Welcome Ladies and Gentleman, to the 8th Wonder of the World

Detox: the process of removing toxic substances or qualities.

Not too long ago I decided to do a dating detox, just some time to date myself. Single and simmering in it, no need to be with others when I needed to understand the relationship I was going to have with myself. 

"I love myself." During an introduction game of say your name and tell us someone you love, that is what I said. “I love myself.”  A chuckle came from the crowd, the type that identified the selfishness in my answer. I stood by it. "I mean it, it sounds selfish but in the society we live in, we aren’t told to love ourselves in a way that allows us to make decisions that honors your entire entity. Your body, your mind, your character, your worth. I’ve never felt so ready to do all those things." 

I have written what seems like a chaotic amount of back and forth about 4. Always ending in the same identification of no chemistry but the platonic is there. We had a hollow foundation, a completely undefined comfort zone. And then this summer’s break came to allow us to explore other options, a mutual agreement. My only request was that I didn’t want to be the last to know." Do what ever you want with whomever from the area, but tell me if it’s someone from within our brigade, don’t let me be the last to know if it’s within our circle." I would give him the same respect. 

Sadly, the grapevine was a little too long for his reflex. An unsolicited conversation with a mutual friend later, I heard the news. I was done. 

There is no way to describe the deep seeded surmounting betrayal I felt. There was no confusion of what my insecurities and fears would be about this arrangement. There was nothing. This was an offense on the friendship. The things he knows about me. He knows. A day later I conveniently received a text from him asking to talk. Someone told him I knew. Is that what it took? We can’t take ownership and be honest with an intimate friend? Especially with the only request that was made, the only courtesy or respect that I had asked for: to have the news from him. To not be the last to know. And never to be the one to have to bring it to him. I responded with the times that I had available to give this talk it’s time. He agreed and then never followed through. No reschedule, no text, no call. 

I proceeded to live my life without any expectations to hear or speak with him again. Two weeks later on the first day of his arrival home he sent a friendly exclamation pointed text message. What a joke. Let’s ignore the fact that I completely didn’t follow up on the one request you had and pretend like everything is fine. No acknowledgement of my actions or apology on my part needed. But hey I am back how are you other than knowing your angry because of what I did? 

I never answered. 

A day later through our mutual friend circles I received a call from him, inquiring about the trivia night I was doing and when it ended. Because ya’ know we’re like best friends, feel free to come on over. I was polite, cordial, and welcoming as I could be; we shared friends. He didn’t come. He messaged me to the effect of letting me know, stating we should hang out and grab some lunch, and with another exclamation point said trivia must be fun. 

I didn’t bother to answer. 

The next night and packing for Jersey I sat there thinking how long I could go on just being to the point, cordial, kind, but moving away from the friendship. How long could I play this game? Especially being someone that stomps on any notion of playing any games with friends. I picked up the phone and called him. The conversation that proceeded was painful. Pretending like everything was fine, he actually started to talk about his own work experiences and how it was a struggle for him. I couldn’t physically be on the phone longer if it went in that direction so when it was silent, I said, I find this difficult to say but I do clearly remember my last request being to let me know if you were hooking up with someone within our circle before I heard from anyone else. And then you did and I heard from someone else. So I am confused about what is happening here and I don’t see us having a friendship.

Some of you might gasp like this is harsh, but admittedly I’ve been taking too much of this for too long. There were too many occasions that I allowed myself to turn a blind eye to his flirtatious advances of some of our mutual friends. Or just accept that some phone calls weren’t going to get picked up or text message unanswered. I exchanged this treatement  for the comfort, consistency, and warmth at night. I did not honor myself by not taking myself out of this environment sooner. 

The ball was in his court. He explained through a timeline that by the time he would have talked to me, it was too late. So he let me be angry and didn’t address me or it until he returned. And even upon his return he didn’t expect me to return his text or phone, he knew I’d be mad. 

"So you waited until I called you about it?" 


I took a breath as I looked across my room at a wall of photos, evidence of where I’ve been and who was with me for the ride. This thought jumped to distinctly remembering saying earlier that day to a group of strangers that I loved myself, and that I was convicted and rooted in that phrase, that notion, that reality. And so in that moment, I told myself I love myself too much to be treated like this. 

"You don’t value me. We’re not friends. Delete my number." Click. 

The conversation was over. 

There was nothing to converse. Conversations over an argument or disagreement are for friends.  Friends are the people whose actions align to honoring you. It aligns to being respectful, kind, and considerate. I couldn’t even think of an example of one action of his that afforded these words. The definition of his actions were simply that he was not my friend. I was just the one that stated it. 

I put my phone down, went to my computer and put on the song Izzo/ In The End Jay-Z & Lincoln Park from the album Collision Course. I looked in the mirror and mouthed "Welcome ladies and gentleman to the 8th wonder of the world…..Thank you coming out tonight, you could of been anywhere in the world but your here with us. And we appreciate that." I was speaking to my self-worth, dignity, and love for me. 

The next day I had two presnetations and a flight to catch back to the colonies (NYC/JERSEY). I packed with a smile on my face throughout the night and then faced the group of people I just told I loved myself the day before, I knew I wasn’t a liar. 

That’s the anthem. Get your damn hands up- 

The MP


5 Deal Breakers in Dating

I realize there are tons of articles written about deal breakers when it comes to dating; but I am confident this one is a good blanket layer of base expectations. 

1. Tipping. If I am with someone who is very cheap on tipping service for NO GOOD REASON Forget them. You can tell a lot about someone by the way they treat people they don’t need. Forget unattractive, it makes me want to punch you.  It’s human decency to tip nicely. This isn’t Europe, we all know servers work for their tips, and even more there is no reason to be rude to anyone just because their work is within the service industry (which is the largest growing industry in the US). Yup, I will judge you for being cheap on service. 

2. Time. Do not waste my time or anyone else’s. If at any point something like this happens: 

Person 1: Hey are you ready for lunch today?

Person 2: I am so sorry my friends and I decided to go to the beach. reschedule? 

Or worse, they don’t answer. Nope. This person is inconsiderate and selfish. Any fuckery with time is a no go. We’ve all got stuff to do. 

3. Reciprocity. Life is give and take. Not all giving and not all taking. Thus, sex shouldn’t be the exception. If you are giving oral you should be receiving (unless you have some other preference). You should be satisfied, or at the least attempted to be satisfied. 

4. Maturity. I’ll be a girlfriend but not a mom. And gentlemen, you shouldn’t be a dad. The hot mess at a party that needs to be tucked in, coddeled, and demands attention for a small good deed. No. No. No. I am not going to teach you how to act because you are not my child. 

5. Using. I’ve been in a scenario or two when friends have been okay with other friends paying for them without any intention to pay back. Accepting this extravagant gift of dinner without a fight over the check. Even purposeful going out to with or to an event knowing the check would be on the other person. It just doesn’t sit right with me. It’s not about opening receiving a kind gesture; it’s about the intention to never return the favor in some genuine or equitable way- the lack of sincere gratitude and increase of “woo hoo didn’t have to pay let me get away before the tide changes.”  It’s a very particular case, it’s a very subtle moment, but when it happens, it’s painful to watch. It’s even more painful when the person who reaped the benefits has no second thoughts and only a “well guess I got a free _____” Ouch. Quite frankly it’s hard for me to have friends like this let alone a companion. 

This was all discussed on a beach in Miami with a few other girlfriends. Let’s see what happens the next time some sex and the city like scene happens on a Miami beach. 

Until then, cheers. 

The mp

Fantastic cover. Brings the song to a whole new level of meaning.

Of course I’m single

On July 24th I will return to my North Eastern home. On July 25th, I will be surrounded by family and friends at a wedding. This isn’t a random wedding invite, some connection or another to the bride and groom. No, this is quite the intimate invitation. Holidays, Birthdays, Graduations, and family trips are within the foundation of this connection. Which means all the more people I’ll know, a convenient home coming, getting to see and be with all the major players in one fashionable setting.

I imagine we’ll all settle into the reception, small talk will be made and I’ll be asked the standard questions, "How are you? Do you love Miami? How do you like teaching?" the easy things to answer. But we all know what’s coming “How is your personal life? Are you dating anyone?” ha.ha. Are you talking 1980s dating of going out on multiple dates and feeling out the crowds? Or are we talking about dating as in having a boyfriend? Cause I’m all about the 80s. But let’s not stray to from the atom bomb comments that follow no matter how I manipulate the response that I am in fact “single”….

"How can such a beautiful and intelligent girl be single?" Are you kidding me? Probably because of the two adjectives you placed together in a sentence to describe one person. You think any man can handle that? That’s why. Did I mention I’m opinionated?

When I was in high school I worked my ass off for honors not because my parents told me to, more because I knew if I wanted out of my current circumstance I needed to do more. I was self-motivated to either be a part of team or work out on my own after school. I was tormented my first year of college and stuck through it with the last ounce of self-confidence I had left to just get myself out of bed for class. And I did it and got a 3.7 and an internship out of only one year of college. I proceeded to push my GPA and myself by signing up for fundraising and cycling across the country the following year. I was a part of a team that held the largest event on our campus and raised more money than universities that had triple our population. I went to Rome and had the time of my life. Came home lost all my abroad weight in a month and hustled to get a waitressing job and internship in one summer. Returned for a senior year of my last half-marathon and travel with friends, all from my pocket. Then to casually start to write in a sex and dating column because- why the hell not?  Finally to be accepted to TFA and relocated myself to Miami. Paid for my first car along with ALL my bills by myself. I signed up for a program that attempts -at the least- to change an engrained systematic problem within our society. All while setting ambitions to travel the entire globe (and I don’t say that lightly, I will see this planet one way or another) and do something increasingly significant in this world or the next. So yes, these days at my age with every book I read the margin for a suitor gets smaller. And no, I’m not going to apologize for laying out my accomplishments. 

Of course I am single. I’m complex. I am interested in the complex. I am interested in someone you can compliment my existence and I will do the same for them. Such an irony that it is a curse for me (a woman) to have this resume. I’d make a great bachelor. Do you know any one my age that can handle that? Probably not- Cue my penchant for older men. Then you have to minus all the ones that are married, settled, chauvinist and not ambitious. I’m faced with the objective of getting to the needle in the haystack. Of course, I’m single. 

I want adventure. I want a challenge. I want someone with enough balls to give me what I give. Someone who will offer me something worth learning, a laugh, excitement, but above all respect. The way that I respect myself. The respect of honesty. Alas, now I just put values on the table, now I am really looking for the anomaly. 

I am not sure if many men are faced with the same question. However, I do know the socially acceptable defense is that they are young and playing the field. As they should. Where as, I am not sure if society is okay with my numbers. If I haven’t found the needle that doesn’t mean I’m going to sit out playing in the hay. 

So, I’m not sure if I’m going to spitfire that response at such a loving occasion. But yes, of course I’m single. 

Vintage & Nature Blog 

I live in Miami, but I miss the winter. #winter #breakfast #coffee

(via joshdelacruz)


Crowd #3 (Pelican Beach) by Alex Prager. 

“You cannot find peace by avoiding life.”
— Virginia Woolf (via quote—un-quote)

(via mistressofmy-fate)

Let’s get wasted in the waves. 

(via clubmonaco)

Death to Suburbia

I hate being in a big house alone in suburbia. I am more frightened to my core here than I was in my ex-boyfriends Harlem apartment. Largely because we all know that the murders that happen in suburbia are random, sick, chop you up in pieces, torment you, white psychotic guys with tons of issues. You know the stalkers, the Dexters, the one’s who just enjoy the thrill of a kill and torture. I’ve got quite the imagination. I wake up with my jaw in lock, I’ve grinded my teeth throughout the night. My fear is a planted seed inside my brain. I wish some inception would occur to convince my mind that rainbows and happiness are all that will occur in the night. Which, if I let my mind go there, it’s mostly true…

The rule of suburbia is that all the children are tucked into their beds. Their bikes are in the garage. The dogs sleep at the edge of the bed. The quiet is peaceful, not disturbing. The hum of insects and frogs are proof of clam nature. Where for me all these things are the perfect scene of complete horror. All your guards are down. You will be slaughtered and no one will know because you are in your own suburb cycle. Only when the garbage man comes around for the second week with your car in the driveway will people start to wonder… where are you? 

I can’t sleep under these conditions of wholesome safe calm nights. I need cars bustling below my window, some drunk love fool yelling something around 3am, the neighbor walking in the apartment above. I need the hum of a city. For me, it’s not a stretch to say my sleeping life is like to scene out of My Cousin Vinny. I need a prison riot in the background to sleep safely. At 23 it’s still an accomplishment if I muster the courage to walk to the bathroom in the middle of the night. Getting out of my bed takes mental strength because you know, when they know (the killer/stalker) you are awake.. you are doomed. It was better when I had a one up and they didn’t know I was awake. At least then you could tweet, instagram, facebook, text, whatsapp your fear to the world and tell someone to call the police for you (you know so you don’t have to make sound talking). Do you know 911 doesn’t take text messages?  I would like my tax dollars to go to a program that makes that a reality. How do I know that you ask? Because I let my mind get the best of me here one night. 

All it took was a loaded mind, 3-5 noises inside the house and completely paralyzed in my bed. Watching the light underneath the door. Watching for shadows. I could of sworn I turned the light off. But what kind of intruder turns the light on? Oh right, the crazy ones that chop you up. So arrogant to believe and know that they could get away with turning a light on. No neighbor would pay mind to it. Well, the dogs didn’t move though, they always move to noises. It must be my mind. Calm yourself. The phone is in your hand, just stay very still and listen for a sound. A heavy creak comes from what seems like the stairs. HE IS COMING UPSTAIRS. THERE IS SOMEONE IN THE HOUSE. okay. Action plan? Well the dogs will surely bark and all I need to do is get down the stairs and straight out the front door because then I can scream to the neighborhood and the dogs will be barking and running.. they will help the cause. I don’t want have to panic like that. That is the emergency plan. The first line of defense is a text message with my address to 911 and then my cousin who lives near. I was determined and convinced. 

Me: There is an intruder in my house, This is my address. Please come immediately 

911 response: 911 does not receive text messages, please call in the emergency. 

Fuck you 911. I am so angry I paid taxes. I could of used that money to not have to dog sit in this house. This is why people die before you get there, they are caught speaking on their phones. Everyone knows this. 

okay. text my cousin john. 

Me: I believe there is an intruder. Can you please call 911 for me? Thanks.

John: What happened?

Me: I hear noises in the house; I am completely paralyzed in fear I am afraid to even talk on the phone. Can you please call someone for me? (It was open to interpretation if at that point it meant a psychiatrist or police.) 

John: I’ll be there in 5, lock your bedroom door if you can

Okay. Someone is coming! yes. okay well then if someone is in the house that means they don’t know I have someone coming! yes. #winning. Just going to text one more person so just in case this intruder is some Dexter motherfucker and takes out John, I can have them call someone if I don’t text them in exactly 30 minutes. 

Me: Hi, If I don’t text you in 30 minutes. you need to call the police to this address. this is not a joke. do it. 

Okay. All bases covered. Now I wait. Staring at the light beneath my door. Waiting. It seemed like forever. Text message from John..

john: I am going to walk around the house first then go through the garage. 

Garage door opens 4 minutes later. Dogs are barking hysterically. John announces himself in the house. I can hear him searching every room. He is coming up the stairs. Oh that is what it sounds like when someone walks up the stairs (take mental note for future reference). I call out, "John I am in Madison’s room."  I am now up and out of my bed at the door waiting for him to come to mine and open it, the dogs at my feet barking hysterically. 

He opens the door and all I see is him with a gun in his hand. One room left to search. I was never so happy to see someone with a gun. Although I was taken aback nonetheless.  

A wave of relief filled my body. I knew that I was foolish and was wrong about the person in the house, but I needed someone to verify that for me. Otherwise I would have stared at that door in silence like a zombie was on the other end (The I am Legend kind) . Waiting for dawn to open the door and go outside. My cousin John was the best. He told me he totally understood was happy to come, looked at all the doors again, and wished me a good night. 

I went back up into the room, locked the bedroom door, dogs at my feet, and phone in my hand. I still didn’t want to stop watching the door. You know, what if it was a stealth killer? Hid while my cousin searched, ya kow? 

Give it a rest Bianca. 

I awoke in the morning. Opened the back door and made my morning coffee. Sat on the couch, turned the news on as I felt the morning breeze. I’ve never trusted anything that seemed wholesome. I am convinced that there are horrors in the facade of the peace. So convinced that I manifested them myself. It’s my old friend; trust issues, back to haunt my every calculated move. I don’t trust this wholesome facade. There has to be something wrong. I don’t bode well with the southern charm, passive aggressive type. I need things to be blunt. New York City is blunt, Harlem is honest, the ally ways of Marrakesh reeked of truth, my apartment building growing up didn’t bother to cover up it’s blemishes. You knew you could be in danger. You thanked the environment for it’s fair warning. Yet, in a wholesome suburban community you are left relaxed, calm, your guard is down. You are in the perfect scenario to be utterly blind from the realities of the world and your own security. The neighbor might beat his wife, the teen-age boy potentially raped his girlfriend, the mom self-medicates, the girl masterfully manipulates and lies. Suburbia is the most dangerous place on earth. If it’s not some slow killing virus of societal standards that keep you self medicated in the facade of beauty then it’s your own mind that swallows you into madness. The dangerous luxury of suburbia is that behind the gate, the doors, the security system, the locked bedroom door and the dogs, you are safe and paralyzed in your own fear of the unknown.

I suppose the first step in slaying suburbia is to confidently walk out of your room in the dead of night, walk out of the bubble, and immerse yourself in the fear. 

Here’s to going to the bathroom at 3am. 

-The MP