our bodies and not be ashamed of them but refuse to let them be over sexualized and degraded. Period. There will be no apologies for our hips, our curves, or our round behinds. I cannot help that I fill out a pencil skirt to perfection. I cannot stop my booty from jiggling in a sun dress. I have no apologies that skater skirts and dresses are not as innocent on me as they are with those who have less behind. It's my body. I love it. And I will not let anyone make me feel ashamed of it. Or let anyone tell me that things that are deemed appropriate for one person in the workplace or not appropriate for me. If we are ashamed, we give them power. And quite frankly, we've given men and society the power long enough. Time to take it back now.
On another note, I do not judge anyone tho decides to participate in sexting or sending nudies. Again, that is your choice, I really hate that everything that is private and sexual is made to seem dirty or shameful. Yet, if a woman is pretending to have an orgasm in the shower in a shampoo commercial, than that's just advertisement. What I do have to say is this. Practice this behavior wisely. Make sure that you share photos with someone that you trust and have known for a long period of time. And have an understanding that once you hit sent on that picture or video, anything can happen to it. Literally. There are plenty of websites that expose exes or put people on blast based on their sexual activities and preferences. Beware. And trust your gut. If it doesn't feel right, don't do it. No matter what kind of pressure you're under.
Okay beauties, let's wrap this up. Jill Scott. I love you to pieces!! I also love the way that you handled this entire situation. If you are not aware how Jilly from Philly dealt with her haters, you can see her actual response here. It was classy, it was graceful, it was empowering while others were trying to tear her down. I wanted to raise a fist after reading it! She owned her body, made it clear that she was not ashamed of who she was or how she looked and shut everything down. Well done! But think about this. In his article about Jill and the photos, Jerry Barrow made the statement that Jill's privacy is our privacy. I would go even further to say that Jill's pride is our pride. No shame here. No hiding here. And no acceptance of hate, belittling, fat shaming, or degradation here. And once we make this the standard everywhere, the way Black Women, Black Bodies, and Black Sexuality is viewed will begin to change. You just watch.