If you’re older than 25, independent, employed, earned at least a bachelor’s degree, considered attractive through the societal lens, but have been single for over 2 years, nine times out of ten you’ve been accused of being “crazy”. Crazy, by definition, means the following: *mentally deranged, demented, insane *senseless, impractical, totally unsound *intensely enthusiastic And then just a whole bunch of other stuff that I don’t have time to list... Why the lack of a significant other, alone, warrants an evaluation of your mental health is beyond me…but, I get it. I get that it doesn’t make sense to be, seemingly, so desirable yet (for a lack of better words) single as f**k! It’s like there being an a million dollar cash prize for the taking, but it’s been unclaimed for years…what the hell is wrong with that money?! Is it drug money? Blood money? Did somebody steal that money from his or her grandma?! (Because, you just don’t take from Granny mane; she’ll give it to you if you just run to the store for her “right quick”…but I digress). But while I understand where men are coming from when they say “So you fine AND smart and you single? You must be crazy?”, I have to admit that I am at a loss for words when asked. To state it plainly, I don’t know why I’m single. At this point, my most eloquent response is…”b**ch I might be”.
I don’t know what’s what anymore.
I dated a guy who I thought was cool. We had a vibe. It was nice. *sigh* He was so attentive and seemed to really care, ya know? The man came to my rescue with car trouble and alladat! Not that I heard wedding bells behind it, but a guy that cares about your mobility has to want to be involved in your future…right? To be able to go the distance?? Okay, maybe not but he was passionate in all his moves with me. Whether we were talking or our lips were touching…it was all so rhythmic. Damn! His energy was so thick that I could grab it. I just knew he was tangible. How-muthafuckin-ever, he ends up telling me that he had feelings for his ex but that he “liked what we had”. Feelings?? EX?! When? Bish WHERE?! I replayed every touch, every hand-hold WITH the interlocking fingers, and every conversation with hopes of having an “AHA!” moment. Certainly, I overlooked the signs. Maybe I was dozing off when he exhibited the common symptoms of a “f**k nigga”. Maybe he told me he just wanted to waste my time and I forgot. Or maybe…maybe I made all that shit up. I've got to be demented. No man would ever act as if they care about you and your well being, romance you, and get to know you only to have zero intentions of staying.... l-o-mf'n-l.
I don’t know what to do anymore.
I went out with a guy who, from a physical standpoint, was my dream come true. Now, I’m not foolish enough to let physical attraction dictate my actions. However, the idea of being in close proximity to all of his tall, chocolate glory was exciting, to say the least. With that said, experience has taught me to tread lightly. No matter how he comes packaged, the words “play it cool” are stenciled into one of those damn cortexes in my brain. So, I put on something loose fitting but flattering to dispel any thoughts of me wanting sex. I put on a very small amount of make-up (mascara and gloss) to show that I’m not consumed with glamour. Not that wearing make-up equates to that, but I read in Cosmo, Instagram, Facebook, and Buzzfeed that men appreciate when women embrace their natural and I be trying to get chose so….. During our conversation, I made sure to touch on a number of topics to show the diversity of knowledge I possess. I made him laugh (major key). I smiled and I was, honestly, myself. I mean, I was under a shit load of self-scrutiny, but I was as me as the freshness of our acquaintance permitted. All in all, the date went well! He was feeling me. I was feeling him. Our conversation was flowing. He was engaged and seemed interested in my mind. I kept myself from sniffing him and making things awkward (he smelled heavenly)…this date was a breath of fresh air! My fear was that he’d be fine as hell with no substance, but I was comforted by his intellect. I could tell he felt the same. When I got home, he sent a text that read, “I’m really feeling you.” I wanted to respond with “Yes, I'll marry you” ,but I realized I hadn’t told my mama about my Husband-to-be so I just left it alone. Lol. In all seriousness, I said something cool that reciprocated his sentiment and began to reflect over the night and how lovely it was. Ultimately, it was comforting to know that my dementia had subsided and he, too, was thinking the same as I. But, bitch. A week went by and the communication was extremely inconsistent. Now, I’m wise enough to know when a guy is pre-occupied so I wouldn’t bother to call or text him. Thanks to the guy in the story above, I know the Optimus Prime transformer bull s**t they can pull so I wasn’t phased by him saying he was feeling me then disappearing…with his Houdini ass. But one night, he popped up. The time was 12:55 A.M. Strike muthafuckin one. He said, “what you doin?” I said, “Nothing…watching Netflix, you?” He said, “Without me?” WITHOUT ME…code words for “without my d*ck somewhere in your vicinity?” WHAT THE HELL?! Why on earth would he attempt a booty call with me? I mean you fine and all but , bruh, I WORE MY WHOLESOME OUTFIT. I purposely bypassed the jeans that make my butt look grab-worthy. We talked about politics and Jesus! I prayed over the food like it was Thanksgiving! What about me said, “if you don’t mind…I’d just really like some d**k now”? I was so confused and still am. All of the things I thought made sense when it comes to presentation and content had proven to be null and void. I thought I was right by not being overly sexual with my attire and not being highly flirtatious in my tone. I believed it was a good thing that we discussed things that weren’t superficial. The ability to mentally stimulate is a valued one, I thought. Obviously that was senseless, impractical, and totally unsound of me. Next time I'll wear the chastity belt on the outside of my clothes...that oughta do it.
I don’t want to stop.
As disappointing as those situations were…for some odd reason I still have hope. If I’m being real, I shouldn’t. I put far too much thought into doing it right to, somehow, end up wrong. I would be lying if I said I never got discouraged. Shoot, I would have put in my two-weeks notice with this dating ish a long time ago if I knew who to give it to. Regardless of what happens though, I believe that if I just stick with it and have faith in the things that my Father in heaven said He has for me, my true love will come and check me out of this half-way house we call the dating world. With every let down, with every boxing match I have in the mirror, I get a little more excited at the thought of him. My man. MINE. So mine that he’ll show up with a birth mark in the shape of my initials. I’m going to love him so good. For all the times my love was stifled against my will. For all the times confusion brought me to tears. For all the eyes that couldn’t see the bountiful treasure that I am. For all the tongues that never uttered the words “you’re beautiful”. For every person that got close but managed to stay distant…I’m going to love him for all of those experiences because he’ll be who I endured it for. I guess you can say I’m intensely enthusiastic about him. About love. Still… Yeah, I’m crazy. For sure.
I wrote this blog, specifically, for the woman who deserves love in the purest form but hasn't received it yet. We all want love and given the circumstances some of us have encountered...it can become unfathomable. However, stay strong, stay confident, stay encouraged. We don't always get it right but it's important to commend ourselves when we make a valid effort to act on the wisdom we've acquired. No matter the outcome, you're still worthy and he's still out there. Nothing is wrong with you! Be patient. Be resilient. Be blessed.