5 Reasons You Shouldn't Sleep w/ Your Ex

You broke up. You're more or less over it. So what. Blah blah blah. But the sex. OOOH, the sex. You miss it. Of course you miss it! Duh. So....why not? Well here's why you shouldn't revisit sexytime with someone who's time has come... and gone.

Feels like the first time. Or not. It's never quite as good as it once was. Why not? Because you used to be in all kinds of lurve and we all know sex full of emotion is way better than the opposite kind. Might as well leave all those lovely memories where they belong-right on Memory Lane where love don't live anymore.

Too much feeling. One of the biggest reasons I've never gone back sexually to my (major) ex boyfriend is because I knew without a doubt that he wouldn't be able to be with me without expecting more, hoping for reconciliation. Now before you decided I'm a completely arrogant prick, know that I broke it off for good with him and every few months after (and still), I get a phone call or a text or a BBM that says something along the lines of, "I miss you and want you back." I tried to sleep with him once before and we wound up getting back together. Never again.

Standstill. It is virtually impossible to move on from a relationship when you are continually going back to that person emotionally, mentally, physically, so why would sexually be any different. If anything, it might be worse. It's just so hard to develop feelings for someone knew when you refuse to leave the old ones alone and I don't care what you say, it's really really hard to separate feelings when you once had so many of 'em. But good luck, lemme know it goes.

Too. Good. Let's say you go back and it's awesome; just as you remembered it except better. Now you're in real trouble. One of two things will happen: A, you will keep sexing, fall back into the habit of being around each other, and get back together. It'll be all nice and slow until you start to remember exactly why you broke up in the first place. Now you're sorta fucked. Well, not really anymore cause now we have to go through another lovely breakup and trust me, it's worse the second time around. OR B, you keep sexing because it's just so damn good and then one day he sits you down and tells you the sex has to stop because he's met a great girl and he wants to give it a real shot. She gets to have your good sex now. Whoopy!

Dead and gone. Worst case scenario, honestly, is probably going back and having it be bad, not because it just isn't as good, but because it's just so empty. It's over. You really are over it and so is he. Then it's just kinda painful and completely not worth the effort. Hell, you coulda had a V8.

Don't say I didn't warn you. In fact, I'd love for you to go out there, find your ex, diddle his pickle, and find out for yourself. I've given so much damn advice and people still do what they want. I find the best advice is learning from your own mistake. Work it out in the c-section-add you own. You know the deal.

That bitch stole my line,

xoxo

Blackie Collins

Happy Friday!!

Hey kids! It's been a really busy week, but there are a couple articles up over on AOL for you to get your Blackie fix. New post just put up today on "Why Women Are Such Haters..." More next week!!

xoxo

B.

ps- it's All Star weekend over in LA...get your smeeze on if you're out there! You could be on the next season of Basketball Wives or something! Get your come uppance...

Valentine's To The Max

I don't know about you guys, but I love these new Pepsi Max commercials. They're funny, to the point, and witty. Not to mention, they give everyone a 30 second lesson in gender differences and relationship advice. They make my job easier! *Gets jiggy with it*

The latest installment shows a first date taking place in a restaurant. The girl's interior thoughts (which viewers can hear, but not the participating daters) are rattling off things like: I wonder how much money he makes; I wonder if he loves his mother; I wonder if he'll lose his hair; I wonder if he wants kids; I wonder if he's the one. She's all smiles and apple pie as she runs the gambit in her head. Meanwhile across the table, the guy is doing the same except his interior monologue goes like this: I wanna sleep with her, I wanna sleep with her, I wanna sleep with her, I wanna sleep with her, I wanna sleep with her. Moments later, the server appears and places a Pepsi Max on the table in front of him and like a small child or cute puppy, the guy's eyes dart to the can as his brain seamlessly switches to: I wanna Pepsi Max, I wanna Pepsi Max, I wanna Pepsi Max, I wanna Pepsi Max, I wanna Pepsi Max. Suddenly, we cut back to the girl who glares at him and "thinks," Not a chance. To which the guy responds: Darn...wait, which one?

Genius!

Not only is the woman a magical, mind reading creature (as we are in real life), the man is extraordinarily simple, which they are in real life, too, as I say constantly and stole from both experience and my guy friends, who would surely agree on their simplicity. The good people at Pepsi go even further by showing how extreme and complex women can be just with the first date, while the guy is going after his ultimate goal: sex. I guarantee if you are new to this blog, my readers will school you on how many times I've said men do everything to get some booty. They are the booty warrior from The Boondocks. "Booty is more important than drinking water." Period. And Pepsi knows it too.

As much as I love the Pepsi Max commercials, they aren't my point. They're my segue into today's post. A little Valentine's drama for you guys this morning. Maria is dating a new guy, Ron. He is special. They are special together. They will probably have a special marriage at some point. So it's all special and whatnot. A day or two before Valentine's day, Maria called and asked if she should get a card for Ron. She and Ron are not yet boyfriend and girlfriend, but it is understood that they are in a dating situation that is well on it's way to exclusivity and as I said before, some sort of permanent union. I told her she could go ahead and get him a card. No big deal. She also bought him a box of chocolates (which was more than I said to do and you'll see why she should've listened later). The evening before Valentine's Day, Ron cooks for Maria. On her way out, she sees a pile of Valentine's Day cards on his counter, and either consciously or subconsciously decides one must be for her. Valentine's Day comes...and Valentine's Day goes. By 11pm, Maria has not heard from Ron at all and despite them not having pinpointed any plans, she assumed they'd at least exchange cards, at least call each other. Instead Maria finds herself on the couch, watching Castle, eating said chocolates herself. She later got a stomach ache. Told ya.

Around midnight, Maria calls me and she's fuming. How could he forget Valentine's Day? Why didn't he at least call or text! Hell, an email? She spews at me. I explain that first of all, she would've been pissed with an email. Secondly, has she talked to him all day? Maybe something happened. Granted, I don't think anything did, but I was being nice, playing devil's advocate, trying to help out Ron who I actually think is a rare gem. Maria argues that they hung out the night before, that she saw the cards, that she just doesn't get how he could let such a special day go by without acknowledging perhaps the most special woman in his life...at least romantically. She has a point, so I tell her she does and we end it with her planning to wait til he calls because she refuses to call him. I concur.

The next afternoon, Ron calls Maria. He tells her about the awesome Mexican takeout he grabbed on the way home from work the night before. How her craving for chips and salsa sparked his own. He talks about how excited he is for their weekend trip and how his presentation at work went really great the previous day. He talks and talks and not once does he mention Valentine's Day or the fact that he forgot to wish her a good one. It is almost as if he pulled two pages off his Word of the Day calendar, skipping Valentine's altogether and missing out on the word "endemic."

Maria participates in the conversation, but being that she's about as subtle as a billboard when she's pissed, and celebrates every holiday down to Arbor Day, Ron notices immediately that something is off. He asks if she's okay. She says she's fine. Suddenly Ron is quick on the uptake and he asks again if she's sure she's okay. Finally Maria says, "No, Ron, I'm not okay, but I am not in a place where I can talk about what's upsetting me. We will talk about it tomorrow in class." By class, Maria is talking about the cooking class they signed up for...together (which is so New York of them, seriously). Ron doesn't like having to wait and asks if he can at least know the topic. Maria says, "Acknowledgement. It's about acknowledgement." She then ends the conversation and calls me screaming.

I don't know which is funnier. How completely out to lunch Ron is or how stereotypically female Maria is acting. It's like their own little Pepsi Max commercial and I'm gobbling it up, which Maria hates because I am not being "serious about something that matters to her."

Look, to Maria and anyone else who doesn't quite get how different men and women are (and how unserious Valentine's Day is), at the end of it all, men are very, very simple. They care about the basics and not much else in between. Life's challenges are solved easily as men seek out solutions and move on. They also barely get it and when they do, it's usually because some woman had to draw it out with an Etch-a-Sketch. Women, however, care immensely about a plethora of things that men could care less about. Women are emotional and complex, silly at times-especially during their period when they go absolutely crazy, but are also loyal and loving, so dudes deal with it. And we have vaginas, which if you didn't get anything from the Pepsi commercial, you at least learned it's all men really care about anyway.

I can't wait for Ron's excuse on missing V-day. He better get it together before President's weekend...

That bitch stole my line,

xoxo

Blackie Collins

The Girl Code

**Happy Valentine's Day, kids! Hope it was festive and full of love (making)...**

I'm hesitant on the girl code. No, I'm not a mean girl who thinks we should all go around stealing our friend's ex's, but I also think some chicks are claiming far more than their share. I had a friend who, in the simplest and most honest way of saying it, got around. She'd dated quite a bit, slept around a bit more. It's safe to say that she will tap out 3 of the 5 boroughs if she keeps at it in her current pace, but to the point. The point is she, unlike many girls, she doesn't get to stake her claim as frequently because the odds of running into a guy, who she happened to smash or date, is so incredibly high. So, we've all decided she gets two. TWO, that's it, so she better make them count.

In most cases, you steer clear of the old flames of friends because most times it isn't worth the trouble. Who wants to lose a good girlfriend for a boy she cast aside (or vice versa)? And let's say, you get the go-ahead. Congrats, you're now the proud participant in a slew of awkward group outings, divided circles of friends, and odd territorial fights that stem from the fact that you're dating the guy she once pictured in a tux at the bottom of an aisle, and less to do with which movie to choose at the cineplex. Or, you hide out, as the little dynamic duo you have decided to be, looking around street corners, hanging out on odd sides of town, finding new circles to rotate into. All so you don't run into your one time friend who you traded up and in for.

That's girl code. Let's discuss the guy code. I've always loved my close guy friends. They've schooled me in so many ways, there's little a guy can do that will shock or surprise me. Ain't nothing new under the sun, some is just a bit shinier, but it's all been done. Anyway, guy code. They don't date for real girlfriends of for real boys. For example, none of the guys on Jersey Shore would ever date Sammy because Ron would surely kill himself and everyone within a forty-two mile radius (those steroids make you verrryy emotional). Most guys don't frequently fall in love and cry hysterically on national television-or in real life-so when they do, their boys know not to tread even remotely close to that trail. She is off limits. Forever.

But somehow, men go after the friends of their ex-girlfriends may more regularly than altogether necessary. I'd like to say they just have a different code, but it really seems they just don't care. Case and point: I was at a club this weekend (for the most part, I believe anyone over the age of 27 is too old to be kickin it at the club, but a friend rented it out for a birthday celebration, so I gave myself a pass) when I ran into one of Maria's ex boyfriends, Oscar. Now Maria is my serial monogamous, she's had several boyfriends, none less than at least nine months to a year and almost all of whom would've married her on the spot if they could. So, let's say she's had about ten boyfriends in the 13 years I've known her. That means there are ten men running the earth who I will never go near; not with a pole the length of six football fields. So, when I ran into Oscar, I chopped it up, talked a bit and generally just caught up. Several moments into our conversation, though, Oscar reached out and interlaced his fingers through mine and linked our hands. The ensuing conversation is worth sharing because it proves the point:

Oscar: You look so pretty. I'm loving the eye make up. It's all smokey and mysterious.

B: Uh, thanks. Why are we holding hands?

Oscar: I don't know. Why not? *insert what is usually interpreted as a smile that charms the painties off most girls I'm sure*

B: Oh, ok. Not sure it's a good choice for this situation.

Oscar: Come on, why not? I've always liked you. Why can't we hang out?

B: Have you forgotten you dated my friend?

Oscar: *pauses as if trying to figure out which friend I'm talking about*

B: Maria.

Oscar: No, I knew who you were talking about. I mean, that was forever ago!

B: No, it wasn't. It was right after college and that doesn't matter. She's my best friend, Oscar. Not some girl I used to know.

Oscar: I bet if we asked her she'd be okay with it. We should definitely ask.

B: I'm not asking, but feel free.

Oscar: I just might. *smirks*

The conversation more or less ended there, but I was so annoyed by how persistent Oscar was. It was neither flattering or cute. It was just kinda sad and ridiculous. There are a million girls roaming this island and the fact that Oscar would rather add to the number of hurdles he'd have dating someone in such close proximity just isn't smart. And like I said, Maria isn't just an acquaintance or a girl I once knew. She's my best friend! The fact he didn't put it together is even more irritating. Not that we're close, but that he knows we are! The very fact that Maria and I are best friends, means I know all the ins and outs of their relationship, especially as to why they broke up. I know all about his overly flirtatious habits, about his lack of direction, about the desktop folder full of porn she discovered one rainy day. So, no thanks, Oscar, I'm good either way.

I do kinda hope Oscar calls Maria, though. Clearly, he doesn't remember her Gemini flipping tendencies. That conversation should be lovely. And I'll probably be giggling on mute via 3-way, like a real best friend should. Long live the girl code.

That bitch stole my line,

xoxo

Blackie Collins

A Gift From You to You

Hey kids, couple things to check out today. This current post, of course, and my article written for AOL Black Voices on Love Wednesday. Anslem Samuel, author of Naked With Socks On, and I teamed up with "10 Lies Women Tell" versus "10 Lies Men Tell (and a few more because men lie a lot)" Enjoy!!

"Closure is not something a man gives you, it's something you give yourself."-@madamnoire

I saw this quote on twitter last week and immediately RT'd it for obvious reasons, the most being I loved it. It just made so much sense in one of those clunk on the head, simple ways. Like duh! It got me thinking about my past relationships, those that ended well and those that went down in flames, and this quote won in every single instance.

For some reason, women really feel they need closure or the stamp to move the f*ck on from some guy. A friend of mine, Nina, is in one of those platonic male/female friendships that isn't actually platonic at all, but mostly on her part while he gets the best of both worlds: he gets the "you're my bestest friend in the whole world" routine AND sexytime. I've been telling her for almost a year to let that dude, James, catch the K, but she insists that he's all kinds of confused and that he really does love her, just doesn't know what to do, blah blah blah. That's what I hear when she imposes all her complex female feelings on his simplistic male psyche. I have seen this whole "friendship" blowing up since the beginning. Since she over analyzed her interaction with him while he fell for another girl who he punched a wall over and broke his hand or something. Whatever. Anyway, my inner Cleo saw it coming, which brings us to the current issue.

Long story short (something I never do well), Nina and James went out for a beer and to catch up, which was normal for them. At the end of the night, Nina invited James up to "make out for a little bit." Again, normal for them (odd to me, but whatever). So Nina and James go upstairs and make out for said little bit before things escalate and Nina and James go from making out to knocking boots.

At this point in the story, as it was being relayed to me, Nina says she felt weird, like the connection they had back in the beginning (when they were pseudo-dating) was absent. Apparently, the "no strings, platonic friendship despite being in love with you" sex wasn't working for her and when they finished, James announced he was going to go home instead of stay the night since he had to get up early in the morning. To this, Nina burst into tears. James was confused, he asked what was wrong. Nina attempted through snot and tears (which she later blamed on PMS), to ask him why they weren't together, why they couldn't work, etc. To which James replied, "I really don't want to have this conversation right now." Not having much of a choice, Nina continued on her quest and they had one of those kinds of exchanges that embarrasses listeners who weren't even involved or present. As Nina told me how she almost begged him to give her reasons why he didn't want to be with her, how he kept reiterating how he just didn't see her that way, that he tried, I physically cringed on the other end of the phone. I kept wanting to stop her, like, "Girl! What were you thinking? Not your finest hour at all," but we've all been there at some point (mine just so happened to be when I was 16 and I never went there again. I am still highly embarrassed by that story. Perhaps why I haven't told it in detail.) so I left that part out. Instead, when she finally finished, I asked, "What exactly did you want to gain from that conversation?" She rattled off a few answers, the most relevant being: "I need answers, I needed to know why not so I could move on one way or the other." I found this part interesting. Nina was under the impression, as are many, that she needed James to give her the go ahead to move the heck forward. As if he were the quicksand holding her back and had suddenly released her from stagnant prison. Nope. Nina didn't realize all that time that she had the keys to processing and filing away. We may feel like we need closure from the other parties involved, we may even trick ourselves into thinking we can't move on without beating the horse til it's dead six times over, but it simply isn't true. It is entirely possible to control your own feelings, your own actions, your own outcome. You look yourself in the face and say, "Bitch, please. He's a dirtbag and it's his loss." And because you surely don't believe it initially, you work the whole fake-it-til-you-make-it angle until you look in the mirror and don't even think about the fool you think you need permission from to move on with your life. It's really that simple. Sure, forgoing closure from him is hard in practice, but trust me, the theory is solid, and probably the best present you could ever give yourself.

That bitch stole my line,

xoxo

Blackie Collins

On B: Tall Tales (from the Hood)

I write this blog and I get the awesome emails and I see the how-do-you-always-verbalize-what-I’m-thinking comments and I’m still in awe of them. Because half the time, I have no clue what I’m doing. I tell my stories, I put my life on the internet (albeit anonymously to protect those who aren’t as free as I am), and at some point it goes from a funny anecdote to therapy to quite similar to the little pink diary I scrawled in ferociously when I was nine. Sometimes, I write on here just as a train of thought, as a way to release into the atmosphere what I might not be able to do in conversation. In conversation, people interrupt and judge, whether they mean to or not. In real life, people impose their own life lessons and examples onto your own. In real life, people don’t understand because they simply aren’t you. But when I write on here, you guys seem to get it. You seem to say, “Yup, I’ve been there or yea, I was a fool once too. Sure, my sh*t stinks just like anyone else’s.” And it feels like a big hug, it really does. One of my closest friends in the world read the Tales from the Hood series and informed me she had to stop midway through the second post because she felt I was making excuses for him. I won’t lie, when she first said she read the series, I got quasi excited. I thought maybe she’d see what I wasn’t able to convey in our long conversations about Trey, about what this thing was we were doing, how I felt, how he felt. I thought she’d get it a bit more. But she didn’t. And that doesn’t mean, she’s anything other than my best friend honestly. She loves me enough that if anyone even so much as thought to hurt me, she’d call in the firing squad. I’d kill someone for her too. So I get it, I really do. But I still wanted her to understand. To see that this was more than a crush, more than a little fling, more than someone to pass the time. That despite the drama that came packed in suitcases at his feet, there was just as much good, just as much appeal. I’m a glutton for punishment, but even I’m not gonna run around with a 100%, Grade A Asshole. I have some common sense.

So, here I am, the point of this post. Trying to figure out what happened. Trying to understand how you can want someone, want to be with someone, maybe even love someone and not be able to figure out how to make it work. Of course, I’ve been with people whom I had strong feelings for, even loved, and it didn’t work out. I’ve watched relationships disappear, I’ve shed a tear or ten thousand over a seemingly broken heart. But, this right here. This Trey thing. I don’t know how, I don’t even know when. I think I knew from the very beginning that this was about to be some sh*t, but I had no idea it would roll into what it’s become.

I miss him. Terribly. I miss him when he walks out the room. I miss him when it’s been a few days. I miss him when I haven’t talked on the phone with him six times a day. I miss lying in bed with him, talking. I miss his crazy stories about his crazy life, one that is so opposite mine, it’s amazing we can find common ground at all. I miss going somewhere, meeting people who respect him like crazy and listen when he says, “This is my girl. Take care of her.” I miss shopping in the grocery store at 3am, watching him meticulously pick out snacks that are actual meals to other people: eggs and turkey sausage, fish, crablegs, jerk chicken over rice. I miss how long it takes him to get dressed, just to wind up in some version of jeans, a tshirt with a hoodie and a fitted. I miss his annoyingly, sparkly white teeth, his dimples that jump out and steer me off course. I miss how he needs to have his right bicep tickled to fall asleep. I even miss how he snores if he’s on his back. I miss how he walks, how he talks, how he looks at other people with authority, how he looks at me, goodness, how he looks at me. He looks at me and I pretty much fall apart cause of what I know he’ll do to me later. But you know what I miss most of all? I miss waking up to him slipping his tattooed arm around me, pulling me over to his side of the bed, kissing my forehead, and snuggling in for more sleep. I miss when my little thug melts into me. I just miss him. Terribly.

And there is nothing I can do about it. He hates me for leaving him. He hates me for “making him fall in love with me,” yeah, love. He’d said it on numerous occasions and I’d always tossed it off to him being drunk, waited for him to bring it up again, knowing if he didn’t, he didn’t remember or didn’t mean it. Until the last time he said it. When I told him I had to go for good. He said he tried to fight it off, knew it was happening all along, that damnit, he loved me. Like for real and it was f*cking him up. He didn’t know what to do with it, so he was putting a wall up, pushing me out, after all, I was abandoning him.

He asked me to stay. Told me he’d take care of me, love me, be with me. Isn’t that what I wanted? Isn’t that what we all want? As surely as I know the answer to that, I also know I have to go. There is so little that could work between us. It would be a disaster. But, God, I think I love him too. I have this feeling in my gut, that I don’t understand, that I haven’t felt in a really really long time. But I don’t know what it is? I don’t know how to label it. Does that make sense? Like love seems corny, seems small, but it also seems too big, too serious, not possible after only a couple months-not to mention a couple months laced with drama. I wonder if the drama had anything to do with him trying to fight me on what he knew was brewing in there. But, I can’t. Like I physically can’t. There are so many reasons, a big one that I can’t share with you guys yet, but I will really soon. But it’s taking me out of his life whether I want to or not. I’m not dying, so don’t worry, and I’m not moving to Mars, but I won’t be around for a long period of time, so geographically, we’ll be separated. I would never ask him to hold out or wait for me. I would never expect him to change his life from what it is- I also know him well enough to know his stubborn ass wouldn’t. But I don’t know what to do. I don’t know how to let go of him. It feels like my own little personal The Notebook except not nearly as romantic. More, the feeling I know they felt, that ridiculous connection, one that you couldn’t forget, wouldn’t be able to shake, even when the next one came around. Cause you can’t help it. Flaws and all, the heart wants what the heart wants and my heart is so stuck to Tre, it’s, well, it has to be something special right? But alas, life is nothing like the movies...unless, it's Blue Valentine.

That bitch stole my line,

xoxo

Blackie Collins