Prototype

This Saturday morning, I’d awaken to a man telling me over Blackberry Instant Messenger that I am a “Prototype for why niggas act like niggas sometimes.”

Well, to say the least it certainly helped me to pop out of my bed feeling perplexed. How do you respond to a statement like that; a statement so rash, so abrasive, and so untactful? All that I could think of was how I did not want to start my morning filled with the drama of responding to a man that sounded like he had his morning coffee with a side of bitter & broken ego. Then again, I never heard the words come out of his mouth; therefore, I was not sure if I should be offended or a bit intrigued by this shady IM message. Well, I went with offended and confused. It fits me better (wink, wink). But I definitely wanted to know where this comment stemmed from since the original IM exchange was about his friend’s inquires about me; not his own issues with what type of woman I am in his eyes. Needless to say, it came out of no where based on the initial topic of conversation.

Before I continue along with the story, let me be fair and give you some background information. I don’t want to paint this man out to be a jerk aka asshole, just because he felt the need to say that I am a “Prototype” for anything. He was just merely expressing his feelings. I’ve already come to the conclusion (before this post was written), that he just isn’t the man for me in an intimate capacity, and that’s totally fine. Don’t worry, I’m not going to cry or slit my wrist due to a situation that ends unhappy or as a cliff hanger. I learn more about myself from all of it.

I’ll keep the backgrounder short and sweet. This man and I had only established a business rapport with one another until we had an early morning breakfast almost two months ago. It was cool. We ate, we talked, we bonded which led to an exchange of numbers, emails, and IM names. At breakfast, he confessed that he was attracted to me and I grew fond of him after several interactions of witty banter and interesting discussions via phone and IM messages. He was sweet, laid-back, smart and real. His aura gave off the most honest energy but it was positive. In a nut shell, he asked me out and we confirmed a day. Unfortunately, I cancelled due to an impromptu business trip to LA to meet with Bruce Wayne (see Picture Perfect; My LA Trip post from January 27th). After my return to NYC, we still continued to talk daily but I didn’t commit to go out with him again. Yes, it was unconscious but I take full responsibility for not being aggressive with rescheduling another outing. Hey, I was still happy with just talking to him and learning about one another. The daily talks began to slow down and when I would check in on him, something seemed off. In the end, he expressed to me that he will loose interest in a woman if “the situation just stands still”. I told him that I completely understand and could respect his honesty and his decision. In my mind, the witty chatter was over and we would go back to the business rapport that was there in the beginning. There was certainly no love lost.

So, as you can see our personal relationship ended on a considerate note. I hope now you can understand where my confusion came from: 1.) I did not expect for him to contact me again (on a personal level) 2.) Why would he say such a hasty statement about me?

Well, we talked over the phone later on so that he could further explain himself to clear things up. It was basically the same thing that he’s told me before. He lost interest, I was giving him the run-around, he’s not the type of man who does a mouse and cat chase with women, and he basically couldn’t understand the point of us since I didn’t give him more time. However, he did sincerely apologize for saying or typing that I was the “Prototype for why niggas act like niggas sometimes.” Hey, people say what they mean, so I feel that's how he really thinks of me, as the “Prototype.” The chick that plays it cool, doesn’t act as expected and doesn’t baby the male ego as she should; the woman who’s untraditional and won’t conform easily. As a result, she is the excuse of why men act out. Please, give me a break!

I stressed to him that the comment was offensive, untactful and inappropriate. But of course, there’s no love lost. I was never angry with his decision. Hell, he chose his choice and he should stand by it; not call me out because I didn’t stroke his ego enough while massaging his dick. Yes, the language is dirty this time around but you get my point, right?

I also told him that I’m in a stage of my life where I am the woman who does NOT want a “fuck buddy” or a “boyfriend”. I’m still figuring it all out. So, should I be punished for my indecisiveness and called a “Prototype for why niggas act like niggas sometimes?” Yes, we’re adults here and I know that there really is no happy medium between a “fuck buddy” and “boyfriend”. But I will not be rushed into any situation or called names. Our conversation ended awkwardly as he had to run to meet his friends for lunch and at the same time, I was still speechless from the drama that had occurred. It was still sinking in. We said our good byes and hung up the phone with no real conclusion. But I want to you all to know that I’m one of a kind and not a “Prototype” for niggas who don’t act accordingly or anything else. Men decide to act like niggas sometimes, because THEY CHOSE to act that way. The responsibility is on them, not due to any other woman, or me, or me as a “Prototype” and vice versa. You are responsible for your own actions.

So, I guess I will end this one with several questions to him (the one that called me a “Prototype”) and everyone else who has read this post; “What happened to just getting to know each other (without all of the sex and intimate pressure)?” “What happened to establishing a friendship and/or a relationship with substance?” “What are we rushing for?”

Please leave your thoughts in the comment section. I’d love to hear ‘em. Thanks for your support!

Miss Joi aka “The Ultimate and One-of-a-kind Prototype”

Oh, Barcelona: Where the Men Are Yummy and the Architecture Is Breathtaking

It seems like a decade has gone by since my wonderful trip to Barcelona, the capital of Spain, located right on the Mediterranean coast. I threw in going to Ibiza for good measure, beautiful beaches, and some additional, over-the-top party time. Ibiza is an island 80km from Spain, so roughly an hour plane ride, directly in the Mediterranean Sea. Although, my trip was not a decade ago, it went quickly. My journey for “the unexpected” kicked off on the evening of August 26th. I had to meet my friend, Miss ST at JFK Airport. Well, here is where the fun began…

I’m not great with getting to places on time with the exception of the airport, the annual Dolce & Gabbana sample sale in November and work (occasionally). However, I am a stickler for being at airport in a timely manner. Trust, it’s a royal pain in the ass to miss a flight, especially an international flight. You would think that I got to JFK at least an hour before my plane would pull off. Negative. I appeared 35 minutes before take off with an arsenal of luggage. I approached the red cap services outside with a clam and delightful attitude. I took out my passport with the hideous picture and itinerary.

“Hi, I’m here for the 7pm flight to Barcelona,” I said with a smile.

“Oh, you’re going to Barcelona, let me get you checked in,” Mr. Red Cap replied.

By the end of our conversation, Mr. Red Cap informed me that I could not check in my very heavy luggage since it was 30 minutes before the flight, but I could still catch the plane with me and my carry on.

My mind was racing as I only had about 2 minutes to make a decision. My friend who drove me to the airport encouraged me to get on the plane. He offered to ship my suitcase to the hotel.

I got my ticket and raced to the gate. Miss ST was waiting for me as I had told her all of the details on my friend’s cell phone while checking in to get a ticket. Yes!!! I was happy that I’d made it to Spain. But, I had no cell phone (lost it a few weeks before the trip…very long story) and no clothes. Hey, a trip isn’t a trip if you don’t have some exciting stories to tell when you return. This vacation was starting off lovely for me (I meant that in a sarcastic way…haha).

I’m sure that you don’t want to read a long, boring, blog post about Spain. If you can get out of the country, I would certainly recommend an escape to Barcelona and Ibiza if you can squeeze in an island for a totally different vibe. Honestly, I prefer Barcelona. I’m a city girl at heart. It’s a huge city with a lot of flavor.

So, here are Joi’s rules for a great trip in Barcelona and Ibiza:

Rule #1: You have to do a tour or two. Barcelona is a city filled with fruitful and detailed architectural design. There are historic buildings everywhere that are preserved and still used today.

First, we went on a city on and off bus tour. Yes, with the double decker buses. You can take fabulous photos and get on and off the bus as you please. In addition, we did another tour from Catalunya Bus Turistic Company to Torres Wine Vineyard, Montserrat, and Sitges.
-Torres is a family owned business the produces and distributes wine throughout Spain.
-Montserrat is a mountain 40km from Barcelona, where a thousand-year-old benedictine monastery is housed. Monks live in this area. It’s like a mini town on top of the mountains. The view is spectacular.
-Sitges is 20 minutes outside of Barcelona. Known for it’s inheritances to the “americanos”. It has a rich architectural heritage with gorgeous mansions that were converted into hotels.

Warning: The tour was from 8am-5pm.You can imagine how we felt the morning of the tour after a night of clubbing, but it was worth it.

Rule #2: You got to go to the beach! Ok, so we were a little lazy on this tip and I had no clothes for part of my trip. We only went to one beach in Barceloneta. Note: Just ignore the beach vendors selling trinkets.

Ibiza: We went to the beach everyday in Playa d’en Bossa. We got a free beach bed, free drinks and free ice cream. Now, that’s what I call a successful day at the beach.

Rule #3: Don’t get henna tattoos on the beaches in Barcelona!!!!! I broke out into a rash and so did Miss ST.

Rule #4: You got to eat at some cool spots. I had two favorite places:
-Morelia Restaurant, great wine, great pasta, and great salad. All of the food was fresh.
-Shoko Restaurant, http://www.shoko.biz/, it’s a beach front place with tasty mojitos, trendy atmosphere, good-looking men (staff and customers), and delicious East Asian cuisine.

Rule #5: You got to go shopping. Yes, I know that our country is in a recession and as a result the Dollar to the Euro sucks right now. But break out your piggy bank and try to shop, shop, and shop. I would suggest shopping at stores that are not in the US. I purchased a chic coat from Desigual, http://www.desigual.com/ (the “S” in this is actually faces backwards on the logo). The designers for this brand use vivid colors, prints and the fit is amazing. This is definitely my favorite store in Spain.

Rule #6: You got to hit the club scene. Yeah, I partied hard in Barcelona and Ibiza. I did realize that the club circuit is very small in Barcelona. Certain men that I met during my trip, I saw more than once thanks to the club scene. From Biki in Barcelona to Pacha in Ibiza, it was awesome! We found venues that played hip-hop which made my day.
Bonus: If you want to start the party early than go to Bora Bora in Ibiza. It’s like a daytime party on the beach. It felt similar to Wet Willies in Miami.
Rule #7: You got to stay in a comfortable place. Whether you’re staying at a friend’s house or in a hotel, just make sure that you are happy and relaxed where you sleep.We stayed at the Grand Hotel Central,http://www.grandhotelcentral.com/ near Las Ramblas. It had complementary breakfast, free business center, rooftop pool, soft beds and an attractive male staff. Oh, and did I mention a rooftop pool with a view of the city. What more could you want?

Ibiza: We stayed at the Palladium Palace Ibiza Resort, http://www.fiestahotelgroup.com/. This place is more of a family resort. I actually enjoyed the experience. The meals were included and it was right on the beach. Be careful: the beds are hard. But you get to drink free alcohol all day.

Rule #8: Last but not least, you got to meet new people. Hey, you’re on vacation. So got out there and mingle! Miss ST and I had the ball in our court. Honestly, there are no Black people out there, especially sistas. We were rare. Trust, you are more noticeable when you are different from everyone else and we played it to our advantage. Most of all, we had fun!!!
I met some cool and beautiful people while visiting Spain. I partied with some, had dinner with some and even exchanged some email addresses along the way. My new friend, Carlos (aka Carlito or Los) whom I later discovered is Latin American, a model and a soccer (futbol) player living in Barcelona. We had a brief encounter on my first night in Barcelona at Club Biki. Maybe it was his big, brown eyes, maybe it was just my excitement to be in Spain, but there’s a mesmerizing energy from men who live overseas. I ran into him a few times on the club scene. Another example would be Sarah and Miguel, a couple from London who were fun, spontaneous, and down-to-earth that I met on the magnificent beach in Ibiza.

I became acquainted with many people from places like Switzerland to Florence to Holland to Liverpool. Best of all, everyone had great things to say about Presidential Candidate, Senator Obama once they discovered that I was from the US. Go Obama!!!

Barcelona and Ibiza, What else can I say? I’m ready to go back, so call me when you book the plane tickets (wink, wink).

No Man Hater Here

A friend defined my blog in three words: “man hater site”. I was slightly offended. Hell, that’s just as bad as someone calling me a BBW-Bitter Black Woman, and I not one of those. Yet, I giggle as I repeat his quote back to myself. I believe that he certainly meant it as enduring since he tried to clean it up after I told him what I am about to tell you.

Let’s clear this up now, just in case you’re confused as well. This blog is not, by any means, not a man hater site. It was created as a tool to show my personal side as far as writing that ranges from my journey headed for entrepreneurship to eating at my favorite Thai food restaurant, Spice (199 8th Ave, btw 19th & 20th st).

I love men, in all flavors. I love everything about them; they way they smell, the way they think, the way they cause me to obsess and write about them. I’ve learned a vast amount of knowledge about myself and life’s experiences through the men that have touched my spirit (good or bad). I’m thankful for those experiences. I will never regret the ride. Therefore, when publish a post talking about any man, it is written to show what I’ve gained from the person and/or situation, not to slander someone’s reputation. That’s also the reason for code names instead of the real thing. Keeping the subject in mind and respecting the privacy of others.

Thank you all for the support and feedback!

Always,

Miss “I’m not a man hater” Joi

What Women Want (Better yet, what do men want?)

(When I asked a friend of a friend what did he want from a woman, he told me that he wanted a person who could accept that he was a sports fanatic. I thought he was extreme but he was honest. Later on, I inquired if he’d seen that movie starring Drew Barrymore that had the same type of plot.)

“Joi, do you want a man that holds your hand or a man that pulls your hair? I mean (pause), just let me know”

I raised my right eyebrow feeling perplexed, uneasy, “Hmmm, well, I want both. There’s a time for both.”

Happy with my response I proceeded to do my closing waitress duties; counting money and paperwork. However, after Wesley asked me that question, I could not get the idea out of my head. It bothered me for weeks and weeks.

Several months later…

I was on the phone with a close friend. Many people say that we are twins, except she has more tits and ass, so she’s more like a sister, aesthetically anyway. During our girl talk, I say, “Where are all the fine (meaning attractive), successful, faithful, black men? Do they exist?”

While the question rolled smoothly from my tongue, I figured that you can take race out of the equation and the same question is still relevant, which is “where are they?”)

“Yeah, they do exist but they’re all whores,” She rebuttals with a laugh.

“That can’t be true,” I respond.

A light bulb went off in my brain as I woke up the next day. I quickly grabbed my cell and began texting my twin. I desperately wanted to show her that she was incorrect and being pessimistic.

I type, “I could not sleep last night about what you said. Fine, successful black men do exist and I can name two of them. #1 was cute, successful, 40, divorced. We went out a couple of times but he said that he did not want to ruin me.”

She types back, “Ok, so he’s probably a whore.”

“#2, was the same, younger but he was the one that I told you about that saw me leave the party with the bartender and assumed the worst.”

She responds via text, “He’s an idiot.”

I chuckled to myself as I read my twin’s reply and part of me wanted to agree with her. But I did prove that these men do exist even if they came equipped with flaws. But both, Bachelor #1 (AKA Mr. CB, see post “The Unattainable” for more info on him) and Bachelor #2 were certainly the type of men who could pull my hair behind closed doors (if I wanted) and hold my hand in public, reassuring me that we were a “sure thing” for the time that I was out with them. As my feelings floated back to the past, both of them did enjoy PDA (Public Display of Affection) more than I did.

There’s no real solution to what women want. We all want very different things. When we are single it may seem that we’ll never find what we want or what we think we want or what other’s want for us as far as the opposite sex. Sometimes, we’re picky, never satisfied, and feel that the next best thing is just around the corner (so we leave our options open).

Oh! Wait. Was that description a more suitable definition of single men?

No matter the gender, what we don’t realize is that that “best thing” may be starring us right in the face. But we overlook it.

Maybe, the hunt for true love should take on the same methods as applying for a job, freelance gig or even finding the perfect shoes.

-Look at the criteria/guidelines
-Highlight all talents and previous experience (which includes being candid)
-Just roll the dice and take a chance

I know that we all (men and women) want someone that we can get along with. That’s just half the battle.

Really, what do you want? Can you find everything that you want in one person?

Hurricane J...

I was watching the news report on CNN last Wednesday with non-stop coverage on Hurricane Dolly. This is most recent hurricane disaster on the market to date. Apparently, this brutal monster has wiped out South Padre, Texas leaving houses, businesses and other property in disarray. The coverage made me nostalgic remembering the awful damage Hurricane Katrina did to New Orleans just over three years ago.

It made me wonder. Why are treacherous hurricanes named as females? Is this how society sublimely viewed woman as hurricanes that will stop at nothing to destroy, cause unforgettable pain, and inflict permanent harm to its environment? Yeah, I know. You’re reading this and thinking; Joi, this idea is far fetched. But, I think that it makes perfect sense.

I could not get the thought out of my head. The idea bothered me for days. If this coded message was indeed true than how many men from my past relationships saw me as a hurricane or natural disaster that ruined their emotional well-being? How many ex-boyfriends, ex-lovers, and ex-“I’m not sure what to define him as” cringe at the thought of me coming into their lives and wiping out everything that they were used to (comfortable with) from under them? How many hearts did I crush? How many hopes did I turn into disappointments?

I could name a few. Sad, really as I think about it.

Well if I were a hurricane, what Category would I be? For example would I be Category One; where the emotional damage is only minimal. On the other hand, was I considered a Category Five where the damage is very severe, more like catastrophic?

Thinking about Hurricanes led my thoughts to a conversation that I had with Mr. N a few months ago. He asked, “Joi, why are women conniving and deceiving?”

Grasping for air, I was not sure how I should respond. I felt like he was taking all women and putting them into a box and generalizing them into the two categories: “conniving and deceiving”. Hurricane scale; definitely Category Four or Five.

“Hello, not all women are conniving and deceiving. Men can be the same way.” I said

“No, men lie, maybe cheat and try to lie about it. But that’s about it.” Mr. N responded.

“What do you mean? Define conniving and deceiving?” I asked.

“Women will say things like ‘this is your baby’, with a straight face,” Mr. N said.

I guess meaning that women will certainly have a man thinking on thing, while knowing that it’s totally untrue.

My mouth dropped. I was shocked. He was right. I agreed but I didn’t want him to know it.

So, maybe women (not all but some) can be “conniving and deceiving” as Mr. N would put it. And maybe some women are Hurricanes that want to run rapid, be free and deal with a strong man who can handle all of it, even tame them.

My question is: “If you were a Hurricane, what would you be named and what category would you be?”

The Unattainable

As I sit back and reflect on that night at the bar of feeling like Carrie Bradshaw observing “Mr. Big” mingling with a couple of females, I just smirk in relief. “Well, at least I didn’t fuck him.”

There he was; gorgeous, laughing, smiling, and having the time of his life. The chemistry was totally there. I’d only been observing Mr. CB, my girlfriend and her friend at the bar for 5 minutes or less. But it seemed that Mr. CB grew smitten my girlfriend’s friend in a matter of seconds. By the end of my shift, I was on the phone venting to a friend about the entire situation. Why did Mr. CB have to come on my turf to pick up new prospects?

I must define the history between me and Mr. CB before I continue the story.

He and I went out on a couple of dates. Honestly, they were all fabulous. We get along. He fit the typical profile of what I enjoy about men. He’s charming, sensible, honest, successful, older (in his 40’s), handsome, educated, and extremely unattainable. Did I mention, extremely unattainable? Mr. CB is divorced and after he revealed this to me, I sensed that he was definitely enjoying his newly found single life. Believe me; I witnessed him enjoying the “single life” every time he brought a different woman into the bar where I work. But that never bothered me and I never judged him. I was intrigued. Unfortunately, Mr. CB’s exit was surprisingly abrupt. I thought I’d played all of my cards right with this one. He performed the typical stop calling and texting with no explanation move. So, I mentioned his rude, cowardly disappearing act. He was truthful and told me that his feelings were with another woman whom he had a relationship with some years ago. They were trying to decide if they should give it another try. He was compassionate with his explanation. “Joi, you are a gem and I don’t want to ruin that.” I rolled my eyes. I informed Mr. CB that he could have just told me that information instead of disappearing without as much of a good-bye to saver ties, respectfully. I told him that we can be just friends. “Well, Actually I don’t have many platonic female friends,” Mr. CB confessed. I looked at him with a raised eyebrow and thought to myself, “I really should be deleting your number after that statement.”

One day, my thoughts were consumed with him. As a result, I decided to check on him and send a friendly text to his cell phone. He never responded. I sent another text message a few weeks later. No response. So when he managed to walk into the bar where I work it felt as if I’d seen a ghost. It was even scarier because I’d just sent him the second text message the night before.

I’ll admit it. I’m still very fond of Mr. CB. However, I’ve managed to keep my distance since it was he who initiated the distance between us. Now that Mr. CB and I do not talk as much compared to when we first met, I find myself thinking about him. I want him even more. Therefore, when I witnessed him conversing with my girlfriend’s friend from the other side of the bar, I was not happy and had decided that he was hitting a little too close to home. His eyes managed to meet mine. I gave him the look of death. Given the chance, my stare probably would have burned a hole through his navy blue sweater. The decent woman in me wanted to believe that he was just talking and entertaining miscellaneous women while he waited for his friends. The territorial woman in me was convinced that he was definitely flirting with my girlfriend’s friend and that they had exchanged phone numbers, business cards, or something to keep in contact with each other. I was disappointed, annoyed, upset.

Upset with myself that I had been fascinated by yet another unattainable man. Upset that he was another unattainable man who would not return my text messages, probably did not want anything exclusive with me, and managed to fall off the face of the earth with no regard of my feelings. Why do I always like the guys who seem so far from my reach? They’re just so aloof and emotionally detached. They were all similar in that way and I certainly attached myself to them-physically and/or emotionally; Mr. Vegas, Mr. Promoter, Mr. Roc-A-Wear, Mr. C, and now, Mr. CB. It’s almost as if I’m dating the same man over and over and over again but with a different name. Actually, the only thing that these men had in common; other then the fact that they could never be hooked into a healthy relationship; was yours truly, me. I really can not blame these men as I choose to deal with them, so I blame myself.


I’ve never enjoyed anything that came to me easily, especially men. But what’s the point of the chase if you’ll never be able to win the prize in the end?