Dear Isadora,
We met on the second Saturday of July during a Miller Lite photoshoot.
It was me, you, the crew, and a bunch of my friends.
I’d like to say that you are responsible for the break-up of me and my girlfriend…
But that ship had sailed a while ago.
Having her there was beneficial and miscalculated at the same time. It stopped me from being able to really talk to you, although I don’t know what that would have equated to in either case. Admittedly so, I did flirt with you alot. Pretty blatantly at that – in front of my girl. To my credit (if you want to call it that or even give me that much), I did forewarn her by giving her a disclaimer that my eyes would certainly wander in your presence. Jerk. I know. But an honest one. She laughed it off, but continuously shot me glances everytime you and I interacted.
When I first noticed you walk into the trailer I kept feeling your eyes on me as the stylist ran me thru wardrobe. I wondered what that was about, and I was determined to find out. That mission became much more mild once I noticed every one of my male friends had almost taken turns picking your brain when I wasn’t. 
We had clever repartee, we shared insults and snide remarks interlaced with smiles and observations. One such observation was a wise moment when I asked you to take your feet off of the table and sat next to you and we both motioned for you to rest your legs across me. Then in that split second, you came to your senses and backed all the way up. You said noooo! citing that my girlfriend was around and that you didn’t want to be apart of any drama because you know the procedure all too well. That was followed by a great moment of enlightenment where you made note of our dispositions throughout the day and how far hers and mine were from each other. You couldn’t have been more on point.
See, for as much as I kept checking on her to make sure that she was okay, You weren’t the problem. Our problems began on January 18th, and we’d been slow dancing in a burning room ever since. She was so clouded by whatever was the stirring in her mind that she couldn’t afford to be jealous like the average woman. You were a miniscule threat to her that day. No outside threat could be greater than the threat of what we were doing to ourselves. And I would be jealous of you if I were a chic. Make no mistake, my girl was bad. Not in a Melyssa Ford kind of way, but in a Eva Marcille meets Denise Huxtable kind of way – personality wise and physically….what TDJ would call one of my Sexy “Granola Girls”…. Pretty, stylish, and I’m sure if she wasn’t my girl then all of my boys would’ve been picking her brain and giving her as much attention as they gave you.
But you Ms. Ortega, are especially attractive to a guy named Malik because of the mixed bag that you are. I didn’t see the worldliness, Passion, quick wit, entertainment preferences and seductiveness coming. Especially not in one Down to Earth package. You’re an upscale video girl. Video girls aren’t supposed to have that much going on. Add that to the fact that Iam a sucker for anything exotic, and you, ms. Half Venezuelan/Half Dominican who loves to cook are the shit to me!
And I would watch your weekly show that you host on TEMPO, but it’s just horrible.
What you represent is an epiphany of sorts for me. Or at least a confirmation on that day to me. It made me remember that I want that video girl with the nerd inside. The chic who rolls her tongue across her teeth when she speaks and flips her hair, but can talk to me about science and geography while telling me the name of the thing that Iam eating when I had no idea what it was. I made a promise to myself last year to only go for model types after the previous girl, and as shallow as that is, I think I deserve it. I’ve given the Round The Way Girls and Sexy Granola Girls nuff love in my time, but ever since I wifed up that ex pageant winning, ex model Ivy leager, I’ve been spoiled a bit. It will never change how much I love women in general, because Iam addicted to chics. Nor will it affect my ability to be satisfied by a lady who has never carried a comp card. Right now, it is just simply a preference.
When things were going all fine and dandy with me and the girl, I’d never turn my head twice to spot your dimensions or catch your gaze and wonder what it meant. But the fact that I was damn near gawking and actually acting on my attraction (not to mention getting your number – thanks for playing me by the way), was an indicator to me that my relationship was in fact dead. And the next chic better be able to bring out the same response from me as you did.
You are a symbol of an end, and a beginning.
You weren’t put in front of me for me to ever date or smash.
You were supposed to end up in a blog.
You, M dot. Isadora Ortega,
Are My New Crush!
16's Candles 