Dear Future Husband: Let's Just Keep It Open

Like the rest of the world, I've seen Lemonade about five times now, okay maybe seven. And like the rest of the world, I agree it's hands down, another big ass slice of flawless, divine, unicorn magic provided by the queen. Beyonce is seriously the most hyped up celebrity that is STILL underrated. Her perfection is unquestionable and unfathomable. She's everything I didn't know I needed. Ugh, Jay-Z, you're stupid. Okay, I'm digressing kind of...but for real, Beyonce really had me thinking, "Damn, I can't believe Prince is gone...but Beyonce. I have Beyonce." That's an awful fucking thought and yet...that's how I felt. 

So, watching Lemonade and it only took about three minutes into the hour-long special for my heart to break. For a couple that is so "private" about their relationship, Beyonce sure does drop some provocatively personal lyrics. If you haven't seen Lemonade...stop reading this and do so now. The pain felt by so many women is so painfully but beautifully woven into every lyric. She gets as bold as taking off a ring and throwing it, stating "you gon' lose your wife" and we've all heard about the Rachel Roy/Becky With The Good Hair controversy. Ok, if you haven't, in Lemonade Beyonce tells her theoretical man to go get "Becky with the good hair" i.e. some perceived mistress then some woman (a designer) named Rachel Roy tweeted about having good hair and not caring after Lemonade dropped.... fucccccccing ballsy. Anyway, the video album is dripping in blatant "hints" that Jay-Z cheats, cheated, was probably cheating while the video was being shot, and it's just heart-wrenching. 

I've been there. I've been cheated on but frankly, the cheating didn't affect me like I thought it would. I assumed my ex had cheated on me in the past and one night I was just like, "Can we talk about your infidelity?" then we did. It was hard, excruciating but... I was somehow fine pretty quickly after. My ex has done some SERIOUS damage to my heart, more than I thought possible for someone like me: I'm insanely open and forgiving and resilient...alas... those you really love can easily destroy you. This pain was caused not by cheating though, but by other lies he told, betrayals he executed without batting an eyelash. And those are the things that hurt. Those are the things that crush a woman's spirit. It's not the sex with another person. It's the gross disrespect, the spit in the face, the lies, the betrayal, the complete disregard for a life together built. And clearly it doesn't just apply to women, men know this pain all too well. 

Maybe it's fear speaking but I'd rather have an open relationship than ever be in a situation where a man can embarrass me this much and crush my spirit. But then again, like I said, this was done to me and it wasn't even because of cheating sooooo yeah, love is always dangerous, always.

But. I don't think I can handle signing up for a monogamous relationship and having to deal with such an egregious breach of contract or even the possibility of it. Since it's the lies that hurt more than the physical acts, I truly believe I'd have no problem in a relationship where sex was your own business and not for me to control (as long as we're all being safe here). 

Now I must add that an open relationship (for me) isn't just some silly defense mechanism that I'd use trying not to get hurt but in turn is a really bad fucking idea. When I think about a man I'm dating, when I think about him with another woman...that mess turns me all the way on! I know people will always ALWAYS be attracted to multiple people at once; we're just not "supposed to" act on said attraction. I honestly don't see the big deal. If you can love me and commit to building a life with me and honor me based on OUR standards, not society's, I really have no problem with you boning that hot waitress we're both always staring at. Sounds crazy to some but for me I think it's sexy as hell and I believe in acknowledging my partner's sexuality, not caging and confining it. There are always rules, rules in a relationship are just pragmatic, tangible signs of respect. They're great and necessary. I just don't think monogamy has to be one of those rules, not for me anyway.

I can handle you hooking up with other women. I really can. As a matter of fact, I want you to come home and tell me allllllllll the delicious details. What I can NOT handle is disrespect. I can not handle lying to my face. I can not handle the facade I run into like a brick wall you've built to cover up your shame. I can not handle the barrels of lemons men hand women on a daily basis forcing them to conjure up some sort of "make it work" lemonade.

The pain in Beyonce's words is so raw and real it stops you in your tracks. I absolutely dread ever having to feel that way. I know it's always a possibility when you love someone. People hurt people, there's no way around that. But the pain that comes from sexual misconduct due to socially construed rules...I'll pass. Dear future husband, let's just keep it open. 

15 Reasons to Never Look For Love

1. Most obviously...you won't find it.

2. Insecurities you thought you were over will reemerge: Those stretch marks you forgot you even had will start to appear in your dreams. They must be the reason for the chronic rejection, right?

3. You'll start blogging.

4. Your blogs will be bitter AF.

5. You'll watch romantic dramas on TBS and convince yourself that this shit could ACTUALLY take place.

6. You'll spend all of your money on wine. All of it.

7. You'll start wondering if your borderline-abusive ex maybe wasn't that bad. 

8. You'll realize that the lesson taught to you at an early age really is true: A lot of guys, like a lot, will completely disappear once you have sex with them. Obviously, you KNEW this but never cared because you were free, white and 21 and didn't need shit from anyone, especially commitment. But now that you're an old, black slave looking for someone to really love you, you realize, "oh, shit," maybe I do have to preserve the cookies because dudes be ruthless in these streets and preservation can be hard, especially when you really like that guy...that will undoubtedly disappear. 

9. You will suddenly hate hanging out with your friends because they won't fuck you, pay half of your bills and make you feel safe. You'll want to smack every friend that has a vagina just because their vaginas aren't the shlong you're yearning for. 

10. Because in the middle of writing those bitter AF blogs referenced in number 4, ol' boy will text you, "Hey Stranger" like fucking clockwork. 

11. Because the one you want to text you won't... not before, during or after you complete your bitter AF blog. 

12.  You'll start to convince yourself that maybe you can settle for casual sex only to end up crying in a strangers bed at 3 in the afternoon...twice.

13. You'll start to convince yourself that maybe you can settle for that one guy that really really likes you...who cares if he's old, bald and delusional about his true sexuality. Minor details, right? After all, you're probably just rejecting the man that loves you simply because he loves you since you thrive off of the rejection of assholes, right? Yeah, it's you. Don't be a douche. Just marry the old gay man. You'll end up happy, watch.

14. You'll start to fantasize about being 35 and married and laughing about the times you were so worried about never finding love and how silly you were...then realize you're 36...and still fucking single.

15. You'll realize after talking to your married friends that most marriages are passionless and based in a not wanting to be alone...and you'll want to do it anyway.

Don't do it. Just don't do it. It can't be helped but try to help it anyway. Embrace your stretch marks and ice cream obsession and the fact that you can fart in peace in your own home because when you let go of the hope and embrace being single, you know what will happen??? NOTHING. No, this is not where I say love will find you but at least you won't have to share your bed with anyone! 

End rant.

Smooches. 

Dating Chronicles: The Black Mormon

I wrote a book y’all. I told my sister about it and she said, “Girl, you NEED to write a book about your dating experiences!” All I could do is shake my head and say, “Girllllllll, I can’t even.”

“Why?” you ask. Well, because my dating life is pretty typical of that of a young woman in America… pretty fucking depressing. There is nothing unique happening here but all the same, it is painful. These days, young people go through the dating world thinking, “Is this real life? This can’t be real life!” Oh, but it is.

I’ve been in two long term relationships in my life. I call that accumulation of seven years the years of blissful ignorance. I was protected by my respected boo thangs; I had no idea of the dating horrors, the horrors, I tell you!

So, because I’m strong enough to laugh at myself (or at least strong enough to front like this shit is funny) I’m somewhat answering my sister’s call and not writing a book about my dating experiences but posting some blogs about the madness instead. Let the Dating Chronicles commence!

First Up: The Black Mormon

The title alone should cause pause. What the hell is a Black Mormon? Yep, they exist. Did you know Black people weren’t even ALLOWED to be Mormons until the 70s????? Pretty sure that’s a thing…like, a fact. Anyway, not the point. Just adds to the weirdness.

So, I’m in college…maybe a sophomore, yeah a sophomore. I’m in between the two big relationships in my life and I’m living it up! I’m dating for the first time in my life (the first relationship was just sorta instant and we were super young. There was no "dating") and I’m loving it! I meet a Black guy that’s kinda quirky. He’s into old movies that I thought only I alone on the planet have seen, he plays guitar and he’s got big, curly hair! He’s different; he sticks out; he’s not annoyingly macho like all the football players; he’s great!

He asks me to “hang out” which is as official as dating gets in college. We walk around the main streets of our little college town. We stop for ice cream. From the conversation I start to pick up on his weirdness. He tells me he can’t eat strawberry ice cream because it terrifies him. I laugh, thinking I’m just joining in on his laughter because that MUST be a joke. It’s not, apparently. He’s not laughing. I brush it off and keep on keeping on because his muscles bulge through a his t-shirt soooooo, forgiven.

We come across a book store and he jumps, yes, jumps, in glee and asks if we can go inside. I say, “Hell yeah!" I like books.

Thirty minutes later, we’re still in the bookstore… he hasn’t spoken one word to me. His nose is stuck in a book on guitar chords…a book that I would assume isn’t that interesting or helpful without a guitar in your hands. Boy, was I wrong. His face looks serious. Then he smiles, he laughs, I swear to God at one point he looks like he’s about to cry, all due to this riveting book on chords. No narrative, just chords. Thirty minutes of me staring at him staring at chords. 

This is when I realize, okay, the cute weirdo might be a legit weirdo.

Finally, he speaks to me! He picks up a book of poetry, spontaneously losing interest in his chords and swiftly moving on to a brick-sized book of poems.

He turns to me and says, “I’m going to read you a poem.”

The first words he’s spoken to me the entire time we’ve been in the bookstore.

I offer up a hesitant, “Alright.”

The poem is long, like, really fucking long. He takes about ten minutes to complete the thing. That’s a long time in recitation!

Finally, he’s done! He looks up at me, searching my face for my reaction to the piece (that I 100% didn’t follow). I give him nothing because well, I have no idea what he just said and have nothing to give. Then he asks, “Would you like to read one?”

I’m a bit appalled but most of all just suuuuper uncomfortable. I politely decline.

I’m thinking he’s picking up on my discomfort and he offers to take me home. Wahoo!!!!

We get back to my place and "watch a movie". The typical term used before Netflix was invented.

Ok, I know. I know. How am I about to have sex with the weirdo? I’m in college, single, not doing shit…I really don’t know what else to say. Plus, he wore the super tight white t-shirt and I felt like a pink lady about to get it on with Danny. How does a girl say no to that?

We watch the movie, I snuggle up under his arm and inhale the cologne that fills the room with every rise and fall of his chest. I tilt my head and look up at him, making my move.

He pauses the film and I think, “Oh, hell yeah.

He pauses the film to turn to me, look deep into my eyes and explain to me that he’s a good Mormon, will do anything to please his God.

My soul thinks, “Ugh, I should be like you.”

My vagina screams, “#&*^#*#&**@”

He continues with his religious diatribe. I look deep into his eyes, listen intently and nod periodically, letting him know I completely understand. We are on the same page. 100%

Our religious guilt shortened our sexcapade to a mere thirty minutes of boning as opposed to the all night workout I was hoping for. But I was alright with it. The muscles were big, the who-ha was thick, I was satisfied. My weirdo, Black Mormon had done a body good!

The next morning, I wake up with a Black Mormon sitting at the edge of my bed, reading my bible. I shuffle and he realizes I’m awake.

With spirit he grabs my hand and exclaims, “Thank God you’re awake! Come, pray with me. I can’t handle the guilt!”

And then came the tears.