Dear Joe...

I propose an idea. I propose that my phone be equipped with a breathalizer. Like a multiple drunk driving offender, that has to breathe into some contraption before his car will start...I am a multiple drunk text offender. And I need the State to intervene. For the safety of myself and others. There should be some kind of sobriety texting exam I would have to pass before being able to use it after 1 am. Like a series of questions: as follows.... 1. Christina, how many drinks have you had tonight? (i would lie of course and say one or two) 2. Christina, you dont have to lie. I'm your best friend. Now really how many drinks? (i stopped counting after 4) 3. Ok then,Christina who are you trying to call? (to which i would type in a name.) 4. Christina, do you think he needs to hear any fucking thing you need to say at 2 am? (yes. these are my thoughts and he needs to hear this.i dont care what time it is) 5. Fine then, if you're so insistent in texting your innermost thoughts to ...

So on a random Wednesday I decided to get together with my friends and get a weave. Whatever. I've been trying to grow my hair out for like 6 months now, and it just doesnt seem to be getting anywhere. I always wanted long,beautiful, Kim Kardashian hair. With the waves, and the silkiness and all that. So as my friends and I discussed men, kids, life, etc...Sofia got sewn into my scalp. I named her Sofia because literally, it feels like a foreign object has invaded my head space. Like I have the hair of some beautiful Italian woman mixed in with my own half-bred nappiness. lol So Sofia and I have had a few good days. We went to the mall. We went up to New York. I wore a little beret to the museum with her,to keep her warm. The most ironic thing about Sofia, is that she was purchased to make me feel more beautiful. To boost my self-esteem. I thought long hair was the key to feeling sexy and attractive and Playboy bunny of the month like. But quite the opposite has happened. I feel fr...

It's amazing how many random ass dudes come out of the woodworks, when you've finally decided to "move-on" and "be happy". I blame Apple. I know the iPhone has some kind of application that lets sheisty ass cold hearted men, know when women have stopped thinking about them. I believe they get a little message pop up window. "Alert. Phonebook entry "Christina" has been detected to be getting some new dick and hasnt called in three months. Suggested resolution: text her some sappy ass lyrics and try and hold on a little longer." Fucking Steve Jobs. Yeah we have an app for that. Literally my phone has been on fire for weeks. All the Grade A assholes too. The cheaters, the liars, the abusers. The one who keeps me as "backup ass". All the great characters that have been in and out my life for years. The amount of tears wasted over these men, could flood a desert. And here i am happy. And here you are missing me. Ands isn't that ...

So you've done it. You've successfully made it out the Hoe Zone. Perhaps you didn't hold out the 6 months you'd aimed for. But you crossed major milestones. You speak everyday. You've introduced the friends. Had countless dates, many of them lasting 2 or 3 days. He's farted. You've snored. He's pointed out your boogers. You've picked lint out his hair. He's seen you without makeup, heels, fancy labels or anything else you hide behind. You've shown yourself. Naked. Literally and figuratively. You're totally smitten. And you give it up. "Now, me non-clairvoyant and in love...made the coochie easy and the obvious invisible..." -J.Scott You my dear, have cleared the "jump-off", "hoe" and "side-chick" zones, and you are entering the scariest and most complicated zone there is. The quicksand of zones. You are entering the "Where do we go from here" zone. This is where even the most masterful ga...

I fell in love with Sade when I was about 8. I'd never heard my father make a comment about any other woman besides my mother (and still haven't to this day) and there he was going on and on about the beauty of the woman. Naturally (because I was born with that nagging jealous bone all women have) I had to take a look at what fraud could be more beautiful than my own mother. I went through his records and found the Stronger than Pride album. And she was there, staring at me with this look in her eye. This look of unattached strength. This look that she held the answer to every single question in life. And I played the music. And from then on I was a junkie. I couldn't get enough. I held her as my standard of beauty and class for years afterwards. She has that grace that is now only found in old movies, and black and white portraits from the past. She is totally elusive. Unreachable. Untouchable. You never know what she's thinking. She's the quintessential sexual wom...