BBWC -- Bitterness Is Sweet

Today I had lunch with two co-workers and we were talking about relationships and second husbands. As the ladies were giving me the usual advice on getting married, it was during this conversation I realized how much I really want to be married again.

Recently, I announced that I want to be remarried by the time I'm forty and possibly have a child by the time I'm forty two. Now while I got lots of jokes and laughs at the idea of me a) wanting to be a parent; and b) wanting to be a parent at forty two, I still held tight to my "goals." And yes, a few questioned why I needed to be married and how fab my life is sans husband.

I am thirty eight years old and I don't want to be a spinster. You know, the old lady in the neighborhood whom all the kids make fun of and none of the wives want around. The lady who has a trillion cats - except mine would be dogs, ‘cause I'm afraid of cats - and no family that visits. The lonely soul whom everyone quietly whispers about how they feel so sorry for her ‘cause she's going to die alone.

I don't want to be her. I don't deserve to be her.

I always knew when I got married I would have two husbands - not two husbands concurrently, although that would have been interesting, but two husbands in my life span. I've done the first. And while things didn't last forever, they lasted long enough for me to have learned how to be a wife.

So now, I am ready for love.

But with no one in sight.

This saddens me.

While I know that I've arbitrarily given myself a deadline on something that doesn't fall within a deadline process, I feel it is necessary.

When I moved back to DC from Dallas, I was all about finding a husband. I knew DC was impregnated with potential suitors - men galore - straight, gay and undecided. After struggling for a year to make ends meet and to maintain, I was in dire needed of someone to take care of me.  I needed security and what better way to "secure" me than a husband. After all, the fairy tales spoke of security in a man and I just knew my knight in shining armor was in DC - actually, just a job that would allow me to stay out of debtor's prison.

And off I set to find him. I was the desperate woman whose biological clock was pounding in her ears - at least one would think my biological clock was blaring by the rabid way I began my search.

If we went on a first date and hit it off, out came the tailor to measure you for the tux. And Tiffany's was on speed dial - "Hello, ring section, I've got a potential here. When can we come in for a showing?"

However, after the first year, I lowered my standards - I wanted a husband and all he needed was a solid career path and work history, fairly decent credit and twenty eight of his thirty two teeth - none covered in any element, i.e, platinum grills with now and later diamonds. That couldn't be too hard to find! And the search continued.

And now in my third year, standards lowered a little more - don't care about sexuality and if he is a serial killer, just let me know - still no takers and I am no closer to the altar now then I was in 2004.

Of course I've put some safeguards in position; I have a couple exes who have agreed to marry me when I am forty no questions asked. However, I am hoping I won't have to break the emergency glass around them.

Yup, I was off to the race and the finish line was the altar. Now, three years later, I am still no closer to that elusive second marriage. However, I am wiser about how I get there. So I've canceled my cake order and my gown is no longer on lay away. I've fired my tailor, but I keep Tiffany's on speed dial - a girl has to have her priorities.

I am less maniacal about being a wife. I still want to - I long for a friend, companion, lover, and enemy all rolled into one. I still want someone who takes me for granted, checks my spending, fusses at me for being so damn messy, and begs me to cook his favorite meal. I want someone who sends me flowers to make up for not sending me flowers, or who buys me gifts just because, or who rubs my feet at the end of a hard day.

And I am ready for love.

Unfortunately, my desire to be married is mine alone. Who is to say the man I find will be where I am on this issue? Who is to say the next relationship I enter will grow to anything more than dating? How am I to know when to bail if this is the case?

Will my desire to be married by forty alienate a potential ‘cause he isn't ready until I am forty one?

There is so much to deal with - I hate goals!

And maybe because I see marriage as an item on my "to do" list, my knight hasn't shown himself. I believe in karma and I work hard not to put negative energy into the universe. But when one approaches marriage in a manner where she needs someone to just step into the spot - isn't that a bad thing?

I know I'm often questioned on why I want to be married. I know part of it has to do with the fact my marriage didn't work out. And while I put the karma in the air that ‘caused it to not succeed, I do have a desire to right that wrong.

And also, I like companionship. I enjoy having someone there for me and being there for someone. I have a very strong desire to be needed and wanted and loved. I know I am not a perfect person but I am a good woman and I know I can love a man the way he wants to be loved.

I've listened to the stories of how wives cut their husbands off for no reason, or how the wife uses sex as a power play. I know marriage is more than sex, and I know the importance of a healthy sexual relationship.

I want someone who appreciates the "me" I am and what I can give him as a woman - and I mean more than sexually. I am an open-minded person who doesn't put leashes on her man, but expects to be treated fairly.

So, yes, wanting to be married by forty is a goal but it is also an aspiration. I aspire to be the best wife my husband has ever encountered, whether I'm his first or his twenty first.

Are you ready for my love?

Wednesday, I got a phone call from a friend who used to be my boyfriend but is now my mechanic. He had called me earlier returning a call I made to him. But when he called me that evening, I knew there was something going on.

My friend had suffered a tragedy in his life and I called myself being there for him. So usually when he calls, I try to answer them, in case he is having a relapse of emotion. I am usually not shocked by his demeanor or his state of mind. On this particularly warm early Autumn evening, he had been hanging with his friends Hennessey and Heineken, which meant the conversation would be interesting.

He always starts the conversation with a little sarcasm, usually surprised because I answered the call. I dance the dance and pretend that I am not avoiding him and I explain how I am busy with my family and work. After this polite exchange, his voice lowers and the words he speaks are filled with sentiment and sincerity – two things that definitely render me uncomfortable.

Now, before I go any further, let me give you a little history on this “relationship.” My mechanic is a guy I dated while in college. I met him when I worked in the mall. At that time, I was heavily involved with someone else, and having a moral structure at the time, I never conceived the thought to be interested in anyone but my sweetheart at the time.

Months went by and my relationship changed. My boyfriend and I were no longer together and my dating game wasn’t that great. Why not go out with dude? So, we went out and we played the game of cat and mouse. He was in the military at the time and stationed in New Jersey so I only saw him when he came to Baltimore .

Our “dating” went on for a couple years. We were never fully committed to each other – he had his life and I had mine. Not to mention we were like nine to ten years apart in age – there was no way I could compete with his “game.”

During our time together, I learned a lot about him – he was a cold and hardened person, a lot I found out was brought on by his wife. Yeah, there was a lot for me to learn. He wanted to change me. He felt who I was wasn’t going to make it in the world and I needed to be more like him – cold, distant and hard.

While I was young and a little naïve, I was never one to relinquish who I am for anyone. I’ve fought hard to maintain a balance of who I really am and who I need to be. And there was no way I was going to let some man who didn’t see me for who I was at the time tell me who I should be – so he could be with me. Not!

And there you have it – the gist of our relationship – he wanted to change me and I wanted to stay me. In a game like that, there can only be on winner. And with Uncle Sam on my side and a quick restationing, I won that battle.

So fast forward to 2007 and dude and I are friends. We aren’t close friends like hanging out and shopping and stuff, but we are cool with each other and we have each other’s back when needed.

So, when he calls and says to me that he has been thinking about me and he misses me – well, I am a little thrown back. And when he tells me he loves me, then that is just a loop I didn’t expect.

I am uncomfortable with emotion – of any kind. I tell my friends I am not the sympathetic girlfriend. If you need sympathy, call someone else. I am truly uncomfortable with feelings – yes, it makes opening up and loving a little complicated, but I’m always down for growth.

His declaration threw me. Not because he was sharing his feelings, but because when he and I were together, I would have given my left eye and a few major organs to hear him tell me he loved me.

See, he was like all the relationships I’ve been in. You know, the ones that won’t tell you how they feel but would rather you “assume” how they feel by their “actions.” And while I am a believer in “actions speak louder than words,” I still believe the words need to be said – if only once – and then let your actions prove your words.

I can’t recall one of my “boyfriends” who really shared verbally, or action wise really, how they felt about me. But the moment I reached my breaking point and I could no longer stand the ambiguity and I broke off the relationship, they all of a sudden would profess to love me with every fiber of their being.  Skeptical much?

I have always heard how “intimidating” I am in a relationship and how “scared” men are of me. I’ve always brushed those statements aside as fodder. How can you have sex with someone that scares you so much? Why would you even want to be with someone you are afraid of? It all rings of excuses and bull.

And when a former paramour tells me he loves me, I don’t discount or belittle his emotions. He very well may love me. He very well may have realized how lucky he was when he had me and wishes he had never let me go. And, well, it’s very flattering to have someone feel so strongly for you – especially when there is no one feeling anything for you at the moment.

But I am always reminded of one of the few colorful statements my grandmother would say, “If the Lord meant for you to walk in shit, he would have put your asshole in the front.”

My response to my friend was thank you, that’s very flattering and good luck with that.

The first time I heard the term “Friend with benefits,” it was in an Alanis Morrisette song, “Head over Feet,” where she describes a blooming passionate romance with a friend. It was all so sweet and innocent – being gaga over someone who has been there all the time. Finding someone who embodies the characteristics you are looking for in a lover – and one of them being your friend.

I was reading a New York Times article, Friends with Benefits, and Stress Too, and I was left trying to figure out when something so innocent became something so sordid.

The article talks about a recent study published in Archives of Sexual Behavior, where college students were interviewed and surveyed regarding a “friends with benefits” relationship. The researchers define the “friends with benefits” as being someone you are acquainted with but with whom you either have no passionate feelings or a committed relationship.

I get that it is hard out there for a pimp, and relationships are work, but are we living in a society where commitment and passion are completely off the table?

When I think of my “perfect mate,” the first thing I list is passion. I want to feel a strong desire for someone – whether it is sexual or truly love. I long for someone to touch me in a way where my entire body feels electricity or melts. Just describing these emotions, I can feel them. And that’s the beauty of passion.

It illicit an awakening of your spirit and causes your soul to stir. I often say, if they could bottle the euphoria of a new love and put it in da kool aid, the world would be a much happier place.

As for commitment, I have learned firsthand that there are very few people in the world who really understand what commitment is. While Webster defines commitment as the act of engaging oneself, most men akin commitment to being shackled and tied to one person.

I believe that a commitment is what you and your partner define it to be. I am not by any means a traditionalist when it comes to relationships – remember, I don’t believe in monogamy and many believe it is monogamy that enforces the commitment.

Please don’t think me prudish. I have had my fair share of purely sexual relationships.  However, I never gave the “other” the title of friend. Friends are special to me and I try to preserve the relationships and not convolute it with sex and romantic emotions. I keep my male-female friendships purely platonic.

I am not judging the people who engage in a “friends with benefits” relationship. I am a firm believer in the adage “to each his own.” However, I do hope that they explore passion and commitment. I can’t necessarily say that passion and commitment are the answers, but I can say they lend a little insight into oneself and they assist in developing character.

After all, love makes the world go round.

Slowly surely,
I walk away from
that old desperate and dazed love
caught up in the maze of love
the crazy craze of love
thought it was good
thought it was real
thought it was
but it wasn't love

I joke about how afraid I am of serial killers. My fear stems from not knowing who is a mass murder. I can imagine – or I hope to imagine – the few women who have been married to a serial killer didn’t know. How scary is that? You live with someone and you know them intimately only to find that they are a cold, calculating killer. Wow!

So I always joke with the “new” guy by asking him if he is a serial killer and explaining that it is ok for him to tell me the truth because I won’t judge or tell on him – I only want to be able to decide whether or not the relationship should proceed. I mean, it’s hard out here on a single woman, and some sacrifices are necessary if you meet a man of quality. I could be what he needs to turn his life around – I mean the BTK guy found the Lord.

But while I spend my energy worried if I’m dating a serial killer, there are other women out there who are dating sociopaths of another nature. I was reading an article on MSNBC.com about a young lady who has been missing since September 19, 2007 and her body was recovered on September 27, 2007 from a wooded area in a suburb of Chicago.

Nailah Franklin was a 28-year-old pharmaceutical rep in Illinois . She was an educated and beautiful black woman. It appears she was briefly dating someone but broke it off with him and he started making threatening calls. She reported this to the police and then she disappeared.

One doesn’t have to be Matlock to figure out how this story will play out. The odds that the dumped paramour is behind her disappearance and death are pretty high. There are some sick people out there and one takes more chances dating than one does fighting in Iraq .

Unfortunately, the story of Nailah is more oft then not the norm in these “foul play” scenarios. We all remember the story of the pregnant woman in Ohio Jessie Davis who allegedly was killed in front of her child by the father of the child she was carrying.

There is a term for this type of “relationship” – intimate partner stalking. This is the act of “not being able to let go,” of someone who believes the relationship isn’t over and that you don’t mean it when you say you don’t want to see him anymore. The National Violence Against Women survey shows that 8% of 8,000 women sampled – that’s 640 women – are stalked by a former or current intimate partner. I am sure the number grows exponentially in a full survey.

I can’t say for certain that Nailah’s life was taken by a former intimate partner, but again, the clues show it may be true. As women, we need to better defend ourselves. I’ve always been a supporter of better laws for women’s safety. It wasn’t until a man lost his penis that Northern Virginia decided to look at their laws regarding domestic abuse.

Love hurts enough on its own, and to have someone abuse you mentally, physically or at all just makes it harder.

In searching for love, women need to know that loving one’s self is more important and we shouldn’t be afraid to say NO.

And while the nights might be lonely, it’s great to be alive.

My prayers to Nailah Franklin’s family and to all the other families who are mourning the loss of someone by an “intimate partner.”