No one feels bad for the pretty girl

This is a portion of my book I'm currently writing...

No one feels bad for the pretty girl. Never. There is no sympathy for our struggle. It kind of sucks because most people look at a beautiful woman or girl and think that she has it all. She awakens on a bed of down feather pillows and rose petals where little fluffy puppies lick her cheeks until she wakes up with a softened giggle then floats in air (she’s beautiful—so that also means she’s magical) making her way to her gem encrusted Jacuzzi tub that is the perfect temperature of Fuji filtered water. Her day is filled with compliments and free clothes and Chipotle burrito bowls and the only wrinkles on her face are laugh lines, and even the laugh lines know how beautiful she is she they try not to make themselves too noticeable because being on such a beautiful face is such an honor and privilege they shouldn’t take it for granted. The rain formulates around her, making sure to not fuss or frizz her perfect mane, and her makeup is always perfectly blended, that is, when she chooses to wear it. I mean, she’s pretty already, why would she tamper with perfection? Everyone tells her that she is even more beautiful without makeup, but she still uses it because it’s just one of the free items she receives on a regular basis because she’s beautiful. When it comes to a social perception of a beautiful woman, does this sound about right? Maybe a little embellished, but I’m dramatic. Sue me. Just because people think this is a day in the life of a pretty girl does NOT mean it holds any validity.

If only outer appearance was an absolute reflection of what a person is thinking in their head, feeling in their heart and experiencing in their life. How far from the truth can that be!? Who REALLY has a perfect life? I literally cannot think of a single person who has everything in their life together, despite what that person chooses to disclose to the general population or even those closest to them. Yeah people, let’s stop taking social media posts and pics so literal!

I had written a blog called “What pretty girls have to put up with, SMH!”, and it was part of the inspiration I had to write this book. It was to give just a taste of different experiences I’ve had in dating, and how men have treated me. Some good, some terribly bad, some hilarious, but mostly so ridiculous that I had to share with anyone else who would read it! To many, maybe even most, the idea of feeling sorry for a beautiful person is either pointless or irrelevant, and I get it—we’re so self-absorbed in our own stuff that we can’t “pity” someone whose life seems so perfect on the outside. But at least you’re reading this, and that means that you totally want to hear about all of the crazy stuff that has happened in my life with men, and some stories about some of my friends and their stories with men too! Thank you!

Disclaimer* my mother’s family is from Texas, and I have several southern idioms I may refer to. I think the context in which I write them in will give an understanding of anything questionable. But, if some of them get away from you sorry in advance! 

Chapter 1:

I remember the first time that I realized how attractive I was to guys. I have an older sister, and of course she blossomed before I did. She was blessed with beautiful green eyes and a butt to die for that people often fawned over her for. On top of that, she was 5’9” by the time she reached high school. I remember when we would go shopping with our mom and people would just stop her and tell her how gorgeous she was, and I was kind of just this kid on the sideline that they didn’t even realize I was there. I hadn’t developed fully yet, only 5’5” (and in comparison to someone 5’9” who often wore heels, I was unfortunately invisible) and I was doomed to have the flattest butt ever in human history, and I was okay with that. I was never jealous of my sister, but I knew I wasn’t as beautiful as she was. I was cute, but definitely nothing to write home over. But finally, my day came.

Sometime over the summer break from 7th grade to 8th grade, I began to transition into a bad one, in the best possible way. I seemed to just keep getting better. Even as I’m writing this, I’m mentally comparing my 7th grade yearbook picture to my 8th grade yearbook picture; literally they can’t be the same person!

During that summer, I got my very first boyfriend! His name was Chris. He was the CUTEST boy I had ever seen in my life. Now, this might not have been a very long life to reference to, but I felt I had enough exposure to different men to make this call. I think he was two years older than me, which was very cool and edgy for an almost teenager! I met him while I was at a mall in Sacramento visiting my aunt. I remember I was too shy to even talk to him. One of my cousin’s friends had to wave him down for me and begin the conversation. I could not believe what was happening. Was I really getting a guy’s phone number!? Was he REALLY interested in ME!?

Our relationship continued on only over the phone. Neither one of us could drive, we lived hours apart from each other, and above all else, I WAS NOT EVEN ALLOWED TO DATE YET! But I felt like an all-star being able to go back to school and tell everyone I have a hot older boyfriend! In my mind, I was the coolest girl in school. I was like a rebel version of Cinderella who had met her Prince Charming, minus the evil step family and fairy godmother and stuff. I was a living Taylor Swift song before she even was heard of! Sadly, our relationship did not end like a fairy tale, and if I saw him today I probably wouldn’t even recognize him. But I’ll never forget the first guy to ever ask me for my number.

In my 8th grade year, my sister was a sophomore. She had a guy that had a really big crush on her, and somehow he and I became really good friends. Don’t get this twisted—only platonic! We basically became family in each other’s eyes and when I eventually got to high school, we told everyone we were cousins.

He and I had an amazing friendship. We could literally talk on the phone for hours, when he wasn’t trying to talk to my sister of course. He was an extremely confident guy. In his eyes, he was the answer to all women’s problems. He was untouchable; and for that he was well respected among the other guys he hung out with and guys at our high school. He always dressed super fly, had all the Air Force Is and had wondrous affection for Timberlands. He stayed clean so fresh and so clean, clean. (I hope my references are not remised and allude to the years I was actually in high school!) In his own words, he was vain.

I wish I could remember the exact day and time, that would really be cool to reference here, but I guess because I didn’t know that it would be a life changing moment for me I didn’t take note of it. But I digress… One day, he and I were talking and he was gloating (as usual) and somewhere in the conversation with me he tells me “I don’t get why you aren’t conceded too.” Me? Conceded? I have something to be conceded over? I discovered just exactly who I was: a pretty girl.

Such simple words he revealed to me were the beginning of a brand new life for me. I had never really considered that I was something or someone special. I mean, I was still pretty young. When he told me these words, I was 13 or just turned 14. But those words opened my eyes and gave me the confidence I needed to begin to shine like the star I was destined to become. I was far from the woman I am now, but it put me in a position where I began to feel like anything was possible. I cared more about my appearance, I started learning how to flirt, and I used my God-given gift to my advantage to get what I want.

I grew up in the downtown area of Menlo Park, CA. Now, Menlo Park is neither big nor busy, but downtown was and is the life of the city (except now Facebook is headquartered there and that has become a big attraction on the other side of the city about 8 minutes away HA!). It’s where all the shops and restaurants were. My sister and I soon joined forces to become a power greater than any man’s will, or at least in our minds we were. We often went downtown with little or no money, and came back with a full belly, cups of Freddo from Peet’s and other little gifts that were given to us by different guys that worked at different stores or restaurants. We didn’t do ANYTHING physical with these guys, they just liked the way we looked and wanted to give us stuff. It had been a long time since people just gave us stuff for being cute. I mean when we were little girls, we were freaking adorable! My mom would dress us up as twins and people just ate that up! I didn’t make it any better with my pacifier that I twisted around in my mouth that people that was the best thing since sliced bread! My sister and I would have little purses that people at church would put a few dollars in because they just couldn’t get over how cute we were. This lasted for years. My mom had a favorite deli she’d take us to a few blocks away from us. They would give us free salami and brownies. Looking back at it, my mom may have used our cuteness for her own advantage, hehehe! Just kidding. But back to hot, teenager Whitney…

Once I realized how pretty I was, there was no turning back. I became very, very conceited. I think I even became borderline vain, just like my friend. These were not my proudest moments in life, but hey, we were all young and dumb once. And I think that what stood out the most was my confidence. I literally felt like I was just the ish and no one could change my mind about that. But where much is given, much is required… yeah… that saying fits even this situation.

Chapter 2: The Result

Not only did I find myself to be the best thing since sliced bread, I looked much older than I was. I was (and still am) confused to be the older sister. Well, first most people thought my sister and I were twins, despite the height difference and different eye colors, and then when they discovered we were not twins, automatically I was considered to be the older sister. I have to say that this is where a lot of my conceitedness (is that a word?) came from, because guys my age were dumb and immature. It was the older guys that really started to give me the serious attention, and I absolutely loved it.

Before I go any further, I have to tell about the story of me and Bro. Ralph. I was raised in and am still apart of the Pentecostal church, more specifically, the Church of God in Christ. Oh yeah, I’m one of them  . So, a part of our culture is testimony service. This is an opportunity for the congregation to share just what God has done for them, and any prayer requests to be given to the church so we could pray for each other. Well, when I was seven, I had developed this HUGE crush on a MAN that went to my church. Yes, not a boy my age, a full grown man that actually had children that were older than me. When I tell you Bro. Ralph was my boo in my mind, I mean he was who God had planned to be my husband. I had such a crush on him. It’s kind of embarrassing now when I see him even though this is 20 years later! Everyone in the church knew just how much I was in love with Bro. Ralph. I had a well-planned testimony that I said every Friday and Sunday night (I didn’t exactly have a rough life or a story to tell about God’s healing power or deliverance at that point yet). Faithfully, I said every testimony service, “please pray for me, my family and everyone I know… and Bro. Ralph.” Aint nothing like a woman that will pray for you ;-). Luckily, he didn’t think it was creepy and was very sweet to me, and eventually I grew out of my crush. But on a side note, I was crushed when he got remarried, and his new wife didn’t want kids at the wedding! She was jealous of what he and I had I guess. Ha! It’s a joke, so its okay to laugh at that. But even from a very young age, I had had an attraction to older men, and eventually they began to appreciate me as well.

So, I vividly remember a time when I was 14 and I realized just how old people thought I was. It was a Saturday, and my mom, aunt, siblings and I had gone to Stockton for a special church service. As I noted earlier, I’m a part of the Church of God in Christ, this means to most “Black Church”. And if you know anything about how predominately Black or African American denominations, you KNOW they love anything flashy, sequin, glitter, fur, feathered, rhinestoned, animal print, lace and gaudy. For those of you who judge this tradition have no idea what the significance of what this represents, but that’s not what this book is about! But ironically, don’t judge a book by its cover when it comes to “Black Church” apparel. But back to the story… So, I was obviously dressed up in a church suit (I don’t wear them much now, but when I lived under my mother’s roof, she definitely had a say in what I wore, as she should!). My mom and aunt can never just go somewhere more than 10 minutes away, and NOT stop somewhere on the way home to shop. We ended up stopping at a place called Durant Square in Oakland, CA. If you’re from the Bay Area, you know exactly where I’m talking about! They had a lot of the “Black Church” suits and costume jewelry that my aunt and mom love. I was standing outside of one of the stores, in my church clothes when this guy walked by me. I remembered how he just stared at me as he passed by me. I thought it was kind of weird to be right in someone’s face and blatantly stare without saying hello or smiling, but I disregarded it. Well, a few minutes later, this guy comes back. He sticks his hand out to me, and he had something in it. I don’t even remember him saying anything. CREEPY! I looked down at his hand, and I realized it was a piece of paper… with his phone number on it. I wasn’t really used to guys just approaching me like that yet, so I had the most puzzled and concerned look on my face, equivalent to the “wtf?” face. I actually may have created that face that day. Since he didn’t say anything as he just stood in front of me with his hand outstretched in front of me, I finally opened my mouth, and responded almost angrily saying, “I’m only 14.” He took a moment, still with his hand out, looked away and looked back and said, “I’m 17.” And still insisted I take the number. I think I took it just to get him to leave me alone, and threw it away. Now the reason I bring this story up is that CLEARLY he was nowhere near 17. Even the simple fact that he had to think before responding with his age, he knew he was waaaay too old for me. Now, there is the possibility that he thought I was lying about my age, but I ain’t Craig, and I aint got to lie to kick it. But he didn’t know me from a can of paint, so why wouldn’t I lie? I’m sure all he was concerned with was the fact that I was hecka cute (yes, I said hecka—I just told yall I was from the Bay!), and was hoping to get me to call him. But here is my thing—if I was so uninterested in getting to know this guy or even have him in my presence for another second that I would feel compelled to lie about something as silly as my age to get him to leave me alone, why would he still want to press for me to take his number? Some guys I guess just don’t get the hint, or maybe he thought I was playing hard to get. But the MAJOR reason I did not then and still don’t believe he was 17 is because of how he looked. Now, I don’t know, but I have NEVER seen a 17 year old guy with a full beard or look as worn out as he did. At 17, you’re supposed to still have slightly soft features and even a bit of a baby face. You shouldn’t have developed bags under your eyes yet, and at that age I would think that he would even have a little more clever game at that point. At 17, you have to work a little harder to convince a girl. Even thinking back to other guys at that age of 17, they just didn’t seem beat up and defeated by the world yet—but this guy did! His lips were super dark like he had been smoking marijuana for 50 years, and just looked like he had the hardest life that any 17 year old could have had IF he really were 17. You know who he looked like? Beanie Sigel. Like Beanie Sigel, present day, but like an even rougher looking Beanie Sigel. Like, if Beanie had stayed up for the last 6 days and just been angry the whole time. Like, at least if you are going to try to approach a young lady, at least smile or be a little happy! I’m not saying a guy has to be extremely fine to try to approach me, but when you realize you might be too old for me bro, you might want to find a woman that is actually a REASONABLE age for you to pursue. I’m cute, but definitely not cute enough to go to jail over. At least know me and fall for me to determine if you want to do 5-10 in the hole.

This situation is actually pretty low on scale of the things I’ve had to deal with as a being attractive to men.

Chapter 3:

Something I don’t get it why can men not control themselves when they see someone that they are attracted to? Like, why can’t you be able to keep your thoughts to yourself? Why must you tell me all the nasty, dirty, outrageous, outlandish things you want to do to me when I haven’t even told you my name yet? Why do you feel it is appropriate to tell me how sexy and thick I am? Like, what if I am offended by that? What if that disgusted me? What if you lost a chance with me because you feel like you had to just “keep it real with me” and let me know that “hey, I’m a man” and tell me I’m childish or immature if I don’t like being talked to like that? Like oh alright, let me excuse you completely degrading me, touching me in places I have yet to give you clearance for and talking to me inappropriately in ways that even some of the girls at the bunny ranch would be surprised by, all because you can’t control your bodily functions. Now I get that you may look at a woman and feel a “tingle”, and that’s a natural reaction, but the rest of that stuff was your decision. You thought you could get away with it, so you tried it. Try me not.

I have when the phrase then ends in “what did you expect?” For example, when a woman is at the point of slapping the taste out of a guy’s mouth and he says, “I’m a man. I can’t help myself… what did you expect?” Ummm… I expected you to act like you had good sense and some respect for me as a person! What would your mother say if she was her right now!? No disrespect to anyone without a mother, just saying thinking of that distained looked on my mother’s face alone has kept me out of A LOT of trouble.

How a man approaches a woman could really set the tone for the entire relationship. In my mind, the way you approach me is how you perceive me. When a guy says “my goodness, what an utterly amazing smile!” it is completely different than a man saying “dang, you got some sexy, juicy lips!” Now, I’m sure every man who comments on a woman’s smile is also thinking of course about those juicy lips, but it creates a completely different tone for the conversation. Noticing a person’s smile is like emotionally connected for me. Crazy maybe, but stay with me. A sincere smile is a reflection of what a person is feeling in that moment. There is such beauty and truthfulness behind that smile and it gives a slight glimpse into a person’s heart. But when talking about juicy lips, all I can think is that man is wondering what I can do with them. Big turn off. Now some woman are able to shrug it off, because everyone has a bad day even when it comes to picking up women but it is telling sign if this behavior continues. What kills me about this is a man will approach a woman as a sex object, but get mad when she is a hoe! These men are CRAZY. You want a woman with good morals, but allows a stranger (him at first contact) to degrade her by making sexual suggestions? Hmmm… how does that work? So basically, be a morally just woman, with low standards? You can’t have both. Trust me, if you meet a woman with morals and self-respect, she will either be offended or not take you seriously. But say, she is endulged and delighted by you sexually motivated observations about her tight butt and sexy everything else, trust me, she a hoe. And that’s cool. Be a hoe! But don’t try to disguise it with being a feminist in control of her body and sexuality. Just own who you are. Or if you don’t want to say “hoe”, you can say promiscuous, or have hoeish tendencies. But men, be real with yourself—if she let YOU talk (or even more than talk, but trying to keep it PG) to her like that when she just met you, you better believe there is a good chance you aren’t the only one that has gotten at her like that before, and you probably won’t be the last.

And what REALLY gets me is that I am always the bad guy if I’m not interested in a guy. Pretty girls get a bad rap just because they aren’t interested in every guy that shows interested in them. Maybe not now as much as it used to be, but I used to get approached very, VERY often. Not to toot my own horn, but these are just facts that are building up my case that I’m pleading. So say, I had like three men approach me a week, every week of the year— that means that I would need to have interest in 156 men! Just for that year! Not to mention all the other men from the years prior and the years ahead! If that wouldn’t classify me as a hoe, I don’t know what would. But, because I’m pretty, I often have guilted attempts into being interested in a guy. How is this fair?!

The worst is when it’s a nice guy. Pretty women always look like the jerk off when it’s a really nice guy that is interested in them.

I remember once in my early 20’s, I was out with my girls at a bar. I have never been a drinker, but I’ll go and hang out. This place was kind of like a hangout spot where they had a DJ and dance floor too, but it wasn’t a club. It was an interesting place. Dive bar to the ghetto extreme, but for some reason we liked going there. Sometimes when I would go out, I kind of turned into a bump on a log because I value my sleep and don’t drink alcohol so when my friends are having the time of their lives, I’m just leaning on the wall somewhere or on a stool but I never want to stop their party. So this particular night, I was in my usual spot leaning on the wall while everyone else was doing their own thing, I noticed this guy kept following me. I was thinking like “oh good grief!” So finally when I was still for long enough he approached me, asking all the lame questions guys ask when they are slightly intoxicated and think it’s a good idea to still approach a woman when their speech is slurred. I wasn’t really entertaining it, but at least I was cordial enough. As this guy was in my ear, another guy walked up to me and grabbed my arm—he wanted to dance with me. I politely pulled my arm back and responded “no thanks”. Now this was far from the first guy that I had turned down in my life, but for some reason this man did not take rejection well. He leaned in and told me in a very aggressive manner “you lucky I don’t hit a b!+(#! !!” I was literally beside myself. I had never had someone say something so disrespectful and violent in my life! Really? You want to hit me just because I didn’t want to dance with you?! My mom always told me my mouth got me in trouble, but this was not one of those times. Usually, I would pop off on site, but I may be crazy but I’m definitely not stupid!

So I kept my mouth shut as he walked away angrily. And the worst part of all of this, that guy that was in my ear right before this guy said that to me WAS STILL STANDING RIGHT BESIDE ME! He witnessed the entire thing! He didn’t say a word to the guy, he didn’t step in, he didn’t intervene, nothing. Now come on guy, you want to approach me like you have the intentions of being my man, but you’re gonna see a helpless woman being threatened and NOT say something? Now, I don’t expect him to be Superman and save the day, but clearly you not about that life! If I were a man, I don’t think I could ever stand there while a woman is being threatened, I don’t care if I know them or not. And the guy that threatened me was HUGE! Not only over weight significantly, but also very tall! He was most likely all in his feelings because he figured I wasn’t attracted to him or something, but I didn’t even think about whether or not I was attracted to him, I was just tired of being at this ghetto dive bar.

Clearly, after that happened, it was time to go. The worst part is this is not the only weird or crazy thing that happened at this place. This was actually a place that we went quite often when I was 21. We began to know the staff and some of the regulars and even have reunions with old friends we hadn’t seen in a while. It’s the place you go where you want to be grown and slightly sexy, but not at the point where you can afford bottle service or wear dress shoes to the club. Once time, it was a group of us again out at the monkey (that was the name if it). My godsister Paris and I really like to dance. And Paris is like this gorgeous amazon like woman. She’s 5’11”… or maybe taller. She always changes how tall she is, lol. So her being so hot AND tall, she got and still gets A LOT of attention. So this one guy was all over her that night on the dance floor, holding her close and dancing with her. Things were business as usual, until suddenly this guy kissed her! Like out of the blue! She didn’t even know him! What if she just got over a cold or had bad breath? He didn’t care. Maybe this is something that is normal, I don’t know, but what I do know is that what happened next was even worse. She ran back to us and told us all that had just happened. Apparently her lips HAD GONE NUMB after he kissed her! She was terrified for the rest of the night. She was freaking out and was convinced that he had cocaine on his lips and that’s why her lips went numb. We never have confirmed what the cause of it was, but it definitely let us know just exactly how aggressive the guys there could be. And this is overall just plain scary. The fact that we interact with tons of people everyday, and any of them could just walk up and kiss us on our lips and in our mouths is just more than I can mentally handle!

Another time at this same place this guy just came and picked me up. No explanation, just picked me up like literally off of the ground. He was really hot, so I allowed it  . Yep, way to go, Whit. Giving men special privileges based on their appearance. :-/

In high school, I was a cheerleader. Yeah, typical. I say don’t sexualize me, but I was the epitome of what is represented as sexy, eduranced built and agile to the male species. Women are confusing lol. I have to admit, our uniforms were a bit on the risqué side to be high school students. Our tops were fine, but the skirts were where the action was. They were made to kind of look like a box-pleated skirt, but there was a big surprise. There were slits in the skirts EVERYWHERE. Every place that there should be a pleat, it was a slit instead. So basically when we moved, you could see all our thighs and our tillys (those are the shorts underneath that basically fit like boy short underwear. We would try to hang out together as a squad on game days, and sometimes would walk together to downtown Menlo Park to grab a bite before the game dressed in our uniforms. This day, we went to McDonald’s where a bunch of our class mates would go as well after school. I was standing in line looking at the menu, when I felt something graze my butt. Now I know my butt doesn’t stick out that far for someone to do that on accident, but I turned around to see what was going on and this kid that had just started to go to my school was looking past, seeming to be paying attention to something else. I figured I’d give him the benefit of the doubt and take it as an accident, as incredibly crazy as it seemed. So I continued to stand there, when once again, I feel someone touch my butt! I knew this time it wasn’t an accident. I turn around and it’s the same guy! I was outraged at this point. I turned around so fast it would make your head swim! I grabbed him by the collar of his shirt and told him, “look! Don’t do that again!” All he could do was smile and laugh, so it diffused the situation. But I guarantee you, that was the last time that guy did that to me. Unfortunately, that doesn’t mean that was the last time it ever happened…

I was at a friend’s birthday party that was being held at a lounge. It wasn’t a private party, so others were there as well. I saw this absolutely gorgeous guy on the dance floor. I’ve rarely been too nervous to not speak to a guy or anyone for that matter. So, I walked over to him and told him a classic line “you look like you could be my brother.” Come on, if an attracted woman came to you saying so strange, you’d be caught off guard as well and realize she’s probably pretty funny… or crazy. Either way, you know you’re in for a good time . So we began to chat a bit. I found out he had recently moved to the area after graduating college, but was originally from Texas. That actually did make me a bit nervous being that my mother and her family is from Texas. But hey, if we are like fourth or fifth cousins, it doesn’t count, right? Ha! So as we were talking, we decided to dance a bit together. He made sure to make a conscious effort to make sure I knew just how sexy he found me. But once again, here goes a guy that I don’t even know who feels that it would be appropriate to feel a little too much on my body, or grab me a little too tight. After being totally my type: racially ambiguous, educated, funny, good job, had a cute accent and what I thought to be a gentleman. My how looks can be deceiving. I over looked that initial interaction hoping that once we got to know each other there would be more established. All of our communication from there was either very basic, or had extreme sexual undertones. I know what it means if you say I just want you to come spend some time with me… when it’s 10 p.m… and I haven’t heard anything else from you all day… Yeah… I know. I don’t know why men think women are so dumb and naïve! I may have been about 22 or 23, but I was smart enough to know what his plan really was. I only hung out with him one other time. I brought one of my girlfriends with me because he and his roommates were having a get together. It was an interesting night. It seemed like all the guys that lived together and their friends invited over girls to see just who they could get to stay the night with them. He seemed like he was being friendly, but I began to wonder if he even knew my name! Like, you know when someone doesn’t know your name. Like they want to say something to you, but because they don’t know your name to call it out, they wait until you both make eye contact and then say what they want to say. Ugh! Then, he asked did I want a drink. I told him just a cranberry juice. He told me he was going to make me something special. Do you know that he put alcohol in my drink being fully aware that I don’t drink it? Wow! So you were trying to get me liquored up? Why? So I could be a little more “relaxed”? Trust me, if he showed a little more attention to my mind and not just my body, I may have just obliged him at some point, but because he made it very clear in what he thought to be a clever disguise, I had to say NEXT. But goodness, was he hot! He’s still my friend on Facebook, and though I never say anything or like his posts, I be peeking . But I know that all he was interested in was a beautiful girl that was DTF. It’s crazy, it didn’t seem to bother him that he tried to entice me with his charm to get what he wanted.

This is one of the many reason I say that no one feels bad for the pretty girl. Most men don’t care about our feelings, that we had a bad day, that we are vulnerable and that we just really want companionship. Guys will lie their butt off to get exactly what they want then leave you high and dry.

The problem with being beautiful and having very unique or exaggerated features is that you were probably a fantasy for him. At some point in this guy’s life, he probably said he wanted to have a girl that LOOKS exactly like you. She may even talk exactly like you and all of the other surface features a woman can have. And he somewhere decided that this would be the woman he wanted. For me, like the guys I’m interested in, I’m racially ambiguous. I have had men tell me they thought I was Puerto Rican, Eritrean, Persian, Indian or some other type of Asian, Native American, Mexican, Peruvian, Hawaiian, Polynesian, Filipina or a mix of those usually with African American. No one rarely thinks that I have a European background. Whatever they think I am, it is always something very exotic. And the fact that I have very curly hair doesn’t make it any better. I dated a guy long term, but didn’t even realize that his type was Latina. I asked him then why he approached me, he told me because I look Latina. And nothing is wrong with having a type, but when a girl is only fulfilling a fantasy you have created in your mind probably for years, she no longer has her own identity. He has created in his mind the woman that he wants her to be, and if they realize she doesn’t fit this idea they made, they then blame the woman. How is it my fault that I am my own person? The other problem with fantasies is that they usually are sexual if they come from the mind of a man. Men have really gross minds! This puts a woman at a disadvantage from the very beginning. I’m sure that it can be argued that women have very high expectations that are preset for all men, but screw that! This is my book, and I’m not dissing women  But what I will say is that women have more expectations of how a man should treat her overall and these expectations are usually within reason. For instance, the things I want from a man are: time, honesty, loyalty, love and protection. But I guess those requests are too difficult to meet! When my mom prayed to God for a husband, she told Him that they guy could be purple, she didn’t care as long as he loved her and was good to her, and she didn’t have to worry about where he was. And that’s what she got in my dad—a really great guy that fit everything that she was looking for, who is very handsome, but definitely different from what she expected (he’s White, my mom is Black and this is the perfect time to interject that my Dad is a MAJOR geek but very very cool and quite popular at his local Starbucks which he goes to probably twice a day, and my mom is like the coolest woman I know, extremely comical and always knows the right thing to say even if it is a little harsh, and everyone who meets both of them absolutely adores them) that she is still married to even now. But, my dad is like some type of unicorn I guess. Or maybe back then, men hadn’t evolved into such horn balls and actually believed in courting a woman. This is really cute… my mother is a devout Pentecostal Christian as I mentioned before, and my dad is a Catholic. He knew there weren’t many places that he could take her for their first date because she didn’t like go to bars or clubs or the movies (yes, and she still doesn’t go to the movies! When I was a kid my Sunday School teacher asked me “do you want to be in the movies when the rapture comes?” in a completely ominous voice implying something terrible was going to happen, so in horror I replied “No!”) so he actually got tickets for a gospel concert for their first date. My Auntie Karen chaperoned, hehehehe.

If a guy did something like that for me, I’d probably end up marrying him too! To know how much effort he had to put into that tells me just how much he was smitten with my mother. And going to a concert back then was nothing like it is now. You don’t have social media or email alerts that tell you when your favorite artist is coming to town. There was no internet yet, and my dad was a White dude from Menlo Park who knew probably nothing about gospel music or artists. He couldn’t Google “gospel concerts” and get the tickets online. He probably had to go to different venues to see the upcoming shows, look for flyers posted around the town, or who knows what and THEN go to the ticket will call to purchase the tickets for not just her but also her chaperone, and just hope that after all that she said yes. I’ve been almost married to a guy and he not put that much effort into doing something special for me, hence why we were almost married and broke up!

When my dad proposed, my mom’s response was “you know I’m Black, right?” My mom is hilarious if you haven’t figured that out yet. I said all this because people told my mom that she was just a fantasy to my dad; he just wanted Black nookie. I hope that really drives home the era that this took place! They got together and married in the 70’s, so this was around the time of “Jungle Fever”, and I guess it was pretty popular to “experiment”. I don’t know, but I don’t think that you marry and have four kids with someone that was just a fantasy.

And that’s the problem, when you are just a fantasy to a guy, he’ll never appreciate the person you really are; he will only allow you to be the person that he dreamed about. But again, when you fit in the category that so many guys would fantasize about, it is basically impossible to break out of that image.