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Archive for June, 2013

This Was Your Girlfriend

June 27th, 2013 24 comments

Ooh its hell
Knowing that for now
We shouldn’t kiss and tell
When it’s so good

Gary Clark Jr. from “Things Are Changin'”


She was your girlfriend for the last 8 weeks you two were together, and she ain’t even know it. You never told her that, and you never would, but if she was paying attention, if she trusted you, she would have noticed. Short of putting a ring on her finger, you were as committed to her as any man could be committed to someone.

But you never told her she was your girl, and somehow, you never made her feel like she was the only one. For most of the six months you two were together, she had her suspicions. There was one, or two, maybe even three people you called on nights you didn’t call her. You knew this, and yet, you did nothing to dispel those thoughts. As a matter of fact, you purposely never acted, all because she wasn’t your girlfriend. You knew a simple phone call before you turned in for the night would be a thoughtful gesture she would appreciate. But you denied her that because it felt too much like you were checking in, and if she was up late with the What Ifs, wondering what you were doing or who you were doing, that was her problem, not yours.

Foolishly you went to bed on those nights thinking she was thinking about you, when the truth is, the only reason she was awake was because she had company. Her phone was on silent while she was busy entertaining some guy she never told you about, a guy who came around after you two started doing whatever it is you were doing. When they met, she resisted for the most part, but he was cute and came correct, so she gave him her number. Two days later he asked her if she wanted to do lunch, and he ain’t even know how perfect his timing was because an hour prior, you asked her if you two could postpone the lunch plans you made. She went to lunch, and they hit it off, so she agreed to see him again because she didn’t know she was your girlfriend.

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Lessons From Sleeping Next to an Engaged Woman

June 24th, 2013 9 comments

Nothing happened, but I was still wrong.

I am at that age when I know better fluently. I have perfect command over doing the right thing, so when I do the wrong thing, the choice is made to find a deeper truth. I guess you can say it’s like the use of foul language. There’s always a more appropriate word than “fuck” but sometimes that word says it all.

I fucked up and I knew it from the moment I said yes to her request. She was going to be in New York City for an overnight business trip and wanted to stay with me. This was absolutely unnecessary.

For one, I know for a fact if it was business for which she was in town, the company was more than willing to pay for a hotel. She is an attorney at one of those big law firms where money is spent like water. A hotel room for business-related trips is standard.

But the other reason she should have never asked to stay with me, and I should have never said yes to her request, is because she was engaged to be married. and had the rock on her finger to prove it.

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Don’t be That Guy Who Complains About What She Wears

June 5th, 2013 4 comments

Ed Note: The following story is no indictment on my step-dad who is a great man.

While home from college for the holidays, my mother asked me to go with her to the local Macy’s. She wanted to do some shopping for herself. Of course I said yes because it’s the only time of year I’m home and any chance to spend time with Ms. Rita is always welcome. Also, everyone knows when you’re home visiting parents, any run to a store for themselves eventually turns into them going on a shopping spree for you.

We parked the car and walked into Macy’s. I’m ready to see mom ball out on her son, because where I’m from Macy’s is pretty much the tippy-top of the line. Everyone bought their nice things from the local Macy’s and we’ve been shopping there for me to get fly since my 8th grade promotional ceremony.

The two of us walked in the entrance where the men’s clothing section was, so of course I made a right in the direction of the leather jackets. I needed a new one, but my mom kept walking straight ahead. Maybe she was going to another part of the men’s section? I started following her, and to my surprise she was walking past the men’s clothes, past the cologne area, past the men’s shoes, past every single section that applied to me. Instead, she was taking the escalator, up to the women’s section. What was she doing? Did she need to use the bathroom? Was she going to return something she bought, get some store credit, and then come back down?

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The Lesson I Learned After a Year of Being a Dating Reporter

June 4th, 2013 No comments

Today marks my one year anniversary as The New York Post dating reporter in charge of their weekly blind date column, Meet Market. On occasions such as this one, people often say the year went by so fast. But the past year for me has been the exact opposite.

I love my job, but it’s challenging, exhausting, and stressful in its own unique way. I am fortunate enough to have a specific duty when I report to work, and it never changes. My job is to get people, set them up on dates, and report on what happened on those dates. Then, with the help of my editors, photographers, and designers, we create the two pages people readers see every Sunday.

On the surface, it all seems so simple, but there have been weeks where it is the most difficult thing I’ve had to do because this job has less to do with the words I wrote and more to do with people.

When I interviewed for the position, I of course touted my resume. Over 90 percent of the people who have come in to take their photo in order to participate ask me how I managed to get my job. The first thing I tell them is, I went to school for journalism. I know that may seem pompous, and I indeed give them more details, but I begin my answer with that statement for two reasons: 1) I’m still paying for my Howard University education. 2) I am indeed a journalist; obviously not of the Bob Woodward variety, but still, resume don’t lie and it’s important people know that.

But more important than all the education and experience I acquired before I started at the New York Post, is the social skills I’ve needed to rely on in order to make it this far.

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