The Greatest Boyfriend I NEVER had.

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.

"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.

Here are all the signs the boy loved everything about me:

• He painted my toenails for me.
• He talked to me for hours.
• He bought me the 12" vinyl version of 'Like Water For Chocolate'- Common.
• He even flew out here from Chicago to see me almost every other month.

Here are all the reasons it never even occurred to me that Chi was interested in me:
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.

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.

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.

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?"

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 should be attracted to him.

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.

What is Love?

Most people would say, "It's better to have loved and lost than to have never loved at all." 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.

And that's the truth about me and my ex.

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.

But the evidence wasn't in favor of either one of us.

Love doesn't disappoint, take for granted, verbally abuse and deliberately dupe another person. Because that's irritating, disrespectful and ultimately devastating.

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.

In lying and breaking promises to eachother continuously, we proved we did not love eachother.

We both experienced love as a noun: an indescribably good feeling, the object of the verb making.

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.

We both did the best we could, based on who we were at the time, and we both called it love.

Then when sugar-sweet love turned to vinegar, we both fled.

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.

Why Do Women Feel They Need To Be Married?

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?

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.

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.

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.

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.

What are your thoughts?

A Woman's Relationship With Food

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: the justification, the confession, self flagellation or peer pressure.

With justification, 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,

With confession, 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."

Self-flagellation 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."

Peer Pressure can actually work one of two ways.

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.

In the second scenario, we agree mutually to absolve eachother of responsibility and guilt by ordering french fries as a coalition:

"Should we order some fries?"

"Sure, lets get french fries!"

"Why not? Let’s go all out! After all, its Friday!"

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.

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? Food for thought, right? PUN INTENDED.

Dont Drink and DATE.

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.

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. When he asked me what I was having, I wanted to say, "How about those lips, on the rocks." 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. 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. You could tell he was trying to keep his dick from getting hard but it was, as always, a losing battle. 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.

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. He wants to get to know you without the alcohol, makeup and heels. Yes, he might be just that into you. And if all is going well, the afternoon can parlay into the evening.

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 SECOND DATE SYNDROME. 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. What a damn shame. I blame it on poor lighting and way too much Grey Goose.

So, boys and girls, whats the lesson learned here?

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.

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

A Man Is Not The Answer To Every Problem. More Fuckery.

And the fuckery just does not stop.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

Jumpoff Etiquette

Stupid 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.

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.

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.

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?
Lesson to be learned here:
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.

Break Up Sex-Save The Best For Last?

It happens all the time. You get into an argument with your significant other, and right before you sever ties, liberating yourself from it all, you decide to get in that one last fuck. And in return you end up getting the greatest breakup consolation prize: THE BEST SEX EVER. Not the ordinary relationship sex, I'm talking "grabbing the sheets, sweaty and gasping for air when your done" sex. Save the best for last huh? Maybe. But with the best sex ever also comes the pain of loss and completely unavoidable self flagellation. For some people, it does more harm than good.

You should not attempt to have breakup sex if it's evident the other person is still madly in love with you. This means they definitely want to fuck if that’s all they can get. Trust me, after the breakup sex, they will be even more clingy and psychotic than they were before. You should also refrain from having sex if you're leaving your significant other to be with someone else that you've already started to fuck around with. That's just fucking greedy. And definitely no goodbye sex if you are breaking up with the person because they haven't successfully given you an orgasm in months. Breakup sex is not an orgasm revisited. Only have sex if you're breaking up in person, and the hormones and emotions are intense but not to the psychotic/possible future stalker point. Break-up sex is angry, and that's what makes it so hot. Get as much of that pent up anger out - the lies, the betrayal, the embarrassment, and can't forget about the sickened stomach churning feeling you get when you look at his filthy cheating ass face now - all of those things can be used channeled constructively into having some sweaty ROUGH sex. No kissing allowed. Especially if you never tried it while you were together, it will add a nice little kinky touch to the departure. It makes angry sex twice as angry and more detached, and that's exactly what it needs to be.

You really don’t need to stay and cuddle. There is also no need to sit there and contemplate about whether you should kiss him goodbye or when the best time for you to leave is. After you get your last orgasm, get your ass up, put on your damn clothes and bounce.

And please, whatever you do, please don’t act like a dumb bitch in the heat of passion and knee-clenching orgasms, that you forget about how he played your ass. Or that even though prior to the breakup sex, he clearly stated that they did not want to be with you, you think that the relationship is back on.

Letting go of someone who was once a constant in your life is never easy, but the break up sex is simply a parting gift, nothing more.