Ever since I learned that a man named Rupert Murdoch was responsible for what's laughingly referred to as Fox "News", I've had a kind of disdain for the man. I mean anyone familiar with the "news" channel mentioned above knows there's no actual news gathered or reported there. It increasingly feels like a televised convention of morons, racists, and walking, talking Barbie dolls with a specific agenda to give voice to the unintelligent, angry, toothless, sister banging white folks in a certain area of the country. And the ones who clean up well and stick their ugly alter egos in the closet with their gay relatives. Like CNN'S version of Hee Haw.
Almost every day I get a bunch of emails from some group I signed a petition for once to force Fox News and Mr. Murdoch to fire one of their anchors for something inappropriate against the black community in NY. I think the organization is Color of Change. While I like being militant (it makes me feel like I'm following in my mother's footsteps and making her proud in a way), I don't like being cyber raped via email. But, I give them their due attention, and invariably they're about another reporter or whoever on the Murdoch payroll who feel it's ok to diss black folks. Naturally their main target is the current occupant of 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue. Did you guys hear he's a socialist, Kenyan, black guy who wants to give free medical coverage to everyone, including poor folks--you know, look out for his ghetto homies. Unpatriotic terrorist who hates America. How dare he.
So when I heard about the phone hacking scandal that broke out across the pond, and that it was from one of his newspapers, I wasn't all that shocked. But as the details began to emerge, I was beyond shocked at what was done to the innocents. I don't much care about the celebrities who were hacked, although I do believe they have a right to privacy like we lay folks (although legally and technically, privacy is not a right. At least not one stated in the Bill of Rights. Look it up). A little more concerned about politicians who's info was hacked. But my ire was raised to hear about normal everyday people who were violated by unscrupulous reporters trying to break a story. Most notably the family of a poor young murder victim. How disgusting that these "reporters" hacked her cell phone and deleted messages so more would come in so they could get a scoop, yet, that led her family to believe she was still alive. And as it turned out, she'd been murdered. How can they sleep at night? I guess to people like that, constantly seeking the competitive edge, it doesn't matter if they ever sleep again.
This man, Rupert, is obscenely wealthy, and in charge of a massive media empire. He controls newspapers, television & movie studios, magazines and a grunch of other companies I can't even name. And when you look at them, they seem to share the same conservative right wing stance, but more importantly, I've noticed they also seem to be completely devoid of integrity and basic human decency. Now, while I agree with those of you who will argue businessmen aren't in business to be decent, they're in it to make money. But I find something to be so fundamentally wrong with the entire world when the two can't be synonymous with each other. You can't be successful and humane at the same time? You can't make money and foster integrity within the lattice of workers that constitute your underlings, which are the back bone of your company?
He sat in the Parliamentary hearing today (a feat I'm told is astounding in and of itself but enough British politicians saw the inevitable shit storm a-brewing and knew the man had to be taken to task) and denied all responsibility and knowledge of everything that occurred within his own paper. Now, I understand why he would say this legally. The man has investors to answer to and if he accepted responsibility, that would expose him to serious liability. But I argue, how plausible is it to believe a man of his stature would be kept that deep in the dark? And if it's true, it's time for gramps to fuckin retire. But last I checked, ignorance wasn't always an excuse for wrong doing. Least not over here. And not if you're not rich. But he's over there and he is staggeringly rich, so it may work. To have your fingers in that many pots and not know what the hell is going on is 1). completely unbelievable, 2). totally negligent, & 3). at the end of the day, still your responsibility because you should have known.
Mommy always said "shit rolls downhill". He knew. He just didn't care. He's the poison in the well. And while it may have upset the British sense of decorum, getting a shaving cream pie in the face was a just dessert. He's a caricature of himself with his token Asian wife, who's easily a good forty years younger than him. Although, if she's using that Mother of Pearl, ain't no telling how old she is. She could be eighty too...but based on her catlike agility and bitch slapping the pie man, I'm guessing that's not the case. He and his son are sitting atop an empire made of festering dung heaps. They'd do better to tuck their tales between their legs, humble themselves, and try to be better men. But since that won't happen, all I have to say is: Pie man, next time put some Shug Avery pee in it.
Till next time, lovers!
Wednesday, July 20, 2011
Tuesday, July 19, 2011
"True Blood", "Glee" & The treatment of Black Women on TV
PART I: TRUE BLOOD
I hate when people say "I'm not a homophobe" cause that usually means you have some deep seeded phobias of homosexuals. And since the more you try to deny something, the more you fail, I'm not even gonna try. Gonna dive right in. I hate that Tara, the sole black chick on TRUE BLOOD is now a lesbian. Despite no inkling of liking chicks before. But more than that, I hate being sold a bag of goods. As a faithful viewer, you take me on a journey every week and get me to believe a certain truth about your characters and then you sell me out. You give me a bag of gimmicks to win my already freely given love. Dear Mr. Alan Ball: How dare you sirrah!
I don't like gimmicks. I hate them with a fevered passion that I can never fully articulate to you. Ever. See my seething hatred for Lady Gaga. I hate that entertainment is contingent on that and not about the individual's ability to communicate a thought or emotion based on their God-given ability to connect with hundreds or, and this is when it's most beautiful and pure in my opinion, with one other soul. You can be great without wearing a meat dress. And you can be a great show with great characters without deciding to illustrate one's soul quest has led her to become a lesbian.
The character Tara has been through a lot in the previous season...well, seasons actually. She was raised by an abusive alcoholic mother, who knows where her father is, if he is. Was hopelessly and tragically in love with her best friend's brother, who never noticed her let alone reciprocated those feelings. She then falls for an enigmatic man nicknamed "Eggs" while they're all living with a mysterious woman, who just so happens to be an ancient evil goddess trying to bring back her master, the god Dionysus. Then her crush, Jason--best friend's brother--accidentally on purpose kills her lover Eggs, she spends most of last season angry about that and then gets kidnapped, raped, and overall psychologically tortured by a vampire trying to get to her best friend Sookie. She escapes him by killing him, or so she thought, returns to her hometown only to find out that Franklin the vamp isn't dead at all--bashing his brains out won't work hun, he's a fuckin' VAMPIRE. Stake in the heart or sunlight, haven't you seen INTERVIEW WITH THE VAMPIRE? No, well rent it. Brad, Tom, Christian, and ANTONIO...need I say more?--so he comes back to reclaim or kill her, he's fine with either option, and she's saved by Jason, her former crush and killer of her lover Eggs, a fact that Jason hasn't yet revealed to her but does so once she succumbs to familiar feelings and plants a sultry lip lock on him. After hearing this, she flees Jason's, strikes up a casual fling again with her boss Sam, who she was messing around with in season 1, and then finally in order to cleanse herself of all she's been through and to rediscover herself, she leaves town. We find her in this season in New Orleans. She's now a kickboxing/UFC/lesbian. Guess that's what it takes to get over a trauma.
Bitch has been through a lot, I get it. And I was all for her starting anew at the end of last season. She cut her hair and drove off into the night without a word to anyone. Cool. Stealthy. Like it. But why does that have to translate into now I'm a lesbian? And where was the hint of these leanings before? There weren't any. This is why I feel it's a ratings trick geared toward keeping an already edgy show even edgier. It seems since the late 1990's, self discovery and hip became synonymous with gay characters. I don't mind gay characters, but treat them honestly. This 'sexuality is constantly fluid' mess kinda bolsters idiotic stereotypes that gays are hyper sexed. Bouncing back and forth from bed to bed regardless now of who's in it with them. Given the cultural index on gay marriage and gays in the military, stereotypes like the above, may help to bolster the idiotic fringe. But to me, this cheapens her whole journey. It just feels like the writers and TV execs got together and determined the quickest way to get her from here to there. It feels disingenuous to what she's been through and how she rose above it and went from being a victim to a survivor. That's a helluva story and one I would have enjoyed and empathized with. She's already my girl, I root for the black chick on every show I watch cause she, they, are automatically my niggas! And it pisses me off cause the creators are treating me, the viewer, like I'm an idiot, incapable of understanding a character's hard fought pilgrimage to inner peace without having said character do something incredibly salacious like jumping into the sack with another chick. It's not done for truth in really having her discover that part of herself, although if they stick with that storyline, which they probably will, it will become that. But let's not be fooled into thinking that now, at this moment or at the moment of conception, that was the case. It's titillating to watch two attractive women make out and be naked together so...ratings!!! And if this is the tongue in cheek way homosexuality is dealt with on TV, no wonder attitudes in politics haven't changed. Makes sense we can't get our government to pull the trigger. Perhaps we need Dick Cheney back. He never seemed to have a problem pulling the trigger--even if it was aimed at your face.
PART II: GLEE
So this issue has kinda already been handled at the end of this season but I still feel it's worth mentioning. I was really irritated this whole season by the character Puck dating the fat white girl who's character name eludes me at the moment. Again, I know this was a soul searching thing for this character; a way to give him more depth. Sure, make the handsome bad boy date the fat girl. It'll give him character. Soften him up so we all think he's a nice guy now. And it can make those of us who were the fat girl in high school hearken back to ye olden days, when we were fair maidens dreaming of a hot boy with a Mohawk to whisk us away to his castle on a hill. Oh, was that just my fantasy? That's a typical TV show convention and GLEE is hardly the first to use it, and damn sure won't be the last. Fine. But they tried that last season. By making the same character pursue Mercedes, the fat black chick on the show.
I was weirded out and thrilled inside when I watched that story line last year. But by the time the credits rolled at episode's close, the curtain had come down on their faux romance. Yes, it was all a rouse to get him back into the popular circle--she'd become popular cause of her brief flirtation with the cheer leading squad known as THE CHEERIOS. I love that GLEE unabashedly tries to tell teens anyone can fit in anywhere. Not exactly how I remember high school, but whatever. But they ended last season focusing still on the main love triangle, hexagon, or whatever with Rachel, Finn, Quinn, and Puck with a bit of Artie, Tina, and Mike thrown in for good measure. By the time this season began, it seemed like everyone was dating someone or was the object of some secret crush, EXCEPT Mercedes. There were gay crushes--Kurt and Blaine & Santana and Brittney--there were straight crushes and boyfriend and girlfriends--everyone else EXCEPT Mercedes! I'd read going into this season that Ryan Murphy the show's creator, said that Mercedes would get a love interest this year. So I watched with bated breath. Who would it be? Would he already be a cast member or is someone new coming in? And nothing. THEN to add insult to injury, they make Puck, who'd previously been interested in her, date the ugliest, tallest, and dare I say fattest girl on the show. The fat white chick. And I was pissed. If you wanted to give him depth and all that jazz, why not go back to the Mercedes well? She's cute and positive and happy with her body. And though the FWC is too, she's just so hard on the eyes. What, all of a sudden, Mercedes wasn't good enough to give him the transformation the show wanted? She's good enough to be second fiddle to Rachel (though I think many of us know who the real powerhouse is here) and do her fat black-woman-who-can-sing duty when needed, but she can't be the object of a good looking (by TV standards) white boy's desires? I call bullshit on that.
So she went all season as a romantic leper and I watched only out of hope that things would turn around...and the singing's pretty good...and I love the show. But every time we took a trip down Kurt's love woes, and veered into Rachel/Finn/Quinn territory, with a Santana/Brittney/Artie detour, I rolled my eyes and sucked my teeth in typical angry black bitch fashion. When was the fat black chick gonna get some damn play?!
And then as a cop out or an after thought, it's revealed in the last damn episode of the season, that she's been secretly seeing the new blond white boy who's only really attractive to television casting agents and has a passable singing voice, since the prom. Beggars can't really be choosers can they? I'm curious to see what happens here next season. And thank you Mr. Murphy for finally living up to your promise and for realizing that this is a character of untapped potential.
PART III: THE GIST
These are but two examples of what I find to be a bigger problem. Black women are systematically underused and/or ignored on television, particularly as it pertains to romance. I'm all for black love on television and off. Healthy images of black men and black women loving each other and supporting each other as family units are desperately needed. But black women being ignored as romantic leads for white men on television really makes a big statement. Which is why, though I have some logistical (and by that I mean writing, plot lines and the like) with the show HAWTHORNE starring Jada Pinkett-Smith, I do like that her character is now married to the attractive lead white male character Tom, played by Michael Vartan. And that's not just cause I've been crushing on him since NEVER BEEN KISSED, either. Or cause he's fluent in French, which I find uber sexy. Ok, maybe it is. Like it or not this country is still polarized by race, and television is a microcosm of that. And who the white boy finds attractive, so goes the country. Think about the shows you watch. Are there any black women in them? If so, what are their roles? Are they comic relief? The innocuous best friend? Do they have love interests? If so, what do they look like? And do they really seem to love each other, or is that too a device for comic relief? You may find some examples to refute me, but not many. I know. I watch a lot of TV.
Black women are disappearing from the television landscape. We're routinely cast off as romantic non-desirables. Or we're painted with the "black bitch" brush--hard edged, aggressive, asexual types. And if the lead white male character has a choice between a pretty black love interest and either a dynamite white one or even a run of the mill white female lead, it's clear which one is chosen time and time again. And if it isn't lemme share...the white girl wins. Just like in life. We're not an intelligent society anymore, and people take their lead from TV, cause hey if it weren't true, it wouldn't be on the air. So I believe subconsciously that's the lead that penetrates...black women aren't as good. They're not worth as much and definitely not worth the same amount of time. All those fine ass men running around the fictional town of Bon Temps, LA, and not one could develop an interest in Tara? Not every woman who's brutalized by a man switches teams. Sometimes they can, and sometimes they take a break from dating and work on themselves, get some therapy, take self defense classes too. All the dating combos on GLEE, and Mercedes rides the bench till damn near the last minute.
It's just disheartening and suffocating as A). a black woman, B). an actress, and C). an avid TV viewer; to have to sift through the endless onslaught of images and plot lines and whatever else, telling you that you are a non-person. And then getting those same messages out in the world. I see a correlation. Others may not. But then again, it's my blog. I'll see what I wanna see.
Till next time, lovers!
I hate when people say "I'm not a homophobe" cause that usually means you have some deep seeded phobias of homosexuals. And since the more you try to deny something, the more you fail, I'm not even gonna try. Gonna dive right in. I hate that Tara, the sole black chick on TRUE BLOOD is now a lesbian. Despite no inkling of liking chicks before. But more than that, I hate being sold a bag of goods. As a faithful viewer, you take me on a journey every week and get me to believe a certain truth about your characters and then you sell me out. You give me a bag of gimmicks to win my already freely given love. Dear Mr. Alan Ball: How dare you sirrah!
I don't like gimmicks. I hate them with a fevered passion that I can never fully articulate to you. Ever. See my seething hatred for Lady Gaga. I hate that entertainment is contingent on that and not about the individual's ability to communicate a thought or emotion based on their God-given ability to connect with hundreds or, and this is when it's most beautiful and pure in my opinion, with one other soul. You can be great without wearing a meat dress. And you can be a great show with great characters without deciding to illustrate one's soul quest has led her to become a lesbian.
The character Tara has been through a lot in the previous season...well, seasons actually. She was raised by an abusive alcoholic mother, who knows where her father is, if he is. Was hopelessly and tragically in love with her best friend's brother, who never noticed her let alone reciprocated those feelings. She then falls for an enigmatic man nicknamed "Eggs" while they're all living with a mysterious woman, who just so happens to be an ancient evil goddess trying to bring back her master, the god Dionysus. Then her crush, Jason--best friend's brother--accidentally on purpose kills her lover Eggs, she spends most of last season angry about that and then gets kidnapped, raped, and overall psychologically tortured by a vampire trying to get to her best friend Sookie. She escapes him by killing him, or so she thought, returns to her hometown only to find out that Franklin the vamp isn't dead at all--bashing his brains out won't work hun, he's a fuckin' VAMPIRE. Stake in the heart or sunlight, haven't you seen INTERVIEW WITH THE VAMPIRE? No, well rent it. Brad, Tom, Christian, and ANTONIO...need I say more?--so he comes back to reclaim or kill her, he's fine with either option, and she's saved by Jason, her former crush and killer of her lover Eggs, a fact that Jason hasn't yet revealed to her but does so once she succumbs to familiar feelings and plants a sultry lip lock on him. After hearing this, she flees Jason's, strikes up a casual fling again with her boss Sam, who she was messing around with in season 1, and then finally in order to cleanse herself of all she's been through and to rediscover herself, she leaves town. We find her in this season in New Orleans. She's now a kickboxing/UFC/lesbian. Guess that's what it takes to get over a trauma.
Bitch has been through a lot, I get it. And I was all for her starting anew at the end of last season. She cut her hair and drove off into the night without a word to anyone. Cool. Stealthy. Like it. But why does that have to translate into now I'm a lesbian? And where was the hint of these leanings before? There weren't any. This is why I feel it's a ratings trick geared toward keeping an already edgy show even edgier. It seems since the late 1990's, self discovery and hip became synonymous with gay characters. I don't mind gay characters, but treat them honestly. This 'sexuality is constantly fluid' mess kinda bolsters idiotic stereotypes that gays are hyper sexed. Bouncing back and forth from bed to bed regardless now of who's in it with them. Given the cultural index on gay marriage and gays in the military, stereotypes like the above, may help to bolster the idiotic fringe. But to me, this cheapens her whole journey. It just feels like the writers and TV execs got together and determined the quickest way to get her from here to there. It feels disingenuous to what she's been through and how she rose above it and went from being a victim to a survivor. That's a helluva story and one I would have enjoyed and empathized with. She's already my girl, I root for the black chick on every show I watch cause she, they, are automatically my niggas! And it pisses me off cause the creators are treating me, the viewer, like I'm an idiot, incapable of understanding a character's hard fought pilgrimage to inner peace without having said character do something incredibly salacious like jumping into the sack with another chick. It's not done for truth in really having her discover that part of herself, although if they stick with that storyline, which they probably will, it will become that. But let's not be fooled into thinking that now, at this moment or at the moment of conception, that was the case. It's titillating to watch two attractive women make out and be naked together so...ratings!!! And if this is the tongue in cheek way homosexuality is dealt with on TV, no wonder attitudes in politics haven't changed. Makes sense we can't get our government to pull the trigger. Perhaps we need Dick Cheney back. He never seemed to have a problem pulling the trigger--even if it was aimed at your face.
PART II: GLEE
So this issue has kinda already been handled at the end of this season but I still feel it's worth mentioning. I was really irritated this whole season by the character Puck dating the fat white girl who's character name eludes me at the moment. Again, I know this was a soul searching thing for this character; a way to give him more depth. Sure, make the handsome bad boy date the fat girl. It'll give him character. Soften him up so we all think he's a nice guy now. And it can make those of us who were the fat girl in high school hearken back to ye olden days, when we were fair maidens dreaming of a hot boy with a Mohawk to whisk us away to his castle on a hill. Oh, was that just my fantasy? That's a typical TV show convention and GLEE is hardly the first to use it, and damn sure won't be the last. Fine. But they tried that last season. By making the same character pursue Mercedes, the fat black chick on the show.
I was weirded out and thrilled inside when I watched that story line last year. But by the time the credits rolled at episode's close, the curtain had come down on their faux romance. Yes, it was all a rouse to get him back into the popular circle--she'd become popular cause of her brief flirtation with the cheer leading squad known as THE CHEERIOS. I love that GLEE unabashedly tries to tell teens anyone can fit in anywhere. Not exactly how I remember high school, but whatever. But they ended last season focusing still on the main love triangle, hexagon, or whatever with Rachel, Finn, Quinn, and Puck with a bit of Artie, Tina, and Mike thrown in for good measure. By the time this season began, it seemed like everyone was dating someone or was the object of some secret crush, EXCEPT Mercedes. There were gay crushes--Kurt and Blaine & Santana and Brittney--there were straight crushes and boyfriend and girlfriends--everyone else EXCEPT Mercedes! I'd read going into this season that Ryan Murphy the show's creator, said that Mercedes would get a love interest this year. So I watched with bated breath. Who would it be? Would he already be a cast member or is someone new coming in? And nothing. THEN to add insult to injury, they make Puck, who'd previously been interested in her, date the ugliest, tallest, and dare I say fattest girl on the show. The fat white chick. And I was pissed. If you wanted to give him depth and all that jazz, why not go back to the Mercedes well? She's cute and positive and happy with her body. And though the FWC is too, she's just so hard on the eyes. What, all of a sudden, Mercedes wasn't good enough to give him the transformation the show wanted? She's good enough to be second fiddle to Rachel (though I think many of us know who the real powerhouse is here) and do her fat black-woman-who-can-sing duty when needed, but she can't be the object of a good looking (by TV standards) white boy's desires? I call bullshit on that.
So she went all season as a romantic leper and I watched only out of hope that things would turn around...and the singing's pretty good...and I love the show. But every time we took a trip down Kurt's love woes, and veered into Rachel/Finn/Quinn territory, with a Santana/Brittney/Artie detour, I rolled my eyes and sucked my teeth in typical angry black bitch fashion. When was the fat black chick gonna get some damn play?!
And then as a cop out or an after thought, it's revealed in the last damn episode of the season, that she's been secretly seeing the new blond white boy who's only really attractive to television casting agents and has a passable singing voice, since the prom. Beggars can't really be choosers can they? I'm curious to see what happens here next season. And thank you Mr. Murphy for finally living up to your promise and for realizing that this is a character of untapped potential.
PART III: THE GIST
These are but two examples of what I find to be a bigger problem. Black women are systematically underused and/or ignored on television, particularly as it pertains to romance. I'm all for black love on television and off. Healthy images of black men and black women loving each other and supporting each other as family units are desperately needed. But black women being ignored as romantic leads for white men on television really makes a big statement. Which is why, though I have some logistical (and by that I mean writing, plot lines and the like) with the show HAWTHORNE starring Jada Pinkett-Smith, I do like that her character is now married to the attractive lead white male character Tom, played by Michael Vartan. And that's not just cause I've been crushing on him since NEVER BEEN KISSED, either. Or cause he's fluent in French, which I find uber sexy. Ok, maybe it is. Like it or not this country is still polarized by race, and television is a microcosm of that. And who the white boy finds attractive, so goes the country. Think about the shows you watch. Are there any black women in them? If so, what are their roles? Are they comic relief? The innocuous best friend? Do they have love interests? If so, what do they look like? And do they really seem to love each other, or is that too a device for comic relief? You may find some examples to refute me, but not many. I know. I watch a lot of TV.
Black women are disappearing from the television landscape. We're routinely cast off as romantic non-desirables. Or we're painted with the "black bitch" brush--hard edged, aggressive, asexual types. And if the lead white male character has a choice between a pretty black love interest and either a dynamite white one or even a run of the mill white female lead, it's clear which one is chosen time and time again. And if it isn't lemme share...the white girl wins. Just like in life. We're not an intelligent society anymore, and people take their lead from TV, cause hey if it weren't true, it wouldn't be on the air. So I believe subconsciously that's the lead that penetrates...black women aren't as good. They're not worth as much and definitely not worth the same amount of time. All those fine ass men running around the fictional town of Bon Temps, LA, and not one could develop an interest in Tara? Not every woman who's brutalized by a man switches teams. Sometimes they can, and sometimes they take a break from dating and work on themselves, get some therapy, take self defense classes too. All the dating combos on GLEE, and Mercedes rides the bench till damn near the last minute.
It's just disheartening and suffocating as A). a black woman, B). an actress, and C). an avid TV viewer; to have to sift through the endless onslaught of images and plot lines and whatever else, telling you that you are a non-person. And then getting those same messages out in the world. I see a correlation. Others may not. But then again, it's my blog. I'll see what I wanna see.
Till next time, lovers!
Monday, February 28, 2011
A New Dawn...A New Damn Day!
Yeah, the title says it all. I re-read my last post and was like, bitch get a fuckin' grip! You've known the guy for like a week or so. Fuck that. It's like Charlotte said in Sex and the City, it does take you half the time you were with a man to get over him. Although quicker in this case. By the time I hit the publish post button, I was done. Plus talking it over with another one of my hardened hearted bitches helped a lot. Listening to her recite my own words back to me, made me realize what a retard I was being. I mean, I literally cringed at my patheticism. But all of this is a lesson learned. This is why I don't do well when it comes to dating cause I get bored, frustrated, or just lose interest fairly quickly. Then I'm ready to move on.
I was listening to that Bastian of sage advice, Oprah, last week. And it was during her interview with Iyanla Vanzant that she made this statement. I'd heard it before (she likes saying it) but this time I really HEARD it. She said something like, 'If you don't want me then I don't wanna want you'. And she talked about learning it in her twenties...from all the times she'd tried to hold onto some man who didn't want her. How she'd beg for him to not leave and all that bullshit, and now at 50+, she's done with that mess. And I realized I'm right there with her. I may still fall into sappy despair, but my bounce back quotient is MUCH higher now. And I'm just not gonna chase and beg a man to fucking want me, or to fuck me. True, there may not be a lot of options out there for me, or none at all, but even if the only sexual attention I get is that I give to myself with my Freddy and a pack of AA batteries, then so fuckin' be it! At least I know it'll be worth it and a good time will be had by all parties involved.
Last weekend I went through this same shit with B-BOY. He's the fine ass law student I met with Sharelle at a club during my birthday weekend. And when I say fine, I'm not exaggerating. He was taller than me, again, shocker; like 6' or so. Full, luscious lips, sexy bedroom eyes, sensual voice, masculine hands, pearly white teeth and great smile, and milk chocolate complexion (I bet it taste like it too--hot damn!). He was slender but looked like he had some muscles, I couldn't really tell all that cause he had layers of clothing on, but I got the distinct impression that he'd look great naked. So me, being drunk and horny, was doing all I could to investigate that statement. But since my girl was staying with me, I wasn't gonna fuck him that night. I could have kicked her out and sent her...somewhere, but that's not how I get down. I've never been that chick to ditch her friends for some dick. Call me crazy but I do have standards, damn.
So we both realized it wasn't gonna work that night, despite the full court press he was putting on me. And I was caving. Fast forward a week later, and we've sent each other a few texts. He hit me up at some ridiculous time in the morning circa 4am or so. Fortunately, I was up. But we really got into it. No sexting, but I was putting it all on the table. I told him we need to get together and stop the bullshitting cause he's feeling me and I'm definitely feeling him and we just need to make it happen. Cause it will happen. And he'll enjoy it. Maybe not all that, but that's fairly close to what I said. And he was all systems go! But he was drunk and the hour was way late...or early cause by then it was like 6am. So we left it open, but open for the next night. Well I was going on a date with IHOP that night. No problem. I figured we'd only be out till midnight or so and I could call B-BOY, and we could make some magic happen. And my body needed something magical. So as the comedy show was winding down, I text B-BOY and told him not to wait till 4am to hit me up tonight, and he text back, "I gotcha lol". God I hope so. And by the way, I know it's in poor taste to text one dude for sex while on a date with another, but fuck it. A bitch gotta do what a bitch gotta do, and I needed to be doin that sweet young thang!
So I get home and leave my make-up on but change into my pixie nightgown with spaghetti straps. My hair was down and lightly cupped my shoulders, with a sultry curl to it and seductively messy. I was workin it, I know. I too had bedroom eyes now. I made sure everything was right. And I text him something appropriately erotic and ended it with "I'm ready to see you. Now." Maybe it got lost in translation, who knows cause I'm still waiting to hear from that nigga. To say I was disappointed would be like saying the Egyptians had a slight issue with their government. I had to find Freddy cause I put him up thinking there'd be no need for falsehoods tonight. But shit, why waste the outfit and sex kitten look? I stay stocked in AA batteries.
Though I wanted his body and would have ridden him like an expert surfer on a tidal wave of orgiastically orgasmic eroticism, I was damned if I was gonna beg this nigga to fuck me. Want it or not, the choice is yours, but know the offer only comes once. Unlike yours truly :) There's only one bite at the apple, and if the luscious juices that flow from the bountiful fruit of my loins isn't enough to get you to ravish me like a nubile schoolgirl in a French fetish movie, than it's time for me to hawk my wares elsewhere. I can serve it up, but damnit, you gotta dig in.
So he didn't want me. Cool. Like Jay-Z said, "Onto the next one". And that's how I feel about WHITE DUDE. You only got a taste. A mere sample of the joys to come. And if that's enough for you, fine. You know when you're full. But please don't think this ripe nectar will sit on the shelf and dry up. No, no, honey. I know there's other men out there dying of thirst and hunger. Just longing to take a bite. Hunt's on, bitches.
Till next time, lovers!
I was listening to that Bastian of sage advice, Oprah, last week. And it was during her interview with Iyanla Vanzant that she made this statement. I'd heard it before (she likes saying it) but this time I really HEARD it. She said something like, 'If you don't want me then I don't wanna want you'. And she talked about learning it in her twenties...from all the times she'd tried to hold onto some man who didn't want her. How she'd beg for him to not leave and all that bullshit, and now at 50+, she's done with that mess. And I realized I'm right there with her. I may still fall into sappy despair, but my bounce back quotient is MUCH higher now. And I'm just not gonna chase and beg a man to fucking want me, or to fuck me. True, there may not be a lot of options out there for me, or none at all, but even if the only sexual attention I get is that I give to myself with my Freddy and a pack of AA batteries, then so fuckin' be it! At least I know it'll be worth it and a good time will be had by all parties involved.
Last weekend I went through this same shit with B-BOY. He's the fine ass law student I met with Sharelle at a club during my birthday weekend. And when I say fine, I'm not exaggerating. He was taller than me, again, shocker; like 6' or so. Full, luscious lips, sexy bedroom eyes, sensual voice, masculine hands, pearly white teeth and great smile, and milk chocolate complexion (I bet it taste like it too--hot damn!). He was slender but looked like he had some muscles, I couldn't really tell all that cause he had layers of clothing on, but I got the distinct impression that he'd look great naked. So me, being drunk and horny, was doing all I could to investigate that statement. But since my girl was staying with me, I wasn't gonna fuck him that night. I could have kicked her out and sent her...somewhere, but that's not how I get down. I've never been that chick to ditch her friends for some dick. Call me crazy but I do have standards, damn.
So we both realized it wasn't gonna work that night, despite the full court press he was putting on me. And I was caving. Fast forward a week later, and we've sent each other a few texts. He hit me up at some ridiculous time in the morning circa 4am or so. Fortunately, I was up. But we really got into it. No sexting, but I was putting it all on the table. I told him we need to get together and stop the bullshitting cause he's feeling me and I'm definitely feeling him and we just need to make it happen. Cause it will happen. And he'll enjoy it. Maybe not all that, but that's fairly close to what I said. And he was all systems go! But he was drunk and the hour was way late...or early cause by then it was like 6am. So we left it open, but open for the next night. Well I was going on a date with IHOP that night. No problem. I figured we'd only be out till midnight or so and I could call B-BOY, and we could make some magic happen. And my body needed something magical. So as the comedy show was winding down, I text B-BOY and told him not to wait till 4am to hit me up tonight, and he text back, "I gotcha lol". God I hope so. And by the way, I know it's in poor taste to text one dude for sex while on a date with another, but fuck it. A bitch gotta do what a bitch gotta do, and I needed to be doin that sweet young thang!
So I get home and leave my make-up on but change into my pixie nightgown with spaghetti straps. My hair was down and lightly cupped my shoulders, with a sultry curl to it and seductively messy. I was workin it, I know. I too had bedroom eyes now. I made sure everything was right. And I text him something appropriately erotic and ended it with "I'm ready to see you. Now." Maybe it got lost in translation, who knows cause I'm still waiting to hear from that nigga. To say I was disappointed would be like saying the Egyptians had a slight issue with their government. I had to find Freddy cause I put him up thinking there'd be no need for falsehoods tonight. But shit, why waste the outfit and sex kitten look? I stay stocked in AA batteries.
Though I wanted his body and would have ridden him like an expert surfer on a tidal wave of orgiastically orgasmic eroticism, I was damned if I was gonna beg this nigga to fuck me. Want it or not, the choice is yours, but know the offer only comes once. Unlike yours truly :) There's only one bite at the apple, and if the luscious juices that flow from the bountiful fruit of my loins isn't enough to get you to ravish me like a nubile schoolgirl in a French fetish movie, than it's time for me to hawk my wares elsewhere. I can serve it up, but damnit, you gotta dig in.
So he didn't want me. Cool. Like Jay-Z said, "Onto the next one". And that's how I feel about WHITE DUDE. You only got a taste. A mere sample of the joys to come. And if that's enough for you, fine. You know when you're full. But please don't think this ripe nectar will sit on the shelf and dry up. No, no, honey. I know there's other men out there dying of thirst and hunger. Just longing to take a bite. Hunt's on, bitches.
Till next time, lovers!
Friday, February 25, 2011
Singing the Blues
If I could sing, I'd definitely be singing some Billie Holliday; Solitude is nice. It's one of my favorites. I guess I'm kinda singing the White Boy blues now. It's not really about him. I haven't known him long enough for it to be all about him. But the dealings we've had this week have caused all sorts of thoughts and emotions to come to a boil and spill out all over the place, turning me into a scalding, hot mess.
So what happened you ask? Simple. I was being me. A straightforward and convoluted answer. It started to unravel two days ago, when I was still riding high from his touch. I'd started to worry after my last entry if he'd call again cause I let thoughts of my substantial size get inside my head and fuck me up with the usual game of not being pretty enough. So as I'm laying in my bed at noon thirty, I get a text. It's from him! He tells me he's been thinking about me! Yay!!! But best of all, and be still my beating heart, he says he loves my curves! Get the fuck outta town. No man has EVER said that me. None. Even if it was true, it never quite made its way out their mouths, so I was always left to wonder if they truly liked my body the way it was, or if they just knew I was an easy lay. The fat girl usually is.
But not him. He really liked my body. His actual word was "yummy". I think it's his thing cause he says it alot. So we text back and forth for 4 hrs., getting increasingly sexual. A taste I acquired from my brother's roommate (the laid back guy I mentioned in a previous entry, he was playing Guitar Hero when we met). We were sexting and sexing for awhile. Damn. That's a nice lil blast from the past. I wonder how he doin. Wit his fine ass.
So eventually, he (White Boy) says he'd like to do something to me, and I responded:
Damn...mama likes.
So he says:
What else does mama like?
And I say:
...mama likes it rough.
To which he replies:
Yes ma'am mama.
And from there it went downhill with a quickness, and all because I sent him another text telling him that I only like that with a man I'm comfortable with. I'm not gonna break it out on a random Tuesday for just anybody. Now I said this cause I didn't want him thinking the next time we were together (if we were together) that it'd be candle wax on the nipples or Jenna Jamison, Heather Hunter type shit. I thought it was playful and ok cause I do this all the time; give disclaimers. But his feathers got a little ruffled by it. He proceeded to tell me that I killed the mood, that he knew that would only happen when I was comfortable, that I didn't need to say it. And I could tell right away, even via text, that he was upset or at least annoyed. And that made me feel horrible right away. No woman wants to be told she's a mood killer. That's like saying you're dick kryptonite. We cleared things up a bit, but I still felt kinda awkward. He told me that he wanted to get his mind off work and on me, but that I was too guarded and I should let it down a bit and relax. I text Sharelle immediately and she was like, "yeah you are guarded".
So him aside, that's the thing that stuck with me. He's certainly not the first guy to tell me that. MK used to say that to me on a daily basis as a greeting. He told me once, years ago, before I even knew how I felt about him, that he'd thought about what it'd be like if we dated. And I said, "be weird huh?", and he was like, "Yeah." But I think the journey his brain went on was how hard he'd have to fight to get me to let him in.
So this guarded thing has me all fucked up. I don't know how not to be. Thinking back over my illustrious dating career, of which I've never had a single boyfriend, I see it's been that way ever since I had my first crush. In fact, I think that's where it started.
I was seven and had a crush on one of my brother's friends (I guess that's a trend too. It's good to have an older brother when he's got fine ass friends). I'll use his real name cause sadly, he passed away several years ago...just eighteen, six months after he and my brother graduated. His name was Eric Allen, and he was tall and cute, with curly black hair. Smooth caramel skin and wide, gorgeous eyes. By the time we got to high school, he was super duper sexy! And he was the boy who gave me my first kiss. We were standing behind a tree on this baseball field at a play ground near our house. My brother and other friends were playing on the field and the other boys were goading me and Eric to make out. My brother, all of nine, laughed it off but was clearly not cool with that. Next thing I know, Eric and I are behind the tree, and he leans in and plants the softest kiss I'd ever had on me, with the smoothest, tastiest lips. I felt like a grown up. After all, that's how they do it on the soaps Grandma watches. There was even a little bit of tongue. It sounds disturbingly inappropriate now, but it was very sweet then. He wasn't aggressive with it. Just a little touch, enough to let me know I wasn't in Kansas in anymore.
A few days later we were walking through the church ground together, and I remember really, really liking him. And thinking, maybe he'll be my boyfriend. So I asked him, in the forward way a child who's never been disappointed or scarred does, if he liked me. He said yeah. So I asked if he thought I was pretty. And he said, "you're average." I didn't know what that word meant, and I'd never heard the men on the soaps say that to the women, but it must be good. He kissed me, didn't he? That's what people do when they love each other. Average must mean, I love you. I ran home, up the stairs to our apartment and flung open Mommy's bedroom door and jumped on her bed. She knew everything so she'd know what average meant. So I asked her, "Mom, what's average mean?" And she said, "It means not good or bad. Nothing special." My shoulders slumped and I felt my body cave and sink into her mattress like I was a part of the linens. Nothing special. Nothing. Special. That's what I was to him.
Clearly it wasn't a conscious choice. At seven years old I didn't say I'm gonna harden my heart and put up these walls and fuck the next guy who comes along. But at thirty four, the image and the feelings are still with me, so it obviously had an impact.
I was at the hair salon earlier thinking about writing this entry. Thinking about what I would say. Thinking that I always assumed when I got into a serious loving relationship with a man, when I knew I was his and he was mine, that my walls would fall away and that I'd know how to be with him. But I've realized that's not true. Yes some of that stuff is innate and takes hold when you love or care about someone. But the idea of being with a man, belonging in the way I so desperately want to, scares the shit outta me. Being vulnerable in that way. Being that open. White Boy messed me up by saying I should let my guard down. I don't know how to do that halfway. Either the walls are all up or they're all down. And when they're down I'm a complete fucking mess. Yes I keep men at arm's length because they hurt me. Every single one in my life. And when you talk about the ones I've been naked with, that number jumps up to over 100%. But I do it also to protect me from me. When I'm exposed, I'm calling or texting more than I should, I troll through their Facebook pages looking for info. I reread texts and emails he sent. I'm devastated when he doesn't call. Why does it take you two whole minutes to respond to my text! When the walls are up, I could give a fuck what you do. Don't call me, cool. Don't text me, fine. Fuck you. I got Spartacus.
Mommy used to tell me there are no shades of grey with me. Only black and white. And that's true. I'm either guarded or I'm clingy. There's no in between. If I don't keep my soft, gooey center protected, it's like I'm offering myself up for the slaughter. It's like I'm weak. I don't know how to tell White Boy how I feel. How I like the way he touches me. I like the way he kisses me. I like the way he makes me laugh, the way he smells. The way he talks. I like his carefree I-don't-give-a-damn-I'm-gonna-do-what-I-wanna-do attitude that comes purely from being white in America (maybe I won't tell him that). I like that he doesn't take any of my shit and won't let me get away with anything. Reminds me a little of MK in that way. I just wanna get to know him and see if maybe. Just maybe...
And then Jersey says to me, bitch he's just trying to bone. So see? That's what I do. I'm either guarded or I'm a sap. Men don't like either. So what do I do? Push away every viable prospect cause I'm too scared to let him in? Or do I settle for a nice enough guy who couldn't strike a fire in my loins with kerosene and matches, but since he's the only one left, might as well. What the fuck kinda choice is that?
Till next time, lovers!
So what happened you ask? Simple. I was being me. A straightforward and convoluted answer. It started to unravel two days ago, when I was still riding high from his touch. I'd started to worry after my last entry if he'd call again cause I let thoughts of my substantial size get inside my head and fuck me up with the usual game of not being pretty enough. So as I'm laying in my bed at noon thirty, I get a text. It's from him! He tells me he's been thinking about me! Yay!!! But best of all, and be still my beating heart, he says he loves my curves! Get the fuck outta town. No man has EVER said that me. None. Even if it was true, it never quite made its way out their mouths, so I was always left to wonder if they truly liked my body the way it was, or if they just knew I was an easy lay. The fat girl usually is.
But not him. He really liked my body. His actual word was "yummy". I think it's his thing cause he says it alot. So we text back and forth for 4 hrs., getting increasingly sexual. A taste I acquired from my brother's roommate (the laid back guy I mentioned in a previous entry, he was playing Guitar Hero when we met). We were sexting and sexing for awhile. Damn. That's a nice lil blast from the past. I wonder how he doin. Wit his fine ass.
So eventually, he (White Boy) says he'd like to do something to me, and I responded:
Damn...mama likes.
So he says:
What else does mama like?
And I say:
...mama likes it rough.
To which he replies:
Yes ma'am mama.
And from there it went downhill with a quickness, and all because I sent him another text telling him that I only like that with a man I'm comfortable with. I'm not gonna break it out on a random Tuesday for just anybody. Now I said this cause I didn't want him thinking the next time we were together (if we were together) that it'd be candle wax on the nipples or Jenna Jamison, Heather Hunter type shit. I thought it was playful and ok cause I do this all the time; give disclaimers. But his feathers got a little ruffled by it. He proceeded to tell me that I killed the mood, that he knew that would only happen when I was comfortable, that I didn't need to say it. And I could tell right away, even via text, that he was upset or at least annoyed. And that made me feel horrible right away. No woman wants to be told she's a mood killer. That's like saying you're dick kryptonite. We cleared things up a bit, but I still felt kinda awkward. He told me that he wanted to get his mind off work and on me, but that I was too guarded and I should let it down a bit and relax. I text Sharelle immediately and she was like, "yeah you are guarded".
So him aside, that's the thing that stuck with me. He's certainly not the first guy to tell me that. MK used to say that to me on a daily basis as a greeting. He told me once, years ago, before I even knew how I felt about him, that he'd thought about what it'd be like if we dated. And I said, "be weird huh?", and he was like, "Yeah." But I think the journey his brain went on was how hard he'd have to fight to get me to let him in.
So this guarded thing has me all fucked up. I don't know how not to be. Thinking back over my illustrious dating career, of which I've never had a single boyfriend, I see it's been that way ever since I had my first crush. In fact, I think that's where it started.
I was seven and had a crush on one of my brother's friends (I guess that's a trend too. It's good to have an older brother when he's got fine ass friends). I'll use his real name cause sadly, he passed away several years ago...just eighteen, six months after he and my brother graduated. His name was Eric Allen, and he was tall and cute, with curly black hair. Smooth caramel skin and wide, gorgeous eyes. By the time we got to high school, he was super duper sexy! And he was the boy who gave me my first kiss. We were standing behind a tree on this baseball field at a play ground near our house. My brother and other friends were playing on the field and the other boys were goading me and Eric to make out. My brother, all of nine, laughed it off but was clearly not cool with that. Next thing I know, Eric and I are behind the tree, and he leans in and plants the softest kiss I'd ever had on me, with the smoothest, tastiest lips. I felt like a grown up. After all, that's how they do it on the soaps Grandma watches. There was even a little bit of tongue. It sounds disturbingly inappropriate now, but it was very sweet then. He wasn't aggressive with it. Just a little touch, enough to let me know I wasn't in Kansas in anymore.
A few days later we were walking through the church ground together, and I remember really, really liking him. And thinking, maybe he'll be my boyfriend. So I asked him, in the forward way a child who's never been disappointed or scarred does, if he liked me. He said yeah. So I asked if he thought I was pretty. And he said, "you're average." I didn't know what that word meant, and I'd never heard the men on the soaps say that to the women, but it must be good. He kissed me, didn't he? That's what people do when they love each other. Average must mean, I love you. I ran home, up the stairs to our apartment and flung open Mommy's bedroom door and jumped on her bed. She knew everything so she'd know what average meant. So I asked her, "Mom, what's average mean?" And she said, "It means not good or bad. Nothing special." My shoulders slumped and I felt my body cave and sink into her mattress like I was a part of the linens. Nothing special. Nothing. Special. That's what I was to him.
Clearly it wasn't a conscious choice. At seven years old I didn't say I'm gonna harden my heart and put up these walls and fuck the next guy who comes along. But at thirty four, the image and the feelings are still with me, so it obviously had an impact.
I was at the hair salon earlier thinking about writing this entry. Thinking about what I would say. Thinking that I always assumed when I got into a serious loving relationship with a man, when I knew I was his and he was mine, that my walls would fall away and that I'd know how to be with him. But I've realized that's not true. Yes some of that stuff is innate and takes hold when you love or care about someone. But the idea of being with a man, belonging in the way I so desperately want to, scares the shit outta me. Being vulnerable in that way. Being that open. White Boy messed me up by saying I should let my guard down. I don't know how to do that halfway. Either the walls are all up or they're all down. And when they're down I'm a complete fucking mess. Yes I keep men at arm's length because they hurt me. Every single one in my life. And when you talk about the ones I've been naked with, that number jumps up to over 100%. But I do it also to protect me from me. When I'm exposed, I'm calling or texting more than I should, I troll through their Facebook pages looking for info. I reread texts and emails he sent. I'm devastated when he doesn't call. Why does it take you two whole minutes to respond to my text! When the walls are up, I could give a fuck what you do. Don't call me, cool. Don't text me, fine. Fuck you. I got Spartacus.
Mommy used to tell me there are no shades of grey with me. Only black and white. And that's true. I'm either guarded or I'm clingy. There's no in between. If I don't keep my soft, gooey center protected, it's like I'm offering myself up for the slaughter. It's like I'm weak. I don't know how to tell White Boy how I feel. How I like the way he touches me. I like the way he kisses me. I like the way he makes me laugh, the way he smells. The way he talks. I like his carefree I-don't-give-a-damn-I'm-gonna-do-what-I-wanna-do attitude that comes purely from being white in America (maybe I won't tell him that). I like that he doesn't take any of my shit and won't let me get away with anything. Reminds me a little of MK in that way. I just wanna get to know him and see if maybe. Just maybe...
And then Jersey says to me, bitch he's just trying to bone. So see? That's what I do. I'm either guarded or I'm a sap. Men don't like either. So what do I do? Push away every viable prospect cause I'm too scared to let him in? Or do I settle for a nice enough guy who couldn't strike a fire in my loins with kerosene and matches, but since he's the only one left, might as well. What the fuck kinda choice is that?
Till next time, lovers!
Tuesday, February 22, 2011
One More Thing!
So here's another (probably the most important) reason I chose to rejoin Match.com. I live in Atlanta now. For a black woman, or any woman rather, seeking a black man in this city, you shouldn't do it alone. You're gonna need help. I mean you can find a dude at the Barnes & Noble, or the Publix, or the park, but chances are he'll be full on gay or on the down low. And I don't fuck with that shit. I figured a dude playing those types of games won't pay the type of money Match.com requires just to find his beard. He can find that silly bitch for free, where...? Barnes & Noble.
Match Tales: The Sequel
DUDE #2: WHITE BOY
So I set my search parameters (can you tell this is my word of the day?) for black and hispanic men only. I feel like I'm good as long as I cover my racial background. Yeah, I got white blood in here too, but who doesn't? So I'm looking through my daily 5 matches, and see I have a wink (that's when a guy has read your profile, likes you but not enough to send you a real email, so he just sends you his profile for you to look over and decide if you like him enough to send him an email--and that's called a wink). So I open it up...and it's a white boy! What the FUCK!!! Didn't I tell you NOT to send me any white guys? Does he look black Match.com? Does he? NO, he does not! This damn Match.com, I tell ya boy. Sending me this bullshit. Well lemme look at his profile to find out how off the mark they are, sending him to me. They got some nerve sending me a white boy who's 2 yrs. younger than me...from ALABAMA...who, wait, started his own business? Then sold it to an even bigger company that he now works for and has a very loose leash...in telecommunications? Wait, he's looking for women between the ages of 22 and 47? Damn. Way to cover all your bases. Well what about body type? You know white boys like a skinny bitch. He says...nothing about it. It's blank. Meaning he's open to whatever body type. Get the fuck outta here. Hmmm. I should wink back.
And that's exactly what my thought process was behind winking back at this so obviously wrong match. And again, they didn't send it to me, he saw me and started communication. So as soon as I winked, I got an instantaneous email from him. I was like, wow! That was quick. This is his email to me:
Thanks for the wink! How has your week been going so far, mine has been pretty good. Happy Hump Day, I just hope the nice weather returns for the weekend. :) How long have you lived in ATL? I moved here in Aug 04 from Auburn University. I live in Dunwoody close to Perimeter Mall, and you? Just thought I would stop by and say hello, so beautiful! :)
So two things caught my eye. His statement of stopping by...hell nawh shawty; and naturally the "so beautiful" comment. I must have read that several times. Huh? He means me? The white boy thinks the chunky black girl is "so beautiful"? Is this a damn joke? Fuck this. But since flattery will get you everywhere with me, I was encouraged to move forward. So I responded:
Hey,
That was pretty quick! LOL. Well, let's see...my week's been pretty ok so far. I've only lived here for a few months. I moved in October, but I used to live here bout 8 yrs ago and I lived here for like 7 yrs at that time. I went to college here so I know the city pretty well...correction, I used to know the city because in the 8 yrs. I've been gone, it's changed so much. Whole streets are renamed and buildings torn down, neighborhoods have changed dramatically, so it's kinda like moving to an unknown city at times. I live in Buckhead near 85. One of the reasons I moved back here was for the weather, which I love. I'm from Jersey so by comparison this is paradise. Where are you from originally?
So then he said:
Nice to meet you! And you are right it has change a lot just since I have been here. :-) I am originally from Birmingham, AL and you? Yes, I am southern but far from country. So tell me, you have a hard time taking complements? ;-)
And then I said:
Not generally, why do you ask? (Totally not true. I do have a problem taking compliments. They feel nice in the moment, but then I start to think, that wasn't meant for me. Words are easy but the ensuing action usually belies the pleasant statement, that's why I distrust compliments. But I still like to hear them. I know, I need to get back to therapy--I'm going)
So he said:
I said so beautiful at the end of my first email! :-) and quite sexy!
Game. Set. Match...bitches! All my lady parts got to fluttering at the southern gentility and the compliments and the attention and all that jazz. But the male side of me, usually the part I refer to as Jersey, was skeptical as always. Still is. You can't graduate daycare in Dirty Jerz without passing skepticism and sarcasm 101. We're leery of everyone and everything. And then you add being black on top of it!!! Shit, he's lucky I don't reach for my Vaseline and brass knuckles. Sounds kinda kinky don't it? Yeah, on purpose. Yall know how I do :)
So this goes on for days. We didn't talk this past weekend cause, well lemme let you read what he said:
Hey sexy! How was the rest of your week, mine was pretty good TGIF! I actually have family in town this weekend or I would be thinking of ravishing someone! :-)
Uhhhhh....yay? Yay he has company so I don't have to worry bout being ravished, or yay he wants to ravish me? Your guess is as good as mine. I don't damn know either. Damn shame, isn't it? I know. (So is the nasty bitch's breath sitting next to me at Barnes and Noble. Damn, eat an altoid trick, and stop breathing on the rest of us. I'm gonna black out from holding my breath soon, then who'll finish my blog so my devoted reader can be satisfied? Consideration is the spice of life. So is fluoride.)
At this point in the story, I wasn't attracted to him. Description. White. 31. Blondish hair I think. Glasses (slim line). Blue eyes maybe. Nice smile. Again, taller than me but I only found this out recently when we were face to face...ish. Nice body. He works out. Also recently discovered. I'm on this Spartacus kick (thanks Starz and Manu Bennett the unbeknownst father of my children even though he too is white, but he's Australian or New Zealander so that makes it ok) so a man's body all muscled up and such does so much for me now...more than it ever did before. Well, that's not true. It's always done good shit for me. I'm just all about naked gladiators sending me off to dream land with a purpose. But I digress.
So, decent looking guy on Match.com but I wasn't feeling sleeping with another white boy. Been there. Done that. Moving on. I keep thinking about the last white dick I had, and it was the most awful thing ever. Put me off the whole race. That's some repugnant dick. Small and rhythmless. Rhythmless Nation. Damn shame. He's the only guy I faked an orgasm with. It was either that or fake a seizure but I couldn't pay the hospital bill for that. And a fake orgasm achieves its goal: dude feels like he laid it down, and I get him to stop what he's doing, cause he's about to ruin, the image and the style that I'm used to...never before have the words of Digital Underground been so perfect a fit for everyday life. Humpty Hump yo ass off!
So I was at this crossroads. I was fixing to go out with IHOP and WHITE BOY was doing the family thing and B-BOY was a no show. I was like, all the dudes I'm communicating with on Match, aren't anyone I'd like to get naked with. Can't even see that happening. They made my nether regions drier than the Sahara during famine season. I mean, what the fuck? So after being annoyed by IHOP's feelings of disrespect, I was watching the NBA All-Star game at MK's, when I decided to send WHITE BOY an email via my Match.com app on my phone. Yeah...I got the app. I'm invested. It was just something like, hey hope your weekend went well and you enjoyed your time with your family. We should talk soon, or words to that effect. Sure enough when I checked my email the next day he responded with:
Were you up late thinking of me? :-)
And I was like:
Perhaps :) I'm a night owl after all. I picked my friends up at the airport & they were taping the all star game, so I stayed over there to watch it, and that's why I was up late emailing you lol. I know it's not sexy, but it's the truth :) And since you're pretty good at replying to my emails, I figured while I was up, why not say hi. That way I knew I'd have a responce when I woke up. How was your weekend? Hope it was fun.
And he was like:
Its actually very sexy, you thought of me! My weekend was great, mom was in town so tons of shopping a good food! Thanks for asking. :-) I just left work, so heading to the gym and you? Then ill be chilling on the couch, glass of wine and a movie, but always better if shared with someone yummy! ;-)
So again, I was like, huh? He wants me to come over to his place? For wine? And movies? But for wine? Wine and anything always leads to something. At least for me anyway cause I like to drink. I get comfortable when the wine flows freely from my oversized cup or glass...directly into my mouth. At this time, I sent a frantic text to Sharelle cause I kinda needed some validation in what I knew I should do. Wasn't sure I'd do it though.
Anyway, all this rigmarole is boring you, but he called me and when I heard his voice, I knew I was gonna do the wrong thing. He has this cute little Alabama twang and it was a wrap. But I told myself in my bathroom mirror (as I put on some makeup and a cute top to accentuate somethings and try to hide others) that I was NOT gonna fuck him. It's just wine. And a movie. Keep your pants on and keep it casual. Agreed? Agreed. Good.
So I drive out to his spot, not that far from where I live, and get to his door and I check his apartment number on my phone several times before I knock, thinking what a dumb ass I am. I did text Sharelle that I was going to his place and this is his real name, his address, and his phone number just in case. I mean, he is white after all. Hell, for all I know, I could have been walking into a Dateline situation. He opened the door, and I thought I might be, but I wasn't sure that I was in trouble...until he poured the wine. In a nice GIANT glass. I told myself not to go down without a fight. But he came out in full battle mode. Wine. Stupid movie. Giant wine glass. Cuter than his pictures. Sick ass body. Cute southern twang. Smart ass white boy. Candles. More wine. Still in a giant glass. Maker of the first move in such a sexy, I want what I want, kinda way. I didn't give a shit about the movie any more, I was struggling to get my bra off.
That was last night. Yall getting this fresh off the presses! Now, there was no penetration but it was a good old fashioned make out session. One I hadn't had in a looooooooooonnnnng time. Cause why bullshit around when you can just bone? And, even though I'd just met him, I felt more comfortable with him than I expected. Maybe that's a sign that I'm coming into my own. I mean hell, I'll be peaking for the next several years...yay!!!! I don't know, but I wasn't worried bout the flab hanging over my jeans or my big ass thighs on top of his thighs. I'm thinking about it now and maybe that will prevent me from getting a call back. But I don't care really. I mean I do. I'd like to see him again, but at least I got something out of it. I got a little bit of release from the insurmountable sexual frustration that had been building within me for over a year! Yes, I said it! Shut up yall who get it on the regular! And yes, married people I'm talking to you. And any sluts who happen upon this blog. But what I told Sharelle when I recounted parts of the story to her today, is true. I needed to feel sexy. And I needed to feel desired. Fuck what happens today or tomorrow, but last night, that man wanted me. He wanted ME! And that was and always will be the perfect aphrodisiac.
Till next time, lovers!
So I set my search parameters (can you tell this is my word of the day?) for black and hispanic men only. I feel like I'm good as long as I cover my racial background. Yeah, I got white blood in here too, but who doesn't? So I'm looking through my daily 5 matches, and see I have a wink (that's when a guy has read your profile, likes you but not enough to send you a real email, so he just sends you his profile for you to look over and decide if you like him enough to send him an email--and that's called a wink). So I open it up...and it's a white boy! What the FUCK!!! Didn't I tell you NOT to send me any white guys? Does he look black Match.com? Does he? NO, he does not! This damn Match.com, I tell ya boy. Sending me this bullshit. Well lemme look at his profile to find out how off the mark they are, sending him to me. They got some nerve sending me a white boy who's 2 yrs. younger than me...from ALABAMA...who, wait, started his own business? Then sold it to an even bigger company that he now works for and has a very loose leash...in telecommunications? Wait, he's looking for women between the ages of 22 and 47? Damn. Way to cover all your bases. Well what about body type? You know white boys like a skinny bitch. He says...nothing about it. It's blank. Meaning he's open to whatever body type. Get the fuck outta here. Hmmm. I should wink back.
And that's exactly what my thought process was behind winking back at this so obviously wrong match. And again, they didn't send it to me, he saw me and started communication. So as soon as I winked, I got an instantaneous email from him. I was like, wow! That was quick. This is his email to me:
Thanks for the wink! How has your week been going so far, mine has been pretty good. Happy Hump Day, I just hope the nice weather returns for the weekend. :) How long have you lived in ATL? I moved here in Aug 04 from Auburn University. I live in Dunwoody close to Perimeter Mall, and you? Just thought I would stop by and say hello, so beautiful! :)
So two things caught my eye. His statement of stopping by...hell nawh shawty; and naturally the "so beautiful" comment. I must have read that several times. Huh? He means me? The white boy thinks the chunky black girl is "so beautiful"? Is this a damn joke? Fuck this. But since flattery will get you everywhere with me, I was encouraged to move forward. So I responded:
Hey,
That was pretty quick! LOL. Well, let's see...my week's been pretty ok so far. I've only lived here for a few months. I moved in October, but I used to live here bout 8 yrs ago and I lived here for like 7 yrs at that time. I went to college here so I know the city pretty well...correction, I used to know the city because in the 8 yrs. I've been gone, it's changed so much. Whole streets are renamed and buildings torn down, neighborhoods have changed dramatically, so it's kinda like moving to an unknown city at times. I live in Buckhead near 85. One of the reasons I moved back here was for the weather, which I love. I'm from Jersey so by comparison this is paradise. Where are you from originally?
So then he said:
Nice to meet you! And you are right it has change a lot just since I have been here. :-) I am originally from Birmingham, AL and you? Yes, I am southern but far from country. So tell me, you have a hard time taking complements? ;-)
And then I said:
Not generally, why do you ask? (Totally not true. I do have a problem taking compliments. They feel nice in the moment, but then I start to think, that wasn't meant for me. Words are easy but the ensuing action usually belies the pleasant statement, that's why I distrust compliments. But I still like to hear them. I know, I need to get back to therapy--I'm going)
So he said:
I said so beautiful at the end of my first email! :-) and quite sexy!
Game. Set. Match...bitches! All my lady parts got to fluttering at the southern gentility and the compliments and the attention and all that jazz. But the male side of me, usually the part I refer to as Jersey, was skeptical as always. Still is. You can't graduate daycare in Dirty Jerz without passing skepticism and sarcasm 101. We're leery of everyone and everything. And then you add being black on top of it!!! Shit, he's lucky I don't reach for my Vaseline and brass knuckles. Sounds kinda kinky don't it? Yeah, on purpose. Yall know how I do :)
So this goes on for days. We didn't talk this past weekend cause, well lemme let you read what he said:
Hey sexy! How was the rest of your week, mine was pretty good TGIF! I actually have family in town this weekend or I would be thinking of ravishing someone! :-)
Uhhhhh....yay? Yay he has company so I don't have to worry bout being ravished, or yay he wants to ravish me? Your guess is as good as mine. I don't damn know either. Damn shame, isn't it? I know. (So is the nasty bitch's breath sitting next to me at Barnes and Noble. Damn, eat an altoid trick, and stop breathing on the rest of us. I'm gonna black out from holding my breath soon, then who'll finish my blog so my devoted reader can be satisfied? Consideration is the spice of life. So is fluoride.)
At this point in the story, I wasn't attracted to him. Description. White. 31. Blondish hair I think. Glasses (slim line). Blue eyes maybe. Nice smile. Again, taller than me but I only found this out recently when we were face to face...ish. Nice body. He works out. Also recently discovered. I'm on this Spartacus kick (thanks Starz and Manu Bennett the unbeknownst father of my children even though he too is white, but he's Australian or New Zealander so that makes it ok) so a man's body all muscled up and such does so much for me now...more than it ever did before. Well, that's not true. It's always done good shit for me. I'm just all about naked gladiators sending me off to dream land with a purpose. But I digress.
So, decent looking guy on Match.com but I wasn't feeling sleeping with another white boy. Been there. Done that. Moving on. I keep thinking about the last white dick I had, and it was the most awful thing ever. Put me off the whole race. That's some repugnant dick. Small and rhythmless. Rhythmless Nation. Damn shame. He's the only guy I faked an orgasm with. It was either that or fake a seizure but I couldn't pay the hospital bill for that. And a fake orgasm achieves its goal: dude feels like he laid it down, and I get him to stop what he's doing, cause he's about to ruin, the image and the style that I'm used to...never before have the words of Digital Underground been so perfect a fit for everyday life. Humpty Hump yo ass off!
So I was at this crossroads. I was fixing to go out with IHOP and WHITE BOY was doing the family thing and B-BOY was a no show. I was like, all the dudes I'm communicating with on Match, aren't anyone I'd like to get naked with. Can't even see that happening. They made my nether regions drier than the Sahara during famine season. I mean, what the fuck? So after being annoyed by IHOP's feelings of disrespect, I was watching the NBA All-Star game at MK's, when I decided to send WHITE BOY an email via my Match.com app on my phone. Yeah...I got the app. I'm invested. It was just something like, hey hope your weekend went well and you enjoyed your time with your family. We should talk soon, or words to that effect. Sure enough when I checked my email the next day he responded with:
Were you up late thinking of me? :-)
And I was like:
Perhaps :) I'm a night owl after all. I picked my friends up at the airport & they were taping the all star game, so I stayed over there to watch it, and that's why I was up late emailing you lol. I know it's not sexy, but it's the truth :) And since you're pretty good at replying to my emails, I figured while I was up, why not say hi. That way I knew I'd have a responce when I woke up. How was your weekend? Hope it was fun.
And he was like:
Its actually very sexy, you thought of me! My weekend was great, mom was in town so tons of shopping a good food! Thanks for asking. :-) I just left work, so heading to the gym and you? Then ill be chilling on the couch, glass of wine and a movie, but always better if shared with someone yummy! ;-)
So again, I was like, huh? He wants me to come over to his place? For wine? And movies? But for wine? Wine and anything always leads to something. At least for me anyway cause I like to drink. I get comfortable when the wine flows freely from my oversized cup or glass...directly into my mouth. At this time, I sent a frantic text to Sharelle cause I kinda needed some validation in what I knew I should do. Wasn't sure I'd do it though.
Anyway, all this rigmarole is boring you, but he called me and when I heard his voice, I knew I was gonna do the wrong thing. He has this cute little Alabama twang and it was a wrap. But I told myself in my bathroom mirror (as I put on some makeup and a cute top to accentuate somethings and try to hide others) that I was NOT gonna fuck him. It's just wine. And a movie. Keep your pants on and keep it casual. Agreed? Agreed. Good.
So I drive out to his spot, not that far from where I live, and get to his door and I check his apartment number on my phone several times before I knock, thinking what a dumb ass I am. I did text Sharelle that I was going to his place and this is his real name, his address, and his phone number just in case. I mean, he is white after all. Hell, for all I know, I could have been walking into a Dateline situation. He opened the door, and I thought I might be, but I wasn't sure that I was in trouble...until he poured the wine. In a nice GIANT glass. I told myself not to go down without a fight. But he came out in full battle mode. Wine. Stupid movie. Giant wine glass. Cuter than his pictures. Sick ass body. Cute southern twang. Smart ass white boy. Candles. More wine. Still in a giant glass. Maker of the first move in such a sexy, I want what I want, kinda way. I didn't give a shit about the movie any more, I was struggling to get my bra off.
That was last night. Yall getting this fresh off the presses! Now, there was no penetration but it was a good old fashioned make out session. One I hadn't had in a looooooooooonnnnng time. Cause why bullshit around when you can just bone? And, even though I'd just met him, I felt more comfortable with him than I expected. Maybe that's a sign that I'm coming into my own. I mean hell, I'll be peaking for the next several years...yay!!!! I don't know, but I wasn't worried bout the flab hanging over my jeans or my big ass thighs on top of his thighs. I'm thinking about it now and maybe that will prevent me from getting a call back. But I don't care really. I mean I do. I'd like to see him again, but at least I got something out of it. I got a little bit of release from the insurmountable sexual frustration that had been building within me for over a year! Yes, I said it! Shut up yall who get it on the regular! And yes, married people I'm talking to you. And any sluts who happen upon this blog. But what I told Sharelle when I recounted parts of the story to her today, is true. I needed to feel sexy. And I needed to feel desired. Fuck what happens today or tomorrow, but last night, that man wanted me. He wanted ME! And that was and always will be the perfect aphrodisiac.
Till next time, lovers!
Match Tales
Oh, my lovelies! I've missed you. As you know it's a new year and I just had another birthday. So now like the song says, I truly am, "Another year older/and deeper in debt/..." Not sure about the debt part but judging by the unanswered messages on my home voicemail, I owe somebody somethin'. Oh well, fuck 'em.
So I would get into my birthday festivities but there's so much I have to talk about. I'll have to come back to that stuff later. But let's ring in 2011 with some wild shit!
So while my friend Sharelle was in town for my birthday (and we partied like it was 1997-99 up in this bitch...trust me, I have the literal scar to prove it!) I decided to re-activate my match.com subscription. I'd let it lapse shortly before Mommy was diagnosed cause it wasn't yielding me any results. I took the 6 month guarantee they offer...find someone significant in 6 months or get the next 6 months free. Well I was on that bitch site for a year...I didn't get the 6 months free cause they neglect to tell you about the caveat in fine print. In order to qualify you have to send at least 5 emails a month to different men to ensure you're doing your part to meet someone special. It's hard to do all that mess when you're working a full time job. I didn't wanna come home after hours of staring at a computer screen and talking on the phone, to then send a bunch of cold emails to dudes who may or may not be fully representative of their pics and profiles on the internet. Fuck that shit. So I let my status fall into inactivity.
But when she came to see me, she was fraught with stories of her Match shenanigans. All these different men she was meeting, some cute, some weird...well most were weird according to her. She was dating all over NYC, going to restaurants and lounges, having the time of her life. I swear, the bitch was a walking poster board for the site. At her urging I reluctantly rejoined. I was hesitant cause I was keenly aware of my previous experiences with the site, and shit wasn't that footloose and fancy-free for me. I'd talk to guys who were barely interesting or who weren't feeling me. None of them would take me anywhere and I'm quite certain if we did go out, they wouldn't splurge on me like they did her. For some reason I just don't command that type of dude. But something she said made me wanna give it a go. She said something like, it's always nice to have someone to go to dinner or the movies with. And those few words changed my perspective. True, I'm looking for something "serious", I guess, but I don't have to hold out for a dude I'm in love with to hang out. Go out to dinner with lots of frogs (and try not to rip your skin off when they pay for everything) weeding out the undesirables till you find your prince. Done. And DONE! I charged my credit to Match.com that night.
So almost immediately shit was different down here than back in the tri-state, for me anyway. I added more pictures to my profile for one. This time I included full length body shots, which I typically avoided like the plague. But these were pics from my recent birthday festivities and I was looking and feeling good! Sexy sexy sexy!!! My inbox was full of winks and emails that I'd sent out or had responded to. I mean, now that I'm not working, I have time enough to sort through profiles. I kept my parameters the same, only black and latin men need apply. I'm talking to about three dudes, two I've actually met in person, and one I've seen more than once.
Here we go:
DUDE #1: IHOP
I call him this cause the first night we met, this is where we went. We first started out at the Barnes and Noble I'm typing from currently in Buckhead on Peachtree. It was last Wednesday cause I had just taken MK, his girlfriend, and his cousin to the airport. The B&N closed at 10pm, so we went up the street to the IHOP. He's a nice enough guy. Black. 33. Native Atlantan (odd cause most people here are from somewhere else). Computer engineer. Clean cut. Average body and height. He's taller than me which isn't saying much, but I think he's at least 6'. We talked all night, he watched me scarf down my pancake platter with hash browns, bacon, scrambled eggs, lots of syrup and a coke. This is Atlanta after all, gotta compliment my meal with a coke. But there was a pretty good vibe going on. I wouldn't say I was overcome with a fiery sensation in my loins for him. As a matter of fact, it was a cold, dry season in my panties, but he was nice and respectful and we laughed a lot. That can usually stoke the flames of desire, so I figured give it a chance. In keeping with Sharelle and Kendall's philosophies. Plus, I heard Mommy's voice in my head basically telling me that I x men out too quickly and give the guy a chance. Between Wednesday and Saturday when we saw each other again, he text and called me multiple times a day. That's red flag time for me. I like my space and that shit seems awfully crowdy. But, it's someone to go out with and enjoy myself. So we hung out again Saturday.
We went to the Varsity cause I'd never eaten there. Food was ok, but I was more interested in the hype. From there we walked through Piedmont Park at night. It was so beautiful. We even stopped at this romantic spot where I took a picture of the luminescent Midtown skyline. It was really breathtaking. He wanted to hold my hand. I hesitated at first and we'd already had the PDA discussion; I'm not its biggest fan. But I relented and we walked the trails hand in hand, occasionally stopping to sit on a bench lakeside to talk and look at the water. I like water. We talked about our families: he's closest to his mother, I told him about Mommy. He's not close to his younger brother. I told him my brother is known to choke a nigga out for his sister. Particulars like that. All in all, it was nice. After that we went to the Uptown Comedy Club. Those dudes were funny as hell. Good times. Drinks and some food...he ate and I drank. Another reddish flag. I can't be with someone who's not a social drinker. Cause I likes my cocktail. Everything seems fine. He takes me back to my car and I go to give him a hug, and he goes in for the kiss. It was awkward only cause he wanted it to be a full on open mouth kiss, and it turned into a peck on the lips. We go home and all's good from there. I was hoping to meet up with this young boy, I call him B-BOY, that I met the previous weekend at a club down here. Was really needing some of his 24 yr. old law school dick. But that didn't work out and that's neither here nor there (but rest assured people, I will go in on him in my next entry).
So Sunday comes and everything seems cool. I have a meeting with my creative group to discuss workshops I wanna teach for acting and writing, and some of our upcoming projects, and dude calls me. This was the second time he called that day. And there was a text too. I go back to my friend's house while I waited for MK's flight to arrive and I text him that I saw he called but I was in a meeting and I'll call him when I get home round 11pm. He simply texts back "We need to talk". What the fuck? Skipping all the bullshit that elapsed in the meantime, I finally get him on the phone to find out what the hell he's talking about. And come to find out, he's quite obviously distressed about something that occurred the night before at the comedy club. While we were in line, I made the mistake of engaging in a long standing joking tirade with the man standing behind IHOP about an outfit some bitch on the street was wearing. She had stuffed her big ass into spandex/lycra black pants with a halter top of the same material, and twelve inch clear heel hooker shoes. Outlandish. Apparently we laughed too long and didn't include him and he felt I was rude and disrespectful and I shoulda known the brotha was trying to holla at me and that he was uncomfortable and blah blah blah.
I...listened, and then told him I can't be worried about him freaking out every time I spend more than two minutes talking to a guy. I'm a sociable person and if someone talks to me, I'm gonna talk back. I reminded him that I wasn't flirting with the guy and I really had no idea that he was flirting with me. I didn't ask for his number, I didn't give him mine, I didn't touch him, I didn't stray outside the "that bitch is wearing some fucked up shit" parameters of the talk back. That I needed him to know that since I was spending time with him, my time is precious to me and I don't just give it out willy nilly, and that he should take some comfort in that. I knew I was on a date with him and no one else and he may have a point had I done any of the above mentioned no-no's, but since I didn't, I was thrown for a loop as to where this mess was coming from. Particularly since he hadn't let on at any time during the rest of the evening, when I was fully engaged with and interested in him, that he was upset about anything. Least of all this situation. Example, said kiss attempt mentioned before. His response: I wanted to make sure you continued to have a good time. Okaaaayyyyy.....
So he said his piece and I said mine and we left it with he still wants to get to know me, but he had to let me know he was upset. I told him I appreciate him telling me, that it wasn't my intent to make him feel uncomfortable or disrespected and I sincerely apologize for that. Then he asks if we're "cool". I said yes. I still need to have someone to hang out with most nights. No need to let his control freak ways fuck up my social life.
Till next time, lovers!
So I would get into my birthday festivities but there's so much I have to talk about. I'll have to come back to that stuff later. But let's ring in 2011 with some wild shit!
So while my friend Sharelle was in town for my birthday (and we partied like it was 1997-99 up in this bitch...trust me, I have the literal scar to prove it!) I decided to re-activate my match.com subscription. I'd let it lapse shortly before Mommy was diagnosed cause it wasn't yielding me any results. I took the 6 month guarantee they offer...find someone significant in 6 months or get the next 6 months free. Well I was on that bitch site for a year...I didn't get the 6 months free cause they neglect to tell you about the caveat in fine print. In order to qualify you have to send at least 5 emails a month to different men to ensure you're doing your part to meet someone special. It's hard to do all that mess when you're working a full time job. I didn't wanna come home after hours of staring at a computer screen and talking on the phone, to then send a bunch of cold emails to dudes who may or may not be fully representative of their pics and profiles on the internet. Fuck that shit. So I let my status fall into inactivity.
But when she came to see me, she was fraught with stories of her Match shenanigans. All these different men she was meeting, some cute, some weird...well most were weird according to her. She was dating all over NYC, going to restaurants and lounges, having the time of her life. I swear, the bitch was a walking poster board for the site. At her urging I reluctantly rejoined. I was hesitant cause I was keenly aware of my previous experiences with the site, and shit wasn't that footloose and fancy-free for me. I'd talk to guys who were barely interesting or who weren't feeling me. None of them would take me anywhere and I'm quite certain if we did go out, they wouldn't splurge on me like they did her. For some reason I just don't command that type of dude. But something she said made me wanna give it a go. She said something like, it's always nice to have someone to go to dinner or the movies with. And those few words changed my perspective. True, I'm looking for something "serious", I guess, but I don't have to hold out for a dude I'm in love with to hang out. Go out to dinner with lots of frogs (and try not to rip your skin off when they pay for everything) weeding out the undesirables till you find your prince. Done. And DONE! I charged my credit to Match.com that night.
So almost immediately shit was different down here than back in the tri-state, for me anyway. I added more pictures to my profile for one. This time I included full length body shots, which I typically avoided like the plague. But these were pics from my recent birthday festivities and I was looking and feeling good! Sexy sexy sexy!!! My inbox was full of winks and emails that I'd sent out or had responded to. I mean, now that I'm not working, I have time enough to sort through profiles. I kept my parameters the same, only black and latin men need apply. I'm talking to about three dudes, two I've actually met in person, and one I've seen more than once.
Here we go:
DUDE #1: IHOP
I call him this cause the first night we met, this is where we went. We first started out at the Barnes and Noble I'm typing from currently in Buckhead on Peachtree. It was last Wednesday cause I had just taken MK, his girlfriend, and his cousin to the airport. The B&N closed at 10pm, so we went up the street to the IHOP. He's a nice enough guy. Black. 33. Native Atlantan (odd cause most people here are from somewhere else). Computer engineer. Clean cut. Average body and height. He's taller than me which isn't saying much, but I think he's at least 6'. We talked all night, he watched me scarf down my pancake platter with hash browns, bacon, scrambled eggs, lots of syrup and a coke. This is Atlanta after all, gotta compliment my meal with a coke. But there was a pretty good vibe going on. I wouldn't say I was overcome with a fiery sensation in my loins for him. As a matter of fact, it was a cold, dry season in my panties, but he was nice and respectful and we laughed a lot. That can usually stoke the flames of desire, so I figured give it a chance. In keeping with Sharelle and Kendall's philosophies. Plus, I heard Mommy's voice in my head basically telling me that I x men out too quickly and give the guy a chance. Between Wednesday and Saturday when we saw each other again, he text and called me multiple times a day. That's red flag time for me. I like my space and that shit seems awfully crowdy. But, it's someone to go out with and enjoy myself. So we hung out again Saturday.
We went to the Varsity cause I'd never eaten there. Food was ok, but I was more interested in the hype. From there we walked through Piedmont Park at night. It was so beautiful. We even stopped at this romantic spot where I took a picture of the luminescent Midtown skyline. It was really breathtaking. He wanted to hold my hand. I hesitated at first and we'd already had the PDA discussion; I'm not its biggest fan. But I relented and we walked the trails hand in hand, occasionally stopping to sit on a bench lakeside to talk and look at the water. I like water. We talked about our families: he's closest to his mother, I told him about Mommy. He's not close to his younger brother. I told him my brother is known to choke a nigga out for his sister. Particulars like that. All in all, it was nice. After that we went to the Uptown Comedy Club. Those dudes were funny as hell. Good times. Drinks and some food...he ate and I drank. Another reddish flag. I can't be with someone who's not a social drinker. Cause I likes my cocktail. Everything seems fine. He takes me back to my car and I go to give him a hug, and he goes in for the kiss. It was awkward only cause he wanted it to be a full on open mouth kiss, and it turned into a peck on the lips. We go home and all's good from there. I was hoping to meet up with this young boy, I call him B-BOY, that I met the previous weekend at a club down here. Was really needing some of his 24 yr. old law school dick. But that didn't work out and that's neither here nor there (but rest assured people, I will go in on him in my next entry).
So Sunday comes and everything seems cool. I have a meeting with my creative group to discuss workshops I wanna teach for acting and writing, and some of our upcoming projects, and dude calls me. This was the second time he called that day. And there was a text too. I go back to my friend's house while I waited for MK's flight to arrive and I text him that I saw he called but I was in a meeting and I'll call him when I get home round 11pm. He simply texts back "We need to talk". What the fuck? Skipping all the bullshit that elapsed in the meantime, I finally get him on the phone to find out what the hell he's talking about. And come to find out, he's quite obviously distressed about something that occurred the night before at the comedy club. While we were in line, I made the mistake of engaging in a long standing joking tirade with the man standing behind IHOP about an outfit some bitch on the street was wearing. She had stuffed her big ass into spandex/lycra black pants with a halter top of the same material, and twelve inch clear heel hooker shoes. Outlandish. Apparently we laughed too long and didn't include him and he felt I was rude and disrespectful and I shoulda known the brotha was trying to holla at me and that he was uncomfortable and blah blah blah.
I...listened, and then told him I can't be worried about him freaking out every time I spend more than two minutes talking to a guy. I'm a sociable person and if someone talks to me, I'm gonna talk back. I reminded him that I wasn't flirting with the guy and I really had no idea that he was flirting with me. I didn't ask for his number, I didn't give him mine, I didn't touch him, I didn't stray outside the "that bitch is wearing some fucked up shit" parameters of the talk back. That I needed him to know that since I was spending time with him, my time is precious to me and I don't just give it out willy nilly, and that he should take some comfort in that. I knew I was on a date with him and no one else and he may have a point had I done any of the above mentioned no-no's, but since I didn't, I was thrown for a loop as to where this mess was coming from. Particularly since he hadn't let on at any time during the rest of the evening, when I was fully engaged with and interested in him, that he was upset about anything. Least of all this situation. Example, said kiss attempt mentioned before. His response: I wanted to make sure you continued to have a good time. Okaaaayyyyy.....
So he said his piece and I said mine and we left it with he still wants to get to know me, but he had to let me know he was upset. I told him I appreciate him telling me, that it wasn't my intent to make him feel uncomfortable or disrespected and I sincerely apologize for that. Then he asks if we're "cool". I said yes. I still need to have someone to hang out with most nights. No need to let his control freak ways fuck up my social life.
Till next time, lovers!
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