I get asked pretty often  how I reconcile my feminist beliefs with my relationship to men. Typically, this is in reference to the fact that I routinely engage in heteronormative relationships with men and that I fit the construct of what is traditionally considered ‘feminine’ (all them bookish words suck the fun out of ‘I like lipstick, pretty dresses and baking for boys’, I’m just saying). For me, there never much contention there.

Feminism has empowered me to make choices.  As a heterosexual woman, I am naturally wired to desire men and I chooseto want them around me in a number of ways. My father, friends, brothers, lovers, boos and God-willing, sons…these relationships are no less valuable to me than the ones I have with women and I don’t feel like I’m aiding the patriarchy in any way, shape or form by participating in them.

Declaring myself a feminist/womanist/challenger of patriarchy never once meant to me “the struggles of the Black woman are more important than those of the Black man”. It never meant that I was no longer bound to Black men and no longer vested in their freedom and survival. In fact, if I didn’t believe that a feminist worldview was in service to Black men, women AND children, I can’t see any reason why I would value it enough to call it my own. I find it highly disturbing that there are women who advocate the notion that Black men and women are two separate groups with separate interests and that the latter must self-preserve at the expense of the former. As if we are not the daughters of men, mothers of sons. As if the pain caused by many men who share our history is the defining relationship between the two genders.

The big question about being feminist and having relationships with men typically focuses, of course, more upon the romantic and sexual ones than it does the ones you may have with your relatives or homies. So what of that? I choose joy. I choose happiness. I choose relationships with men who respect me, treat me well and value me as their equal. Have they all been self-identified feminists? You know the answer to that, but I’ll tell you that no one gets my space who is in staunch opposition to my values. And while far be it from me to see my role in a relationship with a man as some sort of mentor-teacher sent by the feminist goddesses to enlighten him, I’ll say that a good relationship lends itself to some mutual learning that could inspire some new feminist values in a gentleman caller.

As a dating feminist, I don’t feel it’s my place to say “Well, let me pay for all my first dates and let me be the one asking brothers out”, etc. Could I do those things if I wanted to? Sure. Would it work? I don’t know. But that’s simply not the way in which I prefer to operate. I like being courted and I feel I’m pretty dope with the ways in which I reciprocate. In a very heteronormative way, I’ve still been able to have very balanced relationships in which both parties gave and received fairly.

I take great pleasure in pleasing men and I don’t simply mean that in a sexual way. I’m not sure where I got this whole nurtruing thing from, as I was not hardly instructed to be this way (not that my mother opposes this sort of behavior, she simply didn’t grow it in me). I want to learn a couple of sports, partially because I enjoy watching games and feel frustrated that I don’t know the rules…but also, because I’d like to be the wife or girlfriend who can watch football with her man. And my interest in cooking isn’t because I like food, but because I want to be able to tantalize my future next-whatever with my kitchen skills. Same with sex.

None of these things come without reciprocity and perhaps that’s where there is the challenge to patriarchy is most ever-present. No man is entitled to the effort that I am willing to put up simply because they are willing to receive it. You gotta work, you gotta be worth it. Beyond that, I’m still wholly opposed to the idea of allowing a man to lead me or be the head of a household or relationship. I’m working on my inclination to judge women who feel otherwise, as they should be empowered to choose to define their relationships as they see fit as well. I just know that I come at mine from a place of “I’m Toldja and this is what I like, this is my skill set and this is how I best proceed with romance” as opposed to “I am a woman, so I gotta do this, that and the third BECAUSE I am a woman”. 

It’s a pretty simple concept: if the goal of feminism is to see women unchained, then we can’t use feminism to chain women. So, as long as I enjoy the pleasures of pleasing (and being pleased, runteldat), I will not feel that I need to push that desire aside in order to align myself with hackneyed notions of liberating myself from anything resembling ‘traditional values’. If my desires and needs evolve and I see myself wanting to wear a different hat in my relationships, then I’ll rock with that too. How do you like to love? How do you you enjoy dating? How do you want your sexual relationships work for you? Define it and find it.

By now, you’ve probably heard about the concept and you may have even heard about the lame drama surrounding some weak sister who jacked me for my intellectual properties as a result…but let’s focus on the glory today, fam.

Friendship makes me a Happy Black Girl. I have my crew from way back when and my college homies making up the greater part of my inner circle. These are the ones who have been there when the high was high and the low…low. The definite bridesmaids, the ones who my parents feel comfortable “putting in charge” of me in their (nearly ten year) absence from my day to day life

I don’t take these old friendships for granted and I am grateful for the ones that have continued to grow and flourish, especially those that have done so in spite of geographical distance, shifting interests, outside relationships, etc. However, I must say that I am amazed at how many wonderful people the universe has brought in to my life in the past year or so. I didn’t really think much about making new friends as a n adult. Without the forced socialization of school (and as someone who has never really kicked it with colleagues), bringing new people in doesn’t seem like it would come so easy. Especially when the old ones around you are pretty fab enough anyway.

And yet, my tribe has expanded to include some AMAZING brothers and sisters. Some of them peers, others: mentor/hero/what I wanna be like when I grow up types. I haven’t been surrounded by such awesome people since my Howard days and I am so grateful to be able to give and receive love in the way that I have been as of late. So to my homies, you know who you are…salute.

You know what else makes me a Happy Black Girl? Feeling myself GROW. In this same year, I have witnessed so many changes in myself. Subtle ones, yet important. I’ve gotten better at managing my emotions, my ability to communicate with others has evolved. I’ve learned to stand down in the face of challenges that are of no benefit to me. I no longer feel like I have to be right, so long as I come correct. Things are moving and shifting inside of my young brain and my young heart and finding where they should be. I still make a whole gang of mistakes, but alas, I am changing. And I like it.

My family is growing, I am growing. No matter what challenges or struggles (beautiful and otherwise) I may face right now…I am a Happy Black Girl today! I hope that my sisters reading this feel the same and that our friends,allies and lovers take the time to help grow that ‘Happy’ if it isn’t shining bright today. Please let us know in the comments section: why are you a Happy Black Girl? And if not, what can we do to make that happen?

Here is a little Happy Black Girl dedication to get you through the afternoon:

(If you missed the earlier post today, check it out here! Great information for those of you who work with girls ages 10-17!-ST)

Hip-Hop hooray, I won a Black Weblog Awardfor Best Microblog (my Twitter page)! Thank you so much to those who voted. What makes this a whole lot cooler than when I won in 2007 and 2008 is the fact that I didn’t really campaign at all. I mentioned it like, twice. I feel lame asking for votes! No problem asking for donations, but votes? Makes me feel awkward. So thank you for real for just going on and supporting anyway. Microblogging is tricky and I really do try to use my Twitter account to entertain and provoke thought. Glad somebody feels me! Also, a big shout out to the lovely ones over at For Harriet (new site to know and love, folks) for featuring me on their list of Most Inspiring Black Women on Twitter.

I don’t usually mention this on here, but did y’all know I write an s-e-x column for the emerging women’s lifestyle site Madame Noire? Well, I do! It aint for everybody, let me tell you (if you are reading this Mother Toldja…LOG OFF! NOW! PLEASE! I’M JUST PLAYING! AINT NO S*X NOTHING!) , but it is very much in the spirit of this site when it comes to empowering women to make choices and live well. Click here to check it out and if you like it, please visit again and again!

Have a fantastic day and I’ll have something brand spankin’ for ya tomorrow, mmkay?

**Tonight is the night! My Mic Sounds Nice: A Truth About Women in Hip-Hop airs on BET at 10pm EST! I’m telling you…this is a film not to be missed. Support, support, support! **

I have a confession to make: I may just be a little bit complexion obsessed. I tend to be to hyper-aware of color at times (not race, you know I’m a lot more fascinated about what’s going on with us as opposed to how we interact outside).

How did this happen? I think it started early for me. Color was always there. My mother is  my twin in a rich milk chocolate shade (PS- Do we have any other way of describing our skin other than dessert flavors and wood?).  While I see some of my father (and his mother’s) features on my face now, as a child, I looked even more like Mom. Yet, when people saw she and I together, they almost always asked “Does she look like her father?” Because, of course, I would have to resemble the light skinned parent, right? This drove my mother up the wall.  Growing up, she wasn’t so different than her own mom complexion-wise, but subject to a different, ignorant remark: “You’re so pretty for a darker girl.” A member of a prominent Chicago Creole family told her that her eyes were her “saving grace” in spite of the stain of such brown skin.

Then we have my father: fair skinned, mixed race, Black Panther alum. His entire life, as I have heard my entire life,  his Blackness has been challenged. Not by people of other races, of course. By our folk. By other activists and by brothers and sisters who may be able to best him in a melanin race, but who would never have spent the past 30 years armed and ready to defend the lives of Black people as he has. Growing up, I dealt with many inquiries and occasional taunts about my “White daddy”. My neighborhood, Hyde Park, had a large concentration of mixed-race couples and children and people quite often took for granted that I was a part of that number.

So while I’ve known a few people claim  that color didn’t come up a lot when they were growing up, that wasn’t the case for me. Like most children, I adopted some of my parents’ insecurities and issues and I developed a few of my own.  More about those to come soon. I don’t think my obsession is a bad thing; it’s forced me to be critical and vocal about some things that I think deserve that sort of attention (i.e. the disproportionate number of light-skinned women in certain media spaces).  Talking about skin color is something we really don’t do enough of in Negronia. It’s a difficult and painful subject and we’ve only really allowed darker-complexioned persons (usually women) to speak freely about the matter.  And it’s a double edged sword for them: allowed to represent “authentic Blackness”, but then described as bitter or delusional for speaking up. The color complex may not be what it once was…but it’s still in effect, even in 2010.

Dear readers, what have been YOUR experiences with color? When were you first made aware of the concept? Have you been hurt or challenged by matters of skin tone and if so, how? Unpack your bags and let’s rap. This is the first in what will be a few posts about the matter and I am going to be unchained, just so you know. Black as the ace of spades and high yellow as I always have been. As a wise brother was once prompted with a point to say, “Black is Black”…not that it’s ever been that easy for us.

Fam-a-lam! No entirely new content here today, but if I may, I want to call your attention to something I am *really* excited about. I had the opportunity to screen BET’s first ever music documentary “My Mic Sounds Nice: A Truth About Women In Hip-Hop” last week and it literally brought me to tears. I really think you guys are gonna enjoy this film. I am saving my review and full on gushing until next week, as it airs on August 30th, but I do encourage you to check out the Facebook and Twitter pages for the film in the meantime!

After seeing the film, I was inspired to take on a subject I had pretty much avoided in my writing: Lauryn Hill.  If you are interested, an essay about my conflicted feelings about the singer and her fans appears at Clutch this week. Click here to read “Notes On Lauryn”.

Also, I had the opportunity to share my thoughts on the ongoing controversy over both California’s Proposition 8 and the soon to be built Corodoba Cultural Center and Mosque (aka “The 9/11 Mosque”) over at Essence Online today. Click here to check that out.

Talk to you soon!

Let me first off say that if you have taken the time to read something that I have written here or for one of the other sites I contribute to…I appreciate you. And I thank you for that. Also, if you follow me on Twitter…thank you! I hope none of you are offended at what I am about to say.  I can’t say that this speaks to or for everyone writing on the ‘net, but I can say that I have heard the same frustrations from a LOT of other bloggers.  

Say I tweet the name of an article or post along with a link to it (I.E. “New Post: OMG! The Black Male Marriage Crisis: http://bit.ly/cYz0mJ)  I do this, of course, in hopes that people will read said post. Seems clear enough. There’s a link. It says “New Post”. Sounds like an invitation to click said link and read, right? Well, folks will sometimes bypass that step and attempt to engage a discussion about what they are assuming the piece is about (“@sistertoldja There is no Black male marriage crisis. Where did you get that from?”) 

Even if they have figured out my thesis in 140-characters, why would I spend an hour writing something, only to then spend a bunch of time on Twitter debating it with people who haven’t read it? I’ve already said the crux of what I needed to say. I post a link and you have a choice to either read what I post or not read it, but I am not going to recapitulate something I have ALREADY WRITTEN for the benefit of someone who acts like Twitter is the only site they can visit or because they can’t view my site at work or they rather hear a summary, etc, etc. I’m not mad if you don’t read my work, but if you don’t, you really have no right to make demands of my time. WHOO-SAH!

Another little kink in an otherwise great online existence: folks who DO take the time to read what I write (also known as the best people on the planet) will then take to Twitter and send me questions or comments regarding something I’ve taken on. And I don’t mean “@sistertoldja: I really enjoyed today’s post! Gave me something to thing about”.  I mean probing questions about the post or 4-tweet-long responses.  This is bothersome for a number of reasons:

1) It would be impossible for me to have one-off conversations with everyone who hits me up that way. I would literally spend most of my day Tweeting about something that I’ve already written…which would not only kill my ability to write other things, but not bring in a single solitary dime. So basically, I’d be entertaining folks on the internet for free and jeopardizing myself professionally at the same time.

2) If Person A has a question for me or other readers after reading something I have written, there is a VERY good chance that Person E or Person Y may have a similar thought. If I engage this with you on Twitter, I now have to answer the same query multiple times…which wouldn’t be the case if the question and answer were both placed in the same space: the comments section of the post which was designed for that very purpose.

3) A big part of the whole blogging experience is the comments section: the reactions from readers, the questions posed to the writer and the discussions that pop off with both parties.  If everyone is gonna Tweet their responses to the writer, that interaction is lost. And it goes back to the second part of point 1…I, alone, cannot engage every one’s thoughts on what it is I wrote. Some bloggers can, most of us can’t. And even the ones who do (Luvvie is good at replying to most of her comments, for example) are doing it primarily on the site.

4) A lot of my work now appears at other places. Most weeks, I have a feature over at Clutch.  Just as I fret over bringing site traffic to The Beautiful Struggler, the editors for these sites are concerned (even more so than I am) with numbers. Like me, they are developing/guarding their brands and they have the added pressure of pleasing advertisers (that’s something I am working towards, but right now, this site is more like my demo tape).  When you see that a blog or a post has zero comments on it, chances are, your interest in reading it or commenting on it may decline.  Now, if a site lets me pitch some freelance stories to them (and I hope you all realize that we are making very little money in this world…please know that…), but I can’t get any comments on the stuff I post, that’s not a good look. It doesn’t mean that people aren’t reading, but it’s not driving as much site traffic as it could. Or that perhaps people just aren’t interested in the things I write.

The ratio of visitors I get to this site to the number of comments posted would perhaps surprise people. Let’s just say…most folks ain’t commenting. And that is fine! I’d love to get more comments, but I understand that not everyone has time to write something or an interest in doing so. I’m just glad you came! However, if you DO have something to say…please, please don’t Tweet me about it! Especially not if it’s 6-tweets long (I have had this happen more times than you’d think).  I read every comment that I get here, so please don’t feel like you have to @-me on Twitter to make sure I see your thoughts.  Trust me…I read them!

Also- if you are a blogger yourself, posting comments on other people’s sites is a GREAT way to drive traffic to your own blog. That was a big part of my strategy when I started and had zero readers.

I’ve always attempted to be transparent about the fact that I do not blog or even Tweet just for the fun of doing so, or to just vent my thoughts or to make friends…this is work for me. It’s work that allows me to have fun, vent and connect with people across the world. But work nonetheless.  HARD work! I’m on the bus writing posts on my Blackberry when I’d like to be taking a nap…cause I was up at 2AM writing something else. And while I am making no money to speak of doing these things at this point, there have been some great rewards and I see the career that I want come from this on the horizon.

I take what I do and my brand (yes, the dreaded B-word) seriously. I hope that you respect that. If it isn’t for you, no love lost. I have real life friends who can chop it up with Jamilah all day, but have no interest in Toldja or The Beautiful Struggler. However, if you are going to engage with my online presence…I just hope that you understand what it’s here for and why.

I demure from connecting with the men that I meet to my online life, for a number of reasons (for starters, an unfortunate number of young brothers would take this the wrong way without proper context). When I’ve known someone for a while,  I’ll welcome him to the Toldjadome, no problem. But following someone on Twitter or Facebook stalking can lead to some inaccurate inferences drawn about one’s character, but also a false sense of closeness. Seeing me Tweet is not hardly the same as seeing me live and it doesn’t really allow you to get to know me.  Not my relationship side, that is.

David Drobis, Chairman Emeritus of Ketchum PR once stated ”In a Facebook world, face-to-face still matters.”  Now that’s the truth, Ruth. Hence, I cannot stand meeting fellas that are happy to chat with you on the phone, text and/or BBM you all the live-long day…but they are real slow on the gun when it comes to scheduling actual face time? Yeah, me too. And it sucks. As I have said before, my interest in someone most certainly has an expiration date. If sparks have not turned in to flames after a while, if I’m not sold on the gent in question, I bow out. I don’t enjoy having a phonebook full of guys who I’m only slightly interested in or keeping around just to say I have options.

Recently, I have found myself constantly in and out of text message conversations with a young man who I met recently (no, not the person I mentioned last week…unsurprisingly, HE knows how to initiate actual face time).  He’s funny and seems pretty smart. I’d be interested in kicking it with him…and he hasn’t made a move to actually plan anything or suggest a date or even made a vague suggestion about hanging out.  He asks what I’m up to all the time, but hasn’t made any attempt at filling that space. Yet he seems to want to chat with me all the time.

There are a number of reasons why a gentleman caller (or lady friend) might drag their feet when it comes to making plans to actually hang out, as opposed to texting, texting and more texting. It could be money. It could be a lack of interest in seeing you. It could be that he or she is seeing someone else. It could be ineptitude in dating. I get this, I do. I don’t assume too much, but I know how to read signs. I also know how to hit the “Stop Requested” button. If someone or something isn’t suiting my needs within a reasonable amount of time…I get off the ride. And since I am one of those insufferably picky and entitled women who demands that her beaus manage to keep her interest intellectually, sexually and otherwise…I don’t waste too much time on those who don’t.

Whatever the reason may be, this man is wasting my free text messages.  Here is where my feminism and my personal dating tastes and experience have a little disagreement. I don’t think there’s a problem with me saying “Would you like to have a drink with me on Wednesday night after work?”, but I would prefer not to. I like men who take a bit more initiative. I have found that those who do not either aren’t really a good fit for and/or aren’t that interested in me. I just sorta feel like if he wanted to go out, he’d ask me out. So while I don’t put my men in a “You must be traditionally male” box, I skew tradtional when it comes to this.

I’m gonna give this particular fella a bit more time before I disengage. But I’m letting these brothers I deal with know: we aren’t in a relationship that is already established to the point where I have enough buy-in to settle for text talk when life doesn’t permit face time.  So if you don’t want to see me, than by all means…bye! I am not a cure for boredom…well, in some ways I am, compared to the human yawns out here in these streets…but not when it comes to ‘sitting in the crib with nothing better to do’ boredom. Download some games on your phone, read a book or perhaps find a woman with whom you’d rather go out with. But you can’t be wasting my free text messages.

Happy Black Girl Day! This month, I want to salute someone very special to me: my eldest sister, Sister OGSB (yes, I am rude enough to use an inside joke nickname on the internet and not define it…what? She’s my sister, I’m not gonna tell all our secrets!) Yesterday was her birthday and it seems like as good a time as ever to brag to you guys about how I have the best oldest older sister of all time. All time!

Sister OGSB and Daddy

My two sisters and I have different moms and we weren’t raised in the same household. However, from the day we were introduced, Sister OGSB took on the role of big sister with excitement and has always treated me with the same love and guidance one would expect from someone who had spent each day watching them grow.  Don’t get me wrong- my other sister is awesome and bad a$s and loved too. But Sister OGSB is the oldest and the “mama” of the sister tribe.

When Sister OGSB was in high school, she was my idol. She was a super fly-a$s b-girl with bright red lipstick and an asymmetrical haircut (that I regrettbly copied..at age 12) and she would walk me around Hyde Park and show me off to her friends (I was really adorable, you’d have loved me) and she bought me a Kriss Kross poster and a Digable Planets tape.

Our late Grandmother Ann and Sister OGSB

When I was at Howard, my sister sent me money from time to time to keep me fed (and my phone on). Sister OGSB ran the streets with me when I came home and demanded to be entertained and she dried my tears from a far on more than a few late night phone calls. She went back to school full-time while working full-time and being a super awesome wife to the awesome brother-in-law I will spend a lifetime trying to match in quality (unless I marry Sir Fabulous, no man will make my dad as happy).

I could just really go on and on with stories and anecdotes that don’t sound so remarkable to anyone else. Its regular big sister stuff as far as the outside word is concerned. She never gave me bone marrow or a kidney. She’s just an awesome sister…but it means the absolute world to me. I hope that I raise daughters that are half as loving to one another as my Sister OGSB has been to me.

The sistren.

If you have sisters, take the time today to call them and tell them how much you appreciate them…be they sisters by blood or choice. If you are a sister yourself, whether you are a “sista” or not…I salute you! The love we give is not to be taken lightly. I’m proud to be a sister and even more proud of the sisters I have. Not just Sister OGSB, but my other big sister, my step-sisters, my homegirls…wouldn’t trade that love for anything.

Happy Black Girl Day to you all!

If you’ve been reading for a while, then you know that I have been lamenting the lack of effective game spitting that I’m looking for on the streets of New York. Don’t get me wrong: I don’t want to be flat out lied to by some man selling dreams but providing little more than sheet-twisting. Nor do I want to hear a bunch of corny lines that would be appropriate for your 50 year old uncles in Steve Harvey Couture (You know the ones…hat on/suit on/looking like Don Magic Juan…). But dag…a sister appreciates a little ‘g’. These Hush Puppy-shoe wearing crumbcakes are giving me a serious case of the yawns, and I don’t like it.

But BABY, can I tell you that I was the recipient of some grade-A mack game this weekend? And I couldn’t be any happier!

Please believe that much like this beloved video, I will pull ”Return of the Mack” out for any hint of a reason. Why? Because it’s NEVER going to cease to be funny. In fact, next time I have writers block, I’m just gonna type up the lyrics and use that for a post. Pump up the world.

I was mid-conversation with another guy, his friends and one of my BFF’s (Sister Salud!)when the mack-in-question totally Kanye’d his way in and then pulled me to the side and asked me my name. “I was talking to that other guy!” I whispered. “Yeah, well, you didn’t look that interested. And besides, I had been trying to get to you first and he beat me over here.”

What did the young man in question say that was so amazing? Nothing, really. But it was the confident, almost slick-like way he rolled up on me. There was no trepidation, no bashfulness.  And once he’d managed to get my attention, he was charming, funny and engaging. One of my biggest personal complaints about dating is how incredibly boring I find a lot of the men that I meet. Boring is, of course, subjective. And I know that I set myself up to meet a lot of ‘square as a matchbox’ fellas, as Sister HotChocolateChiBK calls them, because I do fancy buppies. But education and career do not excuse being the human equivalent of a yawn. No offense. None taken.

Different strokes for different folks. What works on Young Toldja might not work on the next woman. However, I have heard a number of women make the same complaint about fellas not having any game whatssoever. If I can make a request and a suggestion to my male readers who are trying to get a fun, fierce ladies like my crew…have a little spunk about you. A little hint of mischief and mystery. Say something to make us blush or think or laugh. Don’t be offensive, (“You look like your oral skills are on point” is NOT WHAT A WOMAN WANTS TO HEAR. Even one who has a sex column. Sheesh.) but don’t be afraid either. We aren’t making a business deal, we’re trying to figure out if dinner dates, breakfast in bed and/or Jet wedding pages are in the future. It’s supposed to be fun. Mack us down!

Not long ago, I met a fella that I found to be dope. I wont give you details because 1) God forbid he Googled me and found the site (if so, can you please stop reading right now? Please? and 2)there are perhaps three men who could be reading this and thinking “Is this about me?”. Actually, if this is any man who is/was interested in dating me, can you PLEASE LEAVE THIS SITE RIGHT NOW?, but I was digging the brother.

Long story short: he’s about 15 years my senior and he hits me with the “I don’t think I could get serious with someone your age” memo. I was initially offended: am I not pretty enough? Is it because I’m not class mobile yet? Would a doctor or lawyer my age get the same disclaimer? He knew how old I was when we met, so was “serious” never a possibility, or had I somehow taken myself out of the running with something I had said or done?

To be fair, the gentleman in question also said “It wouldn’t be impossible…just difficult” and explained that most of the women he dates are usually closer to his own age. “Isn’t it the same for you?” he asked, “You’d seriously date someone this much older?” Er. I deal with men between the ages of 22 and 42 (insert a dash of shame at both extreme ends of that spread). It’s not so much that I’m so wide open so as to make the playing field bigger, I just tend to like a lot of different sorts of dudes at different stages of their development.  It’s more about height personality and cuteness connection.

(Pause: can I mention that Maxwell recorded Urban Hang Suite at 21, 22? I have been alternately depressed and impressed at this fact all week. It didn’t strike me as a big deal back then, since I’m so much younger. Now that I have bypassed 22 myself, I just can’t ever recall knowing a dude who was…like that when we were that young. Or at 25. Or 35…I’m just saying. Okay, back to the show.)

Now, at a different time in my life, my second reaction (after the aforementioned self-doubt) would have been ” Oh, I can prove him wrong.”  Mind you, I don’t know this man that well yet and even though I find him to be really attractive, I don’t have nearly enough information yet to say that I like him for real. That doesn’t matter; the game would have immediately changed from “I’m just getting to you know you” to “I gotta show you how dope I am.” The disclaimer would serve as motivation and his disinterest would have made him more appealing. Sick, right? I couldn’t help it.

I conducted myself as such on a number of occasions in the past. If a man said “I’m not looking for a relationship”, I heard “The right woman could make me a believer“.  If he said he wanted something more serious than I did, I figured he’d gladly accept that which I was offering before him. Basically, all a man needed to see was the awesomeness of me and his views on relationships (at least as they relate to me and my aforementioned awesomeness) would adjust accordingly. You can pretty much imagine what the success rate looked like with this take on the world.

Well, things done changed. With age comes wisdom, I suppose…even if said wisdom isn’t sufficient when it comes to getting this particular gent in a Jet wedding photo with me. He said he doesn’t see himself getting in a relationship with a woman my age and so, I will treat him accordingly. I’m not going to attempt to push the issue or approach him in the way I would someone who seemed open to making the Toldjadome his home. Why? Cause he already let me know where he stands on the matter.

This may seem like a whole lot to say about someone I’m not trying to get at on a serious level, but he was just a vessel for me to make a point I’ve been mulling for quite some time. It is imperative that we learn to hear what people are telling us, even when it’s not what we want to hear. This may sound like some old Captain Obvious advice, but boy, how many times have I heard a friend bend and twist a very clear statement in to something more pleasing to their own ear? How much time could we all save if we dealt with the information we were handed from the people we date instead of the subtext we wished was there?

While I realize that people can change their minds over time, I have accepted that I cannot delude myself in to thinking I am just a few tasty home-cooked meals and lovemaking sessions away from convincing someone to change his views and walking off into the sunshine with me. I truly appreciate it when I feel that someone hears what I say and I owe the men in my life the same respect. My bread pudding may just be a game changer…but if you act like you don’t want it, you ain’t gonna taste it.