Tales from the Hood: The Sequel That Shouldn't Have Been

**Author's note** Everyone keeps asking where I've been...well, I'm right here, just been super busy. It seems my professional writing has taken over these days and most of my creative juices are being splayed on AOL Black Voices, Hello Beautiful, News One, Urban Daily and the like. I can't complain though, it's pretty awesome and there are some major things in the works for B, which excites me to no end. It's exactly what I wanted to happen, so YIPPY! But I will do my best to continue bringing B into your lives with my crazy blog, but forgive me if a few days pass without a blog going up. It's usually because there's stuff on other sites. So get it in with me there when we aren't here! xoxo***

So, Trey is gone. Out the picture. But he's still in the same museum, lurking, observing, dropping in from time to time to jack my life up and throw my little universe off it's axis. He calls and leaves messages saying he loves me and misses me. He sends me random pictures of him in the club with the title: I want you back. And on the nights when he's out drunk, he calls me, and calls me, and calls me, and calls me repeatedly, over and over until he either gets the point or passes out I assume.

I don't really know what to do. I'm seeing someone new. He's a great guy. He's sweet and fun and fucking normal. He isn't out of his mind. He doesn't have a record, he isn't ridiculously intense to a point that he drives me up and down and all over crazy. And yet, I can't full get into him because I can't get over Trey. I've told Trey to stop calling. I've told him to leave me alone, to let me get over him, to keep it moving, but he doesn't. Or he does for a week, right to the point that I feel life find it's rhythm without him in it and as only men magically do, he calls "out of nowhere." How do they know when the power is starting to shift away from them, that their grasp is loosening on our hearts. They somehow have a sixth sense for that shit and they call or come back immediately, tightening their grip, ruining the semblance of regularity.

I hate him and yet I'm still so hopelessly missing him. It's sort of stupid. It pisses me off that he won't just go away or that I can't answer his calls, talk to him like a normal human being. You're wondering why I don't just answer? Well, the last time I did, he went on and on about how much he loved me, asked me to come back to him, quit my life and be in his basically. He was quiet and sincere, choked up and growly in his voice. It was the worst conversation. He kept asking me why I wouldn't tell him I loved him too. I kept telling him I just wanted to make sure he got home safely, that I'd stay on the phone with him til his drunk ass got home. It's draining. It's like the drain in a bathtub and all my energy just gets sucked right down and out. This is why I can't answer. Why I have to do the ignore thing that I hate so much. I hate when men do it to women. I find it rude and even more, cowardly. And yet, I'm doing it to Trey. But in my defense it's because he's just too much to do deal with. And I want to give the new guy a solid chance. I want to date a normal guy, leave my thug love tendencies behind me. There's a line in this song and it goes: "Passion is fine, but passion burns fast. Passion's design seems never to last. Better a match, better a blend. Who needs a lover, I need a friend." This many sound depressing, but it's true. Right now, I need easy, honest, relaxing, a guy who's just as much a friend as he is the guy I'm romantically involved with. I need balance and for goodness sakes, NORMAL. Trey is the exact opposite, so I have to keep him at bay, keep it moving on my end and hope he gets the memo and goes off to ruin someone else's love life.

That bitch stole my line,

xoxo

Blackie Collins

Welcome to the Boring Life

I'm so tired. I've been dating for over twelve years and damnit, I'm tired. Well that's not entirely true, because during some of those twelve years, I was in relationships, but those were tiresome too, so it remains the same. I'm tired. I feel like Charlotte on Sex and the City. I'm just over dating. I'm watching all these people getting engaged and married and, no, I'm not thinking, "When will it be my turn?!" Nope, you know B better than that. Instead, I'm just like, "I think I give up."

I've told you all that I'm on abstention mode. Well, I touched on it, but let me elaborate. I love me some hims and it's too easy for me to get distracted from what I need to be doing because of a guy. I don't turn my life over to them, but I definitely think about them way more than I should and I have an uncanny ability to refrain from saying no to them. It's a bad habit. I'm trying to break it by not dealing with boys at all. And if I do, it's in such a strict-arms-length-way, I doubt anyone will feel like bothering, hell I barely feel like it. Yes, I went on a date on Monday, but that's small potatoes compared to all the dudes I've written off in the last two weeks. That's been tiring too! But I really want a fresh start. I had a few icky situations going on in the last couple months and they all led me to the point of cleaning house. So, the house is clean and guess what? I'm bored! In some ways, I've totally become used to the drama that men bring in your life. They swear it's us, but I insist, they have more drama than Broadway. It seems enticing when you're in it, the drama, but once it's over and all is quiet, you're like, "what the hell? That was about as fun as diving into a mosquito nest wearing a pair of sugar panties."

In some ways, it's sad. I'm being very honest, I definitely feel the lonesomeness set in and this is coming from a person who loves dining alone, taking in a movie sans partner, or doing other activities by herself. I've always been that way, okay in my own company, but as I've gotten older and damnit, everyone getting paired off, I've started to wonder about my settling down, if I'll settle down, when I'll settle down, will I settle down? And it's all making my brain hurt...and my heart too.

I give a lot to people, I always have. I remember my mother warning me to be careful with my heart because I liked wearing it on my sleeve. I've tried to heed her warning, but I don't think I've done such a good job of it when it comes to giving myself to others. I give my time, I give emotion, I give passion, I give everything but money, and that's only because I barely have any myself, but if I did, I probably would. And a lot of times, you give to people and they just take it and you get used to it. You say, "I'd rather still have a good heart even if people trample it." But then you get smart and you shield yourself just a bit, you don't believe in people until they show you who they really are, or you just stop trying altogether, which might be where B is right now. I just don't feel like it anymore. Of course, I like being in love and of course I enjoy having a boy around, but I'm not sure that's enough to counter all the bullsh*t that comes with it. The games, the phone rules, the dating, the getting to know you, the realizing you're a douchebag, the moving on, the having a hard time moving on, the missing them, the starting over, the repeat cycle. I just don't have it in me. That's also why the blog has been suffering, I'm just interested in dating right now. I could tell some old stories, sure, but most of my antics are of clear and present dating, but I will be pushing through, blogging about the perils of missing boys and fighting my urge to ignore the voice saying Take care of you, please! This may be incredibly boring for you, but it actually might be eye-opening, at the very least for me, which is sort of all that matters being that it's my blog, so there. I might also say eff it and meet a boy today. We'll see, we'll see.

That bitch stole my line,

xoxo

Blackie Collins

On B: Leaf Me Alone (?)

So, my new leaf I was all kinds of turning over... Yea, about that...

Wait, let's back up a bit. I decided a few months ago to start connecting with the men who came in my life, to stop being so distant and guarded. Oh yeah, and to stop sleeping with boys.

This is hard for me. I'm not running around hopping on every pop that pops up, no, no there aren't any slut baggers in my camp, but for those who do get lucky, I'm a complete wall. For example, my current man friend or lover or whatever actually called me out post-coitus the other day, asking why I was so far away, both literally and metaphorically. I was genuinely sleepy and we all know how I hate cuddling anyway. The truth is, I learned a while ago to just shut that valve off. One too many heartaches and you just sort of say, "how can I keep this from happening? Oh, I could just not care." And it was hard, I think, I almost don't remember, but I recall realizing that I didn't give a crap. At least surfacely I didn't. I was hanging out with this one guy for much of the earlier part of this year. I knew him from college, but didn't know him. One night we were blowing each other's backs out when I decided to ask him if he had pledged while we were in school. Like while I was bouncing around on him. I'm pretty sure it wasn't the most appropriate time to ask, but I had cum a few times and was starting to get over it. He laughed and told me he had pledged, that I knew this. Maybe I did, but I don't think so. It was in that moment I realized how bogus the situation was. What am I doing, what am I doing. Oh yeah, that's right- I'm doing me and not giving a cat's cradle about anyone else. This could be a problem. This can't be normal.

There's something freeing and refreshing about being the one not to call, the one to roll over and not spoon into the night, the one asking if your're staying or going home while secretly hoping you'll roll out like Luda. But at the same time, it's not admirable to be so apathetic or to have suppressed feelings for so long, you're not sure if they ever existed; almost can't remember the last time you cried yourself to sleep because he dumped you. Told you he didn't want you, pulled the rug from underneath you. This can be a lonely place, not caring. I guess this is when you realize one of two things: you're jaded and love has knocked you out too many times or you've grown up and know what deserves tears and what's just spilled milk. You learn what's worth your time and what is not, what deserves attention and what is better left ignored. The issue, in my opinion, is at some point all that catches up and you say, "Hey, what does it feel like to love someone, to care about someone, to want to be with someone longer than a few nights, to fall again?" I just have so many non-feelings on the issue that I don't even know. It all feels like vulnerability which equals weakness in my brain these days. Obviously not true. I think it takes true courage to put yourself out there, to fall and soar or crash and burn. It's the coward who does otherwise.

So, I guess I'm the cowardly lion in this tale, but at least I'm aware and even though my leaf has blown away down 5th avenue, it's still in view. I can still grab it and start anew, learn to care again, be honest with myself and others. And now I have to stop because this is getting too mushy and emotional. I haven't grabbed the damn leaf yet, back off.

That bitch stole my line,

xoxo

Blackie Collins

I Love The Way You Love Me on TV

One of my favorite sayings is: I'd marry him on national television. It's a ranking of sorts for me. Something I say when someone is so fine, I'd publicly lose my mind and follow him into the wedded abyss. Therefore it's anything but a surprise that I have always been a fan of The Bachelor/Bachelorette. I think it's amazingly ridiculous, watching those desperate-model-girls/oversexed-fame whore-men chase after an unassuming Girl Next Door/All American Boy for a full two hours each episode! It's no secret that the odds of finding love on a reality show are slim to negative 8 million, but the show continues to get renewed because the ever hopeless romantics watch, hoping the way they hope in their own lives that another Trista and Ryan will happen (the only couple to have successfully gotten engaged, stayed that way, tied the knot and have two kids). Love will always prevail. All it does is win, win, win no matter what.

But that seldom happens and the latest addition to the ABC Break Up Wasteland is Jake, the gay pilot turned actor, and Vienna, the slut bag who every viewer and contestant hated equally. The accusations started flying, stories were sold to the highest tabloid and ABC realized they had to cash in. Another Bachelor couple, Jillian and Ed, called it quits almost simultaneously, but they literally parted ways so amicably, there was no fun in that. So the same way ABC had follow up weddings or we're-so-happy-we-could-die sit ins, Vienna and Jake parked their butts on a rose filled soundstage and set the record straight. Well about as straight as Lindsay Lohan. They pointed fingers, swapped insults, and interrupted each other for just under an hour. I don't think the host spoke more than eleven words. At the end, Vienna burst into tears after Jake shouted for her to stop interrupting him (he'd asked her nicely about 4 million times during the show), claimed she was done with the interview and told Jake he was the biggest "fake liar" she'd ever met. That's gotta be an oxymoron, but that's besides the point. I don't think Vienna is known for her smarts.

So after basically letting me into their intimate relationship woes-well as intimate as it could be having played out on television- I decided that having all of the free world watching me and my soon-to-be-ex break up would be only slightly worse than being inside a meth lab when it blew up. And yet, I was riveted! It was great television. And I wasn't the only one who thought so as we've seen Jake and Vienna splashed across the gossip rags. It seems humans loves nothing more than a good come up, except a great fall. The media is known for building 'em up- Jessica Simpson- and watching them tumble in a downward spiral-Jessica Simpson in her mom jeans killing the Cowboys chances of a Super Bowl. We spent the nineties watching couples fight on Jerry Springer. We all know how much media coverage Chris and Rihanna received and need I mention "Bennifer" or "Brangelina?" Hell, I sometimes find myself frozen on the street watching a couple scream into the night! Why do we enjoy the misery of others so much? I guess how is the better question? Assuming at the end of the day all we want is love and to not croak miserably alone, why do we thrive on love lost?

That bitch stole my line,

xoxo

Blackie Collins

Dreams For My Mother

There's a lot to be said for the guy that makes you blush, nervous and barf all over the place. Many believe there's no place for him in forever, but I'm not so sure. Many think you should wind up with the nice guy who says please and thank you, who will be a good father, and husband, never betray you or double cross you.

My mom met my dad when she was in her late twenties, an old maid at that time, but she had traveled the world and gone to college and graduate school by the time she met him. My dad was the pretty boy. Gorgeous skin, light eyes, curly brown hair and a smile that made women swoon. My mom couldn't stand to be too close to him for fear she'd spontaneously combust or melt, whichever came first. He was charming, loving, romantic, brought her flowers and candy. He wooed my mom and made her feel like the luckiest woman in the world. But my dad was swooning others, too. Well into my parent's marriage and after their twenty year union came to an end, my mom was convinced that the road less traveled was the one she had a first class seat on.

Mothers school their daughters on many things and while my mom taught me to believe in love, she also, without realizing it I'm sure, cast a pessimistic shade over it simultaneously. She didn't do anything or say anything directly in line with "your dad is a cheating asshole and love doesn't exist," but she always seemed to worry about my relationships. I'm a romantic, just like my dad and overly trusting, just like my mom. I know she feared I'd wind up with someone like my father, someone who would break my heart in a way that the pieces never found their way back to each other, but at the same time, she'd sometimes create issue where there was none. A boyfriend and I would have an argument and I'd call her for advice. At some point, she'd say something that would make me believe she hated whatever boyfriend I had at the time while planting seeds of doubt that would grow like Jack's beanstalk.

I'm not blaming her, though, know that, because at some point those boyfriends she hated, showed their true colors or just didn't work out. And whether my heart was mildly scathed or shattered to smithereens, each one left me ragged. I'd think it into the ground, deciding early on in life to conclude with hope and then later, as the break ups piled up, realize I'd rather have a V8. And yes, we do have to eventually let go of the past and move forward, but what's behind us lies ahead of us if we don't figure out a different traveling pattern.

I recently had a pretty long conversation with my mom and as she's gotten older, and hasn't remarried yet, she's softened. I think she forgives my dad now and she's much more gentle with her dating advice approach. Where there was once pessimism, is now a delicate balance between reality and dreams. She seems more hopeful yet again that a Prince Charming with manageable baggage and no giant red flags exists, for me at least. And I know she's well into her sixties now, but as she's running down a laundry list of why the last guy didn't deserve me anyway, I find myself running the same list in my head of why my dad didn't deserve her and how I'm still hopeful there's someone out there that'll make my mom blush again. And she'll have her place in forever just as she once dreamed.

That bitch stole my line,

xoxo

Blackie Collins

That Guy

**This one is a little longer today...trying to make up for my lack of blogging this week, but also-this story cannot be told in two paragraphs or less. So read when you have time. -B

There was a guy in college, a guy who I couldn't ever break myself out of his orbit. He'd be nearby and I'd just know it. He was that guy. The one I could never say no to, could never cheat on, lie to, run from, abstain from. Ugh. For years, he drained my everything. A tornado, he'd come into my life and tear it all to shreds. And you'd never even know he was coming, he'd sneak up, on an assuming, happy me, and before I knew it, he'd wreck shop.

One year, he called out of the blue, post college, post me having learned some valuable lessons about him, and left a message on my voicemail. Hey, it's C. I've been thinking about you like crazy. A lot's been going on and the thing is...well, just call me back please. I have something important to tell you. My interest was piqued. I sat and went through the possibilities with Maria. We ran the gambit: what could he possibly want? What more needs to happen between us? We decided I was going to return the call, if anything just because there was no way I could ignore it. When I called back, he went on and on about how he couldn't stop thinking about me, could barely work, sleep, etc. without me popping into his mind. He said he'd googled me, kept up with my writing career. Had read my articles, every one, was proud of me. Then he stopped. I asked him what was wrong. The things is...um, B, I think I'm in love with you. I think I always have been.

Boom.

Pow.

Zoink.

For all the drama we'd inflicted on each others lives, not once had he ever told me he loved me. Nor had I said it to him, but it was something I longed for like crazy. You don't have that kind of connection with someone and not feel it. Our paths were crossed from the start, long before I was B, long before he was C, long before we came on campus, long before we knew who the other was let alone knew ourselves. Of course, I loved him. I just assumed he didn't love me. But he was telling me he did now, did then, did period.

We talked a while longer, about any and everything. Trying to hash out if we could possibly start over, do it right, better than before. He still lived in Miami, I was in New York City. I was still involved with my boyfriend at the time. Ties had to be cut, plans had to be made. We never made a concrete plan, which should have been my first sign, but we said we'd talk later that night. We did. We talked several times the next day as well, and the day after that, and the ones that followed. We started figuring out when I'd fly there, when he'd come to me. It seemed like our time had finally come. One day, he called saying someone had broken into his car, stripped it, stole all his belongings. He was super bummed as he waited on the police. When they arrived, he said he'd call me back.

He didn't.

I called the next day and was given the catch up rundown. Something felt off-that woman's intuition was in full force: ears docked, antenna up. I asked if he was OK, he said he was, just pissed about his car. Said he'd call me back. The day wore on. He didn't call back. The next day, I called and asked him what was going on, were we still doing the Miami visit at the end of the month. He immediately started saying he wasn't sure, and when I called him on it he jumped on the defense, claiming he'd never said it was a definite. This was the C I knew. The old one was back, had never really left. It had only been a matter of time. When I hung up the phone, I knew we were done, yet again. I had stopped my world, created a little door, and let him in only to end up with the door slammed in my face. Again. When would I ever learn?

We had a few more rounds in the ring, never as deep, me never letting my guard down completely, until one day I heard he was getting married. I found it funny because C was still calling me, still being inappropriate at times, still acting single. He never mentioned he was engaged. He did mention that he and his live-in girlfriend were having problems, they were in counseling, it was only a matter of time before he said forget it. Not that I cared, but he apparently did-enough to make sure I knew they "weren't happy." Apparently, he also thought I was an idiot. And he married her. But before he walked down the aisle, before he vowed to love her forever, before he exchanged rings of eternity, he left a voicemail on my phone.

Hey, it's C. I never can shake you from my head. What is it about us? What is it about you? God, B, I still love you. I think I always will. Um, call me? Ok, bye.

I deleted him from my phone after that and if there was a blocking mechanism, I'd do that too. For perhaps the first time, I see C for who he is. A sad excuse for a coward. On his best day, he's still making excuses and living life in a cage he put around himself. I'm glad it never worked out between us, glad I'm not the wife he cheats on, waiting at home, thinking he's my prince. I'm glad he's just that guy. 'Cause we all know, no one ever ends up with that guy. They end up with the right guy.

That bitch stole my line,

xoxo

Blackie Collins

Do you really love?

Love is the greatest revelation of the soul, the vulnerability of ones self, the truth of the heart, problems and all and saying: Yes, I choose you. Yes, I will work hard to make progress in myself and progress in you. I will ache when you ache, I will heal when you heal, I will breathe life into you and you into me, I will be honest even when it's hard to tell the truth, I will understand that we are works in progress, but that we are on the same path, going in the same direction, building each other up with each step on the path we create, brick by brick. I won't be afraid to let parts of myself go, parts that are not a solution to our equation, but subtract from who we are. I know it won't always be easy, it won't always be patient, but it will always be kind, it will never break you down, never force you to compromise the core values that make me love you in the first place. And being together doesn't mean I'll change either, it isn't a complete promise because if along the way, we find we're trying to change each other into people we fundamentally are not, then we are basically saying we want someone else and should walk away. I would rather you get me and know me than get some false representative of who I am, the me with the mask on instead of the beautiful, vulnerable truth. I'd rather lose you, having you never really see me, than get you and you don't even know who I am.

So, do you really love? Not the love that many participate in, the fairy tale, false love. The love that starts with two people who don't even know who they are and if they do aren't willing to sacrifice or change for each other, into each other. Aren't willing to acknowledge who they are nor embrace that person. See, when someone is a mess, they love in a messy way. But when someone is a mess and is aware of the flawed person they are, they are able to love someone else. They are honest with who they are, so they are honest with what they can give and how they can give it. Too many people don't take responsibility for who they are, for what they bring to the table. Too many sit down with bags at their feet, completely unaware they've been carrying them for such a lengthy trip. Too many people wear a mask for so long that when it becomes entirely too hard to hold on to that mask, it's way beyond the deception point. When you fall for a mask, you cannot complain when the mask is removed. You haven't been tricked by love, bamboozled or hoodwinked because it was never love to begin with. At least not the love that's truly intended for us.

And, love doesn't mean no struggle, love doesn't mean a kumbaya of sorts for love is painful and crazy. Love has ups and downs. Love gets down and dirty and forces you to honestly look at yourself in perhaps the realest way possible, which is why so many people would rather walk away than really take a look at themselves. Love is uncomfortable, it takes you out of that zone where you sit locked behind a wall pretending you're happy. Love is not easy to abandon when it gets too hard. But remember we are talking about the reality of love, not the fairy tale, not the 'well it's the right time and the right place' love, not the 'I've known you for two months and I already love you love,' but the love that very very few experience. A love that crosses oceans and heals hearts. A love that is honest and ugly at the same time, a love that sustains love simply for love, a love that doesn't fit into a box, for it is inexplicable. It just is what it is. It's just...love.

B.

Dodging Cupid's Arrow

We are only as loving as our last relationship and if it burned you, you will put on one of those heat-resistant blankets and head for the Santa Ana winded hills. A fellow blogger laid it all on the line the other night in a Dear Diary section where she discussed her harsh reality and outlook on relationships. How unfair it is.

Welcome to the club, darlin.

Our relationship history packs all of our issues from past unions and folds them nicely in a suitcase called baggage. When you're young, you love unabashedly, wrecklessly, without warrant or fear of heartbreak. Until that first heartbreak and then you're like, whoa. This hurts. A lot. But then someone else comes along and the black and blue heals from your heart just long enough for you to forget the previous pain and love hard once again. But of course, this happens a few times and what have you got? One bruised and beaten heart. Instead, you put up a nice sturdy wall to keep the punching bag untouched. You foray into these relationships where you don't give an inch, don't love fully, hold out and hold it in or worse, don't even care. For the opposite of love isn't hate, it's indifference and if you don't care, that's when there's a problem. Not caring, especially once you've realized this, is the worst feeling. It's just sad, unfortunate that the things from the past have affected your present and if you're not careful, will radically change your future. There is good news, though. If you simply hate the game for all it's done to you, you're still in good shape. Hate is better than not carring. There's still emotion, still some hope. I suspect the pendulum will swing back and we'll all have hearts for eyeballs again some day.

Love is a battlefield and we can't sit on the sidelines and watch, yes it's safe over there. We don't get beaten and bruised, but it's certainly the best way to ensure that we never get hit by cupid's arrow at all. For all our rough edges and burnt fingers, we still just want to love and be loved in return. Every girl has that skewed vision of a Prince riding in on a valiant steed and despite those who've shown exactly what a Prince is not, the dream still lives on, even if subconscious, it's flickering away like a candle left in the rain too long. So here's to letting go of the past, of not loving like you've never been hurt, but loving selectively, reserving it for those who are truly deserving-an invite only type of party. And if they leave the gig early, burning you once again, brush yourself off and try again.

That bitch stole my line,

xoxo

Blackie Collins

Gangsta Luv

"You ain't felt love until a gangsta get up in it."

I never quote rappers when I'm trying to say anything of major importance, but Snoop was kinda right. There's something about thug lovin. There's an aggressiveness, a roughness, not to mention the tatted torso, back and arms. Think about it. Women have cried tears of joy over 50 cent's chiseled torso and muraled back. The posters of him holding guns and stories of jail and drugs sold millions. Tupac was the epitome of living a thug life and many women loved him for it. Perhaps the strangest example is Lil Wayne. Have you seen his babies' mothers? Have you seen him? Right. They love the danger, the rough neckness of it all. A good friend once told me she had no idea why, but she found Rick Ross sexy as hell. That's tossing the stone a bit far, but yea, there was a reason and it was the rough edges, the armed and dangerousness, the thug life. But make no mistake, when you crack that outer shell open, what's inside is just as great. Perhaps the best part is the protective casing of someone who's as soft as a Snuggie on the inside. I mean, you can't go hard all the time. And talk about loyalty. You go hard for them, they go hard for you. Usually for good. Even long after, you can always call on them. Holler if you need me, you know I still got you.

My mom used to laugh at me because I grew up around anything but thugs, yet I seemed to find boyfriends that fit the casting to a T. Something about me rebelling against my cookie cutter life. My thugs were usually fake suburban ones, but once I left the confines of our little world, you couldn't stop me from finding the hardest dude out there. And they loved me. I think because I was so not the around the way girl, the chick from the block. I made them laugh with my love of rock music (I once warranted a major laugh from my dude and his friends when I asked who Gucci Mane was), but can still talk shit and keep up with the dudes in a game of spades. One of my ex's was as thuggy as they come. Jail time, tats, drug-selling, the whole 9mm. It was as extreme as I'd ever gone, and few supported. While I was like a moth to a flame with him, I also knew there was no future. I may like 'em, but I don't have time to reform them. And after one too many fights in the club, I was like, "Anger management or move on."

My boy just told me that chicks our age shouldn't be into thugs anymore It's an immature thing. I guess in the end, it's another thing you outgrow, which sucks 'cause I love the thugs. Maybe I'm reaching to my alter ego, my crazy girl when I'm with this kind of dude, but one things for certain: the bigger the gat, the better my clit clacks.

That bitch stole my line,

xoxo

Blackie Collins

The One Vs. The Right One

You can lead a horse to water, but you can't make that dude drink if he ain't thirsty enough. I believe there is such a thing as the One. Thee One, yes, that's who we're talking about here. The one whom you believe is that person; the one you could wake up next to for as long as you take in oxygen. Huge. Wonderful. Hold that thought. Because it is absolutely possible to confuse The One with The Right One. You meet someone and you feel a click. It feels different, it feels great. You carry on without any degree of caution. You go forward like you've never been hurt, and maybe you haven't, maybe you have. Perhaps those are both problems, perhaps not.

Then something happens. Time passes. You both realize how happy you are, maybe a little too happy. Maybe you start waiting for the other shoe to drop, you start backing away, running away from great things, wishing to add a few more notches to your bedpost. You care, deeply even, but not enough to keep you from parting ways. And it feels bad. Really bad. Something feels amiss. You didn't realize it, but they were absolutely apart of your life. Your bed still smells like them, there's food of theirs in the fridge, their toothbrush is still sitting next to your's. You wipe away all traces, but it still feels empty. Vacant. You hear a funny story and go to grab your phone, but you can't do that anymore. He or she is gone. No longer a secure channel for which you can confide. And you realize something has changed in you, they changed something in you, you think you might've just said goodbye to the One, but you say, "no, that's can't be possible...right?" You shake it off, pretend that feeling doesn't exist and eventually it doesn't. On to the next and all that. When this happens, you have mistaken it for The Right One, but it isn't. It's simply The One.

See, there's a giant difference between the two. The One is someone who will be important in the grand scheme of things. Maybe he or she will have their own titled chapter in the book of your life or maybe just an honorable mention. There can be more than one One in your life. And you can cry over the One, sulk over the One, talk shit about the One, but you can move onfrom the One. But the Right One? Well, that's a horse of a different color. The Right One clamps down tight and doesn't let you go. The Right One lets go of their own fears and plunges ahead. The Right One promises forever and then does their absolute best to give you just that.

You can lead the One to water, but you can't make 'em drink. But, the Right One doesn't need to be led and drinks without any kind of force at all.

That bitch stole my line,

xoxo

Blackie Collins

It's A Wrap

I was reading an issue of Essence magazine when I came across Steve Harvey's "Three Ways You Know It's Over." I agreed more or less with his three choices-He won't go to counseling with you, doesn't care when you're upset or angry, and doesn't tell you where he is at all times-but it had got me thinking. Aside from the conversations or lack there of about the relationship, what are the telltale signs that you're about to be solo?

Whenever you're together, there isn't much to say

Not the comfortable silence that you enjoyed so much during the relationships, but the sad miserable ones, where you aren't quite sure what to say because you suddenly feel like you don't know the person with you in the room.

You sleep in a bed together

This is an obvious one. You lay in the same bed you used to tear up and instead it's quiet and still. The neighbor's have forgotten his name. You are no longer craving each other and if you are, whatever is in the way is enough to keep you from feasting.

You talk about other people to each other

This one is a hard one. You start to play the games again. Trying to make each other jealous or evoke some sort of sign that they care, so you start talking up the others that are trying to get at you. It isn't because you actually want them, but more because you want who's in front of you to protest, to beg you not to go there, to ask you to hang on a little while longer. But then there are the times when you talk about others because they really exist. And you two are no longer a reason to abstain from those others.

No Trust

We all know no relationship can work without trust. So when he's on his phone, texting away or you're G-chatting in full force, don't be surprised to catch him trying to see your screen or by the questions going through your mind as he types away. Who's he talking to? Who's she flirting with on that computer? If you have to ask, well, you know the answer.

You just know

In your heart of hearts, the place you run from in your mind of justification and excuse-making, is the place where you simply know, it's done.

That bitch stole my line,

xoxo

Blackie Collins

Even Halle Has Issues

Not enough women love the skin they're in. Too many of us hate our hips or our noses or our hair. I can't make you love your own body, but I can ask you why you're so against it to the point where it's messing up your sex life.

I remember having a conversation with male friend. He kept going on about women who have low sex self-esteem. My ears perked up. What was this and how could it be spotted? He explained that it was the kind of issue a girl who keeps her shirt on during sex has. The chick who can't do it without being in the dark. The woman so un-into her own body, that she doesn't want anyone to see its imperfections. Listen here, that's just foolish! I was like that when I was seventeen and had sex for the first time with my boyfriend. I was shy and nervous, but fast forward a couple romps and I was screaming from the rafters and ripping my clothes off with fervor. I wish I could say I get it, and maybe I do a little bit. There've been times where I've thought for a split second, "I bet this position isn't so flattering," but not once has it ever stopped me. What a blower to an activity that's sooo great!

See, I think it comes back to this place where women have been taught that if they don't look like Beyonce or some supermodel, they aren't worthy. Case and point: Halle Berry. Gorgeous, amazing body, flawless skin, not to mention ageless. But Halle has stated repeatedly that she's got some of the worst self-esteem ever! She's let men beat up on her and was married to a sex addict who cheated on her. How do you cheat on Halle Berry?!! But that's the point, even when you're subsequently perfect, there are still all these flaws. We all have them and no one has been spared, so why bother picking yourself apart, ruining your own body-image. Look, there are plenty of people, places, and things that are ready, willing, and able to tear you down. I suggest you check out of that mode of thinking asap. Instead, make a list of your physical assets. Stand in front of the mirror if you need to. I know, that sounds crazy, but if you don't love your body, he won't either. I'm lucky enough to wake up to someone who tells me I'm beautiful on a regular basis. Let's me know I have the most amazing body, which I surely do not. But I'm good enough for me and I faked it until I made it. Now, I just believe it and if he weren't there to tell me I look great in the bright lights with no make up on, I'd still be the best I ever had. And the best he ever had too. ;)

That bitch stole my line,

xoxo

Blackie Collins

Unnecessary.com/PDA

Sometimes it's cute to see a couple kissing on the street or holding hands as they walk ahead of us. Our eyes fall on them and linger for a second or two, imagining our own little lip lock earlier in the day or the boyfriend waiting for us at his subway stop, ready to usher us off, hand in hand. Yes, sometimes it's endearing, adorable, and sweet.

Sometimes it isn't.

Sometimes it's the kind of PDA that isn't a new smartphone, isn't some parental organization, isn't giving a gentle kiss on the corner of 72nd and Broadway. Sometimes your standing, minding you business, crushed in the rush hour crowd in the middle subway car. It seems like everyone decided to leave work at the same time and someone isn't quite so Sure. You're holding your breath, angling yourself away from the sweaty guy pressed up against you. Yet instead, you turn away and are face to face with a couple going at it. In fact, they're doing so much, in such close proximity, you're actually considering this your first threesome. It is no longer the cute moment of love you saw the model-esque pair in Soho sharing, this is more the couple who was basically having sex in the restroom at Bed last weekend. It's unnecessary and completely unacceptable. Kissing, yes. Sucking, fondling, gropping, no.

I understand how the feeling can overcome you. The feeling where you just have to grab your man and plant a giant sucker on their lips. I get how sometimes, you're riding along on the subway and you feel the need to hop on your dude and just take him. But you don't. You can't. Not because you have some sort of firewall, because obviously B has very few. You can't because of everyone else. Now, I rarely care what others think, but I care what I think, and I have no interest in having front row seats while he removes your tonsils with his tongue. I'm going to go out on a limb and assume everyone else shares my sentiment. Of course, there are the few pervs out there that wanna watch you get down, but, sorry, the majority of us just aren't interested in your sex life. But please by all means stay interested in mine:) Thanks! Management.

That bitch stole my line,

xoxo

Blackie Collins

Friends W/ Bennies Part 4.3: The End...

The phone kept ringing and finally, realizing this conversation would have to happen at some point, I answered. He didn't bother with pleasantries. Instead, he fired questions with such specificty, I knew he'd been briefed on what I'd been doing and with whom I'd been doing it. I sat and endured with a weird melancholy, knowing that prior to sleeping together, details such as these would've been given easily, or at least easier, for they would've been discussed between friends, which we no longer were. Steve didn't back down when I tried to give vague answers. He continued on until finally I said, "Look, I had no idea how you felt and you hurt me before. I wasn't about to wait around for you to do it again." It was wrong to place the blame on him. At least not the whole load, but it seemed easier than doling out details his brain wanted to hear, but his heart couldn't bear. The conversation ended with a thud, the sound of a clicking cell phone button that echoed as much as the clicking of a door lock.

And now, it's exactly what I feared when I first dove into this situation. It's strained. Where there was once an active love, there's now a passive, complacent one. The kind you have for someone you once cared about: you love them, but only because you once did, not because you still do. Where there was deep discussion is now catch-up conversations every week or so where nothing is ever said and everything seems stale. We are growing apart and I can feel it, yet I can't seem to stop it. Steve's competition has taken up space in my mind and maybe my heart. The time that was meant for Steve is now someone else's and I don't make a moment to settle the score with Steve. To try and reconnect our old friendship.

Sorry Kelly Clarkson, there's no such thing as a Beautiful Disaster. This one is just bad, real bad, Michael Jackson. Perhaps I knew all along this would be the result. But that could all be bullshit simply designed to ease.

Today, right now, I have no real answer. We're just sort of there. Unintentionally intentional about being whatever we once were and are now.

Whatever that is, was, or will be.

That bitch stole my line,

xoxo,

Blackie Collins

Friends W/ Bennies Part 4.2

I kissed him in return, ignoring the shouts in my head, letting him kiss my neck and forehead. He made a comment about hopping in the shower, cleaning the city's grind off. There was a different kind of familiarity as he showered and walked naked around my apartment. It was the comfortable ease of a man and woman sharing a space, a bed, a life. I almost cried at how sad it was. How at one point, I'd wanted nothing more than Steve at the moment and now I wanted nothing more than for Steve to leave.

I was not all in. I was afraid of losing my friend, confused on my feelings for everything. Transitioning and figuring it all out. And through the night, I was haunted by the foreshadowing of what was to come. Of what happens when friends take up residence in the point of no return only to forfeit the lease and lose their deposit. I saw the nights curled on the couch, chatting or watching movies disappear. Walks in the park and piggy-back rides given through the park (so the rats wouldn't get me) fade to black. Steve was one of the most solid men in my life, but somewhere between toeing and crossing the line, Steve wound up stuck in the friend category. I knew it was a done deal.

I tucked the notion of most likely ruining one of the best friendships I had known into the furthest parts of my brain and did what I do best: ignore. Life resumed with a ferocity. This would be the part in the movie where a good montage would play the daily activities of life, set to a good Natasha Bedingfield song. Out with friends, traversing Manhattan with a pair of great stilettos and a hot bag, dating.

Dating.

Over the weeks, Steve's competition was steadily becoming the only team on the field. While, Steve had all but exited the stadium, he wasn't down and out. He wanted overtime, to block the kick, go for the extra point. See, Steve and Steve's competition knew each other in college, a fact I'd found out all but too late, and when Steve found out, he wanted answers. Answers to why I'd disappeared, took his heart and ran off, confused him, dated his friend. Answers to questions I didn't want asked, but didn't really have time to ward off because Steve's name was popping up on my caller ID.

to be continued...

Friends W/ Bennies Part 4.1

There have been several emails asking about my Friends With Bennies situation. A lot has happened, so here's the first part:

I was headed back to NYC, excited to get back home, sit on my own couch, watch the endless DVR, sleep in my own bed, hit up my favorite neighborhood cafe owned by the rasta, dread-wearing asian lady. I had lunch dates and dinner dates lined up. Happy hours to attend and friendships to resume. Particularly Steve. Steve and I were still talking, toeing the line between friends and more, trying to pretend there was no giant pink elephant teetering on the phone lines over which we spoke. Now, I was back and the promises made had to become reality. Steve had just moved into a new apartment around the corner from mine. He was excited for me to stay with him instead of he with me. I was excited too, but I wasn't sure if I was excited for the same reasons. I had been sifting through my feelings for him, trying to differentiate between loving him as I loved my MAN and as I loved a friend that happened to be a man. I was starting to feel like the latter which is classic B. Love the chase, hate to waste. I love the feeling of something blossoming, of the light drama of it all. The excitement. But I get bored quickly and once I get 'em, I start sabotaging or growing tired of the time wasted with them. Old habits die hard.

Plus, Steve had major competition. Nothing ruins a QB's season like having the next guy come in and take the team to the Super Bowl. I feared Steve's season was nearing its close.

But Steve was unaware of the possibility of a trade, so as soon as my feet hit the hot asphalt that is unlike any other city's, Steve was making plans. I was convinced I'd know the answer upon seeing him. He showed up that night and just as I'd suspected, the feelings threw darts at me, hitting hard, adding pressure, telling me the decision was already made. I knew what was to come and as he hugged me, I thought the words, realized they were hiding under the surface, ready to reveal themselves. He drew back and held me at arms length, going in to kiss me and the look in his eyes scared the crap out of me. He was all in.

to be continued....

Re-Gifting Love

I am constantly trying to tackle this topic of love. It's spoken about and written about. Mulled over and dug up. I'm just taking another stab at the heart. I still have crazy mixed emotions about all this. I don't believe it yet. It needs more people....B

There was a time in life where we loved blindly. Without bias. Without boundaries. We were children and we loved with the same energy used when we ran for our lives, not thinking of calories or getting tired. We just went for it. Kind of like skipping. You look like a moron when you do it as an adult, but as a kid, man, did you skip to your loo like crazy. Then someone told you that grown ups looked stupid when they skipped and you stopped. The same thing happens with love. You go through your early years loving without concern for feelings until someone makes you feel stupid, hurts those feelings and you put up the first brick. The brick turned to a wall, which eventually built a moat, and maybe now you've even got a dragon living in there. All to protect yourself. Well, yes, it keeps you in there, safe, blocking you from the evils of love, but it also keeps others from getting to you. Others who might, if given the chance, remind you of what it feels like to love without boundaries.

I have been through a lot, I have my own demons as we all do, but one thing I've always done is love hard. It may take a minute, it may take years, but once that love is there, I don't take it lightly. I don't say it unless I mean it a thousand percent. A friend once got mad at me because I wouldn't tell him I loved him. We'd only been friends for a short amount of time-six months or so. I liked him yes, but in the grand scheme of life, I didn't know him enough to love him. But he knew that when I said it, years later, just how much it meant. I may even thoughtlessly say I love you to my best friends and family when ending phone conversations, but they know me enough to know that when those three words exit my mouth, it's with the confidence and assurance of the most trusted emotion humans feel.

See, loving someone and having them love you in return is an amazing gift we're given. That alone would have you throwing the L-word around like a baseball, but because of those who take that gift and abuse it, we create this boundaried love. And that isn't love at all. Instead it's this weird jumble of feelings that are constantly confusing, constantly judging, constantly sensitive and unsure. We fight for something so far from love that it eventually becomes that same imitation of it, the same disguise that confirms our notion that love hurts or adds more gold to our treasure chest of mistrust.

I know some people take their time, think relationships through. I also know some people think too much while good people pass them by. And then I know me: I know that I have my own issues and fears. But I know that without a doubt, I love without boundaries and having that in me still, after every and anything, is definitely a gift worth rewrapping and giving to someone else.

That bitch stole my heart,

xoxo

Blackie Collins