Hi,
My name is Jabaria...my friends call me Baria. And men...well, they don't call me. Think of me as your darker, thicker version of Sex in the City's Carrie Bradshaw--except I don't sport $400 Minolo Blanacs, I don't live in a posh loft in the heart of Manhattan and I definitely don't have a Mr. Big trying to sweep me off my feet.
No, that is not my story. I'm a divorced sistah struggling to find a decent pair of Nine West slingbacks on sale, living in the heart of the hood in a nicely restored shot-gun house. And my Mr. Big's look more like the Ronald Isley types of the world. I'm not complaining--no, quite the contrary. I love my life. I just hate my love life. I am surrounded by men all day long; they're just emotionally, relationally, physically or sexually unavailable. In other words, they're either crazy, married, live thousands of miles away or are gay.
Take my ex for instance. We started out the best of friends, and on paper, he was perfect. Degreed from Howard University, Technical Engineer at one of the largest firms in the country, single with his own place in the heart of northwest Washington, DC driving a tricked out Mazda RX-7. In other words, he was every woman's dream--a BMW--Black Man Working. Fast forward ten years, multiple affairs and several thousand dollars worth of Patron later, he now lives on his parents' couch back in Montgomery, barely paying child support and entertaining his own delusions of grandeur in the by-gone days of buppie-land.
Then there was Kaleb--my first real relationship post-marriage. While only three years my junior, I felt like I'd been cruising the local daycare centers to find a mate. We met on this free dating website, POF (they say you get what you pay for). He was totally emotionally and financially unavailable. I was his token black chick and sugar mama. I ended up paying him to pick up my daughter from school and keep her while I worked and went to school at night. He was my manny! Can you believe that--I paid a man to stay home and take care of my daughter (among other services, all of which left much to be desired). To top it off, I developed a huge inferiority complex and an even bigger budget deficit.
Now, I've struggled with many things in my life, but low self esteem has NEVER been one of them, or so I thought. But with him I found myself comparing me to white women wondering what it was he saw in me when all he'd dated in the past were white girls. It could have been the fact that I have my own house, my own car, I'm working on my second Master's and have a great job. Or it could have been my nice thighs, pretty eyes and curvy shape. But at the end of the day, I know it was my backside. Yup, he loved the girls with plenty cushion in arrears--and that is definitely me. And he appreciated women who went into their pockets to finance the romance--and unfortunately, that too, was me.
But when it was all said and done, and he'd left to go back home to the land of Amazon white girls, I learned my lesson, as difficult as it was, and I'm all the better for it. The funny thing is that it forced me to be honest with myself about a lot of things in my life. And at the end of the day, that is what life is all about--learning who we are and coming to appreciate ourselves with all of our flaws and failures.
So until next time, I wish you all fabulous hair days, a ready massage chair at the nail shop and a surprise sale on those fierce stacked slingbacks!
Divine Diva J-
