Are you there, Chocolate? It’s me, Mel.




Chocolate makes everything wonderful.  There’s hardly a time when chocolate isn’t appropriate?  New job? Chocolate.  Fired? Chocolate.  New boo?  Chocolate.  Breakup?  Chocolate.  Its place is firmly sealed in the great circle of life.

Every once in a while I come across someone who can’t eat chocolate (there are people who are severely allergic and it has been linked to triggering migraines).  I just want to give them gigantic full bosom hugs.

It's not.

For realsies.

I went to a cafe with my good friend a few months back, and there was some sort of unsweetened chocolate sauce over fish (I think.  Maybe it was chicken.  Don’t focus on the wrong part of the story.).  If you’re scrunching your nose, don’t feel bad.  I scrunched my nose too.  I was just feeling particularly adventurous that day, so I threw caution to the wind and ordered.  Homie…friend…bruh…words fail me.  If you’ve ever eaten something and thought, “There should really be a  bard sitting by my side to chronicle this,” then you understand where I’m coming from.

Combining mediocre things with chocolate is satisfying; combine awesome things with chocolate, and you run the risk of being sucked into a nexus of awesome.  Chocolate and coffee, when done just right (because you CAN mess this up), is just one of the most amazing things you’ll ever have.  The trick is to get the right balance of the two, letting them slowly waltz your taste buds into ecstasy.  You’re swaying at the thought of it, aren’t you?  You should be.

Far too often, people try to break down our affection for chocolate, scientifically.  A diatribe about neurons and synapses extracts the magic.  Look at a kid having their first piece of chocolate:  the way they hold their mouth in that curious little pucker, trying not to drool (and failing).  That huge grubby grin they have as they ask for another piece – that’s all the explanation you need.  But if you feel inclined to inquire further about why chocolate is so awesome, my answer would be simple: Jah’s love.


Searching for Bobby McGee

Freedom’s just another word for nothing left to lose,
Nothing don’t mean nothing honey if it ain’t free, now now.
And feeling good was easy, Lord, when he sang the blues,
You know feeling good was good enough for me,
Good enough for me and my Bobby McGee.
– “Me and Bobby McGee” as sung by Janis Joplin

I’m a firecracker.  My personality is kind of huge.  Explosive laughter, tight hugs, large smiles – and occasionally, epic cuss outs.  But with all that, my needs are actually quite small.  Defined, but small.  I’m not quite a diva, or high maintenance.  I’d prefer cold cereal and cartoons with folks that matter to me, than a fancy dinner with people who I believe to be “alright.”  Don’t misunderstand, I think acquaintances are very important, but core people in your life are priceless.

So we arrive at the part of the blog where I express what I need or want in a partner.  It’s quite simple, really: them.  Not in an all-consuming, “I can’t breathe without you” sense; just that person’s self, without the pretense.  Additionally, We live in a world that is so noisy.  Someone who is down to get together and allow themselves to briefly become overtaken by quiet?  That’s the good stuff right there.  I don’t need to be in constant contact with my significant other, nor do I need them to constantly check in with me.  But after being apart, I want that need to reconnect to be something serious.

I want intimacy; which, contrary to popular belief, is not the brass ring that comes with sex.  Intimacy is being across the room, noticing something, and immediately searching for your partner’s eyes to share a private joke.  It’s conversations about personal dreams, fears or frailties that belong strictly to the two of you.  It’s the good feeling that swells in you when you see your partner enjoying something that is totally separate and apart from your own personal joy.  Sex is the tangible manifestation of all those good feelings, which takes you to where words and glances simply can not.  And for real, it’s not the type of thing you want to rush.  When you’ve taken the time to establish intimacy with your partner, the “goodness” of the physical act is truly not far behind.

My thoughts on that?

More, please?

That’s not the kind of thing you find at Big Lots, and that’s why I don’t spend a whole lot of time worried about being single.  It’s why I don’t throw my lady parts around like Mardi Gras beads.  Sure it’s a “search,” but it’s not a search of desperation.  I’m keeping my eyes open.  I’ll know it when I see it, and will not force it if I don’t.  It’s going to come when it comes.  It will be welcomed happily.  I believe in holding out for the good stuff.


No heels, No shirt, No skirt,
All I’m in is just skin.
No jeans, Take em off,
Wanna feel your skin.

– “Skin” Rihanna

“It’s unfortunate what we find pleasing to the touch and pleasing to the eye is seldom the same.”

– Pulp Fiction “Fabienne”

I ain’t no diva.  It’s rare that you’ll see me in heels (since I am still not 100% on my ankle seven months later) and I was probably born in blue jeans.  I can work a smokey eye, but I like my face; the one I see first thing in the morning.  Seeing my words on paper will always pacify me in a way that seeing them on a computer screen never will.  When I cook, I chop each and everything by hand.  Falling in love with a best friend has always been the ideal, so I’ve never cared much for “set-ups.”  I’m earthy and organic; bare feet in the grass, taking in the sounds around me. And when it comes to sex…

No, when it comes to the aesthetics of sex, I am curiously lost in the sauce.  This is not due to some puritanical stigma.  There’s the sex circus, and there’s sex.  Of course , the two can intersect, it simply doesn’t always happen.  At the top of my list is lingerie.  For lingerie aficionados, this is not directed toward you.  There are different strokes for different folks. Since I believe you don’t know that you won’t like something until you try it, I’ve purchased a lace this and silk that in my travels.  Ultimately, it felt incredibly silly, because it’s not me.  Polished toes, one of my man’s roomy shirts, and nothing else would be much more my speed…for starters.

It’s not that have no desire to titillate, or be titillated for that matter.  What begins in the mind is essential to enjoying sex.  But it is also an act meant to be enjoyed physically, and not just observed as performance art.   But this is the notion that has taken over, we do what we’re told in terms of attraction and sexuality, rather than embracing what draws us in.*  Adonis-like bodies with perfectly formed faces are lovely to look at, but that does not guarantee a recipe for pleasure.   Frankly, there are like, thirteen people who look like that – on a planet of billions.  I’m can assure you that both the very lean, and the more Rubenesque are perfectly capable of getting down for their crown.  Yes, Darren Sharper is my fiance and future baby daddy, but I have no qualms with cuddling up with a burly fella, because…

When all is said and done, my intentions will be perfectly clear.  I want to enjoy the person I am with.  Conversely, I want them to enjoy what I am doing to and with them.  Being present in that moment of delight when those first sighs escape is what truly matters.  Accoutrement is perfectly acceptable.  Candles, oil, music, and other miscellaneous trappings of sensuality are nice.  However, if I have too much time to pay attention to those things, something is being done all wrong.  Low moans, the smell of (the mythical) him, and the taste of a sweat-salted shoulder happens to be what curls my toes.  If you can’t relate, you’re missing out.

Holla if ya hear me.

*At 12, I had a poster of Al B. Sure! in my locker and for the life of me, I couldn’t figure out why.  Now AND then.


You know what I like?

Easy conversation.  Especially with one of “them.”  After 11.  When you’re not quite “there” yet, but you know you’re on your way.  When you save his call for last, because you like him to hear the day’s anticipation in your voice.  And your voice is low, and his voice is low, and you’re talking about…your favorite cartoon.  But you’re saying it in a way that indicates a future plan to watch that cartoon…in your room…after you’ve woken up…naked…if he plays is cards right.

My favorite part of the male form is that groove in the arm, where the deltoid ends, and the biceps and brachialis begin.  Like that space was made specifically for my fingers to grip as we, um, watch cartoons.

I love gratuitous and unnecessary whispering.  Something that could have been announced from the podium, but we choose to share only with one another.  Just enough for cologne or perfume to graze the olfactory senses, and not one moment longer.

I want the act of hand-holding to be both erotic and deliberate; fingers that start by brushing against the back of my wrists, slowly enveloping the entirety of my hand, with fingers gently butterfly-kissing the center of my hand.

I enjoy occasionally denying my id.  There’s something about occasionally being left wanting, that makes the realization of your desire that much sweeter.  There are things in this life that are worth waiting for.  Letting your mouth water for one more moment, so that the meal is that much tastier.  Cutting a kiss short just by just one second, because you want the next one to be that much more “umph.”  Whew.

Yeah y’all.  It’s like “that” today.