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*

~*~*~*~*~

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

*~*~*~*~*~*~

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.

HELLO to A Belle in Brooklyn Followers

I was SUPER blessed with the opportunity to be a guest blogger on my favorite writer, Demetria L. Lucas, blogger and Essence Relationships Editor and soon-to-be life coach's blog, A Belle in Brooklyn!! I'm so ecstatic!

Feel free to leave questions or comments at www.abelleinbrooklyn.com, or here at The Pseudo Fab Life! I would love to hear from you!!! I will try to get to all the comments!

I can't stop smiling, and am so blessed to share this blessing with you all!

XOXOXO!

~Steph

Crushes, Curiosity, and that Damn Cat

Let me start by saying that G-chat is the devil and the demise of productivity in the workplace. But I’m sure we all know this.

Talking with a close male friend on the never ending topic of relationships, we stumbled upon the topic of crushes that happen during a relationship. He was of the opinion that a solid relationship can be in danger if one person has a crush.

Look? Sure. Such is humanity.

Emote? Never.

And as I read the transcript of his explanation on the perils of maintaining a crush and full time beau, I couldn’t help but remember…

*~*~*~

He was perfect. The perfect shade of dark chocolate sans the bitter after taste; tall enough for my stiletto collection but normal enough for my nose to fit inside the crevice of his neck; cupped my face gently for a kiss but grabbed my arm and shook occasionally to signal he wasn’t playing; Mommy loved him to pieces but Daddy knew he was a bad boy somewhere inside. Thrilling, yet stable. Came with baggage but wouldn’t tolerate my dramatics. Would hop in the bed just long enough to say goodnight, and would slide out so that, when I rolled over, I’d see his silhouette as he pleaded for the words in a book to make sense by twilight, his pen air drumming between his pointer and middle fingers. Oh, and he had “the dip.” (See: “So... It Happened.. Now What?”) He read every version of every story I ever wrote.

Weaves, Wigs and the Black Man: A Tale of Woe

Recently, I was talking to a close male friend when he abruptly blurted out:

"Why do Black women put that fake crap in their hair? Don't they see it's ruining their beauty?"

Hmm.

Double Standard: The Entitlement Issue

On my usual Friday perusing of the blogosphere, I jumped on a posting by Demetria Lucas, Author and Essence Magazine Relationships Editor’s (www.abelleinbk.com; proceed with caution, it’s addictive. I. Love. Her.) entitled “Do you care what your man thinks? Should you?” (Fab read.)

Her inspiration was an article on Nicole Bitchie’s Blog by LJ Knight. So I decided to take a look at some of his articles, since I’ve been hearing his name tossed around as of late.

And this stood out to me:

“Men feel that they are entitled to a good woman regardless of their behavior. Good is how a woman is supposed to be in their minds. She is supposed to be virtuous, understanding and completely accepting of all of the issues and drama that he may come with. It doesn’t matter how he behaves. She is supposed to play her role regardless, because she is a woman. So, no matter how well you treat him, it won’t affect his behavior toward you. In his mind, you are behaving like you should. You are giving of yourself the way a good woman is supposed to. There is nothing significant about that to them.”

First reaction: *blank stare*

First thought: “That’s BS”

Second thought: “It’s true though.”

Third thought: “Still BS.”

I was reminded of a conversation I had with one of my male friends, who shall remain nameless. We discussed a girl he was, in an attempt to keep it PG-13, “smushing (see: Jersey Shore: smush, smushed, smush room.). She was a pretty girl with banging body, armed with a degree, fairly attractive and obviously liked the HELL out of my friend.

But he was stuck, fixated even, on another girl who just wouldn’t “go” --shoutout to my Chi town folk. Read: “smush” above--and wasn’t nearly as attractive as the “goer”(person who “goes). He took her to dinner, the movies, and “checked in” with her. And he even gave her weekend access. NOW YOU KNOW men, especially Black fraternity men (it’s a generalization, but you’ll be alright) don’t give weekends to any woman he’s not serious about.

Of course, I was intrigued. Why would the girl who was giving you what you presumably wanted, be treated differently, albeit with less respect, than the girl who was withholding herself from you?

“Because she went (past tense of “go”, see above) too easy.”

How simple…How..matter of fact.

And then I read the quote. Something clicked.

Why doesn’t the “Goer” feel the same sense of entitlement? Doesn’t she deserve a good man?

Don’t all women deserve a good man? And why is it that we are so forgiving of their flaws when they are not of ours? Like he says in the article, we are expected to accept him as he is-- flaws, past and issues—and be his “good girl.” Yet, the “goer” went too fast? So her transgressions are insurmountable, but the fact that this man would sleep with one woman while dating another is supposed to be accepted by the “Good Girl” he ends up with?

*Blank Stare*

And repeat thoughts number one, two and three.

“That’s BS. “

“It’s true though. “

“Still BS.”

What do you all think? Pontificate.

So... It Hapenned... Now what?

A while back I read an article entitled "For Colored Girls Who Cry Because Black Men Inter-Marry" (http://madamenoire.com/12484/for-colored-girls-who-cry-because-black-men-inter-marry/). After posting this article, I bantered back and forth with Twitter and "real" friends alike, perched on my soap box, about how Black woman should start considering White men as viable dating options. I preached about how, since they made us an option, they should be ours, and about how men should be men--regardless of color, very "I Have a Dream"- like and proclaimed that love was love and people were people.

And then, Essence's Relationship Editor, Demetria Lucas, hit us with the harsh statistic that 63% of "our" men don't mind seeing Black women in interracial relationships. More ammo for my stance that Black women should be seeking love, not Blackness, in their futures.

And then it happened. Gathering my things after a particularly stellar presentation from yours truly, he saunters up and asks if I'd like to further discuss my ideas over dinner because he'd be interested to hear.

My Response to the "Fact" That I'll Never Be Married

Recently, as is my normal tweet habit, I posted an article from CNN entitled "Does the Black Church Keep Black Women Single?" because I found the subject matter to be interesting. I disagreed with the whole premise of the article, but was alarmed at the responses I received from those that followed the link.

Black women-- educated, gorgeous, intelligent Black women-- are feeding into this media induced nonsensical hysteria that we will never be married. And while we can't be blamed-- Lord knows Dateline and Nightline and 20/20 have saturated us with the notion that our definition as women is rooted in marriage-- I think there is more investigating to be done before we start mass hysteria.

And this is not to say that the statistic isn't alarming. Yes, 42% of Black women in America are unmarried. Yes, this data is disheartening. I, like every other women in America, regardless of race, status, geographic location, and even sexual disposition want to be in a loving, life long commitment with a mate.

But let's list the plethora of reasons the media says I won't ever be married:

1) I'm too educated.
2) I'm too loud.
3) I'm too opinionated.
4) I'm too unhealthy and, if I am fit, my hair is a mess.
5) I have too many kids.
6) I carry too much emotional baggage.
7) I'm too independent, so I don't need anyone.
8) I have too much of an attitude (probably should have been number one).
9) I don't know how to be in a partnership. And; now
10) I love Jesus to much.

It's getting to be quite a lot. It's overwhelming and unfair and enough to make you feel desperate right?

Almost like it's a set up to be helpless. Right?

I am not trying to take away from the from unfortunate nature of our situation. We're not getting married at a rate that's comfortable for any of us. But, what is more disheartening is the desperation and overall feeling of helplessness that is stemming from the media's constant reiteration of these facts.

Black people, women especially, are receiving scholarships to attend top institutions and graduating. We are beating odds and becoming the professionals and life changers that we were once told we weren't smart enough to be. We are holding jobs that historically shut us out and reserved for men and are excelling past the expectations of everyone around us and bringing our people with us.

Where are the Dateline specials on these statistics?

So, while it is a problem, this marriage statistic cannot begin to define the Black woman. Let our definition be found in the dignity of our strength, the beauty of what we have accomplished and the reverence we pay to the scars that serve as beautiful reminders of those obstacles we have overcome.

WE must define the Black woman. And, if our accomplishments are any indication, we are doing just fine.

At the water cooler...White supremacists

In April, the Department of Homeland Security released a report saying that the election of President Barack Obama would trigger a rise in White supremacist violence from White men who felt increasingly marginalized and powerless in the changing cultural make up of the United States.

Two months after this report was released, we had the shooting of Black security guard Stephen T. Johns at the Holocaust Museum in Washington D.C. by an 88- year-old ant-semetic white man.

Today, cops stopped an ambulance carrying a wounded Black woman because the driver "failed to yield." As the paramedic in charge hopped out of the truck to talk to the paramedics, he was assaulted.



I must say that I am more than disheartened. In an age where the leader of our country is African American, instead of reveling in our open-mindedness and crediting ourselves for being open to change, we have to deal with enraged White men who feel somewhat inferior.

What does this say about the "land of the free and home of the brave" when we have to fear for our lives and be threatened by cowards? Another instance where this country needs to step back and practice what we preach.

I'm really hoping...

That J-Hud doesn't want us to go on thinking that she's just gaining weight...

Cuz we know, boo. You're nose is spread wide as anything and the way that dress in bunching is not in the original design.

Congrats tho!

I don't usually do this...

I've been debating doing so, because you know I love some dark chocolate (on my...lol) men, but I had to put a little bit of vanilla into my sundae....


I'm not even going to lie. Chris Pine b.k.a Captain James Tyberius Kirk in the new Star Trek movie is doing something for me!




This 29 year-old Southern California cutie is a graduate of the University of California. Although he's starred in a number of movies, you may best know him from The Princess Diaries 2.

Damn it if he isn't up there with James Marsden for my #1 cutie from the other side of the tracks!

Just a little something to lighten up your Tuesday!

Enjoy!

I'm gonna go ahead and issue some double taps...part deux

Ok Kids, I feel like (with the prompting of my sis!) that the neuvo rash of Set-it-Off, straight back, a la Cleo braids need to be called out.
Here we go kids. My pointer finger is ready! Double taps go to:

Ciara. it was only thinking out of the box for the album cover, OK boo? Never mind that the "double edition" was really the same album cover with those low budget graphics in a different color. Rocking the same hairstyle in public is unacceptable.

Even if it is Z100. That outfit would have looked GREAT if your Yacky 1B was done.

And let's not even get started on:

Kim, we know you want to be "down" with your FYONE boyfriend Reggie. But, after watching Keeping up with the Kardashians (my secret addiction), he's not "down" with us. So let it go? K, hun? And J. Holliday's straight backs look better than yours anyway.

And the H.A.M. everyone hates to love:

*Side eye*

Just why Tyra? Why are you always on some stupid quest to be "real." So far on your show, you're proven your breasts are "real," the picture they took of your retired model self was "real", and now, you're "real" for the Obama movement for wearing braids on TV?!

It's just not OK!

Now, please, let me explain that I love braids. Micros are so chick, box braids a little more common folk but suitable none the less. And I like the side swept cornrows into a ponytail or a bun. But the straight back movement is best reserved for overnight wear, children under the age of 11, men, and mug shots.

Even Alicia Keys, QUEEN of the braid movement, let it go.
And she didn't even have the jail-inspired straight backs!

So a double tap to you all. Let's pray I don't have to do anymore anytime soon!

A Letter to J-Hud.

Dear J-Hud,



You're Pregnant.
We Know.
Stop Lying.
Stop the Madness.
You're being whack-tastic.
Fatness spreads everywhere. not just you're belly.

XOXO!

Steph

I just can't..Lord!

I need somebody to tell me why your girl (Natalie) J-Hud was on the streets, let alone Good Morning American rockin this outfit

It gets worse people:
I'm gonna take a shot of WHAT THE HELL chased by a Shaking my damn head at this outift! Like we know you're pregnant and all so you need bigger clothes, but this is ridiculous! I'm not ready for the flat big girl butt syndrome to be all ablast in this pic! And is that a ZIPPER buried into the CREVICE of those pants?!

And I'm so bad she's got the hand on the leg as if she's doing something with this outfit! JENNIFER WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!

I just can't! Maybe that's why the Essence photo spread was taken entirely from the neck up...

They probably didn't have time to find another stylist and didn't want this kind of monstrosity to be in there magazine!

Jennifer, this isn't even Pseudo-fab. This is a H.A.M. Unacceptable.