Good Men Do Exist...

There are very few situations that will cause me to get down on two hands and knees in the middle of my apartment after 8pm on a Saturday night:

Money,

Moscato and...

Marc (Jacobs ;-) - but only because my ironing board is broken.

This past Saturday, however, two out of three rang true because somewhere between my trip to Bank of America and watching a boring episode of Football Wives on my couch, I lost a paycheck worth more than the one bedroom apartment I was paying to rent.  Now, generally, I do not get upset about losing something...because...well, I live in a 565 square feet of space...and nothing is never lost forever.

This time - however - the "lost something" was valued at about 20 Forever 21 shopping bags.  So, needless to say, I was in doggy position, flipping over couch cushions and heavy lifting bookcase with one hand WHILE bottle-palming Moscato white wine in the other...

I was angry...upset...irritated...

ashamed...and any other negative emotion that one can think of that begins with a vowel!

I really hate to lose something.


Correction!  I really hate to lose something that I know beyond a shadow of a doubt holds value. 
my job, my packcheck, my Seven for All Mankind high heel shoe...

As a single women, however, that previous list grows slightly.

In addition to fearing the loss of a job and a designer shoe...I also fear finding a GOOD MAN

Yes, finding (not losing) a good man....

Why? Because by finding him, there is always the threat that he may be lost  to some hoochie with a long weave, an ambitious lady with a big bum, or to a person wth higher stillettos than you named Chris(tina)...

Shortly after I lost my paycheck, I was drowning my sorrow in a glass full of grapefruit juice (read: no paycheck) at a DC networking event.  Not feeling up to doing the usual bait and switch to snatch a boyfriend with a business card...I had opted to do the unthinkable (as a single woman in DC)...which was NET-WORK (with NO INTENTIONS)...

It was during this time that I met some dude - whose face I didn't remember...but whose business card was quite impressive, and his handshake was grown man firm.  So. I emailed the next day thinking this guy is nice, employed in a sector that interests me, and "dang, it would be nice to buy me some catfish for lunch." 

I was hungry.

What I couldn't know - however - was that our first "business" email would transition step to finding out his zodiac sign, catapult into a digit exchange, land with me licking my lips at the sound of his voice on the phone, ...all before our "official" first date!

Who was this guy? I thought, who had Southern gentleman tendencies, big city boy aspirations, a sweet-tea smile and a sincerity that made me think good men do exist....

"Our Fri-date," he said "would answer all those lingering questions."

I waited a week in deep anticipation and intense premature nervousness, before our Fri-date arrived and he picked me up in a Hugo Boss suit, smelling faintly of Yves Saint Laurent...

What followed was the antithesis of an expectation...

Reservations at the Renaissance, flowers waiting on the table, a dinner discussion about all the uninteresting things old friends no longer care about, and an intimate moonlight stroll in a flower garden near the Gaylord.

It was during this time, he explained what my flowers meant...

Yellow for friendship, the foundation he hoped to build.
Red for romance, a promise of what was to come....and a....
Pastel Green vase, a nod to my favorite color.

"Are you spoiled?" he asked as he tickled my fingers and raised my ring finger to his lips.
"Nope." I said trying to keep it cool.
"After dating me, you will be.  I want to set the bar so high, no man will ever reach it."

Then he slid his arm in mine, and we slowly walked back to my Geo.

Jokingly I asked "Where'd you come from?  Do men like you even exist?"

He smiled.  "Sometimes..."

Our first date, our Fri-date, I felt was something I had never experienced...but it was an experience I had been unknowingly looking for in the climaxes of romance books and at the start of every fairytale...a man...no, a GOOD MAN who wasn't afraid to start with a "once upon a time..."

And after the shitty-key experience with Big Chocolate, the almost-never-counts experience with A Long Walk, and the failed pledging experience with My Crush...

I had stopped looking...for friendship, for love, for romance...until I stumbled into something that I had not been searching for...

A man who wanted to take charge of a situation and show me that two could possibly be better than one! 

A Boss...my Boss Boo...

I was happy...kinda...before that single woman doubt began to creep in....before I started asking myself ridiculously silly questions after an incredibly unbelievable first date...the first of which was:

In finding something so unbelievably good, how would I manage the fear of possibly losing it? 

When I got home, I placed my flowers on my coffee table and got down on my hands and knees to pick up a petal that had dropped to the carpet...

It was then that I found it....that which I had not been searching for...

Or rather, the piece of paper that had been playing hide-and-seek with me for two weeks now...my paycheck...and snatching it up I told myself that from this day forward:  I would never take for granted that which I deemed as valuable....again... 

Jezebel vs. Jessica Rabbit

A few weekends back (prior to meeting Lo (for loquacious)), I was forced to check my drivers license to make sure "Jezebel" didn't appear in front of my first name, Breanne.  You remember Jezebel, right?  The Biblical chick who misled and seduced the men of God to do horrible things, like have "sex."  I am so not her.  Partly, because my name begins with a "B" but mostly because I can't keep a straight face long enough to seduce any man, ever. 

I am that girl that giggles during a slow and slightly dirty dance and kills the mood.   I am the lady who walks a bit too fast in sexy stiletto heels.  I am the woman who covers up my "get 'em girl dress" with a trenchcoat in 80 degree weather in the middle of July. 

I am NOT a temptress, a seductress, a Marilyn Monroe, a Jessica Rabbit, and I am not a Jezebel.

So, on this night, I was wondering why my date was calling on Jesus for the fifth time even though he and I were seated on separate sides of his loveseat.  My guess was that he thought my toes - which were propped up on his lap - were getting dangerously close to his....um....bellybutton. 

Jesus had become the constant companion in our time together over the past five weeks of dating.  If a hug got too close, homie would yell "Praise the Lord."  If my bum brushed across the edge of his thigh, he would begin a rendition of Amazing Grace.  And if my goodbye kiss touched the edge of his lip, he would whisper "God is good."

All.
The..
Time...


Problem was.  I'm not a heathen-happy sinner!  I'm a 100% certified, Grade A, good girl, that doesn't have to subtract 10 and divide by 2 whenever a guy asks: "so how many men have you been with?" 

So...

I was confused when my date started treating me like I had a bad case of leprosy...and had to wonder had my good girl swagg gone stale? 

A phone call at 9pm that he took in the next "room," give me some much needed info....

I didn't catch all of the conversation, but I did hear him say "baby," "sweet angel" and "nothing."  Assuming I was the "nothing" he referred to in the latter part of his list, I waited until his whisper session was done and asked very loudly through the door....

"Was that Jesus on your main line?" before grabbing my Chloe bag and heading for the door.

My gut had told me that the game of church he was playing with me, coincided with the game of house he was playing with Virgin Mary': which apparently didn't include lounging on his love seat after the streetlights came on.

On the way back to my Geo, I  couldn't help asking myself was it possible to still be a 100% certified, Grade A, good girl in your 20's or was it smart to just "play" one on tv (hey Beyonce!).  I mean presumably, by the age of 24, a woman has swapped spit after midnight,  packed an overnight bag, and gotten a few miles out of her Victoria's secret stash.

Or...maybe Virgin Mary's still existed...

and Jezebel's were so 2001....

 

Better Than a $20 Hair Weave...

In the 8th grade, my mom conned me into thinking that a jheri curl was the next best hairstyle. 

Problem was. 

It was the late 90's, the film - Coming to America - was already ol' school, and the style required a 1/2 gallon of activator juice - daily! For one full year, I heard every Soul Glow joke EVER created, so you can imagine my excitement when my mom finally ordered my hair on a weave time out (which is the corner bad hair hairstyles go to get a better attitude)!

I still remember the 2 pounds of hair my mom bought, and how cute I felt after I swung 100% "glued-in" human hair over my shoulder.  It was like hair cuticle crack - and the only thing that could top this addiction was the fact that I found a woman to put it all in for $20.00!  

Since then, I've quit my weave-wearing addiction cold turkey...BUT.....I still have memories of how my $20 hair weave - RIP  - made me feel comfortable, confident, powerful and pretty!

No other experience compared to it....UNTIL...I met a guy who took 45 minutes to take me on a trip that should have only taken two (minutes, that is).  What this dude had, besides not enough money to get a GPS, was good conversation....and I liked it, which consequently made me like him....

Well...

Kinda.

I barely knew him.

I was - however - completely enamored by his words...

During our ride, he expressed himself to me in poetic form, challenging me to follow his flow as he encompassed me via a haze of non-sexual seductive adverbs, adjectives, nouns, and ACTION verbs....tempting the "good girl" in me to think very bad thoughts...about him!

And yet...none of his communications were of the post-coital (read: rated X) variety!

And he didn't just speak to me, because any loquacious (google it!) man can make silence look golden!  Just like any man can sign you up as a standby to a lone game of 20 questions (all about him), AND attempt to make his life seem more interesting than the Idris Elba's underoos scene in Takers (keyword: attempt).

This guy - however - was of a different variety.  He used his words as a deliberate, dialogue-inducing form of communication!

He couldn't have known this, but...ladies...his conversation was better than my ol' school $20 hair weave!

Well kinda...

At the very least, his conversation made me feel comfortable, confident, powerful and pretty. At the very most, I didn't have to drop two tens and cover my head every time a strong wind blew!

When we finally reached our destination, Sir Lo (for loquacious - google it!) leaned over - the soft, masculine scent of Armani Black permeating the small space between us - and said:

"I'm gonna make you like me." 

And maybe he was right...

Well...

Kinda...

I barely knew him.

But he could have had a point.  

If bad conversation could make one strongly dislike an individual, what were the possible side effects of a good conversation?  Was good conversation the starting point of something....well, something good? 

I didn't know for sure, but that was okay....because life is not a Facebook Status Update, I can't just like someone every 13 seconds...


His words - though - I was mesmerized by every 12 seconds into a 45 minute ride that should have taken only two (minutes, that is!)