why I love black men...

So, of course since I decided to give up dating, guys are crawling out of the woodwork (allegedly), to get at me. I'm sticking to my guns. But in case you're wondering why I'm giving up not just the nookie, but the dates as well, here's your answer.

I love black men. I've said this before, but I'll say it again. Love them. Love the way they talk, the way they walk, they way they smell, the way the cogs turn in their brain. Love their basketball playing shyt-talk; love their jawnin'-in-a-cypher braggadacio.

I love their confidence, their strength, their defiance in the face of adversity (and let's be honest - they face more daily adversity that any of us care to admit - even us sistas who share their experiences).I love their ability to rise to a challenge, to be empassioned about the most trivial annoyance, their cool demeanor when faced with people that belittle them and insult their intelligence. You may never see them sweat, yanno?

I love their style, the way they dress, they way they stand, the way they swagger. I like the way their eyelashes dust their cheeks when they sleep (they look longer somehow when their eyes are closed). I love their locs, their fades, their dreads, their baldies - even their 'fros (only from afar - their 'fro can't supercede mine ;-).

I love the depth of their brown eyes, and their self-conscious, blushing-at-the-floor smiles. I love the fact that despite the challenges they face daily, they still see potential in the world, and themselves, and that makes their challenges, well, it's alright, ya heard?

I love that thin line of sweat that forms from neck base to navel, when they're really getting their groove on.

So having said all that (I've got more, but time's a wastin'), I want to keep loving them. Given the spate of a$$holes in 2004, that's been hard. For every one positive thing I can list about them, several negative recent experiences come to mind. I hate thinking like that.

I'm giving them up, so I can get past 2004 a$$holiness - and let some older wounds heal. Lately, I've been expecting the worst, so I'm never really disappointed. I'm supposed to be expecting the best, so that I know when to kick sorry a$$es to the curb. I know it's partially me. So, I'm giving them up so I can keep loving them.