Excerpts from the Diary of a Diva

I love reading the "Modern Love" section in The New York Times. There's one long essay every wee and  a column for Tiny Love Stories. I don't get to them as often as I'd like, but when I find the time, I bing on them. Although I find the stories inspiring, I usually spend the majority of my reading time either fighting tears or drying my eyes. One might ask why I continue to read them when I react that way. After all, subjecting myself to such unnecessary pain seems pointless.  For one, the writing is superb. Even though the content makes me cry, I can't deny the wordsmithery used in telling the stories. Another reason I keep reading is that I need to see that love IS possible. Although it has yet to find me, I see that it can exist for others. You know what's even worse that reading love stories? Watching them play out in the real lives of the high school students I teach. I've given out more relationship advice than I ever thought I would to teenager...

I don't know if I'm depressed, but I'm not feeling like myself today. I'm realizing that these feelings of malaise always come after I witness love -- and realize how much I stand in the way of my own. I went to a wedding yesterday. One of my coworkers said, "I do," to her longtime boyfriend. She's one of the cutest, most petite women I've ever known. I'd seen photos of him, but had never met him. He's definitely a cutie, but when I say he was larger than life, I mean that in every sense of the word. I was so shocked. I never would've put those two together, but they both looked super happy. Their joy was palatable. I was glad I got to witness it. There were several couples in attendance. Some looked evenly matched, some not. All seemed happy. Then there's me. My birthday is approaching next month and I'll celebrate 55 years around the sun. Glad to be alive, certainly, but can't for the life of me figure out how I became so unlo...

My uncle died. He actually ceased to live. I don't know how to handle this. Even though he was my mother's brother, he was so much more than that to me. He was the coolest cat on the block, He set the standard that every man had to meet. He was the one I compared every man in my life to. For all intents and purposes, he was my de facto dad. I am stunned. I feel like someone knocked the wind out of my body. I grew up watching him. If he sat up straight, I wanted to sit up straight. I once caught him standing up to pee. I thought I'd do that when I grew up, too. (You can just imagine that conversation). That's the thing...he never shied away from my craziness. When I discovered what a father was -- at the tender age of five -- I purposed in my heart to find one for myself. I asked every man I knew, including him, if they'd be my daddy. He said, "I can't be your dad. I'm your uncle." When I pressed, he gently explained that he already had a significan...

I am single. I’ve never had a husband. I’ve never given birth to a child. I’ve never lived with a man over six months. I am 54. I’m not classically pretty. I’m overweight. I’m not very tall. My brother says I’m a unicorn. My friends are kind enough not to make me feel small. My mother mentions in passing that she wants me to find a husband. I try not to be sad about my state. I’ve lived a life that some would find enviable. I had my dream job, met and interviewed great people, made great friends, and traveled all over the world. I have a new career that I find oddly fulfilling. Men don’t always like that. Some of them are jealous because I’m not easily impressed. Some are jealous because I’ve done things they haven’t. Some are jealous because I’ve lived on both coasts. I don’t know what to do. I can’t change my life – not that I want to. I can’t change my past – not that I want to. I can’t change myself –not that I want to. I just want someone to see me, not the image I present. I want...

It's been a minute since we've talked. I can honestly say that I'm flummoxed. Let me catch you up... After a brief fling with a Bulgarian (which was kinda fun), he ghosted me. I don't know that I blame him after our one hotel stay when the black gel I use to cover up my gray edges rubbed off on the sheets. It was truly my Rudy Guiliani moment. I'm currently matriculating with a man I met at a bar/bookstore here in Dallas. I call him Barnes & Noble and I like him. However, he claims to be too wounded to entertain love in his life. I say "matriculating" because I can't really say we're dating. Although we see each other at least once a week, he's never made a real romantic move toward me. Ours is more of an intellectual situation where he keeps me in the loop of his life and I try to encourage him to give himself some grace. Several other things are wearing me out, but the final straw came this morning. The first post that came up on my Faceb...

Yep, you read that right. The long-distance "romance" -- such as it was -- between me and Tinderfella has ended. It was going good...until it wasn't. The beginning of the end was when he stopped making me a priority. He would only call me at the end of the day when he'd given himself to everyone else. By the time he got around to me, he was spent. I hate not being a priority in someone's life. When my mom hooked up with my stepfather, I know for a fact he wasn't exactly happy about having me around. But he had no choice because my mom wasn't going to kick me to the curb for him. I always felt like I was the "value added" part of the deal. Because I hated feeling that way, I promised myself that I'd NEVER allow that kind of behavior and treatment in my own relationships. Straight up, though, the real nail in the coffin was much more blatant. We were on the phone when one of his daughters walked into his room. She asked him who he was talking t...