Who knew?

Hi family,

I am back in business yall. I got cable, I got internet, I got a new computer! Owww!

It’s 330 and I’m already home in my brand new beautiful…well soon to be beautiful apartment. Life is good because I have 3 nice long days to look forward to. The only thing that could make this better was if I was down in Miami for Carnival. But, gosh I don’t talk about it!

What I do want to talk about is the fact that I gave up dating dudes who had the same name as my ex, his astrological sign and who were American. Ok, for those of you who are confused lets say I have stopped dating men named Ben, who are Aries and both them and their parents are American born.

Um, no I won’t date them. Lol! And of course I met a bunch of them over the summer. Shot them all down! Yes, I did!

But, now I have met and am “dating” two men who all have the same name. (Gasp!) I mean that can be a good thing. I’ll never call them the wrong name! Duh! And over the last week I’ve realized that they have the qualities that the other lacks.

So, there’s Mr. Coy. (sigh…)

Coy makes my palms sweat, my stomach flutters, my cheeks sore (the ones on my face…nasty ladies) because he keeps me smiling and laughing and all around giddy. He is passionate and spiritual and strong and sexy. He’s confident and commanding. BUT, he’s a workaholic (like me) he can be forgetful (like me), he get’s wrapped up in things and loses track of time (which is fine when he’s doing it with me but when he’s not it’s annoying). He dreams big (like me) but I’m not sure if he can accomplish the things he dreams. He makes a lot of promises (like I used to) but can’t always keep them.

That’s enough for now. I’m starting to get depressed. Lmao

Then there’s Mr. New York

Mr. New York is quite and shy and soft-spoken and sweet and charming. He is helpful as all get out. When the computer was fried he was trying to fix it (I mean so was Mr. Coy but Mr. New York went I-N IN!). We can talk forever about everything. And he compliments me all the time and always wants to spend time with me even though his schedule is crazy. BUT, he lives with his mom (I’m saying, you’re 32 and still living with your momma?). He works part-time (Yeah, he’s 32 and works PART TIME. Don’t ask me what he’s been doing for the last, I don’t know 10 years.) And you know he’s never been out of the country maybe not even New York City. Like, I asked him if he could go anywhere in the WORLD tomorrow for a vacation…the man said the Bahamas.

BLANK FACE.

You know I ain’t right…because I said to him. Boo, I can buy you a ticket to go this weekend. Come on!

Yeah, I’m a travel snob. Don’t judge me. And yes, I judged him!…am judging him. Sis, stop judging me!

Everyone stop with the judgment. LMAO.

So New York is reliable and always available. Coy is unreliable and has spotty availability.

Coy has a great (though demanding) full-time job with benefits that he’s had for the last 6 years. New York is working part-time on contract.

New York can build things with his hands, he knows lots about computers, pays for everything on a date. Coy pays for everything on a date, can hire someone to build things, can google information on what to do with computers. Lol.

Coy can be described as dashing, worldly (has travelled immensely), confident, infectious and compelling. New York…not so much. More like sweet, charming, lovable, and adorable.

I’ve just realized that their names should be different. Coy should be NY and vice versa.

It would be perfect if these two men with the same name could be one in the same; one man, one perfect (semi perfect) man. When combined the good in both would knock out the not so good and I would be in heaven!

Sigh…..

Anyway, I have a date later with yet another man who shares the name of Coy and New York  but he’s kinda corny so who knows. I may just cancel. Sunday I’m spending time with New York (who is taking me to the Mary J concert) and Monday I’m spending time with Coy (trying to convince him to buy these tickets for the Kevin Hart show).

See the difference right there.

Anyway, enjoy your weekend as I ENJOY my own.

Kisses,

Khalilah Loves

So this is an open letter to my ex and all those who still root for him (Demi Dabby that means YOU!)

Last night while I was out walking Bella with my homie Bia when my ex called. I won’t lie, as always hearing his voice was wonderful.

We spoke for about an hour and a half and just like our relationship the conversation went on way TOO LONG!

As I was driving to get my hair done this morning I realized how similar last night’s conversation was to our relationship.

In the beginning I was excited by our chemistry, flattered by his attention to detail, enamored with his intelligence, then I became concerned with his thought process, annoyed by his inability to be reflective, disturbed  by his lack of communication skills. (When he needed to talk about what he was feeling. Shoot, IF he was feeling anything!) I became confused by his actions, angered by his immaturity, disgusted with myself for putting up with such Idiocy and INFURIATED by his very existence and his pollution of my happiness.

Yep, that was last nights conversation and the entire extent of our relationship.

I mean, it never fails that I started off laughing and blushing when we first begin to speak and end up crying by the end of it.

So, why do I put myself through this?

I miss him at times. I miss the texture of his voice, his laughter, his attention to detail, his compliments. I miss his confidence though misplaced at times.

Secondly, so many people; women ONLY have questioned why I “can’t” be friends with my exes. They say I’m immature by just cutting the ex off, that I never loved them. And, me trying to be reflective along with the fact that I felt so relieved after this relationship ended and really feeling at one time that he was my best friend. I was thinking maybe we could be friends. The type of friends who speak maybe once a month to laugh and reminisce.

Thirdly, I’m a masochist. Yep, I like to hurt myself, play myself, make myself vulnerable to those people who will hurt me the most. SELFISH Mofo’s!

But, I’m DONE yall. I realized by the end of our conversation in the wee hours of the morning. That I DO NOT miss feeling stupid, embarrassed, unheard, frustrated, confused, annoyed, INFURIATED. I don’t miss that s*it.

I have three words to say to those of you who think I should be friends with him; Get over it! If kicking crappy exes…all exes out of my life so that I may retain my sanity is immature. Call me a kid for life.

And finally, I’m starting a 12 step program to get over my masochism. 1st step; Mr. Coy. 2nd step Troy. 3rd step Mr. New York! Lmao, I’m joking.

1st step to rid myself of cancerous people, ideas, feelings, and thoughts. More about that another time.

Last night I said to my ex that, “In relationships men do what’s in their best interest and women do what’s in men’s best interest. So, when the hell does anyone do what’s in the woman’s best interest?” Oh right away the ex was like, “That’s not true. AT ALL.”

I didn’t even argue with him. I just sighed and listened to his reasoning.

So ex of mine I have a challenge for you.

Last night you told me you know how good of a woman I am, you said you missed me, and you care about me. Prove it by doing what’s in the best interest for this woman. I told you last night not to call me for 52 weeks. Do me one better. Don’t call me ever, don’t drive by my house, if you see me walking down the street cross over and walk in the opposite direction. If you really mean what you say about doing what’s best for me, disappear!

Too harsh?

Babe, it is NOT coming from an angry place. It’s coming from a very calm, thought out and loving place. I will always love you. I will always think about the time we spent fondly. I will never talk badly about you. But I want to leave you where you belong.

In my past!

After we got off the phone last night I went to google and searched how to block phone numbers and I have blocked your number, private calls and unknown calls. I have officially deleted everything I was holding on to and removed every thing that reminds me of you.

But, even with doing all of that, I know that if you call I will pick up the phone because I am only on step 1 of the 12 step program. So why don’t you be the mature, loving self LESS one FOR ONCE and do this for me.

So there it is. That’s my open letter to my ex and all those who root for him (That means you Demi Dabby…lol) Why don’t we all move on.

One more thing pudding; I was flattered by your compliments about my writing style and wit on this blog. I hope you know your opinion is highly regarded. By, just a small food for thought. Maybe you should stop reading the blog. Maybe you should rely only on your memories of us and not add anything new into the mix.

For the rest of my readers. I’m sorry I had to bore you with this open letter…I can’t even say that with a straight face. Yall feigns are probably enthralled with every word. I expect to hear from T in DC, Nafe in Mass, Z in Harlem and big sis 2 seconds after I hit send. Lol. And to Dezi, he doesn’t have feelings so this won’t hurt. Trust me!

I feel good yall. I hope you do too.

Live life yall,

KB…you know what that’s his initials also. I used to have on my phone the words: KB loves KB. And now every time I write my OWN initials I think of him. Ain’t that crazy?

Anyway, I think from now on I’ll sign off with my new favorite play on my name;

Life live yall,

Khalilah Loves!

Deuces!

My mom always says I’m too busy and I’m doing much. However, I am often bored out of my mind. But that doesn’t mean that I have accomplished everything I set out to do. It’s actually the contrary; most times my periods of boredom are coupled with bouts of procrastination.

Starting in June my horoscope said not to over book myself, not to say yes to every opportunity that presents itself. And what have I done?

I’ve said yes to teaching an online class. I have said yes to taking two classes at night. I’ve said yes to teaching PM school. I have said yes to consulting on a book. I have said yes to volunteering for an event. I have said yes to lesson planning with three different people; weekly. I have said yes to planning another event with my partner in business. I have said yes to mentoring about half a dozen teachers. YES, I said half a dozen…6! Of course, I’m teaching my normal school load. Of course I am a part of the teams I worked with last year. Top all of that with my impending move and necessary time needed at the gym and I have to make time for dating!

But I haven’t made time for breaking bread with my brother, chatting endlessly about everything with my nieces and lil sister. I haven’t made it to my God son’s football fundraiser or football game. I haven’t made it to my hot yoga class or my Sunday morning 5k with a good friend of mine. I haven’t started packing up my apartment. I haven’t put in all my grades into the new system at work so that I can get that Ipad I so covet.

So for the last two weeks I have been late for EVERYTHING, tired all the TIME, flustered by my to do list, neglecting most things (nope not dating though…lol) and doing everything half-assed. I’ve missed so many important events it’s not funny.

Last week I got home after 11pm 4 out of the 5 work days. Sunday night I realized that I was just done! It’s only been 2 weeks since I’ve returned to work and I can’t do this anymore. I am just doing too much.

Last night I decided that I have to do something that I hate. I have to bow out of doing most of the things I agreed to do. See, it would have been better to say no in the first place. Now, I look like a flake having to tell people that I just can’t…to tell myself I just can’t.

And wait, yall know even with all of that on my plate…I have still been bored right? I know I’m crazy!

I spent all summer stopping and smelling the roses; going on vacation, having Sunday brunch with my girls, taking nightly walks talking with my sister on the phone, spending time with my family, chilling in Barnes and Nobles with my homie,  taking hot yoga classes and reading.

I now realize that I have to continue living that type of life especially while back at work.

So, I am letting go of half of those things…well not half…some…well not some…but you know what I mean. I’m letting go. Every minute of everyday can not be scheduled and I can’t continue saying that I am doing too much. And I definitely am not adding anything else to my schedule.

(deep breath in and out!)

If you’re wondering;  Mr. Coy is good. Troy is good. The ex and I haven’t spoken since the last time but I believe he’s good. And Mr. New York is good as well. Oh, who is Mr. New York you ask? Hmmph, maybe, I’ll tell you next time…because I’m just doing too much right now! Lol

LIVE life yall,

KB

So, between the dates, concerts, and brunch’s this weekend I spent a large amount of time talking to women who have spent a ridiculous amount of time bending over backwards trying to salvage a “healthy” and supposedly “happy” relationship.

And I’m just wondering why?

Well not really why.

I think that women are more inherently able to swallow their prides, compromise and work with the men they are with in the hopes of maintaining a harmonious relationship.

But, why the hell does our shoulders have to be touching the ground before we realize the unequal distribution of love and affection, understanding and appreciation, compromise and selflessness.

I’m not saying that men (some man some where) aren’t being mentally, emotionally, physically mistreated and taking for granted by their significant others…well I am actually saying that! Men, rarely are mentally mistreated and neglected in the same way!

Do I sound bitter yall? I’m not though!

I just want women, myself included to understand as this dude told me once, that WE are the prize. And WE have to maintain some balance; balance our natural inclination to compromise with our seemingly unnatural inclination to take care of ourselves FIRST!

Ok, ok, ok, I’m getting off my high horse now. But, let’s just say that this weekend I actually felt guilty for doing what was in my best interest and was so close to relenting and doing what this man wanted me to do!

Like, I really thought for a minute I better do so and so because if I don’t he’ll be mad and disappointed in me and that will be bad. But, after a took a few minutes to regain my composure I asked myself; “Self, why would I put the wants and needs of this man over my own wants and needs?”

And I found myself asking at least two girlfriends…well one girlfriend and one daughter the same question.

Why is what he wants, needs, demands, expects….more important than what you want, need, demand and expect?

Ladies, we are in trouble?

And no I am not on some man hating stuff. What I am on, is some woman loving stuff!

Live life yall,

KB

Guess what yall?

I just got the phone call.

What phone call you ask?

The phone call telling me that I got my DREAM apartment on Eastern Parkway! YAYAYAYAYAYAY!

And the best part is that the rent is $200 less than I’m paying now. And it’s on the ground floor, 2 flights lower than where I live NOW!

And I get my keys tomorrow.

Fairy tales do come true, it can happen to you if you’re young at heart….(in my Bing Crosby voice)

Well, that’s it for me. I’m off to pack.

Yall life is gooooooooooooooooooooooooood!

KB

PS…Um, who’s gonna help me move because I aint got no money to hire movers again. Don’t make a face I’m serious. And I don’t want to hear anyone say Troy because he’s gonna be mad that I’m not moving into his apartment!

Um, maybe I should have said men. But, Jay Z’s girls, girls, girls has been running through my head all day.

Well, not ALL day just after I met Troy. That’s not his real name yall. I want no body suing me.

By now yall, know I’ve been Jonesing on Brooklyn and Eastern Parkway for the last couple of weeks. Well, I am moving…or at least trying to move (staying on Eastern Parkway).

I got 15 days to find a place. (Oh Gosh!…with my Trini accent. Lmao) Long story I’m not going into it…instead let me go through my boys, boys, boys, boys…

Anyway, I went to look at an apt on Troy ave (hence the name Troy ) with some man from Craig’s list. So we were supposed to meet at 4pm but he texted me saying he was running late and he’d be there by 430.

Hmmph, oh I judged him on that one.

Around 430 he called me, I was already parked in front of the apartment (FABULOUS APARTMENT…but that’s another story).

He called to say he was helping a friend move and he was dressed inappropriately and he apologizes. Hmmph!

But, ladies I forgave him quickly. Because he was New York FINE.

What does that mean?

Let me set the scene for you.

I’m sitting in the car and in my rear view mirror I see this chocolate…dark chocolate brother walking up the block. Navy Blue Yankee fitted, wife beater (sigh), navy blue sweat pants, his arms were well-defined. Not big like Mike Tyson big but big like Tyson Beckford big.

Yeah, think of the model Tyson, remember his skin color and arms and height, think of those chinky eyes and white teeth. Yeah that was Troy.

Mmmm, mmm, mmm

Whew, anyway, I got out the car. He apologized for his tardiness and attire. We walked upstairs. He showed me the apartment. I was so busy looking at him I almost didn’t notice that the bedroom didn’t have a closet. But, he pointed that out.

So, I’m watching him open the window to let some air in because the paint is choking us. And I find myself following this one bead of sweat slowly glide down the nape of his neck then disappear under the wife beater and then re appearing as a special gift of moisture making the wife beater see through and I saw through.

Mmmmm hmmmm…….sorry guys.

Yall know he caught me lusting after him. I mean I was biting my bottom lip.LUST-ING!

Think of Jill Scott in, Why’d I get Married when Troy was on the ladder packing up the clothes in the store.

And you know what this man had the nerve to say to me?

He asked me, “Am I making you uncomfortable?”

WTH? I said, ” You can try if you’d like to.”

He chuckled.

I looked him dead in his eyes with NO smile.

Feel the electricity yall.

This is how the rest of the conversation went

T: So, will you be living here by yourself?

M: Yeah, but hopefully not too long (looking him dead in his eyes)

T: I’m surprised your single now.

M: Who said I was single?

T: That lower lip you were biting. (Ooooooh, how dare he yall?)

M: Is that all the lip said?

T: I’m sure it’s willing to tell me more.

Now, yall it was about to be ON.

Lucky for him…and me I bought the conversation back to the apartment.

Now, Troy didn’t have the necessary paperwork on him. So, we “had” to make plans to meet tomorrow. But as we were walking out he went there…

T: So, you know I want my invitation to the house-warming.

M: House warming? Babe, you moving me in. It’s clear you have experience doing that.

T: I sure do.

With that he walked me to my car, shook my hand and confirmed our meeting for tomorrow.

A few hours later while I sat in my class I got a text saying, “after I rent you this apartment can I take you out to dinner?”

I said better yet, you can take me out to lunch after we complete our paperwork tomorrow.

Like I said, I like boys, boys, boys, boys all over the world! LMAO

I have another story to tell yall about the pretty young thang in my night class but I’ll save that for later.

Live life yall!

KB

As a child Brooklyn represented the Caribbean. Why?

Well, my God Mother used to bring me to Brooklyn for the West Indian Day Parade. My Aunt used to bring me to Brooklyn for some random party at Brooklyn College or a friend’s house. And so every time I came here it was to celebrate something fun.

As I child growing up in the Bronx the culture that I was immersed in was a Latin one and I often felt like I was trying to fit in, being the only “morena” in my group of friends. Luckily my Antiguan culture was strong in my house or watching my mom play Netball on the weekends and running track with all the other West Indian children in the Bronx.

But, Brooklyn was always a pepperpot of sweet accents and spicy smells and true blackness. I watched most of Spike Lee movies taking place in Crooklyn, I watched the Huxtables provide a vision of upper middle classdom that seemed attainable and I saw diverse neighborhoods with West Indians living near Hasidic Jews, living next to whites.

Ahh, Brooklyn.

I’ve lived here now for at least 5 years but this is the end of my first year of living on Eastern Parkway and it has been absolutely AMAZING. Last Monday’s Parade solidified my love of Eastern Parkway and Brooklyn.

Last Night my good friend and I went to the Tiki Bar on Ralph avenue which is an indoor/outdoor…well there really isn’t an indoor part there is tarp covering an open constructed roof. (I’m sorry I don’t have the right words for it.)

But let me set the scene for you:

We walk towards the sweet soca music wafting through the air. This place is surrounded by mechanic shops, junk yard, gas stations (nice right? lol). We walk up to the security guard who just looks in our bag and sends us to pay our way into this party that ends at 12am. It’s not quite a breakfast party and yet not a party party. I term it an afternoon party. Lol.

Pass the Plywood enclosure is an island dream. You’ve been transported into a place where the gray sky is your roof, plywood is your floor and colorful chinese lamps hang from rafters. There’s three distinct areas. The first is what I’ll term as the dance hall, the second area is smaller and flanked by the bar on one side and the DJ booth on the other and then there’s the back which I’ll call the smoke room and bad man congregation area.

We find our spot with drink in hand and we sway and rock to the rhythms of culture tunes which slowly transform into rockers and love songs. Eyes closed your hear Beres sweet voice, you smell the slow burn of nature’s gift to I, you feel the moons glow illuminating your skin.

And the party rocks on, you’re blessed with dancehall old and new, you’re taken on a soca ride, you’re transported back to the 80′s with an american/london mix. The music, and scenery, and people and vibes had me feeling like I was no longer in Brooklyn surrounded by old cars but instead I was at the Shiggidy Shack in St. Kitts, or Lyons in Antigua, or anywhere in Jamaica. We were in a trance of full on West Indian music and mystique.

I Love Brooklyn!

The party was blessed with beautiful black brothers and sisters of all shapes and sizes with bright eyes (well not everyone and sweeter smiles). I mean I can’t tell the last time I went to a party and didn’t hate on anyone (Yes, I said it. Lol) My friend and I kept on commenting on how beautiful the women were (The shoe game in that party was serious yall) and how handsome and the men were, how sweet and calm and loving the vibe was. There was an air of just joy and peace and FUN.

The DJ’s (Back to Basics and Natural Freaks…for real the best DJ’s in Brooklyn) kept on saying when was the last time you were out to a party at 10pm on a Saturday (bc yall know my people like to leave their house at 2am for the party) and we were all rocking and swaying to the beat, sweat dripping down our backs, the bass thumping in our stomachs, hands in the air,  bodies pressed against one another (Deep Breath IN) Think of the Good Times painting now play a Bob Marley song in your mind’s soundtrack. That was Brooklyn for me last night.

Sigh…I’m at a really happy place yall. Life is soooo good right now and a big part of my happiness can be attributed to Brooklyn.

I am off to my Yoga Class and then Belly Dancing!

Life Live Yall,

KB

So, I was driving home on this beautiful Saturday afternoon configuring a title and recipe for the goodness of my day so that I could share with yall, my family.

My day was swimming along perfectly until I entered into my building and began to climb the stairs up to my 3rd floor apartment…

But before I go there.

The recipe for a good day.

Homemade breakfast for two with Mimosa’s

3 hours in class deconstructing African history and the lies of religion

1 hour building with sisters about what it means to be a woman and how to allow men to be men.

2 mini cupcakes with your good friend on the corner of Lewis Avenue as you discuss loving the fact that you are a teacher.

15 minute drive to Trader Joes with the sun roof open and sweet soca playing in your air

20 minute conversation with your big sister who you love more and more with each passing day

Buying 2 bottles of Mascato wine from the only black owned wine store in Bed Stuy

And finally making 8pm plans with your homegirl who is home for the weekend from L.A. to go to a Trini Lunch party.

That, fam is the recipe for a perfect Saturday in September.

I’ve been really trying hard lately to be in the present and pushing myself to recognize how blessed my life is. It doesn’t mean I don’t want and need certain things to change. But, If I’m always focused on what could be and should be I can never fully appreciate what is.

With that being said, if you want to know the recipe on how to put a damper on the perfect Saturday. Walk into your building and hear Soldier Boy’s, Superman that Ho; curses and all blasting at the highest level known to man. At first you’re perturbed. You are used to hearing loud music but not that loud and not so ladened with profanity.

You try to figure out where it’s coming from. It’s not the 1st floor. You walk up to the 2nd floor. And can you believe it the music is getting louder. You go to walk up to your floor the third floor. And with horror you realize it’s on your floor. You look to the left hoping, please  let it be my neighbor on the other side of me.

But, there’s no sound coming from that side and you feel the base in your gut. And then before you make it all the way up the stairs you realize it is your neighbor. The neighbor right next to you and their door is wide open. You stand in front of their wide open door and realize it’s a party…a little kid’s birthday party.

You see the little pink decorations and little brown girls with pony tails, cute dresses but sad faces. They are leaning against the walls.  The boredom is illustrated all over their faces. Little boys are sitting on the floor playing with cars making them crash into one another. And you stare at this scene and hear; “watch me super size this hoe” slowly fade only to hear, “Let me see you pop them titties, shake them things doo doo brown.”

The loud music annoyed me.

But the expressions on those little girl’s faces and the lyrics to the songs that were no doubt permeating their self-reflection, their self-esteem and their self-worth saddened me more than the music annoyed me.

I’m saying it’s a lil kid’s birthday party and you destroy them by playing vulgarity so loud they can’t even hear themselves think. It is as if the adults were trying to destroy the minds, hearts and souls of the next generation by trying to drown out their positive feelings for themselves.

I went to deep yall? I’m sorry but I’m so sad now. These are the kids I’ll be teaching in 10 years. And I’ll be trying to undo what they experience today in 6hr and 40 minutes tomorrow.

(Sigh) Anyway, I have popped opened my mascato, turned on the iron to press my summer dress and I’m gonna call Mr. Coy so we can talk about all things beautiful, wonderful and lovely before I head out to enjoy all things West Indian; good food, better music and great company!

After all I just finished telling you guys that I am going to focus on the present and enjoy me blessings;

1. I can’t really hear the music in my apartment.

2. This Mascato is really really good.

3. I will be with my good friend in a few hours and I will be able to replace this sad vision of my people with a more joyful and age appropriate one.

4. And finally, it is still a beautiful Saturday evening and Today was a good day!

Live life yall

KB

Happy Labor Day Yall,

What’s in a kiss? I was wondering yesterday is there such a thing as a bad first kiss? I know some of you are screaming a resounding yes. Fortunately for me, I’ve never experienced one because I’ve only kissed someone when and if it felt right.

What I do know is there are 2 types of (good) 1st kisses.

The aggressive

Let me set the scene. You’re on your date and everything is going well. You’re feeling him. He’s feeling you. Yall are laughing and enjoying yourselves. You may be walking down the street somewhere and out of nowhere he grabs you, pulls you into him and gives you the strongest most passionate kiss of your life. The type of kiss that makes you feel like you’re being picked up off your feet…and if you’re lucky you might be. hehe. Your hearts racing and breath filled noises are escaping in between each tilt of the head and before you know it he pushes you away and continues the stroll down the street. Leaving you wondering, whoa what the hell was that and can I have some more please? Lmao

The seductive

Imagine for all my Brooklynites; it’s late, you’re sitting on the Promenade with your new beau staring out at the Manhattan skyline, stars dancing above building tops, lovers surrounding you in their own deep embrace and your new guy throws his arms around your shoulder and pulls you into him. And his kiss is soft and subtle and sweet. And with each passing second instead of the kiss getting more aggressive and intense it has gotten more tender and seductive. His hand slowly grazing across your cheek, down to your chin and he slowly pulls away placing the last kiss on your cheek and then your forehead.  When you open your eyes his eyes are staring into your eyes and you both sheepishly smile.

Take a deep breath with me yall. (In and Out)

I know you’re wondering if my blog is inspired by a kiss from Mr. Coy…I’m not telling.

Live Life Yall,

I’m headed out to the parkway.

Khalilah

I hope all of you are enjoying this beautiful Saturday Afternoon.

I love it when people say age is just a number. Have you ever noticed it’s usually someone young trying to pull an old head or some pervert committing a crime (or damn near a crime) with a young tenderoni.

I was talking to a good friend of mine a few days a go who was explaining that she is always being approached by younger men. She’s in her mid 30′s but looks like she’s 21…23 at the most. I know lucky her. And she’s newly single and all the men who approach her are 21…23. She’s lucky if a 25-year-old tries to pick her up. And she’s getting so frustrated.

I told her that she is not the only one being approached by these tenderoni’s. I, who yall know look my damn age…maybe even older (sigh) have had my fair share of 23 and 25 year old’s over the last 5 years try to sweep me off my feet. I’ve entertained a few of them but the good Lord knows the only thing they can give me…eh hmmm…get’s old after a while. Not that I know…know. I’m just guessing. Lol.

Anyway this conversation got me to thinking. I have always embellished my age. When I was 16, I said I was 18. When 18 I said I was 21. I think I started to say my real age around 25. And my entire life I’ve always dated men older than me. Sometimes I was playing myself with how much older they were than me. But, I had convinced myself that they had a maturity that I needed.

Hmmph, I know better now especially if the age difference is more than 5 years.

But, now that I am 31 I am realizing that dating an older man….someone five or more years my senior is a little yucky. I’ve met 40-year-old men who have tried to sweep me off my feet and I’m like ewwww old man get away from me. Lol. So now I have thrown out anyone under 28.5 and anyone older than 35. And I’ve realized that the pool from which I choose to fish is getting smaller and smaller.

So while she’s disturbed by the 20 something year old’s. I am perturbed by the 40 year old’s. And we’re both single. Hmmph!

I have no profound ending for this blog. It was just something I was thinking…lol

Dang, maybe age is just a number?

Nah, Mr. Coy is 32 and it feels damn near perfect!

Lol,

Till next time yall. Live Life!

KB