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.



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.)



– “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!




El amor en los tiempos del MARTA!

[Due to some…hum…complications shall we say, I’m going to have to postpone following up on the M series. My bad. But in the mean time, I have another bus chronicle story for y’all. Let me clear up the slightly messy predicament I find myself in and then I can pick up where we left off last week and finish that story. Enjoy!]

So now that I’ve made those vague statements, let’s dive into the latest bus adventure shall we. I was way too hasty in my dismissal of Atlanta and it’s potential for foolishness.

For those of you unfamiliar with Atlanta, MARTA is the Metropolitan Atlanta Rapid Transit Authority. It’s supposedly a service that one can use to take the bus or train. It’s also a place where you can find tumbleweaves (so many tracks lost too soon. RIP), get the number for a weave-ologist or experience unadulterated ratchness “unique” eccentricities.

Exhibit A:

Granted, this tumbleweave is at the station and not on the actual train or bus.

Granted, this tumbleweave is at the station and not on the actual train or bus.

Exhibit B:


Exhibit C:

urine detector

I’m not even sure what to address first here: the public urination that’s gotten so out of control that it warranted this sign OR this so-called “Urine Detection Device (UDD)”. Sir/Ma’am, I believe those are called eyes.

(Note: I’m not actually sure what the word ratchet means. I can’t use the Urban dictionary version because apparently it’s the new way of saying “ghetto” and I hate the implications associated with the use of the word “ghetto”. So, ratchet is more of a feeling than a concrete concept in my book. You’ll know it when you see it. And if you don’t, you’re probably exhibiting ratchet-like tendencies,  you’re a better person than I am. Also ratchet is not race specific for some basics who might not have known that.)

So you can imagine the characters that one meets while using the services of this fine entity. And I, ladies and gentlemen, had the pleasure of meeting my future BROKE sugar daddy.


Yes, you read that correctly.

In order for you to understand how he  we came to that arrangement, I must explain our courtship.

I was headed to a BBQ and since my car was still in transit from L.A, I decided to take the bus. When I got on the bus to pay my fare and heard a voice in the back yell: “Ooooohhh…yes..(smacking lips sound) sweetie, I’ll pay your bus fare“. Naturally, since he is broke (which I only found out later on), this was more to express a sentiment than anything else. He only said it after I had successfully paid my fare. I sat down. Like a lion eyeing his prey, he looked around to calculate his next step. He moved to the row across the aisle to make his move. And boy did he impress me.

Below is the breakdown of the highlights of what really made your girl fall head over heels.

His opening line: “You shouldn’t have paid for the bus. Pretty people don’t pay for things. Only ugly people pay for stuff.”

Right off the bat he’s telling me that he believes I am attractive. Plus, he wants to me to be relieved of all financial burdens. I’m not sure who judges who the ugly people are and whether there’s an ugly-to-cost ratio but I want to know. Alas, I couldn’t ponder for long because he then hit me with this lovely 1,2 combo.

Metaphorically of course.

Metaphorically of course.

– Damn, you smell good. You showered today, didn’t you? 


Oooh, you got nice teeth. Are those your real teeth?

Now, you may be thinking, “how did he smell you?” To which I respond, “You are clearly missing the point.” This man no only complimented my lack of body odor but he acknowledged my hygiene routine. Showering has become one of those unsung activities for a lot of us. We do it every day and yet no one recognizes us for it. He clearly does not take it for granted. He also knows good dentition. Judging by the missing 5 front teeth, he now understands the importance of oral hygiene/upkeep. Which also explains why he was a little skeptical that all 32 that I have are my original teeth.

Plus, he made an important social commentary that I’m only now realizing. I’m clearly living a life of excess with all of these extra teeth. Oh Leroy*!

it's not fair

 Sensing that I was still not convinced to be his woman, he followed up with:

You sound like you educated. Mmmm….You got big words and talk all proper. 

You real cute. You the type of woman to make a man [He said something else but it’s one of the words I promised myself I wouldn’t put on here] stay out of jail and work 2 jobs so he can afford you. 

Girl, you the type of woman to make these gay men [same word, still not typing it] straight. 

Leroy* clearly understands and appreciates the value of education. Plus, he reinforced what he thought of my looks, understood that I did not come cheap (because as a woman I am for sale) and has offered a solution to mass incarceration. He’s also found an “effective” conversion therapy. Is there anything this man can’t do?


(Courtesy: Disney)

At this point, I’ve seen the light so we got down to facts. He’d clearly demonstrated that he could bring the romance.

You like older men? I’ll be 59 next week. 

You looking for a sugar daddy? I’m broke though

The honesty. The confidence. Only a man of the highest caliber could not only offer such soul-piercing compliments but also offer his services as a broke sugar daddy. My life was forever changed after meeting Leroy and I have MARTA to thank. That should be their new slogan: “MARTA, no longer where you go to find or lose your weave. It’s where you go to find LOVE, packaged in broke, toothless, sugar daddies.” It’s a little long but I feel like we could make a catchy jingle out of it.

But replace JG Wentworth with MARTA. Marketing gold!

But replace JG Wentworth with MARTA. Marketing gold!

Obviously this post is supposed to be sarcastic. I’m not starting a life with Leroy*, as tempting as he thought his offer was. However, the discomfort I felt is real. I had to sit on a bus with this man and I as the sole passengers and listen to him make comments about my appearance. Me ignoring him or telling him that I wasn’t interested wasn’t enough. His right to tell me how/what he felt and to stare me down takes precedence over my right to a safe and quiet bus ride. Or at least that’s what society tells women.

That’s what we tell them every time we’re supposed to see it as a “compliment” when someone makes lewd comments about our bodies or harasses us. There was a driver and obviously there wasn’t much that he could have done. What he shouldn’t have done was smile or laugh whenever Leroy* made a comment and I recoiled in my discomfort.

Newsflash: Women being uncomfortable isn’t funny. And we have a right to use public transportation and put in our headphones to avoid conversations like normal antisocial humans. Plus, I don’t know about you but I know very few people who looking for broke AND toothless sugar daddies. You gotta bring SOMETHING to the table.

* Name changed because I was too busy trying to ignore him to remember his actual name.