I decided to emerge from my cocoon and, after a solid 10 months devoted to myself, re-enter the dating world. Or, so I thought.

Surprise, surprise, it’s still in the abysmal state I left it in.

I was hoping I would leave and come back to the dating utopia I conjured up in my head where men ask women on dates and people get to know each other over dinners or long metro rides. Oh, and where men wear argyle socks with their dress shoes. They have to wear argyle socks.

Nonetheless, not so much. For the world of early twenty-somethings, dating still seems to be synonymous with “let’s hang out” and hang out is synonymous with sit on someone’s couch and watch a movie and watch a movie is synonymous with a host of activities that constitute everything other than watching a movie.

The bra-burner, Rosie the Riveter, independent woman in me would like to believe that dating the old school way and waiting for a man to ask you out is a complete crock of bull. In most life matters, I am straightforward and if I see something I want, I go for it. However, I’ve had a few influences, male and female, that have changed that outlook when it comes to members of the opposite sex. If there’s anything I’ve learned from pouring through Demetria Lucas’ Formspring account day after day, it is this: if he’s interested, he’ll call. If he’s not, he won’t. And, if there’s anything else I’ve learned from the handful of platonic male friends in my life, it is this: when they are interested, they pursue. When they’re not; they don’t.

I’m sure there are millions of independent booty-shaking women out there who have pursued a relationship and gotten it. And to those women I just want to say hey, the shoes on my feet, I bought em, too. But, my guess is these women are the exception, not the rule. And, even if they are not, it doesn’t change the fact that I want to be courted, dammit.

Yes, I am said it. Deep somewhere beyond the contemporary woman who shutters at words such as “submissive” and grimaces at phrases such as “act like a lady,” I still want an old-fashioned romance. It sounds simple enough, except for the fact that there are countless books, blogs and articles telling women how to (and more importantly how not to) date. But, aside from the “f*** off” stamp I just decided to peel from my forehead not too long ago, I’m not sure how else to run around letting men know I am available to date. I even decided to start smiling, a rare occurrence if you know me and the many free club entrances I have nearly cost my friends by scowling at the bouncers.

I am still sticking to my guns that I am going to date the old school way. Because, I’ve done the FWB shimmy one too many times and my feet are tired. It’s all fun and games until you look down and realize your heart isn’t quite as icy as you pegged it to be.

At 22, I’m not too jaded. I have faith. Lots of it, in fact. I still believe that men ask women on first dates. I still believe in flowers and forehead kisses. I believe two individuals can fall head-over-heels-jump-to-the-moon in love with one another. I believe there are men who genuinely value women in a way that is fearless and refreshing and nurturing. And, I believe there are women who value men just the same. I believe in love that shatters the Earth and rebuilds it more beautifully. And, I believe in these things not just for the early twenty-somethings. More importantly, I believe in them for myself.

Xoxo,

Tyece

On Sunday night, Rihanna sat down with the media queen Oprah and gave a candid and authentic interview. Thanks to the suckers at Verizon who want to charge me an extra $25 dollars to own OWN, I didn’t watch the interview. But, per usual, the Twitterverse and, the following day, blogosphere, didn’t spare me any details. What I gathered is that Rih Rih dished heavily on her relationship with her father, her tough girl facade, and, of course, her relationship with Chris Brown.

Thanks to one of my favorite bloggers, I pulled this quote from the interview:

“We’ve been working on our friendship again and now we are very close friends,” she told Oprah. “We’ve built our trust again. We love each other and we will probably always will. That’s not anything you can change or shut off if you’ve ever been in love.”

It’s pretty easy for anyone’s mind to flash back to Grammy night 2009 and the absence of Rihanna and Chris Brown from the red carpet that night, followed by the media frenzy, the violence, the fallout and everything else we’ve heard way too much about at this point. I think it’s also pretty easy for lots of people to cut a side eye at Rihanna, wondering how she could make amends with Brown. I was quick to dart that side eye until I thought a little more about my own life and mistakes.

I specifically remember Googling “verbal abuse” a few springs ago. My now ex-boyfriend was going to be on a bus that same night to visit me for the weekend, despite a particularly vehement argument the night before. During the course of our 2-ish year relationship, I was hit with more than my fair share of verbal darts. I was told, among other things, that I was clueless, I was an idiot, and I needed to use my middle name on my resume because I would never get a job with my actual name. (For the record, I’m gainfully employed with the name Tyece but that’s neither here nor there.) In retrospect, it’s hard to believe I listened to a fraction of the things he said to me that dismantled my spirit. I’ve now implemented much more of a zero tolerance policy for the bullshit. But, at the time, it just didn’t seem that easy.

It wasn’t easy because I tried to make it simple: I loved him. The verbal darts were always later met with bandages of “I’m sorry” or “I didn’t mean it” or “I love you.” The night he visited, I talked to him over dim light about how I thought some of the things he said qualified as verbal abuse. He apologized profusely and promised it wouldn’t happen again. Weeks later, to preface more of his degradation, he said, “Don’t even try to say this is verbal abuse.”

So, I don’t say this to play the victim because I’m not. I’m in a healthy and happy place now. I also don’t say this to parallel my experience to Rihanna. No one ever deserves physical, emotional, verbal or mental abuse and I can’t fathom what she has dealt with. I say it to say that dysfunction comes in many forms.

We could easily say Rihanna should walk away from CB and never look back. That is, until we remember the many times we looked back, walked back, laid back down, and did it all over again with that same person who caused complete chaos in our lives. We can say what Rihanna could or would or should do but only she can decide that. And when she truly decides that, it will be beautiful and it will be real and she will mean it.

In the end, for most of us, we have functioned in the middle of dysfunctional love. Love is consuming. It’s blinding. It envelopes us in a way that’s so intense, it’s eerie. And, when it does that omnipresent dance around our brains and our bodies, sometimes we just don’t make the smartest choices. Especially when it’s a first love. We’ve never had it before and we worry we’ll never have it again. But, I think as we mature and learn about ourselves and the world around us, we realize love isn’t dysfunctional or painful. It doesn’t attack or bite or sting. It doesn’t taste delicious one day and then sour the next. It’s patient. It’s kind. It’s supportive. And, if it’s not those things, well then honey child, it’s not love.

Xoxo,

Tyece