For Your Consideration

Sunday over brunch, Mona, Erika and I were talking abt that age old convo girls ALWAYS have when they're together: relationships. More literally, who's zooming whom.

What made this convo so fascinating to me is that each of us is in a different place as far as the dating world goes.

I'm healing & waiting for my situation to be finalized before immersing myself in the dating pool & embarking on the quest for the holy grail according to Lauren (an intelligent, cosmopolitan, gainfully employed, FINE, fly, non handicapped 30+ dude w/no babies, & capable of giving multiple orgasms.) Yeah, I say it a lot. I believe in the power of THE SECRET. I'm gonna speak that man into existence! At my age I'm allowed to discriminate and profile my potential boos. Y'all young girls can have all that equal opportunity foolishness.

Now free from Adonis, Erika is devouring any man she can get her hands on and spitting him out (literally, sometimes on their stomachs) before she gets bored.

Mona, as I've mentioned before has moved in with her on-again-off-again beau in May of last year. Despite where all of our heads are romantically, each of us is hopeful about the prospect of a happily ever after just around the corner.

The convo started humorously enough with Erika lamenting abt the lack of prowess of one of her concubines. "He didn't make use of my bendability. (Strangely, I've found myself saying the same thing once or twice. Perhaps we're a flock of contortionists and didn't even know it. Gotta love a flexible, sexually ravenous girl.)

Knowing Erika, this meant she was going to lock him into the place no man wants to go, FZ, the dreaded friend zone.

Erika has similar criteria/rules for the men she courts/beds, but like I mentioned before, those standards are more of a skeleton. In order for her to consider someone as a possible partner in life, eternal or abbreviated, they've gotta have some meat (pun intended) to them. In Erika's case, this means dude has to be available at her beck and call to rock her world and rock it well and maybe spend the night if she wants seconds and thirds, but not get all soft and pink w/her about it like poor Adonis did.

Mona's requirements are a little more basic, she wants her live-in dude to do simple things.

Pick up his socks.
Put the seat back down.
Unload the dishwasher.
Call if he's running late.

Make her a priority in his daily schedule.

Basically, she wants him to be considerate. Very straight forward.

Nearly impossible to find in a mate.

There may be some consideration that comes from the representatives in the early dating stages, but in the long run, for some reason being considerate gets difficult for dudes once they get comfortable.

"I know he used to do nice stuff for you, but what has he done for you late-lty?"

I was dating a dude a little while back and things fell apart because there was an inherent lack of consideration on his part. Initially, I made excuses for it. I compromised what I wanted because he wasn't an awful person, he just was so absent minded and inconsiderate about so many things that it was hard not to consider him selfish.

"Don't compromise yourself. You're all you've got."

-Janis Joplin

Compromise is needed in relationships, but there is an enormous difference in compromising for the sake of the greater good of the relationship and sacrificing what you want (in essence becoming a lap dog) for the sake of what someone else wants. It wasn't deliberate. I never sensed any malice in his actions. In spite of his best efforts, I just wasn't a factor or priority for him.

Some may find this ok when casually dating, but if there are hopes for something greater, that can't work.

#Denied #weoffthat

Me being the SUPER selfless individual I am paired with someone as ABSOLUTELY selfish as he was would have led to disastrous results if I hadn't been as aware and attentive of what was going on. It was fun while it lasted, but been there done that, cough* cough* 1st husband* cough*cough, not looking to do that again. I wish him well, I just wish him that with someone other than me.

Why do people struggle with great acts and displays of love when it's the most simple ones that we appreciate & cherish the most?

How important are all the trappings and acoutrements of an ideal mate if they aren't considerate of how they make you feel?

My potential boo criteria are fairly specific, but after chatting w/Mona, I realize I need more than a decent resume and clean bill of health. I need someone who is also considerate and thoughtful beyond my carnal needs and fiscal.

Being considerate of another person is not something you can teach a mate because it stems from the id. It's one of those things that they either have, or don't have. Putting the self first is important to do, it is wise to do, but there must also be some give & take if there is going to be some longevity in a relationship/Adventure/romance.

There's this awesome scene at the end of I Like It Like That (one of my ALL TIME FAVES) where Lisette tells her husband Chino in the heat of an argument post infidelity/separation/living awkwardly in the same house that her greatest gripe with him is that he never thinks about the other person.

Just think of how much better so many relationships be if we each just stopped to think about the other person.

Thinking about someone romantically or lustfully is easy. That takes no skill.

Thinking about how your actions and movements through the world may impact someone else, particularly how they may impact someone you have intimate feelings for or love is the way that grown ups are supposed to function, but so rarely do.

How many relationships could be saved if infidels thought about how their actions would impact the other party before they started creeping and not once they were satisfied or caught?

Thinking before you act or move in this world seems easy enough, but how many of us are really prepared to start doing it?

I am.

SMOOCHES!!!!
SHINE ON !!!!

Fact or Fiction Friday Pt 2

He’d accepted her challenge and moved closer to her.

Would there be witty banter?

Would they have nothing in common?

Would they spend the night sweating in each other’s arms?

That brief pause held so much promise and so many questions. The bartender came from the other end of the bar to “take the gentleman’s order.” Before he could speak, she said flatly,

“He’ll have what I’m having….a double. Bring me another too, darling.” With that, she smiled sweetly at the bartender, drink in one hand as it rested on the bar, a creased bill extended from two well-manicured fingers in the other. The bartender took the bill and disappeared to prepare the drinks. She glanced at the man on her right in the mirror still smiling. He turned to her.

“A double?”

She turned to him and said sweetly, “Of course, you need to catch up.” She extended her left hand gingerly as if for him to kiss, still testing him to see what would materialize from their encounter. To see what he’d do, she was still trying to assess his charm. He took her hand and slowly brought it to his lips, which he ran his tongue across subtlely before pressing them to the back of her palm lest he should offend her soft flesh with a chapped lip. He held her gaze the entire time and watched her grow flushed in the face. She felt herself getting warm in her face and neck. Her fitted white blouse gaped against the deep breath she took causing her too-much-showing-for-the-workplace décolletage to rise and fall invitingly. She drew another deep breath as she prepared to say her name. This time the swelling of her chest against the fabric caused him to break their linked gaze for a moment to gaze at the warm rain dampened flesh that fought against the thin fabric with every inhale. It was a brief glance, not even a nanosecond, but enough to let her regain her confidence as the driver in this encounter.

“Miss Smith….and you are?” He smiled at her apparent alias and opted to give one of his own.

“Mr. Jones. Delighted to make your acquaintance.” He smiled a slow, beautiful smile at her which revealed a mouthful of pretty, straight, white teeth. Her heart fluttered and she bit the lower right corner of her lip this time. She was always a sucker for pretty teeth. They were so perfect against his toasted cocoa complexion. As he was still holding her hand, he kissed it again and before completely releasing it, he turned her wrist ever so slightly and grazed it against his nose to take in her scent. She smelled like a blend of peppermint, vanilla and some sort of essential oil musk that danced up his nostrils and nearly made his eyelids flutter. The motion and reaction were not missed by her but it was enough to make Miss Smith lose her cool and feel a tingle under her pencil skirt. Involuntarily, she did a quick Kegel crunch.

The bartender saved them both from the tense moment bringing shuttling over the two tumblers of brown liquor. Mr. Jones took his glass and raised it in her direction. “Here’s to chance encounters.” She smiled back at him, raised her glass and repeated,

“To chance ecounters.” They toasted and sat in silence briefly. It was a comfortable silence and neither seemed to mind.

“So Mr. Jones…what brings you to this lovely hotel? Escaping the rain?” He smiled and made her heart flutter again while at the same time turning to her and pulling his seat closer to hers and draping his left arm around the back of her chair. His arm felt so very nice and so very right in the small of her back. She could feel the muscles in his forearm through the fabric of his well fitting suit.

“Well Miss Smith. I am in town on business and my company represents this hotel chain. They comp our rooms all the time. It’s a nice enough room, but once you’ve seen one suite, you’ve seen them all.”

Smith couldn’t tell if he was being genuine or trying to impress her with power and prestige, two of the greatest aphrodisiacs known to man. It worked. There was something about men with access and influence that always made her giddy and easy to woo. Not because she wanted their money, but she liked how it felt to feel important, admired, and adored, all of which power and clout could afford you. She raised her eyebrows. “Very nice. What’s the view like?”

She’d caught him off guard, but not so much that he was going to drop the ball. He took a hefty sip of his drink then leaned in to her so close that his lips were millimeters from her neck and her earlobe. He flicked his tongue rapidly to moisten his lips and his breath felt like fire burning a promise of pleasure into her flesh. She caught her breath and her neck dropped to the left, allowing him better access to the sweetness of her collarbone.

“Absolutely un-fcking-believable.” He dragged his nose against the line of her neck from her shoulder to her earlobe which he ran his tongue along, taking special care not to dislodge her solitaire diamond stud earrings. She turned to him, fire burning in her eyes and cupped his right jaw in her left hand. He could see the intensity in her eyes and knew that his plans for a quiet evening had been altered dramatically. She leaned into his neck to take his intoxicating scent in. She was so close, he could smell her skin and feel her warmth. She could smell his cologne and his flesh and found herself drawn to him. Now that she’d touched him, she couldn’t stop, and he didn’t want her to.

“May I see this incredible view, or are you just saying it for the sake of bragging?” She looked him up and down, slowly and met his gaze, challenging him again. He raised one hand to beckon the bartender and placed his other on her thigh allowing it to slide between her knees which she opened willingly. Mr. Jones stood abruptly as the bartender came towards them. Jones slid his arm in the small of her back to help her off her chair.

“I’m staying in room 917. Send the rest of that bottle up there along with ice and fresh tumblers.” He took his glass and reached for Miss Smith’s, which he handed to her. He knocked his drink back and she followed suit. They then walked out of the bar, her arm on his shoulder, and his arm draped low around her waist. He slowed his pace both so that he wouldn’t seem too eager but mostly to allow her to keep up the pace with him in her impossibly high heels. They crossed the lobby and went towards the elevator bay. It seemed to take an eternity for the elevator to arrive. They stood uncomfortably in the bright lights of the lobby beginning to have second thoughts.

His arm began to feel heavy on her waist. She shifted in her shoes uncomfortably. He checked his watch. it seemed as though the elevator was taking a millennia to arrive. The door finally opened, and the two of them were faced with their own reflection in the mirror in the elevator. She looked at him, and he looked at her. A slow smile spread across both of their faces and they stepped inside.

They were the only two in the small enclosure as the doors closed behind them. She turned to the familiar stranger and pulled him to her by sliding her hands into his tailored back pockets. He took her face in his hands and they locked lips both with the novelty of two people who’d just met and the passion of two people who’d been at it for years. He pressed her to the doors, took one hand off her face, and tried to reach around her to press the elevator button for his floor. His lean into her forced a moan to escape her throat as she felt girth press against her. He allowed his right hand to slide from the elevator panel to her backside and pull her closer. He grabbed her face by her chin and turned it so he could savor her neck. His open mouth felt hot against her skin still cool from the rain. She felt herself melting into panties too thin to keep back the flood. She arched her back and leaned in closer to him while pulling him in closer running her hands up his back under his jacket. The cotton of his shirt felt like silk under her palms. She wanted to tear it to shreds so she could press herself against the well defined flesh it contained.....

TO BE CONTINUED!!!! HAPPY FRIDAY!!!!

SMOOCHES!!!

SHINE ON!!!!

I'm in Love w/a Skripper pt 1.

I was reading Brooklyn's blog earlier this week about things he'd learned from working in the strip club and GASPED. It's awesome to have people in your circle who you share similar life experiences with. It sucks when they're writers too and they beat you to the punch to write about things you wanted to write about first. CURSES!! I've gotta do better about my turn around from the bberry to the blog. Sigh... ahhh well. Here's part 1 of mine.

Once upon a time, I lived in that mystical, MAGICal land of big hopes & bigger booties known as ATL. It was my first time away from home other than vacations or a 2 week writer's workshop I went to @ UVA.

Though I was in ATL for undergrad, I'll venture to say I learned waaaaaay more out of the classroom than I did in it.

I had the good fortune of being in the Big Peach 'round the time that Freaknik died. It was a sad death rattle that tried to hold on to it's former glory with Coko from SWV-like talons, but it really had become far too unsavory a crowd & was a true blight on the face of the self-proclaimed NYC of the south.

ATL is such a fascinating dichotomy of a city. Its' southern location dictates an ever present tug-of-war between the religious fervor of the bible thumping & the money celeb fanaticism of the booty popping/trunk bumping.

Coming into my own in a city like this can give one an interesting lens through which to perceive life & self.

I grew up with both parents, a strong self esteem, little financial want, and talents that have granted me a certain level of positive attention when I wanted to garner it.

All this being said, after living in ATL and watching the line between the nightlife & daylife get increasingly more and more blurred, something DEEP inside of me has always wanted to be a Stripper.

(Even as I write this, I can feel my mother clutching her chest, gasping, shaking her head, sighing, and groaning "Oh Lauren! This blog is like me being sworn under oath. I promise to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth.)

By no means am I praising nor am I defaming the ladies of the pole. (Such an oxymoron as if they really were ladies, they probably wouldn't be on the pole.)

There was something about that profession(? Occupation?) that garnered a special place in my mind. I don't even know why. I've been DYING to take the pole dancing class, for personal use only of course, perfected a move or two and even eyeballed some of those at-home collapsable poles.

I blame the researcher in me.

Junior year, I lived w/my best guy friend, Blue. His brother, Tony, Pretty Tony's what they called him, came to stay w/us for a stint while in between professions *cough* justgotouttajail *cough* and he had a lotta living to catch up on.

Tony chose to do this living at many of the strip clubs in ATL, most prominently, the World Famous...well, those of you who know, know. It's been name dropped in enough songs that you can probably put 2 and 2 together. Tony & Blue went to that MAGICal place just about every night it was open for about a month dragging my roommate along with him, even if it was only for dinner and a drink. Yup, they served food. (Their chicken fingers were THE BOMB as a late night snack!!!)

Tony, my roommate's brother started to date the manager of the waitstaff which basically meant he brought her back to our crib to periodically, and loudly smash her in the roomie's bed while my Blue slept on the couch.

We had the same last name. She told me I was cute. I made a few tongue in cheek jokes. We shared tales of nail shop horror. (I was trying to be polite and find common ground with this common girl.) It wasn't long before she tried to recruit me......

TO BE CONTINUED

SMOOCHES!!!

SHINE ON!!!!

Crushing....

I keep turning to my side looking across the pillow and smiling.... remembering his profile.

I committed his profile to memory...

Traced it with my finger as soon as i heard the low breathing of his snore.

From as far away as he is, the curve of his lip entices me.

I remember his scent...

I take pause in my day as the ghost of his touch causes the hair to raise on my arms....

Unknowingly, he pulls secret smiles from my lips without even saying a single word....

He doesn't see them.

He can't see them.

It happened too soon.

Didn't it?

Is there a statute of limitations on how fast good things can happen to you?

I tried to keep my guard up, but he slipped in during the changing of the guard...

I feel silly.

I am silly.

I want to keep up my cool.

He wants me to let it down.

Says that there's no future in keeping my emotions on ice.

My cool keeps me safe.

My cool keeps me warm.

He keeps me warmer.

Let my guard down and yet I'm feeling safe...

Let my cool down and still manage to be warm...

I'm too old to be this boy crazy...

good thing I'm jonesin' for a unicorn....

SMOOCHES!!!!

SHINE ON!!!!

Share and Share Alike

It's no secret that a good deal of my homies are bloggers who delight, inspire, and motivate me to wanna write more than I wanna lipsync for my life daily. Yesterday, the homie Brandon St. Randy wrote a post that earned him SCATHING comments from the feminist peanut gallery. It's hard to pitch polygamy, even if arguing its pros and cons without meeting opposition.

I often wonder if polygamy would be met with such opposition if it were presented from a matriarchal perspective. If ladies could have a barbershop quartet of eligible suitors, would it really be considered as awful? I mean usually people think of those awful high neck long skirt gowns and child brides when they consider polygamy so rightfully so it repulses folks.

As you can see, I have a slightly different perspective on the subject of polygamy than many of my friends. I say this because for about 2 months out of my life, for all intents and purposes, I was a willing polygamist.

Illegal, yup, highly, but so is adultery and you don't see that slowing the numbers of cheaters out there in the world.

Officially, I was married to only one man. He, on the other hand, while being married to me, pledged his undying and eternal love to another woman for well over a year of our marriage.

Though that doesn't entirely define their relationship as a marriage, have you ever watched the sealing ceremonies on Big Love? I don't know if those are accurate representations of polygamist marriage ceremonies, but @candice202 and I put more work into our blood sister's ceremony when we were 15. Meredith and Derek were more married with their post-it ceremony than the polygamists seem on Big Love.

A marriage is essentially a contract between two people that they will promise to love each other through sickness, health, richness, poorness... You know the whole rigamarole. A contract can be written, or can be a verbal/oral agreement. From the correspondences between the two of them, it was clear to me that he was making many verbal contracts between the two of them.

I knew for quite a long time before I chose to act. I played the fool while trying to devise my plan of action.

"But Lauren, this doesn't sound like you were a polygamist. It sounds like you were just being played."

Touche'.

If there is anything I have learned about interpersonal exchanges and relationships it is that tone and semantics are everything. It isn't as much what you say as much as it is how you say it. Maybe I would have fared better as a spin doctor or PR person 'cause I certainly can talk my way out of or around almost anything. Hey, if it helps me stay centered, what's the harm?

Once I learned that pleading with my 1st husband to abandon his mistress was an exercise in folly and that he wasn't going to pack up and leave as immediately as I hoped, in spite of already having another place of residence, I decided to try another course of action. I took a page from the books of the wives of so many successful and well known men.

I gave my husband permission to use the Big Love clause. I literally said to him

"You can keep her and keep your relationship with her, but we are going to be open and honest about it and I will remain recognized as the 1st wife with all the benefits that that entails."

Why would I do such a foolish thing?

Because I wanted my marriage to work.

I wanted to be a successful wife, even if I had chosen to be this role for the wrong man.

I looked to the couples of yore whose marriages lasted for GENERATIONS and saw that no matter what transgressions, what infidelities, what level of issues they may have had, those couples took their vows to heart and found a way to work through whatever ailed them at all costs.

Divorce is not a new option, it was just not one people ran towards the way they do today. If it was going to fall apart, I wanted to make sure I had done EVERYTHING in my power to try and hold it together before it did.

Is there really much of a difference in being in an open marriage or being in a polygamous one other than how it is presented to all parties? It very rarely is the wife that loses her ish and snaps on the unfaithful husband. It's almost always the third party who feels deceived or used and cast aside upon the revelation or exposure to the spouse.

So why was what I was doing so wrong? I told y'all I am a loyal and devoted friend. As a mate/partner/spouse Tammy Wynette could take a few notes from me.

When I proposed the solution to him, he was clearly taken aback. I can say it wasn't what he expected me to do in the least. Once we'd argued, split and become civil again, he told me that he'd actually expected me to cut and run. When I didn't, and proposed the Big Love arrangement, suddenly, I wasn't the villainous spouse anymore. I became the popular one...

I found a joy in the space between us. When I needed a mate, to discuss the business of life or make obligatory public appearances, I had one, but I also had a certain level of freedom. We'd been so immersed in each other in the early stages, there was something comforting and refreshing in having our own agendas, our own stuff, our own things to do. I was able to move as I wanted to, sort of but didn't have the overwhelming sense of loneliness that fully being single brings.

It seemed perfect in a lot of ways.

Clearly, it wasn't. Thing is, much like Barb and Bill on Big Love, we didn't enter into our marriage with the understanding that eventually we'd be adding a 3rd or 4th party to our union. The problems arise in relationships when dishonesty is present. I have no issue at all with monogamy, and in fact would LOVE to find myself in an Adventure or Romance in which that is the reality. Thing is, much like those shelter dogs get used to whatever sliver of kindness that gets thrown at them, in a lot of ways, I grew to accept my "open marriage" because I felt as though I didn't really have any other options.

I was willing to allow what was already happening without my permission, but it ended up not being what the other two involved wanted. In my deluded mind I thought by changing the name of what we were doing, I was being honest with myself about what was happening.

I wasn't.

I had used my Spin Doctor game so well, I was believing the bullsh*t I held in my hands was really gold thread when it wasn't no matter how I looked at it.

So, can polygamy work? Sure it can but it has less to do with money and being territorial or demanding or any of the other arguments people make about it. The only element that absolutely must be present for a marriage of many or a marriage of two to work is honesty.

No one wants to be told the truth after they've already been told a lie.

Be up front in your relationships and you'll be surprised about what you can get away with.

Would I choose to live that lifestyle again? I can't honestly answer that.

As hopeful as I am about love and finding a happily ever after that is all my own, WHEN I meet my unicorn, if he says he wants to be prosperous and share the joy of God's love by bringing as many fruits of his loins forward as he could thereby needing as many wives as possible for him to do so, I don't know that I would run for the hills screaming. I don't know that I would sign up for it right away and help him start shopping for other wives either, but I can't with confidence say that I would abandon him all the same.

It's always easier to look upon something with disdain until you are actually faced with the possibility of it in your own life.

SMOOCHES!!!!

SHINE ON!!!!!

Oh Sh*t... I Can't Do This....

You like him.

You like her.

You like the same kinds of movies.
You like the same kinds of food.
You share political and religious views.

He's smart.
She's funny.
He's well groomed.
She's beautiful.
He's chivalrous.
She's a lady.

He smells good.

She finds you irresistible.

He is intelligent.

The sex is amazing.

You're starting to think this could be your one. You're comfortable and loving every minute of it and then they get comfortable and say something that makes you say

"Oh Sh*t! I can't do this."

Maybe he leaps up from sex to shower and pray while rinsing your sex smell off of him.

Maybe she burns any hair she sheds so the birds won't get it, make a nest, and make her go crazy.

Maybe he let's it slip that it doesn't make one gay to have embraced and/or rocked another dude's mic before...Girls can experiment, why can't he?

Maybe she challenges you to a wrestling match so you can see her 'signature move' and cracks a rib or two in the process.

Maybe you invite him over for birthday sex and he asks you for Chef Boyardee...at 3 am...

Maybe her political views are so conservative, you can't believe how you ever wanted to take her panties off.

Whatever it may be, what gets uttered or done suddenly makes you say,

"Oh sh*t, I can't do this."

Blame it on the secret SeMo in you.

Maybe you did what I've done time and time and time again and let a situation/relationship/adventure ride even if the chick was bat sh*t/White-girl crazy because you're curious to see how it pans out.

Maybe you've ignored the stench of smegma you've grown tired of hearing from your friends that you're overly critical or you tend to go in too much on fellas.

Maybe I'm the only fool who's put up with someone/something in an insignificant other that gave me pause.

Everyone wants to believe that somewhere in the world, there is someone out there who is perfect for you. Someone who is your ideal match. This urge sometimes causes us to force the hand of serendipity and ignore the possibility that it's not the individual that we're attracted to but rather their representative. The representative the person we all want people to believe we are, our best selves.

I know for a fact that I've been fooled by someone's representative once or twice before and when I met the real person, I got the hell outta dodge quickfast.

It's ok to be human to have flaws and quirks and idiosyncratic behavior, but some things are just too much.

Maybe you haven't had an "Oh Sh*t!" moment with any beaus.

It's no secret that in the past, I have attracted some of the most BIZARRE men to have ever walked this earth.

It's no secret that I have allowed many the opportunity to stick around longer than they should.

I realized recently that my need to hold on had less to do with me being a Se-Mo and more to do with being HIGHLY competitive. Those of you who've had the misfortune to be present at one of my world renown game nights can vouch for this. Taboo anyone?

I am not to be effed with when I set my mind out to win. I don't take losing well AT ALL.

THE LAUREN SHOW would be nothing if it were not for shocking self revelations. It is through this lens that I recently realized that this desire to win, to feel accomplished, to be victorious has tragically bled into my dating life.

@candice202 once told me that I was one of the most deliberate and machiavellian women she'd ever met. Why? Because regardless of what I really wanted from a man, I wanted to be burned indelibly on his cerebral cortex, to be a memory that would haunt him forever.

In many ways, I was an emotional conquistador, a colonial force of the heart, unsatisfied unless I was wanted, desired, needed, longed for, missed....You get the idea...

If love is war, I yearned to always be the last woman standing atop a mound of slaughtered hearts and egos....

I was victorious, but were they wars worth winning? In the end, no...Hell, if I'm keeping it real with you, they weren't worth winning at the time.

Thing is, holding on to those losers wasn't making me a winner.

No one wins when someone is settling romantically.

They may make interesting stories, anecdotes, and blogposts, but I can't write off an unworthy man's affection at the end of the year. Having great stories may make me entertaining, but my stories can not hold me when I'm lonely.

I realized that trying to single handedly become everyman's favorite memory, was not what I really wanted to do. Wanting to be victorious in affairs of the heart with loons was not only uncomfortable, it wasn't making anyone happy, least of all me.

At the end of the day, do I really care if anyone who asks me for Chef Boyardee at 3am is happy? Who grown even eats Chef Boyardee? I mean, I know it's got full servings of vegetables and all, but really?

If you're just looking for a story to tell, (I'm sayin, it worked for Biggie) dust off your rosary and hop in the shower with the genuflecting dude pop open a can of nasty ravioli and enjoy being the emotional griot you're pining to be.

If you're looking for a happily every after, and someone makes you say

"Oh sh*t, I can't do this."

listen to your instincts and KIM.

SMOOCHES!!!!

SHINE ON!!!!!

Fiction Friday: The Backless Story Pt 1

So, I'm in the process of writing some erotic fiction for a graphic novel-type of idea... I'll only give you a little a time though...Enjoy...

It was raining. Heavily and unexpectedly. Foolishly, she’d tried to cover her head with the newspaper she’d swiped from her uneventful job interview that afternoon. She hadn’t really wanted the job. She really only interviewed to see how hireable she was. She preferred the life of leisure being an actor afforded her. The theater was dark tonight and it was raining. She popped into the hotel lobby more out of necessity than desire. It was a posh spot and slightly too rich for her blood. The place was decked out in a trendy sort of opulence that conveyed a heavy price tag without looking too mafia or too much like a stuffy parlor in a wealthy grandmother’s house. It was an interesting blend of clean, modern lines, and gaudy touches like a gilded mirror here or an ornate armchair there. Bright colors popped against the hues of grey and blue stone that seemed to be everywhere.

Her eyes darted around the lobby quickly and found a dimly lit room she correctly guessed was the bar. She scurried purposefully into the bar before one of the underpaid-overstuffed hotel staff could demand a purpose for her visit.

She was wet. Her legs had gritty puddle water that had sloshed up her calves and sans umbrella, several drops had found their way upon and between her cleavage that spilled inappropriately out of the front of her blouse. Her once crisp white dress shirt was soggy and plastered against her warm skin like an entrant in an executive white shirt contest. She sat at the bar with a purpose and smiled sweetly at the well groomed bartender. Her was very neat, clean shaven, well coiffed and didn’t seem to have a single hair out of place. She knew the drinks in probably had exotic names and further reaching prices, but she was wet, cold, with nowhere to go and nothing to do. At least not until the rain subsided.

“Jack Daniels. Neat.’ She said to the handsome man who smiled at her just as she caught a glimpse of herself in the smoky glass behind the backlit bottles. Quickly, she smoothed her hair into a messy chignon at the base of her neck and wiped a few specks of errant mascara that had smudged under her left eye. Absently noticing the stack of black cocktail napkins directly in front of her, she dove into the stack and in one fluid motion, began to wipe the moist grit from her calves.

His meetings had gone well. he’d impressed his partners with his savvy and was glad to have the rest of the afternoon to himself to relax and unwind in his suite before waking up tomorrow and returning to the hustle and bustle of his daily life. The driver pulled the car deftly in front of the hotel and waited for a bellman to appear to shuttle his charge into the lobby safely under the protection of an oversized golf umbrella. He finishes a few quick text messages while they waited for a bellhop. After he sent the third reply, he realized that there was no one coming. He reached for the door to let himself out, much to the dismay of his driver who rushed to try and get out of the car to do what should have been his job.

“Don’t worry about it.” The passenger said calmly though standing in torrential rain. He pushed the driver’s door shut, smiled and said “It’s pouring out here. Get home safely.” With that, he got out and hurried into the building. He’d severely underestimated the slipperiness of the lobby floor coupled with his wet Ferragamo loafers and he found himself skidding in the entryway like an amateur figure skater. He slowed his pace and collected himself, but not before the cute brunette behind the concierge’s desk stifled a chuckle at his expense. He stood upright, smoothed down the front of his slacks, straightened his tie and sent one of his megawatt smiles in her direction as he strode, confidently to the front desk. The brunette’s chuckle quickly dissolved into an embarrassed blush and she hurriedly found something to do in the office behind her desk.

Now it was his turn to smirk, confidence regained as he went to the front desk to retrieve his messages. The room phones in these hotels always had voicemail, but he preferred the old school feel of having messages taken for him at the desk. There was something very old Hollywood about it. Aside from the congratulatory few messages from his assistants on a job well done, there were no messages of import. He turned away from the desk, fully ready to take off his clothes and retire into the goose down pillow top bed in his room to a quiet night of pay movies and room service when he saw her sitting all alone in the bar, gazing at her own reflection while twisting her wet hair up and off her neck.

There was something methodical about how she collected the strands of hair, allowing her palm to brush the nape of her neck ever, so, slowly. Though he’d seen dozens of women pull their hair up dozens of times, there was something about how this woman did it. He strode towards the dim lights of the bar and watched as she repeated the motion on her crown, then her nape again until her chignon met her approval. Every time she reached her arms up to straighten her hair, her shirt rose up, and gave him the naughtiest glimpse of inked flesh on her back. She bore no tramp-stamp. He could tell from the brief peeks that it was a much more elaborate and far reaching design.

He found himself drawn to this beige woman. To compare her to shades of milked coffee seemed stupid and so overdone. He walked away from the front desk and closer to her. He stopped short of the entry to the bar. She now held her tumbler of brown liquor in one hand while trying to carefully towel dry her calves using cocktail napkins. She moved slowly, sensually down one side of her calf then up the other. She was in no hurry, no rush, and seemed to enjoy the way the coarse napkin felt against her visibly soft flesh. She subtly pulled her lower left corner of her lip into her mouth as she concentrated fully on what she was doing.

Someone was watching her. She didn’t know how she knew, but she could always tell. She almost always caught someone watching her when she was doing something she didn’t want to be seen doing. As she wiped her knee dry, the napkin tore slightly, so now, in addition to water streaked up some areas of her leg, she now had pilled up napkin balls stuck to her skin. She felt the eyes on her, and could almost just as certainly tell that they were male. She glanced up and in the direction of the door, unsure whether to look embarrassed or deliberate. When she met his gaze, she pulled the corner of her lip further into her mouth and smirked at once. Her smirk was not malicious, rather it was more of a dare for him to say something. Still holding his gaze, she flicked the offending napkin pieces from her gams and then turned back to the bar to sip and look nonchalant. If he was interested he would come over, if not, he would leave and no harm would be done.

He stood at the door, still unsure of what he was looking at. There was something coquettish about the way she’d smirked at him. He didn’t feel as though she was openly inviting or propositioning him as much as he felt like she’d blatantly challenged him. His curiosity was piqued. She was clearly beautiful woman, there was no denying that. She wasn’t a common girl, but there was definitely something naughty about her that caused him to loosen his tie and cross the threshold from the brightly lit lobby into the dimly lit bar that while smelling of sweet and sticky late nights was still welcoming. Her peripheal vision was impeccable and she could sense him walking closer. Certain she knew his type, she shifted slightly in her seat to prepare for the evening’s entertainment. He was a handsome man, and she could tell by the way his suit hung from his broad shoulders that he was comfortable enough financially to afford a good tailor and trainer. A pretty face and a thick wallet almost always meant shallow conversation. He’d no doubt try to impress her with his knowledge of stock options or drop talking-head names that he avidly followed on television.

The seat on her right suddenly felt filled and she could see him next to her in the smoky glass.

Now what?

I've Got Many Layers...Like an Ogre

In this journey through life I am enjoying every moment of, I am beginning to realize that I am a bit of a complex individual.  Not in terms of my wants, and needs.  In those respects, I'm fairly basic.  In terms of how people perceive me, in terms of my likes, my passions, my interests, I'm a little bit complicated.

I think this is 'cause I have the misfortune of being multidimensional; it's hard to fit me into one box.  I make no apologies about it, the layers and levels and facets are who I am. 

Some people are enticed by this. 

Some are repulsed. 

Some are confused. 

I can understand why this happens.  People need to define things.  People need to classify things.  Everything must fit into neat categories to make sense to others.  People like to treat others the way that they perceive them and more often than not, my aesthetic doesn't line up with who I really am. 

Individuals who straddle the dichotomies of personality traits confuse.  Few things make people more uncomfortable than things they don't understand.  

I too like for things to make sense, and hate that often I don't make sense to others.  For this reason, many moons ago, I devised a winning solution for this.  I created an alter ego.  Perhaps you've met tygerlily?  

When I was younger, I wanted to create an alias, a pen name, for myself because I dreamed of living my life as a bestseller who would need a pseudonym to protect my personal life- the husband and many children I was bound to have.  Mommy and I toyed around with a few possibilities one summer at the beach.  One day as we walked from the beach house to the sand, we stumbled upon a patch of orange star gazer lilies. 

Mommy: How about tigerlily?

Me: How about it for what?

Mommy: How about it for your new name?

Me: Why?

Mommy: They are wild flowers that grow where ever and however they want.  You can find them in a patch in a field or in someone's window box.

Me: Hmmm... She's also the Native American princess in Peter Pan.  She was a tomboy who always disobeyed her father, always got into trouble, and always ran off on an adventure. 

Mommy: I think we've found your name.

Over time, tygerlily evolved and became more than a pen name.  She became an over the top EXTRA personality.  

tygerlily is the life of the party.  

She is a coquette, a vixen, a ballbuster, a creative, a bohemian... 

She became all the things I wanted to be but was scared to do.  I didn't become a schizophrenic, but I certainly began to use tygerlily as a shield that would deflect all the emotional blows that were thrown at me over the years.  My two selves became two oversized emotional/psychological file folders in which I was able to deposit all of my varied personality traits.  Like two huge umbrellas all things about me could fit under.

Problem is, the two almost NEVER agree. For instance some friends have asked me if I ever plan on/want to get married again. I always feel like one of those scorched lab rats being watched to see if I'm gonna go through the electric fence again to get at the cheese nestled safely on the other side.

There are two answers to this queery.

If I let tygerlily answer, it would be a resounding 'no.'

tyger doesn't even want a boyfriend or single lover. Ms Lily is more than content to be single and free of any obligations not her own. She fashions herself as the new millenium follower of Bacchus. She wants to play Dr. Frankenstein & piece together the ideal mate from several less than ideal individuals. She'll share a man because she only wants parts or pieces of him. His societal worth means nothing because he's not meant for longterm. She relishes in tasting the mouths of many men and wrapping herself in as many different arms as suits her and cloaking her heart in nonchalance and feigned ennui at those fool enough to catch feelings for her.

If you ask Lauren this same question, the answer will be painfully different.

Lauren wants nothing more than to give herself wholeheartedly and fully to one someone. She wants to be soft, open, to fall asleep in the same man's arms at night, drinking the air from his lips only to wake up the next morning with 1000 ideas to share and make with him.

A man she can kiss freely no matter where she is or who's around.

A man who can make the miles between them feel like minutes.

A man who appreciates that she can wax poetic

A man to call all her own. 

Lauren would love to be a wife again, but Lauren is terrified of the embarrassment of doing it all again and losing it all again. It really is embarrassing to make a pledge to someone in front of EVERYONE you know, watch it fall apart, and imagine trying to do it all again. If my limited replunge into the dating pool has taught me anything, it's that the fellas in the shallow end don't want to hear that from a chica.

Emotional awareness earned via life experience always translates to baggage to those with limited knowledge of what it means to love or how love is supposed to feel. No one wants a lady with anything that could be perceived as baggage.

Lauren is only seen by those who I know well and feel comfortable putting my tygerlily shield down for. Folks seem to enjoy her spectacle and rarely want to see the woman behind the curtain so for now, I let tyger take the wheel.

It became easy to be tygerlily because through her, I was able to be careless, make mistakes, and be reckless and not be affected in the long run.  Lauren was safe as long as tygerlily was around.  I'm beginning to want to let Lauren shine a little more.  In the last decade, I've grown up A LOT.  Allowing tygerlily to be the boss has allowed me to grow inside my mental cocoon.  It has allowed me the room to observe her interactions like a qualitative field researcher, take mental notes, and become more aware of what I should and should not do.

Lauren used to only be seen by those who I knew well and felt comfortable with because I was terrified of being hurt or broken.  I'm not afraid anymore.  Welcome to THE LAUREN SHOW.

SMOOCHES!!!!

SHINE ON!!!