To Those Who Wait

“You’re just a lover out to score, and I know that I should be looking for more. What could it be in you I see?” Denise Williams, Silly

“Time has taught me that having a piece of man is better than having no man at all.” Betty Wright, After the Pain

“It’s only fair that I let you know that the man you’re in love with, he’s mine. From the top of his head to the bottom of his feet.” Shirley Brown, Woman To Woman


By listening to these song lyrics, I get the notion that females have been desperate for males since before we evolved from monkeys. And Rhonda wants to know why! First of all, I’m single and I’ve lived in Los Angeles for a little over four years. I completely, whole-heartedly, one hundred percent comprehend the viewpoints presented by women in the lyrics above. But at the same time, I have to gain a little back bone and say ‘fuck that shit’ to these songs. I mean really–what woman calls up another woman just to tell her to stop cheating with her (alleged) boyfriend so she can keep him?

I can categorize the desperation I’ve witness in two categories: there’s the woman who chases/stalks/preys on a seemingly great guy that has all the characteristics she desires in a mate (and refuses to accept his rejection). Then there’s the lady who accepts bits and pieces from whichever man will give her his time (knowing he is feeding you lies and/or you deserve better). In either case, the thirst is real and we will do what we gotta do.

I have even heard stories of ladies who are reading books (*cough cough*…by Steve Harvey), highlighting passages like they are reading the Bible, and wondering why they can’t find a husband. Bit of an oxymoron, huh?

Part of me believes these are unnecessary extremes as a result of the notion that all the good ones are taken. The other half of me wants to jump on their bandwagon to prevent becoming Carrie Bradshaw. What’s up with that?!

At the end of the day, girls, we must remain hopeful despite the odds and, uhh, what reality has presented. Just because you prayed to your deity for a tall, dapper fellow with a black Infinity and bulging biceps, doesn’t mean that’s what is BEST for you. So stop looking! Chill out, keep dating, and wait for the next man to come around. If he doesn’t sweep you away, then maybe the next one will. Or the next one. Or the next one. Or the next one.

Yes. This is what I keep telling myself and, until I’m proven wrong, it is the truth. They say good things come to those who wait…

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Drive-Thru Relationships

I’ve been in love once. Twice. Okay three times. Who knows. Clearly this, um, lack of understand shows I know all about love and what I’m looking for, right? So let’s talk about what I have learned.

There was a spark of something in San Francisco that opened a new chapter for me and I really wanted it to go further. Had all the indications that it might look good dressed up in a suit. iCan’t do the long-distance thing, so it fallowed.

Flashback to the holidays of 2012. I met a guy online (I’ll never use that site again!) and I was interested in seeing what would blossom. And after our first date, we dived straight in–but not literally, so stop thinkin’ nasty. It was phone calls everyday, meet for dinner every other day, and then it happened. He called me ‘baby’.

I let it slide on at least eight different times, but after a while, I couldn’t take it! Something in me was screaming, “This is too much too fast and I HATE ‘baby’!” I had to tell him this.

But I tried to play it smooth, though. He was closing the car door and said, “Have a safe drive home, baby.” I reopened the door, got out of my car, and said ever so slightly to his chocolate face, “I really, really don’t like that. Can’t you just call me Rhonda?”

He argued at me for a couple of minutes. I listened. But deep down I felt a huge knot growing in my stomach; and it was saying I don’t feel the same way about you.  

A few days went by, Christmas came, we exchanged gifts, I made plans for his birthday, and then somewhere along the way our communication fizzled. The calls were less frequent. The morning gym pics stopped. And through a disturbing tone in his voice while on the phone one day, I stepped foot into Chipotle just as he muttered the words ‘maybe this isn’t working out.’ The end.

Of course we’ve had the occasional Just Friends phone call/text here & there since then. But it’s really over! Lasted all of a month. And I’m okay with that…partially. Here’s the thing: I can honestly say that I’m content with just dating and not being in a relationship. When you commit to someone, you have to give them all of you. Or at least enough of you to actually begin building a foundation. I don’t think I’m ready to do that.

I like being me. At the end of my 13hr work day, I want to come home and sit in the corner of my couch under a quilt with some pita chips + hummus and watch the first two shows on my DVR. In silence. That’s what I do, it’s how I unwind. Do I want to cuddle with you in bed & listen to your crappy workday stories? Or gain unnecessary weight eat some heavy dinner (over candlelight blah blah) just because you haven’t eaten since breakfast time? Or rip off my clothes and jump on top of you? Not all the time. And FYI, in a so-called ‘relationship’ there’s a lot of ME being sacrificed for US. Fuck that. I ain’t ready yet.

I look forward to wearing too-tight clothes to a lounge and have *clearing throat* gentlemen gawk at me. I get excited each time I go to the gym simply because there’s always a new hot guy on the weights. I love to flirt with a cutie at the gas station. All these indicators let me know that I’m just not ready.

So until next time, unless I land an extra value meal on my next drive-thru relationship, let’s all cross our fingers in hopes they don’t forget the cheese on my chicken sandwich. Swiss cheese.

No Sex In The City

There it was across the room on the floor in a brown, unmarked package. The box was large enough to fit a pair of pumps, but I had received all seven of my shoe shipments already. I scattered my dresser for a pair of scissors. I snatched the box open. And behold: my complete DVD collection of Sex and the City I had patiently (anxiously) awaited coming home to for several weeks.

Like many women, I’ve seen only snippets of a single season of the show, but never really got the chance to watch it all. And the DVD set is a bit pricey unless you’re a true fan willing to spend the dough. But thanks to Groupon, I now own it plus the two movies.

So far, I’m done with the first three seasons, and boy! I had no idea the show was this…terrible.

Let’s go back. The show is skillfully and creatively put together in a way that depicts typical, modern white women.  Although it’s set in NY, I choose to believe chicks all across the USA share similar traits. So why am I disappointed? Because most of it is a HUGE LIE! I’ll break down the characters–

1) Charlotte – whore. very conservative. also rather conservative in the bedroom because she doesn’t give head and detests kinkiness in general. judges Samantha for being an overt whore, though. has a glamorized view of marriage and yearns for her fairytale fantasy. also pretty judgmental overall.

2) Miranda – whore. stiff and rude. usually horny at times when she either can’t find a man or has run a decent one away. settles easily because she isn’t pretty. stereotypical ‘successful woman with high standards and a domestic feline’. would probably lead a feminist movement in support of Madonna’s comeback.

3) Samantha – whore. open to her sexuality and doesn’t hide her urges. often has cheesy lines in the script because she’s wealthy and shouldn’t appear wiser than Carrie although she is. complete MTLF (…replace the “I” in MILF with “they”…) who sees what she wants and goes for it. if she were black, she’d be Karrine Steffans.

4) Carrie – whore. shallow, but smart. symbolizes the “every woman” archetype in that she keeps running back to the man who hurt her, while believing things between them will change. tries to change men. supposedly the lead character (or villain depending on how you look at her) in that her battles with men are the largest. true homewrecker.

Why would the writers of this show perpetuate such formulas women in only four distinct categories? Why would they lie to us, presenting these exaggerated characters with extremely distorted views of men? Why did Carrie marry Big in the first movie (if she did this in, say, season 5 no one would’ve watched the rest)? Why the hell does Charlotte land two seemingly perfect guys? It seems our lofty leaders of Hollywood stringed us along folks. And we like it.

In my opinion, Miranda and Samantha are most realistic. I have no words for how much I despise Carrie (except for “Aiden should have spit in your face at the wedding”) and Charlotte is too Disney to be in her 30s. A mess this is.

Nevertheless, I can’t wait for Blair Underwood’s character to meet Miranda and knock her boots later in the show. I mean—that’s just good TV, who wouldn’t be excited?

Golden Gates And Egg Drop Soup

It’s your typical, bustling Tuesday afternoon in downtown San Francisco. Seventeen pedestrians on every corner, horns honking at bikers in the intersection, and lines for lunch out the door. I’m smarter than all the downtown lunchers because I call in my order 20 minutes in advance, plus I don’t bike. Score!

As I strolled into the closest Chinese buffet, I stood in line behind at least 3 other “smart” people who phoned their order before me. Crap. So I’m stuck in line after all. Just as I get ready to have a bitch-fit about why my Egg Drop soup isn’t ready (don’t they make it in the morning then just scoop it from a bucket anyway?), three handsome men get in line next to me. Let’s call them Bachelors #1, 2, & 3.

Bachelor #1 looks about 28, 6’1″, and caucasian. If you know me, then you know I’ve been wanting to date a White guy for a while now. I heard they’re obsessed with natural-haired Black women, and well…you get the point! But this guy wasn’t making the cut, not smooth enough. Bachelor #2 was handsome, looked 34-36, but I could already tell that he had whispered something to Bachelor #3–the one making eye contact with me. He was my type: wide shoulders (gets me every time), great smile, and the haircut Beyonce sang about. I saw #2 giving #3 these little signals, ya know, the she’s-cute-but-I-can-tell-you-like-her-more glance? Homegirl caught it, and Bachelor #3 was probably gonna approach me.

Bachelor #3 looked 30-33, a bit more handsome than #2, and wasn’t as scrawny as #1. Plus he went all in for the 3 entree special like me! I love a guy who likes to eat.

So I batted my eyes at him a few times while trying to figure out what I would say to give him some “I’m single” aura. But I had a really stern look on my face since my damn soup still wasn’t ready. I came up with this–

Me: Do you come here a lot?

Him: (laughs) I was just about to ask you the same question. Actually, we do, we work close by.

Me: Oh right, I work close, too. But I usually don’t have to wait on my food. Like, ever.

*blah, blah, small talk*

Him: So do you have a number where I can reach you? Or, here, I’ll give you mine and you can text me.

GOT HIM!

After the initial text where we established names/numbers, I was confused on what to do next. Clearly, we’re both now back in the office barely busy, but I usually prefer a phone call over texting on a first encounter. Can’t call. At work. Fast forward to the first time I did call him (let’s just say ‘later that day’), we were able to set up another lunch date. Now I feel special. And I like Bachelor #3 because he’s thinking like me…or has something more important than a dating life to fill his evenings with. With my luck, I’ve probably snagged yet another woman’s husband for the ___ time this year.

I was looking forward to this date. I wore leggings & made sure my toes were non-ashy. If it’s one thing I’ve learned in male/female relationships, guys can’t say no to a woman in leggings. We opted for a cheap fulfilling meal (aka Chipotle), but when I asked him where we were eating, he said, “Follow me.” WHAT?! This guy actually planned something in advance? Alright Ashton, I’m already ready for you to jump out with the cameras.

We strolled to a nearby park that, oddly, I’d never seen before. I didn’t tell him, but I was completely opposed to dining outdoors because downtown San Fran smells like pure ass. Around every corner. Seriously. But whatever. We grabbed a bench, he stared at my thighs (#winning), and I began to yap about my excitingly stressful job. Then he told me some things, and we had basic sweet conversation. It was quite refreshing to not have to pry decent communication from a guy…we’ll talk about that another time. After a slight pigeon attack and some unruly dog smells, it was time for us to split. And the verdict on Bachelor #3 is: iLike.

But before we parted, I told him that I was only in town for work & would be leaving in a few weeks. Insert his sad face. Now here’s where things got interesting. From then on, our communication was based on the fact that I won’t be here for long, “so we’ve gotta speed things up a bit.” Hold on brotha, where the did Sweet Convo Guy go? Is that my cue to pull down my pants or simply plan a dinner/movie date? I’m confused….or am I? In real life, I basically want the same thing he wants anyway, right? Sooooo what’s REALLY wrong with speeding things up?

Fast forward to our next date, and then another, and then…well if I told you everything, then I wouldn’t be a good girl because we don’t kiss-n-tell!! But I will confirm that wearing leggings gets women in trouble. After a while, he’s going in for a feel. Or maybe a grasp. Or maybe I should just stop typing now.

Let’s Talk About Men

Drake & Chris Brown are beefing? Kroy Bierman is still married to Kim? All the sisters of Tina & Erica (aka Mary Mary) are in happy, monogamous relationships? These headlines sound crazy, but they’re what I found circulating the news recently. And with Father’s Day just behind us, it made me start thinking about the men in general and the men in my life.

I’m not sure if I’m one of those women with ‘daddy issues’, but to answer your question, no, I don’t have a relationship with him. Haven’t seen it have much of an impact on my encounters with guys I’m dating, either. But the idea of Father’s Day (and Mother’s Day for that matter) sort of makes me gag! Sue me. I just think that fathers around the nation want something more than a barbecue & and new necktie on a hot Sunday in June.

I’ve also learned in my twenty-something years of life that men are quite simple. Ask any guy if a beer, some chips, and the remote control is a remedy for just about anything. It entertains me how women spend so much time writing books (or reading Steve Harvey’s book), writing articles, and pressing the age-old issue of what do men want? I figure they just want to be left alone! Watch this:

1) You’ve been hounding your man for weeks about his plans for Valentine’s Day. You’ve been throwing hints since Halloween about what you want to do, but he still hasn’t set anything in stone. And being the thoroughly efficient planner that you are, this is torture. My answer? Leave it alone, let the man figure it out.

2) Your guy is in between jobs. He’s torn between pursuing his passion & actually bringing in steady paychecks. He has a few leads that could possibly turn his dream into reality, but he thinks quitting his job will disappoint you. My solution? Leave it alone, let the man figure it out.

3) Your co-worker introduced you to a great guy outside of work. You see that he’s a pretty good catch, but feel like he has a hard time finding balance in his life. Seems like he’s always trying to squeeze in time for dates while juggling his other stuff. He says he’s interested, but you’re not so sure. My answer? You guessed. Let this guy figure it out.

One thing I know for sure is that us as women try to play God with a magic wand. LIke we can wave our hand, snap our fingers, and make things come to life. Simply not true, especially when it comes to men. They just operate on a different system than we do (like OS X versus Windows 7). However, Rhonda thinks that if we back off, let these guys perform on their own for just once, then we might be [positively] shocked. Note: this is my explanation for how/why someone all the way across the map sent me flowers. Guys have tricks up their sleeves, too. We just need to let them pull the rabbit out of the hat on their own.

#My2cents

What’s In Your Purse?

DISCLAIMER: I live and love the world of reality television. Period.

Now that that’s out of the way, did you see The Braxton Family Values last week? In case you missed or don’t watch it at all, Mrs. Evelyn (aka Mama Braxton) decided to call off her wedding to Doc. She had no better explanation besides the fact that marriage simply wasn’t in her plans at the moment. I understand that.

So Mrs. E went to visit the family therapist to ‘discuss’ her decision since it was weighing heavily on her heart. As I’m watching, I notice the therapist isn’t saying much but rather agreeing with Mrs. E about doing what’s right for her! And Mrs. E said something that sparked this blog. Allow me to paraphrase: “I tell people I got married when I was 2. (laughter) That means I was very young when I committed my life to someone, and since then, I’ve always put other people before me. It’s time for me to put ME first and do what I want to do! To make ME happy.”

Isn’t that a mouthful?! I love Mrs. E because, much like my own Mom, she’s living some dreams now that the kids are grown-up and out of the house. Also, Mrs. E’s words makes me want to ‘slap the piss‘ out of many women my age. She explained that, although Doc made her very happy, she didn’t need him for her happiness. *pause*

Oprah Winfrey talks about finding happiness and love all the time through her website, shows, and magazines. She’s also a prominent figure in the single world. Y’all know she ain’t legally married to Steadman. And I doubt for one second she’s unhappy about the decision not to marry him! That’s because women like Mrs. E and Oprah have lived long enough to fully understand that they don’t need a man to make them happy.

Did you desperate broads hear what I just said? YOU DON’T NEED A MAN TO MAKE YOU HAPPY. I get so frustrated talking with my guy-friends about clingy/needy/jealous/weak/whack women they meet. And the same frustration turns to disgust when my lady-friends ‘wish’ they had a man to make them happy. *banging head against the desk* How stupid does that sound? True happiness is internal. Think about it.

If you can wake up in the morning excited about some fancy shoes or panties you just bought, you’re probably happy. But if you ‘wish’ you had someone to show your shoes/panties to—which would make you happy, you’re probably psycho. And you’re going to be miserable if your search for a mate is speared by your need for someone to give you joy.

It’s time for us as women to be more proactive in our own satisfaction. That way, when you meet someone and it doesn’t work, you don’t feel like you’ve completely missed out when they decide to ditch you! Example: Guy sees girl in line at Starbucks. Girl is obviously overwhelmed with work and life stress as she shuffles through her large work bag to find her wallet. Guy offers to pay her $4.40 coffee tab and slides a $5 bill toward the cashier. Girl thinks she’s found the man of her dreams as she hasn’t been on a date in 4 months. Guy has been waiting 6 minutes for her to decide on a drink and slid the $5 so she could finally get out of the line. Girl flashes several smiles at Guy as he leaves Starbucks without asking for her number.

Okay maybe that example was a bit OverTheTop.com, but you catch my drift! And I’m sure you can personally name at least 2 females like this. Us women are direct displays of how we internally handle life’s stress (we’ll talk about this later). A lot of times, when a great guy sees women like her coming, he turns in the other direction to avoid her tornado of sadness emotions coming at him. And just like that girl at Starbucks, we need to get it together.

Am I saying just because your wallet is buried beneath your laptop and 22 manila folders in your bag that you’re unhappy? No! I’m saying that if you take the time to organize the shit in both your bag AND your life, you might begin to have happier days. And maybe, just maybe, the guy behind you (who has already taken you on 6.5 dates & mentally “hit it” 72 times) might ask for your number.

Now go buy yourself a nice pair at Aldo, hit up Victoria’s Secret, and really enjoy being with YOU. Because if you don’t, no one else will.

*Turns up volume on TLC’s “Silly Ho”*

Lucky Number “Tree”–Pt. 1

It’s your typical Friday night in the big city: distant siren sounds, slow side-street traffic, and the smell of Love Spell around every corner.  To many, this is a recipe for disaster, but it seemed like the beginning of an eventful night to me. Boy. Was I right.

I arrived at a popular spot on Highland/Hollywood just before 10 0’oclock. Everybody knows the guest list closes at 10:30P. I stood in line with 3-7 “new friends,” which are pretty women I spark conversations with so it doesn’t appear that I rolled solo. We’re in line shivering and smiling in a huddle, and hoping the doorman picks us next to go in. Now’s a good time to point out how every car at the stoplight turned to a ‘good’ song then blasted their radios. Why do people do that?

At this point it’s 10:45P and I’m randomly texting a girlfriend about the ratchetness I just saw: a stretch Hummer with butterfly doors and at least 12 wheels…each with 24″ rims…pulls in front of us. All the gold-diggers standing outside got quiet. Out jumps a group of bums, pure bums! The girls had on the latest spring fashions from Wet Seal and the guys were in flannel shirts & Timberlands. One of them even had prison-like (aka fuzzy, messy, and crooked) braids. I was waiting to see Snoop emerge from the cloud of smoke behind them, but no. Just an [un-named] NFL player whose birthday party it was.

We finally get inside at the discounted rate of $10 (thanks to the guest list…smh) and of course, the place is near empty. That explains the line out the door.

After maybe 2 songs, I find myself standing near the wall & eyeing the men in the room. This was by far the tallest collection of guys in LA I’ve ever seen. Guy #1 approaches me with a classic don’t-you-wanna-let-me-dance-behind-you attitude while sipping his drink. I veered right. He says, “Aw, don’t be like that!” I simply gave a ‘no thanks’ through what was left of my lips since his breath had just melted my face. No. Thanks.

Minutes later, Guy #2 comes up to me to ask am I having a good time. I shook my head, “I’m not feeling this DJ, I don’t dance to Yung Berg.” This somewhat handsome dude smiled, “Well I’m having a 90s party next weekend, you should come through. I do party promotions.” If there’s one thing I know, it’s that you kindly accept the flyer and they go away! I stuffed it way down into my purse.

Once the Wobble and Cupid Shuffle songs got me going, my ankles started talking. It’s time to sit down. As I’m resting on a couch in the VIP section (did you really think anyone would be in VIP?), Guy #3 strolls by, stops, and reverses. He is at least 6-feet and some change, but I couldn’t tell how much change while sitting. He’s actually quite attractive, too. He reached out his hand, “Um, please tell me why a beautiful lady like you is all by herself?” I pointed to my shoes, “Gotta give these feet a rest.” He’s still holding my hand, I’m somewhat charmed. Guy #3 is a bouncer and his suit/tie look was very refreshing to me.

A few seconds later, he says he’d like to get to know me better and I should enter my number in his phone. Handed me his Blackberry. Now, I’m more charmed by Guy #3. Third time’s a charm, right?

I ended the night by heading to the bar for a nice glass of water and my last shot at these tall dudes. Not even a full minute goes by as I place the straw to my mouth–Guy #4 is staring me up and down. He’s also 3-inches too close to me and I’m getting upset. By the look of his bloodshot red eyes and flannel shirt, whatever he’s about to say will be classic.

“Ay. You got ass, though.”

That was it. I gave a nod, turned back around and faced the bartender. He’s still talking to the back of my head about how he’s from Kansas City and here in LA to have a good time this weekend. And asked for my number. But I knew Guy #4 wouldn’t walk away without a fight. I grabbed his phone from his hand, typed 310-555-1134 under new contact ‘Terri’ and told him to call me anytime. He smiled and walked away.

–Read “Lucky Number “Tree”–Pt.2″ for the rest!!!

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