A little Known Fact

I learned something rather enlightening and infuriating in a conversation with my ex-husband about two weeks ago. We were discussing the current state of our lives and what we both want for ourselves moving forward. He professed how he never plans to remarry, and I beamed about how I most definitely plan to remarry and have the family that I always wanted. The conversation was going smoothly, it was almost refreshing and hopeful. I was beginning to feel like we'd turned the corner and that maybe, just maybe we could be friends after all that we've gone through together. There have been a few times before when I would get this same exact feeling and without fail something would happen to change everything. Unfortunately this time was no different than the last few times. It all came undone with this statement that casually rolled off of my ex's tongue without so much as a bat of an eyelash. "What you don't know is I tried to get you pregnant twice." He said it so proudly, and although I wasn't looking at him when he made that ridiculous remark, I am almost sure I heard a smile in his voice. If pissivity had a language it was written all over my face. I can't think of anything more dispicable, and disgusting. What kind of a person does something like that? When I think of how life could be so much more complicated right now if he had succeeded with even one of those attempts it makes me very grateful for one's right to divorce. The more I find out about my ex, the more validated my decision to end our marriage becomes (as if I didn't have reason enough already). The moral of this story is be careful ladies; it's a little known fact, but men try to create baby traps too.

Sincere's Celibacy Chronicles Vol. 3: Water, Water Everywhere and not a Drop to Drink

My sincerest apologies. I seem to be having a great deal of trouble with commitment lately. I made a promise to post every Friday about my trek through the desert and for two Friday's I have deserted you. I won't bore you with all the excuses as to why this sudden lapse in communication has occurred. Suffice it to say I have too many balls up in the air at one time, and we all know how much hard work juggling balls can be. Whether you found that last line corny or cute, it is the perfect segue into today's topic. BUT before I get to the actual topic, let me preface it with two concise facts.

1. Celibacy equals clarity
2. It's a man's world (trite but true)

The world is full of penises. The politically correct phrase would be phallic symbols, but usually, I like to call a spade a spade, so we'll roll the Sincere way with this one. It all began last Saturday at the grocery store. I was simply perusing the aisles in the produce section when out of nowhere I was instantly annoyed. It was a fairly calm, quiet day at the supermarket. My shopping basket wasn't terribly squeaky, all of the wheels worked and turned in the right direction, and I could stand in one spot while making a decision between the Romaine or Mixed Spring Baby Greens without the having to do the shuffle around other people's shopping carts. After making the all important lettuce decision I leisurely wheeled a little further down the aisle and picked up two avocado, and a cucumber.

I felt my stress spot begin to tingle a little, but I couldn't figure out what the issue was. There is no way I was still stressing over the type of lettuce I'd chosen. I'd had a great day at work. What the hell was bothering me? As I passed a huge table housing an abundance of bananas it hit me. The produce section at the grocery store is stocked full of food stuffs that resemble the male genitalia: cucumbers, avocado, zucchini, carrots. I was livid! I can't even make a salad without being reminded of sex and how I'm not having any?! The whole world has gone mad! or maybe it's just me. Okay it is just me, but for someone who is trying to make a conscious decision not to engage in frivolous, cheap, sexual encounters solely for the sake of having an orgasm without even the thought, or the twinkle of a possibility of a meaningful relationship with the other person involved, a table piled insanely high with bananas is a bit too much to handle. So I made a sharp right turn past the bananas and made a bee line for the checkout lanes. On my way to the train I passed two hot dog stands and at least three people eating them. In my mind I gave them all the finger.

Sincere's Celibacy Chronicles-Vol. 1 Sexual Myths CONFIRMED

So I guess the verdict is in on this one, I am only two weeks into the desert otherwise known as celibacy. This is the first of many installments (provided I make it through another week) in the little series I'm calling Sincere's Celibacy Chronicles. I've decided that rather than debunking sexual myths, I'll confirm the one's that are unfortunately proving to be true (for me anyway). There are about four that will be confirmed throughout this series, and I'll tackle them one at a time. So without further adieu:

Todays sexual myth CONFIRMED: Prolonged periods without sex/no orgasm will cause breakouts.
*For the purposes of today's post the terms Sex and Celibacy are personified.


Celibacy: I just don't understand why my face keeps is breaking out.

Sex: It's pretty obvious to me.

Celibacy: What do you mean, I drink plenty of water, I workout, I take good care of my skin.

Sex: Yeah, but when was the last time you had an orgasm??

Celibacy: (gives the stank eye)

Sex: Ohhh, that's right, my bad, I forgot who I was talking to.

Celibacy: It's ok, Sex, I know you have a tendency to play with people's emotions sometimes.

Sex: Hey, no hard feelings.

The Sex Saga Continues. . .

For some reason I feel the need to keep you all updated on my sex life, or lack thereof. I've received some very helpful suggestions from some of my female readers on how to handle this debacle. And I want you ladies to know I've taken it all to heart. I even made a trip to an Adult Store Saturday night to shop around for toys. While it's worth noting that I was amazed at the many choices of "toys" and contraptions available for my personal stimulating pleasure, particularly the Rabbit Pearl, I left the store empty-handed. The entire experience was most amusing, and somewhat pathetic. I just couldn't imagine myself using any of those things (at least not alone). I never liked stuffed animals as a little girl. I don't do fake bags. I don't do fake hair. And I don't do fake penis. I'm a realist. Typically, I'm not a soda drinker but if I choose to drink soda, I drink Coca-Cola because "it's the real thing."

I'm the kind of person who will stand out in the rain with no umbrella just so I can say I've had the actual experience of knowing what it feels like. Nothing tops a real life experience for me. But I'm also an open minded person, and I'll try almost anything once within good reason, hence the reason I entertained the idea of going to shop for toys in the first place. However, I've decided to go a different route and challenge my sexual frustrations, rather than satisfy them. I'm deciding to be celibate. For how long, I'm not quite sure, but if we start counting from my last sexual encounter, so far, it's been four months. So you see, I didn't choose celibacy, celibacy chose me. The past four months have been very difficult, but not overly so, and I think the worst is over. So going at least another four months in the desert seems feasible (from where I stand right now anyway). But of course there is a problem (it wouldn't be Sincere, if there weren't a problem). Although I have not engaged in copulation in four months, I have engaged in oral sex. These were only two isolated incidents within my four month dry spell, and there was no breaking and entering involved, so technically, I'm thinking I'm in the clear.

So I'm asking for your opinions, when a person decides to be celibate, does oral sex count?

I know what I think the answer is, but it is too heartbreaking, and infuriating to admit to myself. It's like standing in line at the DMV for half an hour on a particularly busy day, and then realizing you've been standing in the wrong line. So please break it to me gently. I'm half hoping you all will tell me what I want to hear. The right answer will mean that I can continue on my path of celibacy, and in a few months it'll all be over. The wrong answer (which is really the right answer) will mean that my path of celibacy just started about two weeks ago, and I have a very long road ahead of me. However, either way, I am going to do my absolute best to stick it out (admire the irony).

I've been celibate in the past before for a whole year and three months, so I'm sure I can handle this. Of course that was after my very first sexual experience which was HORRIBLE. Consequently, I didn't have much in the way of good sexual memories to torture me. Since then, however, I've managed to rack up a few really good times, and my last sexual encounter was hands down thee best sex of my life, so this go round, this celibacy thing is proving to be HELL some days. On those days I find a little exercise does a body good, so I workout or take a vigorous walk, and that usually takes care of it. Plus I know that when I finally do have sex my body is going to be dangerous! In the meantime, I'll continue to provide weekly updates on my progress, and the joys (if any), and woes of celibacy in a new series to Luv's Detriment entitled, Sincere's Celibacy Chronicles. I'll post updates every Friday until I decide to ditch the desert and climb off of the celibacy camel. While I can't predict how great each post will be, I can promise you it will be candid, if not mildly entertaining. Maybe I can live vicariously through your sex lives, feel free to drop any especially good time memories in my email box ( seeing as how that's the only box that will be getting anything dropped into it for a while).

Wish me Luck!
Sincere Lee

Know Your Role

I've scrambled eggs and fried up some turkey bacon, and I haven't even been here two hours. Don't butter his toast. I'll butter it, but I refuse to put jam on it. He can put his own damn jam on his toast. And I'm NOT washing these dishes. That's not my role anymore. I place both of the plates on the table, with the jar of strawberry preserves (humph!) "Thank you, babe" he says, after he finishes his breakfast. I can feel my temples begin to tense up, and I physically shudder. I am not your baby. I take the dishes into the kitchen and place them in the sink. As I turn on the water I am reminded of what used to be.
Cook.
Serve.
Clean. I catch a glimpse of my reflection standing at the kitchen sink in the window. Rather than filling the sink with water, I fill my tea kettle instead. Within moments I'll be sipping tea out of my favorite mug and slipping into a cat nap. As soon as I feel my eye lids getting heavy, I hear the water running in the kitchen sink. Rest commences.

Can We Talk?!

I am not a texter. I will send a text as a means of communicating pertinent information, like "what time should I be ready?" or "my flight lands at 9:15." I am not one to carry on a full fledged, thirty minute, conversation (if that's what you want to call it) through texting. So imagine the shock and dismay I felt once I discovered that this is the way that people are dating now. The last couple of times I was asked out on a date with a complete stranger, it was via text. My reply: automatic NO, end of conversation. I should not have to decode a text message to go out with you. Whatever happened to the art of conversation? Two real people conversing in real life, in person, or on the phone. It's not always what a person says, but how they say it, voice inflection, facial expression, tone of voice. All of this stuff is part of a conversation, and it is vitally important to whatever we are trying to communicate. In day to day dealings with day to day people you could take it or leave it, but if you are sleeping with someone, or better yet thinking of sleeping with someone, all of these signals are crucial. Unfortunately, all of that is lost in a text. Who was the man who thought up this idea? It's genius (for men). I'm sure none of my male readers will read today's post just because of the title, I digress.

Email is just as bad. Think of how many times conversations have been misinterpreted as the result of a typo, or a punctuation mark, or word usage. The issue is not proper email etiquette, it's lack of communication. I miss the days of exchanging phone numbers on a slip of paper, and putting it somewhere special so you wouldn't lose it, then anticipating a phone call from that special person, and the feeling you get when you hear that special person's voice on the other end of the reciever. There is something about a man's voice on the telephone that is unique, and special to the woman listening. I've stopped dating men who didn't sound good on the phone. A person's voice tells you so much about who they are at the depth of themselves, their character. A person's voice leaves a mark on your mind, and if it's the right person, an impression on your heart. I can remember the sound of anyone's voice who has ever been special to me in any kind of way. The voice may bring back good or bad memories or advice, but the point is, it's unforgettable. You may forget what he wore on your first date, but you'll never forget the way his voice sounds when he says your name. A person's voice is directly connected to his/her soul. It's the only thing about a person that instantly changes in response to mental state, emotional state, physical environment, and everyday circumstances, that is immediately apparent. Why are we forgoing all of this for the sake of using a Blackberry? Texting and email is great for the office and/or business related matters. Outside of that, we all need to disconnect to reconnect. There are enough hidden messages in love and relationships I don't need a text message to remind me of that.

"If I were dead and buried, and I heard your voice, beneath the sod my heart of dust would still rejoice."-Roman Holiday

It's Not ALL Daddy's Fault

I have issues and it's not my daddy's fault. I know this may be surprising, seeing as how every issue that anybody, especially a woman, has ever had can almost always be directly attributed to the first man in her life, daddy. Don't get me wrong, he is no Heathcliff Huxtable, more like James Evans, but even that is a stretch. But he was there, present, in action. He's had his moments when he would get drunk and act like a plum fool, but he was there. He cuts the grass, he washes cars, he takes the garbage out (he has to be provoked, but he takes it out none the less), he does what he needs to do for our family. He also does what he needs to do for himself, and he's never apologized for it. I respect that. My parent's marriage is far from perfect, but I learned a long time ago that that's not my business. I have issues and it's my mother's fault. My mother and I don't understand each other. We never have. Too often it's just assumed that mothers and daughters just naturally have this wonderful, best girlfriends relationship; it's all hair and makeup, and nail shops. My mother and I are more like frenemies, not in the sense that I think of her as my enemy, although I'm not always sure she doesn't view me that way. In the sense that she makes life as difficult for me as possible, and she never seems genuinely happy for me when it's not. It's been a long time since I heard my mother say "I'm proud of you" and we never say "I love you."

Never.

I am the woman my mother wanted to become but was too afraid to be. She has a constant, nagging attitude with me that she doesn't share with my sister. She and my sister are just alike, but me, I'm the different one. I want more and I dare to actually get it. I feel like my mother used to be me. But then she got pregnant with me and all of that changed. She lost her freedom. She lost her dreams. Reality kicked dreams ass. She married my father, and the rest is his story. I get it, but why do I feel like I have to pay for it. I had a beautiful wedding to a paper perfect man. My mother couldn't have been happier. She bragged about my damaged ex-husband all over town. When I called to tell her about the "incident" she was upset, disappointed, but ever hopeful. I could hear it in her voice. I came back home. I needed her help. I needed her to be my girlfriend and empathize with me. I needed her to tell me I was doing the right thing. I needed to know she was proud of me for leaving. I needed her help. I needed. her. help.

It wasn't long before she subtly, then blatantly began suggesting that my husband and I try to work things out. I don't know why I continue to look to my mother for support. She's never given it to me, so I no longer ask, but I still look for it. I still need it. I have become hardened to asking for and accepting help, and it's my mother's fault. I am too proud, too ashamed, too embarrassed. I would rather proudly suffer in silence than ask for help. I have a problem with the principle of the matter. If you have to solicit help, it's not really help is it? When something is wrong, and everything is falling apart, and trust me, everything is falling apart, I handle it on my own. Not only that, I do it in such a way that nobody has any idea how desperate for help I truly am. I wear a veil of sheer confidence, grace, and total happiness, regardless of life's circumstances. I'm not saying I'm unhappy, but even happy people need help sometimes. I wasn't always this way, but I've been this way for so long that I can't remember when I wasn't. I justify it by telling myslef it's the ladylike thing to do. I tell myself that I don't have time to cry or breakdown. I am stronger than that. I got things to do. I think about my mother and wonder what happened to her? I think about myself and wonder if I am my mother's past realized. I think about my unborn daughters and wonder if their mother is compassionate enough to stop the cycle.

*3/06/09 UPDATE: My mother told me she loved me today for the first time!! I always knew it, but it was heavenly to hear.

Unemployed Men: The Original Wife Beaters

I can count on one hand the number of times I have used my blog as a means of debating or sounding off on an issue mentioned in the media. I prefer to blog about issues and problems that pertain directly to my life because I know these issues and problems better than anybody else. That's not to say that I don't keep abreast of what is going on in the world (I'm not that self-absorbed). Every once in a while, however, some of the more highly publicized issues peak my interest enough for me to want to blog about them. The one requirement is I have to have had a personal experience dealing with this issue. I never want to have to prowl the web or go to the library to do my blog posts. It's a blog, not a dissertation. Recently in the news, there's been a little flare up involving Senator Harry Reid and his opinions on the correlation between unemployed men and domestic violence. This issue is something I don't take lightly. I never did before, but now, as someone who has been assaulted by her husband, I have zero tolerance for it and the excuses that people, more specificly Senator Reid have come up with for why these acts of violence are perpetrated. The Senator basically cited unemployment for the reason that men are abusing their wives or significant others. He was trying to make a case for passing a bill in favor of creating more jobs but the purpose for his comment was completely lost on this dumbfounded observation.

I must say, however, Senator Reid is not alone in his opinion. After I let the cat outta the bag about my "situation" I was asked all kinds of ridiculous questions about why my husband (he was my fiance at the time) would do something like that. Was he on drugs? Was he stressed? The one question that kept recurring was, "Was he having issues at work?"

{{{{{Brace for explicit rant}}}}

WHO THE HELL DOESN'T HAVE PROBLEMS AT WORK? I DON'T KNOW OF ANYONE WHO IS COMPLETELY STRESS FUCKING FREE. IF THE ANSWER WERE YES TO THIS QUESTION WOULD IT MAKE A DAMN DIFFERENCE!!! IT IS NOT OKAY TO COME HOME STRESSED AND DECIDE TO CHOKE YOUR FIANCE. A STRESSFUL JOB OR NO JOB AT ALL DOES NOT LET YOUR PSYCHOTIC,DELUSIONAL, IRRESPONSIBLE ASS OFF THE HOOK!!! WHAT THE FUCK?!?! Ahem, excuse me, now back to the issue at hand. The point is why, as a society, are we always coming up with these perfect reasons for these unfortunate situations that occur between men and women. If a man cheats multiple times he has a sex addiction. Now, according to Senator Harry Reid, if a man beats his wife and happens to also be unemployed, that serves as a plausible excuse for his behavior. In the words of my favorite comedian Chris Rock, "whatever happened to crazy?" Why does there always have to be some deeper, hidden meaning or reason why? Whatever happened to making bad decisions and suffering the consequences? This is America people, shit happens, people make piss poor decisions, and do fucked up things. It's as simple as that. STOP THE INSANITY with the clinical bullshit.

*Sorry about ODing on the Caps Lock key, but I had some shit I needed to get off my chest. All better now. Thanks!

Sincere Lee

O.P.P

"Women always want what they can't have." I've heard this echoed over and over again by men and women. Honestly, until I found myself in a situation where I was attracted to, and wanted to sleep with somebody else's man (in my case husband), I was in complete denial. I did not act on my desires, and I did not know he was married when I met him (for details refer to Sticky Situations and Sticky Situations Part Deux). The way I handled my situation however, seems to be the exception, rather than the rule. It takes discipline, and good home training, ofen times prayer to resist a temptation like that. Particularly if you feel a very strong connection with this person, and have convinced yourself that somehow, some way, this man was supposed to be yours. Rarely does a married man leave his wife and family to be with the mistress, jump-off, side-kick, or the like; the idea of this actually happening in real life is almost mythical. I'm only speaking on attraction to married men, my personal situation didn't go any further than that. I just felt like that needed to be said. Just for kicks, however, I sometimes like to play devils advocate, so I did a little "research"(deep thought coupled with personal experience) on why some women are attracted to married men.

In talking with the married man, or the beautiful stranger, as I so fondly referred to him, I discovered exactly what the appeal is. They are already domesticated. I'm not a male basher, and I don't believe that all men are dogs, but for arguments sake, I can't think of a more suitable means of comparison than a trained dog. They've been paper trained, the know how to eat without spilling their food all outside of the bowl, and they can walk properly on a leash. All of the work is already done. There is a distinct difference in appearance, attitude, maturity, and frame of mind between married men and single men. I can spot a married man from a million miles away. In fact, the night I met the beautiful stranger, as soon as I laid eyes on him I told my girlfriends, "he's probably married." He just had that domesticated look. His clothes were neat, and fit appropriately, he wasn't heavily doused in cologne, and he was very well groomed, short, clean nails, clean hair. But the dead giveaway (not a wedding band, he wasn't wearing one) was he wore a peacoat, that was tailored to fit him to perfection; substantial evidence that there was a woman in his life in some capacity, either a stylist or a wife/live-in significant other. A straight man does not dress that way on his own (no offense single men, but if you have any fashion savvy at all you owe it to the women in your lives). I know how my husband dressed when we first met. While he was always very well put together, his style gradually became a lot more polished and refined the longer we were together for two reasons.

1. I began to buy most of his clothes
2. On occasion, I picked out what he wore.

I have a hunch that single men are aware of the obvious difference between themselves and married men, which is precisely the reason why they are so resistant to a woman buying their clothes when they are "just kicking it," but I digress. To some single women, a married man equals a good man (for argument's sake, let's just ignore the fact that he's cheating on his wife). A married man has "know-how." He knows how to carry on a decent conversation because he's married. He doesn't have committment issues because he's married. He knows how to come home at night because he's married. He probably knows how to fix a car, or trim your hedges because he's married. And he knows how to treat you in public because, well, he's married. I realize how this may make single men feel. I'm not saying that you're incompetent, but relationships make a world of difference in the lives of single men, particularly long term relationships. Relationships, for single men, provide the transformation from bachelorhood to husband-hood. Speaking as a married woman who is going through a divorce I can appreciate the irony of today's post (I created it), but as an aspiring writer, I am interested in all things life. For the most part (at least in my one, isolated instance) there was no deep, philosophical reason for my attraction to the beautiful, married, stranger. The attraction to married men is just like everything else that makes this instant gratification world go round. It's fast, conveinent, and pre-packaged. Single women who are attracted to married men are attracted to them because subconsciously, whether we like to admit it or not, we all want a husband. The catch is, however, you have to get your own.

The Problem with Proposals

During dinner he kept fidgeting, and shifting in his chair. He left the table at least twice in the middle our meal. I knew what he was up to, act surprised I kept telling myself. Dinner was over, and he asked for the check. Okay, here it comes. I looked him straight in his eyes. He gave me a wink. He paid the bill and we exited the restaurant. Okay. He drove down to the beach. We parked, I took my shoes off, he didn't, he would never do that, and we walked down to the shore. It was a pretty night, a little cloudy, and cool, but I love the beach at night; the way the ocean looks as if it stretches farther than your imagination. Endless, and overwhelming. We talked about our future, what we wanted out of life. Then he spun me around, and got down on one knee. "My life is not worth living if I don't have you." "Will you marry me?" I giggled, I was so nervous. I really wanted to think about it, but I couldn't hear anything but the sound of the waves. Before I knew it I shook my head yes, then the word yes slipped out of my mouth. He slid a one carat round solataire on my finger, and it was done. We were engaged.

My story is a classic American marriage proposal. Boy meets girl, sometimes they fall in love, sometimes they don't, but for whatever reasons, they stay together. If they stay together long enough, inevitably, at some point in the relationship, the question of marriage is going to come up. Girl waits patiently, or impatiently, for the day that he finally proposes, never questioning whether or not she would say yes or no. Boy kneels down on one knee, girl says yes, with or without a second thought. I had second thoughts, but I didn't entertain them for longer than a second. My boyfriend of two years had just knelt down on one knee, in the sand, and asked me to marry him at the precise time in my life when I wanted to get married, holding a diamond ring, what woman wouldn't say yes. This is the problem with proposals. In American culture, while men may fret over whether or not the woman will say yes, women rarely do. Most of us either don't realize we have the option of saying anything other than yes, or we don't have the guts to say anything else. Whenever I spoke to my girlfriends about the possibility of my ex-husband proposing, no one ever asked me "What will your answer be?" There is no emphasis on the answer, it's all about the question. If a man asks you to marry him you say yes, that's just what you do. No woman wants to be the bitch who turned down her boyfriend's marriage proposal. Surely it will be the NO heard round the world, and undoubtedly it will mean the end of the relationship. It's like blindsiding someone with an ultimatum, only it's teasingly biased because you know that the right response will get you a pretty, sparkly diamond (beautiful wedding, 2.5 kids, and a house, or a classic six on the Upper East Side of Manhattan whatever your dream is). As long as the relationship is okay, and there have been no major problems, this is usually enough to sustain most of us; never mind love and happiness (sorry Al Green). If my ex had never put his hands on me, I know we would still be married, even given the fact that I was never in love with him. I'm not placing blame here. I don't blame men or our culture, nor am I blaming the women (such as myself) who say yes when they really wanted to say "no," or "maybe." I am proposing that we revamp the way we propose marriage.

Women you are not going to like this but I disagree with the idea of a man purchasing the ring before proposing (yeah, I know, now that somebody put a ring on it and it didn't work out I'm ready to screw it up for everybody else). I think it adds too much pressure. If there were no ring involved until after the woman accepts the proposal, then maybe we wouldn't feel as if we had to say yes. At the very least we wouldn't feel so much guilt if during the time between the proposal and the actual purchasing of the ring, we changed our minds. It would also lessen the humiliation for the man, who probably spent four to five months salary, or maxed out a credit card to purchase such a ring, only to have to return it, or sell it on ebay. The ring in and of itself creates so many problems with marriage proposals. It is a symbol to the world that another human being thought highly enough of you and loved you so much that he wants to spend the rest of his life with you. The ring is usually symbolic of something more personal for the woman wearing it. For me it was a symbol of the relationship we had before, the man he was before, the woman I was before. It was a symbol of everything I worked for and fought for and defended. I deserved it, it was owed to me. But the world's idea of what that ring symbolized was easier on my spirit and my heart so I forgot about all of that and held on to the world's idea for dear life.

I never dreamed about my wedding day as a little girl. I always wanted to get married, but I never obsessed about it. After I was engaged however, I could think of nothing else including whether or not I honestly wanted to marry this man. The task of planning my wedding became a welcome distraction from the reality of my unhealthy relationship. I became fixated on this image of the life I always wanted for myself, and got busy planning it. I may not have been in love with my ex, but I was 100% dedicated and devoted to our relationship, and our marriage before I started to examine the issues. The American traditions and customs that a marriage proposal is based on are the reason why over half of all marriages fail in the U.S. If the answer to a marriage proposal was discussed and well thought out the way we handle any other type of proposal, there would be less people shouting YES to it and investing so much time and money so quickly. As I've figured out by now, a proposal is just that, a proposal. A marriage proposal should not automatically be the pit-stop on the way to holy matrimony. It should signify that you're giving the idea of marrying this person some serious thought.

Sincere Lee

1+1=2

If you recall a few posts back I expressed my raging, insanely out-of-control need to have sex. Unfortunately, not much has changed since then. The opportunities have been there, so at this point it is my choice to continue to suffer this way. There are only two reasons why I woman would turn down a perfectly good opportunity to have sex when she really, really needs to. Either she's married, or her number is nearing the maximum; my reason is the latter. I will not reveal exactly what my number is, but I will say that it is not in the double digits yet. With men, the higher the number the better (at least that seems to be the consensus amongst most men), so naturally, the opposite is true for women(I don't make the rules, it's the American way). So I have one of two options. I can either screw the next guy who makes it beyond a third date, or I can dip back into my crate of oldies but goodies.

Either way this is an extremely tricky situation. The consequences and repercussions that accompany sex with a new guy are endless, but most importantly (besides the obvious STD's and/or a baby daddy) I'm taking the risk that the sex could be bad. I cannot afford to take that big a risk. Because I'm only about two penis's away from my max, I have to choose very wisely. The chosen one need only be attractive, and have the xy chromosome accompanied by a respectable sized member. The sex does not have to be mind-blowing, but it has to be good, otherwise it's not worth it. Herein lies the obvious issue, how the hell am I supposed to know all of this for sure about a complete stranger after only a few dates, or a million dates for that matter. I suppose there's word of mouth, the size of his hands or feet, or any of those other mythical methods of determining a man's worth in bed. However "what they say" has never proven to be anything less than a major let-down for me. The probability that sex with a new guy will end negatively is very high.

Sex with an ex can be just as disappointing. I always think of that message that's printed on the rear-view mirror of a car, objects may seem closer than they appear. Inevitably, the risk of someone catching feelings, or wanting to get back what we never had will rear its ugly head. In my particular case that someone will without a doubt be him. I have mastered the art of having sex without falling in love, particularly with an ex. I have to admit that I'm a bit of a heartbreaker. Not in the conceited, I'm so great they just can't help themselves way, but in the sense that I get bored very easily. It takes a lot to hold my attention for longer than five minutes before I'm thinking about the next thing to do. Consequently I've been the one to call it quits in the majority of the relationships I've been a part of. I'm hardly a bitch about it, unless the guy acts like a bitch; but when I'm done, I'm done. So if I decide that I need to go back it's just sex. Nothing. else. The great thing about sex with an ex is that my number stays put, and I already know what I'm getting. So for arguments sake, sex with an ex trumps sex with a new guy. But which ex? and the saga continues. . .

Old Chick In Da Club

I don't want to be the old chick in da club. I'm twenty-six, and I know that hardly qualifies me as old, but lately I've been thinking about exactly when I plan to put my "stanky-leg" stilettos in the closet for good. Things are definitely beginning to slow down. About four years ago I could party all night, go to work the next day, and then party again, now I need a nap. I can't hold my liquor the way I used to either. Two good martini's (I like 'em dirty), and I'm done. That number was doubled back in the day before I was even tipsy. I pride myself on knowing my music. The last time I was in da club however, I had to keep asking my girlfriend "What is this?" to which she always replied "Girl, you don't know this song?" (as if everyone in the world knows that song except me), and then it hits me. Am I the old chick in da club? Maybe I've just been out of the scene for too long. Monogamy will do that to a young woman. Just as a disclaimer, I have nothing against monogamy. I enjoy the stability of a good, solid relationship as much as the next woman. But I'm starting to feel like domestication has ruined me forever. My afternoons spent shopping at Williams Sonoma, and recording recipes has sucked the club-sexy right out of me. I still have the desire to go out, and for the most part I enjoy myself when I'm in da club. Yet I have to admit I have my moments when I'm partying, and really feeling myself, and then someone bumps me without so much as an excuse me, causing me to spill my $13.00 martini, and I think I'm getting too old for this sh*t.

There is a very fine line between ages twenty-five and twenty-six, but the line exists none the less. I was a much different woman a year ago. Certain things like being drunk in public felt right at twenty-five, or cursing out that guy who walked by and purposely slid past you close enough for his penis to rub against your ass. At twenty-six however, I feel like I've turned the corner. I would be a complete hypocrite to act as if I haven't been drunk in public recently (check the post "Shout Out to D.C."), but I didn't enjoy it as much as I would have at twenty-five.

PSA: Fellas I don't think any woman has ever enjoyed that little slick-ass, slide-by, so please excuse yourself, and keep your di@k to yourself.

While it may not be time to put my freakum dress way in the back of my closet, I now have a little more poise about myself. Consequently, the foolishness that can and will go down in da club is just not my scene anymore. There needs to be a club/lounge, beer garden, rooftop terrace, somewhere for sexy, sophisticated ladies and gents aged twenty-six and over to gather and party, or just hold a decent conversation without having to yell at the person right next to you. My girlfriends and I are spending an awful lot of our Friday nights at nice restaurants for lack of an exciting place to go that is age-appropriate for us. Club Entreprenuers take note, I can't be the only over twenty-five year old woman who feels this way. The party scene, as it stands, is one extreme to the next. It's either dry as hell and boring i.e. the place where you go to party before you go to the real party, or the music is blaringly loud, it's dark as hell, and the air is polluted with the stench of weed smoke. Once in a while I can get down with the extremes. I love jazz and a nice glass of wine, or a jumping party where I can dance and sweat until I wear the tap off my heels, but these can't be the only options. Now I understand why our parents had house parties. Maybe we should bring it back. Happy Friday!

Sincere Lee

*This post was inspired by my very good friend, he'll flip out if I mention his name or initials, but you know who you are. I hope you continue to find inspiration to do what you love.

Operation Ms. New Booty

Generally speaking size matters in the south. Bigger means better, so EVERYTHING is bigger. Land, cars, portion sizes at restaurants, hair, smiles, waistlines, and most importantly, asses. Southern people are the original creators of big booties. You're born with it, so usually we take it for granted. I know I did. I never even acknowledged how nice an ass I had until it was gone. Yes my good people, according to some pretty well acquainted sources, my big ass is no more. So I'm on a mission to get my booty back. I tried not to let it bother me. I'm an intelligent, pretty, funny girl with a great personality, I don't need a big ass, I told myself. I blamed it on the fact that some of my jeans fit bigger now since I've lost weight, but to no avail. I have to just face the facts. I don't know exactly when it happened. It was a gradual process I suppose. When I moved to NYC I still had it, but I guess somewhere between those three blocks I walked to the train daily, my visits to the gym three times a week, and my all organic diet, it just deflated. Good health = *nassatall. I'm exaggerating a little, I still have a nice little booty, but my curves are much softer than they used to be, from the back anyway.

Now it's like the fat from my ass went its separate ways and settled on my hips. Is this the beginning of the aging process? Can this be fixed, or am I just assed out? Come back booty! Come back! Life just isn't as much fun without you. I'm not going to pretend like I don't notice how men check me when I'm walking down the block. After your face checks out, every man's natural instinct is to check you out from the back. Whether I'm interested in him or not, I like knowing that everything is on the up and up. Who doesn't like being admired? I digress. I seriously don't know what to do. I tried to entice it with pasta, biscuits, pancakes. I've seen a little improvement in bounce, but not too much in the way of size. However, there is a very delicate balance here that must be maintained. I don't want to go from nassatall to **bootydo. The only thing worse than nassatall is bootydo (so not sexy). I'm sure you get the severity of this situation, so any suggestions are welcome, but please no built-in booty panties. The bottom line is, this ass needs to be authentic.

*nassatall- no ass at all
**bootydo- your stomach sticks out further than your booty do.

The "No Baby Daddy" Oath

"If you don't have any children by the age of thirty, there's no point in having any at all." My mother made this comment yesterday while eavesdropping on a conversation I was having with one of my girlfriends who is childless and single. While I'm not single, I will soon be divorced, and I don't have any children either. We both took offense to this. I was appalled, yet I couldn't figure out why. I had to sleep on it, and think on it some more this afternoon. I think it's bothering me because I will not have children without a husband. I realize that this is a rather archaic way of thinking; the nuclear family does not really exist anymore. Some may challenge whether it ever really existed at all. Whatever the case, I still want to have a family in the more traditional sense. My sister is a single mother, so are three of my cousins, and I've seen first- hand how they struggle. It's like pulling teeth to find a babysitter. There is never enough time, or enough money, and it ages you well beyond your years. Not to mention the effect it has on the children who rarely get the time and attention they need and deserve from both parents.

I took a "no baby daddy" oath (see below) when I was eighteen, and I plan to continue to adhere to it, so far so good.

I ____________ hereby swear to always be responsible
and cautious where matters of a sexual nature are
concerned. I will refrain from having sexual
relationships with men who have baby mamas. I
promise to avoid one night stands at all cost,
and never go home with a man when I am inebriated,
or otherwise not liable for my actions.

So basically my decision to have children is dependent upon when, or if I remarry, and truthfully that is anybody's guess. I have a prospect, but as much as I believe that we were written in the stars, I also know that nothing is guaranteed. My mom's comment really hit home with me because I am ready to be a mother. I love children, and children love me, it's always been that way, but I'm ready in a different way now. I physically get a sensation whenever I see a baby, it's almost like something is tugging at my uterus (I don't mean to be so graphic), but its true. Herein lies the most frightening thing with this apalling comment, for me it has to be all or nothing. It's either family i.e. me: mother, wife, writer he: husband, father, thriving career, and children, or me: single, writer, traveler. There is no in between, all elements must be present, one will not exist without the other. Here come the "what if's," What if I never remarry? or worse What if I remarry and re-divorce? OR What if while I'm enjoying bachelorette-hood, and writing, I get pregnant? I honestly don't know how I've made it this long without getting knocked up. I love sex. It is most certainly not in my plans to stop having sex as my single, (might I add sexy), writer, traveler self. Given my current screw up, I refuse to marry again for the wrong reasons, or without being in love. When did it all get so complicated? The funny thing is I called myself avoiding all of this when I got married the first time. I guess the joke is on me (just in case you're wondering, I'm not laughing).

You Say What?!

I was having one of those great talks with my sister tonight about men and relationships (what else). We were catching each other up on all the bizzare, what- the- hell- does- that- mean things that men have said or done to us. I have decided to share some of these quotes/situations with you, complete with a short blurb of my reaction, in an attempt to understand these creatures called men. Although I'm not sure that a task such as this is even accomplishable (I don't think that's a word, but roll with it). At the very least I would like to express what I was really thinking at the moment. Brace yourselves, some of the content listed below is a little hard to digest.

"Why should I live my life like I'm in a relationship, when I haven't been presented with one."- Initially I was pissed off about this one, but upon further observation, it makes perfect sense. I know now that I was pissed because at the time I couldn't present him with a relationship. A little something called a marriage is currently preventing that from happening. But I do love him very, very much. BOMBSHELL

"I love you, I always have. Not talking in the romantic sense, as a complete entity."- This was also said to me by the man that I am so enamored by. I wasn't sure how to feel about this. I took it to mean that he was not in love with me, but now I don't know, seeing it in black and white like this makes me feel really good inside.

"I wish I had more time to work with you"- WTF? you're the one with the wife and the kid and you think I need someone to work with me? This was a classic line from the beautiful stranger, and I might add the one thing that he said that made me want to hang up on him. He was just too damn beautiful. It's amazing the things that beautiful people get away with.

"Don't worry, I'll get it up"- Please don't bother. SUBTEXT to this subtext: Men who fail to warn a woman that they are uncircumcised.- Talk about a surprise. It was so sci-fi. There are more of these things running around than you think. You guys should wear special underwear or something. An instructional video would even be helpful, that way we can decide whether or not we want to go through with it before the faucet starts leaking.

Men who take you to meet their mother/family, everything goes great, and then they disappear, or their supposed-to-be ex girlfriend calls you to say that she's NOT his EX- girlfriend.- Long distance relationships are very tricky, you never can tell exactly what is going on. He was Star Wars obsessed, and a little nerdy, but he had the goods. I can't blame the girl for fighting for that one. Junk like that is hard to find.

"You're so easy to fall in love with"- Is that a good or a bad thing? Are you saying that you're in love with me? Are you just very observant? or Are you saying that you could fall in love with me? Why even bother saying this to someone, it is annoyingly pointless.

"It was either punch you or choke you"- I really hope you get the help that you so desperately need. You do realize that no normal, mentally stable person would ever consider those two options as a suitable means to resolve an argument with your wife.

Men you have a perfect first date with that you never hear from him again- Was it something I said? Oh no, I know, I know, he's just not that into me.

"You need someone to take care of you"- Really? Because I just paid for my own glass of wine while you were standing here, is that person supposed to be you?

"I like a woman who wears glasses, a woman once let me cum on her glasses"- Are you insinuating that I let you do the same thing to me? Is that supposed to be sexy you disgusting, perverted, pervert. I have a better idea, but I won't discuss it, I'm a lady. You fill in the blank.

Men say the darnedest things!

Shout Out to D.C./Blame It on the Alcohol

It would be more than fair to say that my time here in D.C. can be summed up in two words: drunken stupor. I have definitely done my fair share of partying here. I have also managed to grind out some really good work on my blog, and in between hangovers, make some major decisions about my life, all while thoroughly enjoying myself. D.C. this entry is dedicated to you. Outside of NYC, you are my home away from home.
It all started at The Park. My very first week here we went to The Park at Fourteenth. It's a fairly small space, the decor is typical of a restaurant/lounge, and the food is decent. But the energy on a Thursday night is fabulous! Thursday nights at The Park became a weekly event. I love the sea bass and spinach entree, loathed the mini burgers, and adored the selection of men. Shout out to Ron B., Andrew, Patrick, Sam, Jay, T.J., B.J., and God (don't ask). Whenever I'm in town, I'll be stopping in.
Of course a woman of my discerning taste cannot go anywhere without finding a decent place to shop. Tyson's Corner was my drug of choice. The afternoons spent shopping, and lunching with my girlfriends at Gordon Beirsch will never be forgotten. Dinner at Maggiano's is just what the doctor ordered for those long discussions with friends that can only be had over a huge plate of carbs, and a nice long stemmed glass of Merlot.
We spent Founder's Week (all you greeks know what I'm referring to) at the K Street Lounge. Shout out to Jessica of Delta Sigma Theta, my new found D.C. friend! That was a wild night. The club was packed to capacity, alcohol was flowing, and we danced until we were dripping wet. I had forgotten I could move like that! Isn't it funny how every song that comes on in the club is "your song" when you're tipsy and having a good time?
My girlfriend celebrated her birthday at Tuscana Lounge. I had a little too much to drink that night, but what I remember of it was a great time! I heard all about it the next day at brunch at the Silver Diner. I've definitely had better brunch, but when you're with friends, who cares.
Mexican at Lauriol Plaza was pretty good. The swirl Margarita is delish! I only had two drinks this time, so I was able to walk myself out of the restaurant. Shout out to the crazy guys we met while we waited for an hour and a half for a table (it was too cold out to go anywhere else).
Other random fun moments in D.C.- Getting escorted out of The Park for being drunk, getting sick, and throwing up (so much for being ladylike). Falling down on the dance floor at Tuscana Lounge (again due to too many martinis). That Saturday afternoon at the Westin Hotel (you know who you are, FYI: I am not referring to some random guy, despite how it may appear). Hocking my engagement ring at that jewelry store at Potomac Mills. BIG shout out to Jason! and lastly the meeting at P.F. Chang's that inspired three of my blog posts.
A few things I could do without: the snow, the traffic, and the parking problem. I'm used to the snow and freezing cold temperatures, but having to find a place to park in D.C. is nothing short of a nightmare, and I wasn't even the one driving! Since living in NY, I rely on public transportation, so it's been a while since I've had to sit in traffic. I have completely lost my patience where that is concerned. Sadly, as the saying goes, all good things must come to an end. In about a week I'll bid farewell to you D.C. Even with all the parking woes, and the traffic, you were well worth the ride. Cheers! Sincere Lee

Degrees of Separation

I had no idea that dating when you are separated could be so complicated. The more I try to get around the fact that I am getting a divorce, the harder it is to explain exactly what is going on in my life. It's no longer as simple as status: married, place of residence: NYC. Now I have to give the back-story of my life because none of these elements of my life are defined right now, and none of them are the same anymore. This always proves to be very tricky. I usually make something up on the spot that's colorful, and witty, and little less shocking. The fact that I look about five years younger than what I really am, makes it all the more agonizing.

The second I say I'm getting a divorce eyebrows rise, and they give me that skeptical eye. Inevitably, the questions how long were you married, and why are you getting divorced, follow. The answers to both of those questions are equally embarrassing. Then one of two things happens; the guy either pays for my drink, the pity martini is what I call it, or he finds a reason to walk away. On occasion he actually asks for my number and uses it, but rarely does it go beyond a first date. How serious can you be about someone who is still legally married? It bothers me that even after deciding to end my marriage, I am still defined by it. It bothers me that I will never be single again. It bothers me that I had the perfect wedding, and a painful, short-lived marriage. It bothers me that I am going to be someone's ex-wife, and at the tender age of twenty-six, I will have an ex-husband. My life is on a red light right now, and I am so desperately ready to go. I can't wait for the spring.

The Problem with Potential

We all know this guy. The "really good guy" he doesn't quite have it all together. You're not completely sure about how you feel about him because generally there is something that he does and/or says that grates on your nerves. He's usually between jobs, and still lives at home with his parents. BUT he has a great personality, he's educated, or at least working on it, and he makes you laugh. This, my friends, is the "man with potential." In theory it's always a good idea to keep him in your back pocket, ya know, for those hard times. However, this is not the man that you seriously want to date, if you do, proceed with caution. I've dated at least a handful of them, we all have. In fact, I married him, and look how that turned out.

This is the problem with men with potential. A woman can spend years and years of her life with a man who has potential and he may never live up to it. Next to shaving off all of your hair for any reason other than cancer, this is the riskiest thing a twenty-something woman can ever do. Eventually, we (i'm speaking for all women, the nerve of me) will get sick and tired of trying to motivate him, console him, support him, not only financially, but emotionally. He, in turn, will undoubtedly feel the pressure, and will also get sick and tired of everyone challenging him to do something with his life, or change. For the life of me I can't figure out why men are so resistant to change, but I digress.

It's a strained relationship from the start that will never flourish into anything because neither party will have enough patience, or stamina to keep it going. Perhaps the most depressing thing about dating the "man with potential" is that inevitably, one day, he will get it together, a year, or two, or ten, after the two of you break up, and some other woman will reap all the benefits that we worked so hard for. Now there is one exception to the rule according to Sincere Lee, and that is if you happen to fall head over heels in love with "the man with potential" hang in there, more than likely, it'll be worth it in the end.

Sincere Lee

** This post was inspired by the Single Black Man in NoVA's "My Two Cents" post, check my blog bling.