#mix chronicles

As previously stated, I’m not one to compete over a man. My ego won’t allow it. And the fact that it’s a 50/50 possibility I could lose, well, my self-esteem would never forgive me.  And in full transparency, my self-esteem and I just got back on speaking terms.  It was touch and go for a while, some ugly things were exchanged, but thankfully we found common ground and was able to resolve it.  So, at this moment, it’s a risk I’m not willing to take. Therefore, if I have to compete, prove or campaign for your affection… I will gracefully (not so graceful), bow out.  So, imagine my surprise when I’m out here just living my absolute best life, with who I thought was my future boyfriend, only to have Rona swoop in and take him. That Bitch, right?  I know what you’re thinking – you almost had a boyfriend… I know we’ll get there.  But bottom line is, I was actually happy, with a potential Future Boyfriend and Rona totally blindsided me.   And honestly, I couldn’t compete if I wanted.  It happened so fast, like being on the opposing end of a Serena Williams serve. It was clear, I was no match for her.

Don’t be mistaken, Rona is not Covid.  Covid is the devil. Covid is a virus that has attacked over 2 million Americans, 10 million people worldwide, leaving hundreds of thousands dead or grieving lost ones. Covid is a disease that we have yet to figure out how to beat.  But Rona… Rona is a different kind of beast. It’s the environmental plague that hovers over us. It’s the psychological, economical and emotional impact of our current situation. Rona is the reason your jeans don’t fit.  Because let’s face it, home workouts were cute in March, but four months later YouTube Yoga doesn’t have that same sparkle anymore. Rona is the reason you had to buy off brand toilet paper for a month because panic shoppers took all of the Charmin.  And Rona has you drinking at 3pm, paying bills and wondering if this is the week you’re going to get furloughed.  Rona is a meanie.  She likes to isolate us with our thoughts, emotionally exhausting us with questions: What are you doing with your life? Why are you not making more money? Is this what you call a hustle? You should read more.  Eat healthier.  Actually exercise, not just plan to. What are you going to do about your hair?  And why are you still single… Look Rona, life is hard enough without your two cents, I don’t need you stressing me out.  She’s literally like a nagging girlfriend or an annoyingly overbearing parent. I don’t know why anyone listens to her, but like most annoying nags she keeps at you until the good life you thought you had, actually blows up. In my case, it was Friday the 13th when life changed. Eerie right. My love life is literally a horror movie. My job had just informed us we would be working from home, and me being naïve thought it was only temporary so I left behind 2 bottles of wine and girl scout cookies in my office. I do regret that.  Anyhow, that week, I noticed the vibe was off with the guy I had been dating for a few months. I couldn’t put my finger on it, but the week before we were happy. We attended a party together, laughed, drank… you know, happy people stuff, but this week was off.  I knew because our communication was strained, which by the way I can talk to a lightbulb – something I’ve learned during my quarantine – so when communication becomes a problem, I know it’s serious.  When I saw him that weekend my concerns were confirmed.  He was becoming distant, but I didn’t know why.  So, like any good, almost girlfriend, I cooked him his favorite dinner. Left him a sweet card. But I never saw him again after that haunted Friday the 13th weekend.  Calls become more infrequent.  Text messages dried up.  I was so confused.  We were happy, I swear, I even have the pictures to prove it.  So, what changed?  When we finally spoke it hit me dead in the face, Rona Got My Man!!!  On that call, I learned that life had flipped upside down for him and in this new world he didn’t know where I fit in anymore. Ouch. Regardless of how much I cared for him, supported him and wanted to be there for him, he didn’t want me. Like a bad Steve Harvey book, he wanted to figure it all out on his own - Bye Woman!  As you can imagine I was crushed, but thankfully there are support groups for women who have lost their man to Rona. Not really, but there should be. I’ve talked to a lot of girlfriends whose boos and potentials totally vanished with the Rona. While speaking and crying, we also drank wine, so I guess it was like a support group, right.  But more importantly, what I learned in these sessions is these are unprecedented times people.  And although I’m an amazing woman and he was a great man, we weren’t solid enough as a couple to overcome a pandemic. And since we’re entering into phase 2 of this thing, which I imagine will be a mix between The Day After Tomorrow and Left Behind, it’s just too much pressure to put on a new almost relationship.  At least that’s what I tell myself.  And since I’ve concluded this was an act of God, nothing he or I could have seen coming, on my dating score card –this doesn’t count. Now if someone could just wave the Men in Black wand in my face, we can make it official.  

xo,

I think social media gets a bad rap when it comes to relationships.  It gets blamed for things it has zero control of.  When Mark Zuckerberg was failing out of Harvard, sitting lonely in his dorm room, and thinking of people’s ideas to rob, I highly doubt he was concocting some epic plan to put love out of business.  Quite the opposite. He was instead creating enough fake friends, to like him, just enough, to convince real girls, he was popular. This was all with the hopes that this new social media thing would encourage them to look past his serial killer face and consider sleeping with him. Who am I kidding, he was just hoping for a little over the pants action. Anyhow, social media was birthed with good intentions.  But over the years, people have turned it dark; blaming it for its failed relationships and trust issues. But social media didn’t tell you to search big booty girls, scroll through hundreds of them, double tapping.  Social media didn’t tell you to put “👀💦😜” under you ex’s, trainer’s and boyfriend’s best friend’s picture either. And social media definitely didn’t tell you to send unsolicited ashy dick pics to random girls’ DMs just because you found her attractive. Actually, they all have this feature now where the pictures disappear within seconds of viewing… so yeah maybe they want the dick pics. I’m sure they are all stored away somewhere in the cloud under a “Random Dick Pic” folder.  But whatever, I refuse to believe that social media ruins relationships. Instead, I think it’s just the exact opposite. The right social media is actually perfect for relationships. Especially if your Future Boyfriend has an eye for angles and can catch you at your perfect candid moments. To me, he’s Instagram Gold which makes him #relationshipgoals which equals the perfect recipe for an Instagram Boyfriend.

Future, Boyfriend, I don’t want you to be confused. An Instagram Boyfriend, is not the same as the boyfriend you post on your Instagram. That’s a couple’s photo. Much different. And to be honest, I don’t even know when it’s appropriate to put your face on my Instagram. Like is it bad luck, like a matching tattoo?  I once put a couple’s photo up of my ex and I and it took a solid 2 days before his other girlfriend DM’ed me their virtually identical couple’s photo.  Which sucked because their lighting was totally better (we took ours at dusk). But worse was I had to not only take down my picture, because clearly, I didn’t want to have the same couple’s photo posted as someone else, oh and because he was also dead to me, but now I had to forgo all my comments that told me how good I looked.  Which by the way are really useful when you feel really bad about yourself because your boyfriend is a real douchebag who cheats on you.   But I digress. An Instagram Boyfriend is one that loves you so much he makes sure you have great Instagram pictures.  And lighting. Clearly my ex wasn’t a good Instagram Boyfriend.  This IG Guy can’t get enough of you.  He thinks you’re absolutely gorgeous and every moment with you is a snapshot in his head that he has to capture for the world to see.  It’s like dating your very own Picasso except he doesn’t make weird art, you’re the art and you’re kinda priceless too.  To put it into context: You know the pictures of the girls, looking back and smiling while holding an obscure hand… Instagram Boyfriend. Or the guy hanging off the side of a boat to get his girl’s perfect water floating moment… Instagram Boyfriend. Or Taco Bell’s sunset heart hands commercial… Instagram Boyfriend.  Every cheesy, adorable, tourist photo, concert pic, beach moment, mountain climb ever taken and posted… Instagram Boyfriend.  These guys are the unsung heroes of perfect Instagram shots and I believe my Future Boyfriend is a hero too.  Future Boyfriend, I believe we’re going to have a lot of adventures together. Travel many places and do great things. And I am already grateful you have an eye for beauty (because you choose me), and athletic body (so you can capture the best angles) and desire to memorialize all my beautiful moments while we’re out there living them.  And don’t worry, we’ll have our couple’s photos too. Because if you’re going to do backbends to get the best shots, I definitely have to photocred you.

xo,

I can’t commit to being desperate. It just feels like a lot more energy and effort than I’m willing to put in. Finding the guy, tracking the guy, chasing the guy, catering to the guy… let’s be honest, that’s a full-time job. One with limited benefits and no real health insurance. I’ll pass. But don’t get me wrong, I’m not judging.  Actually, it’s quite the opposite. A thirsty chick is quite impressive. They have a hustle like no other.  These women actually plot, plan and strategize how to capture a man. Leaving nothing to chance or fate or Hinge. They first begin by identifying their “type”. Easy it’s “Man”. A base model man needs to have a pulse, all of his limbs (especially his thumbs for texting) and teeth. They can be fake, real, gold or chipped, but they can’t be gone. No girl will allow herself to be thirsty over a man with no teeth.  If “Man” has a career or a job he’s been at for at least three months, a house or an apartment with only one roommate and a car or at least an Uber ride pass, then the woman is in luck. She has found a mid-size man. If she presses him hard enough she can actually get a date out of him. One of limited modest pricing, but a date nonetheless. A luxury man is a keeper. He’s handsome, highly educated and well-traveled.  He’s what many, including himself, would consider “a catch”. But you have to be careful with how you approach him. He smells thirst a mile away and is easily spooked. You have to show you care, but not too much. Check on him and ask about his day, but then ignore him just long enough to make him insecure and come running back to you. He wants to feel like the pursuer so you have to let him believe he’s guiding the ship.  Otherwise, one false move and the ship will go down like The Titanic. And like Rose, he will not scoot over, pull you up and float away with you. No, he will freeze you out and watch you die. Usually from a bird’s eye, social media view.  Cold.  Now the last “Man” you can get is the sports model. He’s an athlete and easy. Just trap him and have a baby, he loves thirsty chicks and that’s what he’s been waiting all his life for.

See Future Boyfriend it’s not that I don’t know how to identify the right man for me, it’s that I don’t have the energy to chase him. Because after identifying the “target”,  one has to then put the plan into motion.  And to be honest, I’m just not desperate enough to execute thirsty plans.  Actually, I’m not thirsty at all, I’m just a little parched. So, I only do the bare minimal. Visually I got you. I’ll get all dolled up with a painted-on face and too high of heels and go to whatever party or event potential quality men frequenting. I walk in full of optimism. Maybe today will be the day I meet my Future Boyfriend. But once I arrive it’s game over for me. The thirst is real and these chicks are in full attack mode. They are grabbing, approaching and monopolizing the time of every male in the building. They have superhuman powers. Once they claim a guy they never break away not even to use the bathroom. Seven drinks in they are still standing either with a titanium bladder or an astronauts’ diaper filled with piss.  Me on the other hand is in the bathroom every 15 mins because the seal was broken before I left the house. So, the only one paying me attention is the bathroom attendant who expects me to tip her for handing me a free paper towel. Great. I know you can’t catch a fish without casting a pole, so I try. I make eye contact and smile, hoping to break a thirst trance and get a guy to notice me. If I’m luck it works, but it’s often short lived. The thirsty chicks have flipped the dating game.  I’m now expected to pursue him.  Although I’ve been added to his lineup of women, I don’t put in enough effort to stand out. He expects me to call and text him all day, schedule and plan the date and drop everything to be with him, when he has free time. Ummm no, I’m not that thirsty and I don’t even know you. Future Boyfriend let’s not live by unrealistic expectations. There’re a few things I’m never going to do. I’m never going to “court” you. I will be engaged and interested, but I will not pursue. You wanna feel wanted and chased after, rob a bank. I’m sure the cops will chase you all day. I’m also not going to text you continuously throughout the day. I actually have a career. One that pays me to be smart and witty. I don’t have time to give it to you for free.  By the way, you should be working too. That’s sexy. A man with a job. Do that.  And lastly, I’ll never plan our first date. How hard is “let’s grab drinks?”  3 words, minimum effort. If you can’t come up with something more innovative than me coming to your house for a movie and dinner, you actually don’t deserve to date me. Not to mention, I’ll never go to a stranger’s house on a first day. I’ve seen that movie, it doesn’t end well.  Future Boyfriend, I know there are dark days ahead. Settling down seem so passé, especially when there are thirsty women with limited expectations everywhere. I get it, the options are endless. But Future Boyfriend, I promise you this, I’d rather be a parched girl, sipping solo than a thirsty girl drowning in mediocre men and their BS any day. So if you want all of this… then you’re going to have to come correct.

Xo,

I am a sucker for a good romantic comedy. Actually, I’m a sucker for any romantic comedy.  Which embarrassingly includes, any Jennifer Lopez movie. Yep even Backup Plan and Maid in Manhattan. Well maybe not any… Gigli sucked.  But should that even be categorized as a romantic comedy? It was more like a tragic tale of two mediocre actors hoping that their star power would translate into one mega hit. Oh, that was also the premise of Jen’s real relationship with Ben. So, I guess it was just foreshadowing. Anyhow I always thought when I meet my Future Boyfriend it would be just like in the movies. I’d trip and fall in the street and he’d jump out in front of traffic to save me. Or I’d drop my grocery bag and he’d bend over to help me pick up all the unbroken bottles and barely affected produce.  And to date every flight I board, I optimistically wait for the perfectly handsome stranger to sit next to me, so we can strike up the most magical conversation and fall in love by the time we reach our destination. But all has yielded nothing. And not from my lack of trying. As an admittedly clumsy person, I’ve tripped and fallen many times in the streets and dropped plenty of bags. And nothing.  Not to mention, every flight I take I’m often greeted by the companionship of an elderly person who has packed their own inflight lunch and drinks 17 cups of black coffee. You’re gonna have a heart attack ma’am, put the coffee down.

Recently I thought my luck had changed and the romantical gods were finally shining upon me. I was in LAX headed out of town for a work trip. Like a clone from the city of plastics, I’d made a pit stop at Earthbar for a breakfast smoothie. Now pushing my roller carryon and sipping on my smoothie with tunnel vision I walked towards my gate, and ran head on into a beautiful stranger. Immediately I apologized, but then I realized OMG this is the hottie from my neighborhood. You know the very handsome guy I mentioned a while back that I only see while looking like a homeless person when walking my dog.  The guy who I thought could very well be my Future Boyfriend but he’d met me twice without my eyebrows drawn in so I was pretty sure he thought I was a cancer patient. Well look who was back in the game. Because that morning I was ready. Dressed in fitted jeans and a cute top, my face was naturally perfect with highlighted cheeks and a touch of gloss. Because I always look good going to airports in case I meet my Future Boyfriend on the plane. We engaged in a fun and flirty conversation before it was time for me to board my flight, but he never asked for my number. I boarded the plane with romantic comedies floating in my head saying this is just Act 1, he’ll be back. And he was. I ran into him again the follow week walking my dog. He hugged me and called me bae. We flirted again and he called me bae some more. I quickly realized he didn’t remember my name. Hummm tragic for my ego, definitely a strike, but sure okay. I gave it to him again. We talked some more and walked. It became late and chilly so I needed to go home. We said our goodbyes, but again no exchange of numbers. I walked away this time thinking my Future Boyfriend has no game. We’re definitely in Act 2 of our romantic comedy. Act 3 came at Joann Fabrics a few days later. I was there to pick up yarn. Yes, I’m multi-talented: I’m witty, cute and I make blankets. He on the other hand was there to pick up sweat pads. Yep for his underarms. He uses them on set – oh yeah – he’s an actor.  I tried to ignore that part, but let’s be real, another strike.  But we kept seeing each other so at this point he was either stalking me like the show “YOU” and I was going to end up dead soon, or this was totally serendipitous – And I was hoping it’s not the former. Now that really would be tragic. We laughed and flirted some more, but again he kept calling me bae. Again, he had forgotten my name. So, we’re about to roll credits on this rom-com. I told him he was either the suckiest actor in the world, after all how can you learn lines if you can’t remember “Mix”, or he was just a douchebag who refused to remember my name – smooth. His glow immediately disappeared. The convo took a quick turn from rom-com into reality. Within 5 mins I discovered he had a 9-month old son, he’s not in a relationship, doesn’t want one, but is sexually attracted to me and should “hang out” on his couch soon. Hummm maybe he is trying to kill me.  Either way, lights up, pick up your trash, exit the theater… it’s time for me to leave.  After all, my Future Boyfriend doesn’t hang out at JoAnn Fabrics 💁🏾‍♀️.

Xo,

As a kid, my celebrity crushes rocked a mic, not the big screen. I would dream all night of LL Cool J kissing me (pre In Too Deep) and Jump all day for Kris Kross.  And while all of my girlfriends thought The Fresh Prince aka Will Smith was to die for, I had it bad for U-S-HER-RA-YM-O-N-D now baby tell me what you wanna do with me.  Now not to be confused, it’s not that actors weren’t attractive. They just weren’t my type.  The Prince was most definitely cute, but he was also kinda goofy and too attention needy. Everything revolved around him and although he was a good guy who cared about his family (even Carlton which we saw when he accidently drugged him, making me cry, and landing him in the hospital) everyone played second fiddle to his orchestra.  I know I know, he technically was the star of the show so by design he was the center of the universe, but deep down I knew this was who he really was.  Cut to Jada Pinkett-Smith confirming that on the Season 2 premiere of Red Table Talk.  And just like that I knew this is who actors really are.  And so, from a young age I knew I could ever date an actor, well unless I wanted to spend my entire life holding their purse.

Unfortunately for me, I did not listen to the wise young girl I once was. Instead I moved to Hollywood and did the most cliché thing possible. I dated an actor… actors…  way too many actors. And now I can say with the utmost confidence Future Boyfriend, you are not one. My first actor came disguised as a friend. I met him in at a sports bar. I was fairly new to LaLa Land and was easily impressed. He was a man who like sports and didn’t wax his arms. Winner. After a few months of hanging out we began dating. And although there was a series of red flags: he was much prettier than I, “flirted” with anything in a skirt, lied continuously and had a horrific belly tattoo, it was the day he gave me a pair of white jeans which were gifted to him that I knew we would never be. These were cool, expensive, designer jeans that he felt looked too “girly” to wear, so it was only natural that he gave them to the girl he was sleeping with… the most. I gratefully accepted, but when I tried them on realized I couldn’t pull them up over my big midwestern butt. And in that moment I realized, this shrimp was smaller than me and dating him was bad for my self-esteem. When he later stole my car (and toilet paper) and began sleeping with a mutual “friend” it sealed the deal. We were definitely done. But like a bad tattoo (which he had plenty of) you can’t just have one. This disaster ignited a string of bad actor dating for me. The next two actors were similar but different. One had the body of a Greek God while the other had a personality of a saint. But both were very passionate and super intense. They knew what they wanted and had already cast me to play a specific role in their lives. Unfortunately for them I hadn’t auditioned for the role of devoted, selfless, overly committed girlfriend/pretend wife. I could not dedicate my entire life to their up and down mood swings. Did you get the part? How did your audition go? Oh we’re dieting again… how much weight are we losing this time?  Wow too much. Too soon. I couldn’t.  So, like a class act, I faded into the background.  The next one caught me off guard, maybe because I was laughing the whole time. A comedian, turned actor, turned tortured talent, who enjoyed pretending he was humble, but was really just a douchebag in training swept me off my feet in 2 weeks.  I knew it was real when he drove me to the airport to catch a flight. 2 hours of traffic for me, wow, this dude must love me.  Welp, I knew it was over when while away, I saw a picture of him with his new girlfriend on Instagram.  Wow he moves fast. And just like his many NBC shows, I too was cancelled.  My A-Lister, Soap Star and Canadian actors all imploded when they realized I was not their assistance. NO - I will not review your audition tape for notes. NO - I will not wait in your trailer while you shoot night scenes. And PLEASE STOP SENDING ME YOUR HEADSHOTS!!! I’m no longer interested in casting you for the role of Future Boyfriend.  Goodbye. Look, I work in the business, but I don’t date the business so, if that’s all you have to offer, find another girl who’s more easily impressed.  She’ll read lines with you. Now, Future Boyfriend, although I should have thrown in the actor towel a long time ago, it wasn’t until I spent a little time dating a couple Tyler Perry Production peeps that I remembered exactly why I never liked and should never have dated an actor. Like the Fresh Prince they too were attractive, but very attention needy. They were also goofy and immature. But more importantly these were the most self-absorbed of them all. And just like that dating an actor was - A Wrap – for me.  Now, Future Boyfriend, I’m confident there is more to you than your career, but I promise if your career is acting, I am going to respectfully bow out. I’ve done my time, fought my battles and have concluded actors are not for me. Go find another job then come find me.

Xo

At this age in my life, I’ve spent enough years on this earth to know, I know what I like. But more importantly, I know what I don’t like.  Which I imagine one could take as a blessing. After all, have you ever spent a day with a person who didn’t know what they liked?  It’s quite annoying. Unless you’re my 4-year-old God daughter. She’s cute not annoying. Even when she says “no”… like repeatedly… to everything... always.  So, I guess even at the age of 4 she knows what she doesn’t like. And that’s important. Personally, I think it’s a great skill set. One in which I’m quite good at that. With me, there are no guessing games. You will always know where you stand. But unfortunately, this type of clarity isn’t always taken as a bonus.  Instead I’ve been given horrible labels such as being difficult or worse high maintenance. Ouch. But these are from people who don’t really know me. Those who love me think I’m a dream. So, don’t be afraid Future Boyfriend, I’m like easy breezy. If easy breezy was synonymous with particular about what she likes.

Now this doesn’t mean I won’t try new things. I will, but within reason. Food needs to fit within my dietary restrictions. I don’t eat beef or pork, so save it. I get everything is better with bacon and an impossible burger will never fulfill you the way an In-N-Out double-double would.  Waa waa, look, I’ll never know.  I haven’t eaten either in over 10 years so save the lecture, you’re like a decade too late. And if it is something I can eat, could it at least look enjoyable. Like eating it will make my tummy smile.  Because the phrase, “it tastes better than it looks” is not a good selling point. I like my food pretty like me. Call me shallow, but it’s all about the presentation. Which is why I don’t really like finger foods. Yeah, I know. How can I be easy breezy and not like a slider?  Well I do, so calm down judgey judgerson and hear me out. It’s not a hard no on ALL finger foods, but definitely the wet ones. Everyone likes a good wing or fries or anything else served at Bufflo Wild Wings, but if it’s lathered in sauce I’ll most likely pass. I don’t like to get my fingers dirty. Oh, and I’m kind of clumsy so it’s a 90% chance I’ll be wearing whatever I just ate. Future Boyfriend, I feel I should get a food pass because everyone is particular about what they eat.  If not, you’re dating a human garbage disposal. And I’m not sure how sexy that is. To be honest, I’m only sharing my food stipulations with you so you don’t take me to an all you can eat rib spot for a first date. That would be tragic. Other places I prefer you not take me… to a jazz bar, concert, or your living room playing a Miles Davis album. I don’t like instrumental jazz and this it’s Love Jones.  Find another move.  And it’s not that I don’t appreciate the talent of jazz musicians, it’s just I don’t want to hear it.  I’m more of a lyrical girl.  These instrumental records remind me of my grandparents or elevator music or the opening to the Cosby Show. If I’m not about to see Clair cut her eyes or roll her neck as something ridiculous her kids or husband said then why tease me.  But for some reason guys keep asking me out on jazz dates. Like I’m some senior citizen. And why? Do they think jazz equals sophistication? Boy if you don’t skit scat on out of here.  I imagine water boarding would be more pleasurable. Every year LA hosts the Playboy Jazz Festival. It’s a two-day lineup of jazz musicians, but then they throw in a couple soul/neo-soul artists like Jazmine Sullivan or Anthony Hamilton as a headliner to convince the younger people it’s actually a cool show. Every year I’m invited, either by a girlfriend or a guy who thinks this would be a great date spot. Every year I’d rather stick pins in my eyes and drills in my ears. Last year, I got tired of the “how do you know you don’t like it if you’ve never been” speech and finally decided to go. It was everything I imagined it to be. There was a hovering smell of cigars mixed with Bengay as the old heads circled the venue trying to find “younger” women to push up on. The continuous sound of jazz rattled my eardrums as I found myself watching the clock. Each minute that ticked by felt like another year being knocked off my life. It was pure torture. So, I did what I had to in order to survive. I drank a gallon of sangria and feel asleep in my seat. Look Future Boyfriend, I know relationships are give and take. And when we get together, I’ll definitely take one for the team. But it’s also important that you know what kind of girl you’re getting. If we go to In-N-Out I’m ordering the grilled cheese. It’s off menu, I’m special like that. If we go to watch the game, I’ll order all my sauce on the side. I’d rather dip my wings than have them drip on me. And if you take me to the Playboy Jazz Festival, I know you hate me. Because I’d rather stay home and make YouTube videos of Lil Nas X’s Old Town Road than listen to smooth jazz any day of the week. I don’t know, I guess I just like what I like.

They say the quickest way to a relationship’s demise is to tattoo each other’s name on your body. Apparently, it’s like a horrible curse or something. You get the tattoo, God laughs at the crappy job and poof you’re drunk crying into your sixth glass of roséabout how he’s a douchebag and now you have his name tattooed on your thigh. Ohhh that sounds tragic. I hope you meet, date and marry another RayShawn. It’s possible, maybe. But lucky for me Future Boyfriend that’s not my story. I have no tattoos. I’m a blank slate… a pure canvas…  a clean vessel, you know, like the Virgin Mary minus the virgin. So naturally God found another way to laugh at my bad dating choices. Profile Pictures aka Couple Pictures on social media. Not as permanent, but just as tragic.  First of all, posting pictures on social are a continuous curse in their own right. You take a picture or ten, spend the next fifteen to twenty minutes cropping, Facetuning and filtering through them, only to finally say tada… Here I am.  You are putting your best you out there for the entire world to see… or at least your pseudo friends and maybe a few randoms you’ve met along the way, in hopes that someone, a lot of ones will take the .2 seconds needed to like it. Come on, no whammy no whammy no whammy... It’s torture. Kinda like the first round of American Idol where Simon Cowell just stares at you like how dare you waste his eardrums.  It’s so vulnerable. Three likes and you might as well jump off a building. 50+ ohhh I think they like me. You popping and you didn’t even have to use the dog ears. And 1000 or more you’re either an IG thot, you bought your friends or you’re a Kardashian. Either way, you’ve won, congrats. Teach me your ways, I like to be liked too. 💁🏾‍♀️

But life would be remotely easy if it was only solo pictures I had to stand behind. But it’s not. It’s the dreaded couple photos. And that’s where I believe I’m cursed Future Boyfriend.  See couple photos are tricky. You don’t want to post them premature, especially when the guy in the photo doesn’t know he’s a couple yet. That could be problematic. And lead to very lengthy discussions about where you are in the dating process… oh and then ultimately ghosting. From him. You know because he got cold feet in the relationship he never signed up for. Yeah… no.  But you can’t go too long before posting either.  Photos is the rite of passage from hanging out to becoming official. Without them the relationship doesn’t really exist, hell you don’t even exist and girls continue sliding into his DMs.  And if he gives you push back on this ceremony of coupledom… it’s because he’s not really ready to be a couple… with you.  So, couple photos are also like a crystal ball into your future. Postponing them opens the door to many “what are we” conversations and “I’d rather keep ‘us’ private” arguments.  Rule of thumb, he doesn’t claim you, he doesn’t deserve you, the end.  So, you Future Boyfriend should be excited to promote this beauty at any given chance. You should begin now practicing on being comfortable with public displays of admiration.  It will be required.  Now in the history of me and social media I’ve only posted 3 “couple pictures”.  All ending with me in search of you Future Boyfriend. Therefore, I admit I’m a little gun shy. I believe the couple picture is a curse for me.  The first one I ever posted I thought was perfect.  Although we had taken many pictures together, I felt this one was the one to post. It was a picturesque image of the two of us, on a boat floating by the Golden Gate bridge at sunset. Ohhh how romantical.  So, after 3 years of dating, I finally posted our picture. It took less than 3 weeks for the other girl he was dating to find our picture and DM me a duplicate photo of their same romantical experience. I imagine he had a lot of frequent flyer miles. Poof just like that we were done. My second picture was a candid photo of me and my ex laughing together. Huge smiles, totally in love, caught by friends. Picture went up and we never laughed again. It was like we instantly became the bickering couple fighting about everything including how to raise our imaginary kids we didn’t have. The relationship ultimately ended with him dumping me (read the first entry), stealing those friends and me writing this blog… You’re welcome.  The last one was less tragic, but still a curse nonetheless.  He was an artist, so on a museum visit we took a cute couple’s pic walking through the gardens. Beautiful. We broke up a couple weeks later on the way to another museum. Curse! Look, I don’t know what this means Future Boyfriend, but I’m hoping you can break the curse. Because after all this searching, I not only plan to be with you forever but we’re also taking ton and tons of photos. And those pictures can’t go to waste. I’ve been working my angles, I think we can get more than 100 likes. 📸

Xo,

Like most women, I’m insecure sometimes… well a lot of times. But I’m secure enough to say it.  The irony in that statement is most guys actually assume the opposite.  On the outside I’m well put together.  I dress nice, I’m fit – adjacent, and thanks to a pretty good gene pool I’m aging gracefully - YESSSSS.  Add on two dimpled cheeks the size of quarters and bam… I’m ready world!!! I mean, who can hate a girl with dimples?  Welllll some. Actually many.  I have been told by my appearance alone it was assumed I was overly confident, stuck up and in some cases even conceited. HA.  Talk about misguided reality because in real life I am the exact opposite.  No matter how snatched my body gets, in my mind, I can always stand to lose another 5 lbs.  Each morning, I average about 2 to 3 audition outfits before settling on something I feel confident enough to wear for the day.  And my bathroom looks like a CVS pharmacy filled with overpriced anti-aging creams which I’m almost positive does absolutely nothing, but I keep buying them because I don’t want to chance it.  Hey, I’m trying to look like Angela Bassett when I’m 60. Bottomline: I’m human and Future Boyfriend humanity sometimes equal insecurity.

I believe the insecurity got worse when I landed in La La Land.  Because dating in LA sucks balls. Pretty is a dime a dozen so you need to bring more to the table than that. But don’t bring too much more because success can be as terrifying to some as well. Yeah yeah, I’m sure that means I’ve just been entertaining the wrong guys. Clearly. Hence the two-year hunt for my Future Boyfriend. But I admit, I’ve fallen victim to pretty boys a time or two. Pretty Boys that keep their head on a swivel, have to always out shine you and picks at your insecurities.  The truth is Pretty Boys often feel ugly on the inside so you end up spending a LOT of time trying to make them feel pretty… good.  It’s exhausting.  So, I decided to give them a break. Give the average guy a shot. Maybe I’m missing out on my Future Boyfriend because he’s not wrapped in a 6’3”, solid abs and perfect smile package. Maybe he’s a little shorter, softer and… well the teeth is a deal breaker.  Consult your dentist dude. But what’s most interesting is these NON Pretty Boys are actually WORSE.  It’s like they are solid 7 at best, but think they are a dime. And they behave like I’m lucky to date them…. Ohhh no. I’m the pretty one here, so I am the prize boo.  Flaws and all.  And it’s not that I’m better than you, it’s just my ego won’t allow me to be played by average.  And even flawed I’m still a pretty dope catch.  It was recently that this revelation dawned on me. I was headed to a girls’ spa retreat.  One of the fancy ones with massages, and mineral pools, and mud and all kinds of expensive crap.  The night before I spent 2 hours picking out the best swimsuit for the trip. One that would create the illusion I had boobs, but reduced the insecurity of displaying body fat.  Again, GIRLS retreat. That morning I spent an additional hour debating my face and hair. Normally I wouldn’t leave home without “putting on my face”: eyebrow shadow, eyeliner, mascara, powder, highlighter… you know the basics. I also curl my hair to perfection each day. Not a strand out of place.  Doing these things makes me feel more confident in my appearance. It reduces my insecurities and puts a little pep in my step.  But here I was going to a place where those things would only get in the way. So, after an hour long battle I convinced myself to go fresh face (but with mascara and eyebrows… I mean no one wants me looking like Viola Davis in these streets) and pull my hair into a simple bun.  I felt naked as I arrived to the spa, but quickly rushed to my 10 am massage appointment. Usually I like my massages in silence. I want to enjoy the experience, but this one was different, I had a blind masseuse. Since he couldn’t see I didn’t want tell him he couldn’t talk either.  It just felt cruel and I’m trying to get to heaven so he begins chatting away.  He told me he plays in a band and dates a bikini model. He knew her from high school (before he went blind) and he always thought she was out of his league. She was beautiful and everyone liked her. He was more quiet, insecure and stuck to playing music.  They later reconnected (after he was blind – and no I didn’t ask how he went blind… that felt cruel too. Remember I’m trying to go to heaven here) and she confessed she always liked him, but thought he was too cool for her.  Now he says he’s a blind guy who gets driven around by a swimsuit model… and everyone he knows is jealous of him.  The End.  Now I’m not sure if it was his story or CBD massage oiling he was using to rub me down, but immediately everything clicked. We are all insecure. We’re all flawed. And there is always someone out there who believes you’re flawless.  Now Future Boyfriend that doesn’t mean I’m going to stop wearing weaves or makeup. I like them both. It also doesn’t mean I won’t try still try to shed these extra 5 lbs.  But it does means, if you like me you will like all of me.  Even parts of me that I don’t like at times. And I’ll thank you for it. Because then I’ll know you’ll help me to be a better me.  And that’s kind of every person’s dream. Right?

xo,