tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-92190659829851172862024-03-05T15:54:51.970-08:00Boss Bitch ChroniclesBoss Ladyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06706095161528862666noreply@blogger.comBlogger36125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9219065982985117286.post-53252974157013180192010-12-28T21:25:00.000-08:002010-12-28T21:41:50.066-08:00New Year. New Beginnings.I know how much y'all must miss me since I haven't posted in ages. Sorry about that. I got busy with life: love, work, and all that other good stuff. But I have started blogging again. I have moved over to Tumblr. Feel free to read my stuff there. The link to my Tumblr is below. Thanks for all the support, folks! I truly appreciate you all. <div><br /></div><div>Happy New Year!</div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">TUMBLR:<b> </b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b><br /></b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b><a href="http://sanaarshad.tumblr.com/">http://SanaArshad.tumblr.com/</a></b></div>Boss Ladyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06706095161528862666noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9219065982985117286.post-4042059654174361972010-05-04T10:22:00.000-07:002010-05-04T10:25:49.800-07:00Lessons Learned...Everything happens for a reason. Nothing happens by chance or by means of good luck. Illness, injury, love, lost moments of true greatness and sheer stupidity, all occur to test the limits of your soul. Without these small tests, life would be like a smoothly paved, straight, flat road...to NOWHERE. Safe and comfortable but dull and utterly pointless. <br /><br />Make every day count. Appreciate every moment, and take from it, everything that you possibly can, for you may never be able to experience it again. Talk to people you have never talked to before, and actually listen. Let yourself fall in love, break free, and set your sights high. Hold your head up because you have every right to. Tell yourself you are amazing and believe in yourself, for if you don't believe in yourself, no one else will believe in you.You can make of your life anything you wish. Create your own life and then go out and live it with absolutely NO REGRETS. Most importantly, if you love someone, tell them, for you never know what tomorrow may have in store. And learn a lesson in life each day you live.<br /><br />Learn from the past so you don't make future mistakes. Don't be afraid of the future, that's a big mistake. Learning is more than just knowing. Learning is applying what experience has taught you. It will enable you to make the needed adjustments. This concept of change paves the path in which progress can walk. Since the past has past and the future is not yet here...live in the present and receive your gift.Boss Ladyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06706095161528862666noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9219065982985117286.post-51160065042433000412010-03-15T09:28:00.000-07:002010-03-15T10:14:02.395-07:00The Greatest Boyfriend I NEVER had.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiO2Kj6PMT_pyoWUE7xXclEtMnI2q0NnNcx0JcLL4nhIjDR8vOvxtzIptsCpAHsNLffPzXxDyEm32audvr_4B2F2a-t6GxlJY85jhFBI4Znp964zZPfEUAQjlMlXJk8OSc7pwq2a97yImM/s1600-h/Cubs.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 194px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiO2Kj6PMT_pyoWUE7xXclEtMnI2q0NnNcx0JcLL4nhIjDR8vOvxtzIptsCpAHsNLffPzXxDyEm32audvr_4B2F2a-t6GxlJY85jhFBI4Znp964zZPfEUAQjlMlXJk8OSc7pwq2a97yImM/s400/Cubs.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5448910034190575042" /></a><br /><div><br /></div>Long, long before I became a bitch – in fact, when I was still a high-school virgin – a really, really nice boy was completely in love with me ... and I was absolutely, positively oblivious to the fact that he was.<br /><br />"Chi" and I met at through mutual friends the summer before our sophomore year of high school. He was my friends cousin and he was out here from Chicago for summer break. Even though he was a Cubs fan and I was(and still am) a die hard Yankees fan, we immediately bonded over Baseball.<br /><br />Here are all the signs the boy loved everything about me:<br /><ul><li>He painted my toenails for me.</li><li>He talked to me for hours.</li><li>He bought me the 12" vinyl version of 'Like Water For Chocolate'- Common.</li><li>He even flew out here from Chicago to see me almost every other month.</li></ul>Here are all the reasons it never even occurred to me that Chi was interested in me:<br />Except for a different boy my freshman year, who I used to smooch with here and there, I had never had a boyfriend or been on a real date.<div><br />Even though I was actually pretty cute and sort of knew it when I looked at pictures of myself but I was a tomboy.At the time I wanted to be a boy(only because I wanted to play sports with the boys) I dressed like one had short hair like one.<br /><br /></div><div>I was jumpy around men. Probably due to one of my father's methods of discipline: Smacking. Out of nowhere, Smack! He'd zing me with a backhand slap to the forehead.</div><div><br />Chi never came right out and said, "I really, really like you. Do you wanna go with me?" Years later, we reconnected by phone and he confirmed, "I was so completely in love with you. Why do you think I painted your toenails?"</div><div><br />But the truth is, I never knew Chi cared about me, because it never even occurred to me that anyone could be attracted to me. I thought of him as a "friend," not because I wasn't attracted to him, but because it didn't occur to me that I <i>should</i> be attracted to him.<br /><br />I had a blind spot when it came to nice, sweet, wholesome, smart, wonderful and not-at-all bad-looking boys who happened to be crazy about me. And unfortunately, that blind spot followed me well into my adult life. </div>Boss Ladyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06706095161528862666noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9219065982985117286.post-9540545747277463472010-01-08T13:04:00.000-08:002010-01-08T18:17:26.518-08:00What is Love?<div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#0000EE;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=""><br /><br /></span></span></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:verdana;font-size:-webkit-xxx-large;"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZhSXZ1vG0vqKSjqvxFOKZs3Evfhb45MSYkgeJOTmuPS3AP6iXYoEsdiwoLPCJwcVzNNcCJcnoy-ts5VB53vyDcBiH0JizxqSiuLUi2zGOAM2hPxYHkXJoo_I9I_30zrKH_UKDgXfoAsc/s400/ist2_4144287-love-definition.jpg" /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFFFFF;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><br /></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFFFFF;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">Most people would say, </span></span></span><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFFFFF;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">"It's better to have loved and lost than to have never loved at all."</span></span></span></b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFFFFF;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"> But looking at my past, I really don't think that is the case. People who are hurt and damaged who don't love themselves can not truly love others. They can feel infatuation, lust, obsession, what passes for love, but what they think is love isn't really love.</span></span></span></div></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Helvetica, Arial, Verdana, 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;font-size:100%;color:#632035;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:13px;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFFFFF;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><br /></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFFFFF;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">And that's the truth about me and my ex.</span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFFFFF;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><br /></span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFFFFF;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">But looking back at what we once shared, from the outside looking in, most people would say what we had was "Love". While we were together, he swore he loved me, and I swore I loved him. And we both meant it – fervently.</span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFFFFF;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><br /></span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFFFFF;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">But the evidence wasn't in favor of either one of us.</span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFFFFF;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><br /></span></span></span></div><div><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFFFFF;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">Love doesn't disappoint, take for granted, verbally abuse and deliberately dupe another person. Because that's irritating, disrespectful and ultimately devastating.</span></span></span></b></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFFFFF;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><br /></span></span></span></div><div><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFFFFF;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">Nor does love cling so tightly to a fantasy and a dream of the future that it completely dismisses another person's reality. Because that's unrealistic, disrespectful and ultimately life-strangling.</span></span></span></b></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFFFFF;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><br /></span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFFFFF;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">In lying and breaking promises to eachother continuously, we proved we did not love eachother.</span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFFFFF;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><br /></span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFFFFF;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">We both experienced love as a noun: an indescribably good feeling, the object of the verb making.</span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFFFFF;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><br /></span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFFFFF;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">We didn't experience love as a verb, with all the selflessness that it entails. He didn't love me enough to show up, to support my dreams and aspirations, to want what was truly in my best interests. I didn't love him enough to be spacious, to let him be him, to hear what was always being said under the surface.</span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFFFFF;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><br /></span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFFFFF;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">We both did the best we could, based on who we were at the time, and we both called it love.</span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFFFFF;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><br /></span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFFFFF;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">Then when sugar-sweet love turned to vinegar, we both fled.</span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFFFFF;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><br /></span></span></span></div><div><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFFFFF;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">I still don't know what true love is, but I definitely know a whole lot more about what it's not. And that's a good lesson and a good start.</span></span></span></b></div></span></span>Boss Ladyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06706095161528862666noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9219065982985117286.post-77688997386452318612009-12-01T10:54:00.000-08:002009-12-01T11:35:06.666-08:00The Club. The Perfect Stalking Arena For The Cheating Man.<a href="http://boyfriendcheat.files.wordpress.com/2009/03/how-to-catch-a-cheating-husband_hubsite40a.jpg"><img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 250px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 333px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://boyfriendcheat.files.wordpress.com/2009/03/how-to-catch-a-cheating-husband_hubsite40a.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><div></div><br /><div>Obviously, women cheat too. But here, I will only address the men. Not being bias but a man's cheating tactics are VERY different than a woman's cheating tactics. So, perhaps I'll make this a two part entry, this being Part 1. </div><div></div><br /><div>Growing up around a lot of males, I have witnessed the lengths that some men go to cheat on their girlfriends/wives. Most of the time, they really do love their woman, but the thing with men is, men crave sexual variety. And if you can't provide the variety, they will seek it elsewhere. Now, to the topic at hand. What is the ideal place for a cheating man to find the perfect <strike>smut</strike> woman to cheat with?<br /><br />The most commonly preferred places are the bars, clubs, lounges. These modern day meat markets provide the perfect stalking grounds for any man who's looking to temporarily resign from his current relationship. Nowhere else can such an alluring combination of women, alcohol and immoral fuckery be found under one roof. Where art of good conversation has been degenerated to nothing more than a prerequisite to a some good sex.<br /><br />Men have formulated their own ideas about women who go out to clubs every weekend. They figure these women are lonely, extremely bored, or just plain thirsty. Most women would disagree, but <strong>actions speak louder than words</strong>. Every weekend they pile inside overcrowded clubs wearing tight ass dresses with their asses hanging out, heavy makeup and way too much perfume. Their <strike>fuck me now </strike>piercing glares and suggestive body language declares to the thirsty ass men, "Tonight is the Night". I'm sure some of these women are entertaining thoughts of meeting their "Mr. Right." But luckily, some women eventually do wake up and realize that the club is no place to meet a decent man(in most cases). After years of putting up with the exhausting and bullshit games associated with night life, they grab their coats and purses from coat check and vow to never return. However this rude awakening is of no concern to the fiend who is confident that next week will bring a new roster of others to take their places. They will be lined up halfway around the block in their skimpy lil outfits in the freezing rain, desperately waiting to get into the club, like lambs being led to slaughter. And it is from these unsuspecting creatures that the next "other woman" will be chosen.<br /><br />Physical beauty is the least important. The cheating man would much rather take a decent looking woman who will fuck the shit out of him, over a fine ass woman who has sexual inhibitions. He is looking for something he can't find in his relationship, a jumpoff must be willing to do all types of freaky shit. Loyalty is also a prerequisite. The cheating man, despite his own infidelity, needs a woman whom he can trust to not "run the streets". She must be at his beck n call at all times. He doesn't want to hear about her going out with her friends. She is his personal sex slave who must make herself available 24 hrs a day, 7 days a week.<br /><br />Its very hard to find this woman so the thirstbucket has to position himself in areas where his efforts in his quest to find the perfect jumpoff can be maximized. You will notice him sitting at the bar, standing by the door, or looking down over crowd from a perch or balcony. Once he spots his target, the chase is on and popping. Armed with a fresh caesar, splash of D&G cologne, and hopefully a breath mint, he sets out on his lustful journey. Just as the animal hunter relies on his guns, traps to capture his prey, the cheating man relies on his smooth talk, good looks and low morals of his victims to accomplish his goals.<br /><br />But determining whether a particular woman has characteristics which will suit his purpose isn't such an easy task in a night club environnment. Loud music, other fiends, and the womans nosyass girlfriends make the process extra difficult. This leaves him little else to go by other than a womans attire. More precisely what she's wearing and how she's wearing it. This is first indication of her morality level. Of course this doesn't apply if she's wearing a mini skirt and clearly has her man by her side. But due to the fact that short tight mini dresses are commonplace wherever you go nowadays,the perception is that most of the women in the club are dizzy promiscuous whores. This hasty assumption has been the cause of many heated verbal and sometimes physical exchanges. The man can't decipher between the smuts and the women that are just out to have some fun and a night out with her girls. When women have their tits out on a platter, Some men percieve it as an invitation to touch, grasp, and be disrespectful. And there is no doubt that many women expect these types of impulses since they go to such great lengths to expose as much of themselves. The dude is merely reimbursing her for her troubles.<br /><br />But sometimes even the conservatively dressed women is the looser one out of the two. But the man doesn't wanna do all of that. He's not looking for a women to take home to moms, he's simply looking for someone to take to the nearest telly to bang out real quick and possibly again in the future.<br /><br />Let's keep it one hunnit, the night club is nothing more than a weekly production specifically designed for play,profit and perpetrating. Nothing is what it appears to be. When the doors open, curtain goes up, and its show time, unemployed men suddenly become corporate executives and women on welfare masquerade as fashion models in their knockoff louie v attire.<br /><br />So, maybe next time you go out with your girls, you might wanna keep these tips in mind. Unless of course you don't mind being the <strike>smut</strike> "other woman", then do you. I'm not one to judge. I know any man I'm dealing with wouldn't dare look elsewhere. ::Kanye Shrug::</div><br /><div></div><br /><div><span style="color:#ffccff;"><strong>FYI WOMEN:</strong> Stop hiding that inner freak when you got a man. It's okay, you're SUPPOSED to do all that stuff with HIM. If you've done more stuff with your jump offs than you have with your man...then I dont blame him for cheating on you. You deserved it. <strong>REALITY CHECK</strong> Chances are, if he's with you, he's not going to label you a slut for fulfilling his(and your) needs.</span></div>Boss Ladyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06706095161528862666noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9219065982985117286.post-75149215967724395012009-10-01T22:10:00.000-07:002009-10-01T22:15:06.952-07:00Ladies, Just Let Him Pay.<a href="http://www.cartoonstock.com/newscartoons/cartoonists/gwh/lowres/gwhn107l.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 372px;" src="http://www.cartoonstock.com/newscartoons/cartoonists/gwh/lowres/gwhn107l.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a><br /><br />Why can't men just appreciate what they have? Contrary to popular belief, I think men are just as insecure as women are. When they are in a relationship with a good woman, they always seem to be looking for a reason as to why the woman "settled" for him.<br /><br /><strong>Take for example this dude I've been seeing on an off for a few months. We were on our 5th date when out of nowhere, he decided to let out all his pent up issues with me. This nigga just read me the riot act because I reached for my wallet. “Why you always do that? I don't know why you even fucking with me. You should be with some nigga that can give you the world. I already know you're an independent woman. That's why I'm here. But damn, Sana, a man needs to feel like he can do for a woman. And when you tell a brother you won't even let him pay for a meal, its like you don't want to be vulnerable AT ALL.” He took my hand and said, “Look, I admit it. I need to feel needed. And I think you could use some taking care of. So why don't you let that superwoman shit go for a minute and let a brother do his thing.”</strong><br /><br />I can't help it though. The whole bill situation has a lot to do with my pride. It’s a mask of bravado I wear to hide my fears. It’s my fear of needing someone. It’s the fear of handing my vulnerability over to a man that might drop the ball. It kind of sucks to pretend to be totally self-sufficient but it is a hell of a lot easier than giving someone else the power to break you.<br /><br /><span style="font-size:100%;"><strong>I had to ask myself: Is this man, with all his faults, capable of making me happy right now? I think so, yes. So after carefully thinking it over, I guess carrying it on my own has really worn me out, I'm going to take a chance. What's the worse that could happen?</span></strong>Boss Ladyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06706095161528862666noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9219065982985117286.post-3189766574138688082009-09-10T10:17:00.000-07:002009-09-10T19:41:31.772-07:00Good On Paper, And That's About It.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiISgYnoP0HO2ER8WSL5pApdkccV0hlswMeN0v0Yt2tUzKWmDatKmoOtEK25lcHxjueQaWhdWSN3rakog2EtbMsNYl0O30fZ8LqLB0GxE0B48vR3zmwmy_Iq_6q2ymuOSfJacE-is0WzXk/s1600-h/how-to-write-resume-1.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5379890828035637730" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: pointer; HEIGHT: 300px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiISgYnoP0HO2ER8WSL5pApdkccV0hlswMeN0v0Yt2tUzKWmDatKmoOtEK25lcHxjueQaWhdWSN3rakog2EtbMsNYl0O30fZ8LqLB0GxE0B48vR3zmwmy_Iq_6q2ymuOSfJacE-is0WzXk/s400/how-to-write-resume-1.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br />The past few weeks have brought several new guys in to my little world. (I'd venture to say too many guys, but really, that would be a lie. You can never have too many guys.) So I've been thinking about something I call "Good on Paper Guys." These are the guys that if you were to pick a boyfriend solely based on his dating résumé would make it to your short stack and called in for an interview. I've met several of these guys recently, and I'm not complaining (much). They look great on paper, and read like a good book. But then you meet them and they break down into multiple categories from there. Some continue to be great, some let you know that they believe themselves to be great on paper, and others remind you that anyone can pad a résumé. Which is why the interview is so important, right? (And why we don't allow our mothers to arrange our marriages.)<br /><br /><span style="FONT-WEIGHT: bold">Too Good on Paper= Too Good for Himself</span><br /><br />One particular new friend really qualifies as good on paper. He has a good job, interesting career, nice home, nice car, disposable income, he's talented, smart, interesting, funny, etc. And his photo is worth keeping under your pillow. And I can tell you from firsthand experience, he passes the interview. So what is the problem? He knows he is good on paper, therefore, loses points for cockiness, and for his complete, total, horrifying inability to commit.<br /><br /><span style="FONT-WEIGHT: bold">Too In Demand</span><br /><br />Then there is guy #2, equally qualified as the previous candidate. He seems to know his résumé will get passed around, but isn't pompous about it. Instead he earns 3-pointers for his humility. The problem with him? Every girl in town wants to interview him. To his credit, he appears to be willing to interview everywhere. But the waiting time to get in with him is just so long that you have to wonder if he's worth the wait.<br /><span style="FONT-WEIGHT: bold"></span><br /><span style="FONT-WEIGHT: bold">Too Just Not for Me</span><br /><br />I've met a few guys that come highly recommended and look decent on paper, but don't jump out at you. I've had some fun with these guys lately and made some new friends this way, but the truth of it still stands. They aren't the candidate I was looking for.<br /><br />But then there are "Good on Paper Guys" who interview horribly. You think they are going to be perfect. You get your hopes up. You are ready to make a very high starting offer, but then... No! They either don't show up for the interview, reject the request for the interview, or just plain bomb the interview. Sometimes you are still even willing to give them a second chance. True chemistry can take time and practice. But no matter what you do you can't get past it. And it is so frustrating, because they were so well qualified on paper.<span style="FONT-WEIGHT: bold"> Your heart is broken over something that doesn't really exist.</span> And you have to throw the résumé away, and look at the other candidates, which is next to impossible because their credentials just don't add up! Part of you knows that you just have to forget they existed, burn the résumé, hit the delete key, erase your memory, and move on. Give the other candidates their fair chance. But part of you knows that your heart can't really ever forget anything. Can it? No matter how good or bad the other candidates look on paper..Boss Ladyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06706095161528862666noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9219065982985117286.post-50181079434353702482009-09-02T14:34:00.000-07:002009-09-02T14:58:05.276-07:00The Perfect Relationship.I'm going to make God the main man in my life<br /><br />When me and God's relationship is right, everything else just kinda falls into place. If work feels like it's demanding too much, I kick it with God and he reminds me of my purpose. If life's obstacles seem too much for me to handle, God wraps his arms around me and reminds me of what we've accomplished together in the past. If loneliness is tempting me to lay my heart down in a place it can't help but get stepped on, God reminds me that heartache is what tends to set in when a woman calls a man to do the job that was only intended for him. <br /><br />Fulfilling a hunger for a love unconditional, one that never abandons or dissapoints, one that replaces imperfect love of a flawed parent or never fails to come through in our time of need is a very heavy task. And a damn near impossible assignment made of mere flesh and blood. That kind of loving is best provided by a divine and perfect spirit. By giving God his proper place, I free myself from fear-because I know someone out there has got my back. Regardless.Boss Ladyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06706095161528862666noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9219065982985117286.post-37923031904327144812009-07-01T10:58:00.000-07:002009-07-01T12:09:41.160-07:00Tall TalesSo, I went out with "Empire"(refer to my last blog post about my tall admirer). Surprisingly enough, he wasn't so bad. Real sexy, Idris Elba looking ass nigga. He was a little older than any of my past lovers, has a 9-5, owns a house, no kids and no girlfriend. And best of all, he is a real sarcastic asshole, much like myself. Oh yea, and he wasn't looking to get anything too serious since he recently got hurt by his last girlfriend and because he is very busy with work. Cha Ching! I love when a dude is on the same page as me. We hit it off real quick. Well, I think it was more about the whole challenge thing. We kept trying to outasshole eachother on our first date. I can say some rude and obnoxious shit, so when a dude can roll with the punches, that shit is real sexy. After wining and dining me, by the third date, things were going real good. <br /><br />But that bliss was shortlived. After a couple of dates, this dude started crumbling. I could see it as it was happening, kinda like a glacier melting. A few rounds with the champ and his priorities got rearranged. I'll let him hang around for a month or so though, he gives me a ride home whenever I'm out(even if I'm like 50 miles away) AND he gives a bomb ass back massage. And what's funny is he was the one boasting about turning me out. "You're still young," he said. "I don't want to have you dick whipped". Dick whipped my ass, now look who's walking around all goo goo eyed. He even got a picture of me in his wallet in the spot his drivers license shud be. Cornball ass nigga! :: Sigh :: When will he learn, nobody can be as insensitive and emotionally detached as me, nobody. Lol. Although he seems to be secure, commanding and in control, once a top shotta comes his way, suddenly his busy work schedule and negative experiences don't matter one bit. <br /><br />Another one bites the dust.Boss Ladyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06706095161528862666noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9219065982985117286.post-81035657779675209812009-06-21T19:37:00.000-07:002009-06-22T11:42:32.314-07:00Short, Dark and Handsome."So, there's this guy that wont stop talking about you!" my homegirl said the other day. "Smart, rich, sexy..." "Is he tall?" I interrupted. I wanted to know. Because after years of, giving men that are complete lames, a chance, I've owned up to being picky lover. If he's over 5'7'', he better have one hell of a pe- I mean, "personality". Or better yet, a fine ass short friend.<br /><br />Sure, I know it's kind of shallow to judge a man by what his height is, but I can't help it. I'm only 5'5'', and I'm attracted to men who are close to my height. I don't think there is anything wrong with it. There are all kinds of equally superficial reasons people are turned on and off by people. My friend Jess will only date a man if he has a full head of hair. My other homegirl Gab insists he atleast have a six pack. Measuring a man's attractiveness in vertical inches may be superficial, but at least it's a feature that lasts a lifetime.<br /><br />I've always wondered about women who want their men to be ball player height, at least 6'2''. Maybe they dont feel uncomfortable looking their guy in the eye? Do they feel too big and want to feel smaller? Maybe it's some kind of daddy fixation. Or maybe they are just like, fuck it, the dude doesn't listen anyway, so why not just talk to his chest?<br /><br />Perhaps some women can't handle the male physique. They are only capable of dealing with one body part at a time. Personally, I like to have everything within easy reach. Kissing is a lot more fun when you're not getting a cramp in your neck. And for a the ultimate sexual experience, you just can't beat having lips, nips and hips all match up at once. There's a special intimacy that comes with being the same height as your lover. Visually, your perspective is the same. You truly see each other eye to eye. And with lips so close to ears, you can easily whisper sweet nothings to him, even in public places.<br /><br />There's a sense of exhibitionism that comes into play, too. You and your boo are always so perfectly aligned, so perfectly matched up, so its easy access. Clothes are all that keep your bodies from touching in all the right places.<br /><br />There is a special youthfulness about short men. Most retain their boyish looks well beyond boyhood. The aging back problems that plague their taller brothers aren't as common among short men. Gravity is kinder to them. And, of course, sex just fits better. Being the same height makes it possible to do complicated positions without being super flexible. Standing sex is easier when your legs are the same length.<br /><br />Depending on which study you believe, the average penis size is somewhere between 5 and 6 inches. But the difference in average penis size for a 5'4'' man and a 6'4 ''one is only half an inch!<br /><br />Perception makes all the difference. Does he pull out six inches or is he packing some 9 inch heat? Is size predictable? Not really. At least I don't think it is. Sure you can look at feet and fingers. Big thick fingers will almost guarantee that you'll get something big and thick. Short, tall, fat or thin doesn't seem to make a reliable difference in predicting penis size. Tight pants make for nice packaging visual, but make most men look kinda gay(Ie:Kanye West).<br /><br />With the family jewels, like fine jewels, the setting is key. A man's body is sort of a background display for his dick. And it works like an optical illusion. Big body + average penis =Ehh..Okay. Average body + average penis = average. Really short guy + average penis = Hot Damn! This is the guy who looks like he's got a third leg.<br /><br />You can't stereotype penis size. Personality size, however, is something else. There is some truth to short guys being loud, obnoxious and more aggressive. Since childhood, they've had to speak up to be noticed. What they lack in height, they make up for in might and wit. Little boys who are small for their age are usually the biggest troublemakers and smartasses. They may not beat up on other kids, but they're the ones they stay instigating shit. The smart ones become champions at verbal ether. Some even manipulate the larger boys into causing trouble. <br /><br />As short boys grow (hopefully not too much), they can use those people skills to get ahead in the world. Some will appear taller as they develop a bigger bank account.<br /><br />I've always believed that all men can be masculine. But short men have their masculinity in a stronger, more concentrated form. Yes, they can sometimes be extra explosive -- it's a matter of contents under pressure. Napoleon is a perfect example. Short dude with a high-testosterone, full-of-fight personality. And he had a reputation for being one very horny mofo. That picture of him standing with his hand tucked into his coat? My guess:he was actually grabbing his dick. It reached all the way up there.<br /><br />My friend, who wanted to hook me up with dude, finally admitted that the man was 6'2''. He had seen me at a party a while back. I, not looking in his direction (up), hadn't even noticed him. "But he sure noticed you," she said. "He's been going on and on about your how gorgeous you are. He told me he dreams of taking you out and sweeping you off your feet. Stop being a bitch, Please, he's been begging and begging me to introduce you."<br /><br />Begging? I thought. Oh, fuck it. All men are short when they're on their knees.Boss Ladyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06706095161528862666noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9219065982985117286.post-62879990152098599132009-06-12T23:19:00.000-07:002009-06-13T00:06:51.692-07:00Too blind to see? Maybe..<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJV_OK88wQxyf6k8O5URkWBTNzMTtgzC-LTKhm7IvmNl6NKyTT5ROD7Cx3rzqWbMvacgehyphenhyphenWUfoh16hBUd9tS5c5ItjovgZvyVyc1mY2ORZMYo-mzO84J9xg3TGBqtiBpTRJM0R1PhBXE/s1600-h/lovesit.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5346705146421505122" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 354px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJV_OK88wQxyf6k8O5URkWBTNzMTtgzC-LTKhm7IvmNl6NKyTT5ROD7Cx3rzqWbMvacgehyphenhyphenWUfoh16hBUd9tS5c5ItjovgZvyVyc1mY2ORZMYo-mzO84J9xg3TGBqtiBpTRJM0R1PhBXE/s400/lovesit.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><p></p><br /><p>Recently, I was on the phone complaining to my old lover after another disastrous date. </p><br /><p>Okay, wait, maybe I’m being a little dramatic. </p><br /><p>He’s not my old lover AT ALL and the date wasn’t that bad. Old Lover is an "old friend" and the date? Turns out Mr.Perfect has three kids and he hadn't seen them in three years even though they live one borough away. Can you say DEADBEAT? SMDH. </p><br /><p>So old lover asks if this is the same guy who I met at my friends b-day party<a href="http://bossbitchchronicles.blogspot.com/2009/04/dont-drink-and-date.html">(Second Date Syndrome dude). </a>It’s not. SDS fell by the wayside too. Good dude, but he was only appealing to me with a few drinks in my system and since I'm trying to cut down on the alcohol, it just wouldn't have worked. </p><br /><p>I get asked about other people I’ve mentioned to the old lover in passing since we became "just" friends late last year. The lovely specimen who had worse grammar than my 6 yr old cousin, the white boy, the industry guy who... Hold up. Actually, there’s nothing wrong with him… except the fact that he’s in the industry. </p><br /><p>Old lover listens intently, pointing out more flaws that I seem to have forgotten about these dudes. Then he goes into how he still has my ring and my watch and I need to come through to his new spot to get them.</p><br /><p>Fifteen minutes later, I’m outside his new apartment. The first thing he says when I walk in: <span style="color:#9999ff;">"My baby's home."</span> </p><br /><p>I roll my eyes at him and take off my blazer and hold it in my arm, still holding my bag around my shoulder. I'm not staying long.<br /><br /><span style="color:#9999ff;">"You know I don’t like when you be going out with these other lames."</span> He had this smirk on his face when he said it, so I couldn’t tell if he was serious or joking.</p><br /><p><br />He’s acting real wierd. I roll my eyes again. </p><br /><p>I watch him as he sits down the couch and starts flipping through channels. </p><br /><p><span style="color:#cc33cc;">"Can I get my jewelry?"</span> </p><br /><p>He just looks at me. <span style="color:#9999ff;">"Sit down for a sec. You want some iced tea or something? "</span> </p><br /><p><span style="color:#cc33cc;">"Err-So you think I'm staying?"</span></p><br /><p><span style="color:#9999ff;">"You shouldn’t have left in the first place."</span></p><br /><p>I sit down on the couch and snatch the remote from him, and start flicking through the channels. </p><br /><p><span style="color:#9999ff;">"Babes, why aren’t we together?"</span> He asks like it's a question I should have been expecting. </p><br /><p>I stop flipping channels for a second, but still don't look him in the face. <span style="color:#cc33cc;">"What?"</span></p><br /><p><span style="color:#9999ff;">"You heard what I said. I know I didn't stutter."</span></p><br /><p><span style="color:#cc33cc;">"Umm..'Cause your the homie."</span> <em>HBO, MTV, Oxygen... </em></p><br /><p>He snickers. <span style="color:#9999ff;">"Stop lying to yourself." </span></p><br /><p>Um? <span style="color:#cc33cc;">"So what the hell do you think we are then?" </span></p><br /><p><span style="color:#9999ff;">"When you need something, who do you call?"</span></p><br /><p><em>Yay! Family Guy re-runs on TBS.</em> <span style="color:#cc33cc;">"Not always, it depends on what I need."</span> </p><br /><p><span style="color:#9999ff;">"Stop being like that."</span></p><br /><p><span style="color:#cc33cc;">"I don't know what you are talking about."</span></p><br /><p>Then he takes the remote and turns off the TV. <em>Oh lawd!</em> I give in and finally look at him, giving him the undivided attention he clearly wants. </p><br /><p><span style="color:#9999ff;">"When you need something, you call me. When someone else f*cks up, you call me to fix it."</span></p><br /><p>I quickly grab a magazine from the side table. Oooh Michael Jordan on <em>SLAM!</em> <span style="color:#cc33cc;">"What do you want me to say?"</span></p><br /><p><span style="color:#9999ff;">"No, just listen to me."</span> He snatches the magazine out of my hand and puts it back on the table. And once again I give him my full attention.<br /></p><br /><p><span style="color:#9999ff;">"You need someone to talk to? You always call me. You feel lonely? I’m here. You got a problem? I always get it fixed, you hear me?"</span> </p><br /><p>I nod in agreement.<span style="color:#cc33cc;"> "I hear you but,where are you going with this?"</span></p><br /><p><span style="color:#9999ff;">"If I’m the one you always run to, why did you even break up with me? Now I live 20 minutes away from you, you can't make that "inconvenience" BS excuse either."</span> </p><br /><p>I thought, <em>What the hell?!</em> but I didn’t mean to blurt it out. </p><br /><p><span style="color:#9999ff;">"Think about it. It makes so much sense."</span> Damn, now this mofo is staring at the table like it's going to talk back to him.<span style="color:#9999ff;"> "We chill, we talk, we make eachother smile, we never argue. I have really intense feelings for you. And you can front, but I know you're feeling me too."</span></p><br /><p><span style="color:#cc33cc;">"You think I'm feeling you huh?"</span> I ask jokingly, trying to pretend like it wasn't a serious conversation.</p><br /><p><br /><span style="color:#9999ff;">"Would you be here if you didn’t?"</span> He is not playing. </p><br /><p>POW! IN MY FU%*IN FACE! </p><br /><p>Touche.</p><br /><p><span style="color:#9999ff;">"So what do you think?"</span> He takes my hand and I look at our fingers intertwined, then look up at him. For the first time in a long time, I think about us. He makes valid points. He’s dependable, convenient, sweet, sexy. I’m definitely attracted to him. We don’t really argue like we used to and he is pretty damn sexy. (My bad, Did I already tell you that?)</p><br /><p><span style="color:#cc33cc;">"Yea, I don't know. You just come at me out of the blue with that sh%t."</span> </p><br /><p><span style="color:#9999ff;">"Out of the blue?"</span> He nods, presses his lips together and does the LL. <span style="color:#9999ff;">"So I just want you to think about it? I’m so serious." </span></p><br /><p>He reaches for the remote, leans back and puts on a movie. The opening scene to 'A Bronx Tale' comes on. </p><br /><p><span style="color:#cc33cc;">"A Bronx Tale, Word?"</span> I looked up at him and smiled. </p><br /><p><span style="color:#9999ff;">"Don't you love this movie?"</span> </p><br /><p><span style="color:#cc33cc;">"I never told you that."</span> </p><br /><p>He laughs. <span style="color:#9999ff;">"You told me your dvd was scratched and to look for it that time I was at best buy, so I just figured it was."</span> </p><br /><p>He signals for me to lean on his shoulder. I get us some iced tea, cut the light and then I snuggle into him. Why the hell haven't I thought of dating him before? It makes a lot of sense. But real talk, it never even crossed my mind since we agreed to be nothing more than just friends from the get go. </p><br /><p><strong>Could I date him though? How is it any different than what we already have?</strong> </p><br /><p>I couldn't stop smiling for some reason, I turned to him and, look up at his face.</p><br /><p>He looks down at me, kisses my forehead. <span style="color:#9999ff;">"Keep thinking about it. No rush."</span> </p>Boss Ladyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06706095161528862666noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9219065982985117286.post-8077827156335718722009-06-04T13:35:00.000-07:002009-06-04T23:11:32.011-07:00Opposites Don't Attract.<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgb-T1qQoi69CT2Ddnh3ALOIVh9zXLRkIyyLoAbxkG-vT46oRy15NZ5GasWogETkua9Jh8lTmWNdLMA5E592netfej0ApGOyXixNskyGzhXDu0iEm0-VMeExvCZJhlDdl5iCKx7cz_elF8/s1600-h/Barack.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5340234722203410162" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 400px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgb-T1qQoi69CT2Ddnh3ALOIVh9zXLRkIyyLoAbxkG-vT46oRy15NZ5GasWogETkua9Jh8lTmWNdLMA5E592netfej0ApGOyXixNskyGzhXDu0iEm0-VMeExvCZJhlDdl5iCKx7cz_elF8/s400/Barack.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><div>Somewhere in my weekly evaluations of my life , I had an epiphany about my asshole ex and every other Mr. Wrong I dated and mated.</div><div><br />On some level, I was dating who I was at the time.</div><div><br />It is kinda hard to imagine that, given the parade of losers that have made pit stops in and out of my life.Sad, but true.When I met my ex aka “Jerk”, I was a mess. I was a broken, irresponsible, lost person who would seek comfort not from my friends, but from liquor. I was also pretty damn selfish not giving a shit what anyone thought or how I made them feel. And the only real difference between me and “Jerk” was the degree to which we were both drinking, broken, irresponsible, lost and selfish.</div><br /><div>I looked better. I smelled better. I had a degree. But on a certain level, “Jerk” and I had a lot in common: We were both selfish alcoholics who didn’t give a shit about anything anymore, tarnished from past relationships and betrayal from friends, scorning the world without any real good reason. </div><br /><div>Opposites don't attract. The head on the coin and the tail on the coin look different on the surface, but they're made out of the same material and they're hiding out in the same wallet.Are you dating a lame? Someone who you know isn’t good for you? Someone who seems to be your complete opposite? Someone you keep asking yourself why you ever even started dating?<br /></div><div>Chances are, you're probably dating your own insecurities, your own disappointments, your own unsettled issues. And the longer you stay in the relationship, the more deeper your problems and insecurities will be.<br /></div><div>Make the switch. Cut him off. ASAP.</div><br /><div>I did.</div>Boss Ladyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06706095161528862666noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9219065982985117286.post-2760944422040039992009-05-31T14:35:00.000-07:002009-05-31T16:07:38.663-07:00Since we are already on the topic...<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8JHXwUe_T-48BtXbTUrcpxrK_i83TrPdYxcPJxk20HeTz6_Inr3HdPnJ1VDZXmnit3iRdCDexU6FC2URXZh-72zHq-Ty9jXagBgVC9F0Q_adOpd9jKSn3AnFrsKujxmtM170ivzNMU9Y/s1600-h/perfect_dream_.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5342108303668970082" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 240px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8JHXwUe_T-48BtXbTUrcpxrK_i83TrPdYxcPJxk20HeTz6_Inr3HdPnJ1VDZXmnit3iRdCDexU6FC2URXZh-72zHq-Ty9jXagBgVC9F0Q_adOpd9jKSn3AnFrsKujxmtM170ivzNMU9Y/s400/perfect_dream_.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><div>Here is some insight on the topic from my buddy 'ol pal Deshair. And of course, as always, I co-sign with everything he has to say in this piece. Definitely a good read. Let me know what you think.</div><br /><div></div><br /><div></div><br /><div></div><br /><div><strong><span style="font-size:130%;color:#cc33cc;">The Socialite: The “M” Words</span></strong></div><br /><div></div><br /><div><strong>Written by Deshair Foskey</strong> </div><br /><div></div><br /><div>The other day, I was talking to a colleague of mine about the “M” word; yes, marriage. She opened up to me on her feelings about it and how she had it all planned out from when she’d like for it to happen, where it will happen, and how many people will attend. The only problem was that she doesn’t have a special someone in place to fulfill her master plan. Once our trip into her world of gumdrops, candy canes and ponies was over, she needed a male’s perspective. </div><br /><div></div><br /><div><strong>Natalie:</strong> So Deshair, do you ever think about getting married and having children one day? </div><br /><div></div><br /><div><strong>Deshair:</strong> I thought about it on a few occasions. I never flood my mind with it though. I don’t look at it as some type of mission to accomplish. </div><br /><div></div><br /><div><strong>Natalie:</strong> What do you mean? </div><br /><div></div><br /><div><strong>Deshair:</strong> The story that you just laid on me about your dreams of marriage is more fantasy and more of a dream than actual reality. You want to be married by the age of 29, purchase a nice home with white picket fences, and have your second child by age 31, blah, blah, blah. Sounds more like you’re lining up your strategies for war than anything else. </div><br /><div></div><br /><div><strong>Natalie:</strong> C’mon, there’s nothing wrong with having it all planned out. A girl can dream can’t she? </div><br /><div></div><br /><div><strong>Deshair:</strong> Well yea, as long as your reality isn’t blurred by it. You’re 27 and don’t even have a steady boyfriend. Yet you already have the life of your next boyfriend planned out. Honestly, I don’t like that sh*t. I don’t want to have my life planned out for me before a first date even happens. </div><br /><div></div><br /><div><strong>Natalie:</strong> I hear you. </div><br /><div></div><br /><div><strong>Deshair:</strong> Look, whether you realize it or not, that dream of yours will cause you to think outside of what’s in front of you. What will happen if you’re 28 and you don’t have a man in your life? You’ll be so up in arms to find you a husband that you’ll take just about anything that comes your way. </div><br /><div></div><br /><div><strong>Natalie:</strong> It ain’t even like that Deshair. </div><br /><div></div><br /><div><strong>Deshair:</strong> Really? So if you’re not married by 29, you won’t be disappointed, even a little bit. </div><br /><div></div><br /><div><strong>Natalie:</strong> Well, yes, I would be, but… </div><br /><div></div><br /><div><strong>Deshair:</strong> Then it is like that. Natalie, marriage should not under any circumstances be a mission to accomplish. If it happens when you’re 32, let it happen then. There are certain things in life that you shouldn’t plan all the way out. And the day of your marriage, without being a fiancée in the first place, is one of them. </div><br /><div></div><br /><div></div><br /><div>Once that conversation ended, I began to analyze similar conversations I’ve had in regards to marriage, or at least the pitfalls that comes with it. The Jagged Edge hit ‘Let’s Get Married’ ran across my mind as to where people may have subliminally caught the wrong message. Lyrics like, “Meet me at the alter, in your white dress / We ain’t getting no younger, we mind-as-well do it.” I understand what they are saying, but I wouldn’t suggest making this song your nuptial manual. </div><br /><div></div><br /><div>Statisticians wonder why the rate of divorce is at an all-time high. I’ll give you a not so obvious reason why. Some couples look at marriage as the 100 meter dash to the alter. The yellow tape at the end of the race which symbolizes victory when broken is the wedding day. Once the honeymoon is over, the mentality becomes, “Now that I have him/her, I can kick back, relax and slack off.” Sounds like a good reason for a marriage to fall apart to me. </div><br /><div></div><br /><div>A love that can last forever isn’t a 100 meter dash; it is a marathon that you train for everyday up until the time of the race. Marriage begins the moment that the gun goes off, signifying the beginning of the race. And if you have trained hard enough, 26 miles later, you’ll cross the finish line of, “til’ death do us part.” </div><br /><div></div><br /><div>So ladies, lets get back to the “Marriage on the Brain” segment. Ever wondered why you ran a guy off early? Bringing up marriage too early, even in the hypothetical form can do just that. You see, it’s not like men are completed throwed by commitment. Men just don’t want to have their entire life planned out for them; living up to expectations that are built for a storybook. Commitment is built on a free flowing line of energy, not upon deadlines and/or ultimatums. </div><br /><div></div><br /><div>Everybody heard the story of the woman who waited forever for her man to propose to her. “We’ve been together for ten years, and we’re still not engaged,” she says. Well if she took the time out to really match up their similarities, their goals and aspirations or lack there-of, she may have realized in year two that marriage wouldn’t be the culmination of the relationship that she was in. </div><br /><div></div><br /><div>There are women who live by this story. They don’t want to be that female that has waited for so long. But that doesn’t mean that you should force your relationship beyond its limitations at the time out of fear of time lost. When you take a chance on anything, you’re taking a risk. Finding your forever love doesn’t come without taking risks. And the last thing that you want to do is push away someone special in your life because you fear ending up like this woman you’ve heard about. </div><br /><div></div><br /><div>Let’s work on eliminating some of the stress that we’re creating upon our own situations. Let’s get to know one another. Let’s communicate and come to realizations. I am not in any way saying to have a “Whatever happens, happens” attitude. I am saying that you should open up your mind to the truth in front of you. </div><br /><div><span style="font-family:verdana;"></span></div><br /><div><span style="font-family:lucida grande;font-size:130%;color:#cc33cc;"><strong></strong></span></div><div><span style="color:#cc33cc;"><span style="font-family:lucida grande;font-size:130%;"><strong>Tips from the Socialite</strong></span> </span></div><br /><div></div><div>-Whatever you’ve done to make someone happy, you must maintain it to keep them happy. </div><br /><div></div><div>-There’s nothing wrong with having expectations. Just be sure that you’re expectations are realistic to your current connection. </div><br /><div></div><div>-Try your best not to show the “M” on your forehead. The actual race comes a distant second to the preparation for it.</div>Boss Ladyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06706095161528862666noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9219065982985117286.post-38049569741411946332009-05-26T12:53:00.000-07:002009-05-26T13:27:18.434-07:00Why Do Women Feel They Need To Be Married?<a href="http://images.smh.com.au/ftsmh/ffximage/2008/09/03/divorce_storylead_narrowweb__300x450,0.jpg"><img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 300px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 450px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://images.smh.com.au/ftsmh/ffximage/2008/09/03/divorce_storylead_narrowweb__300x450,0.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><div></div><br /><div>I understand the legal reasons and benefits of being married, but I cant figure out what happens to a couple after marriage to make so many people go through with it. Does it make you feel more fulfilled? Are your reasons because of some type of religious belief, and if so I gotta ask weren't you fucking, sucking and all the other stuff before you got married, so where was your religion then? ? Is the thought of being called Mrs. somebody that important to you?<br /><br />I understand, back in the day, as a result of lack of education women were expected to marry in order to find someone to support them. Especially since they did not have the knowledge to do many jobs. This leads us into the social and financial pressures that resulted in women getting married. This certainly is not the case today.<br /><br />I bet you if I asked 5 guys the 7 most important things they plan to do in life, marriage wont even break the top 10 list for majority of them, but ask 5 women, who aren't bitter, the same question, and its on their to do list for of life somewhere before or after having a kid. Not saying there is anything wrong with this, but I'm just curious.<br /><br />Personally, heres what I think. Biologically, the older you are, the less likely you are to have children. So naturally an older woman looks less appealing to a man who is looking to have a child. And a woman who is single is seen as undesirable because something must be wrong with her for someone to not be with her. You throw in the fact that America is based on protestant beliefs of which the laws are built (i.e. marriage being seen as more valid than just relationships), and you have your answer...BECAUSE SOCIETY SAYS SO.<br /><br />You arent good if you dont have kids by a certain age, you arent good if you are alone, and you arent good if you arent valid in the eyes of the law. So many women feel the pressure and dont feel they are worthy until they are married. They feel like others see them as undesirable or they may see themselves as undesirable.<br /><br />What are your thoughts?</div>Boss Ladyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06706095161528862666noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9219065982985117286.post-29364675434363151972009-05-24T19:33:00.000-07:002009-05-24T19:52:59.980-07:00Hangover+Extra Dose Of Regret=Not a Good Look<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpIbe3g53jxk3l4A3ZqpMVzdp4PcESNhJ49mtYKL1N7lAl9RCt4wPqQLThqyOEaA1nNHvo0Ij3PhCLHD7I0oHfgXZlmNyWqouPSJZYh7sifFjP9NPXgsHB0W3BSijARE2E9lyRUKkHL-A/s1600-h/bam.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5339588951793943778" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 300px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 400px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpIbe3g53jxk3l4A3ZqpMVzdp4PcESNhJ49mtYKL1N7lAl9RCt4wPqQLThqyOEaA1nNHvo0Ij3PhCLHD7I0oHfgXZlmNyWqouPSJZYh7sifFjP9NPXgsHB0W3BSijARE2E9lyRUKkHL-A/s400/bam.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><div></div><br /><div>Most people who know me refer to me as the "lush" of the bunch. I always know all the good drinks at whatever bar/restaurant we are at. I love a good cocktail. However, I DO NOT love to get so sloppy drunk that I have to be carried out of the bar by people. That is just not cute.<br /><br />When we are tipsy, thoughts are all over the place in our brains, slip out of our mouths, and we tend to lose control of what we say or do. In a world that values self control, its nice to have that pass to act up and do what we normally wouldn't do. We've all been known to act a little crazy and smile a little harder when we are drunk. Almost like our alter ego comes out after a couple of drinks.<br /><br />I can't sit here and preach to you and ruin your good time. But I want to make it clear, that messing round with random men when you're drunk can be a dangerous game. When we are drunk, we are more likely to sleep with people we would never even think about sleeping with; we risk doing dumb shit like confessing our undying love for our boss or not using protection. Hormones tend to do the walking for us. And next morning, we may wake up with massive hangovers, feeling regret and shame about our actions the night before.<br /><br />The tipsy hookup can be fun when executed right. You may feel a little more relaxed and uninhibited after two shots. Take 5 shots, though, and your setting yourself up for a nice bowl of next-day regret. After one drink, most females embrace their inner pornstar but after 5, we might get a little sloppy which is definitely not cute. Studies have shown that sexual performance, along with other motor coordination skills, declines at a blood alcohol content of .06 to .10. You'll be less sensitive to stimuli and less coordinated at providing stimuli. If you're male, you may be less able to maintain an erection and achieve an orgasm.<br /><br />And you're obviously not at your peak decision-making capability after more than a few drinks. That same dude who you seen beginning of the night looking a hot mess, might just be looking like tyreses' fine ass after a few drinks. You might regret your choice of partner, the fact that you forgot about your boyfriend or the fact that you did it in the bathroom stall at some club.<br /><br /><strong><span style="color:#ff99ff;">Nothing goes worse with a hangover than an extra dose of regret.</span></strong></div>Boss Ladyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06706095161528862666noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9219065982985117286.post-76249688077515963732009-05-12T21:46:00.000-07:002009-05-24T19:38:55.883-07:00A Woman's Relationship With Food<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUrK0Da3hUK-RF85CVWs0HIj6YpocmW6MvlDU8zLwMPDP2DyJ7RZSxEenUSGLt5AeK8uhyXZFOjN92wDcDuQ0dK4fpCSDw-Xax_prjYCLjC2nUD6sPEs9869uT6r1daDLtQskUHqPyW2s/s1600-h/suckaa.bmp"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5335172854378975490" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 267px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 350px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUrK0Da3hUK-RF85CVWs0HIj6YpocmW6MvlDU8zLwMPDP2DyJ7RZSxEenUSGLt5AeK8uhyXZFOjN92wDcDuQ0dK4fpCSDw-Xax_prjYCLjC2nUD6sPEs9869uT6r1daDLtQskUHqPyW2s/s400/suckaa.bmp" border="0" /></a><br /><div></div><br /><div></div><br /><div>A Woman’s relationship with food can be even more complicated than her relationship with her mother, or for the married woman, more complicated than her relationship with her mother-in-law. Strange as it may seem, many of us feel like we need permission to eat. Just listen to a group of girls at a restaurant and you will see what I mean. More often than not, one of four strange rituals will occur: <strong>the justification, the confession, self flagellation or peer pressure.</strong><br /><br />With <strong>justification</strong>, a woman will actually present a whole freakin court case for why she is ordering french fries. Take my friend Gabby: " Well, I skipped breakfast today, then I walked to work, and all I had was a granola bar and a Diet Coke for lunch, and I’m getting a salad with low-fat dressing, so i guess I can order the fries, right?" Yea, sure, go ahead,<br /><br />With <strong>confession</strong>, ordering french fries is some sorta sin of unrealistic proportions, it requires penance before even eating the fries. My friend Vanessa: "Damn. I am being so bad. I know I really shouldn’t be doing this. I mean, french fries are like the worst thing for you. Ugh! And I was so good all week. Okay, after this, ladies, I’m gonna do two whole hours on the stairmaster. And I’m walking home from the train instead of taking the bus."<br /><br /><strong>Self-flagellation</strong> is more direct since it makes the direct link between ordering fries and a fundamental character flaw. "I am so freakin huge, I am just, like, craving french fries," says my girl Sara, "What can I say? I am a total fatass."<br /><br /><strong>Peer Pressure</strong> can actually work one of two ways.<br /><br />In the first scenario, a bunch of women will egg eachother on to order the french fries-even while some opt for salads and mineral water. " Get the frnech fries! Whats the big deal?" we’ll laugh, eager, and falsely dismissive, knowing damn well that the person we are trying to convince to break her diet is really a sacrificial lamb. If she orders the fries, she’ll enable the rest of us to feel superior for not giving in to our cravings, and of course so we can snatch fries off her plate- or live vicariously by watching her eat them.<br /><br />In the second scenario, we agree mutually to absolve eachother of responsibility and guilt by ordering french fries as a coalition:<br /><br />"Should we order some fries?"<br /><br />"Sure, lets get french fries!"<br /><br />"Why not? Let’s go all out! After all, its Friday!"<br /><br />Complicated? Yezzir. The way we carry on about dumb shit like french fries, you’d think we were Hamlet. You’d think we were contemplating euthanasia. You’d think it was a career move. Military operations have been launched with less consideration than we give a menu.<br /><br />Shit, think about it. If we spend this much time comtemplating over a menu, just imagine how much we comtemplate over men/relationships. If that much time is spent thinking about nonsensical stuff, when will we have time to actually enjoy it? <strong>Food for thought, right? PUN INTENDED. </strong></div>Boss Ladyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06706095161528862666noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9219065982985117286.post-8558073188132618752009-04-26T19:53:00.000-07:002009-05-03T16:34:07.936-07:00Wedding Vows=Wedding Woes<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxhhHlIn8j8_dzfc9kga-FgJsJN1dK5CU3nevcp14qB4kFhdrrFI3xsnJUaPMKfvl7g-dkQ4P5ulE1Vu92UNI4aJKGVctI70A8zXvJ3Mfa8vCfOW08xFFVHEig9xwA98N7Xdl-stuFzTc/s1600-h/sana.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5329201989543785058" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 327px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxhhHlIn8j8_dzfc9kga-FgJsJN1dK5CU3nevcp14qB4kFhdrrFI3xsnJUaPMKfvl7g-dkQ4P5ulE1Vu92UNI4aJKGVctI70A8zXvJ3Mfa8vCfOW08xFFVHEig9xwA98N7Xdl-stuFzTc/s400/sana.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><div></div><br /><div>For as long as I can remember, I have disliked going to weddings. When I was younger, it was because I wasn’t really a big fan of wearing dresses or even looking the least bit feminine. I was the epitome of a tomboy. No dolls and dresses, just sports. So if wearing a dress wasn’t bad enough, at wedding, I would have to wear a dress in front a room full of a hundred or more strangers watching my every move and giving me the ill permanent side-eye because I didn’t act like a “lady”. Not much has changed since then. Sure, I might’ve grown some tits. And yea, I sort of grew out of my tomboy stage, but I still can’t stand going to weddings. At a wedding, you are forced to be fake and nice to people you would rather not even have to see, simply because you don’t want to disrespect the bride or groom. No is ever satisfied. Not even the newlyweds. They are so damn tired from a night of remembering names and seating charts that they can’t even fully enjoy their first night of post-marital sex.<br /><br />Even though I really dislike weddings, I always end up getting invited to them. A few weeks ago, after a longass day, I came home hoping to unwind. On my way in, as usual, I had picked up the mail, hoping for a check of some sort. As I was looking through the mail, “Bill, bill, catalog, bill, and hmm... What do we have here? Birthday card? Nah, it can’t be. My birthday is next month. Duh.” So, I open it up to discover it was an invitation to my friend Sara’s wedding. Upon reexamination of the weighty embossed envelope, I saw it right there, in black 12pt Edwardian Script font: And Guest. Fuck! Could things be any worse? It’ll be my first wedding without a boyfriend to bring as a date, and now I have to go and find a suitable guest. Having to endure “The stage of fakeness”, also known as a wedding, was bad as it is, but now I need not just a date, but a proper guest. <strong>Just fucking great, something to look forward to, you know, like a pap smear.<br /><br /></strong>This is just a lose:lose situation. The first loss is devoted to the guests: expectation. If you’re invited with a date, people expect you to bring one. The invitation might as well have said, “Black tie and date optional” because finding a date for a wedding is no small task. The second loss belongs to my date: he can’t be all lovey dovey with me, incessantly declaring his love for me to the guests. What he showers on me in private is one thing(Pun intended). What about if he turns out to be more of a lush than myself? Negative. It’ll be more like babysitting than a date. Simply unacceptable.<br /><br />I need a date that would know his role and be able to help me get through the wedding without me having to curse some bitch out for looking at me the wrong way. He can’t dance all night or not dance at all. He needs to understand my anxieties and help me laugh at them. He also needs to know,a boss bitch like myself, who rarely believes in the constitution of marriage, alcohol combined with vows might make me want to…I dunno…throw myself in front of a oncoming truck. He can’t smell or have small dick syndrome, you know, just in case I get drunk and horny. He needs to understand that even though for the sake of our lovely audience at the wedding, we might say we are boyfriend and girlfriend, but afterwards, this will certainly not be the case.<br /><br />Okay, maybe I’m asking for too much. But there’s no way in hell that I’ll go dolo to the wedding. The only single men attending without dates will be under 12 yrs old and older than 50. That’s just not going to work. Shaking my damn head at people that feel the need to pay $50+ per person for complete strangers to attend their wedding. Dumbasses. You know they are only attending the wedding for the free food and liquor. And in some cases, they are better off saving that money. What happens if you get a divorce? You can’t get a refund for wedding expenses fools!<br /><br />I guess I should stop complaining and start looking through my handy dandy black book. I have to find the perfect date. Fucking sucks. A wedding sort of reminds me of Valentines Day. Finding a wedding date is like finding a valentine: if you have to find one, it doesn’t count. And then, watching a bride is like on Valentines Day when everytime you see a dozen of cellophane wrapped roses, you try to peek at the card hoping they are for you. </div><div> </div><div><br /><br /><br /> </div>Boss Ladyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06706095161528862666noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9219065982985117286.post-49107715631094735812009-04-16T20:20:00.001-07:002009-05-24T19:40:33.937-07:00Dont Drink and DATE.<a href="http://i115.photobucket.com/albums/n282/Shorty1128/GreyGoose.jpg?t=1239946289"><img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 500px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 500px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://i115.photobucket.com/albums/n282/Shorty1128/GreyGoose.jpg?t=1239946289" border="0" /></a><br /><div></div><br /><div>Just wanted to tell you about another fuckerific incident that happened to me. And I'm almost positive that almost everyone has gone through something similar at one point or another in their lives.<br /><br />A few weekends ago I was at a lounge in Long Island. I rarely go out like that out here but it was a friend's birthday so I said what the hell, why not, not like I had anything better to do. I probably would have been at home watching some stupid reality show(ie:For The Love of Ray J)and tweeting my life away. So, I ended up going out. The night was turning out to be boring as hell. Most of the night I just sat at the bar drinking and conversing with the bartender. I couldn't take it anymore. Just as I was getting ready to leave and was getting ready to close my tab, this tall, dark and handsome dude with the most amazing lips comes over and sits down on the stool next to me. Of course you know I had to put a hold on closing that tab. Without hesitation, I introduced myself and started a conversation with him. That's when I found out that he was also there for the same birthday party as I was. And like me, he was also bored as fuck. We instantly clicked(possibly because we were inebriated). He asked me if he could get me a drink, and being the lush I am, before he could even finish the sentence, I said yesiree. <strong>When he asked me what I was having, I wanted to say,<span style="color:#cc33cc;"> "How about those lips, on the rocks."</span> But instead, I decided to hold off on the assholishness until a later time. I asked for a grey goose and sprite. I couldn't have him thinking I was a disrespectful bitch just yet. </strong>After a couple of drinks, we proceeded to the dance floor. Since it was towards the end of the night, the DJ was playing reggae. So you already know how that type of dancing is. <strong>You could tell he was trying to keep his dick from getting hard but it was, as always, a losing battle. </strong>So, of course you know I had to step back, took his phone, put my number in it and bizounced on some Cinderella shit, minus the glass slipper.<br /><br />Next morning, like my usual Sunday routine, I was doing my laundry when I got a phone call from "him". I can't even front, I think I might've smiled. Jus a little. He seemed like a really good dude, and from what I remember, he was pretty damn sexy too. We agreed to meet later on that day at 1pm for lunch. The afternoon date is a bit of a quandary, some believe it is his true attempt to get to know you. He cares less about the quick hit and run and more about something substantial. <span style="color:#cc33cc;"><strong>He wants to get to know you without the alcohol, makeup and heels. Yes, he might be just that into you.</strong></span> And if all is going well, the afternoon can parlay into the evening.<br /><br />So, I got all dressed up looking all cute and shit for him and headed to the restaurant we agreed to meet at. I am terrible with time so I made sure I left my house early. I got there before he did so I sat down and ordered an iced tea. I sat there staring back and forth to the door and at my phone for possible text messages from him. At exactly 1pm on the dot, right when I was reaching for my phone to text him, he walks in the door. He looked a bit more tired than I had remembered him looking the night before. Hangover perhaps? Maybe. Who knows. I still wanted to get to know him. So he sits down, we order food and start chatting. He was right there, just a ruler distance apart-BAM, in my face. I had to look at him when we spoke because if I didn't, that'd just be plain rude. That's when it hit me- this was a case of <strong><span style="color:#cc33cc;">SECOND DATE SYNDROME.</span> I started to notice all the defects that were hidden or overlooked the first time. All the facial flaws are right there in plain sight. The night time stud turned into day time YUCK. SMH.</strong> <span style="color:#cc33cc;"><strong>What a damn shame. I blame it on poor lighting and way too much Grey Goose.</strong><br /></span></div><br /><div><strong>So, boys and girls, whats the lesson learned here?<br /></strong><br />Do not give out your numbers to anyone while your drunk! Instead, just ask for theirs and ask for their e-mail address too. That way you can search for them on myspace/facebook/twitter and approve before you agree on that second date.<br /><br />Tell me about any experience like this that might've happened to you. That way I won't feel so bad about never returning his calls since that date. lol </div>Boss Ladyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06706095161528862666noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9219065982985117286.post-73091668907061308412009-04-14T13:06:00.000-07:002009-04-14T13:21:43.929-07:00The Socialite: Staying the CourseMy boy wrote this and I had to repost it. I co-sign on EVERYTHING he wrote here. Definitely a good read. The kid is a amazing writer. Google him: <strong>Will Deshair Foskey, The Socialite.</strong><br /><br />Last summer, I said, “Hello,” to Brooklyn for the first time; the borough, not Mary J. Blige’s alias. Don’t get me wrong, I’ve been there a few times, but for business and that don’t count. Well, I was strolling down the block with a colleague of mine when my attention was snatched away by a freshly baked apple pie cooling on the window seal (yes, in Brooklyn).<br /><br />Let me tell you, even though there was a black steel gate, a 15 step porch and an angry looking dog separating me from a taste of that pie, my mind was still racing for it.<br /><br />My colleagues’ phone rang so she answered it and our stride slowed some. And there I was; a leap, porch climb and a reach away from bubbling apple perfection; and quite possibly, a bite in my backside from Kudjo, the angry looking dog. Then out of nowhere, my daydream was interrupted by the thunder clasp of my colleagues’ phone closing. “How could he do this to me,” she said, while slowing our roll even more.<br /><br />We stopped in our tracks, she stepped into hugging distance, leaned her head on my shoulder saying, “I loved him with all that I had, Deshair,” wrapping her arms around me with her hands clutching onto my shoulder blades. “How could he throw away what we had, just like that?”<br /><br />I never really got around to seeing more of Brooklyn that day, and for good reason. I can’t remember how long our embrace lasted, but I do remember that after we pulled apart and I looked up at that window seal, that sweet smelling apple pie was gone. I was ready to cry my damn self.<br /><br />We spent most of the evening back at her apartment in silence. I had so many things to say, however, I was smart enough to know that she didn’t want to hear a lick of it. So as I stood there playing bowling on Nintendo Wii, I thought about her situation and how I’ve heard it all before: I was everything that he/she could ever want – there was nothing in the world I wouldn’t do for him/her.<br /><br />Personally, I also thought about how I would only see her after she hit a rough patch in her relationship; any signs of smooth sailing meant that I wouldn’t hear from her as much, if at all.<br /><br />Once I began to play Tennis on the Wii, I thought about that pie again (what can I say, I’m always hungry). But this time around, I thought of the pie as a whole, in relationship terms. We learn by default that a relationship should be 50/50. As 1 + 1 = 2 in my mind, I began to see the flaws in this equation.<br /><br /><strong>1.</strong> For two people to come together under a 50/50 connection, thinking of this ratio as equaling out to 100%, subconsciously the relationship is being looked at as a way of completing one another.<br /><strong>2.</strong> 50/50 is geared more towards splitting or sharing responsibilities. Looking for comfort through convenience. Convenience is for stores, not relationships.<br /><strong>3.</strong> 50/50 has a good chance of becoming 0/100.<br /><br />A 50/50 connection lacks what any level of a joining requires, balance. When it is believed that having someone in your life is what completes you, the feeling of giving that person all you have comes naturally, even if what you’re giving them is misguided. And if you so happen to give more than you receive, the beginnings of losing yourself will take form. 50/50 becomes 40/60, then 20/80 and then by the time you come to your senses, or your senses are forced to come to you, you’re already empty; there’s an icebox where your heart used to be, you’re 0/100.<br /><br /><strong><span style="color:#ffccff;">The 50/50 concept is a lose/lose - one loss is of self and the other loss is of others.</span></strong> As the ratio changes on this emotional see-saw, parts of who you are chips away. I noticed that with my colleague, she’d talk to me about how tough school has become for her and in the same breath talk about what her boyfriend was up to and how she supports him. She wasn’t as bubbly or as sarcastic as she once was. Even her aging process was increasing.<br /><br />And this is where the loss of others comes to a head. Because you’re devoting so much time and effort towards your 50/50, suddenly you’re not keeping touch as you once have; you’re canceling engagements to keep your significant other happy, and the list goes on. This is the blinded loyalty that results in the deterioration of your current connections. Yes, the same connection that you’d try to rekindle after your relationship is over.<br /><br />On the other hand, if we can look at a connection as 100/100, two hot bubbling apple pies working together as a unit, we can establish some balance.<br /><br /><strong>1.</strong> Each person comes into the connection as a whole onto themselves. Neither one is looking to be completed by the other.<br /><strong>2.</strong> 100/100 sets the stage for independence first, dependence a distant second.<br /><strong>3.</strong> 100/100 relationships promotes the “Give and Take” concept, as well as a “Business as Usual” approach<br /><br />100/100 connections defines balance and breeds teamwork. Teamwork and convenience are not the same. As a team, teaching, learning and being a motivator are paramount. Each participant also handles their total responsibilities. Most importantly, the participant isn’t willing to compromise what they already have on the table for the sake of the relationship. For example, if you spent 20 hours a week devoted to studies before the connection, those 20 hours would remain in tact.<br /><br />There is a self reliance about 100/100 that makes it more viable. When you are whole, you’re not looking to fill any void which more often than not, places a damper on your connection. You have an understanding in place, rules in place, building a strong foundation instead of a home that floats above ground.<br /><br />It is safe to say that no matter the ratio, connections aren’t fool proof. There will always be some type of struggle to overcome. You just have to take the good with the bad, weigh your options, steer away from conveniences and maintain a self reliance even in togetherness.<br /><br />Tips from the Socialite<br /><br />Convenience is for stores, not relationships. Make the right decisions for the right reasons. For example, people often make the mistake of moving in together, far too early. Usually because they spend a lot of time together and figure that it’s a great way to save money by splitting the bills. But what happens when a job is lost? One person is forced to carry the weight of the bills, now doubled because you have someone guzzling up the electricity at all times of the day, as well as eating you out of house and home. I can dedicate an entire column to this statement alone. I just might…<br /><br />Voids should not to be filled by others. It’s simple, if you’re having a concern with loving yourself; this is something that you must address on your own. It is not always a 0/100 scenario, which leaves you in a state of coldness. By trying to fill a void through someone else, you could emotionally drain them, 100/0.<br /><br />Stay the course. Time management is a key to healthy connections. Do not sacrifice your future for the sake of making someone smile in your present. If they decide that they don’t want to accept your career goals, that don’t mean give up on them. More and more people turn down great opportunities for the sake of their relationship… regretting the decision for the rest of their lives.<br /><br />If you want to get in good with the Socialite, bubbling hot apple pie would do the trick.Boss Ladyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06706095161528862666noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9219065982985117286.post-68623272336840820662009-04-10T22:25:00.000-07:002009-04-11T03:48:15.580-07:00Nice Guys Always Finish Last. And They Also Spend More Money.<a href="http://weblogs.baltimoresun.com/features/dating/blog/spotniceguy-thumb.gif"><img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 323px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 483px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://weblogs.baltimoresun.com/features/dating/blog/spotniceguy-thumb.gif" border="0" /></a><br /><div></div><br /><div>About a week ago, I met up with my friend Sean to catch up over a nice dinner. Sometime into the night, he starts telling me about this shorty he had been seeing for a few weeks who he was really feeling. After meeting her through a mutual friend, he asked her out so he could get to know her better. Before they even started getting intimate with each other, she tells him just about the last thing any guy wants to hear-"<strong>I think your a really nice guy, but I only think of you as a friend".</strong> Poor kid couldn't figure out what he did wrong. His frustration was brimming over, and he kept looking at me for answers. I felt really bad but at the time, I didn't know what the hell to tell him. I was at a loss for words. <strong>Normally I would say something along the lines of, "Stop being such a fuckin chump!" or "Bitchass Nigga" but this was just not the appropriate time for any of that.</strong> He seemed upset and frustrated.<br /><br />Over the next few days, I started pondering my friend’s quandary. And I came to realize, It's true, nice guys really do finish last. But they also end up spending more money. <strong>Some women are nothing more than well dressed pick pockets.</strong> Take Sean for example. This chick met Sean and claimed to be interested in him- she would hold his hand, kiss him and even let him spend the night at her place. She insisted they go on several dates to get better acquainted, at his expense of course. Since Sean was intrigued by her, he obliged. For the next two months, he took her out to dinner, bought her clothes, and helped her move a whole damn apartment of heavy furniture across town. He thought she had wifey potential so he didn’t mind taking is slow. <strong>But nope, what'd he get for his trouble? A well fed, well dressed, unappreciative BITCH living in a well furnished apartment.</strong> When he expressed that they should take the relationship to the next level, she dropped the bomb on him" I just want to be friends". But guess who has to suffer the consequences-the innocent woman who had nothing to do with his bad experiences. In his mind, everyone with a pussy must pay. <strong>All this does is create a sadistic cycle of manipulation and embarrassment.</strong> The revengeful man takes advantage of the next woman, and then she in turn finds a man to get even with. Where the fuck does this end though? After endless experiences like these that emasculate the nice guys, continuous assaults not only at his manhood but his wallet too, these near perfect potential boyfriend material type men, have no choice but to go the asshole route. All they are thinking is: <strong>Fuck putting any woman on a pedestal, fuck gallantry, and courting! Time to grow some fucking balls and take a stand for myself (and my wallet, we are in a recession you know).<br /><br /></strong>So, Ladies, please remember that next time you do a guy dirty like that. There will be repercussions. Karma is a bitch.</div>Boss Ladyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06706095161528862666noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9219065982985117286.post-68299823913671089302009-03-26T13:41:00.000-07:002009-05-24T19:39:39.702-07:00A Man Is Not The Answer To Every Problem. More Fuckery.And the fuckery just does not stop.<br /><br />So, I was speaking to my friend after a long time yesterday and she starts telling me about all her financial problems she's been having since she got laid off. After about an hour of crying and complaining, her tone of voice suddenly becomes optimistic, it was if she had an epiphany, the most absurd and stupid epiphany I have ever heard. She proceeds to tell me that the only solution to her problem is finding a man that can fulfill her emotional and financial needs-her epiphany. SMH! One of the most important lessons I have learned in my dating experiences is that it's impossible to make good decisions on who you need to date when you're in the midst of a major life crisis.<br /><br />When you've been laid off of work and are damn near filing for bankruptcy, you don't need a man. You need to go out looking for another job.<br /><br />When your situation at home with your family/rommate is so bad that you spend as much time as possible out of the house or locked in your room, you dont need a man. You need to find a new apartment.<br /><br />When you're all depressed and suffering becuase you found out you contracted a STD, you don't need a man. You need a fuckin doctor.<br /><br />Having a man is not going to make the mess you've made of your own life magically turn out alright. It's up to you to save yourself. This is extremely hard for you serial lovers, the chicks who stay falling in love at first sight and meeting a different soulmate each week. Yea, - know when your in love, all the shittyness of life morphs into vibrant color and even annoying ass people you can't stand, become tolerable. But most times love at first sight is like hope at first sight. Or "desperate need for a mate to get through this shit I'm dealing with" at first sight. Or maybe even "mind blowing fuck that can make me forget that I am about to get kicked out my apartment 'cause I can't pay my rent" at first sight. Sad. I know you are smiling and shaking your head while you are reading this because you know someone who fits the description. Seriously though, that bum ass nigga you pick up at the club–in my case, figuratively, not literally–is not going to make your life any easier. He's going to be one more fuckin problem for you to solve.<br /><br />Please do yourself a favor(and the sorry sap who will have to put up with your shit), and just start solving the problems you already have instead of pulling other people into your already fucked up life.Boss Ladyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06706095161528862666noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9219065982985117286.post-87230801427537244172009-03-22T21:46:00.000-07:002009-03-26T00:16:04.531-07:00Vomit At First Sight.Have you ever dated a man you were not attracted to ... not even one bit..not even after downing a bottle of patron? I have. As a matter of fact, I just went out with said man about a month ago.<br /><br />It had been a few months since I last had sex, and about a month or so since I last had any type of jumpoff rendezvous. Maybe by the time this dude came into my life, I was so beat down that I thought, what the hell, why not? Maybe I was so needy that any form of sexual pleasure was enough. Maybe after being surrounded by all these looking for love type sucka ass predator dudes, I needed someone I could just push around without having to worry about the consequences.<br /><br />Whatever the hell the reason was, this dude, let's call him "Boxer", ranks as my weirdest, most embarrassing, most what-the-fuck-was-I-even-thinking situation ever. And that's saying a lot.<br /><br />I was sitting in Borders book store reading a book about Taurus Horoscopes 2009 when he came up to me. "So, I'm hoping your reading that horoscope for yourself and not for your man."<br /><br />Without thinking, I hit him with a quick response, "Umm, yea, I'm the Taurus, but if I had a man and was reading it for him, why would it matter?"<br /><br />And then he proceeded to try to hit me with his G. "Because then I wouldn't be able to tell you how good of a match Taurus and Cancer are. And it just so happens that, I'm a Cancer. Fate?"<br /><br />At first I thought to myself, Who says that? But I can't front, I was intrigued(or maybe just bored).<br /><br />"Boxer" claimed to be 26, but he looked a lot older. <strong>He was fashionably challenged walking around wearing slacks that were so short that they looked damn near like he was wearing capris.</strong> And on top of that he was mad skinny. <br /><br />So what was the draw?<br /><br />You have to understand that the only thing I was missing in my life was a convenient jumpoff. Most of mine have ridiculous schedules and its too much work. So, I figured, what the hell, let me stop being such an asshole and give "Boxer" a shot. I thought in the back of my head that he might have a crazy pipe game, can't let him get away. <br /><br />So, Boxer gave me an impromptu psychic reading, proclaiming that I was a "roller-coaster ride" and an "adventure;" that I was a realist; that I looked and acted just like my father; on and on and on until he said the magic phrase, that as a cancer he could make me "happy".<br /><br />Then he immediately did two things right: asked me out on date, and said can make himself available for me anytime that I want. Needless to say, after he said that, I had the ill kool aid smile on my face. Took his business card so I could set up an "appointment". <br /><br />We went on a few dates and sexually, he did nothing for me. I didn't like the way he dressed, and his breath stank sometimes. I let him eat some of the forbidden fruit aka "the box"(hence,his nickname "Boxer") and I gave him nothing in return. <strong>Atleast while hes eating the box, all that is in view is his eyes and head, which weren't half bad</strong>. When he tried to have sex with me, I simply said, "I don't want to do this" and got dressed, while he all but burst into tears and confessed his love for me. Another psycho. He told me he was going to take care of me. He was going to come into some money, and he'd be able to help me. He tried again to hump me, and my exact words were, "You really need to get the fuck off me!"<br /><br />He was undeterred. He said with absolute certainty, "I think you are making a mistake, we got something good here. You are my "Taurus" and one day we're going to look back on this and laugh."<br /><br />Some part of me, really really deep inside, wanted to believe him. But honestly? I was physically sick to my stomach once I had to look at him after he was done with his Boxer duties. Needless to say, that was the end of that.<br /><br />I wan't to hear about your stories with people you weren't attracted to. I know we have all had one if not more of those type of situations, and alcohol doesn't always do the trick.Boss Ladyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06706095161528862666noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9219065982985117286.post-63213090151377603052009-03-11T13:38:00.000-07:002009-05-24T19:40:17.773-07:00Jumpoff EtiquetteStupid Bitches. SMH. Yes, I just said stupid bitches. When I say stupid bitches I am not referring to EVERY female. Stupid bitches are those dumbass girls that get all worked up over some man who pays them no mind unless he's dumb drunk or just plain horny. If he accidentely slips and does even ONE act of kindness, all of a sudden, the stupid bitch thinks he's in love with her.<br /><br />Now, technically, its not just the girls fault. Guys are also to blame for this. Since I am friends with a lot of guys, I can give you a perfect example.<br /><br />I have this friend. Real good looking kid, and actually a really good person too. Very eligible bachelor except for when hes drunk. Thats when his hormones kind of takeover. Definitely not what you would call an asshole though. But for some reason, every female be calling him a asshole. I didnt know why until I finally witnessed him in drunk mode one night. First time I had seen him in action. I was forced to witness this since my friends were driving me home, and I forgot to call shotgun. So yea, in the front were my two friends and in the back was me, my "asshole" friend and some chic he met at the club who we were giving a ride home to. I didnt want to cockblock so I had already warned him to not get too crazy since I am right there and if they start fallin all over me, I will not be happy. So as I watched them stick their tongues down eachothers throats and her give him a handjob under the jacket he had on his lap,I realized that was all they been doing for about the last hour. What shocked me was that right after this intense makeout session my "asshole" friend proceeded to put his arm around her, hold her other hand n then kiss this,clearly a jumpoff type, female on her forehead. Not once, but about 5 or 6 times.<br /><br />Thats when it clicked. I always wondered why every female I know refers to this poor kid as an asshole. He just doesn't know how to treat a jumpoff. How you gonna meet this random bitch in a club, not even know her name, make out with her and then kiss the bitch on her forehead like thats wifey when you know damn well you are not callin her unless you get drunk n want some?<br /><strong>Lesson to be learned here:</strong><br />Men, dont treat jumpoffs any more than what it is. No kisses on the forehead or any other lovey dovey shit. Thats how you get them stalking psychotic bitches after you. Jumpoffs start gettin outta line cause they just waiting for a man to come rescue them and cross em over from jumpoff status to wifey status.Boss Ladyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06706095161528862666noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9219065982985117286.post-20514556216231170922009-03-02T14:48:00.000-08:002009-03-02T17:36:35.865-08:00A Public Service Announcement From Yours Truly<div align="center"><a href="http://th03.deviantart.com/fs19/300W/f/2007/255/3/9/Anti_Biters_Coalition_by_copperthistle.jpg"><img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 300px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 131px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://th03.deviantart.com/fs19/300W/f/2007/255/3/9/Anti_Biters_Coalition_by_copperthistle.jpg" border="0" /></a><strong>I have to interrupt this blog for a Public Service Announcement.</strong></div><div align="center"><br />This is really starting to bother me so I have to get it off my chest. Why is it that every other blog I go to, it has something similar to the last one? I don't want to read the Chris Brown/Rihanna story paraphrased in your words straight off of The Young Black And Fabulous Blog. Changing the picture in the blog entry is just not cutting it. And I am really getting tired of seeing that picture of Chris Brown on the jet ski. Or how about, the 50/Ricky beef, I don't need everyone putting up the videos on their page, I am perfectly capable of logging on to Thisis50.com. Let's try and be a little bit more original from now on.<br />Thank you. :)<br /><p><br /><strong>Sidenote:</strong> This is not a directed towards anyone in particular. So please don't send hate mail or unfollow me. :)</p></div>Boss Ladyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06706095161528862666noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9219065982985117286.post-75081976229835104442009-02-26T12:41:00.000-08:002009-02-26T12:47:37.397-08:00Unknown Musicians Over 30.<span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;">So this is actually something I posted on my old blog, but after seeing the same fuckery once again last night, I felt like I needed to repost this. </span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;">So I went to a showcase last night. A friend made me accompany her. And what stood out to me was this old ass dude thinking he can sing. Here is what I wanted to tell him:</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;">Stop wasting your time, stop wasting your significant other's time, stop wasting your money on stupid gear, and stop thinking that you can compete with hot 18-24 year olds that are better than you. Your music doesn't have "character" - it's just outdated. outdated themes, chord progression, and guitar tones. </span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;">Nobody wants to see or hear you sing. The lighting makes you look older. The whole "thugged out" look isnt working for you. Especially since you are an R&B singer(or think you are). We all know why your myspace photos are over-exposed. </span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;">If you're over 30 and unknown, it is never going to happen. You are never going to make it. There's a reason american idol has an age cutoff. We want talent that's young, not talent that's old. Yeah yeah I know, america's got talent has no limit but it's a fuckin freak show. </span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;">Everyone knows you're balding. you can't hide it with the shaggy comb-forward look. The fitted does not make you look younger. The rogaine isn't working. You look like an idiot in those baggy jeans. Big ass rope chains are for kids. You don't look like a rockstar in those $5 sunglasses. </span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;">Sell your gear, quit your job at sam-ash, and beg a company to take you into an entry level position... wake up, we are in a recession. You are too old to have kid-dreams. The ship has sailed boo and you're not on it. </span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;">Have I made myself clear? </span>Boss Ladyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06706095161528862666noreply@blogger.com6