When you make exceptions, you settle for second rate. You let go of the things you once deemed necessary, leaving you without right to complain. You make an exception for how much money a man has… then don’t complain when he doesn’t take you out. When you make an exception for how a man dresses, don’t complain when he doesn’t dress to your liking. You can no longer complain… and booyyy do I like to complain. Rather… I’d rather not complain. So I want my man to be everything I need him to be. And a true exception means that there is one unlike the others. This is no such thing as two exceptions. They’re just two niggas who aint what you need them to be. Like… B- men. And remember a C+ is average…Who wants that?
“The guy I see for [Ella] is…. like… Mr. Big,” Carl explained.
“Oh My God!! Yess! Like the movie!!” I squealed back.
Here I was, smiling into my phone, jumping up and down on a dirty Jersey City sidewalk outside a run-down nail salon. It was a Sunday and all the respectable nail salons were closed, so I was forced to walk around the city peeking in windows, seeing if I could spot a bottle of O.P.I –Essie at the least– through the half drawn shades.
Sundays are “Me” days. Hair done; nails done. Fancy days. Sundays are also the days I can give Carl a quick call because I know we both “off that” working on the weekends thing. I called him to get his input on the whole “Step-Mommy” ordeal I talked about in my last blog. I call certain people for certain answers. My friend Ashley keeps me grounded. She makes me a better person –honestly. I call her to make sure I’m not being a complete bitch. This world tends to make me focus on things that “shouldn’t matter” so I need insight from someone with a clear view. On the flipside, I call Carl to make sure I’m not being a complete sucker. It balances out. I also call him because, for some odd reason, Carl thinks I’m a good person. And on the days when I’m not sure about myself and start to doubt my worth, I can trust that he sees me in the light I should be seen in. (He’s seen allllllll sides of me so he knows!) And the only reason I believe him when he tells me “You’re a catch” is because I think that he’s a catch. I only trust input from people I trust. (I talk more on this theory in my post “You Probably Think This Blog is About You“.)
I try my hardest to be true to my heart, but I also have to be true to the truth. There are men out there who love me. Truly love me. But I know that I can’t pursue a life with them because, together, we’ll never be able to amount to the levels I’d like to reach. I can’t over look that. And sometimes, in the search for love, I find myself making exceptions for men because I’m so desperate for something real. I meet a guy who fits most of my standards and start thinking ‘Well that’s good enough’. In reality though, there are somethings I just shouldn’t bend my rules for. Like this guy having a kid. On one hand, I shouldn’t hold it against him… on the other –just like one of my readers commented– am I really willing to split my time with somebody else when he “can’t go out because [he has] the kids”? Should I really be making exceptions?
Sometimes you just need to open your eyes in look at what’s in front of you. Literally –let me explain. After I got my nails done –and did a little shopping– I had to walk my sister’s dog. When I stepped out door and finished fumbling with my headphones I looked up the see the finest, most handsome brotha walking his bulldog up ahead. He wore (what looked like from a distance) a brown, tweed beret cap. He complimented a breezy black jacket with a pair of dark denim Citizens of Humanity jeans (FYI, only thing I love more than Citizens jeans is a MAN in Citizens jeans). Ladies…. He is yum. Matter fact.. that is his name from here on out: Yum.
I’ve seen Yum before. He lives in my sister’s building and is probably married (but there’s no kids in the building… so that’s a plus! I mean, the divorce rate is up, right? juusst kidding.. sort of…). I saw him for the first time while I waited for the shuttle on my way to work (He looks so good in his work clothes!) but he walked instead of getting on the shuttle. So even though I only saw him from afar this time, I’ve seen the brotha up close and, trust me, if he has flaws… they ain’t on the outside. I have no hopes for Yum and I (Fantasies, though? Now, thats another story.) but seeing him simply reminded me: There are other men out there. Why am I making exceptions for this guy when there are guys like Yum outside walking their dogs?!?
I need a Mr. Big. Like I told Carl, before Mr. Big there was Aidan and even Jack Berger –men who came and showed Carrie a good time, but in the end… there was Mr. Big. So… I’m going to go about living my life in hopes that he pops up somewhere, ready to wine, dine & love me. Ella likes to be taken out. & Carl never fails to remind me of that. I’m not going to stop looking for love. But I’m also not against a free meal and some occasional company in the meantime.
I mean… I’m in New York City.