It's more than just a crush.

It's an obsession. With CNN anchor T. J. Holmes. He's smart, but not nerdy. Sexy, but down to earth. Southern, but not country. For what more could Pretty ask? ~swoon~

Why you actin' like a... like a.... BIA! BIAAAAAAAAA!!!!!!

Mr. Holland's e-mail was brief, but funny. He told me that he didn't like being hooked up in this way and likened it to auditioning for a reality show. He also mentioned that he had e-mailed a few pics of himself to MM and that he hoped she had shared them with me (she had!). He ended the note by advising me to contact him if and when I wanted, and he requested that I send him a few shots of myself.

I was feeling particularly spicy, so I drafted a quick reply and attached three of my fav self-portraits. The next day, I found out that Mr. Holland had seen my pictures. He thought I was "incredibly beautiful." And....

He.was.now.SCARED.of.me.

Well, you scared! You scared!
Stop actin' like a b****! You scared!

What about me is scary? I wasn't donning my sexy smirk, a la Gabby Union in "Deliver Us From Eva" in any of the pics. Nor was I wearing a trench coat or pentagram earrings.

All of a sudden, I remembered... he knows my occupation from MM. What is it about attractive educated Black women that scares off attractive, equally educated Black men? I wouldn't have written this post were it not for reading my Soror L's rant about having been told that she's "educating herself out of a husband" by going after her PhD. (Go 'head Dr. La!!!! This re-post was so very apropos.)

Seriously, I don't want to be the "scary Black-girl attorney." (Is that really what people see when they look at me?) And, I definitely am not attracted to scary (as in, scared of everything) men.

Maybe when Mr. Holland said he was scared of me, he meant he was nervous to be interacting with someone so pretty and smart? ~shrug~

BIA!!! BIAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I've been e-corresponding with a gentlemen who I met via a friend/coworker's mother. She met him at a conference, liked his "beautiful spirit" and immediately thought to hook me up with him. She (we'll call her the Millionaire Matchmaker, MM for short) is always thinking of me in this way. Very close to Valentine's Day, she met and chatted up the "most gorgeous man" in the Publix down the street from both of our homes. Tall, bald, muscular. He complained to her about not being able to find a nice woman who wanted to settle down. She told him about me, her daughter's "beautiful friend," but seeing as though she didn't know my contact information, she chose instead to tell him my workplace. She made me promise that if I got flowers at work from this gentleman on V-Day that I would make her a part of our wedding. If you're wondering, I didn't get any flowers or any calls at work. But, I must admit, for about a month, every time I went to that Publix, I made sure that I was swexy (sweet-looking, but sexy, in PrettySpeak).

So, when MM told me about her most recent find for me, I was less than enthusiastic. He sounded interesting: a brother who left a promising career in an intriguing field to become a public school teacher because he wanted to give back to the community. However, he lived in another city and MM didn't know him from Adam. Nevertheless, I allowed her to share my e-mail addy with him since I am typically open to meeting like-minded individuals.

He didn't contact me for two weeks (Not that I was counting. I couldn't help but notice the duration of time since MM had her daughter ask me every day had "the man of my dreams" e-mailed yet.)

Then, one day as I was checking my e-mail for the umpteenth time (I have a serious problem with checking my three e-mail accounts every three minutes), I noticed a message from a random. It was from the teacher, who I like to call Mr. Holland (as in "Mr. Holland's Opus).

Shared Space Etiquette, Part II

Continued...

Pretty knew better than to say something right then because her current thoughts were not so pretty. So, I continued working, all the while thinking about how I could approach this situation. See, FN had had run-ins with other coworkers about the fan, but never with me. The longer I sat thinking about how rude FN was for not even asking whether I minded if she turned the fan down, the more I knew I had to broach the topic with her. (Ironically, I became even hotter. I guess that's why they say people are "simmering.") Being the non-confrontational person I am, I was dreading saying something to her out of the blue. Instead, when FN left The Board (I knew only momentarily because she had left several files at her desk), I turned the fan back up.

When she came back, I could already see her lips pursed at noticing the fan was now again on "whir." Before she could even say anything, I politely asked, "Oh, I'm sorry, did you turn the fan down when you came up here?" I wasn't going to let her get off the hook for that one. I continued, "Because I'm a little warm." As she reached her desk, she hastily collected her files, responding, "Yeah. I'm just going to go to my office. I have a weird neck thing. If any amount of wind blows on it, it starts to hurt." W.T.F. If you say so, FN.

I couldn't hide my smile as she stomped off, clearly annoyed. Or, when she came back to The Board slamming desk drawers and sighing heavily. As I passed her in the hall (she never made it to her desk, apparently waiting for me to complete my task), I said in a syrupy sweet tone, "I'm done up here." She replied (still salty), "Well, I've already got all my things now."

At that, I smiled even brighter and bid her good day. ~halo~

Shared Space Etiquette

So, about that resolution I made a few weeks ago. I'm going to do better, I promise. ;-) Anyway, on to the post.

A part of my job description requires me to visit an area on a different floor from my office that is located in a large, open room filled with about ten employees, each of them having their own desk. Only one small area (off in the cut, mind you) is sectioned off, with two walls and a ceiling-high bookshelf as borders. This teeny-tiny space has 4 desks in each of its corners, one of them being assigned to me. Let's call this area "The Board." I'd be remiss if I didn't note that the bigger office is home to various and sundry machines, including huge Xerox copiers, a machine that houses files that reminds me of a gigantic electronic Rolodex (I forgot the actual name of the contraption), and a mainframe computer (I SWEAR!), all going at once. These machines are in close proximity to The Board and my desk there. As one might imagine, the combination of the small space, enclosed by a ceiling-high bookshelf blocking any air that even thinks about circulating, and the fact that The Board is mere inches away from several heat-emitting machines......... well, let's just say, it gets hot and stuffy at The Board, even if only one person is in that area. The single saving grace for any warm-blooded human at The Board is the ceiling fan.

I say warm-blooded human because there is a fellow employee who apparently has cold blood running through her veins and doesn't like or need the ceiling fan when she's at The Board. I try to avoid at all costs working with The Fan Nazi (hereinafter known as FN) at The Board.

So, today, I go upstairs to The Board because I had been slacking on that particular job responsibility. As soon as I walked up, I thought, "Great! There are already two bodies up here and the fan is off! But, at least FN is not one of them, and I know that I can turn on the fan once these two leave." And leave, they did. One, almost as soon as I sat, and the other five minutes later. YESSSSSSSSS!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I got up, pulled the fan twice (it's not THAT hot to have the fan on full-blast hurricane gust), and reclaimed my seat, happy as a clam.

Soon thereafter, the bane of my Board existence, FN, meanders over. Did she just... I know she didn't just... I KNOW SHE DIDN'T JUST TURN THE FAN DOWN!!!!!!!!!! (these are the thoughts that ran through my head as I heard the gentle whir of the fan all but disappear).

To be continued...