the call

One thing very important to me is my relationship with the Lord. Quite naturally I don’t take too kindly when someone mocks it. Such was the case the other day with a gentleman caller. I met him last Friday and a gas station. He was polite in his approach, so I gave him my number. Mistake one. Everyone who asks for your number doesn’t deserve it. Unfortunately I said in 2014 I would be less discriminating when it came to males. I graced him with the digits; despite the fact I could already tell he wasn’t my type. Sure he was attractive and didn’t sound like an idiot when speaking, but I still had the feeling I didn’t want to be bothered. I didn’t listen to that feeling. Mistake two.

Business hours

Sometimes a dating woman needs business hours.

Gentlemen callers used to be a little more respectful of when they called a lady. A phone call after 12 a.m. was a definite no-no (unless you were a booty call at which point respect is not a factor). Unfortunately, I’ve started to notice that guys are calling later and later and thinking it’s OK. Newsflash fellas: IT’S NOT! For that very reason a dating woman needs business hours for male callers.

Better, not bitter

Back in my dating prime I didn't take break-ups, disappearing acts or ending "friendships" too well. One minute you're all sprung, infatuated or in “like” with a person. The next they're saying you're unable to reciprocate what you expect in return or are too goofy for them. Even worse they might just disappear from the face of the Earth without even a messenger pigeon.

Love, marriage and a baby carriage

Is there something in the water? Everyone seems to either be a) getting engaged, b) getting married or c) having a baby. I can't log on Facebook without seeing an announcement about a friend joining one of those categories. It's enough to drive a single girl crazy, and I am not liking that at all.

I can't be bothered Pt. 2

My generation does not know how to date anymore. Text messages have replaced meaningful conversations. I don't know who thought that was a good idea. It is the absolute worse concept ever, yet none of the young (and old) people of today seem to understand that.

I can't be bothered PT. 1

The older I get the more hellish I become toward the male species. I blame my cynical nature. At the end of the day I just can't be bothered with some of the things they say and do. Case and point this one gentleman I recently started chatting with.

the faux beau

One of my male friends has this annoying habit of always asking about my love life. It was non-existent last week. It's non-existent this week. More than likely it will be non-existent next week. Maybe if I was beating guys off with a broom I could understand the perpetual interest in my love lack, or lack thereof. No, I'm perpetually dateless, and he knows this. So during one umpteenth time of him asking about me dating someone I decided to make a faux beau up.

Direct approach

Subtlety is not a concept I comprehend. While most women can instantly recognize when a guy is flirting with or even interested in them, I sadly don’t notice. Usually a friend has to point it out to me, or it’s not until months later that I realize he likes me a little more than just a friend.  It would save me a lot of confusion if guys could just be a little more direct. Don’t beat around the bush because I won’t get it. For instance a male acquaintance recently revealed I rejected his request for a date. Me? Reject a date? I haven’t been on a date in several years. I promise if someone asked me out I would accept (in most cases).

a summer kind of love

Lately the weather has done its share of letting me know it's getting close to that special time of year again – summertime! With the arrival of this new season comes vacations, reunions and summer lovin’ – that oh so magical thing the kids sing about in “Grease.” Summer is all about the love, whether you’re single and free to mingle or happily together with someone. No one wants to be left out the fun and “uh-oh those summer nights.” My grandma thinks it’s high time I got a male friend. She wants to see me married. So I figured now is the perfect time to jump on the summer lovin' bandwagon. But it’s going to take some help from all my family and friends. I have prepared a special announcement for all to share: Attention single males between the ages of 27-37! Toni is now accepting applications for a summertime beau. Inquire within.

Do your part everyone and spread the word. All are welcome to apply. Just make sure they fit my three mandatory requirements. The other week I shared mine with my grandma, and she approved. I’d like to think I’m a simple girl for the most part. I’ll gladly work with a brother to an extent. Sure I have my massive list of pre-qualifications. But I don’t cross (that many) people off just because they put down something other than my preferred response. However, I believe everyone is entitled to their top three deal breakers. So for me, any summertime beau applicant must: love the Lord; have straight, white teeth; and be able to conjugate verbs.

Each day I am working to strengthen my relationship with God. I can’t get sidetracked by someone who thinks my relationship is unimportant. Besides, I once dated a guy who thought he was coming back as a cat. That didn’t last long. I thought his religious beliefs were stupid. Of all the things to come back as, he wanted to be a cat. I would at least want to come back as someone rich and fabulous.

The pre-screening

Forgot to post this last week.


Sometimes I wonder if there is a sign on my head that says “Losers welcome!” Most men who’ve approached me in the past and present weren’t worth two rusty nickels. But I sometimes didn’t realize that until after they got my number. I try to give people the benefit of the doubt, but no one tells you upfront they are a waste of time. After some soul searching, I have decided to take charge of my future. From henceforth any guys asking for my number will have to go through a pre-screening questionnaire. It will help me determine just who is worth my time. I just can’t be bothered with everybody. Too many wrong answers will automatically dismiss someone. The questions are:

Protocol confusion

Dating protocol – What is it? Is a manual nearby? At 26 years old I still don’t know a thing about dating protocol. This is partially why I don’t date. When I think about all the ends and outs or dos and don’ts, I get annoyed. I just can’t be bothered. Who has time to determine who calls whom first, or what is the appropriate waiting time to call someone after getting their number? I refuse to look needy after getting someone’s number. But I always don’t want to have him forget about me if I take too long to call. As a matter of fact who is supposed to ask for the number first?

What’s your species?

The cheetah hunts the gazelle. Not the other way around.

I am a gazelle – at least in my mind when it comes to dating and relating. Sometimes I wish more men would realize they’re a cheetah in the equation, particularly the ones interested in me. It would make things so much easier in the dating process. I’ve never been one to chase after a man. I fully believe he should be the pursuer in the relationship: the unequivocal cheetah to my gazelle.

wedding bell blues

Too often I seem to operate in a false sense of reality. Why else would I start stressing over my non- existent wedding? The reality of the situation is I DON’T EVEN HAVE A BOYFRIEND! There is no fiancée, beau or a summer time crush. Nothing! Yet somehow I got caught up in wedding bells … again.

I blame Google. It has a newish wedding planning feature. Being ever the inquisitive soul I had to check it out. Mistake number one. I should have been reading one of the million books in my house. Instead I’ve been making up a bridal party list, researching wedding etiquette and trying to pinpoint a budget.

I told my Fan Club Pres I was about to have a nervous breakdown because of all the wedding planning. His response was, “I thought it was something serious! I’m sitting here trying to figure out how to disown you and your planning a pretend wedding. Do better.”

There is so much to coordinate. It’s going to take me a good three years to make decent progress in the planning. If I start now, most of it will be done by the time I really get engaged. But will all my hard work get changed if I add a fiancé to the mix? What if he’s not feeling the story book/ newspaper theme? What if he wants to jump the broom? Will I have to compromise my big day?

Then again, isn’t marriage about compromise (along with communication, commitment and Christ)? And it shouldn’t just be about the bride. It will be OUR big day. We are joining together as one (tear). This much I know, I am having a DIY wedding. We are not spending a penny over $10,000. That includes everything: dress, food, and honeymoon. I want a celebration, not a trip to the poor house.

It remains to be seen if I indeed get married. Some days I’m all gung-ho for it. Most others I could care less. Perhaps I should hold off the wedding planning for now. The 50 million itemized checklist of things to do has turned me off the concept anyway. I think I just want to plan something small that includes cake, like a birthday celebration. Birthday parties are a whole lot less stressful.

Summertime crush

Crushes have been an important part of my life since I was a child. Someone has always been an object of my affection. Sometimes they’ve been a celebrity, such as Ray J. and Jason Weaver (don’t judge me). For the most part it’s someone I know and even interact with. Usually they don’t know I have a crush. At least that’s what I’d like to think. Subtlety is not one of my strong suits. Cee says it’s not even in my closet (she’s such a joker).


I can’t remember a time without me having a crush, until now. These days I’m going through a dry spell. My old crush got engaged so I had to end that one. He has yet to provide a crush replacement, and pickings are slim around here. There is no one that has captured my attention as of late. Celebrities. Real people. Not one person. I tried having a not-so-secret crush on one person I see on the regular. Nobody could take it seriously. He’s not my actual type, and in theory my crush should be someone I really would want to date and relate to. Good crushes just don’t seem to come easy anymore. This can’t be life. I have no one to fawn over or come up with a special crush song.

If only I could find someone to crush on these days. I don’t ask for much. I just need someone I find attractive with a good personality. Cee is trying to push off one of her friends on me for a crush. He’s cute as pie (as she would say) but I don’t feel that crush connection. That connection is key for a successful crush. Plus I never see him. I need to be in constant interaction with my crush. I need to see my crush on the regular in some form.
One of my friends thinks it’s abnormal for a mid-20 something to have adult crushes. Perhaps it is, but I am not motivated to date. I crush instead. I prefer to window shop than actually purchase something out the store. A crush is an easy breezy carefree type activity. Let it be known I’m accepting applications for a summertime crush.

would be spinster

Lately becoming a cat lady has seemed quite appealing. I will likely end up a spinster because I cannot be bothered with the dating scene. Blame it on a lack of suitable prospects and my irritable personality syndrome. Dating is just not my thing. Supposedly it is the key to getting into a relationship and actually ending up married. I’ve been trying to get my parents to arrange a marriage for years so I can avoid dating. Apparently that’s not their thing either.


I made a list of several goals for 2010 including an ambitious one of going on 12 dates. It did not happen, and I realized I didn’t even care I failed. If I actually was motivated to go outside my house and meet people, I could possible scrounge up a date. Club Walmart for the record is not the hookup spot. I know from personal experience.

Maybe if I lowered my standards and accepted offers from any and everybody I might have met the dating quota. I tried to be accepting, but people weren’t up to par. There was the guy at Walmart who was put on the cut list after saying his adopted sister accused him of rape. That was too much drama for me. Then a guy at church ruined my worship experience one Sunday. I’m trying to get right with the Lord and he was spitting game during the service. And I can’t forget this one guy I met at a wedding. He started off good but lost interest.

Maybe it’s me. Everyone isn’t meant to be married anyway. My daddy, grandmother and aunt are praying daily I don’t end up an old maid. But would that be so bad? If I do end up a spinster, it won’t be the end of the world. No kids. No husband. No worries. That sounds like a decent tradeoff to me. Having a family of my own would be nice, and I would love to have a wedding. But if by 40 I’m still unmarried you can call it a wrap. This chick is throwing a spinster party in style. I’m going to marry myself. And I’ll actually buy a cat.

Chronicles of Life ... lack of WWIT

Sometimes it's good to reminisce over the past. It helps provide insight and perspective to your life that can be valuable for the future. Recently, I took a trip down memory lane over my college days. An associate and I looked at various Facebook profiles of acquaintances. It was an enjoyable experience until I realized one tiny detail: I had a crush on almost every single cute (and not so cute) guy.


Some lasted a day and others a few weeks. The longest crush was for three years. Second place came in at about one year. I knew quite a few of the crushes on an associate level, but many more were just guys I happened to see a lot.

No one over the age of 20 should have as many crushes as me, or at least that's what my BFF said. I personally can't be bothered to actually talk to everybody I think is cute. Sometimes having a crush helps weed out candidates. But my constant state of having a crush on someone is a topic for another day. I digress.

My mother says I'm simply boy crazy. I'll cosign to that theory. Since kindergarten I have always had a crush on somebody. This got me to thinking about all my past crushes/relationships/whatever. I now realize some of those crushes were on less than ideal people. I’ve had one too many "What Was I Thinking" moments about the guys I’ve liked.

There was that irritating boy in 10th grade, the holier than thou dude who lived in my dorm complex and the guy who believed he was coming back as a cat. The list could go on and on. Out of an estimated 15 major crushes/relationships/whatever, there were maybe five who didn’t get the WWIT label.

I am greatly troubled by this revelation. Is my taste in men that bad? Do I merely go by appearance when beginning a crush before getting to know the real person? Apparently so.

I blame it on a lack of dating experience. I was a late bloomer. Dating was never really a top priority for me in high school and that extended into college. I didn't go on my first date until I was about 19, and I only went on like two thereafter. Who has time to date when you're always hanging with your friends, trying to make the grade and just enjoying the college life? Several of my friends say I'm on the dating level of about a 16-year-old. Don't teenagers make a plethora of bad dating decisions? At least the majority of mine are bad crush decisions.

Although my choice is some crushes have been really bad in the past, I am glad to recognize it now. Perhaps there is hope for me yet. Could this be a sign that I am leaving the teen years of crushes and moving forward to the adult world of dating and relating? For 2010 I plan to have more WIT, intelligence, when choosing who to date (or even just have a crush on). I don't want to wonder WWIT anymore.

Chronicles of Life ... an ideal mate

Everyone should have some set of standards when dating. I’m single and not looking, but I’ve compiled a top 10 list. For the love of cupcakes, right at the top is a man that can bake. I figure if you can bake then you can cook.


I like to eat. I don’t like to cook. I’m also not a fan of going out to eat. By all means, fix pumpkin ravioli with glazed butternut squash on the side for dinner and then a batch of cupcakes for dessert. I have no problem with washing the dishes every night. Cooking is not my forte. And I have realized I get more joy from eating then cooking anyway.

Take for instance breakfast. I don’t eat breakfast mainly because I’m too lazy to get up and cook it. Cereal does not count. I call it a morning snack. I want grits, eggs, pancakes and sausage. I’d even settle for homemade oatmeal and bacon if someone else would make it. I want, no I need, someone that will fix a home cooked breakfast in the morning, lunch in the afternoon and a sensible dinner. OK maybe lunch is asking for too much.

I think I was spoiled from watching my daddy. He knows his way around the kitchen. His sweet potato pies and sausage cornbread dressing are always in high demand. Sometimes I think he cooks better than my mom. Of course she does make a mean lasagna and rum cake too. Together, my parents keep me well fed (when they actually, cook which is few and far between). Even my little brother is quite the chef. I seem to be the only one lacking in the kitchen.

Women are not the only ones that have to do the cooking. Everyone should know their way in the kitchen. Let the better person do the majority of the cooking. Just know it will not be me. I used to think I wanted to become Chef Girlardee. That got stressful real quick. I just don’t have the patience to cook. The key is to know your place in the kitchen hierarchy. For me, it’s washing dishes, taking food out the oven and taste testing.

In recognition of my love for eating, I have decided to pitch a new reality dating show called, “Cook to my heart.” At least 20 chefs (professional and otherwise) will vie for my affection through their meals. They will have to face numerous cooking challenges. Challenge winners receive quality time with me Think Flava of Love meets Top Chef. Players will wear chefs’ hats and remain on the show by being told “My compliments to the chef.” But you get the boot with “Check Please.”

I’m not asking for a top chef, just a good one, someone that can blow in the kitchen. It has been said the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach. What about the way to my heart? Well if you can cook, then I am hooked.

The Hartwell Chronicles ... Unacceptable Behavior

Ladies and Gentlemen,
I didn't know this was going to turn into a three part chronicle. I take forever to post things, so it all played out by the time I wrote the second one. Here is Unacceptable Behavior in its entirety.

The Hartwell Chronicles … Unacceptable Behavior pt. 1
The truth is I am a drama queen.
Most of the drama in my life is self imposed because I make mountains out of mole hills.
There is a certain degree of drama I needed for me to function on a daily basis. But I have been trying to cut back.
However, there has been way too much unsolicited drama trying to unfold in my life lately.
Case in point: The leak guard on my car started dragging on the ground a few weeks ago.
The man who lives with my neighbor (we’re going to assume she’s his girlfriend) heard the noise and came to check out the problem.
This was the first time we had ever spoken to each other, mind you.
Oh sure, we would politely acknowledge each other’s presence in our comings and goings with a quick wave or nod of hello. But there has never been an actual conversation between us.
He offered to take a look at my car, and he removed the leak guard so it wouldn’t drag anymore.
I was very grateful –I couldn’t figure out how to remove it myself – and thanked him profusely.
That night, I heard some heated exchanges between him and my neighbor.
This was nothing new. They have these “discussion” occasionally.
My only complaint is they are never loud enough for me to actually get the whole scoop.
Yes, I am too nosy for my own good. But people should not argue loudly outside their homes, or inside for that matter, especially if they live next door to a reporter.
The very next day on my car’s windshield was a little white note.
I thought it was a message from a neighboring city’s clerk of court at first. They’re after me!
I have an unpaid speeding ticket from June, and Georgia puts out a warrant on you if you miss your court date and don’t pay. I was a no-show for two hearings, so this fear is justifiable.
It wasn’t a note from the law but a handwritten message from the neighbor’s boyfriend instead.
“Hi, This is (his name),” it read. “I use to be your neighbor. My # (his number). I would like to hear from you. If not, I understand.”
What kind of bootleg operation is this?
Why on Earth did he think this was acceptable?
This note was wrong on so many levels.
First and foremost, who leaves a note on a car? And on ripped paper nonetheless?
Can I at least get something written on decent stationary? I mean really, are we in middle school?
And do I look like someone that accepts sloppy seconds? No!
Clearly, I’ve seen you living with you GF. Just because she kicked you out does not mean I now want you.
DO BETTER!
I responded to the whole situation the way any sane female would. I cracked up, told some friends and disregarded the note.
I thought that was end of story. Did I think wrong?

The Hartwell Chronicles … Unacceptable Behavior Pt. 2
Evil never dies and the drama never ends.
A day or two later, I hear the GF on the phone saying she’s locked out of her apartment because he gave her the wrong key. He still had the key to the house.
Then while she’s gone that afternoon, I see him coming out the house and walking away on foot.
Is he breaking and entering now? Do I call the police? This was one of those situations you observe from afar. And I did.
By day three in the drama that is my life I see him driving back up to the house.
We exchanged quick hellos, but I did not even mention the note.
Soon I see my neighbor pull up too, while he’s there.
I thought, “Something is about to go down,” but nothing happened to my disappointment.
Apparently they were back together.
End of story?
No
A few days later I see another note.
“Can I at least get a text 2 say am wrong for leaving numbor,” it read ever so illiterately. “If am out of line am sorry!!!”
He put his name and number down again just in case I didn’t know who it was from.
STOP THE MADNESS!
This has gotten out of hand and was not on the approved list of drama for the month.
One note was bad enough. Two is extremely unacceptable because:
• He needs to stop leaving me messages before I catch a case. We all know how women can get over their men. Instead of cussing out the one they should – him – they go to battle with the other woman, thus leading into too much unnecessary drama.
• Let’s say she’s a relative. Then he needs to stop sending me messages like some hormonal preteen and just come knock on my door. I’m a nice enough person. I’m not that mean, at first.
• The very essence of that note almost gave me a heart attack from illiteracy overload. I am a reporter, and he knows this. Bad spelling and grammar is completely out of line.
Obviously, I must address this situation now, because I can’t take much in life.
This unacceptable behavior must end.

The Hartwell Chronicles … Unacceptable Behavior Pt. 3
Welcome to another episode of the Daily Drama.
What I hope is a conclusion to the unacceptable behavior happened rather quickly today.
I was cleaning out my car and getting my sunflower seeds when the neighbor guy struck up a conversation. He was passing by in his car but switched to reverse.
Guess he wanted a response too.
We kicked the actual factual for a few minutes, and I toyed with the idea of bringing up the whole note issue. But I decided to let things just flow.
And flow they did.
“So you know those notes on your windshield,” he asked.
“What about them?” I responded.
“Was I out of line?” he said.
That was the wrong thing to say to me.
I literally lit into this man for a good five minutes and lectured him on the concept of doing better.
I asked was the woman he lived with his girlfriend, and he tried to give me a yes and no response for a yes or no question.
Finally, I got him to admit she indeed was the GF.
“But I’m in a transition,” he said.
What in blue blazes is a transition?
What are we doing here, growing out a relaxer? Either you are in a relationship or you aren’t.
Besides, transitions don’t live with each other and drive each other’s car.
“Sir, clearly this is unacceptable,” I said. “You do not leave notes on a person’s car when you are in a relationship.”
“I’m sorry if I was disrespectful,” he said. “That’s why I asked.”
“Don’t be sorry, be right,” I said. “Do better.’
He wasn’t disrespecting me, per say. But he did disrespect big time his girlfriend and their relationship, transition or whatever.
I mean I still can’t get over this whole transition thing.
The man is 30-years-old (yes I did ask) and thought it was OK to leave me a note while “transitioning.”
Someone please tell me if I have Foo Foo the Fool written across my forehead.
“What grade are you in Sir?” I said. “I mean really, we are adults here. We do not need to write notes back in forth and hide them from the teacher.
“Furthermore, Sir, you are 30,” I said. “I’m 23-years-old, and even I know this was unacceptable. Clearly if you have to question the situation, then there is a problem. Do better.”
I let him know upfront I am not trying to catch a case, and he wanted to play all dumb.
“What do you mean?” he said.
“Look Sir, I write the news, not end up on the news,” I said. “I plan to keep it like that.”
I didn’t have the heart to mention he was illiterate. That might have opened a whole new can of worms.
The whole ordeal took something out of me. After my tirade I had to just walk away.
“I can’t take much in life,” I said. “I must go because I can’t even believe I just dignified this whole situation with a response. Do not leave me anymore notes.”
I must admit home skillet took it all in strides. Then again what else could he do?
I wasn’t really mean. It’s actually kind of funny looking back.
I’m in the help a brother out program. Maybe I did help him.
“Well, you learn something new every day,” he said.
“That’s why I’m a reporter, to bring the truth,” I said.
And the truth is his behavior was unacceptable. Let’s hope he will do better regardless of if he transitions back with his GF or to someone else.
We all know who he won’t be transitioning with.

The Hartwell Chronicles ... Small town single

Reality bites, especially for small town dating and relating.
Every time I start thinking to myself, “Hmmm it would be nice to meet a charming gentleman or even go on a date while I’m here,” I snap back to reality.
Usually some male – in Hart or surrounding counties – irks me to the point of rather ending up a bag lady with 10 cats than entertaining them for another second.
Extreme, I know. But I have proof.
Case in point 1: Let’s call him Chester the Molester. I hung out with Chester only once because immediately he was on me like a hawk on a Junebug.
Apparently, he did not hear Jordin Sparks and Chris Brown sing “It’s hard to breathe with no air.” Home skillet was about to suffocate me with his preying hands.
Then he had the nerve to say I had some psychological problem, such as stranger anxiety.
No, I don’t like being touched by random strangers. He might not wash his hands.
I barely escaped Chester’s “friendly” hands. His number was deleted two seconds later.
Case in point 2: Bubba Buford Brown was cool, some days. On other days, not so much.
Sure we talked a lot, at first, and then it slowly started becoming more and more sporadic.
I can’t get mad and say it was entirely fault. It does take two to tango.
I just was not that interested in Bubba. There was no chemistry, and I couldn’t even force it.
I soon tired of his presence, so he was dismissed.
Case in point 3: Willie Wanna Start Some has a tendency to poke fun at my little quirks and idiosyncrasies. At first it was OK, never acceptable mind you, but I took it all in strides.
Now he’s just getting down right annoying.
I can only take getting put down, however jokingly, so many times before the attitude comes out.
He has been warned.
Is it too much to ask for an interesting, sane and accepting individual such as myself?
I guess so.
There are slim pickings in a small town, especially one that’s a step below a retirement village.
All the eligible men are dead, waiting to be born or married.
I have had my fair share of “inquiries” from very old men and too young boys. Can we say, “EWWW!”
Everyone else has been subpar at best.
I, for one, will not settle for anything less than someone on my level who meets all 150 prerequisites.
(Yeah, I might be alone forever.)
Maybe I’ll just get a pet to keep me company. There is nothing wrong with being a cat lady.
I’m sure the whole dating and relating scene will get better when I finally move one.
For now, I do believe small town singlehood is the best fit.

Chronicles of Life... a teenage love affair

My baby’s growing up!
Actually, he’s not a baby anymore.
The boy (aka my brother) has fancied himself on my level since I can remember. The fact that he’s newly 16 only further proves his theory that he is “grown.”
Whatever!
I will admit AQ (another nickname) is very mature for his age. He had to be.
All my cousins and I were already eight plus years older than him when he was born.
We didn’t care he was the last grandchild. He had to get on our level pronto.
So we all treated him as an equal. Not to mention my parents didn’t do the whole baby talk thing.
Most of his friends are a few years older. His love interests range no less than one year older.
Let AJ (yet another nickname) tell it, he’s playa, playa from the Himalayas.
He claims he has more game than me, been in more relationships than me and can pull more girls in one day quicker than I can boys in a month.
I won’t deny that. I’m not into the whole dating thing anyway.
But dear brother has always been crazy for the ladies. Recently it seems he’s crazy for only one lady.
Awww!!! A “teenage love affair.”
I’m really digging Alicia Keys’ song “Teenage Love Affair.”
Granted, I think it’s weird she’s singing about high school emotions as an adult with a video set in college. But you’ve got to admit, the song is still catchy:
“Can’t wait to get home
Baby dial your number
Can you pick up the phone
Cause I wanna holla
Daydreaming about you all day
In school can’t concentrate
Want have your voice in my ear
‘Till mama comes and says it’s too late
Cause the lights are on outside
Wish there was somewhere to hide
Cause I just don’t want to say goodbye
Cause you are my baby, baby
Nothing really matters
I don’t really care
What nobody tell me
I’m gunna be here
It’s a matter of extreme importance
My first teenage love affair.”
Makes me reminisce about my first teenage love affair. OK it was at 22, but the feelings still apply.
I learned of the boy’s boo – although he vehemently denies there is a relationship – late this spring.
During one trip home, he kept me awake texting back and forth with her all night long (yes we share a bed because I no longer have a room). I was fit to be tied.
“Go to sleep,” I demanded.
“Get out my bed,” he retorted.
The floor was hard, but at least quiet that night.
I was only home for 2.5 days, but the whole time he was cakin’ on the phone. His inbox and outbox had no less than 500 messages.
Soon enough my deeply ingrained nosiness took over. I learned her name, age, location, you know all the vital big sis questions.
I think we bonded over talks of his “friend that is a girl.”
From what I understand, she’s a nice person.
My parents got to officially meet her Sunday. She was at church and of course Senior (my daddy) had to put the boy on blast.
“Deacon Norwood wants to see you after church, and I want to see the one sitting next to you,” Senior announced.
That’s exactly why I never brought anyone home. Well that and the fact I don’t really date.
My mother, who doesn’t like anybody, even liked her. Now I just have to meet her and give my seal of approval.
I’m excited to officially learn of someone my brother has an interest in. In a way it show’s me he’s growing up and not the little baby I use to dress up in doll clothes.
That will be an interesting topic of discussion or his wifey one day.
But I doubt wedding bells will be ringing anytime soon.
He is only a teenager. And there is a certain friend of mine he would drop all others for in a heartbeat if she would merely bat her eye lashes at him.
Ah teenage love: so fresh, so fickle.