Hit the gym. Step on the scale. Stare at the number. You say you dropping ten pounds, preparing for summer. You don’t do it for the men. Men never notice. You just do it for yourself. You the fuckin’ coldest.  Drake, “Fancy”

“I like a girl who… has a nice ass and a nice stomach,” he said. 
      Whenever a guy lists out the things he “likes” in a girl, I tend to mentally check these things off my mental “got that” list. I guess that leaves me with a check & a half on his list. Or maybe two half-checks? It’s so hard to rate yourself on someone else’s scale. What does he mean by that? I do I need a god-damned six pack? And how much jiggle is acceptable back there? I mean… I can’t even see back there to know if I can get a full check. What is he not saying? Better yet, what is he changing to suit me? For example, guys like to take on the challenge of ascribing themselves a particular label: Ass Man or Breast Man? Either guys are pinpointing my A cups or there are really no guys out there who like breasts. Does a man ever tell the truth about what he likes? To your face? This most recent guy told me that he didn’t really like breasts, to which i responded, “Bullshit. Even I like breasts.” 
      Men like it all. If there were a prototype for the type of woman a man likes, she’d have a small waist, big ass, big breasts, long hair, toned all over… Ok… here’s a better explanation. Men either like Barbie, or Barbie with more ass. (Skin tone is another issue I won’t get into… if that crossed your mind, read my other posts: “Oh, So You Don’t Like Black Girls“? and/or “Black Barbie: The Baddest Barbie in the World“.) 
      Here’s what I’ve learned: There are things about me that aren’t perfect. And when a man tells me that I’m exactly what he wants, I know that he’s making concessions for me. And while It’s greatly appreciated, I’m not naive enough to believe that the woman of any man’s (literal) dreams is an A-cup. –Although I think an ass is unquestionably more important than breasts when it comes to a woman’s silhouette — At the same rate, I’m not going to change myself for any man. Luckily, I want to have a flatter stomach. 
      Don’t change yourself for a man. Do it for you. The other night, when I got stood up (read, “Table for One, Please,“) I didn’t care for the reasons I outlined in that post and one reason in addition: I looked so effin good. Pardon if I sound self-absorbed or am giving off a cocky vibe but… I enjoyed my own company. In that post, I talked about dating myself… and you know what? I would. If I were a guy, I would date me. I would look at me walking down the street. I would probably also turn to look at my ass as I walked by. “Him” and I have a common argument about my moving to Harlem because there are a lot ( A LOT) of brothas out there who may (like they haven’t already) approach me at any given time to try their hand. My response to him? I like the attention. 
     I’m an attention whore. I like to be looked at. The only thing I like more than being followed by men is turning them down. Now, this is truth. I’ve pretended in the past that I didn’t like the attention. And trust me, I used to feel more “fuck niggas”… but you know what? I also wasn’t getting the attention I wanted. FACT: Women who are constantly getting played by men are the most angry at men. Women who cant get men, are the ones who hate men.  Anger is not the solution. The answer is to look better than you ever have. To improve yourself, for yourself. Not for any man. I run on the treadmill for an hour only because when I look in the mirror, I want to be happy with what I see. I want to walk out of my door with my head held high. 
   “Don’t be a nickle out here looking for a dime,” said Lyfe Jennings in his song Statistics.  Sometimes, we women are out here asking for a man to be rich, in shape and salaried. But we are none of those things. For myself, I want a man who is in shape. So I work out. I want a man who dresses well, so I spend some serious change and earn my miles at Macy’s. I need him to make money… so everyday I go to work and plot my way to the top. I need my man to have that same ambition. And, deny it if you’d like, but physical matters.  I watched an episode of House once where Hugh Laurie’s character said “sixes marry sixes. Tens marry tens.” Trey Songz (My dream boo) is going to marry a gorgeous girl because he’s gorgeous. I’m not quite on his level so… while I fantasize, I know the truth. Hot women get hot men. I want to be hot! Maybe that’s why when some men approach me, I think to myself, Seriously? Like.. Really?  (Don’t judge me. Y’all do the same thing.) I know I’m not a 10 but I’m also not a 1. I know this because I’ve seen girls uglier than me. So  simple mathematical theory proves I can’t be a 1.

TIP** For a quick self-esteem boost, think of all the people uglier than you. This is pretty “Mean Girls”… but it  does work & it’s a guaranteed laugh lol. Well… I’m laughin. *Kanye Shrug*

      I DO NOT condone any woman putting in any kind of work for a broke man. In sum, you gotta get yourself right for yourself. But if you do do it for someone else, let him be worth it.  When I work out, I turn to a page like the one you see in the picture above. A man doesn’t motivate me as much as Van Cleef &Arpels‘ Diamonds but… nothing motivates me more than a man who’ll buy me diamonds πŸ™‚ So “Him” wants to work out with me and help me find a meal plan so that we can work on my tummy. I’m all for it. He used to be a trainer sooo…It’s like… a free trainer. I WANT A TRAINER!! and I LOVEE FREE!!! (You know I like to pretend to be important, y’all.) But “Him” also takes me shopping and he’s initiated the conversations about diamonds with no nudging on my end… so whatever he wants, man. If he ends up being a lame… at least I’ll get a flat stomach out of the deal. 

Oh…And what’s most importantly… is I aint gotta fuck with [I’ll spare him out of kindness] broke ass no mo’.  GET IT! πŸ™‚