1000 Reasons Why I’m Single: Reason 1

(from Dr. WHO)

(via Dr. WHO)

I’M BACK!!!!

Oh, so you just gonna pretend that you weren’t gone for 45 years?!”

I mean…must we go through this song and dance every time? Haven’t you come to expect inconsistency and absolute laziness from me? If not, I think we’ve figured out the problem. You should lower your expectations. Also, Ebola!

But yes, now that we’re solidly middle-aged, let’s jump back into the swing of things. I’ve missed ranting on here or sharing my awkward adventures. I’ve got some great material for the bus chronicles (courtesy of Chicago’s CTA. Thank you ma’am for sharing your story about “DUIs, unfaithful negros and trifflin’ hoes”). We also have some dating stories and general life advice for y’all coming up (hint: If he’s dating someone else, odds are, he’s into them and not you). So stay tuned!

(via Family Guy, and that is exactly how you should feel. Otherwise, why are we even here?)

(via Family Guy, and that is exactly how you should feel. Otherwise, why are we even here?)

For today, let’s discuss people who don’t know how to act right on dates.

—————————————————-

Since moving back to Atlanta, I’ve been putting myself out there and going on a lot more dates than I ever have in my life. I’ve even resorted to *gasp* online dating. Y’all know the single struggle is real. Plus I’m not gonna lie. It might be nice to not awkwardly hug myself when ringing in the new year.  Unfortunately, I’m quickly learning that Atlanta has a plethora of “ain’t shit” individuals that may leave your girl a 50-year old dog lady (not a fan of cats).

(via Real Housewives of Atlanta)

(via Real Housewives of Atlanta)

Deep breath in…Let’s take Mr. N. for example.

N. had such potential. He understood the immigrant struggle, spoke more than 1 language and overall seemed like he had some common sense. Yeah…boy was I mistaken. Now before we get into this story, let me say a few things:

  1. It’s the 21st century and women can pay for their own meals. I pay for my meals almost every day. However, I like a free meal just as much as the next person and I  don’t think I’m setting feminism back by wanting someone to pay for my dinner. (To y’all reading this, please note that I will accept free meals from all persons and it does not have to be a date, wink wink)
  2. Short dudes need love too. But don’t pretend like I’m not gon’ notice when you missing an extra 4-5 inches.

With that being said, let’s get into my first and only date with N.

After  2 weeks of LONG phone conversations (this dude could talk your ears off. Had to pretend that my phone died once to cut the conversation because he just kept talking), we decide to meet up for dinner on a Sat. I suggest pho (it’s a Vietnamese noddle soup) since we both lived within a reasonable distance of this Vietnamese restaurant. He agrees and we set a time.

Anyone who knows me knows that I am a “minimal effort required” type of gal. Makeup is expensive and complicated. I don’t know how to contour, highlight, clown, strobe or whatever else is popular these days. This face is never “beat” as the kids say. But since this was a first date, I decide to try a little and put on some lipstick (those Mac tubes are $16-$20 a pop, so that’s not something to be taken lightly). I get my twistout looking right, put on a cute dress, give myself a pep talk: “You is kind, you is smart and you is important” and head out the door.

(Stuntin')

(Stuntin’)

I arrive at the establishment a few minutes early. As I’m gathering myself and making sure that my breath don’t stink, I see a car pull up right beside me. I deduce that it’s N, turn off my engine and step out of the car. He does the same. We come around to give each other a hug and I experience the first (and certainly not last) disappointment of the night. What could have gone wrong so quickly you ask? Well friends, it so happens to N’s forehead reached my bottom lip (I may be slightly exaggerating but you get the point).

Now kids, before you decide to write the NFSPA (National Fun-Sized Persons Alliance- P.S: I made that up) and complain about me, remember the aforementioned disclaimers . My issue wasn’t his height but the fact that I was misled. Dawg, how you gon’ tell me you 5’11” when you 5’6″? Did you think I wouldn’t notice or did you forget to wear your pumps to make up the difference? Either way, I was left awkwardly trying to bend my knees to make sure that his face wasn’t hugging my boobs (no comment! My mother reads this blog).

Anyways, after disappointment #1 and an awkward hello, we walk into the restaurant. He tells me that he’s never had pho before and that he’s not super hungry. I suggest splitting a meal. He agrees. The waiter comes, I order and we wait for our food to be brought out. We awkwardly try to make small talk and then he says: “I’m uglier in real life than in my pictures.”

(Courtesy: NBC's New Girl)

(Courtesy: NBC’s New Girl)

I mean…pero like, how am I supposed to respond to that? I was perfectly fine ignoring the obvious but you had to go and state it. And now I have 2 choices. Either be an asshole or be a liar and there’s no winner in this scenario. Seriously dude?!?!? We all have our insecurities when meeting new people but don’t reveal your deep-rooted self-esteem issues during the first 5 minutes of conversation. Was I worried that he found me unattractive? Absolutely! Was I going to share that? Probably, but in a more roundabout and casually evasive way. There’s a method to slyly asking people what they think of you and apparently he was not well versed in that artistry.

In case you were wondering, I chose option C. Say nothing and hope he moves on. Our food comes. More awkward small talk. He tells me that he doesn’t know how to use chopsticks so I try to teach him. It’s not working but Rome wasn’t built in a day. Eventually, I start asking more thoughtful questions because I’m getting tired of talking about allergy season.

– “So, what was it about me that intrigued you?”

– “Well actually – I don’t know if I should say this- I don’t typically message Black women. But you didn’t seem Black to me” (Hint: If while you’re saying something, you think/say “I don’t know if I should say this”, stop talking right then and there.)

(Dafuq?!?!?!?)

(Dafuq?!?!?!?)

– “Hum…what exactly is that supposed to mean?”

– ” I dunno…like you didn’t seem Black Black. Like, you weren’t ghetto or anything. I don’t know. Maybe I was also driven by past experiences”

(From The Wizard of Oz)

(From The Wizard of Oz)

*Squints really hard to keep from calling individual moron*

“I’m sure you think that was a compliment but it’s actually problematic. So ghetto = Black and not ghetto = non Black? Blackness isn’t monolithic (inside joke) and associating being well-spoken to not being Black is messed up”

He nods and says: “Yeah, you’re probably right.” I want to respond: “I’m definitely right”, but at this point, I’m kinda over this date. We both put our utensils down. The server comes around and asks us if we want a to-go box, he says yes and goes to the restroom. I sit at the table and wait for him to come back. He comes back and looks at me and says “Are we ready to go?”. I acquiesce but say that we have to pay for the bill. I get a blank stare from him. It is now dawning on me that N. is waiting for me to pick up the tab. I say nothing, gather my belongings, hand my card to the man behind the register and internally shake my head. I grab my receipt, he grabs the leftovers.

(The Daily Show)

(The Daily Show)

That’s right! He took the leftovers of the meal for which he paid 0%. The audacity! Plus, I thought you wasn’t that hungry?!

In the parking lot, he asks me if we can hang out tomorrow. I tell him that I have to wash my hair and that I won’t be available (as a woman with natural hair, that’s not technically a lie). He tells me to text him, gets in his vehicle (again, with MY leftovers) and drives off. Needless to say, there was no second date. I was even more pissed that I wasted a good twistout and expensive lipstick on this fool!

 

 

 

Is this a date or isn’t it? That is the question (at least when you’re me)

[Disclaimer: This is a humorous recount of a real life event , from my perspective. So “speaking as a completely objective third-party observer with absolutely no personal interest in the matter…” this is exactly how everything happened.  Also, I checked with the person in question and he was totally OK with me posting this]

(Dr. WHO)

(Courtesy: Dr. WHO)

At this point, we know each other well enough that I don’t need to apologize for the gap between posts. I honestly think that it makes you appreciate me a little bit more. If you really think about it, I’m not that funny but because I post sparingly, it increases the hilarity factor. Although this time I have a legitimate excuse, besides the ever-present writer’s block and lack of inspiration.

drum roll cat

I moved (back) to Atlanta. I’ve been wrapped up in moving cross-country (for the second time in less than a year) and haven’t had much time to do anything else but worry about my bank account situation.

(Courtesy: Kevin Hart's Laugh at my pain)

(Courtesy: Kevin Hart’s Laugh At My Pain)

(Courtesy: Chappelle's Show)

(Courtesy: Chappelle’s Show)

That also means that my life is going to be infinitely more boring and I’m not even sure what I’ll have to write about now. Los Angeles was the inspiration for documenting my awkward adventures and there were plenty to be had. But I’m not sure Atlanta will be able to provide the same backdrop (Although it’s already inspired me to write my new post about weaves. Coming soon, which we know may mean next week or in 3 months). Regardless, I promise to do my best but I really think that from now on my blog posts might consist of extremely detailed recaps of “Married At First Sight” episodes. That show is a fascinating train wreck packaged as a “social experiment”. Every time they say that, this is my answer….

inconceivable

Anyways! Before you join me in saying goodbye to L.A for good, let’s dive in to my last great (awkward) adventure there: exclusively dating someone (GASP).

(Courtesy: America's Next Top Model)

(Courtesy: America’s Next Top Model)

I know, I know but now that I’ve been properly interrogated by my family and am emotionally removed from the situation, I figured I would share my experience with the Internet. Plus it might help a fellow awkward girl out there.

So without further ado, I present the first post in the “M series” (if Hollywood can drag out a 270ish pages story and make 2 movies, I can certainly write a few blog posts about a relatively short “relationship”. And yes that was a thinly veiled reference to Hunger Games: Mockingjay Part 1. So unnecessary and IMO, the movie was wack)

Part I: “Who knew lunch could be such a confusing meal?”

M. and I had a meet cute. He was on business in my building and taking his lunch break. We both walked toward the same table. I really thought about telling him to get lost because it was MY table. (This table had the perfect amount of shade and sun exposure. Plus, I’m actually not that friendly to strangers) But against my natural instincts, I told him that we could share the table since all of the other ones were occupied. That led to an almost 2 hour long conversation during which I learned that this man had terrible taste in sports teams. He was a Lakers fan, had played football at USC and bet against the Patriots in the Super Bowl.

(Courtesy: @SBNationGIF)

(Courtesy: @SBNationGIF)

I know Tom, I know.

Clearly, we were off to a rocky start. When I got up to leave (around 13:45, I remembered that I had more work to pretend to do for that day), he handed me a card with his cell phone number and e-mail and told me to contact him. Now, I’m not the best at reading people’s interest (I’ve been on a few dates and didn’t know they were dates), so I thought “Cool. You just made a new friend. Having a lunch buddy means you won’t spend an entire hour playing Dots.”

So naturally, I emailed him to say that I was excited to start a lunch buddy-ship. ( Note: if you are shaking your head at my cluelessness, this will not be last time in this series). He probably read that email and thought, “Seriously?!?!”. He responded with “Here’s my cell number (again): XXX-XXX-1234” aka “Take a hint woman!”. Hence began our generation’s version of intimate conversation: texting. 

After a week of these sexy little things bubble-feature, he asked me out…to LUNCH?!?!?

(Courtesy: NBC's New Girl)

(Courtesy: NBC’s New Girl)

Here’s the thing about inviting someone to lunch (and please comment below and let me know if this is a personal problem), it’s in this grey area so I never know if it’s a friend date or a date date. Breakfast usually is code word for… and dinner is very clearly a date. But lunch? Lunch is iffy. So all I’m saying is that since he was already aware of my ineptitude at reading signals, lunch was most certainly not the best way to go. Especially when you’re dealing with someone who has the subtlety of a brick wall when it comes to flirting and is about as dense.

But alas that’s the route that he chose, so I can’t be blamed for my behavior pre- and during lunch, but that’ll have to be a story for another day since this post is already over 900 words. Aren’t you glad I’m back? 😉