My Crush on the Train...

I think I might be unintentionally stalking him.

Not to say that I'm above stalking someone I have a crush on. I don't call it stalking, really. It's more like careful, calculated observances of his pattern so that I can schedule my movements to be where he is so I can stare at him... And say nothing...

You see, I'm at the point of my life where heartbreak has taught you that the allure of a crush is broken when your crush opens his mouth to speak.

Because, in that moment, he becomes human. His voice higher than you imagined to be, his mannerisms more awkward and erratic than you'd thought they would be, his breathe a little tarter than the minty green freshness you were hoping for...

But, as I watch him, he can be anyone I want him to be.

Currently, he is six-foot- five and dark as the lead on a number 3 pencil. His shoulders are pushed back in an easy confidence. His bald head glistens under the flickering light of the old F train and his back muscles are faintly straining as he shoulders the weight of his blue gym bag. His beard is about 3 days away from being groomed and 4 days away from needing to be. Against the wool of his steel grey long coat, with one hand, he cradles a worn leather satchel with creases in all the right places. In the other hand, a book that he's either read more that once, or has borrowed from the library.

And as I start to write him, he's perfect.

On Knowing He's Not the One

I know he's not the one for me.

If I'm honest with myself, I've known for a while.

He's cute. Very cute. Chocolate And tall and broad. Charismatic and witty with a smile that could light up a whole room and a booming voice that I'm sure, at some point, incited some butterflies in me. I can understand why women like him.

But to me, he's cute, like most guys from Brooklyn. His height, once perfect, is average. His brown skin more chocolate with almonds and his voice the same timbre as a piano that plays a perpetually flat A sharp.  His smile more of a sneer, as if he has a mean joke waiting to explode from his lips. Those butterflies, a distant memory that may have just been a side effect of the acquisition of something new, like the feeling of getting a new pair of shoes in the mail.

But he's there, sometimes.

I think, often, that I'm selling myself, and he, short by remaining. But he doesn't demand much of me. And I don't really have much to offer so I suppose it works.

What I've Learned in My 27 Years

As of tomorrow (at 8:15 p.m. if you ask my Mom) I will be 27 years old. As I look back and reflect, 26 has truly been one of the best years of my life--mentally, physically and spiritually. Life wouldn't be so great if we didn't learn and improve along the way, so I wanted to share some of my lessons with you all.

Looking forward to a pseudo-fab 27! HAPPY BIRTHDAY NAT!!! I LOVE YOU!!!!

*CHEERS*

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1. That I'm a twin because God knew I would need someone there to make me strong, even if I didn't realize what she was doing. Couldn't ask for anyone better in my life than you. You're my heart. <3 you super much! HAPPY BIRTHDAY!

2. Siblings are God’s way of knowing that you'll stumble and will need people to catch you before you fall. My sisters and brother truly are my rocks and I thank God for them everyday. <3 My Maggot and Rich the Man!!!

3. That Mommy and Daddy are not superhuman. But they are super humans. They make mistakes like the rest of us and that's perfectly OK. Which means I’m allowed to make mistakes and not kill myself over them. <3 Mommy Dearest and Daddo!!

4. That not everyone is meant to be in your life. Sometimes you just can't get along with everyone. This helps me cherish the fabulous friends I have. Love you bestie!

5. That love really isn't all you need. Love takes time, patience and effort. And a willingness to cultivate an initial spark and a commitment to that one person. It also means knowing when it's time to let go. Miss you...so happy you’re doing well…

Weighing My Options: Gus v. Chinye

I've never been the kind of girl to get poked on Facebook.

On rare occasions, I would get a male to comment on a picture that I look nice in a dress. But that was once in a while. And half of them were creeps who were trying to make me transfer illegal funds into my account.

But, all of a sudden, I'm that girl. Men openly "like" pictures of me and I receive facebook messages and chats in addition to the pokes from men I've known for years. It's disarming!

Ok, ok. So it's not so "all of a sudden."

It's about 60 pounds of weight loss.

I grapple with this pretty constantly. This attention often comes from people I've known for quite some time--years. People who have seen my weight fluctuate--always bigger than I would have liked-- and have never shown any interest.

Why should I pay attention to you now that I'm more fabulous than a little bit?!

But, on the other hand, aren't I shallow too?

The Daddy (Dis?) Advantage-- FIRST GUEST POST

Hi Boos!

I'm super excited to have my first guest blogger appear on my site! I'm sworn to secrecacy about who it is (;-) ) but I'm very excited to finally have her on The Pseudo Fab Life.

Maybe, if you leave comments and engage in discussion, she'll magically reveal herself! :-P

Happy reading! I will post for you all soon!

~Steph

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I’m in love. Head over heels, maturely, romantically, starry-eyed in love with a man…

Loved him when he was my “best friend” and fell in love with him when he became “my man”…

BUT… what I DON’T love is the “you’re a big girl, you can do it” credence he seems to have for women. Don’t misunderstand, I am a big girl. And if he weren’t around, I sure would get it done--but he’s here, so, shouldn’t HE do it?

Let me explain.

A Dream from an Admitted Non Dreamer

I don’t dream often.

I mean, I dream in the wishing sense that basketball players tell you.

“Dream, big! You can be anything you want to be…”

Like that.

But, in sleep--the type of dreams my people call reveyons—those dreams rarely ever happen to me.

Unless someone is speaking to me.

I had a dream on Sunday night. And for a non dreamer who dreams, it was a heavy one. I’ve been trying to put it together in my head for the past few days. I have stewed over it and gone to sleep early about it, praying each time beforehand that my grandmother would come again and expound. I even took a nap about it, impatient to find out what it might mean.

Let me tell you the dream…

4:46 a.m, 4:47 a.m., 4:48a.m....

I don’t know the exact moment I fell in love with him. Somewhere between the 29^th and 30^th of a certain month of a certain year after the millennium between 4:46 and 4:47 in the morning when the sun was squeezing in between the moon and the horizon to peer through my window and cast a slant of light on his chocolate face, his mouth slightly opened to leave the most subtle gusts of air on my nose as he exhaled.

And then I inhaled.

Yea, I think that’s when I fell in love with him, as I waited for the hours to pass by so that I could peer into those beautiful eyes and make sure.

Because you usually don’t know love until you see the eyes. The eyes, they burn into yours and suddenly, somewhere in between noses, that spark happens. Maybe “sizzle” is a better word. It’s a feeling so potent that the air between the two people runs away blushing, and suddenly, there’s nothing between you and his lips but that last brave breathe.

All happens in the eyes, I used to think.