<?xml version='1.0' encoding='UTF-8'?><?xml-stylesheet href="http://www.blogger.com/styles/atom.css" type="text/css"?><feed xmlns='http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom' xmlns:openSearch='http://a9.com/-/spec/opensearchrss/1.0/' xmlns:georss='http://www.georss.org/georss' xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7118868</id><updated>2011-10-27T10:12:23.543-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Diva's Dating Disclosures</title><subtitle type='html'>Welcome to the daily disclosures of this delectable Diva!  Names and places have been altered for thier protection but the events listed are 100% true!</subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://divadisclosures.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7118868/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://divadisclosures.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><author><name>Diva</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02899537797599037515</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>56</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7118868.post-113390250327204199</id><published>2005-12-06T14:37:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2005-12-06T15:55:03.326-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Another Good Year for the Diva!</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3821/422/1600/birthday.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3821/422/320/birthday.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This past Friday (December 2nd) was my birthday. Yep, I'm the big 2-4!!! Ok, I know thats far from old but I really feel like I'm getting up there. LOL. All in all, it was a pretty good year for me. I dated a couple of guys in the beginning of the year with no real drama (well, except for that one time but thats another story that I'm sure I've written about before). And the best part of the year is that on July 16, 2005 I met my sweetie, J. I can't say enough good things about him, but here's one more example...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;12:01 am December 2nd: It's officially my birthday!!! "Close your eyes baby." I quickly put my hands over my eyes. Like the big kid that I am on birthdays, I try to sneak a peak through my fingers. "Hey, no peaking!", he yells at me. "Ok, ok, ok!" I'm so impatient it feels like an eternity. "Ok, open your eyes." I see a tiny black jewelry box with a gold trim. My mouth opens. Is he about to propose to me? No he can't propose, we haven't been together that long. But what if he is? All these thoughts race through my head at 100mph. He opens the box and I see the most beautiful pair of diamond earrings. I let out the girliest scream ever!! Not only are the earrings beautiful but they are the exact setting as my diamond cross necklace that I wear almost every day. (He had to point it out cause I hadn't even noticed it). It wasn't a ring, but I'm actually kind of relieved that it wasn't. Getting engaged is such a HUGE step and although I love him more than I've loved any man in my life, we're not quite ready for that step. But I must admit, seeing that little box did get me excited!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The rest of my birthday was fabulous! Went to the salon to get my hair done, came back home and chilled with J, got my nails done and then had a fabulous dinner party at my place. All my friends and family were there with a bunch of great food. Friends from college even drove down from Philly and NY for the night! We ate, drank, laughed, played games...it was perfect. In all of the pictures from the party, I have this HUGE smile on my face. I just couldn't stop smiling the whole night. This past year has probably been the happiest of my life...especially the last 5 months with J. All I can say is, MY CUP RUNNETH OVER!!!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7118868-113390250327204199?l=divadisclosures.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://divadisclosures.blogspot.com/feeds/113390250327204199/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7118868&amp;postID=113390250327204199' title='8 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7118868/posts/default/113390250327204199'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7118868/posts/default/113390250327204199'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://divadisclosures.blogspot.com/2005/12/another-good-year-for-diva.html' title='Another Good Year for the Diva!'/><author><name>Diva</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02899537797599037515</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>8</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7118868.post-113328435541588755</id><published>2005-11-29T10:45:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2005-11-29T12:12:35.476-05:00</updated><title type='text'>He Loves Me!</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3821/422/1600/helovesme.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3821/422/320/helovesme.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Thats right...he loves me. Ok, well I already knew that he did. As I've told you before, his actions and the way he looks at me is filled with love. But he's never spoken those three words before. He had never said..."Baby, I love you." And I never wanted to be the one to pressure him into saying something that he wasn't ready to say. Yes I did crave that auditory reassurance but I wanted it to be real and genuine and on his own time.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We were laying down watching TV and was carressing my face with the back of his hand. I looked over to him and he was looking at me with this glazed over look in his eyes....a look that I had never seen before. I asked him,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ff0000;"&gt;&lt;em&gt;"Whats going on through that mind of yours?"&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#3333ff;"&gt;&lt;em&gt;"You"&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ff0000;"&gt;&lt;em&gt;"Oh really, what exactly about me?"&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Silence........still with a nervous kind of look in his eyes&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ff0000;"&gt;&lt;em&gt;"So are you going to tell me?"&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/span&gt; At this point I'm starting to get a little worried.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#3333ff;"&gt;&lt;em&gt;"Mmm Hmmm"&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;More Silence.....I'm trying to be patient. But I can't help but to wonder what on earth could be going through my sweeties mind that is leaving him so speechless?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#3333ff;"&gt;&lt;em&gt;"I Love You"&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;span style="color:#3333ff;"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;span style="color:#3333ff;"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt;November 25, 2005 10:43pm&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;span style="color:#3333ff;"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#3333ff;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;My heart stopped. I had been waiting so long to hear those three words and it was soooo worth the wait. He said it so softly, so sweet. It was as if he was kissing me with his words. I regain my composure and quickly tell him that I love him too. He said that he had been wanting to tell me for a long time but wanted to wait until the time was right. Also he said that people use the words so carelessly that he didn't want it to be just a mundane phrase that we through out there because it sounded nice.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He's right. People often either under use or over use the phrase so much. Either they never say it at all and wait until its too late to tell their loved ones how they really feel or they use it so much that it lacks meaning. We don't want to be either one of those kind of people. But we want to make sure that our actions and our words tell us how much we mean to each other. Even if he doesn't say it every day, the times that he does say it, I can feel the words and not just hear them.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7118868-113328435541588755?l=divadisclosures.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://divadisclosures.blogspot.com/feeds/113328435541588755/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7118868&amp;postID=113328435541588755' title='5 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7118868/posts/default/113328435541588755'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7118868/posts/default/113328435541588755'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://divadisclosures.blogspot.com/2005/11/he-loves-me.html' title='He Loves Me!'/><author><name>Diva</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02899537797599037515</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>5</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7118868.post-113268821426674558</id><published>2005-11-22T11:58:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2005-11-23T13:12:14.936-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Meet the Family Part II</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3821/422/1600/meetparents1.0.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3821/422/320/meetparents1.0.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My sweetie J got the chance to meet my family early on in our relationship. I'm big on family and I wanted to sort of "test him out" to see how he'd react and blend in with my crazy kin. They're approval meant a lot to me because I can't be involved with someone who can't be involved with my family.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;With his mother and I both working two jobs it was always difficult to find the right time for me to make that drive up to Baltimore to meet his family. But we made it happen this weekend. I had gotten tickets to the Baltimore Ravens vs. Pittsburgh Steelers game (his team against my team) so we decided that we would stay at his place so we could be close to the stadium on Sunday. Saturday I met them at the bowling alley. I was super nervous because I hadn't met a boyfriends mother in a really long time. (8 years to be exact!) Plus I know that he and his mother are like best friends so I really wanted to make a good impression.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;At the bowling alley we didn't talk much. She was focused on her game. J and I decided to go out to eat after bowling and then head over to his moms apartment so that we could all get to know each other. When we got to her place she was in her bedroom. J turned on a boxing match that he was excited to see. Ms. J (his mom) came out to the living room and asked if I liked boxing. I replied, "Not really but I don't mind watching it." She said, "Naw, come on back in my room and we can watch something good." J just smile and nudged me to go on back.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I honestly have no idea what was on TV in her room. As soon as I got back there we just started talking. We talked about everything under the sun: football, J's childhood, my interests, her job, it was a great conversation. She is the sweetest woman and I had a great time just talking to her. (Plus she spilled some beans on J for me!) She called J's younger sister, I'll call her Val, and told her that J's girlfriend was over. Her first response was, I'm on my way. Val and her two year old son Lil D came over. She wasn't quite as open and I couldn't really figure her out. But Lil D was a sweetheart. We played and talked and he started telling me stories. Then he looked at me and said, "You know what? I love you." I replied, "Oh is that right. You don't even know my name." He said, "Nope but you're nice."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The next day, we got up, went to IHOP for breakfast and then went to the game. We were probably the only two people holding hands and hugging in the stadium but it was cold out there. We had to keep warm! The game was fun. I'd stand up and cheer whenever the Steelers would make a play while J booed me. And then I'd boo him when he'd root for the Ravens. But those bammafied Baltimore Ravens had the nerve to beat my Steelers! What is the world coming to. As a result of our friendly wager, I'm being subjected to wear a purple Baltimore Ravens Tshirt for 24 hours. :(&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We went back to Mrs. J's house so I could say goodbye. She quickly began rubbing in my face that her Oakland Raiders had beat my Washington Redskins in overtime just as the Ravens beat the Steelers. And to make matters worse, The Philadelphia Eagles lost too. It was a bad day for sports for me but a great weekend overall. I had made a good impression on my sweeties mother. Thats all that really matters!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7118868-113268821426674558?l=divadisclosures.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://divadisclosures.blogspot.com/feeds/113268821426674558/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7118868&amp;postID=113268821426674558' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7118868/posts/default/113268821426674558'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7118868/posts/default/113268821426674558'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://divadisclosures.blogspot.com/2005/11/meet-family-part-ii.html' title='Meet the Family Part II'/><author><name>Diva</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02899537797599037515</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7118868.post-113224636275672757</id><published>2005-11-17T11:45:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2005-11-17T11:52:42.766-05:00</updated><title type='text'>The Fear of Love</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3821/422/1600/iheartu.1.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3821/422/320/iheartu.1.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I came across a blog today that I absolutely love. The author makes a point about how people are afraid of love or are embarrassed to say that they want a need love. Check out the post:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://painttheworldpink.blogspot.com/2005/11/its-okay-yall-its-okay.html"&gt;http://painttheworldpink.blogspot.com/2005/11/its-okay-yall-its-okay.html&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7118868-113224636275672757?l=divadisclosures.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://divadisclosures.blogspot.com/feeds/113224636275672757/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7118868&amp;postID=113224636275672757' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7118868/posts/default/113224636275672757'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7118868/posts/default/113224636275672757'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://divadisclosures.blogspot.com/2005/11/fear-of-love.html' title='The Fear of Love'/><author><name>Diva</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02899537797599037515</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7118868.post-113217204577908785</id><published>2005-11-16T14:36:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2005-11-29T12:13:39.716-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Like a Shark to Blood</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3821/422/1600/shark.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3821/422/320/shark.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Have you ever noticed that once you're happy and in a relationship, tons of guys start knocking on your door? Its like men are attracted to women in relationships like a shark is to blood. I've always known this was true but this past experience irony to the core. You all know how much I completely ADORE my boyfriend. I couldn't ask for anything more. But yesterday there was a blast from the past.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A while ago, I wrote about my first crush from when I was 3 years old. Shortly after that I developed the "all boys have cooties" syndrome that lasted until 4th grade. There was a new boy in school this year. I'll call him R. Dub. He was the cutest thing I had ever seen plus he was a good kid and smart in class. (I was a prissy little thing that hated rough bad kids at the time so he was PERFECT!) His seat was right behind mine and I can remember getting all butterflied up if his paper accidentally touched my back, or if his pencil would brush against my hair. I talked my uncle into helping me plot a plan to tell him I liked him. We decided that the next day when my uncle picked me up from school that he'd go up to R. Dub and have a "man to man" talk and tell him that I liked him.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The next day I was sooo nervous through all my classes, anxiously awaiting school to be over so my uncle could talk to R. Dub. The last bell of the day rang and I was kneeling on the floor by desk gathering my books. He leaned forward and said, "Pssst, Diva, I like you!" I was SPEECHLESS!!! Completely paralyzed for what felt like eternity. When I finally got myself together I just looked up at him, smiled, and quickly got my books and hurried out of the class. I ran up to my uncle and told him that we didn't have to go through with the plan because he already told me he liked me. In the next few days, his papers and pencil would touch my back more frequently. He gave me a notepad and pencil set for Christmas. I wrote my first name and his last name on all of my books. Then he transferred schools.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Years later, he ended up going to the same high school as my cousin. I was able to see him a couple times whenever I'd go to her house and we'd talk on the phone occasionally. But long distance relationships were so hard back then. (Long distance meaning going to different schools).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Yesterday, my cousin calls and says "hold one, there's someone here that wants to talk to you." He gets on the phone and says, "I'll give you three guesses to figure out who this is." I only needed one, R. DUB! We talked for awhile, catching up on the 6 years that have passed since the last time we spoke. He asked if I was involved with anyone and I said, "Yes, and I'm very happy." He responded, "Thats good. Wow, it have been a fairy tale ending if we would have ended up together." He's right. It would have been a fairy tale ending. But I already have my Prince Charming. R. Dub was my first real crush. A crush that lasted from 4th grade to 12th grade. And I must admit, I still do care about him. But R. Dub is merely a blast from my past. But it was good to sit back and reminisce.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7118868-113217204577908785?l=divadisclosures.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://divadisclosures.blogspot.com/feeds/113217204577908785/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7118868&amp;postID=113217204577908785' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7118868/posts/default/113217204577908785'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7118868/posts/default/113217204577908785'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://divadisclosures.blogspot.com/2005/11/like-shark-to-blood.html' title='Like a Shark to Blood'/><author><name>Diva</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02899537797599037515</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7118868.post-113166141410709930</id><published>2005-11-11T08:36:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2005-11-10T17:29:44.890-05:00</updated><title type='text'>I Prayed For You</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3821/422/1600/holding%20hands.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3821/422/320/holding%20hands.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I prayed to God to send me&lt;br /&gt;A love thats strong a true&lt;br /&gt;A man to be my soul mate&lt;br /&gt;Then God sent me you&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I asked the Lord to send me&lt;br /&gt;A protector and a friend&lt;br /&gt;A shoulder I could lean on&lt;br /&gt;Who'd stick by me til the end&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A sensitive man with compassion&lt;br /&gt;But who was manly to the core&lt;br /&gt;Someone who's sweet, thoughtful, and kind&lt;br /&gt;But who's strength I can't ignore&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I asked Him for a man that I&lt;br /&gt;Could build my future with&lt;br /&gt;I wanted Him to show me that&lt;br /&gt;A "good Black man" was not a myth&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I needed a man who could be my king&lt;br /&gt;Who could lead us into tomorrow&lt;br /&gt;Who had wisdom and integrity&lt;br /&gt;Who I'd be glad to step back and follow&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I didn't need a perfect, pretty boy&lt;br /&gt;With a movie stars face&lt;br /&gt;I didn't ask for a huge bank account&lt;br /&gt;That could all be gone without a trace&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What I asked Him for was simple&lt;br /&gt;Something I knew that He could do&lt;br /&gt;I prayed that God would send my soul mate&lt;br /&gt;Then God sent me you&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7118868-113166141410709930?l=divadisclosures.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://divadisclosures.blogspot.com/feeds/113166141410709930/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7118868&amp;postID=113166141410709930' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7118868/posts/default/113166141410709930'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7118868/posts/default/113166141410709930'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://divadisclosures.blogspot.com/2005/11/i-prayed-for-you.html' title='I Prayed For You'/><author><name>Diva</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02899537797599037515</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7118868.post-113165703874412295</id><published>2005-11-10T15:51:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2005-11-10T16:10:38.803-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Time to Get to Know Me</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3821/422/1600/all%20about%20me.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3821/422/320/all%20about%20me.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Two of my fellow bloggers, Intricate Essense and Divyne, had this on their blogs and since I couldn't decide what to write about to day I decided to "borrow" their idea!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1. First name? Diva&lt;br /&gt;2. Were you named after anyone? nope, I'm an original&lt;br /&gt;3. When did you last cry? I honestly can't remember. I'm usually an emotional person but life is very good right now&lt;br /&gt;4. Do you like your handwriting? Not at all. Its the EPITOME of chicken scratch.&lt;br /&gt;5. What is your favorite lunch meat? Ham but I'm not really a lunch meat kind of girl.&lt;br /&gt;6. What is your birth date? 12/02.&lt;br /&gt;7. What is your most embarrassing CD? Alanis Morissett&lt;br /&gt;8. If you were another person, would YOU be friends with you? I sure would&lt;br /&gt;9. Do you have a journal? This blog and a blue dolphin one that I write in when I'm out.&lt;br /&gt;10. Do you use sarcasm a lot? Yeah, but not as much as I used to&lt;br /&gt;11. What are your nicknames? Diva, Kiwi&lt;br /&gt;12. Would you bungee jump? Yes, I did the bungee flyer at Six Flags and can't wait to really bungee jump for real!&lt;br /&gt;13. Do you untie your shoes when you take them off? Not really&lt;br /&gt;14. Do you think that you are strong? Most definitely?!&lt;br /&gt;15. What is your favorite ice cream flavor? Vanilla with chocolate syrup&lt;br /&gt;16. Red or pink? Pink&lt;br /&gt;17. What is your least favorite thing about yourself? I can be overly emotional at times.&lt;br /&gt;18. Who do you miss most? My high school coach who passed from Breast cancer&lt;br /&gt;19. Do you want everyone you send this to, to send it Back? If you do you do, if you don't you don't&lt;br /&gt;20. What color pants and shoes are you wearing? Blue jeans w/ black shoes&lt;br /&gt;21. What are you listening to right now? Alicia Keys Unplugged&lt;br /&gt;22. Last thing you ate? McDonalds&lt;br /&gt;23. If you were a crayon, what color would you be? Pink&lt;br /&gt;24. What is the weather like right now? Cool and breezy&lt;br /&gt;25. Last person you talked to on the phone? My baby J&lt;br /&gt;26. The first thing you notice about the opposite sex? Eyes, Build/Height&lt;br /&gt;27. Do you like the person who sent this to you? Yep&lt;br /&gt;28. Favorite drink? Pepsi&lt;br /&gt;29. Favorite sport? Basketball and football&lt;br /&gt;30. Hair color? brown&lt;br /&gt;31. Eye color? Brown&lt;br /&gt;32. Contacts? Yep, i'm blind as a bat!&lt;br /&gt;33. Favorite food? Spaghetti&lt;br /&gt;34. Last movie you watched? The Best Man&lt;br /&gt;35. Favorite day of the year? 12/2 my birthday&lt;br /&gt;36. Scary movies or happy endings? Happy Endings, I'm TERRIFIED of scary movies&lt;br /&gt;37. Summer or winter? Fall is my favorite but I'd go with Winter&lt;br /&gt;38. Hugs or kisses? I love a good hug&lt;br /&gt;39. What is your favorite dessert? warm chocolate chip cookies with vanilla ice cream and chocolate syrup!&lt;br /&gt;40. Who is most likely to respond? Not a clue&lt;br /&gt;41. Who is least likely to respond? Not a clue&lt;br /&gt;42. Living arrangements? Me and my cat Taurus&lt;br /&gt;43. What books are you reading? The Lester Horton Technique (a dance book)&lt;br /&gt;44. What's on your mouse pad? My company&lt;br /&gt;45. What did you watch last night on TV? America's Next Top Model (I'm addicted)&lt;br /&gt;46. Favorite smells? vanilla and lavender&lt;br /&gt;47. Favorite sounds? soft piano music&lt;br /&gt;48. Rolling Stones or Beatles? Rolling Stones&lt;br /&gt;49. What's the farthest you've been from home? Jamaica&lt;br /&gt;50. Do you have a special talent? Ballet&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Here's a bonus question: What would you like people to remember you by? I would like people to remember me as a woman with a kind heart, friendly spirit, and who was passionate about her students, their growth, and the arts.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7118868-113165703874412295?l=divadisclosures.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://divadisclosures.blogspot.com/feeds/113165703874412295/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7118868&amp;postID=113165703874412295' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7118868/posts/default/113165703874412295'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7118868/posts/default/113165703874412295'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://divadisclosures.blogspot.com/2005/11/time-to-get-to-know-me.html' title='Time to Get to Know Me'/><author><name>Diva</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02899537797599037515</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7118868.post-113157032853646435</id><published>2005-11-09T15:11:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2005-11-09T16:06:55.830-05:00</updated><title type='text'>I Feel Good All Over</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3821/422/1600/jump.1.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3821/422/320/jump.0.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In the words of Ms. Stephanie Mills (one of my all time favorite singer), I feel good all over! You know how it is when things are going so good for you that your insides are glowing so much that you feel like you are just radiating on the outside. What a good feeling! So why is this diva feeling so good? Let me count the ways...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;1. MY MAN&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3821/422/1600/lovered.0.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3821/422/320/lovered.0.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Yes I'm talking about him again. I just can't help but talk about all of the great things that he does for me. Case in point, the other day I'm talking to him on the phone while I'm sitting on my couch watching some tv. He just go off work and is driving back up to Baltimore to head out to dinner with his boys. We talk for a little while and then hang up. Ten minutes later there is a knock at my door. I open it and there he stands with two red roses. He gives them to me, kisses me, and says that they are just a little something to know that he was thinking about me and to know how much I mean to him. Awww.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Example number two. As I wrote earlier I had a slumber party for my teens this past weekend. The day before the party he comes over to just chill. When he gets there, I'm in the midst of cleaning the place up. He quickly puts his stuff down, turns on the tv to VH1 Soul and asks what I need him to do. I say, don't worry about it baby. You don't have to clean up. Next thing I know he turns the music up loud, starts jammin to the music cleaning off the tables, washing the dishes, and sweeping the kitchen floor. He didn't have to at all but that small gesture meant soooo much.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Example number three. We're just talking the other day about our "must haves" in life. I admited that I MUST have chocolate OFTEN. I'm a severe chocoholic with no plans of reducing my intake or giving it up. No chocoholics anonymous for me! The next day he comes to the door with a box of chocolates. Do you see why I love this man!?!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;2. NEW HAIRCUT&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3821/422/1600/hairdo.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3821/422/320/hairdo.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Last week I got a new haircut. No its nothing drastic but its a noticeable difference and its looks great. Ladies you know how it is when you just KNOW that you look good. And when you look good, you feel good!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;3. JOB&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3821/422/1600/youngdancers.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 214px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 98px" height="149" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3821/422/320/youngdancers.jpg" width="228" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;While my full time job is still BLAH, my part time job as a dance teacher is going great! The kids are performing very well and I can really see them growing as dancers and young women. Its a great feeling to know that you are playing a part in a young person's life.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;4. WEIGHT&lt;/strong&gt; &lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3821/422/1600/scale.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 83px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 130px" height="153" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3821/422/320/scale.jpg" width="97" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When I talk about my weight most people get mad. While the rest of the world is on a quest to lost weight, I'm trying to find it! I'm not super skinny but I'd like to put on a few pounds to make sure I stay "bootylicious"! I've been small my whole life so I'm trying to really fill out my jeans. And recently I've started packing on a few pounds. Its about time!!!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So all in all life is good right now. I've been blessed with so much, I just can't help to feel good all over. Hopefully I rub off on a few people!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7118868-113157032853646435?l=divadisclosures.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://divadisclosures.blogspot.com/feeds/113157032853646435/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7118868&amp;postID=113157032853646435' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7118868/posts/default/113157032853646435'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7118868/posts/default/113157032853646435'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://divadisclosures.blogspot.com/2005/11/i-feel-good-all-over.html' title='I Feel Good All Over'/><author><name>Diva</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02899537797599037515</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7118868.post-113138467369346261</id><published>2005-11-07T11:44:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2005-11-07T12:31:13.743-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Hey Young Girl!</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3821/422/1600/girls.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3821/422/320/girls.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;For those of you who don't know, my part time job is the director of a dance company for teenagers. I decided to let them come over to my house this past weekend for a slumber party and to have a chance to get to know and bond with the new members that we just brought in. During our girl talk session I was shocked at that their candidness and the things that these young girls have gone through at such a young age. Now I knew that times are different from when I was a teenager and that kids today start off young, but I didn't know it was THIS young.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The girls range in age from 13-17 but most of them are 14 years old. About half of the girls had already lost their virginity and have sex on a regular basis. Some of the ones who were still virgins were anxiously awaiting getting the opportunity to lose theirs. Every single one of the girls knew someone their age who either has a baby or has had an abortion. Every single girl knew of a girl their age who has already come out of the closet as a lesbian. Two of the girls had been asked to engage in lesbian activity. And one girl, age 13, had been hit by an ex-boyfriend.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;These facts astounded me. Todays youth face grown up issues in their dating lives. Remember back in the day when we were in junior high and high school, our issues were if the person you had a crush on liked you. Who was going to get asked to the dance or not. And just getting kissed was a big deal.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm glad I had the chance to talk to them about these issues and give them my perspective and advice on some questions they had. If only more girls had the opportunity to candidly talk to someone about their issues maybe we could curb some of this behavior. Young people have so much on their plates and afterall, they are still kids. They aren't ready to handle everything that comes with having sex. So I encourage you all, get out their and mentor. Become a big brother or big sister. If they have someone to look up to who is on a POSITIVE path they would be able to get back to being kids again.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7118868-113138467369346261?l=divadisclosures.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://divadisclosures.blogspot.com/feeds/113138467369346261/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7118868&amp;postID=113138467369346261' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7118868/posts/default/113138467369346261'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7118868/posts/default/113138467369346261'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://divadisclosures.blogspot.com/2005/11/hey-young-girl.html' title='Hey Young Girl!'/><author><name>Diva</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02899537797599037515</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7118868.post-112965734523393353</id><published>2005-10-18T11:13:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2005-10-18T13:42:25.303-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Auditory Reassurance</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3821/422/1600/Idontloveu.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3821/422/320/Idontloveu.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In my last post, I said that J's displays of affection and kind acts of taking care of me while I was sick was a sign of love.  I stand behind that statement.  But there is a part of me that needs more.  Am I bein greedy?  Slightly spoiled?  Yes, I probably am, but the fact remains that I'm the type of girl that needs auditory reassurance.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Yes, actions speak louder than words but I still need to hear those words.  I need to hear you say, "Diva, I love you!"  I don't think thats too much to ask.  Every day J &lt;strong&gt;SHOWS&lt;/strong&gt; me he loves me by the way he looks at me, the way he holds me in his arms, the way he takes care of me and would do anything for me if I asked (and sometimes I don't even need to ask).  He somehow even knows what I need before I know it myself.  Except for one thing...he apparently doesn't know that I need to &lt;strong&gt;HEAR&lt;/strong&gt; how he feels about me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You're probably thinking that I'm asking too much or I'm prematurely asking him to lay his heart on the line.  Maybe its too early for us to be in love.  We've only been together for a few months.  But I don't think thats too short of a time period.  I've known that I've loved J for a while now.  I mean, how can you not love a man like him?  But maybe he's the type of person who takes longer before uttering those three power punched words: I LOVE YOU.   Or is he?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Very early on in our relationship, he was the first to say that he was "falling in love" with me.  Months later, he's still falling.  Must be quite a long fall!  While at dinner one night at the Olive Garden about a month ago, he initiated the conversation about our future together, including telling me that he can see himself marrying me, an estimate of the time period where we both thought that marriage would be feasible, the number of children that we thought would be ideal and a rough time period where we thought starting a family would be best.  Never in my entire life have I had a man initiate such a conversation and quite frankly it slightly startled me (but in a good way).  Randomly, he'll even just say "you are so special to me" or "you mean so much to me" but never "I love you".  Quite frankly, maybe he doesn't yet.  So until he does, I guess I just have to sit back and wait and be content with the acts of love instead of the words.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7118868-112965734523393353?l=divadisclosures.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://divadisclosures.blogspot.com/feeds/112965734523393353/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7118868&amp;postID=112965734523393353' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7118868/posts/default/112965734523393353'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7118868/posts/default/112965734523393353'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://divadisclosures.blogspot.com/2005/10/auditory-reassurance.html' title='Auditory Reassurance'/><author><name>Diva</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02899537797599037515</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7118868.post-112931711092199245</id><published>2005-10-14T14:52:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2005-10-14T15:12:26.190-04:00</updated><title type='text'>I'm Sick :(</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3821/422/1600/sixk.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3821/422/320/sixk.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; Today I feel like stir fried slop! Thats right. I'm sick as a dog. This crazy change of seasons has officially knocked me on my bootie! It went from 80 degree weather to 10 inches of rain and 60 degree weather in about a week. My body just couldn't take it. So now I'm sitting at work feeling like a freight train is running rampid through my sinuses and my head, waiting for time to get off work. Not to mention that tonight the kids I teach dance to have a performance so I'll have to deal with them tonight instead of going straight home and going to bed. &lt;p&gt;I know you're wondering, "How does you being sick relate to your dating disclosures?" Well, I just had to write about how wonderful a man J is. (Yes another, my man is perfect post! Get over it!) &lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;To make matters worse, not only did I catch a cold, but Aunt Flo came to visit. Ladies you know what I'm talking about. The first day of my cycle is always HELL. Hell I tell you! HELL! So J comes over to take care of me. He starts by cooking dinner. (He's no chef but he whipped up a bag of skillet sensations really well! I recommend them for all the non-cooks out there) Dinner was good and then he proceeded to rub my belly all night to try to alleviate my cramps. Now usually during this time, I don't want anyone to bother or touch me, but his rubbing my belly really felt good. I laid down for a nap and when I woke up he had washed the dishes, taken out the trash, cleaned up the living room, and fed the cat! I was like WOW!!! Suprised the mess out of me but I was really happy because I sure as heck didn't feel like doing that.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;So then the cold comes on full force. He makes sure I have enough orange juice and then lays down with me and holds me til I fall asleep. I warned him that I might be spreading my germs on him but he didn't care. He said he just wanted to make me feel better. At that point if I wasn't so tired, I would have been cheesin and blushing but that would have taken too much energy out of me. So the morale of the story is...When you're sick and your significant other takes care of you and is willing to sacrifice their own health just to make you feel better, thats love!&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7118868-112931711092199245?l=divadisclosures.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://divadisclosures.blogspot.com/feeds/112931711092199245/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7118868&amp;postID=112931711092199245' title='5 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7118868/posts/default/112931711092199245'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7118868/posts/default/112931711092199245'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://divadisclosures.blogspot.com/2005/10/im-sick_14.html' title='I&apos;m Sick :('/><author><name>Diva</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02899537797599037515</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>5</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7118868.post-112429681032629028</id><published>2005-10-13T14:38:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2005-10-13T14:56:15.876-04:00</updated><title type='text'>My First Crush</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3821/422/1600/first%20crush.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3821/422/320/first%20crush.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I always had a thing for older men. I was 3 and he was 5!! I wasn't quite old enough for school yet but my grandmother was a kindergarden teacher so I went to school with her every day. I had my own desk and everything (which I begged my grandmother to put next to him). His name was Linwood. Whenever I said his name I'd tilt my head to the left, smile, and say it real slow...Liiinwooooood.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It was Valentines Day, 1985.  We had a mailbox in the front of the class that everyone put their Valentine's day cards in, and one student was the post man who would sort all of the cards and then pass the cards out to everyone.  The night before I had my mom help me pick out the cutest Valentine kids card from the store and I had carefully written "To: Linwood, From: Diva" (but my real name)  with my grandmoms help.  I was only 3 but I could write my BUTT off! &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I went up and put the card in the mailbox and went back to my desk to patiently wait for the postman to deliver the cards.  I got a lot of cards that year.  I looked through them to see who they were from.  There were some from a couple of girls in the class, they weren't important.  I got some from the boys too, they didn't matter to me.  Then I saw it.  I couldn't quite read yet but I recognized the name...Linwood.  I remember I had the biggest smile on my face that was humanly possible.  For the rest of the day, I would tell anyone who would listen, "I got a card from Liiiinwoooood".  It even turned into a song after awhile.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The sad thing is, that even though that was soooo juvenile and sooo unimportant, it was one of the best Valentine's Day's I've ever had.  The way my luck has been February 14th might as well be Friday the 13th in my book.  But hopefully now that I have a man in my life, next Valentine's Day will be even better than a "Be Mine" card from Liiiiinwoooood.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7118868-112429681032629028?l=divadisclosures.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://divadisclosures.blogspot.com/feeds/112429681032629028/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7118868&amp;postID=112429681032629028' title='5 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7118868/posts/default/112429681032629028'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7118868/posts/default/112429681032629028'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://divadisclosures.blogspot.com/2005/10/my-first-crush.html' title='My First Crush'/><author><name>Diva</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02899537797599037515</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>5</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7118868.post-112905798184016259</id><published>2005-10-11T11:55:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2005-10-11T15:13:01.866-04:00</updated><title type='text'>The Baby Train</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3821/422/1600/teenage%20mom.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3821/422/320/teenage%20mom.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She's only 16, and now she's pregnant....again. She got an abortion the first time, so she decided she wants to keep this one. Her 17th birthday is in a couple of weeks. What a present!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Contrary to the way it sounds, my cousin is a good kid. She's had a hard life and basically had to raise herself because of her neglecting, drug addicted parents. Just last week, my mom and I were saying how proud we were of her. She just got a new job to save for college because she knew that her parents weren't going to get her there. It was up to her to make her dream of becoming a pharmacist come true. She had filled out applications to the schools of her choice. She was one of the star dancers in the hip hop performance group at the dance studio I teach at. We had just got back from LA where the group competed and won the Debbie Allen dance competition. She had even been scouted by one of the choreographers from the hip hop krumpin dance movie RIZE. She was doing her thang!! But now she's pregnant.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My family has this thing that I call the baby train. We just keep 'em movin. Every woman of child bearing age in my entire family (mother, grandmother, aunts, and cousins) have either had a baby or an abortion by the time they were 18. Except for me. Somehow, (thank goodness), I was able to hop off of that baby train and escaped being another one of my families statistics. By the time my grandmother was my age she had already had 4 children. I'm not even 24 yet! There is no way I could imagine having four kids at this point in my life.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So as my cousin enters the world of single teenage mothers, my heart hurts for her. But like every other woman in my family I know she'll persevere and be a great mom to her child (though she's only a child herself). Now is the time for my family to surround her with love and support and do whatever it takes to continue raising them both.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7118868-112905798184016259?l=divadisclosures.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://divadisclosures.blogspot.com/feeds/112905798184016259/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7118868&amp;postID=112905798184016259' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7118868/posts/default/112905798184016259'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7118868/posts/default/112905798184016259'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://divadisclosures.blogspot.com/2005/10/baby-train.html' title='The Baby Train'/><author><name>Diva</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02899537797599037515</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7118868.post-112724819035853302</id><published>2005-10-09T23:42:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2005-10-09T23:58:51.770-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Us of the Fatherless Tribe</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3821/422/1600/waiting-for-daddy.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3821/422/320/waiting-for-daddy.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I was watching Def Poetry Jam one day and a poet on there said a line that really struck a cord with me. She said, "Us of the fatherless tribe love men differently." I repeated that sentence over and over again trying to piece together all of the thoughts that immediately raced around my mind and decide if I agreed with her. Using the power of TIVO, I rewinded her performance over and over again to make sure I didn't miss a single point that she made. My conclusion? I think she's right.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I am a member of the fatherless tribe. The man who implanted his seed into my mothers young body left less than 24 months after I entered the world. Nine years later, he returned for a couple of months and then left permanently, thus solidfying my place in this vast fatherless tribe. But the question remains...has my membership in this tribe altered the way I love men? After long contemplation, I must say yes.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I was blessed to have been raised by three strong black women: my grandmother, my aunt, and my mother. They showered me with love and every other thing possible but yet I was still lacking something. I grew up in the house with my grandfather but his love was a bit different. Though I saw him every day, he was slightly cold. A long span in the military followed by civilian service had hardened him so he was never one for emotional fatherly talks. So with no male influence, when it was my time to enter the world of dating, I was clueless to say the least.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;High school and college were filled with many relationships and flings. It was me searching for something specific yet never being able to find it. They say women go after men that remind them of their father. I didn't know who mine was so I tried every type of man under the sun. They all failed. Perhaps I'm the reason why none of them worked.  Perhaps my search for the love I was lacking doomed every relationship before it started.  I discarded men in a matter of months. Some never had a chance to even last that long. I left them because they were missing something or wasn't able to give me something. Looking back on it, I realize that they weren't giving me a type of "fatherly love".&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I know you're probably thinking, "Oh this chick is crazy! She was looking for a man that would act like her father." Thats partly right and I'm not ashamed to admit it. I wasn't looking for a man to be my father, I was looking for a man that would love me unconditionally. That would make me feel safe. That would take me in his arms and hold me so tight like I was his prize possession. Someone that would take care of me when I was sick, console me when I was sad, and tell me that I was the best thing that ever happened to him. Someone who I would hate to be away from for too long and would run to the door whenever he came home from work. Physically, I am drawn to big guys. Tall, muscular builds. The kind that just scream MANLINESS!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Maybe thats one of the reasons why J swept me off my feet so quickly. He takes care of me and holds me in his arms like I'm the best thing that ever happened to him. He's a big strong guy and I honestly feel safe with him. Like he would never let anything or anyone hurt me. He's the first man thats made me feel this way.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;For us in the fatherless tribe, its all about security. Being with a man who is consistant, constant, and stable. Someone who won't just up and leave you. Someone who's in it for the long haul. He has your best interest in mind at all times and the two of you share the deepest bond imagineable. This all may seem very strange to some of you but its the way I think. No I do not look at J as a father figure but I do look at him as my protector, my friend, and my love. No I've never been daddy's little girl but I am J's woman and he's my big daddy :)&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7118868-112724819035853302?l=divadisclosures.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://divadisclosures.blogspot.com/feeds/112724819035853302/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7118868&amp;postID=112724819035853302' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7118868/posts/default/112724819035853302'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7118868/posts/default/112724819035853302'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://divadisclosures.blogspot.com/2005/10/us-of-fatherless-tribe.html' title='Us of the Fatherless Tribe'/><author><name>Diva</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02899537797599037515</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7118868.post-112861530915684667</id><published>2005-10-06T11:38:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2005-10-06T12:15:26.893-04:00</updated><title type='text'>My apologies</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3821/422/1600/sorry%20shirt.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3821/422/320/sorry%20shirt.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p&gt;OK, Ok, ok....I know. Its been damn near a month since I've posted. I know what you're thinking....This chick goes off and falls in love and forgets all about the rest of the world. For that I only have two words...MY BAD!&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;See what had happened was (classic disclaimer), I have been super busy. Plus I've been having slight writers block. The theme of this blog is my dating disclosures. And since I've been with J, I haven't been dating. I can only tell you about the gushy stuff we do so many times before you get bored. So I'm trying to write about my friends dating lives and dating in general. I promise I'll get back on this blog bandwagen and get this site going again for yall. &lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7118868-112861530915684667?l=divadisclosures.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://divadisclosures.blogspot.com/feeds/112861530915684667/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7118868&amp;postID=112861530915684667' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7118868/posts/default/112861530915684667'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7118868/posts/default/112861530915684667'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://divadisclosures.blogspot.com/2005/10/my-apologies.html' title='My apologies'/><author><name>Diva</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02899537797599037515</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7118868.post-112673019822897479</id><published>2005-09-14T16:33:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2005-09-14T16:36:38.233-04:00</updated><title type='text'>From one Dreamer to Another</title><content type='html'>This man's blog is AMAZING.  I sat at my computer reading his page and my eyes literally couldn't move fast enough.  His name is Will and his blog is entitled, "In My Write Mind."  This post in particular, "A Dream Deferred", touched me because I had a similar experience to his with discovering this poem and it seems as though he took the words right out of my mouth.  Check this page out. You won't be disappointed...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://inmywritemind.blogsome.com/2005/09/12/a-dream-preferred/"&gt;http://inmywritemind.blogsome.com/2005/09/12/a-dream-preferred/&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7118868-112673019822897479?l=divadisclosures.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://divadisclosures.blogspot.com/feeds/112673019822897479/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7118868&amp;postID=112673019822897479' title='5 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7118868/posts/default/112673019822897479'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7118868/posts/default/112673019822897479'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://divadisclosures.blogspot.com/2005/09/from-one-dreamer-to-another.html' title='From one Dreamer to Another'/><author><name>Diva</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02899537797599037515</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>5</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7118868.post-112429670196311149</id><published>2005-09-13T15:35:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2005-09-14T16:37:08.163-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Hair Combing Dreams</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3821/422/1600/hair%20comb.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3821/422/320/hair%20comb.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I was tenderheaded with a boat load of hair when I was younger and looked an uncanny amount like this little girl in the picture. Getting my hair combed everyday was an unpleasant yet necessary experience. I'd hate to have my hair combed but also hate having it messed up. So during those times when I just wanted to cry while getting my hair combed (and my grandma threatening to pop my head with the brush and "give me something to cry about") I'd day dream about different things. Anything to get my head off of..... my head. One of the main things that I would dream about is what my life would be like when I got older and the man I would marry.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I pictured everything. The way he would pronounce my name. The way he would show me he cared. The way he'd propose to me. How he would act. How tall he would be, his complexion, his build, how he would smell. However, some of these things slightly changed as I got older. My dream man visions at the age of seven were slightly different than the visions at age 14 but since then its been pretty consistent and he has been etched in my mind. I had everything pictured....well everything except his face.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The other day I was watching my little cousin get her hair done and reminisced back to my hair combing day dreams of my dream guy and realized that he was here. J was my dream guy. I hadn't recognized him at first because quite frankly, he had a face, and my guy never did. But everything else is exactly what I had asked for. His height, build, voice, everything is as if I pressed him out of a prototype. In that instant, reality hit. Any doubts that I had of whether or not he and I were meant to be, vanished. All the fears I had of us moving too fast disappeared. After all, this was the man that I had dreamed about and had prayed for. The past is the past. The heartbreaks before him are behind me. I'm dedicating 100% of my time, effort, and heart into fostering this relationship and watching it grow. God has blessed me with him and I'm going to cherish every minute.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Here is my dream guy, J...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3821/422/1600/James-blacked.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3821/422/320/James-blacked.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7118868-112429670196311149?l=divadisclosures.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://divadisclosures.blogspot.com/feeds/112429670196311149/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7118868&amp;postID=112429670196311149' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7118868/posts/default/112429670196311149'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7118868/posts/default/112429670196311149'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://divadisclosures.blogspot.com/2005/09/hair-combing-dreams.html' title='Hair Combing Dreams'/><author><name>Diva</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02899537797599037515</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7118868.post-112559632644377013</id><published>2005-09-01T13:33:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2005-09-01T13:38:46.450-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Reinforcement</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3821/422/1600/robinsonbook.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3821/422/320/robinsonbook.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I wasn't kidding in my last post. Its not a game! I actually found a book about a womans love for sports by Holly Robinson Peete (one of my favorite stars by the way who I've been told I slightly resemble).   Its called, "&lt;strong&gt;Get Your Own Damn Beer, I'm Watching The Game!  A Woman's Guide To Loving Pro Football&lt;/strong&gt;".  This book will help you non-football fans out with understanding the game. Here is the amazon.com description:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;"Year after year, Sunday afternoons and Monday nights during the NFL season have belonged to men. While they cheer and argue play calls, the women in their lives are relegated to beer and chip detail. It's time for these women to join the action, and Holly Robinson Peete, star of 21 Jump Street, For Your Love, and Hangin' with Mr. Cooper, and wife of NFL quarterback Rodney Peete, has written this hip, smart, cheerful guide to help them do so.Peete shares her infectious enthusiasm for pro football and takes the complexity out of the game by breaking it down to its component parts. She explains the role of each position player, provides a rundown of all on-field penalties and referees' hand signals, and offers an illustrated guide to some of the most common plays in the NFL. She gives her take on the most memorable plays in NFL history and dishes some inside dirt-in a breezy, girl-talkin' narrative that promises to turn the novice spectator into a well-informed football fanatic."&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Read and enjoy!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7118868-112559632644377013?l=divadisclosures.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://divadisclosures.blogspot.com/feeds/112559632644377013/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7118868&amp;postID=112559632644377013' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7118868/posts/default/112559632644377013'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7118868/posts/default/112559632644377013'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://divadisclosures.blogspot.com/2005/09/reinforcement.html' title='Reinforcement'/><author><name>Diva</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02899537797599037515</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7118868.post-112535363002561064</id><published>2005-08-31T13:13:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2005-08-31T15:15:29.076-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Sports, Sex, and Food!</title><content type='html'>&lt;em&gt;&lt;span style="color:#6600cc;"&gt;"I'm about to hip yall to some game...."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Know about football, basketball too&lt;br /&gt;Know all the players, know all the rules&lt;br /&gt;Cook up a meal, learn a new move&lt;br /&gt;The way to his heart is&lt;br /&gt;Sports, Sex, and Food!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;span style="color:#6600cc;"&gt;~Tweet&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Alright ladies. I know I'm new to this whole relationship thing but I think I have a good handle on how to get/keep a man. I know you all have heard the saying that the way to a mans heart is through his stomach. Thats partly true. Let me break it down for yall....&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;SPORTS&lt;/strong&gt; &lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3821/422/1600/sports.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3821/422/320/sports.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This is very important ladies. Most men love sports. Now don't get me wrong, there are some guys out there who can't tell the Atlanta Braves apart from the Washington Redskins. But 9 times out of 10, he probably has at least some interest in sports. Ordinarally, he'll figure that women don't care about sports. Especially the prissy ones like me. But thats when you surprise them and knock them off their feet. When you can throw a guy for a loop you're just making him want more and to get to know you more. Thats definitely a good thing.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;If you've been reading my blog in the past you know that I got in good with the Coworker by inviting him over to my place to watch the NBA finals. Worked like a charm. And my boyfriend J just loves the little rivalry we have going on between my team the Washington Redskins and his team the Baltimore Ravens.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But you can't just watch sports with them and not know a damn thing thats going on. There is nothing worse than trying to enjoy a game and someone keeps asking dumb questions right when Ed Reed just caught an inteception and is running it back for a touchdown. (He plays for the Ravens). &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3821/422/1600/edreed.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3821/422/320/edreed.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;So you have to learn a little something. If that means doing a little research on the internet about players, stats, and rules...DO IT! Trust me ladies, its worth it!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;SEX&lt;/strong&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3821/422/1600/black%20love1.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3821/422/320/black%20love1.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In today's society, sex is important. There's no getting around it. I'm sure there are some of yall out there that practice abstinence or are 40 year old virgins. I'm not knocking you. MORE POWER TO YOU!!! Thats just not the world that I live in! Men by nature are sexual beings. They think about sex who knows how many times per day. Thats the sad truth.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The main point of this section is to tell you to take care of home. Keep him intrigued. Wear a cute little nightie to bed instead of a pair of flannel pajamas. Try out a new "move" on him that will have him saying, "Damn girl!" Keep it interesting. Keep it spicy. Don't fall into a rut. Because if you don't give your man what he needs, another woman will!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;FOOD&lt;/strong&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3821/422/1600/food.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3821/422/320/food.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The old adage is right. The way to a mans heart is through his stomach. Most men can eat like crazy! I mean its like they have a bottomless pit. And the sad part is that most men CAN'T cook yet they crave a good home cooked meal as a welcome change from the McDonald's and Wendy's that they eat on a daily basis. So if you can throw down in the kitchen you have a "one up" on keeping your man. One day I made a simple pot of spaghetti for J and he went back for THREE plates! Afterwards he said, "With food like this, I might have to go ring shopping!" He was exagerrating but the point is that we have to get off this independent woman (well just a little bit) and take it back to the way our grandmothers used to throw down in the kitchen. I know some of yall won't agree with me but think about it.....there was a lot less divorces back then!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So to sum it all up, you have to get down on his level. Understand the workings of a man's mind, and in my experience, this is the way a man's mind works. Take my advice, trust me, you'll thank me! &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7118868-112535363002561064?l=divadisclosures.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://divadisclosures.blogspot.com/feeds/112535363002561064/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7118868&amp;postID=112535363002561064' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7118868/posts/default/112535363002561064'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7118868/posts/default/112535363002561064'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://divadisclosures.blogspot.com/2005/08/sports-sex-and-food.html' title='Sports, Sex, and Food!'/><author><name>Diva</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02899537797599037515</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7118868.post-112491748232555760</id><published>2005-08-29T16:57:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2005-08-31T13:22:34.846-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Confessions</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3821/422/1600/exboyfriend.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3821/422/200/exboyfriend.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I had a phone conversation with an ex-boyfriend of mine yesterday. For the sake of this blog I'll call him "Green Eyes." Here's a brief history about us... We had a good relationship, a horrible breakup, an attempt at getting back together, and finally a decent friendship. This was the first time I had talked to him in a couple months so we did the usual catching up.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#cc33cc;"&gt;Diva&lt;/span&gt;: "How's work coming?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#009900;"&gt;Green Eyes&lt;/span&gt;: "Same ol same ol. How's dance?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#cc33cc;"&gt;Diva&lt;/span&gt;: "Great. We won a couple competitions and are getting ready for a performance in a couple weeks."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#009900;"&gt;Green Eyes&lt;/span&gt;: "Sounds good. So are you dating?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#cc33cc;"&gt;Diva&lt;/span&gt;: Yes I am. Things are going great!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#009900;"&gt;Green Eyes&lt;/span&gt;: Does he know about me?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#cc33cc;"&gt;Diva&lt;/span&gt;: Know about you for what? (I really didn't see the point)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#009900;"&gt;Green Eyes:&lt;/span&gt; So you all can air all your dirty laundry. You know, get your past out there for each other to know. You should tell him about your ex's especially the recent ones.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In my mind I'm thinking, what kind of sick and twisted thing is this man talking about? Is he trying to sabatoge my relationship with J by making me spill the beans on my past romances? By George I think he is!!!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The next day I tell one of my friends about his foolishness and much to my surprise she agreed with him. Her argument was that honesty is the best policy and that you should bring your past to the light in order to avoid skeletons falling out of your closet in the future. Now don't get me wrong, I see where she is coming from. To a certain extent, I agree that some things should be told like crazy ex-stalkers that still might be lurking around, explorations into the same sex, videos that might be floating on the internet. But I don't have any of these to tell.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Should I tell J about all the crazy ex-boyfriends I've had? Should I tell him exact details of the reason each of my relationships fell apart? Should I tell him that I was involved with someone when we first started dating?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As Whitney Houston would say..."&lt;strong&gt;HELL TO THE NAW&lt;/strong&gt;!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Yes honesty is the best policy and its good to get things out in the open but there are some confessions that I'm not willing or ready to make. What do you all think?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7118868-112491748232555760?l=divadisclosures.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://divadisclosures.blogspot.com/feeds/112491748232555760/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7118868&amp;postID=112491748232555760' title='9 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7118868/posts/default/112491748232555760'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7118868/posts/default/112491748232555760'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://divadisclosures.blogspot.com/2005/08/confessions.html' title='Confessions'/><author><name>Diva</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02899537797599037515</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>9</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7118868.post-112490006428735079</id><published>2005-08-24T12:14:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2005-08-24T15:28:18.283-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Like Whitney Loves Bobby</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3821/422/1600/whitneyandbobby12.gif"&gt;&lt;img style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3821/422/200/whitneyandbobby11.gif" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; Today I'm going to talk about unconditional love. You know that Whitney and Bobby love. Anybody who has ever watched the show "Being Bobby Brown" on Bravo knows what I'm talking about. Through the good, the bad, the tabloids, and the incarcerations, their love has stood the test of time. &lt;p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;Growing up I was a huge Whitney Houston fan. I mean, HUGE!!! I remember being in my room, singing at the top of my lungs into my "microphone" (my hair brush) every lyric to every one of her songs including "I Wanna Dance With Somebody", "Where do Broken Hearts Go", and even "My name is not Susan." (For some reason I loved that song!) Then my grandmother would come in and tell me that singing was not a gift that God blessed me with and that I should be working on those gifts not singing. In other words, she was telling me to shut that racket up!!! But I didn't care! I'd wait for her to leave and continue to sing quietly in my room until the music hit me deep in my soul and I belted out the loudest longest "AND IIIIIIIIII" from her song "I will always love you".&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;I remember watching her movies like The Bodyguard and The Preachers Wife and Waiting to Exhale thinking she was the most beautiful woman in the world. You couldn't even hate on her. She was beautiful with an amazing voice. And then came Bobby Brown.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3821/422/320/whitneybobbygood.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;At first I couldn't really understand it but it wasn't the end of the world for me. Yes they seemed like the epitome of a mix-matched couple but hey, she was Whitney Houston and could do what she wanted to do. But things changed. She was no longer the beautiful, sweet girl next door vocal powerhouse. She became this....&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3821/422/320/whitneybobbybad.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;The world as I knew it was over! I became disappointed in my once idol. She let a man bring her down and she turned into a crazy crack head. But as I got older I realized that she really, truly loves this man. She stood by his side unconditionally. She attended every court hearing, sentencing, and every jail release. She supported him in his career and even proclaimed on national television that he was the "King of R&amp;B". (Yes he had some nice songs in the 80's but she must have been smoking some good stuff that day to think he is the king!). But anyway, the point is that she was unconditionally his woman. Even when the entire world said that she should leave him, even when her mother didn't approve of her relationship and lifestyle, even when her fans didn't go out and buy her latest album, she was unconditionally his woman. &lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;Yes their relationship is strange, and no I don't support their lifestyle, I know that the share unwavering trust and love. Each new episode you get a peak into their strange relationship and you see how even more strange she is than you originally thought. And even though I pray to God that I never have to go through the same ups and downs that they have gone through, I asked the Lord to send me a man that would show me that same kind of endless love. I'm not the only one looking for a love like that. The singer Shawn Kane even had a song about it called "Like Whitney Loves Bobby". Here is the chorus...&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt; &lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;span style="color:#cc33cc;"&gt;"Could you love me unconditionally, like Whitney loves Bobby&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;span style="color:#cc33cc;"&gt;Could hold me, kiss me, and wait for me, like Whitney did Bobby&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;span style="color:#cc33cc;"&gt;Even when I mess up would you go through the fire or walk away and call me a liar&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;span style="color:#cc33cc;"&gt;Can you love me unconditionally, like Whitney loves Bobby"&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;span style="color:#cc33cc;"&gt;-Shawn Kane&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3821/422/320/whitneybobby.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p&gt; &lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7118868-112490006428735079?l=divadisclosures.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://divadisclosures.blogspot.com/feeds/112490006428735079/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7118868&amp;postID=112490006428735079' title='10 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7118868/posts/default/112490006428735079'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7118868/posts/default/112490006428735079'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://divadisclosures.blogspot.com/2005/08/like-whitney-loves-bobby.html' title='Like Whitney Loves Bobby'/><author><name>Diva</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02899537797599037515</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>10</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7118868.post-112429620622483610</id><published>2005-08-23T12:29:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2005-08-23T14:19:50.813-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Girl Talk</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3821/422/1600/girl%20talk3.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3821/422/320/girl%20talk3.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This past weekend, J and I were at the mall and we ran into a couple of my friends.  I introduced them all and one of my friends playfully said, "J, its nice to finally meet you.  I've heard so much about you."  That made me start to think.  Wow, she really has heard so much about him.  I hadn't realized how much I had told my friends about him and how much I, in turn, knew about my friends significant others.  I came to the conclusion, girl talk isn't just reserved for high school teenagers.  Us women talk just as much.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What exactly do we talk about? .....  EVERYTHING!!!  From our guys occupation to their middle name.  We tell it all.  I actually had a friend recite her mans social security number by heart!  I think that is a bit extreme but it proves my point that nothing is really off limits for some women to talk about.  I have spilled the beans on topics like J's favorite foods, sleeping habits, occupation, and even some family history but there is one thing that I do not reveal to my female friends.  Thats our intimate details regarding our sex life.  Some things just aren't meant to be told.  I love my friends to death, and trust them (for the most part) but telling a woman about a good man who is good in bed is like throwing meat to hungry lionesses!  Therefore, my girls get generic pieces of information like, "yes we are sexually involved." Or "yes he keeps me satisfied."  Intricate details like the when, where, and how are revealed.  But thats just my personal practice.  My friends don't care AT ALL!  I know who's boyfriend isn't "packin", who goes all night, who would rather take things into "her own hands".  They spill everything.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But sex isn't the only thing that we talk about.  Some women disclose their mans income, their baby mama drama, you name it, its up for discussion.  The sweet things he does for us, the times he made us mad, and of course the ugly things.  (One friend told me about the ugly faces her man made when he climaxed.  SCARY!!)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But WHY do we tell our friends so much about our mates?  Is it for affirmation from our friends that we are with a good man?  Are we trying to make our friends jealous when we tell them about the good things?  Are we simply just trying to get advice about a situation?  Or is it just something to talk about?  For each woman and each conversation, the reason could be any of these.  But no matter what the reason is, and no matter if its right or if its wrong...just know that like TLC said....&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"The girls are talking, the girls are talking!"&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7118868-112429620622483610?l=divadisclosures.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://divadisclosures.blogspot.com/feeds/112429620622483610/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7118868&amp;postID=112429620622483610' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7118868/posts/default/112429620622483610'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7118868/posts/default/112429620622483610'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://divadisclosures.blogspot.com/2005/08/girl-talk_23.html' title='Girl Talk'/><author><name>Diva</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02899537797599037515</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7118868.post-112430289454713755</id><published>2005-08-17T17:06:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2005-08-26T15:02:14.523-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Meeting The Family</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3821/422/1600/meetparents1.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3821/422/320/meetparents1.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; We did it. We took the big plunge. I introduced J to my family. Thankfully it wasn't as disastrous as the movie "Meet the Parents." Things actually went great.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It was my grandfathers 74th birthday cookout. My entire family was there. Aunts, crazy uncles, cousins, family members I haven't seen in years and couldn't remember their names. The place was packed. We walk in and are immediately greeted by two crazy, over protective uncles. They quickly give him the once over "let me size you up before I break you down" look. But my baby handled it perfectly. He laughed at their jokes, threw a couple out there and within minutes they were giving him the "handshake." (You know the handshake that black men give each other that says, "you're all right with me".) Uncles: CHECK!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Next it was time to meet my grandparents, two of the four people who raised me. My grandmother gave him the same loving embrace that she gives everyone. Standing on her tip toes (cause she's only 4'10") with a huge smile and saying, "Hey baby." My granddad wasn't quite as warm, with a stern look on his face all he said was "hello." After I gave him his birthday present and told him that J helped me pick it out he softened up and said "You kids go fix yall a plate of food." Grandparents: CHECK!!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Now its moms turn to meet him; my third parental unit (&lt;em&gt;I come from a non-traditional family&lt;/em&gt;) Being a newly divorced woman she was taken back by his muscular build. I had to give her the "he's mine" look so she wouldn't get any ideas.  (just kidding, moms is cool)  She loved the way he quickly got up from the table where he was eating so he could help her with her bags and how cleared the table for me once I was done eating. When he stepped out of the room, she gave me her approval: a strong head nod saying "you go girl!". Mom: CHECK!!!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Last but not least, its parent number 4: my aunt Lynn. I thought she would be the toughest but surprisingly she was the easiest. It was just, "Hello J, I've heard so much about you. Nice to finally meet you." Thats it? I was just waiting for her to start grilling him but she didn't. Later on I asked her why she didn't grill him and she said that she didn't feeel she needed to. He seemed cool and I have her blessings. Wow. Aunt Lynn: CHECK!!!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;All in all, the day was great. Besides everyone telling J how much I talk about him and how I smile when they say his name, it was a perfect first meeting for them. Yeah I was a bit embarrassed when J saw the million and one baby pictures of me around the house and when my family told him how they feel like they know everything about him because I won't stop talking about him. But its ok, he already knows I'm completely smittened by him.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As we were leaving and saying goodbye to everyone my uncles and cousins would each give him a handshake or hug and tell him welcome to the family. That seems a bit premature to me but I'm just glad that they liked him and accept him as the man I want to be with. He's only the third guy I've ever brought home to meet my family. Will he be the last? Who knows. Only time will tell. You'll have to keep reading to see.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7118868-112430289454713755?l=divadisclosures.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://divadisclosures.blogspot.com/feeds/112430289454713755/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7118868&amp;postID=112430289454713755' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7118868/posts/default/112430289454713755'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7118868/posts/default/112430289454713755'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://divadisclosures.blogspot.com/2005/08/meeting-family.html' title='Meeting The Family'/><author><name>Diva</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02899537797599037515</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7118868.post-112205238050187031</id><published>2005-08-16T17:12:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2005-08-26T15:04:41.903-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Getting To Know You</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3821/422/1600/painter.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3821/422/320/painter.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#33ccff;"&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Getting to know you&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;strong&gt;All about you&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Its the thing I most desire&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Getting to know you&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Being around you&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Turns the passion into fire&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;strong&gt;And I'm so alive&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Everytime I look into your eyes&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;strong&gt;I'm falling in love....&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;strong&gt;~Babyface&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/em&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The "Getting to Know You" phase is so exciting. The process of delving into the true essence of a person and discovering new things about them is intense. Their middle name, their favorite color, their favorite food. No detail is too small. Their biggest fear, their closest secret, their ultimate fantasy. I want to know it all. And in turn, I open myself to him. Telling him things that only a handful of people on this earth know. But he's so inquisitive that somehow he's able to figure things out about me without me even saying a word.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Do you remember the time when you were first falling in love? Do you remember how it felt? The phone calls just to say "hey baby, I'm thinking about you." Or the instant smile that was plastered on your face just from thinking about him or someone saying their name. The bats (not butterflies, bats) that run through your stomach right before they come to the door to pick you up. Its an uncontainable euphoric feeling that I pray lasts forever.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Getting to know him has been such a pleasure. Each detail I learn opens my eyes to be able to get another glimpse inside him. Each corner we turn in our relationship leads to a new path for us to walk down together. The scar he has on his back from football, his 2 year old nephew that he simply adores, the stitches on his forehead he got when he was seven. Each piece of information I learn makes me want to learn more. He likes just a sprinkle of parmesean cheese on his spaghetti, and the drum part of the chicken wing (I like the other part but that just makes it easier for us to share). How he works out religiosly, and sings a bit too loud and off key when a song comes on that he loves.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He does all the little things that I never thought I wanted. He does the dishes and takes out the trash when I cook dinner without me even asking. I'm not allowed to even touch a door whether I'm getting in or EVEN OUT of a car. He makes a point to walk on the outside of the street when we're together. He sends text messages to my phone to say he's thinking about me. Or emails me to say "thank you for being the person you are." Its too much to handle some times. I'm not used to being treated like true royalty.....But I Sure Am Getting Used To It!!!!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Getting to know you, all about you, its the thing I most desire.&lt;br /&gt;Getting to know you, being around you, turns the passion into fire.&lt;br /&gt;And I'm so alive, everytime I look into your eyes, I'm falling in love!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Getting to know you is the Ultimate Foreplay!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7118868-112205238050187031?l=divadisclosures.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://divadisclosures.blogspot.com/feeds/112205238050187031/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7118868&amp;postID=112205238050187031' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7118868/posts/default/112205238050187031'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7118868/posts/default/112205238050187031'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://divadisclosures.blogspot.com/2005/08/getting-to-know-you.html' title='Getting To Know You'/><author><name>Diva</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02899537797599037515</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7118868.post-112420555522783498</id><published>2005-08-16T11:19:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2005-08-16T14:21:54.963-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Revamp</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://www.ctlab.com/images/under%20construction%20animated.gif"&gt;&lt;img style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://www.ctlab.com/images/under%20construction%20animated.gif" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#6633ff;"&gt;As you can see my page has been updated.  &lt;span style="color:#ff99ff;"&gt;Pink&lt;/span&gt; is my favorite color but the color of my page was starting to annoy me.  I also thought that adding pictures would be cute and would help illustrate the points I try to make.  Plus it seems as though this blog is taking a slightly different turn that was originally planned.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#6633ff;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#6633ff;"&gt;In the beginning, I started this blog to talk about all of the crazy men I've dated and my trials and tribulations of waiting for Mr. Right.  Well I've found Mr. Right, (&lt;em&gt;actually I found two but I couldn't be greedy so I chose one.)&lt;/em&gt;  I figure I can only have so many posts about how great J is.  I could talk about him forever but I know that would get boring for the four people who actually read this page (&lt;em&gt;shot out to my faithful readers!)&lt;/em&gt;  So instead of just talking about my personal experiences in dating, I've decided to also talk about dating in general.  I'll address some issues that some of my friends are having and maybe delve back into my past and bring out some stories that I haven't written about yet.  Either way I promise to keep this page interesting and up to date.  But before the complete change over I'll write one more post about J!!!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7118868-112420555522783498?l=divadisclosures.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://divadisclosures.blogspot.com/feeds/112420555522783498/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7118868&amp;postID=112420555522783498' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7118868/posts/default/112420555522783498'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7118868/posts/default/112420555522783498'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://divadisclosures.blogspot.com/2005/08/revamp.html' title='Revamp'/><author><name>Diva</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02899537797599037515</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7118868.post-112413521831489993</id><published>2005-08-15T15:17:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2005-08-16T11:48:15.223-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Let Them Eat Cake</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3821/422/1600/german-chocolate-cake.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3821/422/320/german-chocolate-cake.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#cc33cc;"&gt;I'm back on the east coast now. Back to the daily grind. Back to my dating dilemmas...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Well not really. Before I left for LA me and my coworker had a nice long talk. Things have seemed to work themselves out nicely (or as nicely as can be expected). However I feel a bit selfish. Let me explain.....&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He could see that I was torn but yet really cared for J. He actually decided to step back and told me to go with my first instinct, which was to be with James. This took me by complete surprise (something that he seems to do very well). He actually pulled himself out of the running in order to make things easier on me. How selfless is that? Then the kicker is that he told me to do my thing with J and if things don't work out, to come back to him. This is where I start to feel selfish.....&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;How can I begin a relationship with a man while he sits back and waits? Now I'm not dumb, I know he's not going to be sitting around twiddling his fingers waiting for me to come back. He's going to go out and have his fun, I'm sure. But he's said that he won't get into a relationship. And &lt;em&gt;&lt;strong&gt;if&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/em&gt; or &lt;em&gt;&lt;strong&gt;when&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/em&gt; my relationship with J ends, I can come skipping back to him and pick up where we left off. It sounds like a good deal but it doesn't sound right. It feels like I'm having my cake and eating it too. (&lt;em&gt;sidenote, I never quite understood that saying. If you have cake, why wouldn't you want to eat it too!)&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But nonetheless, thats the situation. I have more respect for the coworker now than ever. Either he's a true sweetheart or is just plum crazy. I think he's a sweetheart. The best part is that we're back to the way things used to be before sex got involved. We still have our friendship and its stronger now than it was before. Even though I'm sorry that I hurt him in the first place, I'm glad that everything has worked out. I have him as a great friend and J as a great love. I'll tell you about him in my next post. So I guess I do have my cake and I'm eating it too. And it sure is sweet!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#cc33cc;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7118868-112413521831489993?l=divadisclosures.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://divadisclosures.blogspot.com/feeds/112413521831489993/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7118868&amp;postID=112413521831489993' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7118868/posts/default/112413521831489993'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7118868/posts/default/112413521831489993'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://divadisclosures.blogspot.com/2005/08/let-them-eat-cake.html' title='Let Them Eat Cake'/><author><name>Diva</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02899537797599037515</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7118868.post-112319340535243342</id><published>2005-08-04T18:07:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2005-08-16T11:52:12.620-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Vacation</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3821/422/1600/T304_Los_Angeles_02-150x105.jpg"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3821/422/1600/T304_Los_Angeles_02-150x1051.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3821/422/320/T304_Los_Angeles_02-150x1051.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;  &lt;span style="color:#9999ff;"&gt;I'll be on vacation until August 15th. I'll be sure to update you all then about whats going on in my love life. Until then you can find me on the beach in LA. Hollywood here I come!!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7118868-112319340535243342?l=divadisclosures.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://divadisclosures.blogspot.com/feeds/112319340535243342/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7118868&amp;postID=112319340535243342' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7118868/posts/default/112319340535243342'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7118868/posts/default/112319340535243342'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://divadisclosures.blogspot.com/2005/08/vacation.html' title='Vacation'/><author><name>Diva</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02899537797599037515</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7118868.post-112302021795130760</id><published>2005-08-02T17:59:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2005-08-16T14:08:59.760-04:00</updated><title type='text'>The Pain of Happiness</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://yellowrose.jeeran.com/Crying_Face.gif"&gt;&lt;img style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://yellowrose.jeeran.com/Crying_Face.gif" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3821/422/1600/facecry.jpg"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#cc33cc;"&gt;That title sounds like an oxy moron doesn't it? Well I feel it. From my last post, I told you how much "in bliss" I am with J. I truly am. And he makes me so happy that you can see my smile from a mile away. But then comes the pain....&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;From earlier posts, you know I've been having a fling with "The Coworker." You guys said it was dangerous and you were right. Throughout the fling, I started to get attached and actually started falling for the guy. But I "assumed" that he wasn't feeling the same I quickly muffled them and brushed them off and took it for what it was..."just sex." After all, he had just gotten out of a three year relationship with a woman he was living with. I couldn't expect him to jump right into something with me. So I tried to build up a little wall to block those feelings and not focus on the thought of a "relationship" and just enjoy the moment.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Then i met J who started showing me that intimate (not sexual) affection and the possibility of love. Thats all I wanted. I wanted to love and be loved, and he was giving me that. So you would think everything would be great, right?......WRONG! The coworker reveals his true feelings about me and how he could see us having more than "just sex." I know what you're saying, "you just wrote all this gushy stuff and J now you're thinking about the Coworker. Make up your damn mind. " I wish it was that easy. The Coworker is a great guy and I can feel that he cares about me. I've dealt with a bunch of jerks in the past and the Coworker and J are by FAR two of the greatest men I've ever met in my life.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Why couldn't the Coworker have told me this sooner? Is he now just realizing what he's got because he's losing it? I don't know. If he told me sooner we maybe could have grown into something more but at the same time I would have never met J and never experienced all that he offers. Its only been a couple of weeks with J but we've packed in a lot of bonding in those couple of weeks and its been great. But then again I've known the Coworker for a long time now as well. We've build a little foundation for ourselves and I don't know what to make of it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This post has turned into a bunch of ramblings of the things that are going through my mind. This is a prime example of my Fickle Factor in full force. I don't know what'll happen with all this but stay tuned. I'll make sure I fill you in.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7118868-112302021795130760?l=divadisclosures.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://divadisclosures.blogspot.com/feeds/112302021795130760/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7118868&amp;postID=112302021795130760' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7118868/posts/default/112302021795130760'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7118868/posts/default/112302021795130760'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://divadisclosures.blogspot.com/2005/08/pain-of-happiness.html' title='The Pain of Happiness'/><author><name>Diva</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02899537797599037515</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7118868.post-112285115434454707</id><published>2005-08-02T15:05:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2005-08-16T11:54:13.090-04:00</updated><title type='text'>A Beautiful Surprise</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3821/422/1600/butterfly.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3821/422/320/butterfly.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#9999ff;"&gt;This India Arie Song describes what I'm feeling to a tee so I'll start with that...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#cc66cc;"&gt;&lt;em&gt;Its like, yesterday I didn't even know you're name&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;Now today, you're always on my mind&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;I never could have predicted that I'd feel this way&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;You are a beautiful surprise&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;Intoxicated every time I hear your voice&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;You've got me on a natural high&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;Its almost like, I didn't even have a choice&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;You are a beautiful surprise&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;-India Arie&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#9999ff;"&gt;I know some of my consistent readers are like, "Where on earth is this coming from? Weren't you just talking about bastard ex's, coworker flings, no more broken hearts and being fickle?" Yes, yes, this is all true, but thats the thing with surprises. They sneak up on you when you least expect it. And he has been no exception. I've wanted to write about him since the moment I met him but I wanted to clean some things up first before I put it out here for the world to know. So here goes.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I met him about two and a half weeks ago at a cookout. For the sake of this blog, lets just call him J. He intrigued me as soon as I saw him. We have a mutual friend who introduced us and the conversation just started rolling from there. The next day, he asked his friend about me who called me up, asked permission to give out my number and J called me the next day. Our first date that next Friday was perfect. We met up at the movies to see Mr. and Mrs. Smith and immediately it just felt comfortable. As we stood in line, walked around, and sat and watched the movie, we constantly had our arms around each other. But it wasn't like that "let me feel you up cause I'm trying to get in your pants" kind of put your arm around me. It was endearing and real sweet. Real nice. After the movie, he walked me back to my car, gave me a sweet peck of a kiss, opened my door for me and then I left. He called me when he got home to say goodnight again.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Since then, we've spent every day, or at least every couple of days, together and I have never been happier. I have &lt;strong&gt;NEVER&lt;/strong&gt; in my &lt;strong&gt;ENTIRE&lt;/strong&gt; life had anyone treat me as good as J has. I'm not used to the sweet words, out of his way gestures, and the genuine feeling that he cares about me. Its so much to get used to and it was a bit overwhelming at first but I love it! He is so good for me as I am for him. When I think about the man I used to say that I was looking for and what I wanted in a man, he is it. He is the one that I was praying for. When I hear his name I smile;when he leaves, I miss him;when we're together, the world stops.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Are the feelings mutual? Yes they are. The eyes can tell you much more than the mouth ever could and when he looks at me I can see he cares. He goes out of his way to do the little things that matter most. He's told his family about me and wants me to meet his mother. He talks about the future he wants us to have together 5, 10, and 50 years from now. And its only been a couple of weeks! You know when you watch movies and people start saying how much the care about a person and they've only been dating a week? Before I met J, I would always say, "That is so fake! You can't love someone that quick." But I'm feeling that. Its an instantaneous connection that we have and it is sweeping me off of my feet. Its scary, and beautiful, and exciting and perfect. I'm sure I sound crazy right now and everyone thinks that I'm rushing but when its right, its right and you can't put a time limit on that. This surprise love is a pleasantly beautiful one!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7118868-112285115434454707?l=divadisclosures.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://divadisclosures.blogspot.com/feeds/112285115434454707/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7118868&amp;postID=112285115434454707' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7118868/posts/default/112285115434454707'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7118868/posts/default/112285115434454707'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://divadisclosures.blogspot.com/2005/08/beautiful-surprise.html' title='A Beautiful Surprise'/><author><name>Diva</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02899537797599037515</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7118868.post-112285113869120961</id><published>2005-08-01T14:05:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2005-08-16T11:55:41.243-04:00</updated><title type='text'>More on the Engaged Bastard</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3821/422/1600/dog.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3821/422/320/dog.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#cc33cc;"&gt;So he's getting married....good for him. As I said in my last post, I've come to grips with that and wish him all the best. But I don't call him a bastard for nothing. An engagement period should be one of excitement, planning, and looking toward the future; not trying to go back to the past. Thats exactly what this bastard did.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He actually tried to get me to have sex with him! No I'm not kidding. No he wasn't joking. He was trying hard too! He said he "wanted one last time before he throws in the towel." Throw in the towel? Is that what he thinks marriage is? He said he "wanted to get it out of his system now because he would never cheat on his wife." (I guess cheating on a fiance' doesn't count.)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This completely disgusted me. I could not believe that he would bt willing to cheat on his fiance' and then actually think that I would concede to his wishes! He must be crazy. No he is crazy. And so is his fiance' for being willing to tolerate his behavior. Honestly, the poor girl probably doesn't even know. I'll be praying for her.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7118868-112285113869120961?l=divadisclosures.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://divadisclosures.blogspot.com/feeds/112285113869120961/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7118868&amp;postID=112285113869120961' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7118868/posts/default/112285113869120961'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7118868/posts/default/112285113869120961'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://divadisclosures.blogspot.com/2005/08/more-on-engaged-bastard.html' title='More on the Engaged Bastard'/><author><name>Diva</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02899537797599037515</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7118868.post-112256365085095157</id><published>2005-07-28T10:55:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2005-08-16T12:02:49.100-04:00</updated><title type='text'>I'm Soooo Over It!!!</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3821/422/1600/sunset.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3821/422/320/sunset.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#9999ff;"&gt;Yesterday I posted about my ex that had just gotten engaged. I must admit I was a bit flustered and thrown off by it all, (as you can see in my post). But today is a new day and I am sooooo over it!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I started thinking about when we were together and how I knew he was not for me. He's a habitual pessimist and it drove me crazy! He always complained about every little thing. Plus he's put on a few pounds since then so...I'm definitely over it!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So congratulations to him. And to his fiance'....more power to you my sister!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7118868-112256365085095157?l=divadisclosures.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://divadisclosures.blogspot.com/feeds/112256365085095157/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7118868&amp;postID=112256365085095157' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7118868/posts/default/112256365085095157'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7118868/posts/default/112256365085095157'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://divadisclosures.blogspot.com/2005/07/im-soooo-over-it.html' title='I&apos;m Soooo Over It!!!'/><author><name>Diva</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02899537797599037515</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7118868.post-112249670797389552</id><published>2005-07-27T17:20:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2005-08-16T12:03:33.300-04:00</updated><title type='text'>My Ex is Engaged!!!</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3821/422/1600/wedding%20ring.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3821/422/320/wedding%20ring.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;That bastard got engaged!!! Once again, I feel the need to vent so please bear with me. I’m just typing this off of the top of my head literally minutes after finding this out. I mean I guess this isn’t such a bad thing. I know that I don’t want him anymore. But I’m feeling slightly selfish in the fact that I don’t want him to be completely off limits in the future. But at the same time I’m happy for him that he has someone that loves him for him and can put up with things that just annoyed the hell out of me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Why am I really upset? I guess because he put on a front for so long. He and I haven’t been an item for about two years now. But throughout that two-year period we’d still talk; at least a couple times per month. Some periods of time we’d talk on a more consistent basis. One major focus of our conversations was the problems that he and his current girlfriend were having. He’d always complain to me about the things she does and the way she treats him. Then he’d reminisce back to the times when we were together and the good times we had. I actually had to turn him down from attempting to really “rekindle the love” as he attempted to spend some time with me at my apartment. The main point is that at no point in time did he make it seem like marriage was on the horizon.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I’m feeling a bunch of different emotions right now. Maybe that’s because I’m still sorting through everything. But I’m actually a bit hurt. Well I guess hurt isn’t the best word to use but more like slightly disappointed. When things were good between us I imagined myself marrying him. I pictured myself walking down the aisle in a beautiful white gown to meet him at the front of the alter. And even though I now know he isn’t the one I want to marry, this is an official ending to that dream I had. I know you’re thinking, that dream should have ended when you stopped talking to him, but it didn’t. This is an official end to possibilities of us hooking up in the future; us carelessly flirting over the phone; the end to any relationship with him whatsoever. I know his new wife isn’t going to allow him to be casually talking to ex-girlfriends.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But even though this is kind of knocking me off my rocker a little bit right now, I still say congratulations to him. I wish him the best……&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;I still can’t believe this bastard is getting married!!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7118868-112249670797389552?l=divadisclosures.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://divadisclosures.blogspot.com/feeds/112249670797389552/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7118868&amp;postID=112249670797389552' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7118868/posts/default/112249670797389552'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7118868/posts/default/112249670797389552'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://divadisclosures.blogspot.com/2005/07/my-ex-is-engaged.html' title='My Ex is Engaged!!!'/><author><name>Diva</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02899537797599037515</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7118868.post-112126945333686088</id><published>2005-07-26T16:44:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2005-08-16T12:07:09.026-04:00</updated><title type='text'>The Fickle Factor</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3821/422/1600/fickle.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3821/422/320/fickle.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I am so damn fickle that it’s crazy!! Its not that I’m indecisive; I usually always know what I want. But what I want may change quicker than the tides. My fickleness is never more noticeable than in my dating.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I first noticed my fickleness when my best friend pointed it out to me. I guess he got tired of listening to me flip-flop through feelings and wanted me to get it in check. In the beginning, I’m always head over heels about a guy. There’s no one in the world better than him, and I’m sure he is &lt;strong&gt;THE ONE&lt;/strong&gt;. Then he does or says something that kind of rubs me the wrong way and he’s history. Let me break down some examples:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;“He’d sweat in a snowstorm!”&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;That was actually a comment I made about a guy. He was nice. Of course I ranted and raved about him to my friends telling them how great he was until one day his sweating messed up my hair and I was done. Now its not that I have a problem with sweat. If you’re working out or if it’s a hot day, then I can understand it. In those cases its actually manly and kind of sexy. But when its wintertime and we’re just sitting on the couch and you’re constantly wiping sweat from your head and neck and then rubbing it on the couch. Its disgusting! He gave me a hug and the sweat from his neck completely drenched the right side of my hair causing each and every curl to fall into a limp gangsta lean. He was gone.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;“I need a nice guy. No, give me a thug. No, how about a rough gentleman?”&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;If you’ve been reading my blog you might remember that I was going after a nice guy but then pushed him away cause he was too nice. Then I dated a thug but I couldn’t handle that either. I thought I wanted the nice guy back but recently realized that that wasn’t for me either. Now I’m at the point where I want someone who is nice and is a gentleman but has a little bit of rough neck in him. Like he used to be slightly “thuggish” back in the day but is now rehabilitated. When I say thuggish I don’t mean slinging guns and selling drugs. I mean someone that is strong physically and has a strong personality. Someone that can take charge and make me feel safe and protected. We’ll see how that goes.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;“I don’t want to be with you anymore. But maybe I’ll give you one more try.”&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I’ve been known to do this a lot. I decided that I don’t want to be with someone, break up with him, and move on. Or so I think. Then weeks, months, even years later, I start thinking about them and try to rekindle what we had. I think of it as recycling. Meeting someone is so difficult. It takes so much time and work to get to know someone and since I already know people from the past I safely go back to them. In the beginning its fine, but then I remember why I broke up with them in the first place and leave them again. Its an endless cycle.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;“All I want is a fling.”&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This is a recent feeling out of my fickle factor. I was actually kind of hesitant about writing this one because I don’t want some people reading this to get the wrong idea. But this blog is my therapy so I’ll get it out anyway and clean up the loose ends later. I’ve been known to only have flings. I haven’t had a real long-term relationship in awhile. I say its been because I haven’t met the right guy, but I know that I’ve pushed some good ones away. I say that I’m too busy, but I know I could make time. I’ve said that “its just sex.” And I honestly felt that way. But my fickleness is coming back up and I’m starting to wonder if I actually do want a relationship. This is a thought in progress and who knows how I’ll be feeling tomorrow but a relationship might not be completely out of the question for me. Not right now, but I think I might be less likely to push something away if I happened to meet someone.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I’ve heard people say, “The most constant thing in life is change.” If that’s the case I’m as constant and consistent as time because I’m constantly changing and evolving and altering my perspective on things. Stay tuned for more updates.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7118868-112126945333686088?l=divadisclosures.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://divadisclosures.blogspot.com/feeds/112126945333686088/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7118868&amp;postID=112126945333686088' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7118868/posts/default/112126945333686088'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7118868/posts/default/112126945333686088'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://divadisclosures.blogspot.com/2005/07/fickle-factor.html' title='The Fickle Factor'/><author><name>Diva</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02899537797599037515</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7118868.post-112231249978443869</id><published>2005-07-25T13:26:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2005-08-16T12:04:29.983-04:00</updated><title type='text'>I'd Rather Have a Broken Neck Than Another Broken Heart</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3821/422/1600/broken%20heart.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3821/422/320/broken%20heart.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I know that title sounds harsh but its how I felt. This post isn't based on recent events but its based on me thinking back to the times when I experienced the misery of a broken heart.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;There was a time when I was so open to love. I desperately wanted love in my life so bad, that I loved anything that would even remotely love me back. Or so I thought they loved me back. I gave my entire being to them, doing whatever it took to be the perfect girlfriend to them. I relinquished myself to them, sacrificing &lt;strong&gt;MY&lt;/strong&gt; wants for &lt;strong&gt;OUR&lt;/strong&gt; needs. Endlessly waiting for them to reciprocate my selflessness. I waited...and waited...and never received what I had been waiting for. Instead of selflessness, they would perform the most selfish acts that a mind and naive as mine couldn't even fathom. The lies, the cheating, the abuse....it was too much for my small frame to take. My bones, my soul, my heart ached.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But I'd just cry about it, pray about it, then pick myself up and examine the new scar that love had left on me. Once that scar healed I did it all again. I gave myself to someone else. Praying that he'd be my Prince and he wouldn't break my heart. They were all princes in the beginning, and they all broke my heart in the end. My heart had so many scars by this point that it was unrecognizable. Thats when things changed...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I turned cold...as cold as a Pittsburgh blizzard. I decided that I'd rather have a broken neck than another broken heart. I started playing their games. I did what I had to do to get what I want. I used them for sex until they bored me. I got them to take me out to eat until I could eat no more. I no longer used the word relationship, he was just a friend with benefits. If the benefits weren't good enough, he was gone within weeks. There was nothing in the world that would make me want to risk another broken heart or add another scar...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But as spring came and the blizzards' snow melted, things changed again. I realized that even something as beautiful as giving birth leaves scars. Love is another example of a beautiful scar. And even though I don't want another broken heart I'm trying to be more open to taking that risk. I'd love for the next time I fall in love for it to last forever so I wouldn't have to go through the broken heart experience again. But in order to get there I have to step out on a limb and try. Having a broken neck is way too harsh and painful. I guess now I'd just rather have a broken &lt;em&gt;NAIL&lt;/em&gt; than a broken heart.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7118868-112231249978443869?l=divadisclosures.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://divadisclosures.blogspot.com/feeds/112231249978443869/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7118868&amp;postID=112231249978443869' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7118868/posts/default/112231249978443869'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7118868/posts/default/112231249978443869'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://divadisclosures.blogspot.com/2005/07/id-rather-have-broken-neck-than.html' title='I&apos;d Rather Have a Broken Neck Than Another Broken Heart'/><author><name>Diva</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02899537797599037515</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7118868.post-112231698369451637</id><published>2005-07-24T14:41:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2005-08-16T12:08:18.863-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Happy Birthday</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3821/422/1600/happy%20birthday.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3821/422/320/happy%20birthday.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Special Bday shoutout to the subject of a previous post...The Coworker. Happy Birthday Mr. Man!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7118868-112231698369451637?l=divadisclosures.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://divadisclosures.blogspot.com/feeds/112231698369451637/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7118868&amp;postID=112231698369451637' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7118868/posts/default/112231698369451637'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7118868/posts/default/112231698369451637'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://divadisclosures.blogspot.com/2005/07/happy-birthday.html' title='Happy Birthday'/><author><name>Diva</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02899537797599037515</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7118868.post-112178857817840768</id><published>2005-07-21T13:40:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2005-08-16T12:10:06.173-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Why Fall in Love When You Can Stand In It?</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3821/422/1600/love.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3821/422/320/love.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This is a quote from Raheem DeVaughn, a local singer. When I heard it I thought, "He is so right!" Why fall in &lt;span style="color:#ff0000;"&gt;love&lt;/span&gt;? I think that people, myself included, over rate the idea of &lt;em&gt;falling&lt;/em&gt; in &lt;span style="color:#ff0000;"&gt;love&lt;/span&gt;. We become so consumed with the &lt;strong&gt;ACTION&lt;/strong&gt; of falling in &lt;span style="color:#ff0000;"&gt;love&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt;; the&lt;/span&gt; weightless feeling of plummeting into the unknown. The release of total control and placing yourself in someone else's hand. That's all fine and good but why do you have to fall?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The connotation of falling says to me that at some point in time you're going to hit the bottom. You can't fall forever, so what happens when you land? Is that when the &lt;span style="color:#ff0000;"&gt;love&lt;/span&gt; ends? Or do you even land at all? Maybe its a continuous fall that once you fall &lt;em&gt;in&lt;/em&gt; &lt;span style="color:#ff0000;"&gt;love&lt;/span&gt; you keep falling until you fall &lt;em&gt;out&lt;/em&gt; of &lt;span style="color:#ff0000;"&gt;love&lt;/span&gt;. That's too much for me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Why fall in &lt;span style="color:#ff0000;"&gt;love&lt;/span&gt; when you can stand in it? Unlike the &lt;strong&gt;action&lt;/strong&gt; of falling in &lt;span style="color:#ff0000;"&gt;love&lt;/span&gt;, standing in &lt;span style="color:#ff0000;"&gt;love&lt;/span&gt; is a &lt;strong&gt;STATE OF BEING&lt;/strong&gt;. No lack of control, no falling, no moving, just be. You learn the most when you're still, eyes and ears open. Just be still and take it all in. Stillness is one of the most beautiful states of motion, not motion of the body, but the motion of the opening of the heart and mind.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When you're free falling you can pass so many things up. Moments fly by so quickly that's its all a blur. But when you're standing, you can soak it all in and immerse yourself in the beauty of &lt;span style="color:#ff0000;"&gt;love&lt;/span&gt;. Stand still and notice a new freckle on his face. Stand still and see the way his chin lowers when he laughs. Stand still and smell his scent from a mile away. Stand still and look at the way his pupils focus when he looks into your eyes. Stand still and feel the way his index finger traces curves up your arm. Stand still and actually taste his kiss. Stand still and &lt;span style="color:#ff0000;"&gt;love&lt;/span&gt; him.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Don't let &lt;span style="color:#ff0000;"&gt;love&lt;/span&gt; whiz by while you're falling in it. Be still, embrace it, live in it, stand in it.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7118868-112178857817840768?l=divadisclosures.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://divadisclosures.blogspot.com/feeds/112178857817840768/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7118868&amp;postID=112178857817840768' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7118868/posts/default/112178857817840768'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7118868/posts/default/112178857817840768'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://divadisclosures.blogspot.com/2005/07/why-fall-in-love-when-you-can-stand-in.html' title='Why Fall in Love When You Can Stand In It?'/><author><name>Diva</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02899537797599037515</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7118868.post-112136854156342457</id><published>2005-07-19T11:15:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2005-08-16T13:45:31.770-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Yep, I faked it!</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3821/422/1600/giggle.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3821/422/320/giggle.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I admit it! I faked it. I know people say that faking it is so wrong because it gives the guy false hope. Why have the guy thinking that he is doing his thang when really you're thinking about what outfit you're going to wear the next day? There are a couple reasons why I faked it...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1. He was a sweet guy that I loved to death but I knew he would never get me there and I didn't want to hurt his pride.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;2. I got so bored that trying to fake it seemed fun!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;3. I got frustrated with the "lack of feeling" and figured if I faked it then he'd hurry up and finish and get off of me so I could get back to watching TV.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I know all of that sounds bad but its reality. Here are a few signs for you guys to watch out for so you can tell if you're woman is faking it. (Sorry to divulge our secrets ladies)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1. If her leg aint shakin....the girl is fakin! Her leg will either shake, pass out, curl up or some other strange movement depending on the woman.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;2. If she answers everything you say with out hesitation...she is fakin! We get so focused on the impending climax that we become partially deaf and dumb. If she seems like she can hold a conversation with you and answer any question you might ask then the climax isn't real.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;3. If her eyes are open and there is no expression in her face but her mouth is making sounds....she is fakin! We can all make noises but the face of a woman that is climaxing is unmistakable.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;4. If you have to ask and she smiles politely before answering....she was fakin! You shouldn't have to ask, you will KNOW!!!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I hope this helps you fellas out. For all the ladies out there thats had to fake it, I feel your pain. Thankfully, I'm in a situation right now where I don't need to fake it cause he puts it DOWN. But there was a time when I wasn't so lucky.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7118868-112136854156342457?l=divadisclosures.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://divadisclosures.blogspot.com/feeds/112136854156342457/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7118868&amp;postID=112136854156342457' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7118868/posts/default/112136854156342457'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7118868/posts/default/112136854156342457'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://divadisclosures.blogspot.com/2005/07/yep-i-faked-it.html' title='Yep, I faked it!'/><author><name>Diva</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02899537797599037515</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7118868.post-112170344935313563</id><published>2005-07-18T12:17:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2005-08-16T13:51:51.853-04:00</updated><title type='text'>I Don't Need Your Pity!!!</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3821/422/1600/women%20giggle.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3821/422/320/women%20giggle.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;How many of you have married or coupled up friends that just can't accept the fact that you are single? I know I sure do. I appreciate that they are looking out for me but enough is enough. One day, I was sitting down for lunch with a group of friends. They were all talking about their husbands, fiance's, and significant others; laughing and joking about something that was so insignificant that I didn't bother to laugh. They turned and looked at me and one of them said, "Don't worry Diva (she said my real name but you don't need to know all that), your time will come." They all looked at me with that, "you poor single soul" look on their faces.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Question #1: Why is it that married people feel that us single folk aren't as happy or fulfilled as they are? They look down on us as if we are missing out on the supreme meaning of life. Now don't get me wrong, I do believe that marriage is a heavenly, spiritual bond that I would one day like to share with someone, but I'm perfectly content right now without it. So many marriages end so fast today that I'd rather take my time to make sure its right.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Then I have a married friend that is constantly trying to set me up with someone. Whether its a friend of a friend, a guy at her church, a former coworker; she tries to set me up with whatever she can get her hands on. They all have one thing in common, THEY NEVER WORK!!!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Question #2: Why do married friends feel that its their calling in life to match you up with someone? I appreciate the fact that she wants me to share in the happiness that she's found with her partner but I'm a big girl. I can meet men on my own. Now if the guys she set me up with were worth something, I'd really be thanking her. But they haven't been! Its as if she does very little pre-screening. She just wants me off the market!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So to all the married, engaged, spoken for individuals out there, I'm happy that you've met someone. But that does not mean that your single friends are not as happy as you are. Allow them to enjoy this single period in their life. You never know. You might be single again one day too and I can't wait to set you up with my cousins', baby daddy's, half brothers, uncle named June Bug! So what if he just got out of jail and lives in his mothers basement. Ha ha, pay back is a b!tch!!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7118868-112170344935313563?l=divadisclosures.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://divadisclosures.blogspot.com/feeds/112170344935313563/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7118868&amp;postID=112170344935313563' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7118868/posts/default/112170344935313563'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7118868/posts/default/112170344935313563'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://divadisclosures.blogspot.com/2005/07/i-dont-need-your-pity.html' title='I Don&apos;t Need Your Pity!!!'/><author><name>Diva</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02899537797599037515</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7118868.post-112136851727906074</id><published>2005-07-14T14:57:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2005-08-16T13:54:04.443-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Reminiscing</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3821/422/1600/clouds.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3821/422/320/clouds.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;I was going through an old book of mine and found this "poem/diary entry" about a guy that I was seeing. I thought I was so in love but needless to say, that didn't last. But I thought it would be nice to put it on here to show that I'm not really a rigid brick wall that doesn't let real love in.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He snuck up on me, Jumped up on me, when I wasn't looking.&lt;br /&gt;And now I can' t shake him, can't take him off my mind&lt;br /&gt;Time and time again I find me thinking of him&lt;br /&gt;Wanting to be with him, to feel him and be real with him&lt;br /&gt;He makes me real. Makes me reveal all the hidden things I've sealed inside&lt;br /&gt;No need to hide with him, he just wants to reside in me&lt;br /&gt;He wants to know me, the REAL me. The me I don't open up to let everyone see.&lt;br /&gt;He....Wants....ME!!!!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He leaves messages on my phone to say,&lt;br /&gt;"Hey babes, I'm thinking about you."&lt;br /&gt;He wants to see me as soon as I get home saying,&lt;br /&gt;"I can't be without you."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He caressed my hand and touched my heart&lt;br /&gt;Tearing all my inhibitions apart&lt;br /&gt;He kissed my neck and smoothed my hair&lt;br /&gt;With one look in his eyes I can see he cares&lt;br /&gt;No he's not perfect, but you have to give a man room to grow&lt;br /&gt;And through thick and thin, I'd be a fool to let him go&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;....A couple months later, I let him go. I'm so fickle!&lt;/em&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7118868-112136851727906074?l=divadisclosures.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://divadisclosures.blogspot.com/feeds/112136851727906074/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7118868&amp;postID=112136851727906074' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7118868/posts/default/112136851727906074'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7118868/posts/default/112136851727906074'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://divadisclosures.blogspot.com/2005/07/reminiscing.html' title='Reminiscing'/><author><name>Diva</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02899537797599037515</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7118868.post-112023094684921545</id><published>2005-07-13T11:15:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2005-08-16T14:03:15.410-04:00</updated><title type='text'>I'm Just Not That Into You</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3821/422/1600/notintoyou1.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3821/422/320/notintoyou1.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;There is a book entitled, "He's Just Not THAT into you" by Greg Behrendt. I heard about it while watching Oprah. The author was explaining to the majority female audience that a man can be into you; he can occasionally spend time with you, and have an intimate sexual relationship with you and still not be THAT into you. This means that he may actually care about you and not want to hurt you but still doesn't want anything more from you than what he is already getting. Or maybe he might stop returning your calls and try to avoid you instead of blatantly breaking it off with you.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I sat there watching the show thinking, "Man I can relate." There have been so many times when I've been dating someone and then realize that even though he is a great guy, I'm just not THAT into him. Then I'm faced with the challenge of finding a way to end it. I can never just tell someone that I'm not THAT into him. I usually go for the no returning of phone calls routine. I know thats wrong but I can't help it. My friends say that I'm crazy, that I'm too picky, or that subconsciously I just love being single. Maybe all three is true. So to all the guys out there, if I stop calling you and am always too busy to pick up when you call, just take the hint!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7118868-112023094684921545?l=divadisclosures.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://divadisclosures.blogspot.com/feeds/112023094684921545/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7118868&amp;postID=112023094684921545' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7118868/posts/default/112023094684921545'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7118868/posts/default/112023094684921545'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://divadisclosures.blogspot.com/2005/07/im-just-not-that-into-you.html' title='I&apos;m Just Not That Into You'/><author><name>Diva</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02899537797599037515</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7118868.post-112023115767063672</id><published>2005-07-12T19:17:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2005-08-16T14:03:42.376-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Find Heaven in Yourself and God</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3821/422/1600/pink%20sunset.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3821/422/320/pink%20sunset.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;span style="color:#6600cc;"&gt;Going through the storm, any body feels warm&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;span style="color:#6600cc;"&gt;That relationship died for you to be born, you're worth more&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;span style="color:#6600cc;"&gt;Than anything you can cop in the store&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;span style="color:#6600cc;"&gt;For you to grow, he had to go so what are you stopping him for?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;span style="color:#6600cc;"&gt;Not even I can ignore, being alone is hard&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;span style="color:#6600cc;"&gt;But find heaven in yourself and God&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;span style="color:#6600cc;"&gt;-Common&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I was listening to this "Common" song and it immediately touched me. It made me think back to times in my past when I was with someone who I knew was no good for me yet I was scared to let go because I feared being along. I was once with a guy who smoked like a chimney and drank like a fish but I held onto him because I was comfortable. I didn't have to trek out into bars and clubs meeting new people because I had him. I didn't have to worry about being along because I could call him. I didn't have to say "sexually frustrated" because I had him. I had become complacent in this mediocre relationship that was stagnating my growth and probably blocking a blessing for me to meet someone more deserving who recognized my worth. When I finally mustered up the courage to let him go, I missed him at first. Then I was able to realize that I had freed myself from an anchor that was holding me down; restricting my growth and movement. Now with my new found freedom I was able to find my own personal heaven in myself and in being single.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But there are so many women out there that never allow themselves to find their heaven. They never get to that point where they say "Enough is enough." Despite their sadness, they continue to deal with whatever negativity is occurring in their relationship. To those women I say, "Stand up!" Get up on your feet and stop laying down and taking whatever the relationship is giving you. Stand up and tell yourself that you are worth more than whatever bull crap this guy putting you through. Stand up and walk away from anything that is even a fraction less than what you deserve. I know this sounds like an Oprah moment, but you're worth it.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7118868-112023115767063672?l=divadisclosures.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://divadisclosures.blogspot.com/feeds/112023115767063672/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7118868&amp;postID=112023115767063672' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7118868/posts/default/112023115767063672'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7118868/posts/default/112023115767063672'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://divadisclosures.blogspot.com/2005/07/find-heaven-in-yourself-and-god.html' title='Find Heaven in Yourself and God'/><author><name>Diva</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02899537797599037515</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7118868.post-112015970928686764</id><published>2005-07-01T11:28:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2005-08-17T10:46:05.603-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Is It Really "Just Sex"?</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3821/422/1600/goodnight.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3821/422/320/goodnight.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;OK, so I haven't left for my vacation yet so I decided to go ahead and jump into this post. It seems to have sparked some interest so lets get to it....&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In a previous post I said, &lt;span style="color:#6600cc;"&gt;&lt;em&gt;"People don't say 'wait until marriage for sex' just because they want you to go through the frustration of not getting any. They do so because no matter how hard you try to fight it, eventually feelings get intertwined in the sex, especially when the sex is good."&lt;/em&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Some people would debate that its easy to detach the physical from the mental. We are sexual creatures by nature and there are times when you just have to fill that sexual void and be done with it. They feel no need to cuddle after sex. Once its over, they put their clothes on and leave just as quick as they came. Instead of being "hassled" by all of the time and effort that has to be put into relationships, they just find a person (or persons) to fulfill their sexual needs and don't think twice about it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Others feel that no matter how much you think that you have purely a physical relationship, one day down the line, one of you will feel an emotional tie to the person. They feel that sex is more than just a carnal need. It is a tool for two souls to become one, the uniting of bodies and spirits, the sensual, spiritual connection of lovers. The shedding of clothes bares our true selves and sharing our most sacred gift, our bodies, with another person brings the relationship to a whole new plateau.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Is it a gender thing? I've heard that its easier for men to detach their emotions than it is for women. Women are typically more compassionate and sensitive to their feelings than men. We tend to view sex as 75% mental and 25% physical while men would say approximately 10% mental and 90% physical (some equate an even smaller percentage to the mental aspect). For me, sex is hugely mental. If my mind isn't there, I won't have any fun at all. I could be with Nelly, Maxwell, Morris Chestnut or any other fine African American man and could be more interested in what happened on the newest episode of Desperate Housewives instead of being with him. Maybe thats just my feminine nature.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So is it really "just sex"? My answer is yes and no. In the beginning, some people (and I say some people because there are those of us that &lt;strong&gt;CAN NOT&lt;/strong&gt; detach our emotions) are able to have a purely sexual relationship. There can be two people who both are attracted to each other and want satisfy their sexual desires with each other. As long as its safe, I see no problem with it. But then if the sexual relationship continues over a long period of time (this length of time is different for different people) one, or both of you, will not be able to suppress your emotions any longer. They then want more out of it. They want that scary, sometimes dreaded word, a commitment. If its mutual then the sex can continue and hopefully a great long term relationship will come out of it. However if its not mutual then my suggestion is to end the sex and move on. There is no need to be all hurt and devastated because your partner didn't feel the same about you. Maybe they're into you, but not THAT into you. (I'll talk about that in another post).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;~To sum it all up, be careful when getting into sexual relationships.&lt;br /&gt;~Realize that eventually someone may want more out of it.&lt;br /&gt;~Accept the fact that if you are the one that wants more, it may never happen.&lt;br /&gt;~Be willing to move on and sever all sexual ties with this person if they can't give you all that you need and deserve, sexually and emotionally.&lt;br /&gt;~Most importantly, BE SAFE!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7118868-112015970928686764?l=divadisclosures.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://divadisclosures.blogspot.com/feeds/112015970928686764/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7118868&amp;postID=112015970928686764' title='6 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7118868/posts/default/112015970928686764'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7118868/posts/default/112015970928686764'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://divadisclosures.blogspot.com/2005/07/is-it-really-just-sex.html' title='Is It Really &quot;Just Sex&quot;?'/><author><name>Diva</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02899537797599037515</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>6</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7118868.post-112015922552007019</id><published>2005-06-30T15:19:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2005-08-17T10:48:39.066-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Vacation</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3821/422/1600/beach.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3821/422/320/beach.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'll be on vacation from tomorrow until Monday, July 11th. I'll return then with new posts. Until then...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7118868-112015922552007019?l=divadisclosures.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://divadisclosures.blogspot.com/feeds/112015922552007019/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7118868&amp;postID=112015922552007019' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7118868/posts/default/112015922552007019'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7118868/posts/default/112015922552007019'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://divadisclosures.blogspot.com/2005/06/vacation.html' title='Vacation'/><author><name>Diva</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02899537797599037515</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7118868.post-112006109086886354</id><published>2005-06-30T12:04:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2005-08-17T10:57:36.350-04:00</updated><title type='text'>The Coworker</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3821/422/1600/shadow%20man.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3821/422/320/shadow%20man.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Is dating a coworker really as bad as everyone says it is? I'm an experimental kind of girl so I thought I'd try it out for myself...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I remember when I first started this job, he was one of the first people I noticed. Well kinda...I noticed his @ss before I noticed his face. (I have a strange fetish for a mans' @ss. Weird I know!) But when I finally did bring my eyes back up north I noticed how attractive he was. Then came the tingles. I call them curiousity tingles because they come when I start wondering what this person is like...is he nice?....funny?.....does he have kids?....is he married/involved?....I wonder what he's like in bed? I later found out that he was in a relationship so I brushed off the little tingles and just got to know him as a person. He turned out to be a sweet, sarcastic, intelligent, funny, amazing person. Now I wasn't only attractive to him physically but I was attracted to the person he was. But then our relationship changed. He and his girlfriend broke up and now he was on the market. Our conversations slowly changed from casual topics during work to intimate details about each other.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Physically, his presence can be intimidating. About 6'3'', roughly 220 lbs, muscular build, smooth bald head, stern yet intriguing features. He's the type that you can just tell by looking at him that he can do the damn &lt;strong&gt;THANG&lt;/strong&gt; in the bedroom. (I don't really know what it is, but you can just tell.) He's looks like the type of man that could have his pick of women. I figured that he preferred the "model type chick." A woman who is about 5'9'', 140lbs, sophisticated and chic who could grace tv screens and magazine covers easily. A woman that my 5'2'', petite frame couldn't compete with. Now I'm a pretty confident woman. I know that I'm an attractive, interesting, strong young woman but there are times when you just feel like you're not a certain person's ideal type of woman. Thats the feeling I got from him. But then revealed that he had been actually checking me out since I started working here. This shook my world and threw me for a loop....&lt;em&gt;but I liked it!&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I set my trap.....It was NBA playoffs time so I invited him over to come and watch the games with me. This was a good time to get to know him outside of work. We sat, talked, drank, and talked sh!t about the games. He was great company. I prayed for an extended series so we'd have and "excuse" to spend more time together. My prayers were answer. With each game we were sitting closer and closer on the couch...then later the games were "viewed" from the bedroom. I use quotes because I honestly can't tell you what happened after halftime! My initial impression that he could lay down the pipe was right!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When we got back to work it was great! We can't let anyone know so its funny to see how he'll walk by when I'm with fellow coworkers and give a casual "Hey, how are yall doing" to all of us and keep walking by. Or in the hallway we might exchange a simple "whats up" head nod. I love the feeling that I get knowing that we have a thing going on that no one else here knows about. The adrenaline it gives makes me want to push him into a conference room and lock the door or have him meet me at my apartment for a "lunch time snack."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So whats so wrong with dating a coworker? We haven't had any problems thus far at the office. The only problem that I can see ever arising is the same problem with any purely sexual relationship....feelings. People don't say wait until marriage for sex just because they want you to go through the frustration of not getting any. They do so because no matter how hard you try to fight it, eventually feelings get intertwined in the sex, especially when the sex is good. The problem there is that it may be one sided. One person could fall madly in love with the other while the other is just waiting for the next "Big O". Its a big gamble. I could go on an on about this topic that I'll probably just write another post about this in the future. So as for my coworker, so far thing are going great...but stay tuned to see what happens as this story continues to unfold. I'm sure I'll have a "The Coworker...Continued" story at some point in time. And keep a look out for my "Is it really 'Just Sex' " post in the near future.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7118868-112006109086886354?l=divadisclosures.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://divadisclosures.blogspot.com/feeds/112006109086886354/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7118868&amp;postID=112006109086886354' title='5 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7118868/posts/default/112006109086886354'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7118868/posts/default/112006109086886354'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://divadisclosures.blogspot.com/2005/06/coworker.html' title='The Coworker'/><author><name>Diva</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02899537797599037515</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>5</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7118868.post-112007652978889031</id><published>2005-06-29T15:57:00.001-04:00</published><updated>2005-08-17T11:01:55.656-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Is Being Single Sexy?</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3821/422/1600/reflections.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3821/422/320/reflections.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I've tried to convince myself that being young, beautiful, and single is the sexiest thing in the world! Is it really?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#3333ff;"&gt;Case #1&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have an empty slate and I'm able to go out and meet as many men as I please.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#cc33cc;"&gt;Rebuttal&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The problem is that there aren't that many single, attractive, STRAIGHT, Black men in DC that have their sh!t together. Very few. And most of those guys are in relationships anyway so I'm not working with an abundance of options.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#3333ff;"&gt;Case #2&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I don't have to worry about checking in with anyone. If I want to go out, I go. If I want to chill in the house alone for some "me time", I chill. If I had a man I would have to be checking in to let him know where I'm going, assuring him that I'm always on my best behavior because I'm thinking of him. The "me time" is severely limited because you have to have "we time" to foster a healthy relationship.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#cc33cc;"&gt;Rebuttal&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But how bad would that really be? I don't go out that much to begin with. I'm not that much of a club hopper. The club scene bores and disappoints me. If I'm not at work or teaching dance, I'm usually home anyway. Having a lot of "me time" can be more depressing than having none at all.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#3333ff;"&gt;Case #3&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My cat Taurus is all the man I need. He curls up next to me on the couch and watches tv...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#cc33cc;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Rebuttal&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Ok I can't even go with that one. I DEFINITELY need a lot more than my cat. He can't give me the physical attention and intimacy that I get from a man. Plus I don't want to end up one of those old cat ladies in the house with nothing but her cats to keep her company. Damn thats scary.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Summary&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I guess being single isn't that sexy after all. Plus it always seems like other guys want you and think you're the sexiest when you are in a relationship. As soon as you commit to someone, everybody and their daddy starts knocking down your door. Life's a b*tch huh!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7118868-112007652978889031?l=divadisclosures.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://divadisclosures.blogspot.com/feeds/112007652978889031/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7118868&amp;postID=112007652978889031' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7118868/posts/default/112007652978889031'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7118868/posts/default/112007652978889031'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://divadisclosures.blogspot.com/2005/06/is-being-single-sexy.html' title='Is Being Single Sexy?'/><author><name>Diva</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02899537797599037515</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7118868.post-112007448726052884</id><published>2005-06-27T15:46:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2005-06-29T15:52:51.680-04:00</updated><title type='text'>DISCLAIMER</title><content type='html'>Just for clarification, all those guys were not in one day intervals. I just posted them each as a recap of what I've been through in the past ten months since my previous postings. I just wanted to make sure that you all didn't think I was a super slut running through these guys every 24 hours. OK, now that that's said and done, back to our regularly scheduled program.....&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7118868-112007448726052884?l=divadisclosures.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://divadisclosures.blogspot.com/feeds/112007448726052884/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7118868&amp;postID=112007448726052884' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7118868/posts/default/112007448726052884'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7118868/posts/default/112007448726052884'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://divadisclosures.blogspot.com/2005/06/disclaimer.html' title='DISCLAIMER'/><author><name>Diva</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02899537797599037515</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7118868.post-112006107368051403</id><published>2005-06-27T12:04:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2005-08-16T18:23:47.433-04:00</updated><title type='text'>The Distant Love/My Prototype</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3821/422/1600/usa.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3821/422/320/usa.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I honestly can't say anything bad about this guy. We met in college and things were going good. But due to some immaturity on my part, things fell apart. After about a year of healing we rekindled the friendship that initially tied us. However we could never find the timing to rekindle the love. After graduation I returned to DC and he went home to Philly. Though its only a two hour drive, it feels as though there is a world between us. With our busy schedules, regular trips to visit each other aren't even possible, so we've decided to hold on to this great friendship that we've established.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As I reflect and wonder why there is this great guy that I love who loves me that I can't have, I realize that he has served his purpose in my life. I believe that people are placed in your life for a reason for a season. That season may be a day, a month, a year, or a lifetime. And once they have accomplished their goal, that season is up. I believe that my distant lover was meant to show me the type of man that I need. The type of man that I deserve. He's shown me that I don't need to settle for whats in front of me. That I am worthy of the type of man he is, a King. Though he isn't my soul mate, he's my prototype, and until I meet my King I'll be single. And I'm fine with that.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7118868-112006107368051403?l=divadisclosures.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://divadisclosures.blogspot.com/feeds/112006107368051403/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7118868&amp;postID=112006107368051403' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7118868/posts/default/112006107368051403'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7118868/posts/default/112006107368051403'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://divadisclosures.blogspot.com/2005/06/distant-lovemy-prototype.html' title='The Distant Love/My Prototype'/><author><name>Diva</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02899537797599037515</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7118868.post-112006105870026170</id><published>2005-06-24T12:04:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2005-08-16T18:20:57.320-04:00</updated><title type='text'>The Musician</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3821/422/1600/singer.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3821/422/320/singer.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I consider myself to be an artistic person. I've been dancing for almost 21 years now. I teach ballet, jazz, and tap. I write poetry. Can't sing a lick but have a strong passion for music. So dating a musician sounded great. He was a singer who sang my favorite type of music....old school R&amp;amp;B. Even his new original songs still maintained that classic feel. I was in love with his music.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But there is a downside to the music industry. No matter how much talent you have, if you don't have a deal, you're struggling!!! Now don't get me wrong, there's nothing wrong with a good struggle. It builds character and strength. But after awhile, its hard being the only financially stable person in the relationship. He had his own apartment. GREAT. His roommate and I were good friends who grew up on the same street. But he had no car and no real, stable job. His main source of income was small gigs that he'd get singing at a local restaurant and a portion of the earnings from his bootleg cd that he and his friends released and were selling. This meant that whenever we would go anywhere, I'd have to pick him up. Now that wasn't so bad, but it got to a point where it felt like he was just inviting me over so that he could ask me to take him somewhere later on that day while we were chilling together. Or when he asked me to take him to the store but before we left he had to count up change out of his change jar just to buy a juice. Going out to eat or having a date on the town was not an option. We mainly just chilled at his apartment watching movies or TV. Or I'd be over the apartment while is roommate played the keyboard and he'd sing songs and test out new material. That was cool for a little while but I needed more.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I don't consider myself a gold digger at all. I have a good stable job and I make good money. But I don't want to be the primary bread winner. I don't ask for a bunch of expensive gifts or to be taken out to pricey restaurants. But I do liked to be taken out at all. Going to Friday's for a $10 meal is cool with me. I think what bothered me the most about him was that he was 27 and had no stable income. He'd been working on trying to make it since high school but still didn't have much to show. I'm at work busting my butt while he's at home sleep and then waiting for me to come over so we can run some errands in my car spending my gas (which isn't cheap these days). I'm a firm believer in having a dream and pursuing it. But does there ever come a time when you have to put the dream on hold in order to be able to financially afford it? I think so. And I think that my artist guy's time was now. If he ever makes it big I know I'll be kicking myself in the @ss.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7118868-112006105870026170?l=divadisclosures.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://divadisclosures.blogspot.com/feeds/112006105870026170/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7118868&amp;postID=112006105870026170' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7118868/posts/default/112006105870026170'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7118868/posts/default/112006105870026170'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://divadisclosures.blogspot.com/2005/06/musician.html' title='The Musician'/><author><name>Diva</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02899537797599037515</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7118868.post-112006103857476953</id><published>2005-06-23T12:03:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2005-08-16T18:17:30.803-04:00</updated><title type='text'>The Thug</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3821/422/1600/tupac1.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3821/422/320/tupac1.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So after meeting the nice guy, I figured I'd talk to a man that was a bit rougher, a little tougher..... &lt;strong&gt;MISTAKE&lt;/strong&gt;!!! This was an experience that I could definitely do without. I've known this guy for years. We had a mutual friend in high school so I'd see him every summer at cookouts and random events. I saw him again when I was out one night at a club in DC and from there we exchanged numbers and started what I thought would be a great relationship. His strength intrigued me. I liked how he'd pull me towards him for a hug and tightly embrace my body. I felt safe with him. I felt like he was my man, my provider, my protector and I was his woman. I was the sweetness to balance out his bitterness. We were the perfect compliment to each other. I always knew he was a bit rough, but I didn't know he was a thug until it was almost too late.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He came to pick me up pretty late one night. The plan was to grab some food at some fattening 24 hour fast food place and then chill at his house. We're driving on the highway in his truck. By now its about 1am. He says:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#6600cc;"&gt;&lt;em&gt;"Man this cop has been following me for about 6 miles now."&lt;/em&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I glance at his speedometer and say,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;span style="color:#cc33cc;"&gt;"&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ff0000;"&gt;Don't worry about it. Its not like you're speeding or anything." &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;span style="color:#6600cc;"&gt;"No but if they pull me over they could get me on a lot of charges."&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I guess he could see the confusion written on my face. Like I said before, I've known him since high school and had never known for him to be involved in any criminal behavior (besides drinking and occasionally smoking with his friends.) He elaborates:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;span style="color:#6633ff;"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#6600cc;"&gt;"They could get me on possession, attempting to distribute, having a concealed weapon under the seat you're sitting in, not to mention the pending hit and run DUI charges I got. Shit I had a few drinks earlier before I picked you up so I guess they could get me on another one right now, ha ha."&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I find nothing funny at all. I sit there, mouth agape, trying to process the bomb he just dropped on me. The man that I cared about and shared my heart and body with just told me that he's a gun wielding drug dealer. The fact that I'm in the car with him at 1 in the morning with a cop following us for miles sends me into a panic. If he was to go down right now, I'd go down with him just for being in the car. They'd probably think I was his girlfriend/accomplice trying to deny connection with his criminal activities and they'd charge me with accessory to distribution or whatever you call it. I'm not too versed with criminal lingo. Needless to say, I flip out, curse up a storm, and demand he takes me home at once! He takes the next exit and thankfully the cop stays on the highway. He repeatedly called since then but I refuse to talk to him. Damn, I'll never question a nice guy again!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7118868-112006103857476953?l=divadisclosures.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://divadisclosures.blogspot.com/feeds/112006103857476953/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7118868&amp;postID=112006103857476953' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7118868/posts/default/112006103857476953'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7118868/posts/default/112006103857476953'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://divadisclosures.blogspot.com/2005/06/thug.html' title='The Thug'/><author><name>Diva</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02899537797599037515</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7118868.post-112006102610512290</id><published>2005-06-22T12:03:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2005-08-16T18:19:14.413-04:00</updated><title type='text'>The Nice Guy</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3821/422/1600/manwithflowers.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3821/422/320/manwithflowers.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Most girls say that they want a nice guy, a Prince Charming, a southern gentleman. I've been known to say this over and over again. But when we meet this nice guy, do we know what to do with him? My answer is &lt;strong&gt;NO.&lt;/strong&gt; Thats the sad truth of the story. We, as women, are so used to the dogs and playas out here that when a nice guy comes along, we are completely dumb founded. Now I can't speak for all women, but I can tell you one of my stories....&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I met a guy who seemed to have all the things I needed. He was very attractive, funny, sensitive, strong, had a good job, his own place, and a car. (Yes having your own place and a car is important to me. I don't want to be your chauffeur picking you up from your moms house.) Anyway, so you would think that this guy would be great. I'm spending time with him one day and I realize, wow this guy is really nice! And it scared the HELL out of me. Thats crazy I know, but I was just waiting for something more. I was scared that he'd be boring, that he wouldn't have any intrigue or excitement to him. I felt that I wanted a man with a little more bite to him. All this time I had been asking God to send me a nice guy and when he's right in front of my face I push him away.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I had become the exact woman that I had talked about for so long. The woman that gets a good man and treats him bad. The woman that pushes away one of the few strong, sweet, &lt;strong&gt;STRAIGHT&lt;/strong&gt;, nice Black men that we have left. At the time I thought I needed someone a little more rough around the edges but later on after talking to this "thuggish" guy after him, I realize that nice guys aren't that bad. If there is one guy out of my past that I'd like to meet again it would be the nice guy.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7118868-112006102610512290?l=divadisclosures.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://divadisclosures.blogspot.com/feeds/112006102610512290/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7118868&amp;postID=112006102610512290' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7118868/posts/default/112006102610512290'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7118868/posts/default/112006102610512290'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://divadisclosures.blogspot.com/2005/06/nice-guy.html' title='The Nice Guy'/><author><name>Diva</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02899537797599037515</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7118868.post-112006001207725474</id><published>2005-06-21T11:37:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2005-09-01T16:24:19.886-04:00</updated><title type='text'>And We're Back!!!</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3821/422/1600/i"&gt;&lt;img style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3821/422/320/i%27m%20back.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I know, I know, I know, its been a MINUTE since I’ve been on here. But guess what, I'm still &lt;span style="color:#ff0000;"&gt;SINGLE&lt;/span&gt;!!!! How crazy is that?!?! But at least it gives me more things to write about. It also has made me do a lot of soul searching to figure out &lt;em&gt;&lt;span style="color:#9999ff;"&gt;what&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/em&gt;I really want in a man and &lt;em&gt;&lt;span style="color:#9999ff;"&gt;why&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt; I attract the wrong ones. I've found that meeting guys isn't the problem for me. Throughout the past ten months I've gone on plenty of dates. The problem is that they all have &lt;strong&gt;ISSUES.&lt;/strong&gt; Or is it me with the issues? Stay tuned for future posts as I attempt to break down exactly whats going on with my love life. I'll talk about the different types of guys I've dealt with in the past ten months. The good, the bad, and the ugly. And I promise to update this a bit more than every ten months!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7118868-112006001207725474?l=divadisclosures.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://divadisclosures.blogspot.com/feeds/112006001207725474/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7118868&amp;postID=112006001207725474' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7118868/posts/default/112006001207725474'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7118868/posts/default/112006001207725474'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://divadisclosures.blogspot.com/2005/06/and-were-back.html' title='And We&apos;re Back!!!'/><author><name>Diva</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02899537797599037515</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7118868.post-109277642982401594</id><published>2004-08-17T16:58:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2005-08-16T18:15:27.733-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Two Strikes and You’re OUT!!!</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3821/422/1600/baseball.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3821/422/320/baseball.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This isn’t the “&lt;em&gt;Great American Pastime&lt;/em&gt;” here. You don’t have three chances to slam your big wooden stick at a small unsuspecting ball sending it flying out of control in the air. Oh no! This is my heart we’re talking about.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The umpire has yelled “Strike One” at my so-called “Mr. Right.” How did he mess up? He didn’t keep his eye on the ball! He wasn’t focused. He let a whole month go by without taking me to dinner, chillin around the house with me, no blockbuster nights, nothing! I’m not a needy person but I do need to see the person I’m “involved” with at least on a biweekly basis. His reasoning for not being around was that he was “busy.” Busy with work, busy going out of town every weekend for “business” (&lt;em&gt;or so he says&lt;/em&gt;) and pleasure, and busy blaming me for being occupied 3 weeknights every week. I’m sorry but I don’t think that me being busy on Monday-Wednesday is anything like you being out of town every single weekend.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;With one strike against him, he doesn’t have that much margin for error. As I stated before, you only get 2 chances at bat with me. He has now been placed on probation. But just like a good coach I’m prepared. Yes he’s a bat but there is always someone else on deck warming up ready to get his chance. And after him there is a fine player on the bench just itching to get his turn at the plate. That’s just the strategy of the game!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7118868-109277642982401594?l=divadisclosures.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://divadisclosures.blogspot.com/feeds/109277642982401594/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7118868&amp;postID=109277642982401594' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7118868/posts/default/109277642982401594'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7118868/posts/default/109277642982401594'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://divadisclosures.blogspot.com/2004/08/two-strikes-and-youre-out.html' title='Two Strikes and You’re OUT!!!'/><author><name>Diva</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02899537797599037515</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7118868.post-108681767507611155</id><published>2004-06-09T17:47:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2005-09-01T16:22:25.550-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Could it be? Mr. Right?!?</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3821/422/1600/man%20in%20suit.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3821/422/320/man%20in%20suit.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Is the search over? Could it be true? Has this Diva finally met Mr. Right? She just might have! Now don’t go planning what you’re getting me for a wedding present or anything. It’s not that serious! But lets just say, so far so good.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;For the sake of this blog, lets call him John. I met John about a month ago and the past couple of weeks have been great. You know a Diva like me has a checklist of requirements that a potential suitor must meet in order to be considered a possible match. This guy either meets or exceeds them all! Just to name a few he has a great job, &lt;strong&gt;NO KIDS&lt;/strong&gt;, God fearing, a gentleman, plus I look really good stepping out of his 2004 fully equipped Acura TL.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Now I don’t want to rush or jinx anything. As you can see from previous blog entries, my luck with the opposite sex has not exactly been the best. But lets hope that future entries will be about romantic getaways and love poems instead of dating horror stories (&lt;em&gt;even though those stories made for some good writing&lt;/em&gt;). You’ll just have to stay tuned to find out.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7118868-108681767507611155?l=divadisclosures.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://divadisclosures.blogspot.com/feeds/108681767507611155/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7118868&amp;postID=108681767507611155' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7118868/posts/default/108681767507611155'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7118868/posts/default/108681767507611155'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://divadisclosures.blogspot.com/2004/06/could-it-be-mr-right.html' title='Could it be? Mr. Right?!?'/><author><name>Diva</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02899537797599037515</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7118868.post-108612331341956340</id><published>2004-06-01T16:45:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2005-08-16T18:14:21.733-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Hit the Road "Jack"</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3821/422/1600/bad%20teeth.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3821/422/320/bad%20teeth.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Memorial day weekend. My girls and I are all set to do some damage at the club. To say that I was looking cute would be a terrible understatement. I was &lt;em&gt;divafied&lt;/em&gt;! I strutted in my stilettos as if I were working the runways of Milan. Light makeup, perfectly fitting pants and a sexy yet classy blouse...I was hurting them! We make our entrance and the first person I see is an ex-boyfriend of mine. We silently stare at each other for what seemed to be eternity. Immediately I remember the first time I met him and he looked at me with the same wonder he has in his eyes right now. I flashback to being with him in his arms making love until dawn. I remember how hurt I was once our relationship fell apart. I must admit, seeing him sucker punched me right off of my Diva platform. Diva’s don’t feel as self conscious as I felt right now. Time had done him well. But I quickly get a hold of myself. Yes he looked good but I looked better! I confidently walk up to him. There is no point in being bitter. I’ll just let him see what he’s missing! We engaged in a brief conversation.&lt;br /&gt;I ask, “How are you?”&lt;br /&gt;“I’m doing well. Wow, you look great!”&lt;br /&gt;“Thanks. Well nice seeing you again. Take care.”&lt;br /&gt;Stunned by my lack of interest in him, he stutters as he tries to say “You too.”&lt;br /&gt;I walk away with my friends and feel him staring as I leave. Mission accomplished!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We’re walking through the club and someone pulls my arm. I turn around to see this hideous creature wearing the brightest, ugliest, most sickening orange paisley shirt with sweat literally dripping off every part of him and teeth that look like a jackhammer has just ran through them. The whites of his eyes are a pissy yellow color. I don’t like to talk about people, but damn! I quickly turn away and continue to walk through the club. About ten minutes later I feel a massive sweaty arm rub up against me leaving sweat running down my arm and an equally sweaty belly and pelvis grinding against my backside! I turn and there is “Jack” (&lt;em&gt;short for his Jack hammered teeth&lt;/em&gt;.) I am completely disgusted by now and pull my friends so we can make our way into another one of the dance rooms.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Time passes, meanwhile to my delight, I keep catching my ex trying to sneak occasional glances. However “Jack” just won’t go away. This time I feel his sweaty palms on my butt leaving hideous wet spots on my perfectly fitting pants as he pulls up to me trying to dance. I snap around and forcefully yell, “&lt;strong&gt;DO NOT TOUCH ME&lt;/strong&gt;!!!” He says something but I ignore him and continue to walk away. By now I think he has the point but I guess that would only be in a perfect world. He finds me at least 2 more times that night and attempts to dance with me. If I wasn’t the diva that I am, I would have seriously been ready to fight this monster! Instead I find some choice four-letter words in my vocabulary and move on. For the rest of the night I catch his yellow eyes on me. I’m repulsed just looking at him. I see him starting to walk towards me and I give him the eye of death, a look that would pierce your soul; a look that even scared a monster like him. He realizes that he can’t mess with a diva like me, and retreats back to his cave of people.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Moral of the story: Ladies, don't be bitter when you run into an ex. It's not becoming at all. Fellas, please do not be like this sweaty Jack hammered monster. If you know you sweat easily, bring a towel. If a woman doesn’t want to dance with you, she’s not going to dance with you. Persistence is not always a good thing. If she turns you down more than once, hit the road “Jack!”&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7118868-108612331341956340?l=divadisclosures.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://divadisclosures.blogspot.com/feeds/108612331341956340/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7118868&amp;postID=108612331341956340' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7118868/posts/default/108612331341956340'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7118868/posts/default/108612331341956340'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://divadisclosures.blogspot.com/2004/06/hit-road-jack.html' title='Hit the Road &quot;Jack&quot;'/><author><name>Diva</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02899537797599037515</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7118868.post-108576045316390590</id><published>2004-05-28T12:05:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2005-08-17T11:07:10.923-04:00</updated><title type='text'>TAKE THE DAMN HINT!!!</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3821/422/1600/reject.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3821/422/320/reject.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;OK fellas, let me inform you of a very important, though misunderstood piece of information. When a woman breaks up with you and says that the two of you can be friends, she rarely ever means that the two of you will be &lt;strong&gt;actual &lt;/strong&gt;friends! I know what you are thinking, “Then why did she say lets be friends?” The answer to that is simple, it seemed like a nice thing to say! We don’t want to be mean and say, “Bastard, may God send down a flaming lighting bolt to singe off your index finger if you even fathom the idea of picking up the phone and dialing my number!” (&lt;em&gt;Even if that’s what we are thinking&lt;/em&gt;) Just take the hint and move on.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In a desperate attempt to rekindle the relationship you call her for three consecutive days apologizing (&lt;em&gt;to the sassy recording on her answering machine cause she’d dare not answer your call&lt;/em&gt;) for all of the wrong things you had done, proclaiming your undying love for her, and begging for another chance to prove that you could be all the man she would ever need. Nice try! But after listening to Mary J. Blidge, Toni Braxton, and all of the other countless love songs we’ve heard it all before! It’s not going to happen captain! Please, just take the hint.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;On the fourth message you leave, you accept the fact that you won’t get back together but decide that you two will maintain a friendship. Great! We knew you’d see it our way. A couple weeks pass and you call her “just to check in.” She actually answers the phone! But after about 5 minutes of pointless, meaningless conversation of “How are you doing?”, “Fine, how are you?”, and how you’ve been trying to get your life together since your separation. Trust me, she doesn’t care that you just got a job at the local Pet Smart. Did you honestly think that would win her over? She comes up with a clever excuse to get off the phone.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You continue this charade for months by calling her from your friends’ telephone and blocked numbers (&lt;em&gt;because you knew she wouldn’t answer if she saw your name pop up on her cell!&lt;/em&gt;) She always gets off the phone quickly. She says, “I gotta run, talk to you later.” Realizing that you’re the only one doing the dialing you say, “I know you’re not going to call me back.” She knows you’re right; her response, she giggles and quickly says “Bye!” Honey, darling, sweetie, &lt;strong&gt;TAKE THE DAMN HINT&lt;/strong&gt;!!! She doesn’t want you anymore! The mere sound of your voice makes her skin crawl. Find another poor unsuspecting female to stalk!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Maybe us women need to be more blunt and say, “Please erase my number from your memory.” Maybe we should have never pulled the “lets be friends” card from the beginning. Or maybe you fellas should just take the damn hint and leave us the hell alone. Its over! Move on, we sure as hell have!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7118868-108576045316390590?l=divadisclosures.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://divadisclosures.blogspot.com/feeds/108576045316390590/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7118868&amp;postID=108576045316390590' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7118868/posts/default/108576045316390590'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7118868/posts/default/108576045316390590'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://divadisclosures.blogspot.com/2004/05/take-damn-hint.html' title='TAKE THE DAMN HINT!!!'/><author><name>Diva</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02899537797599037515</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7118868.post-108559960245697897</id><published>2004-05-26T15:15:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2005-08-17T11:16:25.646-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Prelude and Recaps</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3821/422/1600/jackass.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3821/422/320/jackass.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Today is the first day of the rest of my life! Ok maybe it isn’t that serious but it is the first day I’m using this blog. I guess I’m a virgin to this whole thing. (Whoo it’s been a long time since I’ve been able to say that!) Anyway, I was inspired to do this after a friend of mine forwarded one of his friends’ blogs. Hers was so great, I’m sure this one won’t come close to hers but I figure it’s a good way to let stuff out. (Especially since I can do this during work hours and steadily type on the keyboard while my coworkers sitting in the cubicles next to me think I’m hard at work!)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Well let me start by telling you a little something about me. I’m the type of girl who’s in love with being in love. The problem with me is that my history with love hasn’t been the whole romance novel, fairytale, happily ever after movie kind of love. Oh no, that’s too simple. My love life has been more of America’s Funniest Home Video’s style! You know the kind when the guy rolls down the hill, the kid gets soaked by a sprinkler system and the girl unknowingly walks around with her skirt tucked in the back of her panties. It feels like sh!t when its happening to you but its absolutely hilarious when you look back at it. So that’s what this blog is going to do: hilariously looking back on the times when I felt like sh!t. So why wait? Lets get right to it….&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The month of April 2004 is the perfect example of how my life has been. Three different episodes with three different guys, but each and every one of them shared one bond…THEY SUCKED!!!!!!!!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Episode 1:&lt;br /&gt;So I had been talking to this guy for a while now. We hadn’t done anything intimate yet but I’d chill over his house all the time and had spent the night over there plenty of times. (Yes it is possible to sleep in the same bed with a man and not do anything sexual!) He always had a big jar on his dresser but I had never looked in it or paid much attention to it until this one time I spent the night and he was in the bathroom I happened to glance in it and it was FULL of condoms. I’m like, ok whatever, at least I know he’s concerned about safe sex and keeps condoms on hand. (giving the dude the benefit of the doubt) So the next week I’m over there, I’m ready! I mean I had been going through a little drought and he and I have been together for awhile, I figure hey lets get this show on the road. He reaches over to the jar on his dresser and is says, "Oh I forgot, I’m out of condoms." WHAT? I think back to last week when the jar was FULL. I ask him, “You had a whole jar last week. You told me I was the only person you were talking to. Where did all those condoms go?” His reply, “A weeks a long time. You are the only person I’m talking to, just not the only person I’m having sex with!” WHAT THE HELL!?!?! I quickly get my clothes on and leave. That’s just nasty!&lt;br /&gt;From this day forth you will forever be known as: SIR FUKKS A LOT!!!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Episode 2:&lt;br /&gt;During episode 1 I got all worked up thinking I was going to get some and then left with nothing. By this time, I’m as horny as a country dog in heat so I call up ol’ faithful to make plans to blow off some steam. Ol’ Faithful is an ex-boyfriend of mine that whenever I’m in need to “blow off some steam” I can call him and guaranteed get it handled. Now Ol’ Faithful and I have done stuff in some wild places…in parks, in cars, vans, gazebo’s, my basement, you name it, but never in his house. I had been to his house once but his family was out of town. (Yes he’s 24 and lives at home, but this isn’t future husband material, its just sex! I know that sounds bad but hey that’s life!) So we plan for me to come over to his house one Tuesday after I got out of ballet rehearsal (yes I’m a dancer) and I could stay there and get dressed for work at his house. Sounded good to me! So I get there around 9:30. He says, “Park up the street and wait. I’ll come up there and walk you in the house.” Immediately I question having to park up the street and wait but I figure I’ll just do it. 9:57pm, his long legs stroll up to my car. I lay into him for having me wait that long. He quickly assures me that he’ll make it up to me. I think to myself, “This boy better be hungry because he’s going to have to be ‘eating’ for a long time to make this one up!”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So we’re walking down to his house. My 5’2” frame struggles to keep up with his 6’4” pace. Instead of walking me up the front steps he jumps up on a side ledge. My face has confusion written all over it as he reaches down to help me up on the ledge. I start to ask, “Why…”…“Shhh!!” THIS DUDE JUST Shhh’d ME!!! Before I could even respond, he’s pushing my head down as we duck under a window. I feel like I’m in military training camp! I’m just waiting for us to be crawling through the grass on our bellies with our arms!!! Next we jump up on a deck, slither through a back storage area and sneak down some back stairs that lead into his basement room. There is no word in the English language to tell how pissed I am. He tries to explain that his family, who hails from Jamaica, are very strict and he thought his mom would be working the overnight shift so there would be no problem for me to be there but instead she called in sick. I could give a flying f*ck about all that! I just want to walk out the front door, get in my car and drive the 30 minutes back to my house. I am 22 years old, sneaking into houses is not on my agenda.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But I calm down and figure I better at least get some get sex after putting up with all this! Things get rolling and much to my happiness, he is very “hungry!!” But he then asks if I have a condom. Excuse me? You don’t have one? I didn’t know I was responsible for providing the condoms. Oh I’m heated! Once again, no sex for me. At least I got some good head though. I begin to put my clothes back on so I can get the heck out of there before my temper blows. Wait! His mom comes to the door. This dude THROWS me into a closet. Yes I am airborne! She finally leaves and I get dressed and proceed to leave. Tempted to storm out the front door and make a scene and get him in trouble, I decide to just go ahead and leave out back. We go back up the stairs then through the storage area but instead of continuing to leave he pushes me in a garage. He wanted to “make sure the coast was clear.” Being outside now with the garage door closed I lay him out. I’ve never heard so many curse words come out of my mouth! I leave the garage, jump off the deck and walk back to my car with him following behind me trying to calm me down.&lt;br /&gt;His name: PRIVATE FIRST ASS&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Episode 3:&lt;br /&gt;After the first 2 episodes I decide I need to God in my life. And while at church I just happen to meet a guy! Well, re-meet a guy. We were friends when we were younger but hadn’t seen each other since leaving for college and the military and let me just say, time did his body well! But I’m in church right now so I shouldn’t be thinking like that! I’m thinking this is God’s little blessing for me since I had two losers recently. So we start talking on the phone and hanging out and stuff. The second date we decide that he would come over my house for a blockbuster night. We decide the first movie we watch will be “All about the Benjamins” with Ice Cube and Andre’ Epps. Sounds good. So about 30 minutes into the movie he makes a move and tries to kiss me. I’m like ok whatever, but I cut it short and pull away. That’s not on my agenda right now. So he chills…for 2 minutes…and then comes right back at me with 10 hands all over me and his tongue down my throat. I forcefully push him off of me and give him a few choice words! This dude quickly whips out his penis and begins to “take matters into his own hands!” I mean this guy is really going AT IT!!! It looks like he’s hurting himself! I'm in complete and utter shock! I mean dude is GOING FOR IT! He then has the nerve to say to me...while he's going for it...."play with my balls please". WHAT THE HELL IS THAT. If you could have only seen my face! I'm disgusted. I get up and go upstairs for a minute to gather my thoughts so I don't flick off and get some water. I was boiling. I get back downstairs and dude is still at it. I'm just standing there still in shock. I couldn't say anything! He finishes and says,&lt;br /&gt;“Why you all the way over there?”&lt;br /&gt;“I had to give you your room cause obviously I was in the way.”&lt;br /&gt;“Are you mad at me?”&lt;br /&gt;“Yes! Please leave NOW!”&lt;br /&gt;“Oh you're putting me out?”&lt;br /&gt;I just gave him the stare of death (you know the look your mother used to give you when you were in trouble) and starting walking to the stairs. He knew that meant he better get the hell out of my house with the quickness! Then he stopped at the porch and was like how do I get out of here. My response, “Find your way out of here on your own like you found your way to your d*ck on your own.”&lt;br /&gt;Your name: I can’t even think of a name for this one. He’ll just have to be J.O.B. (JERK OFF BOY!)&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7118868-108559960245697897?l=divadisclosures.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://divadisclosures.blogspot.com/feeds/108559960245697897/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7118868&amp;postID=108559960245697897' title='5 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7118868/posts/default/108559960245697897'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7118868/posts/default/108559960245697897'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://divadisclosures.blogspot.com/2004/05/prelude-and-recaps.html' title='Prelude and Recaps'/><author><name>Diva</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02899537797599037515</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>5</thr:total></entry></feed>
