I had spent the whole day in bed…working. Manny had come by to use my printer and the BFF was making a pre-date pit stop.  Manny was telling me about his latest conquest. Naturally, I logged onto Facebook to check her out. That’s when I got a chat alert from…my first.

His face popped up in that little right bottom corner box and I almost pulled my covers over my head. I looked a mess and felt as though he could SEE me. (Remember that episode of Sex and the City when Carrie first learned about AIM?) I had accepted is friend request the week before but never intended for him to actually contact me directly. Write on my wall? Sure. Comment on a photo? Cool. Actually have a real time conversation with me? FOH!

Hesitantly, I obliged him.

My First: Hey SG!

SG: Hey, how are you?

1^st: I’m doing well. You look amazing.

Where the hell is this conversation going. I haven’t spoken to him in over a decade. In fact, the last time I ran into him was at the gym. The time before that, I was seventeen and he had spent the night at my house while my parents were out of town. I know nothing about this man and I’m not really trying to play catch up.

SG: I see you are busy traveling the world.

Can’t lie I went through his photos. Whenever you see a black man on a big ass boat curiosity wins.

1^st: Yeah, I’m a private contractor with the government. I love it.

When I met him, he was a struggling basketball player. Now he’s working for “the man”? Interesting.

1^st: You know I am so happy I found you on here. I’ve been wanting to tell you something. I was half way around the world one day, saw your picture and saw the possibility to apologize.

Cue the back story:

It was the summer of 1996. I had this bullshit job working in the hot sun at a concession stand. He was with the clean up crew. I had noticed him a couple times when he would come to empty the garbage can by my cash register. I was a shy teenager with braces and a growing woman body. I would look down when I smiled and avoid direct eye contact with boys. Real awkward. One day it was 94 degrees. He stopped by my stand and asked for a cup of water.

“It’s so hot out here today,” he said with a thick accent. His skin was a dark chocolate but I would learn he was from South America.

Is he really talking to me?

“I’m sweating bullets.” He lifted up his shirt revealing his sweaty, glistening 6-pack. My jaw literally dropped. From that day on, he courted me—stopping by my stand to chat, going to lunch with me and riding me home on the train.

Once our summer gig was over, we continued seeing each other. By the next spring, he was the closest thing I had to boyfriend. Eventually, we had sex. Weeks later, I was at his place and decided to do some after sex chatting.

“Are you an American citizen?” I asked.

“Yes! I was born in Florida.” He looked at me like I had two heads. “What, you think I’m with you for a green card?”

Huh? I’m so confused right now. Is he serious? I’m only 15…what is he talking about marriage?

He went on for a few minutes, basically cussing me out. Speechless, I got up from the bed, put on my clothes and left. I wouldn’t see him again except for a brief run-in years later. Now he was apologizing to me…on Facebook.

“I hope I didn’t scar you. I knew I was wrong but I was too proud to admit I was wrong. I was young,” he typed.

Yet again, because of him I found myself speechless. I was touched that he had the balls to do this, after all these years. Not only that but I was so moved by the fact that he realized what he did could have had an impact on my young impressionable mind at the time. It’s possible it could have. I never gave it any thought but I imagine getting kicked out of bed by the man you lost your virginity to could cause some damage.

I repeat his words to Manny and BFF. They both agreed the shit was impressive.

“Dude is going hard,” said Manny. “Is he trying to get the buns again?”

“Wow, he’s good!” chimed in BFF as she put her make-up on for her hot date.

I accepted his apology and think it was perhaps the most endearing one I’ve ever received. After all these years he thought enough of me to apologize. Amazing!

See good thinks can happen when you actually log onto Facebook.

- Says the Single Girl

Over the holidays I hosted a get together at my house. It was a great mix of friends and family. As I hopped from room to room, checking on my guests and their needs, I overheard some starling words:

“When SG was on birth control, she lost a lot of weight.”

Imagine my shock and horror.

“Mom, are you talking about me and birth control…in a room full of people…at a party?!?!”

“What? They all know you. It wasn’t like that SG. Relax”

How was it not “like that”?

On one side of her sat my oblivious father. On her left was my BFF. The two of them have no shame and apparently had been discussing weight gain. How my BFFs expanding waistline tiggered my mother’s memory of when I wore the patch. I hearted the patch until my GYN called to tell me: “As your Dr it’s my responsibilty to tell you that the patch has lead to some deaths.” Thanks Doc.

My and my patch were instant friends. We agreed that I’d only wear her in the butt/tummy/upper thigh area. We’d seen girls in the summer time with it patch pasted to this should blade for all the world to see. Its one thing for someone to discover you’re ingesting the pill. That takes some slacking on your part — an open purse, a packet let on the bathroom sink or nightstand. But with the patch, the moment someone saw the nude tone (that wasn’t black nude by any means) on your skin they instantly knew “She fucking.”

For the record it wasn’t just the birth control that lead to me shedding pounds. When I was on b.c., my skin glowed…literally. Makeup people in department stores would stop to tell me how beautiful my skin was. I had my jones at the time rub my cheeks to see if I had on makeup. My radiance, and the attention it got, lead me to feel super sexy. In turn I went to the gym, hired a personal trainer and even went vegan for a brief stint.

As the lbs melted away, I felt more sexy which lead to super hot sex with my jones. It was a beautiful cycle.

The biggest drawback was the freaking mood swings. I would cry at the drop of a dime. Once I broke out into a snot cry during sex. He had said something about “not being able to do this” talking about a position and I thought he was dumping me in mid-stroke. Hysterics, waterfalls and even the “I’m crying so much I have to suck up air like I’m a four year old.” Poor fella didn’t know what hit him.

I’m no longer on b.c. due to medical reasons and needless to say I’ve gained some weight. I’m no fail whale but I can stand to lose some weight. I realized I was slipping when one night I realized that I was watching The Biggest Loser while eating ice cream.

With age I have matured into what I like to call my “woman body”. I’m soft and curvy in all the right places. its funny, since I do this blog anonymously people tend to think I’m some stick figure chick, light skinned with long hair. Au contrare. While many admire my woman body I a few pounds past my comfort level. My knees hurt when I’m in heels for too long. I can eat a cookie and feel the weight gain instantly.

Now that I’m close to 30 (gasp!) I hear my mother in my head. “Your not getting any younger so get it together before your metabolism crawls to a snails pace.”

I plan on getting back to my “when I was on birt control” body minus the birth control. I also plan on letting my sex appeal ooze out of every pore of my body and embrace the stares I get instead of diverting my eyes.

Now if there was a pill that just made my skin glow like a lighttower and my boobs plump like I’m lactating so I can prance around without a bra and go make-up less.

Ah…to dream.

…Says the Single Girl

“SG, when the fuck did inviting the ex to the wedding become the move??!!”

Manny has a problem. He’s a great guy, so great in fact that most of his exes still consider him to be a friend.

One has just mailed him an invite to her wedding. He’s not happy about it.

“No idea,” I offer. “Guess they think we adults”

I’m dying laughing because I could tell by his voice over the phone he was sitting on his couch looking at the invitation on his coffee table probably rubbing his forehead.

“Where’d they get that bullshit idea from?” He is clearly torn. A part of him is honored while the majority of him is offended.

I don’t know what makes people invite their ex to their wedding. The person who sent the invite is nuts for thinking that their past intimacies with the invitee won’t come to surface, even if its just in the mind. The big “What If” is going to hit as soon as they see each other on the wedding day. They may even be subconsciously hoping the ex speaks up when that time comes up in the vows (you noticed people have cut that out from the ceremony). Maybe the to-be-wed wants to make the ex feel like shit.

Most times its not done out of spite but a lapse in judgement. The person who has moved on is on a completely different plane of existence. They’re not seeing the ex as a past lover with lingering emotions/resentment. They see them as two more eyes focused on them, on their day and another gift.

Exes also truly believe that since they’ve moved on and are happy you must be in the same place. Its the reason why whenever you talk to them you ask “So, are you seeing anyone.” When you say no they go on to tell you why you’re so great and how you deserve an amazing partner. All the shit they wasn’t saying to keep you two together.

Perhaps the bigger question is : What would make you want go to your ex’s wedding?

Vengeance? Resolve? Punishment?

One person’s lapse in judgement shouldn’t be your downfall. OK, so they invited you their wedding but that doesn’t mean you have to go. Some major factors in your decision to go should include:

- How long did your relationship last?

- How did it end?

- How long ago did it end?

- What kind of friend have you two been to each other since ending it?

- Do you still love/want them?

You don’t want to go to a wedding when part of you feels like you shouldn’t be there. You end up, the known ex, walking in with that searching look on your face. You know the one where you try to find that familiar face, someone from your ex’s life who you were cool with — a friend, cousin, mother. Someone who will validate you coming: “Oh, its so good to see you.” Only then will you relax and tell yourself you’re happy you came.

Then at the reception, someone will make their way over to say hello to you. Thanks to the open bar they blurt out to the table “You know this is [Bride/Groom]’s ex. We thought for sure you’d be the one up there.”

O-M-G.

You smile graciously but inside you want to run for the hills. To make matters worse you brought a date, who knew nothing about your past relationship.

A W K W A R D.

At some point you expalin that your relationship was so long in the past and hype up your “friendship” as if the ex is your BFF “even though we don’t talk or see each other often.”

Of course I didn’t tell Manny any of this. I was enjoying his disgust too much.

…Says the Single Girl

At some point in our lives we all fall victim to the Green Eyed Monster .

One day you’ll find yourself  throwing shade (rainbow term) at someone we wished we had, use to have or will never have and the person they choose over you. If you are the person in the relationship being hated on, chances are you don’t even know about it but peep the cold shoulder, slick remarks and daggers that come for you head every time you walk in the room with your boo on your arm.

Where would we be without jealousy? Would the world be a better place?

Well, until we’ve found a cure for this deadly sin, here are some songs that capture the essence of love, longing and loathing.

Erykah Badu – Green Eyes

Alicia Keys – Girlfriend

Janet Jackson – IF

Teedra Moses – Be Your Girl

ABC – Jealous Girl

Faith – Jealous

Jagged Edge – He Can’t Love You

Fantasia – Truth Is

Destiny’s Child – She Can’t Love You

Mary J. Blige – I Can Love You

*BONUS*

Robyn – Be Mine

 
There was a time when me and my girls would hit the club with the goal of dancing and meeting cute boys to buy our drinks. We’d prance in 3-inch heels that didn’t hurt, tight jeans that fit like a second skin and shirts that made our boobs sit up and salute. Forget Red Bull giving you rings, we were high on youthfulness.

Fast forward to now.

My 3-inch heels, I can’t stand in them for longer than 30 min increments and they make my knees hurt. Last week I was stopped at the door of a club and refused admittance because I had on sneakers. I was given the option to pay to get in (ladies were free, but since I had on kicks I guess they though I was a lesbo and tried to charge me the men’s rate) but chose to bounce. 

Those tight jeans I used to wear are hanging on the front of my closet door as a reminder of what once was. They don’t get past my ankles.

There isn’t a shirt made that can make my milk bags sit up, but thank goodness for Spanx.

From 19-25 years old I’d jump at the chance to go to the club and don’t let it be a special event like this past weekend NFL draft and all the parities that related to it. This year, I came out of retirement for one night only. What a crushing blow to the ego that was.

Scene 1: The Cluster Fuck at the Door

SG @ 21: “Wow, look at all these people at the door. This party must be jumpin’. Let’s get on line before they shut it down.”

SG Now: “Wow, look at all these people at the door. I’m not standing on line and if I’m not in there in 10 minutes, I’m going home.”

Scene 2: Ladies Room

SG @ 21: “Look at all these chicks in here fixing their hair and makeup. I look better than most of them. I’m sure I’m gonna pull some dudes.”

SG Now: “Look at all these chicks in here, I wonder how many of them have kids.”

Scene 3: The Bar

SG @ 21: “I have $5 in my purse. If I stand next to the bar maybe I’ll have a better chance of having a guy offer to buy me one.”

SG Now: “I have $5 in my purse. Hopefully I can ask for a glass of water without them charging me.”

Scene 4: The Dance Floor

SG @ 21: “Let’s find a spot on the floor where we can be seen, dance and look cute.”

SG Now: “Let’s find a spot far away from the dance floor. If someone steps on my foot or pushes me I gonna lose it!”

Scene 5: Busting a Move

SG @ 21: “I can’t wait to dance!”

SG Now: “I can’t wait to sit down. My knees hurt”

Scene 6: Time to Go

SG @ 21: “Oh, they turning the lights on. I guess they shutting the party down. We’ve been here 4 hours, wow!”

SG Now: “Oh, I’ve been here 45 mins. It’s time to go.”

I didn’t realize the old lady in me had taken over until I spent this past weekend hanging out with my girl, who will die a groupie at heart. She was giving those 23 year old perky titty bitches a run for their money when it came to getting love from NFL players and the like at one of many NFL Draft parties last week.

No matter how old or dignified a woman is, we all have the fantasy of being spotted in a crowd by a man of wealth and power, ie professional athletes and rappers.

He’ll see you standing with a friend, talking and two-stepping. Your eyes will lock and as if he’s floating in a Spike Lee movie, he’ll make his way to you. Some small talk takes place and he insists you two link up after the party to talk some more. He’s rich and isn’t obnoxious about it. He likes that you are smart and sassy and can hold a conversation. You two date, he whines and dines you and gives you lavish gifts. You hit the jackpot.

However, there is a problem with this wishful thinking.

In order to even be considered by these type of men you must be:

- Young & Tender: 25 and under to be exact and naive enough to be wow’d by his lifestyle and the game he spits.

- Flexible: Being able to drop your life at the drop of a dime to catch a plane with him or attend an event is a must. The professional athlete doesn’t hear “no” often. Declining invitations will only make him lost interest. “What do you mean you can’t fly out to Chicago cause it’s Wednesday and you have work in the morning?” 

I suffer from the green eyed monster. I will not deny it and any person who does is lying through their teeth. There is job envy (”How the hell she land that job, I am so much smarter than her”), car envy (”Heated seats, damn, I want that.”), body envy (’That bitch’s body is banging, what am I doing wrong?”). The worst of them all, by far? Lover Envy.

There are two types of Lover Envy

#1 – You’re jealous when an Old Lover has a New Lover

No matter how bad the relationship was, how wack the sex was or how long ago the relationship ended the day you see or hear that your ex-Lover has someone new your heart drops to your stomach. If you aren’t moved to find out who they are, how they met, what they look like; you are at least left reminiscing about all the good -ish you and the Ex had.

Your mind really f*cks with you.

Will the Ex do the same stuff they did with me with the New Lover?

Will the New Lover meet the parents? Get a drawer? Answer the house phone?

Will they know about me and our relationship?

What will the Ex tell the new Lover about me, good, bad, indifferent?

Then you get to thinking about all things the New Lover is getting that you used to get:

-         (hopefully) Great Sex

-         Incredible kisses

-         PASSION!

-         Backrubs

-         Home Cooking

Next, you start trying to remember why your relationship ended in the first place. Did you give up on it? Did you make them better for the new Lover? What is the new Lover getting that you didn’t?

Over time, you will come to terms with the Ex’s new relationship but never fully.

You can be married with kids and still the thought of “I wonder…” will come to mind.

#2 – You’re jealous ’cause your crush has a Lover that’s not you

Unreturned love can be a blow to the ego. However it heals once you have someone of your own that makes you happy beyond your greatest expectations.

If you are single, then you not trying to hear how good things will be down the road. Truth is, you want someone who doesn’t want you and chances are you will try to convince them you are “IT” until they make it clear you aren’t. Each time you see or think of them you wonder, “Why not me?”

Sorry to say, you’ll never get an answer. Don’t ask them either. Whatever they tell you is going to be a sugar coated lie.

I’ve already said enough but the rest can be summed up by this…(sidenote: what’s up with the kiddie porn shower scene?)

I’m getting older and my mother wants grandbabies.

Ladies, if you thought that was pressure, imagine the added weight of your FATHER hitting you up for grand kids!

I almost crashed the car when he made this declaration as we drove to the grocery store.

Pops: I want to introduce you to Mike.

SG: Who is Mike?

Pops: He’s tall. I think he’s about 32. He’s stable. Good-looking guy.

SG: Are you serious?

Pop: Yes, I want some grandkids.

SWERVE!

SG: What does he do?

Pops: He’s the UPS man.

SG: Pops, are you serious?!? (cue Neffy from Keyshia Cole show)

Pops: He’s been on the job for 10 years.

SG: Does he have children?

Pops: Yes, one. It don’t live with him though.

SG: Really, is that the kind of man you want me to marry? An absentee father?

Pops: I’m just saying the kid lives in another state.

SG: This conversation is over!

Ladies, you thought you felt the pressure when your mother starts on you about having kids but when your father starts…lord have mercy.

I thought about what my life would be like if I were already a mother. I would be a totally different person with a different outlook, goals, wardrobe, bedtime and bank statement.

Of course I want children but I can’t let my biological clock overrule my senses. Senses that tell me that before I think of having children I must:

1.  Learn how to keep a plant alive
2.  Get a dog (it’s like practice)
3.  Become involved in a healthy relationship
4.  Balance my checkbook
5.  Repent for all the times I’ve made fun of other people’s kids
6.  Take a trip to some far off place where I’ll never be able to go once I’m a mom

In the meantime I’ll keep dispensing unfertilized eggs.

— Says the Single Girl

Originally Posted March 12, 2009  on

Steve Harvey appeared on Queen Mother’s show yesterday. Just the ads that promoted the show gave millions of single women goose bumps. By the end of the and into the wee hours of the morning, every other Facebook status and Tweet was speaking about the show.

Let’s be real, most of Oprah’s viewers have no idea who Steve Harvey is. Those of us who do know who he is have heard him speak this honesty before in this comedy shows and on the radio. Ladies, if you claim to know anything about men, have older brothers, a father who is present in your life and common sense you have or should have heard everything Steve said before.

Reality is, you have heard it before. Chances are you just didn’t listen.

I have a dear friend, Play. Play is the realest dude I know. While I was still wet behind the ears I would call him up to ask for his advice on my many men troubles.

“Don’t sleep with him.”

I didn’t listen.

“He will try to ruin your life because he has no respect for you.”

I didn’t listen.

“If he hasn’t called, he doesn’t care. Don’t believe that ‘I have no reception’ crap.”

I didn’t listen.

At the end of each pearl of man wisdom, Play would half-heartedly joke, “I shouldn’t even be telling you this. I can get my man card revoked for this. Is the phone tapped?”

One night I was going on and on about some dude when Play let out a labored sigh. “SG, you know what? I tell you so much shit and you don’t listen. I could write a book and in it hip women to the games men play, tell them how to get a man and what not to do. 99.9% of women will run out, buy it, read it and in the end ignore everything I said. They’ll find a way to make it seem as though it doesn’t relate to them. They are the a-typical case.”

Steve Harvey had the balls to write said book. He will make a lot of money off it. He will make millions of men’s lives a living hell (I know some woman reading this has already hit her man, or the man she thought was her man, with Steve’s 5 Questions 1 – What are your short term goals? 2 – What are you long term goals? 3 – What are your views on your relationship with your mother/father/God? 4 – What do you think about me? 5 – How do you feel about me?). He will help some women change the way they approach dating.

But ultimately, he will make millions of women frustrated because after reading his book they still won’t have a man and they won’t know why.

- SG

“Women need to give the nice guy a chance. Only Black women try and tame the bad boy. White women marry lames all the time for security. They fuck bad boys in college and that’s it.” – Manny, my man friend

I’ve never been the one to seek the bad guy, the kind to come over and wear it out then steal money from your purse while you take your after-sex shower. I have, however, had a dude ask me for money for the bus and jack me for my phone headsets. It was the same man and yes, he had a record but the ohhh wee was sweet.

Coming to terms with the fact that it’s not just the men I pick but rather the men that I don’t pick and all that I am missing out on as a result is enough to take me back to the drawing board.

Perhaps I have neglected the Nice Guy pool.

What am I, like most women, looking for:

Stability: Nice guys are stable for the most part. They are so nice they don’t spend their time chasing behind women so that means they focus on work, family and building their lives up.

Romance: Nice guys love to make love and buy flowers and pick up that little necklace he noted that you admired in the Tiffany’s catalouge. Since they don’t spend their time being dicks they are more in tune to you.

Commitment: Nice guys always want to commit. That’s because they still have faith in relationships and rather be involved then raked over the coals by some she-devil who will suck them dry.

Nonetheless, as a single girl, I still fight my instinct to reject the Nice Guy.

The Nice Guy really just wants to be loved, like every woman. Yet when we women see someone in the living flesh who reflects the same needs, wants and sensitivity that we ooze from the hairs on our heads to the cuticles on our toes (twofold between the months of Nov – Feb when the holidays remind us how much it sucks to be single and we are bombarded with the worst question in the world, “Why are you single?”) we want to grab them by the nuts and yell “Man up, you fucking pussy!”

Why do we hate the Nice Guy?

My reason, I find them pathetic. To further cement my sentiment I took Manny’s advice and went out on a date with a Nice Guy.

Lord have us Mercy…

NG picks me up from work.

He drives, a plus.

I walk outside to find him standing there outside of his car. We hug. I don’t want to be rude plus my co-workers were watching so I don’t want to son dude with my usual anti-PDA stance. This is a first date.

He opens the car door for me and presents me a bouquet of white roses.

Nice touch.

We get in the car. He asks me where I want to go.

SG: I know a nice Italian place two blocks from here.

I usually like the guy to pick the place. It shows me how well traveled he is on the restaurant circuit and if he is willing and ready to command. I’m old fashioned like that. If I have to pick the day, time, spot, after spot I might as well strap one on and fuck you at that end of the night.

NG: You want Italian, I know a place!

Off he drives, across a bridge, onto a high way, hitting RUSH HOUR traffic. The next hour and a half he tells me his life story. The tragic-ness of this NG starts to show…

NG: I was with my daughters’ mother for 16 years. We didn’t get married because she was still married and wouldn’t get a divorce. I brought her four sets of engagement rings, each one more expensive than the next. Still she wouldn’t get a divorce.

Kill

NG: I left her and met another woman. Five hours after we met she told me that the Lord spoke to her and told her that I was her husband. We got married six months later at the J.O.P but I had only spent five days with her during those six months. I just really wanted to get married.

Me

NG: She was pregnant when we got married but it turned out it wasn’t my son.

Now

We make it to his spot only to find that it was closed, like out of business. The nearest thing was Applebee’s. His heart was broken because he really wanted to show off.

We eat.

Over the entrée he tells me his credit score.

Not impressive at all.

How he loves to shower his women with gifts.

Gag.

That he knows women take advantage of him.

You think?

I won’t bore you, or me, with the rest. But the night ended with him desperately wanting to buy me the new Robin Thicke album since I brought it up over dinner, mere filler convo. He takes me to a nearby Kmart and searches for the CD. No Mas. I end up walking out of there with a huge bottle of Tide. I needed to do laundry.

Thanks NG, my clothes are spring fresh and I’m never calling you again!

Not all NG’s are this damn depressing. I really learned that Nice Guys are men who don’t want to play the game and want to address women head on, straight and with emotional honesty. They are willing to give us the same things we beg the trifling men for. Yet, we don’t want it.

Take it from me Nice Guys, pull it back a little. You can do and say all the things you feel but in moderation. Women are the only one’s who have a pass and can recover from being desperate.

Maybe more women should take a note from the White Women’s Guide to Love and Marriage and turn those Nice Guys into husbands.

I mean, who really wants to die alone?

—Says the Single Girl

Originally posted October 31, 2008 on