soulmates & earthquakes

Just be careful. I don’t want you getting hurt. Take things slow.”

Advice from my mother after telling her about The Man. Advice I didn't ask for, but will still respect because, well… she’s my mother.

We'd just finished having dinner with my cousins. Throughout the night I mentioned a few restaurants I’d been to during the past two weeks, which prompted her to ask on the drive home, “Who have you been going out with?”

sexless.

I saw the above sneak peek for the new web series, SEXLESS, from Black&SexyTV (I love their shows!) and figured it might be a good idea to do recaps to facilitate discussions here when it begins to air in February. Why, you may ask?

Here’s why:

yelp.

His & Hers

We had our first real kiss this weekend. Afterward, he asked if he could post a Yelp review about it. I laughed until my cheeks hurt, but made sure to ask how many stars he'd give me. He held up five fingers.  I held up four for him, and we laughed some more and kissed again. 

We have a lot of differences, particularly in how we were raised and how we view the world, our life experiences, and our age, but one thing we definitely have in common is our sense of humor. He thanked me the night before for accepting his silliness. And he laughs at my sarcasm. I am happy that he gets that part of me.

There are other parts though, that are worrisome. I may write about them later. I feel that maybe I should not think about those parts this soon. But then, maybe I should. Infatuation can make a sista overlook red flags, and I am too old to be naïve. Love rarely conquers all when you aren’t a character in a Disney movie, so I want to be realistic and make smart decisions with any man that enters my life who expresses interest in staying there.

rum punch.

I’m late. He’s sitting at a table in a corner, staring at his phone, beer in front of him. I approach and he jumps up with a quick hug. I apologize profusely, but he shrugs it off, and makes room for me to sit next to him instead of across from him. We both smile at that.

“Are we drinking tonight?” I ask. 

“Look, as long as you can keep your hands to yourself when you drink and don’t try to take advantage of me, you can have whatever you like.”

I give him the "Boy, bye" face, and then we order oxtails, rice and peas, sip on rum punch, and talk about work and Selma and Mike Brown, past relationships and hurt and friends and happiness and being nervous about our first date, and being happy it is turning out better than expected. I’m surprised when he tells me that he’s been fidgety all day, waiting for this moment. We are one in the same. 

babe.

The thing that scares you:

You are talking and talking and talking. Both of you. It is one of those conversations that lasts hours past your intended bedtime. You glance at the clock and your watch and your cell phone once, twice, and again, and whenever there is a lull, you say, “It’s late. I’m going to hate myself in the morning,” but then something comes up again and you can’t seem to pry your ear from the phone or stop laughing at his jokes. And there is one time when you are rambling and he says, “Didn’t you say you needed to go to bed?” and you respond to his snark with, “If you wanted to get off the phone with me, all you had to do was say so,” and after mumbling something about you being a shit talker, he coherently says, “Naw, I honestly don’t want this to end.”