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“Black Don’t Crack, But You Should Start Early, For Only $500…”

I knew I was in trouble when the siren call of the mall was completely drowning out that of the gym during the later hours of work yesterday.

So I listened. After all, the day after tomorrow, I will be in the fabulous city of New Orleans for the Essence Music Festival.

This will be the third time I’m going. I went for the first time in 2005, and then again in 2008.

Let me break this down for you. The Essence Music Festival is always held fourth of July weekend and draws hundreds of thousands of primarily black women from all over.

This straight up is black woman/girlfriends/exhale weekend. It’s a spring break for black chicks with wall-to-wall concerts with the most amazing R&B, neo-soul, jazz and gospel artists on the planet. Beyoncé is headlining. That alone is a reason to go, but I’m foaming at the mouth to see the following artists:

Friday, July 5: Maxwell, Jill Scott, LL Cool J and Brandy will take the mainstage. While Blackstreet, Anthony David, Les Nubians, Emeli Sande, Maya Azucena, Simphiwe Dana, Mali Music, Shamarr Allen and The Underdawgs will perform in the superlounges.

Saturday, July 6: New Edition, Charlie Wilson, Trey Songz, Keyshia Cole and Solange will grace the mainstage. Faith Evans, Bridget Kelly, Big Daddy Kane, F. Stokes, PJ Morton, Jody Watley, Leela James and Avery*Sunshine will rock the superlounges.

Sunday, July 7: Beyoncé, Janelle Monáe and supergroup TGT (Tyrese, Ginuwine and Tank) will storm the mainstage while Rachelle Ferrell, Mia Borders, Mint Condition, Luke James, Daley, Tamia, Kourtney Heart, Greta Prince and Alice Smith perform in the superlounges.


Let’s also keep in mind that every year I’ve gone, I’ve gone with dear friends that I really love. We’ve enjoyed the amazing food that only New Orleans can offer (including Brothers chicken, the most amazing chicken you can buy in a convenience store 24 hours for like $3 for a three-piece), the drinks (I will have a hurricane or a hand grenade or both at nearly all times) and just the fun and revelry of being in such a sexy, awesome, historic city.

This year is the first year I won’t be with one of my most fabulous travel partners. I’m going to miss her. Instead, I’m accompanied by some EMF virgins- my college roommate, and two older cousins. These ladies are a lot of fun, so I’m sure they will bring an interesting vibe to all of the festivities.

This will also be the first year I actually spring for nicer seats at the concerts, so it’s going to be cool to enjoy that perk. I had loads of fun in the nosebleeds getting plastered and making friends with the bartender, but it’s nice to take it up a notch in that department.

Because there are droves and droves of women, men make it their business to come and take advantage of women loosening up because they are on vacation and in New Orleans, fueled by liquor and the atmosphere.

I won’t lie. I’ve packed short, shorts, revealing tops and a freakum dress or two. I’m ready to get loose. I’ve got cute flats, breezy summer dresses (truth be told I’ve been shopping for this trip since March.)

But the initial inspiration for today’s post comes from my visit to the mall. A sweet charismatic young lady got me to walk over to her kiosk for high-end, paraben free, mineral make up.

Her presentation was impressive. I did enjoy how the eyeshadow could transform to a lip gloss with just a little bit of water. I was most impressed with the foundation.

I won’t lie. I hate make up and I want things to be as simple as possible. If someone can help me find a foundation, that’s half the battle and that’s why I let her do her thing, and that’s why I forked over the ridiculous amount of money for it. It was light and it did make my skin look great and naturally glowy.

But what killed me was her partner who was giving me a facial with all of this stuff that’s supposed to tighten my face and fight aging. He went on and on about botox and how even at the tender age of 31, the key is to start with all these creams and gels.

“You look great, you look beautiful. But everyone thinks in 20s and 30s they don’t have to start with the creams. In 40s and 50s, you are already too late. You must start now. Black don’t crack right? But you should start early. For $500 I will give you…”

And he starts stacking boxes of so many products, I just couldn’t take it and I knew for damn sure I wasn’t going to spend $500 on any of that mess. I’d buy a new bag or some damn Jimmy Choos before I spend that on those kinds of products. Beauty products are not my drug of choice. They just aren’t.

The women in my family age beautifully. My late aunt was a faithful Oil of Olay user. So I’ma stick to that and my occasional bentonite clay mask.

He can go somewhere with all of that.


So I would like to share a few tips for the newbies.

You need flats. Or wedges you know you are comfy walking or standing in (standing particularly if you hang in the superlounges). Most people walk to the Superdome every night because the weather is awesome, the people watching is great and most people want to burn off the calories from all of the amazing food. Now for the more practical reason. Traffic near and around the Superdome is stupid. You’ll just be sitting in your cab. You’ll get there faster if you walk. If your hotel is in a mile radius, hoof it.

DRINK LOTS OF WATER. I know, you are going to be taking down those hurricanes and hand grenades, but seriously, get you some water, you are going to need it.

Sundresses are the way to go. It’s a music festival, they are cute and sexy and women of all sizes usually look pretty nice in them. You feel better when you catch a breeze. Trying to teeter around in heels or things that are too tight, you are going to end up looking silly as the night goes on, unless you have VIP tickets. Keep it simple.

Buddy system. Ladies, you are grown, but seriously stick with at least one other person in your party at all times. It’s easy to get lost. Put your section number in your phone and text it to yourself. One of my homies came up with the brilliant idea of texting the address and room number of our hotel to herself. I’d suggest that too. The street names can be hard to pronounce anyway and when you are stumbling in with the sun in the a.m. remembering your room number is harder than it looks.

Keep your cell phone charged. For some reason, I remember my service being spotty in the Superdome. But who needs a phone? It’s too loud to talk. Just use it for selfies and cute pics with the homies.

Safe sex. That’s a no-brainer. Let’s keep it real. People relax their standards during these kinds of trips. Wrap it up. No exceptions.

It’s always a good idea to have blotting papers and hand sanitizer. The heat and the nastiness of Burbon street will get all up on ya. It’s nice to be able to freshen up a little.

No large bags. You do not want to be fumbling with a huge handbag. Get yourself a cute, small cross body or a wristlet with just enough room your id, cash, cards, room key, phone, lip gloss and blotting papers and hand sanitizer.

Carry a little cash. The restaurants are packed. If you and your party pay in cash you can get the hell out a lot faster. Also if you pay in cash, you may be able to haggle with the fantastic street vendors for art and various things. Now, I’ve never managed to make it to the convention center, but this year, I plan to check out the day time events over there. It should be pretty cool. So I don’t have tips for that.

Oh yes! The superdome is freezing. A cute cardi is a must.

So if you’re going, have a fantastic and safe time! It’s going to be amazing!!!




Dating Has Become My Second Job

Yesterday morning I woke up feeling like crap.

I spent a greater part of the previous night chatting with a guy on the phone into the wee hours. You’d think it was awesome until my high came down.

I was achy, tired. Grumpy. Work dragged on and I was edgy. Didn’t want to be bothered with anyone. Finished a project and left early to get some chicken pho (my go to cure-all for everything) and some sleep.

Talked to the same guy again for a while, while languishing on my couch last night, but it was almost like the club effect. Turn on the lights and you don’t see the same person you thought you were dancing with. You see a slovenly drunken, ugga bugga.

Beer goggles. Ciroc shades.

The really funny, easy guy I was talking to the previous night turned into a judgemental, Uncle Ruckus, who has an issue with my hair all of a sudden. I decided I didn’t care about his opinion because he is an unexposed, non-cultured person. And I’m not even being jerky about it. This guy really hasn’t been exposed and I don’t think he cares to expand his world view at all.

Black people who go on ad nauseam about how they hate large groups of black people or neighborhoods with too many black people irritate me. He actually said he feels better when he sees more white people. This guy is from the South and I can’t decide to call him Uncle Ruckus (A black self-hating, black people hating character on The Boondocks cartoon series) which I did to his face or Jim Crow.

He went on and on about how black people just want to eat fried food all the time with hot sauce and are unhealthy. Have you looked at the entire country? Poor eating habits are rampant across color lines. GTFOH. Negro, you probably have too many people in your family with diabetes and high blood pressure! Earlier he asked me to send another photo of myself and asked me, if I had just gotten out of bed, because my hair looked messed up.

Clearly, I was wearing full make up. I felt insulted. I’ve been getting a lot of reactions to my hair. Some men think it’s pretty awesome, which makes me very happy. Some just don’t really mention it, or they may ask me when I decided to go natural and why and when I explain my reasons, they tend to leave it alone.

My hair was styled in a similar way to how I had it styled in my profile pics. I told him “um, yes, it’s styled. I have natural hair.”

“Well do you wear it straight?”

“I can wear it straight, but it doesn’t last for very long, especially in warm weather. I’m getting braids next week because I don’t want to fuss with it on vacation.”


I’m thinking the whole time, “Seriously, Negro? Seriously?”

Then when he talked about all of the foods he wouldn’t eat or try, and asked me if Vietnamese food was Oriental, I decided this ain’t gonna go far.

Oriental? Might as well call me colored.

So I’ve decided that he has a serious self-love problem and no wonder he’s screwed up. His mother named him after one of the biggest white American Rock and Roll stars of all time and he grew up in the south. So I give him a pass and pray for his happiness someday. Anyone who knows me knows I am obsessed with African-American history and with Pan-Africanism. I love talking to my friends from other cultures within the Black diaspora and understanding their experiences and how they look at the African-American experience. I love my heritage. So someone like him, yeah, I have no patience for it at all.

So after further discussion, this dude got married early, to a woman who barely out of her first marriage (who wanted to be with him during this first marriage) and asked HIM to marry her.

Like I said, “Well, I mean she was barely out of the first marriage what made you ask her?”

“Well, she asked me.”


Because she was his first and only sexual partner he agreed. The marriage lasted 10 months.

She was cheating.

No kidding.

So yes, yall. Dating has become my second job and the stress from it I think caused me to just break down yesterday.

I foolishly tried to plan drinks with Kyle Barker, because he said something about him no longer being immune to my intoxicating vibe and energy. And of course, he stood me up.

I didn’t go to the gym as I planned and I sat at home eventually shedding clothing and pouring wine in a glass, disappointed in myself.

But the pull of new messages from POF keep making me go back and try and try again.

There’s one guy, who is really wordy with the most wonderful lips who I’m talking to and another guy who’s messages I seem to enjoy. I’ve booked drinks with him after I hang with some friends tomorrow night.

I don’t even want to get into the one dude who I talked to off and on and have never gone out with yet.

He asks me to a barbecue this weekend. Cool. Then he says it’s a guy from work, there’s free food and a dj.


Then he says he only knows the guy from work, so it’s a great chance for us to get to know each other.

Record scratch.

I tell him, if he wants to get to know me, we don’t have to go to the barbecue. Barbeques are social and honestly, if we don’t know the people that well, we are going to look like moochers.

So he said he agreed and would like to do lunch. I told him lunch was cool. Besides I didn’t want to drive all the way to that side of town to be non-social and looked upon as a mooch. I can afford to make my own burgers. Come on dude.

But I haven’t heard anything else sense.

So do you see why I’m drained folks? Do you see?

One more work week and I’ll be vacation bound in New Orleans. It won’t just be a vacation from my real job, but a much-needed one from dating…

It can’t come soon enough…

Splitting Hairs

***Warning. Mature, graphic sexual content. Stop now if you get offended easily.

When you really love people, even if you do for them something you didn’t feel like doing, you know you’ll feel worse if you don’t do it for them anyway, your feelings, time, money, lack of energy be damned.

And when you do it, you are actually glad you pushed through to make the person you love happy and your relationship lives to see another day.

It’s really quite simple. It’s the theory of reciprocity is the foundation of truly loving someone and being an active participant in a relationship.

Nothing is free.

People, with the exception of babies, do have to earn your love and the perks that come with it.

Even as a child grows and learns to share, show and give love, parents are getting a return on their investment too.

If this person loves you just as much as you love them, you can think of a million moments where they were in the same position and dug deep for you and in my opinion, that, more than just the warm, fuzzy, feeling we confuse as love is what propels us to fight the urge to be lazy, selfish bastards and give that person what it is they desire.

So I have all kinds of problems with people who have no real history with me making demands, or asking me to change myself or straight up asking me for anything or expecting anything, or having critiques about me.

Expect nothing, appreciate everything.

I was placed in a very uncomfortable position this morning and via text, of all places. I should have woken up to a “good morning beautiful text.”

Instead I was told I’d get more head if I went completely bald.

If you’ve been with me on this blog for a long time, you know how I feel about shaving and men coming out of their faces making demands on how I maintain my yard. https://29tolife.wordpress.com/2012/08/23/tmi-alert-a-hairy-situation/

I took a deep breath and shared my views and how like a box of chocolates, hey, depending on how I’m feeling you never know what you’re going to get.

I don’t want anyone to choke on a hairball, but to hold my pleasure hostage and impede one of the most successful methods of getting me off, because you want me to look like a porn star, or six-year-old, or six-year-old porn star, I got beef.

All I ask is that you keep yours clean and wash your balls and under your balls.

This expectation of women makes me angry. And when you tell me what to do with my nether regions, I feel like it’s an omen of things to come. I feel like there’s some control stuff going on and you want to see how much I bend to what you want.

Fortunately, I know better. I’ve had men in my life who loved it any way I served it up.

One even liked it after I worked out, because the sweat turned him on.

So having enough confidence in myself this time has made me speak up and set the record straight.

Some women might say, hey, it’s not that big of a deal. You want the guy to eat you out right? He wants to eat you out? He’s successful, and wants to do it. Do your part so he wants to continue to do it. Take the L. Someone else will keep it bald and buff it everyday to have a man like that.

And that’s a valid point.

I just don’t appreciate the double standard. Maybe some days I don’t want to squirm in my seat at my desk because of the coarse, prickly hairs growing in that I can’t scratch in public. I’m sure they will frown upon me putting a back scratcher in my pants. Someone will be offended.

Thing is, I’m not anti grooming down there. I’m not.

I’m particularly pissed at his specificity to the matter. And I’m livid at having to read this shit at 7 a.m. ( Here’s some context. This all started from a conversation last night about me baking pies, and him asking if I want him to eat my pie again…)

He said bald.

So with that in my mind, he acknowledged that I had maintenance going on down there and that he wasn’t picking hairs out of his teeth, but in order for me to enjoy his services more regularly, I had to go all the way.

I said what I had to say honestly and then I left it at that.

But I was fuming for most of the morning, including now.

We are supposed to go see a movie tomorrow night. But I’m feeling some kind of way. Am I being unrealistic and immature? Or do I have the right to feel comfortable sexually?

That’s a no-brainer. I want to feel comfortable.

And maybe he isn’t the one. Maybe for just the right one, I’d get a Brazilian every day. I doubt it, because I feel the right one is going to love me, and my puss no matter what kind of hairstyle she’s rocking that week.

I ranted to a close male friend and he confirmed that I was right.

But now this has me thinking, what may not be a big deal to other people is a big deal to me. Every time I’ve tried to please other people who did not go out of their way to sincerely please me, left bitter, awful tastes in my mouth that spread resentment all over my body like an aggressive virus.

So instead of questioning my ability to love, my capacity for giving and my aptitude for submission to a future husband, I’m going to be selfish for a moment and be a grown woman for once and say, “I want what I want. Someone is going to give me that.”

I’ve also decided that people who really love you and know what you like, love and totally hate, they simply won’t ask you to do something they know you don’t like. They wouldn’t want to put you through that much of an inconvenience.

At least that’s how I feel and that’s how I treat the ones I love.

Hedging My Bets, Well Kind Of…

It’s ironic that on Election Night, one of the online suitors who I had exchanged a message or two with called me.

I was already feeling great about new guy, but I took the professor’s call, juussst to see.

Let me start off by saying this man is friggin brilliant. Brilliant, brilliant. He is a chemical engineer and he’s ridiculously intelligent. He shares his findings all over the place and is no doubt a published researcher.

I love smart men, but this was even too much for my nerd-loving ass. Just too much.

But I think he is a religious, black, Sheldon Cooper and it was a little too much for me.

My head hurt once we got off the phone.

I felt like I was applying to MENSA. He asked me simple things, in complicated ways, and while I think I’m pretty darn smart, I felt like Penny from Big Bang Theory trying to survive a lesson in physics from Sheldon. (Love this show)

He drilled me with questions, and I hate it when men ask me where I think I’ll be in ten years.

He balked when I said I didn’t want to have children at 40 and that at 37 if it doesn’t happen, it just won’t happen.

His response, “Even with the advances in modern medicine?”
Yes, sir. “Even with the advances in modern medicine.”

The most interesting and loaded question of the evening was when he asked me, after giving a long-winded intro basically if I had three wishes what would they be?

But I’ma give you the full.

“So, say you pull over at a cute little mom and pop gas station. And you see some old school glass bottles of Coca Cola, you decide, I’m parched and I would like some Coca Cola. You reach in the deep tub of ice, grab your Coca Cola, wipe of the condencent (not condensation folks) and you open it.

Out pops a genie and you could have three wishes.”

So I answered, first if it was Election Day, I’d wish for Obama to win. Secondly, I’d wish for unlimited plane tickets, and third, I left it open.

I joked with a friend later, that my third wish would be the ability to have an orgasm every single time!

So I asked him the same question. I said normally when people ask things like that, they already have their answers in mind.

I friggin kid you not people, when I write for you his answer. I could have never made this ish up ever in my lifetime even if I had Oscar Wilde, Junot Diaz, Toni Morrison in the room with me.

His answer:

“Have you ever watched Star Trek? Ok, ok, well they have these things called replicators where you can basically replicate anything. But, I would have a replicator that does not need an energy source of any kind.

Next, I would deplete the funds of anyone who benefitted from slavery and give that money to the descendants of slaves as reparations.

Finally, I would create a room with no windows that would allow the Holy Trinity to manifest itself in human form and allow people to come and consult it and speak to it. ”

I’m not lying yall. I’m not.

So I told him, “I’d feel like an idiot saying I want elves making Krispy Cremes in my basement after you wanting a room where the Lord shows up to have chats with people and replicators that don’t require an energy source.”

He laughed and said, he appreciated the fact that I was creative enough to answer and it meant I was quick on my feet. He said there are a lot of people who don’t answer at all.

I’m sure this man will be a great catch for someone, but not for me.

I’ve been in situations where it seemed like I was smarter than the man who was interested than me and I hated it. And now, yeah. Being on the other end, I hate it too.

I believe him when he says that he isn’t elitist, but smart people love other smart people. There’s a certain level they are looking for when they are seeking a relationship or the people they bring in their circle.

He said he was just a simple, southern boy with old school values, and I believe that, but eh, um, yeah. I’m not the right fit.

I tried to get him off the phone so he could eat his food and he said he’d call me back later that night, and I told him he really didn’t have to. Not sure if he’s going to try again. And one time he left a voicemail and had to include this is Dr. So and So. Really? You have to remind me you have a Ph.d?

I’m sure he is a genius, and he seemed to have strong opinions about family values, community and service. All of that is excellent, but um, naw.

I want a man who is smart, who is spiritually-grounded, who is kind and cares about humanity. But I also need a man who is goofy, edgy, and a little x-rated. Potty humor! I like potty humor! This man, I don’t see him going there, God bless him. And that’s cool. I applaud people for being themselves no matter what. Because whoever they are, they fit for someone, somewhere.

I think he is super nice, but eh, not for me. I’m thinking by the end of the convo, he may have felt it too. It will be interesting to see if he tries to contact me again.

Throughout this convo, with the professor, I kept thinking, “I can’t have sex with this man.”

So, new guy seems to be in the lead for the election of my heart…

Addendum. ‘Fools Eliminate Themselves’

One of my closest and dearest friends told me years ago, that fools eliminate themselves.

Like just watch and listen and they will talk themselves out of your life, panties, etc., because they are so ridiculous, you just can’t fathom yourself dealing with them.

I’m going to tell the full story and hold myself accountable.

This dude I was supposed to be going out on a date with who I already figured was a hot mess, has been pressing me for a booty photo.

I have a wonderful plentiful butt. I get compliments on it. Fine.

He wasn’t satisfied with the lovely photos of my face. He just had to know if I had an awesome body.

I wasn’t going to do it. I haven’t sent booty pics in a few years, and when I did it was for long distance boyfriends who missed it like a best friend.

So basically there was a text exchange. He keeps calling me guarded and it’s so hard to get close to me.

Um, fool.

We talked on the phone for the first time ever in life last night. And sent a few messages.

Getting to know someone takes time. It just does.

I almost wish he’d cut the crap now and say,

I want to say all the things you want to hear, because frankly I want to smash. But because I think you are intelligent and classy, if I say that, I know you’ll shut me down.

I’m patient enough to bear with your Victorian prudish ass, because the most difficult ass is the most satisfying.

But no. He won’t do it.

So when I called him on it and said don’t make me out to be a Victorian prude we just talked yesterday, and one day does not a close relationship make, I get a voicemail.

This cat cancels our date and says we should postpone until it seems like I feel more comfortable… My translation: more open to the idea of letting him hit.

We have a control freak and a freak freak on our hands people.

This dude has a particular pace in his head of where he thinks this should be going if we are having good conversation and I guess this dude was thinking he was on pace to smack it, flip it rub it down within the next two weeks.

I won’t say I got played.

I laid all of this out in the previous blog. I knew he was ridiculous. I was just waiting for him to eliminate himself. I was waiting for him to lose his cover of being this nice guy who wasn’t a shallow gym meat head that couldn’t spell for shit. I wanted to show myself that my gut is right and to trust it from here on out.

So, I could either just fade him out.

Or call him back and let him know that I don’t think I’m the woman he’s looking for.

I’m fun. Ask my friggin friends. Fun as hell.

I can be crass.

I love Ghostface.

I can be sexual, downright nasty. Shameful. Ask my boyfriends and lovers.

But I’m not sharing any of that with someone after a few messages and a phone call.

He gave some sorry spiel about not wasting each other’s valuable time and he feels we shouldn’t force a date if I’m not all the way comfortable because he wants the date to be awesome.

Whatever. You want to get some.

Wanna see the messages we exchanged to end it all? I know you do. I love yall so.

Me: I got your message. I’m still at work so I didn’t want to call back. You are cool, but I don’t think I’m the woman you really want. I can be honest about that. I’m guarded for a number of reasons. I was engaged and it didn’t work out. I’ve worked hard on myself to heal. I haven’t had sex in a year and when I do, I want it to be epic and I want to be comfortable.

I think you have a very clear vision of where you want things to go and i applaud your ability to do that. I don’t think I’m going to get on your pace in a time frame that is satisfactory to you. So it’s ok if we don’t hang. I enjoyed talking to you, but the more I think about it, you don’t want the kind of girl I am. I’m just me and I accept that.

Him: You see me? I’m Hot! Prudes are no fun, holler at me when you want to relax and get acquainted. boo.

Him: I’m bored. I won’t give you my attention anymore. Good bye. Next… lol.

Me: And there it is! Thank you.

Him: No fun! And your prudish. LOL Peace.

Him: Be good and take care. Your very prudish.

Him: Date women ma. I’m gone. Like the last guy now. Learn to act right, really?

Me: Thank you for confirming who you are and what you are about. I shared something honest about myself to give you some insight and you are carrying on like you are. It’s ok. It’s clear, I’m not your type. We can end the convo.

Him: What am I doing? You’re not even sexy! Geze! Yuck! Prude girl with no ass! Lol

Him: I’m too cute for you. now that I really look closely to you. Do your hair and hit the gym boo, peace.

I think in his texts, this fool went through all of the stages of grief in less than 15 minutes. That has to be a record.

Welp. Here we go. I’m back in the dating world. I didn’t even have to go get a drink to get that dose of cold water to the face.

Who’s next?

Years ago, if this would have happened, I would have tried to prove to this man just how cool I was and how prudish I was not and I would have been miserable.

I dodged a bullet and a potential STD on this one. Go me.

This is progress.

I’m cured.

I could have pretended that I’m above doing stupid things and I’m better than letting a man like this even have some of my time, but I wrote this blog to hold myself accountable and to keep record that I don’t have to put up with anyone’s shit and that I should always trust myself above all else, because I’m right. What I feel is correct.

Back In the Game: Returning to Familiar Territory

It was a perfect storm.

Being bored, the temperature getting colder, the restlessness, the loneliness, the need to just take a risk and just open myself up–

It all led me to joining an online dating site.

So I may be having a date tonight. May be meaning if it happens, cool, if it doesn’t which tends to happen too, I won’t get bent out of shape because earlier this week I didn’t expect to be going out on a Thursday night and I’m going to a political fundraiser tomorrow evening with some friends who plan to introduce me to a guy tomorrow.

Feast or famine. Yes, I know.

Talked to a guy last night on the phone, and in pure me fashion, my fascination with assholes led me to the precipice.

He’s almost everything I can’t stand and get a bit excited by all at once. You’d think I learned my lesson in 1999, 2003, 2010, 2011.

He’s from NY. The city.

God. That’s already wrong. I’ve mentioned in previous posts how I don’t like dating men from NY even though I am a New Yorker myself.

The grown woman in me is saying, why are you even bothering with things you said you don’t want. It’s counterproductive and just ridiculous. Stand up.

The bored, lonely chick taking up residence in my brain is like, you’ve been bored as shit and you’ve tried the men who were safe and supposed to make sense and they didn’t move you either. You peaced out on them. At least be entertained in the interim.

This guy’s a fast talker, he’s slick. He’s preoccupied with his looks for sure. I can’t tell if he’s a shyster or a salesman. Please refer to Jody’s mother, Juanita from the movie Baby Boy on the difference.

“Are you trying to be a salesman or a shyster? You buy from a shyster, you feel like you got took. You buy from a good salesman and you feel lucky.”

He went to my university and hated it.

Another red flag.

At first, I wasn’t going to hear any of it. To me, if you went to my school and hated it, you didn’t try hard enough, you were narrow-minded, or you thought you were better than everyone else or you just had a screw loose.

Talking about my university in a negative light is damn near like cussing my mother.

But I listened. The interesting thing is, his gripes were valid and things he said, I couldn’t disagree with. It’s just not for everyone, and he basically admitted that every situation is different and he had certain expectations and was really surprised and let down. I gave him the rundown on my experience and he took in what I said.

Ok. Fine.

Strangely, he made me laugh which always puts me in good graces. In some ways he reminded me of my close boys from home who I can talk openly with about all sorts of things and make off-color jokes and be comfortable.

Also strangely, I do believe he was sincere when he was talking about the scene here in D.C. and how he can’t stand it and the other places he’d rather hang out. That’s an issue that’s near and dear to me, but I still think this guy works a situation with politician-like acumen, and will push a situation to see how far he can go. Interestingly enough, if you tell him no, he tries to push, but when you are firm, he backs down but won’t pout and get all silly.

I was testing for that last thing specifically. I don’t mind people testing boundaries with me in terms of flirtation or what they can and cannot say. But once I’ve said what I am or am not comfortable with, that’s where I am with it and don’t put me down or belittle me because you didn’t get what you wanted. I honestly expected him to act that way, so I could weed him out.

He didn’t.

That spoke volumes and helped his cause a great deal.

I find it funny this guy keeps thinking I’m highly conservative. I can be, but I do know how to have fun, but I feel like it’s a layer you have to earn to get to.

Going on a date with him will be like splashing cold water on my face. A jolt, a little refreshing and necessary to wake up.

I’m either going to dig him, or I’m not. Or he will strengthen my resolve to leave the assholes I love so much alone for good, or renew me for another year of the ladies association of asshole appreciators , Maryland Chapter.

This dude loves taking pictures of himself. At his desk, in the bathroom, at the gym. He has no lack of self-esteem and I think he’s attractive, but not the typical attractive I go for. More horrible signs of what I don’t like.

The strange thing is he seems really interested, and I’m surprised because of how shallow I kind of assumed him to be.  I like the fact he’s trying to prove he’s not shallow. And as I said, there are some hints of things I really respect in the way he’s expressed some things during discussion.

He is blunt.

He is self-aware of his asshole tendencies and even self-described himself as a prick.

So you all are asking. Why? We read your blog. You are a lovely girl, you’ve dated jerks before, you know how this goes down. You already have a good list that gives you plenty of cause to shut this down.

I have a curiosity problem and an ego. My ego is actually bigger than I let on. For some reason I get a kick out of getting under the skin of these types of men, just to prove to them they aren’t a slick as they think they are. Kyle Barker, a guy a referred to in a previous post is the only guy that seems to be winning the war in this regard. Haven’t cracked him, but I stay on his mind. We’ll have to call it a draw for now.

Not even two weeks ago, I was growing bored with a nice guy. So I need to cure myself back to reality by spending time with a prick to help me refocus.

This is twisted logic. I agree.

The other point, which is really the main point of all of this is basically to warm my self up for the real war. It’s official, I’m dating again. This is going to be suckie, and it’s going to be fun. But it’s a war. This date is a small battle to prep me for the rest of the tour.

I’m doing this on purpose to remind myself, I can’t take this dating stuff seriously and that whatever happens, is going to happen and I can’t walk into this assuming every man I meet is going to be the one. I’m doing this for you all. Because, you best believe I’m going to have some great material. Hang on to your socks.

It’s about to get real.

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