This Is What It Sounds Like When Men Cry

I've never been good at watching a man cry. In fact, I'd go as far as to say I suck at it. As soon as the tears start to fall, I get all giggly and uncomfortable. It's insulting, really, as it appears I have no sensitivity chip. I do. I just get awkward when men cry. It freaks me out. Like what am I supposed to do when the strong rock that I depend on falls apart? Where do we go from there? Of course, it isn't that serious but let me back track.

I've only seen a handful of men cry. Of course, there are movies and TV. We've all watched a few guys choke up on the big and little screen, and many women find it endearing. They dab at their eyes as they hope for a sensitive man to enter their own lives. I don't do that. Sometimes I give a heart-filled, "Aww," but rarely. It's just weird. My dad. My high school best friend. My ex-boyfriend. That's it. And every single time was weird.

It's best to start with where this odd reaction stems from. My dad. When my parents divorced, my father used to cry. A LOT. More than altogether necessary. My mother cried a lot too, but she was the wronged party, so in my mind it was okay. My dad, on the other hand, cried as a means of manipulation. To make everyone feel bad for him. It didn't come from a genuine place. We'd sit in the driveway, when my father dropped us off after our weekend with him, and he'd cry as if on cue. He'd lament his mistakes in a depth that was too much for a seven, twelve, and fifteen year old to deal with. The first time, we were shocked. The next time, kinda unsure. After that, it was simply inappropriate and ridiculous.

My best friend in high school was Dave. He was a strapping football player, king of the school. In fact, he was voted homecoming king our senior year. He was the proverbial man and represented all that was strong and resilient. Now, being that we were close, I'd seen him upset, pissed, but I'd never seen him cry. Not until our junior year when one of our close friends died in a horrible accident. Dave fell apart on me. I felt ridiculous at first. Just kind of hugged him awkwardly, but then I cried myself, affected by the death and by Dave's emotion.

I was sitting in my now ex-boyfriend's car. It was early on in our relationship and we were still in the "new, getting to know all about each other" phase. On this particular night, we sat in his Jeep as he told me stories about his life. One being how his cousin and best friend was murdered. As he told the story, I heard the crack in his voice. I watched him put his head back for a moment and shield his eyes. I knew what was happening and that same ridiculous feeling slipped over me. I patted his leg. Told him it wasn't his fault. That his cousin was in a better place. I wasn't being entirely helpful, but that was all I could offer. Which is the sad point. I have nothing to give. They cry. I sit there awkwardly, trying to stifle a smile that isn't towards them, but towards my own discomfort.

Even now, when I'm sitting with the guy I'm currently dating. He'll start in on a story from his past, something that evokes emotion and I'll stop him and say, "Are you going to cry?" It's so rude. I know this and yet I can't stop the words from tumbling out. As if I can somehow prepare myself for his strong showcase of sadness, because if I know what's coming, I can get my own self together, put on my own suit of armor. Something that will be better than patting his back and saying, "Um, it'll be ok," while secretly willing him to stop making me feel weird. See, the problem is it isn't about me at all and yet I've made it about me. Back when I sat in my dad's SUV, listening to him apologize for breaking our family up for the millionth time, watching him squeeze tears out his ducts, I started looking at a man's tears as a way to make me feel bad. The tears came to mean something far different than what they actually were. Instead, his tears, coupled with his ability to break every promise he made, created a world of distrust, not a world of comfort and honesty. His tears exhausted me and set every guy that would enter my life up for failure.

But as I write these words, I realize a man's tears aren't that at all. When a man cries in front of a woman, he's saying, "I trust you. I feel comfortable enough with you to let down this barrier," and for me to somehow put myself in front of that is even more awkward and ridiculous. It is unfair for me to take that from them.

That bitch stole my line,

xoxo

Blackie Collins

Short & Sweet: Hitting a Double

Remember when you were impressed by the fact that your friend "jerked" Matt off or got fingered by Freddy? You wouldn't budge pass second base, beyond feeling each other up, grinding around the ball field, never hitting home plate, yet "scoring nonetheless." Then somewhere around your teenage and young adult years, you discovered getting and giving head.  Second base was getting smaller and smaller in your rearview mirror. Then came sex and who even remembered any base but sliding into home plate.

Do B a favor. Hit a nice single or double.  Trust me, boys, fingering your girl will produce amazing results, if done right, especially during the instances where you're a little too tired or not nearly as able to run repetitive circles around the ballpark.  And for the girls, recall what it was like to jack him off and go for it.  It's simple, easy, and because it's so not the norm, surprisingly incredible.  I guarantee if whether you stay in the mid field or start there on your way home, you won't strike out.  Instead you'll hit a grand slam.  Cause it's one, two, three strokes your in at the old ball game!

That bitch stole my line,

xoxo

Blackie Collins

Some Girls...

I was at work, talking with a new colleague. Seemed okay at first. Nice girl, easy on the eyes, same age bracket, maybe we'll be friends. Maybe not. Apparently, she is one of those people who tells all their business to the first person who will listen. I usually don't when it doesn't interest me, but do a good job of pretending I'm listening. However, she was talking about her ex-boyfriend-who-she's-still-in-love-with. She had no idea who she was talking to! As she went on and on and on about her ex-boyfriend-who-she's-still-in-love-with, my irritation level went on a slow-cooker type of process. Slowly, but surely, through and through, I was ready to pop my lid. Just as I thought of a nice way (I try to take it easy on people who don't know B), she said something that made me wanna slap her.

"I was his girlfriend first, I'm the one he loved first."

I looked up from what I was doing, removed the glazed look, and stopped her.

"What did you say?" I asked. She repeated herself, which reiterated that she felt just fine about her statement. Turns out her eex-boyfriend-who-she's-still-in-love-with is living with another woman now. Has "moved on." But he still talks with my new colleague on a regular basis, texts her all hours of the night, tells her he's still in love with her too, walks hand in hand with her through the city, kisses her in public. When I asked why she would do this to the new girlfriend, her response was "I was his girlfriend first. I'm the one he loved first." My response was without warrant. It tumbled out.

"Are you in the third grade? You were in line first, so you throw your arms up and call out that you are the line leader, you were there first? Grow up! What you are doing is not only detrimental to the new girlfriend, whom many women could care less about, but more importantly to you. Why haven't you moved on? Why are you believing any of the BS coming out of the ex-boyfriend-who-you're-still-in-love-with's mouth?" She looked at me blankly, so I continued.

"Do you honestly think you're meant for him?" She nodded.

"Do you believe he wants to be with you?" She nodded her bobble head again.

"Then, why isn't he living with you? Why aren't you his girlfriend?"

"Because he can't right now," she said with as much gusto as she could call upon.

"More like doesn't want to," I said and went back to my task. She tried to talk to me more throughout the day, tried to defend her ex-boyfriend-who-she's-still-in-love-with, but I didn't care. Some girls are simply idiots. I never give advice or speak out of anything but experience, so I've been there. I've been in a ridiculous situation (a story too long to share) with an ex-boyfriend-who-I-was-still-in-love-with. I have made the feeble attempts to defend him. I have believed whole-heartedly that he simply couldn't do whatever I needed or wanted. But the truth is that he was perfectly capable. He just didn't want to enough.

Some girls that take less than they're worth. Some girls hang on to a thread, when they could have the whole spool by themselves or with someone better. I have no idea why, though. My only defense for them, and myself, is that they're so blinded by a love that doesn't exist. So hidden behind a veil that they don't see reality for what it is.

Some girls just don't see it and until they do, I can't give them 20/20 vision. I can only hope that one day those girls will see that the ex-boyfriend-who-they're-still-in-love-with is really just the-dude-from-the-past-who-taught-them-what-they-were-worth: more.

That bitch stole my line,

xoxo

Blackie Collins

Feast or Famine

Jump off's. Love them or hate them, they've been here forever and will continue to be. But that's not really the point of this post. The issue on the table is how long you should feast on a jump off? At some point the time will come when you've had your share and should move on or get another plate and stay a while. There's an expiration date on jump off's or casual sex partners. You simply can't consistently be intimate with someone, have all these slumber parties and not eventually catch the feelings flu.

Three to five months.

That's it. That's all you get before she starts asking what you do during daytime hours and he starts wondering what you look like with your clothes on. It isn't a lot of time, but it's just enough for the rules to change, the lines to blur, and the whole game to get f*cked-and not in the way you'd like to get f*cked.

I'm not saying you'll both feel this way. Some people stay in sexual relationships for months and months. You occasionally hear someone say, "we slept together off and on for years." But if you probe, you'll find the off and on sexual relationships usually span a few months before they cease and then start again a little while later. Either one of the two started dating someone else or they just grew bored. The point is it just can't go on too much longer or this imaginary dating curve comes along.

I have a friend, Dana, who called me, asking my opinion on a cut buddy of hers. She was irritated with his morning routine and how it got in the way of her snoozing when she slept over. My first question was how long she'd been sleeping with him. She said a few months. Then I asked her why she cared in the first place. While she tried to convince me, or herself, that she didn't care, I started thinking of the timeline and listening to what was between the lines coming out of Dana's mouth. Dana cared. Couldn't help it actually. She'd been intimate with him for just enough time to care about his morning habits. To care about anything outside of the sex business. She complained of him cuddling her the night before and then switching back to cut man in the morning. I pointed out that she couldn't really be thwarted by that when that is, in fact, what makes the cut just a cut. They're yours for the time being, but once morning comes, it's pretty much back to business as usual. Once I dug deeper, Dana realized she wanted something more than a guy that she only shared her sheets with. Dana wanted someone to share her life with. She'd spent too much time jumping off, making that cut go deep and no band-aid would heal it. She was wide open.

But he was not and when she stopped calling, he did too. So on to the next. Which is a great idea, but remember the window of opportunity is three to five months. After that, either sit down at the table and prepare for several courses or head over to McDonald's for fast food.

That bitch stole my line,

xoxo

Blackie Collins

Even Halle Has Issues

Not enough women love the skin they're in. Too many of us hate our hips or our noses or our hair. I can't make you love your own body, but I can ask you why you're so against it to the point where it's messing up your sex life.

I remember having a conversation with male friend. He kept going on about women who have low sex self-esteem. My ears perked up. What was this and how could it be spotted? He explained that it was the kind of issue a girl who keeps her shirt on during sex has. The chick who can't do it without being in the dark. The woman so un-into her own body, that she doesn't want anyone to see its imperfections. Listen here, that's just foolish! I was like that when I was seventeen and had sex for the first time with my boyfriend. I was shy and nervous, but fast forward a couple romps and I was screaming from the rafters and ripping my clothes off with fervor. I wish I could say I get it, and maybe I do a little bit. There've been times where I've thought for a split second, "I bet this position isn't so flattering," but not once has it ever stopped me. What a blower to an activity that's sooo great!

See, I think it comes back to this place where women have been taught that if they don't look like Beyonce or some supermodel, they aren't worthy. Case and point: Halle Berry. Gorgeous, amazing body, flawless skin, not to mention ageless. But Halle has stated repeatedly that she's got some of the worst self-esteem ever! She's let men beat up on her and was married to a sex addict who cheated on her. How do you cheat on Halle Berry?!! But that's the point, even when you're subsequently perfect, there are still all these flaws. We all have them and no one has been spared, so why bother picking yourself apart, ruining your own body-image. Look, there are plenty of people, places, and things that are ready, willing, and able to tear you down. I suggest you check out of that mode of thinking asap. Instead, make a list of your physical assets. Stand in front of the mirror if you need to. I know, that sounds crazy, but if you don't love your body, he won't either. I'm lucky enough to wake up to someone who tells me I'm beautiful on a regular basis. Let's me know I have the most amazing body, which I surely do not. But I'm good enough for me and I faked it until I made it. Now, I just believe it and if he weren't there to tell me I look great in the bright lights with no make up on, I'd still be the best I ever had. And the best he ever had too. ;)

That bitch stole my line,

xoxo

Blackie Collins

Unnecessary.com/PDA

Sometimes it's cute to see a couple kissing on the street or holding hands as they walk ahead of us. Our eyes fall on them and linger for a second or two, imagining our own little lip lock earlier in the day or the boyfriend waiting for us at his subway stop, ready to usher us off, hand in hand. Yes, sometimes it's endearing, adorable, and sweet.

Sometimes it isn't.

Sometimes it's the kind of PDA that isn't a new smartphone, isn't some parental organization, isn't giving a gentle kiss on the corner of 72nd and Broadway. Sometimes your standing, minding you business, crushed in the rush hour crowd in the middle subway car. It seems like everyone decided to leave work at the same time and someone isn't quite so Sure. You're holding your breath, angling yourself away from the sweaty guy pressed up against you. Yet instead, you turn away and are face to face with a couple going at it. In fact, they're doing so much, in such close proximity, you're actually considering this your first threesome. It is no longer the cute moment of love you saw the model-esque pair in Soho sharing, this is more the couple who was basically having sex in the restroom at Bed last weekend. It's unnecessary and completely unacceptable. Kissing, yes. Sucking, fondling, gropping, no.

I understand how the feeling can overcome you. The feeling where you just have to grab your man and plant a giant sucker on their lips. I get how sometimes, you're riding along on the subway and you feel the need to hop on your dude and just take him. But you don't. You can't. Not because you have some sort of firewall, because obviously B has very few. You can't because of everyone else. Now, I rarely care what others think, but I care what I think, and I have no interest in having front row seats while he removes your tonsils with his tongue. I'm going to go out on a limb and assume everyone else shares my sentiment. Of course, there are the few pervs out there that wanna watch you get down, but, sorry, the majority of us just aren't interested in your sex life. But please by all means stay interested in mine:) Thanks! Management.

That bitch stole my line,

xoxo

Blackie Collins

That's What Girls Are Made Of

I was at the Hudson bar, enjoying a drink with my best friend, Maria, when two gentlemen asked to join us. We consented and wound up having the kind of intelligent conversation that is so absent these days. The kind where no topic goes uncovered. The kind that ranges from pop culture to politics to the best Prince song ever written (Let's go crazy! Let's get nuts!). Eventually, per usual between men and women, the topic of relationships came center stage.

There was much discussion on the gender differences and how we love in our own individual ways, but something stuck out. A question that stumped Maria and me. We were volleying words that make men, men. Strong, protector, provider, masculinity. We tossed them with ease, having a clear picture painted. But then someone said, "Well, what makes a woman a woman?" And everyone was silent. Maria said kind. I said caring, sanguine and feminine, but it didn't seem right. It didn't seem to encompass the female make-up. And I was mad that we all agreed most on the words nurturing and giving. Why is it that our characteristics were dependent upon others? Why couldn't we stand alone in our traits as the men had? The truth is, women are taught at a very young age to nurture and care for someone or something outside themselves. How many little girls have you seen toting around doll babies in strollers or playing house and being the mommy. Contrastingly, you see little boys running a muck, doing what they want to do, jumping from stairs and scrapping, wrestling. They're taught early on that to be a man means strength and confidence. That they have the weight of many on their shoulders and must provide and protect. While we're being reared to get a husband and a household full of snotty kids.

A very close friend is going through a major breakup right now. They were together five years and lived together for the last two. It is safe to say that her boyfriend (well, ex) is going through some sort of quarter life crisis. He doesn't know much, but knows that he thinks he needs to be alone. So much for provide and protect. He's yo-yoed her around the last several weeks while he has done what he believes to be best for himself. Problem is that as easy as it is for him to think of himself first, he's just as easy to forget about her feelings altogether. Meanwhile, she's hanging on, reverting backwards, just to make it work-to take care of him and his needs.

It's a shame really. Why do we need to be the nurturers all the time? Why can't we be known as strong and confident? Well, if I really think about what it means to be a woman, and about the women I look up to and hope to be, I realize that maybe the reason its hard to pinpoint what traits create our makeup is because we are all of it. Strong, yet soft. Confident yet yielding. Giving and nurturing with the weight of the world on our shoulders too. I love being a woman. Sugar and spice and everything nice.

That bitch stole my line,

xoxo

Blackie Collins