I’ve spent most of my blogging existence documenting my quest to fall ridiculously, inconveniently, and agonizingly in love. So does this mean you’re settling if you simply just love someone? First, we have to consider what being “in love” even means, but I assume it’s different for everyone. Even Google didn’t have a succinct answer. Common descriptors however, included words like: yearning, uncontrollable, infatuation, and obsessive. For me, being “in love” in the past fel
I’ve been dying to tell you how you’ve changed my life before even having life.
How your eyes light up an entire universe inside of me that houses people and places and feelings I’ve never felt before.
How your beauty reminds me of a childhood I never had.
A jewelry box containing my most prized possession.
My little peanut turned lemon turned mango turned melon in my little then big belly.
Green with envy when we go to the park, because everyone wants to look at
Do not fall in love with a woman’s smile, and then get mad when people smile at her. Do not fall in love with a woman’s laugh, and then get mad when someone else makes her giggle. Do not fall in love with a woman’s humor, and then get mad when she tells a really, really good joke. Do not fall in love with a woman’s wittiness, and then get mad when she outwits you. Do not fall in love with a woman’s beauty, and then get mad when someone else admires it. Do not fall in love wit
I don’t know much, but I do know about a woman’s love.
Obsessive, even. But what I know even better (unfortunately), is a woman’s hurt. It’s knowing that something is off, but not being able to pinpoint it. Feeling him slowly pull away and knowing it’s just a matter of days, but him saying nothing is wrong. Questioning anything. Noticing everything. Then, fighting with your instinct
When I was younger, a co-worker I looked up to advised that I never ask the universe for a man to love me as much as I loved him. Reason being, a woman’s love is just so selfless. So vast. And so unwavering, that even if a woman loved a man just a “little bit”, it would be equivalent to a man loving a woman “a lot”. Ultimately, a woman’s 5 would be a man’s 8 on the love scale. At the time, I knew it made sense and secretly, I agreed. But I wanted to be “fair”. I was and still
Some of you may have watched this Red Table Talk episode featuring the women of the Curry family, but my bet is more of you have seen articles, memes and tweets in response to it. Specifically, the backlash Ayesha Curry’s received from it. I highly suggest watching the interview before reading further, but below is an excerpt from it: “There are all these women throwing themselves [at him],” she said. “The past 10 years, I don’t have any of that. I have zero male attention. I
When death becomes you, you will look back at old text conversations and replay the real ones in your head. And if you think hard enough, the rest of the world will fade away and you will hear her laugh as if she’s standing right in front of you. You will find every photo you ever took together and play back that day. You will look for signs and find ones that don’t actually exist. You will wonder why even though it shouldn’t matter and then you will think that you are more
We are teachers. Scientists. Models. Mothers. Sisters. Best friends. Girlfriends. Wives. Grandmothers. Engineers. Fashion Designers. Makeup artists. Politicians. Entertainers. Dancers. Dreamers. Healers. Believers. Magicians. Coaches. Athletes. Gold Medalists. Chefs. CEO’s. Janitors. Managers. Philanthropists. Stay at home moms. We are anything we really, really, really, want to be. We are Michelle Obama. Susan Wojcicki. Frida Kahlo. Olivia Pope. Emma Gonzalez. Victoria Manal
Every year around the holidays, people take a moment to reflect on the last 300-something days of their life. If you’re like me, you’ll play a lowlight reel of all the things you didn’t accomplish while beating yourself up for it. Since elementary school, I had always found Christmas depressing and as I grew up, December 31st became synonymous with anxiety and failure. I cannot believe I’ve spent the past few decades living like this. Just like the previous years, 2017 starte
I never thought I was good at giving advice. I started this blog years ago to simply share stories. My stories, your stories, her stories, and his. Along the way, I was able to help people. Help people laugh and cry, but most of all, help people know they were not alone in both their tragedies and triumphs. Although I had “relations” with men during the nearly 8 years I’ve had this blog, I was single for most of. And during those single years, I created some of my best work.
I watched it happen. I watched as the cracks spread through her body like heroin flowing through your bloodstream. It started at the tips of her toes and fingers. The same ones that texted him, “I want doughnuts” and then did the walk of shame from his car to her front door the next morning. The cracks spread to her arms and thighs, the same ones that were tired from fighting herself and running in the wrong direction. I stood there and did nothing as they spread to her brain
Because the sex is good. Because we’re dumb AF. Because we don’t want to be alone. Because we hope that things will change. And finally … Because the heart wants what it wants. Logic over love (or our cloudy, twisted depiction of it) isn’t as logical as we make it to be. If it were that easy, we’d be making good decisions all around and this blog wouldn’t exist. When you’re emotions are involved, it’s not as easy as picking between a pair of Louboutins that you want and a new
I stared at my phone for almost 30 minutes before I finally sent the text. I took half an hour going back and forth with myself, adding and subtracting letters to what would finally end up being a measly 3 word sentence. The second I sent it, I could feel something punch me through my chest, reach down and tear out the little dignity I had left in the pit of my stomach. And let me tell you, there wasn’t much left. A minute or so later, I heard a ping and saw a familiar number
After impatiently waiting for all my favorites shows to come back into rotation, I gave in and started watching Power. It’s not great, but I can’t stop watching. Maybe it’s because I could look at J.R. Ramirez any day of the week and twice on Sundays. Whatever it is, I’m currently almost done with Season 2. The manfriend came over the other day just in time to catch me finishing an episode. In an attempt to summarize the show, I broke it down like this: It’s a show about drug
When your heart is broken, your first response is to mend it. This can be done in several ways. For some, it’s going out with your girlfriends. Putting on your favorite freak’um dress, drinking one too many drinks, and dancing the night away somewhere you know your fine ass will be seen and word of how fine you are will get back to the ex. For others, it’s unleashing their inner ho. Reactivating your Tinder account, swiping right, and actually responding to those you match wi
Gym. Yoga. Babies. Those were my go-to’s during a bad break up. They kept me distracted or entertained just long enough to pretend that my soul wasn’t stolen from me. One summer I went to bikram class M-W-F, ran or went to the gym T-Th, and made sure to pack as many dinners and happy hours with friends in between. Because that’s what you were supposed to do. That’s what everyone else said to do. When that didn’t work, I did what I thought I did best – write. I dotted the I’s
i try. i think really hard about it too. all these bridges, and i still can’t get over you.
i don’t even need to try. it’s right there in front of me. our future failures, the reasons we can’t be together. the reasons we aren’t together. i can’t talk to you about things. i can’t talk to you about anything. at least not without second guessing myself. first. without feeling judged. without wondering if i sound stupid. without holding back. i tell myself you are not for me. yo
Happy birthday you beautiful bitch! I bet you think you’re a big girl now don’t you? Well, I have good and bad news for you: you’re not even close. You may never be. Until you are, here’s some advice from your 35-year old self who I promise can still keep it lit AF. Don’t worry, you’ll understand what that means in about 14 years. 1. YOU ARE ENOUGH. 2. You’re going to get your heart broken. You’ll think you’re going to die. You might a little. And then you’ll get over it. The
I have amazing friends. They’re beautiful, and talented. Thoughtful and funny. Smart, and cultured. Every now and then we’ll summon our 25-year old selves and do something crazy like put heels on, drink all the drinks, and stay out past midnight. We laugh until our tummies hurt, and cry unfamiliar-but-becoming-more-of-a-thing happy tears when we see one of us walk down the aisle towards the love of her life. But when those familiar-not-as-frequent-but-wish-they’d-be-non-exist
I’ve always thought the best way to get in shape is to get your heartbroken. Either you’re too sad to eat and so desperate to keep yourself busy that the gym suddenly becomes an option, or you just want to look good in the event you run into your ex’s new whorebag girlfriend, or even better/worse your ex. That’s why I started running and doing yoga, but I kept running and doing yoga because I genuinely loved it. Thus, you should always do things for yourself. Not for the appr