Status: Teneille… Is Writing From The Sad Clown Cafe
Mood: Melancholy Chic
Listening To: "What about my body body? Actin' like I'm nobody?!"

This aint The Life & Times of S. Elle. (Not trying to play you Shaina)

I never talk about my love life. I’m a stickler for keeping my love life personal. Knowing there’s someone I can completely take my cool off with at the end of the day without having to worry about the industry’s facades grounds me. Someone who gets my affection for fanatically flipping through magazines at Barnes and Nobles, doesn’t snub my grand ideas and gets my tasteless (sometimes violent) New York humor. After freeing myself from a secretly tumultuous and superficial trophy relationship over a year ago, I was flung into a dating pool of weirdo coked out male egomaniacs. Defeated, unsatisfied yet, pathetically hopeful, I watch and wait as the end of the year approaches still without the “love life” I’d aimed to protect and The Secret failed to attract.

I wrote down (well typed, technically) exactly what I wanted on…June 13, 2008. I “stopped looking” and let my subconscious be the guide to my dream boat. As fate would have it, over the next few weeks, I’d become flooded with date offers…yeah fucking right. SHIT happened. Out of my massive amount of subconscious love lobbying, I’d attracted two "might-could-be-ones" and one was Cece’s cousin, which practically made us family.

At 18, 25 seemed an eternity away and as it hovers as bright as day over my head, I can’t suppress this natural urge to nest. What I once preached to be society’s trickery has proven instead to be the release of some sort of chemical hormone. Its sole purpose, to complete the transformation into full blown adulthood.

Sometimes, I wonder if it’s my father’s fault. I’d seen him go from the top to rock bottom to being worth millions, a true rags-to-riches story. Far from a helpless spoiled brat, I learned the importance of hard work and dedication from his struggles and successes (* Cue I Did It My Way – Jay-Z*). As women are naturally attracted to men who remind them of their fathers has he unknowingly set the bar too high? Am I expecting too much? Of course he thinks I’m perfect...okay well sort of. “Since you were a little girl, I knew the motherfucker that gets involved with you better be prepared for some shit!” he yelled at me during dinner. “You’re tough but keep giving em’ hell!” he advised obviously annoyed with me for some reason. “You’re a fighter so you need a man who knows how to fight and is gonna fight for you!”

Famous. Last. Words.

So here I am, back in the streets with the Rif Raf again…subconsciously searching for my heart's Kimbo Slice.

Oh and the other guy, file him under Missing Persons. :-/


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