Blind Date

Where (and by default how) should a woman meet a man? This is not the start of a riddle. This is a genuine question. There has always been the clucking of tongues when people meet at bars. And I recently heard on NPR that the “stigma” of meeting someone online is “fading away”. Or something.

But as one gets older – what is the proper way to meet a potential mate? I ask because a former co-worker told me that she met this dude at Largo. I’m guessing the mall. But I don’t really know the inner workings of gorgeous Prince George’s (County) like that. So I’m like huh? And then she tells me how their “relationship” was on crack and speed combined and he was talkin some you're my girlfriend in like two days. And then things subsequently crashed and burned. And I’m sitting there like huh? But he could be… A whole lotta things is what Amaretto and I agreed upon. And at the top of that list, he turned out to be crazy.

But this is normal behavior for her. She would always be coming with some story of I met him while we were both driving on the highway and he shouted his number. Or I was standing on the street corner and he drove past saying he liked my style. Or I was in the [insert your favorite fine dining chain restaurant here] parking lot and he pulled up and we ended up talking for hours. Uh. Wheredeydodatat?

Color me confused, but these sound like scenarios from my high school/college days. And even then I was not fina call no nig from the highway. And we won’t even get into my other recently separated, new to the dating world co-worker who is part of some online community mess called Tagged. It’s like Black Planet, MySpace, and Match.com all in a pitiful, hotghettoomess (no BET) place. But when not trolling the nets, she is now smitten with the dude who delivers the meat to the grocery store near our workplace . Ummm… Ok. If you like it, I love it. I guess…

Amaretto and I have been joking about a post on someone being kid tested and mother approved. You know? That there is someone in your life who will say this is a cool person worthy of your time. And also stamp you as cool and worthy. The last few guys I have been out with have had a connection to someone or some parts of my life. Either it was a blind date. Or we went to high school together (but didn’t kick it like that at the time). Or it was a friend of a friend.

Regardless of the situation, I could verify with someone I know and trust who the hell this person is. At least the seemingly important parts. Like, no he doesn't have a wife and two kids back home that he's just no telling you about. Or yes he does work, like actually WORK there. And yes I did see him walk 'cross that stage and get his dimploma. And on. I mean there’s a reason the old folk talk about a time when you looked someone in the face and asked the important question, “who your folk?” Or “who your mama n’em?” Cause they had to know if they were looking crazy/alcoholics/pure dysfunctionism in the face. And if they were gon' let alladat in they family.

So Minty has hipped to this thing that real life matchmaker (and cutie pie) Hitch does on Twitter. Every Wednesday he picks one of his male clients to feature. He might give a few stats. The man’s age, occupation, city. And then women can “ask” real life Hitch questions and he will provide the bachelor’s answers. Now. We know Twitter is limited to 140 characters, right? Riiight. So how deep can these questions be? And should I mention that he doesn’t reveal the bachelor’s photo til the end? And then from all the women who asked questions, real life Hitch picks one – and the two go on a date. Ok.

I’ve checked it the past three weeks. And these women are thirsty as hell. And I’ma go ahead and qualify that with Black. Cause I know these are Black women. Who are thirsty as hell. And I’m like damn! It’s like that? You trust some dude in this game all in the name of profit love to set you up with a stranger?!? And you don’t even know what dude looks like? You just think he's a good catch cause... Cause why?

Cause the game done changed. Cause up is down. And gay is straight. And people get fake offended when you ask the hard questions. And then want to act like you should trust them after a month. And you know you shouldn't. But clocks tick. And people women get desperate. And let their guards down. Or think that maybe meeting him in this dark ass club is not such a bad thing. Especially if he takes you out in the daytime. And you can be the anomaly. That couple that met in a bar and got married! Yayyy! And, and, and...people grope in the dark for some kind of truth. Some kind of connection. Some kind of love.

That’s my time y’all! Happy Rum Punch Friday!

O Brother, Where Art Thou?

My little younger (because he is over 6 feet tall) brother and I got into an argument the other night. Like a for real, voices raised argument. This is kind of a big deal because we rarely argue and were taught as youngsters not to yell at each other. This, I realized is why when other people argue all loud – I get really uncomfortable and just want to disappear, but that is not the point of this post.

The point is that I just wanted one simple thing – for my brother to take me to the airport next week. And he said no. And I don’t be taking the word ‘no’ so well. (Yes, I'ma take this single, carefree, girl, do you' time and work on that. Maybe. Heh.) Especially not from family who I lean and depend on lots. So then he went into this whole, “you need to ask other people to help you do things because I may not always be here (like in the area here - not, not alive here) and then what you gon’ do?” But what he really meant was: you need to call one of those nigs you tell me be taking you to dinner and such and make them put their money where their mouth is. And other clichés.And then I was like, “well you bet not ask me for nuffin.” And then he said, “what do I ever ask you for?”

Which shut my mouth. Cause ummm…he doesn’t really ask me for anything. And then I got to thinking what do men ask women for? To do for them? I mean beside the obvious. Huzzah!

I mean no man is going to ask me to come put this couch together (which I asked one to do), or help me clean my basement and take this heavy stuff to the trash can (which I have also done), oh and can you go ahead and change these light bulbs that are allll the way up there and maybe wash my car real quick?

Honestly, I have a very hard time asking for help. From anyone. Period. I really don’t like for other people who are not family to go out of their “way” to do things for me. Yes, it is somewhat cray cray when you think about how long I have known the people in my life and I’m sure they wouldn’t mind. And people who I’m only quasi-cool with ask me to do seemingly random things for them and I usually comply if I can – so yeah it’s probably something else I should work on. But…That said, I really try to minimize my asking of men folk to do things, because…

Well because like Courvoisier brought up on Monday, once we get grown, men and women are never really just “friends” - so knowing this, and because I try to be a decent human being, I feel some typa way about inviting a nig over just so he can mow my lawn or spackle my wall or help me paint the living room. Cause I know, I just know that he ain’t coming over just out the goodness of his heart. And here he is probably thinking he’s building up credit, waiting for the right moment to strike and meanwhile I’m just glad someone else is doing the work I don't wanna do. At all.

Cause let's keep it real and funky, I am only an I-N-D-E-P-E-N-D-E-N-T woman by default. In the other life that I live in my head, I strongly believe in the separation of labor. Men do the heavy lifting and take out the trash. When they are around – I mean I do take out my own trash - hence the real life default setting. But no man wants to be used just for his muscles. I’m guessing of course. But I would liken it to the way I wouldn’t want to be used just for what I got ‘tween my legs.

But I think the reason, the real reason I went off on my brother, was because he hit me where it hurts. Made me think about the what ifs? What if there ain’t neva no other nig who loves me enough that I can call on him? And ask him if he could come over and _______? Put together this table. Or take me to the airport. Or kill the spider up above my head. Or pump the gas – all the time. And do most of the driving. Or unclog the toilet. Or shovel this snow. Or rub my feet cause it's Tuesday. What if it’s just me, always depending on my brother, then he gets married and has kids, and they [reluctantly] move me in the house and I’m like the crazy auntie they keep upstairs and slide meals to like in Soul Food?

Yes, the mind is a terrible thing to let run free. But I’m just saying. Right now my younger brother is all I got. And even that gravy train might be pulling away from the station. Especially if keep coming with all these mashed potatoes, smothered chicken, and Thanksgiving sized turkey requests. (Sidenote why did I recently ask my granny why white people's gravy is always white. She was like, "I'ont know. I don't think they use no drippins. Heh.) Sigh. Oh well. Guess if push comes to shove, there's always this place.

That’s my time y’all! Happy Rum Punch Friday!

This song is giving me life right now! I love me some Bilal! I love that this is in black and white! I love that he's singing w/ no mic and his voice fills the room and is so clear and crisp! And I really love that there is absolutely nooo, nothing from the audience. Not a whisper. Not a giggle. Not a 'that boy is sangin' good' moan. Nuffin. It's like everyone is mesmerized. Captivated. In awe. Like literally holding they breath, taking it in, enjoying the beauty, and thinking it over.

no game zone

earlier this week the very smart brothas (more specifically the champ) got me to thinking as their posts are apt to do: 5 things men say (and do) when we're just running game. while reading this, i had many a palm-to-forehead moment in between spurts of audible laughter and shit, damn, mutherfucker.

i got got. many a time. by some ain't shit negros dressed in degrees and self-righteousness who i really shoulda known better than to get got by. and then while discussing men and games generally and men aint shit but hoes and tricks in particular with rum punch i thought to myself, why men gotta play games? and rum punch replied so lovely, why can't he just say i like you and you like me, can we be?

exactly! truth and beauty, rum punch, truth and beauty.

i know there are men (or at least one man) out there who don't run game. or who didn't run game with me. or did they? they didn't? no they didn't. and as i think about what's most important in a mate, i find myself wading past all the superficial requirements i thought (and the pressures of my own black bougie socioeconomedumacationalized achievements and standards dictated) i MUST have in the person i marry. cause let's be honest, we aint getting no younger and who am i gonna do this with? the guys who seemed so good on paper are the ones who had the most game that at the time i thought was [fill in the blank].

but alas i remain single. and they've moved on to bigger and better deer (or doe). the one who they didn't wanna game. who they just wanted to be with. forever. so now i'm thinking i'd rather have a man who isn't flashy, balling outta control, the most sought after dude, or even the most swaggerific so long as he doesn't try to game me. that's it. number one on the list.

don't
game
me

just be you. no bullshit smokescreens or defense mechanisms.

ready for a relationship. right. now.
don't fuck my head up by saying i intimidate you.
know you're more than worthy of a woman like me.
wanna be all up under me on a rainy saturday afternoon.
leave me at the house to go watch games with your friends, not to find some cut friends.
simply
love me.
like me.
co-write me.
take care of me.
protect me.
be regular.

that's all i want. really. ahhhh, that it were so easy.

to start the weekend off right, a somewhat related musical selection. chuckin' up the dueces to all those who gamed me...

The Land of Make Believe

Long ago my ex and I used to follow Andre 3000’s advice and… do something outta the ordinary, like catch a matinee. For some reason we saw a lot of “romantic” comedies. They were not always my idea. Believe dat. Anywho. I distinctly remember us going to see Deliver Us From Eva featuring Gabrielle Union as the mean Black woman and LL Cool J as the man who can “tame” her.

Well if you’ve never seen the movie (which is no surprise) it’s the same boy meets girl, girl has disdain for boy, he wears her down, they have a blissful montage of laughter, long walks and kisses, they argue or something, she moves away, they are both miserable, and he travels cross the country to win her back. And so he arrives wearing a tuxedo and gliding down a busy ass Chicago street on a wait for it white horse. It was at this point in the movie (not at the other totally non believable parts) when my ex literally threw up his hands. And was all what the fuss? And then he yelled at the screen:

Now every Black woman gon’ expect a nygga to show up on a white horse!!!!

[Yeah thank goodness we were at the matinee. Heh]

So yeah the other night I decided to lull myself to sleep by watching Hitch, only I couldn’t sleep and kept wanting to watch. And the whole time I’m like Rum Punch take yo’ ass to sleep because this movies sucks! And then I’d be like oh no it ain’t that bad. And then when the characters started professing their love after like two days together I’d be like NO! NO! NO! It does suck!

There is a never ending conversation about how these movies and fairytales and other nonsense corrupt the young minds of little girls of all colors, creeds, shapes and sizes, who grow up into grown ass women desperately seeking their prince charming at every turn. And that’s why on shows like Say Yes to the Dress they be like, “I have been planning my wedding since I was four years old.” Ummm… Really? Have you?

And the 'The Real, Nah For Real, Sisters Are Doin It For Ourselves So We Don't Need No Rescuin, Ok?' Woman's Council makes it clear that these movies are detrimental to your health. Bad, bad, bad for your psyche. Your overall well being. They stay kickin' the truth to the youth. Keepin it real and funky. Love don't happen in no two days! You can be happy and single. You can, really! And for that Black Women Committee huddled in that corner over there especially, ain't no nygga showin up on a white horse. So, hope you've been putting money away in your IRA.

And so you swear off these types of movies! Or at least paying full price for them. And you get to an age where you might subject yourself to a romantic comedy (strictly for entertainment of course ), but you don't dare believe any of it. Cause that’s just a fairytale, she just happens to have traded a bucket of water for a Chanel purse.

But then when you come out of the dark theatre, and turn the pages of real life aka all these wedding stories in the newspapers. And Minty knows them better than I do, but the ones I do see be like: perfect couple met 20 years ago in college. Sometimes they dated. Sometimes they were just good friends. Then they traveled the world separate and apart. Married and divorced other people. And then fate brought them together again whilst working at an orphanage in Siberia. And you be like word?!? That really happens to people? Why that’s the stuff movies are made out of!

And don't let it be Black people with the most romantical story ever! I think everyone saw that PowerPoint email that was goin round of that Black guy who rented out half the Ritz Carlton, had chick's friends from kindergarten, pastor and parents gathered for that surprise wedding proposal. You be like awwww damn!

It’s like damned if you do, damned if you don’t. Don't wanna trust these movies where people fall in love at first sight. But can't really trust these real life stories where he immediately knew she was the one, she wasn’t so sure, she stayed on his mind, and then he did the mostest to woo her. I mean you wanna believe that things can be that easy (seemingly of course, I know it take work - but stay with me people. Ok? Ok!). Effortless. Beautiful. But it's like unicorns. Or mermaids. Or shooting stars. Or nyggas on white horses.

That’s my time y’all! Happy Rum Punch Friday!

The Boy Is Yours

When all the John Edwards baby mama ish hit the fan I actually read Ms. Hunter’s interview in GQ magazine. Even though Dark and Stormy was on some, “girl you crazy, I ain’t readin’ that trash.” But uh yeah it was a slow news day. Or I had work to do and didn’t feel like it. Can’t really remember.

But I do remember deciding to see what this heffa had to say. And in between her ‘being is free’ business cards and her boundless love for Johnny, she basically had a laissez faire, devil may care, I don’t owe Lizzy nuffin type attitude. You see she was just doing her own thang. And Johnny, even though he was married, chose to step to her. And she received him. Cause she is free. And is just passing through this thing called life, like a star or a comet. Ya dig? But under the surface, beyond the craziness, when you got past all the hippy dippy B.S., peeled back the layers and tried to find a reason for their “affair.” What she was basically saying, (to use one of Mint Julep’s favorite quotes) was don't be surprised that it went down like this cause…

“Nyggas ain’t shyt, but hoes and tricks.”

And I agree. Now that’s not fair Rum Punch, all nyggas ain’t shyt, but...OK. That’s true. So, to quote another wordsmith, I’ll say, the world is filled with pimps and hoes, we’ll just talk about those I know. And so as a single woman I have dated men who have left and chose another. They got into deep, deeeep relationships almost immediately. Found the one and got engaged. Almost immediately. And that’s cool. Ain't no thang. This is of course after the tears and the curse words. Then it's all do you man. Until….

Until they came back like what you doin? How you been? What’s up with you? Maybe we should… And you be like oh you single now? Nope. Not at all. Not even a little bit. Still with that other chick. Oh. Oh? Ohhhhhhh.

Admittedly I can be a tad naïve or eyes wide shut when I get a, ‘wanna go to dinner’ text (as I did this past weekend) from a former beau. And I have asked aloud, “why does he want to meet with me?” And I have gotten the virtual and physical O_o from Minty, my brother, and other comrades. But you see for me – because I have moved on I assume they have as well.

And so there were times in the past when I have accepted the invitation. Only to feel a foot against my leg or a well misplaced hand on my back. And it feels good. For a minute. Like a literal ego stroke. And it’s like YESSS!!! Vengeance is mine, chick! (Yeah you just forget that you totally moved on) You start dancing on the inside, talmbout if that’s your boyfriend, if that’s your boyfriend, if that’s your boyfriend, he wasn’t last night. In yo' face bi-ya! In yo' face!!! Cabbage patch. Running man. Roger Rabbit. And do the snake - you lose, I win, you lose! These are the things that have gone through my mind.

But then you know I come to my senses. I refuse the advances. But I also wonder about the other woman who is in actuality his woman. His ride or die. Who thinks he's the best, the minfin best. Who she just knows can't do no wrong. Whom she trusts. Lots. And I know she don’t know about this. She don’t know about me. And that makes me sad. Lose hope. In these nigs. In all of humanity. Heh.

Ms. Hunter, Alicia Keys, Gabby Union, all the other no name, mistresses/side pieces/jump offs often get blamed, get good tongue lashings on the blogs, in the media, and are continually chastised for “taking” someone else’s man/husband. The other woman's retort comes right on cue – I didn’t take him. He came willingly. Yada.

Having been placed in potential compromising situations – I understand where these chicks are coming from. Sure I never made him come to me. Sure he chose to be an a*hole in the dark and live an 'I'm getting fitted for my angel wings' life in the light. But I don’t have to go to dinner. I can plainly ask, “does your fiancé know you want to come over to my house?” Does your girlfriend know you picking me up in her car? And decline invitations when it seems, that something in that milk ain't clean.

Cause as I get older (even though I do get so lonely), I choose to do right, regardless of if they want to do wrong. And it's not always for altruistic reasons. Or cause I feel sorry for the other woman. And think that we are bonded by sisterhood. Or cause my moral compass is always pointing North. Or cause I believe karma is a bi-ya. It's mainly because I've done the math, the cost analysis as it were, and decided these nyggas' tricks, their shyt, just aint worth it.

That’s my time y’all! Happy Rum Punch Friday!

Taking it even farther back cause it's Friday and I'm iganant like that! He's mine you may'a had him once, but I got him all the time. You can't sleep at night. BWAAAHH!

My Latest, Greatest Inspiration

As Wednesday evening drew to a close, Minty mentioned that Steve Harvey was gonna be on Nightline. I guess I was the only Black woman who didn’t know about this, so I genuinely asked, “for why?” For a discussion on why Black women are single of course. Of course. And since I was gonna be off on Thursday, I decided to tune in.

Y’all. There are no words. And yet there are many words. Other than the fact that I think the media and the man have conspired to keep putting out these stories, so Black women will just kill themselves, thus eliminating the Black race – I also think it’s a shame that these are the voices that are speaking on this issue. I mean W.E.B. DuBois wrote that the problem of the 20th century would be the color line. Ida B. Wells spent a good portion of her life writing against lynching. James Baldwin came with the fire next time.

But apparently in the 21st century, the issue that is most pressing for Black folk is not education, it's not crime, it's not economics - nope. It's why are all these single, successful Black women single? And for the answers. Let's go to the "experts" - Steve Harvey, Sherri Shepherd, Hill Harper, Jacque Reid, and some random dude with dreadlocks. Yes, I think this is what Dr. King was talmbout when he said he had seen the Promised Land – his vision clearly involved a national platform for Negroes to look foolish. Now that's equal opportunity. We done arrived y'all!

But aside from alladat. The one word that kept being repeated was ‘potential’. You just need to find yo’self a man with potential. Never mind that this is never really described – it’s just this vague notion - like ignore that man's bad credit, two baby mamas, and prison record - and pay attention to his business plan scribbled on that cocktail napkin. He has potential! And when an example is needed, well we can just pull out the trusty Obamas. Don't you see, Black women, Barack had potential? Every Black man just might be a President in waiting. Umm…no. As Sherri pointed out – he also had/s a Harvard Law Degree. And dare I say a plan? So, this leads me to repeat a kernel of wisdom I heard recently –

AMBITION IS DIFFERENT FROM POTENTIAL!

I mean in theory, if we are all God's chillun, then we all have potential to be great. But do we all have the ambition to get there? Me thinks not.

But what I have really been wondering about (mainly due to traumatic events that have happened in my own "love" life) is how much can a partner influence or inspire someone to be "great?" Or to fulfill their potential? This is a debate that MJ and I have all the time. I feel like there's a fine line between supporting someone’s dreams and dreaming for them. Here are two examples that come to mind.

Scenario A: Y’all remember how on Girlfriends (yeah I don't have cable), William wanted to be Senior Partner, but he just couldn’t quite get there. Enter Monica. As William remarked, she was the, “right, conniving woman by his side.” First of all she went after him knowing that he had “potential”. And then once she got him, she pushed him. Hoard. Urged him to think bigger. Dream more. Smooth talked her way to having him host that Christmas party for the partners. And then said, “when you become President….” To which he replied, “I could never become President.” And she went on about how he wasn’t built for a life of mediocrity - that he deserved more. So I ask, did he always want more? And just didn't know how to get it on his own? If he hadn't gotten to be Senior Partner, would he have kept pressing or settled? Did she dream for him? Or were these dreams all his own and he just needed her to help bring them to fruition?

Scenario B: My cousin was in his thirties living an aimless life. Waiting tables, drankin and smokin hard, fake taking a college class here and there. Some woman (and because of Bellini’s post this week – I’ll set the table and say she is Anglo) came along and fell in love with him. I mean my cousin is intelligent, funny and has a sparkling personality. But once they got together she was clearly unhappy with his lack of goals. Now while he had kept saying to us, “I’m gonna go to nursing school. I will.” It wasn’t until he hooked up with her and she made her intentions known – marriage and babies and this waiting tables ain’t gon fly – that he actually enrolled in school and is doing great. They are both living with his mama (my aunt), have both stopped smoking, are saving money, and have plans to move to the West Coast where she’s from when he’s done with school and has secured employment. So, did my cousin have the potential and just needed someone to help direct him? Was there ambition hidden somewhere inside him and she had to dig deep and find it? Or maybe it was perculating on the surface and she knew what to do with it. And dare I ask, if a Black woman would have even glanced in his direction if he had stepped (like literally stepped cause he doesn't have a car) to her after clearing her plate from the table.* Heh.

So can you inspire someone to be great? Or must they have a desire (that mayhap they kept hidden from the world for fear of ridicule) and you're the first person to come along and say, 'no you can do this.' But more importantly - I will help you get there. This seems like a very wobbly table on which to build your relationship. And I always thought that true partnership involves both people encouraging each other to swim a river, climb a hill, reach for the stars. And taking turns to give each other a needed push to keep going. But of course that's the ideal. And I don't know if I have time for alladay cause my clock is a'tickin. So, today, I'm gonna be like a Tyler Perry character, soften my skrongness, and find the potential in the gold tooth, kinda short, got three daughters he's trying to get custody of from his crazy baby mama, UPS man, named Jamal. With me by his side, we fina take over the world y'all! Watch out now...

That’s my time y’all! Happy Rum Punch Friday!

*The only good thing that came out of the Nightline discussion was the following story - that back in the dizzay, Hill (allegedly - I'm still givin him the o_O) whilst he was waiting tables, just tryna get one acting gig, approached Sherri at a Taco Bell. And she said, "you ain't even pull up in nothing. I need a man who's pulling up in something." Sherri tried to explain herself, talmbout she was saving money for a car and was on some 'how we gon' get round on your bus pass?' So she couldn't go for that. So Hill came back with, "but I had potential." Ouch! And the crowd coes wild as if Holyfield has just won the fight. :-)

A Return to Normalcy*

So, every year, I go up to the mountains on this woman’s prayer retreat. And you can write your prayer requests down and the might women of God pray over them. So I write down a lot of things, and being the single Black woman that I am, I be like, “God if it’s your will, I pray for a husband.”

And then since people be like you gotta be specific with God, don’t just write down a husband, then you don’t what you’ll get. So, I be getting specific. I don’t go into physical description or have mandates, like he must be taller than me. And that kinda stuff. Now when I first started going, my list was lonnnnnnnng. Characteristics like God fearing, patient, trusthworthy, hard worker, and so on. Real specific like. And then as I kept dating and met guys who seemed great until it was like boom pow surprise – I made it short and sweet last year – something like God if it’s your will, and you send me a husband, let him: Love You, love himself, love me and any kids we have. Amen.

But um, I see now I’ma have to make an addition to this year’s request and ask God for something that seems so simple, but is actually oh so elusive - ask for someone normal. Plain and simply normal. Other definitions according to www.thesaurus.com: Ordinary. Regular. Typical. Sane. Rational. Reasonable. Right-minded. Sound. Well-adjusted. Normal.

Cause clearly right now crazy keeps asking me out and taking me to dinner. And it’s not the same crazy. Oh no, it’s different kinds of crazy. And it’s not on the surface crazy. It’s the just when I think, “hey we are having good convo. This guy seems aiight. I might could…” kinda crazy that jumps off the plate in mid-conversation.

Is it too much to ask for someone to not invite me out somewhere and then not abandon me and not pick up his phone when I arrive at the location? For me to not be on my second outing with a guy and have him ask me, “would you ever go to a sex club?” Head cocked to the side, like “errrr… weren’t we just talking about how crazy this weather has been? Segue much?” And then have him tell me all about his prior sex club experiences. Yes, that’s plural on purpose. For a guy who was fake digging me, I say fake cause he only called me on occasion, to not say to me, “every time we speak, you’re always so animated. I like that and I hope you’re animated like that all the time. If you know what I mean.” Duuuuude. Really? Click.

Sigh. Just normal. He ain’t gotta be no gangsta. He ain’t gotta be no balla. © Teedra Moses He doesn’t have to have climbed Mount Kilimanjaro of the corporate ladder. Or have acquired this and that. Or have this thing called life all figured out. Or be complacent and have no motivation to have a better job, or a better community, or a better world. Can he just have some damn sense? And some manners? And like thesaurus said and the old folk say, be in his right mind? And be normal?

I mean I know we all have our own quirks and idiosyncrasies. And I’m not saying I’m perfect. Or I’m the ish. But I would like to think that I live a normal life. I go to work, go to church, out into the world on occasion, see plays and shows, go to work some more, write, travel on occasion. Not boring or unfulfilling per se. But it’s pretty basic. Do I have hopes and dreams and desires? Sure. But I’m not going to watch people have sex with donkeys and then inviting unsuspecting people along. I treat people with respect. I am conscious of things like personal space and life boundaries until you’re at a mutual comfortable space with that person. I try very hard to be a woman of my word.

Mint Julep and I have joked about this lots – but seriously like the next dude who has consistent follow through, ain’t talking that jibber jabber, and is living a life that I deem normal – cause everyone’s normal is different. Maaaaaannnn! It’s gonna be on and poppin. Like for real. With age, comes wisdom, the wisdom to recognize that normal, safe, and “boring” is where it’s at when one is interested having a companion and a family.

And so I hope the Lord reads this here blog cause I can’t take much more of this. It’s enough to make you wanna bury your head in the sand and be like I don’t want no mo’. I’ll just live off the memories. Thanks for the good times. But that's probably not the best approach. Lol. So I will take my head out the sand and continue to get my socializing on, but to quote ol' school, just a lil' cocky, not totally off his rocker, Kanyeze, "Man, man, man, if another crazy nig approach me again, I will be assaulting him..."

That’s my time y’all! Happy Rum Punch Friday!

* Word up Warren G. Harding

The Seat Filler

Looking For Your Daddy Series - Volume 1, Issue 2

Hey y’all! So as I mentioned in the first episode (as it were) of ‘Looking for Your Daddy’ I have been going on lots more dates. The thing about it though is that these dates or should I say the men are nothing, if not haphazard. I’ll hear from them every few weeks, maybe once a month, talking bout “what you doin’ this weekend? Do you wanna… Go to lunch? Dinner? Movies? Out for drinks? Paris for the weekend – ok that last one is only happening in my dreams.

Rarely is there ever any real contact in between these times. If there is, it's a random text. An IM. An email. But they don't know the ins and outs of Rum Punch's real life. What I be going through on the daily. My experiences as a new homeowner. That I love what I do, but this place makes me wanna holla cause apparently my crazy co-worker is allowed to take naps during work hours. That I'm thinking of starting my own business. And so on.

Now Rum Punch is not one to turn down a chance to get out the house for free. And if you want to pay to enjoy my company, or for me to see a movie I been wanting to see, and for me to have some leftovers, well then it don’t make me no never mind. But this behavior has me wondering – do these nigs think they are truly courting me? Is this what’s hot in the streets now? Or to take it to an even more ignant level, wheredeydodatat?

Everywhere. According to Dark and Stormy.

This is how the modern man gets down, she said. They get bored, need someone to talk to, scroll their phone and then hit up 10 women at a time and wait until someone responds. Cool. Again not a problem cause I didn’t have anything planned for [insert whatever night here].

But I guess now that I’m older and allegedly wiser, I recognize that this behavior is some bull followed by that ish. But because I’m wiser, I know not to invest any ample time into this. I don’t have that inner sqqueeaaal when they contact me. I don’t analyze the text messages. I don’t try to crack codes. I don’t wonder, “wait”, hope, for him to call me. And when he does, I’m pleasantly surprised. Lunch is just lunch. Dinner is just dinner. A movie is just a movie. A walk to the car is just a walk to the car. And I just make pleasant conversation, give em some Rum Punch razzle dazzle, take my leftovers and throw up the deuces. Until the day that something else is otherwise communicated.

But I’m torn. In my heart of hearts, I do expect more. At the same time, I’m not really feeling these guys, so I could care less. And clearly they’re not truly feeling me or else they would bring their A game. Or at least like B+ game. This is just lazy. But sometimes I wonder, just for kicks, should I make them step up their game? Should I tell them their overall behavior is wack? Would that make a difference? But on the other side of that coin, if I were feeling them, I would probably kinda meet them halfway. Call them from time to time and make sure they’re breathing too. Heh.

So maybe this is just the game that single people play. Biding our time until something better, what we really want comes along. Filler people. Filler conversations. Filling meals. I mean you've got to do something to cut the loneliness, right? You can only have but so many cats and hobbies. At some point you're going to want to take someone or be taken out. Want to sit across from somebody and share your dreams, thoughts, and ideas. Want to have a semblance of a connection with another person to help you get through this thing called life. It's human nature, no? It's what keeps us connected to the world and helps us be optimistic about the future - well he/she ain't the one, but that must mean I'm that muchcloser to the one. It's become part of the modern day dating two step. It's understood. It's no surprise. Wheredeydodatat? Everywhere. Apparently.

That’s my time y’all! Happy Rum Punch Friday!

1 vs. 100

Looking for Your Daddy Series – Volume 1, Issue 1

Hi All! How y'all feeling this Friday? So, welcome to a new series called Looking For Your Daddy. At first I was going to get my Denise Huxtable on and start a spin off blog, but I don't have that much to say on a daily basis. Or that kinda time.

High (Ho)pes

Yesterday I had a very interesting conversation with a man who kept using “just kickin' it” as an expression for dating. I asked him just what he meant by ‘kickin it,' since every time he said it I was singing Xscape in my head. So, he was like, “oh it’s when you’re dating a chick, but y’all aren’t exclusive.” Ahhhhh I see.

So he then proceeds to explain that men have five steps when with a woman. And here they go.
Courting – When the man is wooing the woman
Go together – When the two are dating, getting to know each other, etc
Exclusive – They are officially a couple and aren't seeing other people
Engaged - Pretty self explanatory, but everyone didn't get the same handbook - I'm looking at you Tiger who had sex at your Bachelor Party
Married - Pretty self explanatory, but everyone didn't get the same handbook - I'm looking at you Tiger who had lots of sex with lots of women who weren't your wife.

“That makes sense to me,” I say. But here’s the problem, he says. Women tend to blur the first three into one. So, according to him women have three steps:
1. Dating
2. Engaged
3. Married

He then continues with, “once intimacy is involved, the woman typically thinks that y’all are now in the exclusive stage. Whereas the man is still at go together.” Or maybe even jumpoff. Heh. That’s Rum Punch ignorance – he didn’t say that.

Anyway. Ain’t that the truth! We women be quick to claim a man. Or just assume that cause he slept with us, then he must not be sleeping with anyone else. Of course when he laid it all out, it made total sense. But that’s not how things always go in real life when you feeling somebody, and they feeling you, and cocktails are involved, then both y’all nekkid, then the deed is done, without the big talk having been had, but you feel like he should maybe kinda say he wanna be with you. Sometime soon. Like maybe tonight. But definitely in the morning light. Ok. Lemme wait a week. Um how many months have we been doing this? So he don’t officially claim you. But you decide y’all are together anyway. Cause it's like you are. Riight? And he didn’t get the memo. And you see Chantel leaving his house when the moon is switching places with the sun. And then car windows are busted out.

And speaking of car windows. Um I know we have all put in our $1.25 on Tiger, and I commented last week that I never thought he was wrapped too tight - but man – if this ain’t a PR nightmare, I don’t know what is! Look. I really don’t have expectations of famous men to be faithful. And I really think these women know what they're getting into and if they were smart they would make arrangements.

And like a dude said the other night, that Chris Rock said, “a man is as faithful as his options.” And like daddy in Love and Basketball said, “even when you get past the 1000s at the stadium, there’s hundreds at the hotel, dozens on your floor, one in your bed.” So I get it. But what really sticks in my craw is all these random chicks Tiger chose. I mean really? Can you step up your options and go with some professionals. And yes, I’m talking about whores. Who picks the hostess of a restaurant who has nothing to lose? Why couldn’t you take it Michael Jordan style and get a better class of hofessionals? Like we allll know Michael Jordan was unfaithful, but please name one of his hos. It’s ok. I’ll wait. Riiiiight.

The point of these two random topics joined together is that women usually have some type of expectation when going into something with a man -and the stakes are a lot higher once bodily fluids are exchanged. Men be going along for the ride, trying to see how far they can go, how much finnagling they can do, how long they can keep it just like this.

Whereas women are in it for something - whether it be tangible or intangible, cleary defined or blurried lines, socially acceptable or not: fame, money, that Mrs. title, security & stability, love in all its forms, a winter boo, a summer home, a free dinner at Ruth Chris or Red Lobster or Wendy's, a daddy for these kids, all of the above. Yes, there is usually a pricetag on the psusy. Now we could discuss all day long that too many women devalue it. But the point is that when the ish hits the fan (and other cliches), if you haven't acted right - you will pay for it. One way or the other.

That’s my time y’all! Happy Rum Punch Friday!

Can I kick it? Yes, I can! Y'all look at Kandi 'I Fly Above' Burress, and T.I.'s ride or die chick Tiny. And the other two. Lol. Man this brings back memories!

aint no half steppin?

Dear readers,

Suppose you got the following text randomly:

"Do u have a boyfriend? Do want to be my girl
yes[ ] or No [ ]"

Context:

Dude asks girl's friend for her number bout 5 months ago. He calls. They talk every now and then. But he doesn't ask her out on a real date. Ever. They only been "out" twice. Once he called her while she was on her way out and she casually asked if he wanted to come with. Second time, over 3 months later, he invited her to an after work event. She went. It was cool. That's it. He likes to call and talk on the phone. But he always be on some "I was gonna ask you out but [insert lame excuse here.]"

So what to do with this text message? Is it cute? Is it funny? Insane? Something new?

Appropriate reply?

What say ya'll?

We Be Clubbin'

So as we get older, hopefully we grow and learn new things. But there are some things we just know about ourselves. I for one realized sometime around the age of 19/20ish that I hated clubs. Lounges and bars – loved them. I could even handle a club before thing really get popping – when the Happy Hour specials are still in effect, the dance floor is kinda empty, the DJ hasn’t started his reggae/dancehall/wtf set yet, and I can still roll through in a cute workish outfit, wearing flats.

But I realized that what I totally hated was putting on a “freakum” dress, 3 inch+ heels, making sure my hair was did, looking as Amaretto would say ‘behind God’s backyard’ for parking, standing in a long line, paying an unreasonable amount for coat check, only to be surrounded by a bunch of stank lookin chicks and ‘what yo’ name is’ nyggas, listening and "dancing" (cause you know we don't dance no mo') to the same top 10 songs from the radio, and so on. So once I learned the best place to dance and be considered fabulous was the gay club, I pretty much stopped going “clubbing.”

And yet last week during Howard’s Homecoming, I was met with this question. “where are you going to party this weekend?” “Ummm… Nowhere,” was my reply. Mainly because I have am a wee bit fearful of the mix that is Negroes, likka, and pit bulls. But I digress. So I left it up to my fellow co-worker who’s also 28 to do the heavy lifting. She hit up some spots and came back with a report. And it was just how I figured it would be. And confirmed what I already knew, it ain’t nothing but some bullshyt out there.

So co-worker comes back with tales of this man tried to holla and he was driving a NICE range rover. And then this man tried to holla and he has a mansion in Tysons Corner (oh that's “wealthy" area for those not in the DC Metro). This other man who tried to holla was part owner of some urban t-shirt company. And we exchanged numbers. And... And I was really trying my darndest not to give her a 'wtf' look the whole time she spoke. But in my mind, I was like, “for real?” Like do you really believe that mess? Did you really entertain them like beyond the VIP section access and the free grey goose? Do you really think any of those men are/were worth your time?

And that takes me to that age old question, can you really meet somebody in the club? Like for real, for real? If you were in the club and someone stepped to you, would you really take them seriously? And maybe that’s why I really stopped doing the whole club thing because it felt like people were looking for something that they were never going to find. Just chasing something as elusive and transparent as air. One person in the dark, something completely different in the daylight. Just fake. And phony. Broke people “buying” the bar. Women with weaves to their behinds. People passing out homemade business cards that describe them as "consultant". And I know that when you are first digging and getting to know somebody, you are really meeting their representative. But in the club, it feels like you’re meeting their secretary.

And while I don't knock anyone who likes going to the club (I just silently judge them in my head and now on this here blog), I do wonder - after you've reached a certain age - don't you get tired of it all? Isn't it just the same thing weekend after weekend? And then can you really be upset when you come back to work on Monday "blown" that there were no decent men? That they were all posers. Or too gay. Or too short. Or too thuggish. Or too nerdy. Or too young. Or too old. But never just right. And never quite what you've been looking for. Never what you really want. Or need. Just filler. Seemingly standing in the way of the real thing...

That's my time y'all! Happy Rum Punch Friday!

Pride and Prejudice

So depending on how much you care about HBCUs and civil rights and/or liberties, by now you that Morehouse College, the only HBCU in America for Black men has instilled a dress code for class and other campus events. Apparently the dress code is more about what you can’t wear instead of what you must wear. And what you can’t wear are: hats indoors (not bad), sagging pants (okkk I'm liking this) purses and dresses. SCREECHHHHH!!!!!

No purses? No dresses? This can’t really be a mandate, you ask. Oh but it is. So the blogosphere has been all atwitter with several views on this issue. You can check ‘em here. And here. And do a google search and find many more. Now, while I’m all about people’s self expression. I’m also in agreement with this dress code because I’m hearing from recent graduates and current students that it has gotten bad. Real bad, Michael Jackson. Heh. And students, aka the consumer, expressed their discomfort to administration of men rolling up to 8am classes in skinny jeans and pumps.

But this post isn’t even really about the dress code. Or self expression. It’s about why do Black gay men gotta be so extra with theirs? I mean honey we know you are gay from 100 miles away, in your sleep – do you need to be rocking those stilettos? As soon as I heard about the dress code and what was not allowed – I got a visual of what must be happening and it looks a little something like this:

Only what I really envisioned was 10 times worse, but I got tired of trying to find the image I had in my mind of flamboyant gay men during spring break in Daytona Beach. But I can relate to the Morehouse students cause I see it all the time in DC. Youngins’ takin over the block in droves, struttin through Chinatown in pumps and weaves. And I wanna be like is that what being gay means to you? That's a problem. And so I know it’s way worse in the A, gay Black man capital of dare I say the world. Don’t believe me? Ladies, go to Lenox Mall on a Saturday and get your feelings hurt.

And I know we all go through our period of self definition and expression, but I wonder, why gay Black men gotta be doing the most? Compare and contrast Cyrus from the show King of the Crown on TLC.
And Derek J, who has made guest appearances on Housewives of Atlanta.

Ummm....

Now, I think it’s safe to say that we all could have guessed Cyrus is gay without him even opening his mouth. Or putting on a dress. And while I’m obviously not a homosexual, it seems that Black homosexuality is becoming a little one note – donning Gucci/Louis/Seven, wearing stilettos, and uttering catch phrases like, “fierce” and “you better work, bytch!”

It’s the man who sews my weave and then puts in some tracks of his own. It’s Dwight on Housewives with the arched eyebrows and the fussiness (although even he remarked he didn’t do the heels thing). It's Luther Vandross. Soft and effiminate. Non threatning. It’s “safe” because it’s in your face. And you know exactly what you're getting. And us black folk don’t like our gay men to be “regular”, blending into the crowd and such. While at Spelman, I recall a Morehouse student saying, “I don’t wanna know the guy I play basketball is gay.” Ahhhh yess.

And yet it’s not “safe” because as my mama would say, “everyone’s not ready for that" in your face, deal with who I am attitude. And so "rules" of conformity are set & enforced and people feel like they can't be themselves. But more importantly it's not "safe" cause it's a caricature. I echo someone who commented to the root article and ask - where are this generation's James Baldwins? Bayard Rustins? Countee Cullens? Am I the only one who thinks their voices should be a little louder? That they should set the tone. But maybe I need to be more hip to the homosexual happenings, cause I mean I'm sure they exist. But that ain't what I see on a daily basis. What I see is this:

That's my time y'all! Happy Rum Punch Friday!

Just for Kicks!

Let's Talk About It

Since Rum Punch started, I thought I would continue for a spell...

In case you didn't know, Courvoisier is the type of girl that loves it when a man tries to impress. In fact, I think it is the best part in the art of wooing. Guy meets girl, girl engages guy, guy impresses her, blah blah blah. And in most cases it usually goes that way for the Courvoisier but somewhere during the impressing stage, a brother can go sooooo wrong. Say the wrong thing, be too proud of something that ain't all that, etc but I have to say the worst is the dick bragging. I am just going to put this out there, Courvoisier's top performers consists of silent killers. It is like the more talk, the greater the chance I will be disappointed.

"I can't wait to lay this 8 inch pipe on you" - - eyebrows sink... really? (chuckle) instant turn off.

"Don't worry island girl I know you are going to love this yankee stick!" oh snap this took everything to stop from lol literally to this one. Is that right? (chuckle)

The best has got to be the random picture text that delivers so much more than a thousand words. (chuckle) Fellas, I am trying to figure out why you believe this is impressive. Or what you are trying to achieve with the hype. It is one thing if the relationship is getting hot and heavy and we about to take it to the next level but how do kisses on the cheek lead to this?

Don't get me wrong, Courvoisier loves the fresh talk and occasional nasty text of what to expect next BUT pump brakes homie unless you are 200% sure that you lay it down returning-customer-gigolo style. Let your member speak for himself, no need for a hypeman. You don't hear me telling you that my kitten is... (chuckle) or is this what you want to hear? 

Much luv until next week... peace :)

P.S. "What is your winning tool?" (chuckle)

Back That Thang Up

So here at the 5 spot we talk about a lot of things – love, work, relationships, race, etc, etc. But one thing we don’t talk about that much, as another blogger would say, is chex. And I’m not talking about the cereal. But that’s all about to change cause it’s Friday and I feel like getting ignant. And here we goo...

Ladies, what is up with men’s obsession with an@l? No offense to anyone who enjoys it, if that’s your thing, do you whodie… But er gents can I give you some um pointers should you ever plan to broach the whole an@l discussion? Personally, I think it’s something you need to ease into. Literally and figuratively. In conversation and in the bedroom. You can’t just slip it in. While we’re getting it on. Or while we’re enjoying cannoli and donuts for dessert.

Call me old fashioned, but talking about chex makes me blush. I’m not opposed to talking dirty, or telling you what I like, or hearing what you want done, but it’s all about verbiage - so that it’s sexy and doesn’t make me feel like CoCo, the two dollar whore, walking the streets in a mini, halter top, and six inch Come Fcuk me heels, looking for the next John. You know unless it’s clear we at that level of freak-y. If we ain’t, one way we’re not going to get there is with you asking “do you like an@l” or saying something stupid like, “I want a woman who uses three holes.” Next.

You know how they say a woman knows pretty much immediately if she’ll sleep with a man? This is truth. And the more a man speaks, the more it can ruin his chances. And telling me on a first date over some skrimps that you know places in a woman’s foot to make her cum will have me saying, “that's where I'm going to stop you." And check please. Now you done messed up and you definitely ain’t getting none. But if you do happen to not say some dumb shyt, pass the test, and get you some then….

I think I speak for many a lady when I say you ain’t fooling nobody when you’re back there acting like you accidentally put it in the wrong hole. Poking around like we won’t notice. Trying to see how far you can go. But you already know… That type of shyt is liable to get you hurt or at least emit a, “muhfcuka is you crazy?” If that’s what you’re after, you better say something before the lights go down. It can’t be all impromptu. Gotta give a sista some time to get her mind right. Consult the experts. Find out how to do it right. Pop a percocet. I’m just guessing. Tee hee.

Now if an@l is what you’re into – then an open and honest dialogue with your partner, f-buddy, one night stand should be had. Although I suspect if it’s a one night stand, “Do you want it on the floor? Do you want it on the chair? Do you want it over here? Do you want it over there? Do you want it in ya pu**y? Do you want it in ya ass? I'll give you anything you can handle,” will probably suffice.

But men please realize that the initial suggestion, no matter how correct you come, may make women squirm. But she also may be curious. And nervous. But she might not be totally opposed to the idea. And so she would need an understanding partner. A gentle partner. And a whole lotta lubrication. I’m just saying. But the surest way to get a hell muhfcukin no is to proposition a woman in such a way that she feel like she’s already been fcuked in the ass before the appetizers come. Unless of course you put your request over a techno beat and have some accompanying dance moves. You might get some laughter and a maybe.

Please put on headphones when listening to video!!



That’s my time y’all! Happy Rum Punch Friday!

Heard It All Before

Two things about men. Seemingly simple words they say that bother the hell outta me.

1. “Lemme call you right back.” Every girl by the age of 16 should know that this is a m-in-fin lie! But then like a complicated LSAT question is only truth when a man is first putting in work. Digging and wooing you. You know before you’ve dropped the panties. It’s in this time that they have a tendency to call back with a quickness. But once time has passed. You’ve given it up. They ain’t feeling you the same. Dropped you down to just a "friend." Or have gotten all comfortable and complacent – they hit you with, “lemme call you right back.” Which could mean tomorrow. A week from now. Or never. Ahhh this lesson should be learned early, lest you be sitting by the phone, you know, actually waiting, checking the dial tone, refusing to leave the house, on some he said he was gon’ call me riight back. Ha! But you bet not eva, eva, eva, eva, not call them right back. A fit will be pitched and thrown.

2. “How you been/What’s been up/What you doing [right now, tonight, later on in life]” – Or any variation of these phrases uttered by a man you once dated, messed with, or just fcuked. Until they chose another. Or just x’ed you out the situation. And months or even years later, when you’ve finally gotten over him, moved on, and shifted those happy feelings to fcuk that nygga – as sure as the sun will rise and set, he will make a guest appearance into your life. Come around one mo’gin. But not in the good, let’s get together and love up on each other kinda way. Noooo, comes back as if he left some kinda GPS tracking device on your heart and has been watching your every move and knows just when you’re turning that corner; or like he was bored one day, was scrolling through his cell phone and saw your name. Either way, you living your life like it's golden, and he reappears like, “how you doin’?” Like everything is good. Like y’all been talking everyday. Like he didn’t break your heart. Like you just forgot all the b.s. that went down between y'all. Like y’all can just pick up where you left off.

And so here he comes. Creeping. Sniffing. Tiptoeing. Half stepping. Shows up, usually still attached, but thinking y’all can still be “friends.” Should chat. Stay in touch. Meet up. Maybe he could even come visit you. Like he doesn’t have a wife or girlfriend. And you want to scream, “YOU DIDN’T CHOOSE ME! SO WHY ARE YOU BACK OVER HERE OCCUPYING MY SPACE? WHAT THE FCUK DO YOU WANT FROM ME?” But you know what he wants. He wants to have his cake and eat your pie, ice cream and cookies too. Wants you to boost his ego. Assuage his guilt. Wants to test just how much of his foolishness you will allow back into your life. Meanwhile you just want to end all ties. Amputate the entire relationship like a gangrene leg. Set it on fire and watch it burn to ashes. Star in y’alls own version of Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind. Scrub your hands and heart of the whole affair. And you thought you did. But it never fails, just when you think you’re out, they pull you back in. With an IM. A text. An email. A tweet. A phone call you know you should ignore. But don’t. And so you pick up the phone to see what this nygga want. And five minutes in realize he ain’t talking bout shyt. And then you get the chance, some sweet revenge, a little poetic justice if you will, to hit him with, “lemme call you right back…”

That’s my time y’all! Happy Rum Punch Friday!

Takin' it back...

K.I.S.S for Him

Sometimes I just don't understand it. They say Men are from Mars and Women are from Venus but I swear it feels like Men are not even from this universe at times. Or is it just us? I think back to all of my most irritating moments with men and I got to tell you sometimes, these dudes have me questioning my intelligence. So what do you do Courvoisier... I K.I.S.S him.

Kiss for me and a K.I.S.S for him.

Almost everybody is familiar with the K.I.S.S. method of doing things. Well, when dealing with men I have to remember K.I.S.S him. In fact, K.I.S.S him with all of my heart because lawd knows if I don't... okay I won't elaborate. (chuckle) And for those of you who don't know what kind of kissing I am talking about I'm talking about Keeping It Simple Sista! Keeping it simple, in my opinion slows down on most of the frustrations I have dealing with men.

So for shitiggles (shits and giggles plus one or two chuckles) I put together a little quiz to check if you are kiss your man Courvoisier style. (My answers are in yellow)

1. I have been talking to this guy and some feelings are developing but I was wondering where this relationship is going. What do I do?

a) Wade it out.

b) Hint at the fact, I like him a lot.

c) Give that dude an ultimatum.

d) State your feelings, ask him how he feels. (smooch)

2. Ray-ray says "We are just friends" What does that mean?

a) We are soon to be lovers.

b) This dude wants to marry me.

c) In a couple of months I will meet his mama.

d) We are just friends, no more no less. (smooch)

3. You offer to make King James dinner. So what do you do?

a) You cook a dish you have never made in your life.

b) You cook the fanciest meal possible.

c) Order out because you don't know why you offered in the first place.

d) Cook something you know he eats and enjoys, well then call it a night. (smooch)

If you answered d. to these few questions, then you are kissing your man Courvoisier style. Believe me I know kissing him right can be difficult at times, but I got to believe the right man for me is a simple being. So as long as I don't play games and I kiss him right I should be fine. Right?

Much luv until next week... smooches :)

P.S. This post is in reference to men not boys. (chuckle)

I Miss You Much?

The problem with people is that they can get used to anything.
-Patrick Swayze, On his show The Beast

So, I’ve never actually seen this new Swayze show, but they kept playing this one scene in the previews. And every time he said it, I would think to myself, that is soo daggone true. I mean I for one have always wondered how come slaves in South Carolina for instance didn’t have a mass revolt when they made up 80% of the population. But as usual I digress.

But the statement is truth -you can get used to anything. Excellence, beauty, good, indifference, subpar, bad, ugly, real ugly. Being held in chains. Drinking out of different water fountains. Fried fish in the caf every Friday. Sitting at the back of the bus. Living from check to check. Getting your ass beat just because it’s Tuesday. Or to take it to an even simpler, more basic level, just being around someone.

There is something about a person coming into our lives and taking up space and making us feel all good and stuff. It gets nice. And comfortable. And easy, breezy, beautiful Cover girl. But then like everyone’s favorite prophet, Erkyah Badussy say, “one day, he gon’ say, you crowding my space.” And as often happens, they will politely escort you out of his (or her for you male readers out there) life. And you'll be out in the cold, standing on the sidewalk like, DAYUM! But I liked you. Or at least you thought you liked them. Or maybe you just liked that they filled a void of loneliness. Emptiness. Horniness. Whateverness that you needed filled at that particular time in yo’ life.

Of course you don’t get this, ‘maybe they really weren’t that good for me anyway’ moment of clarity until much, much later. Cause when they are first saying ‘thanks for playing, but I have decided to go in another direction with my life or (even worse) with someone else’, you are done, son. Upset! On some, ‘oh no they di’nt!’ I know they’re not trying to get rid of me! Don’t they know how fine I am? How fly I am? How good I am? I am the shyt. And they must know. When you’re in this part of the grieving process, all types of wrong, ignant, things can happen. But we shan’t go there today…

And then come the questions: what am I going to do now? Now that they’re not here? How will I make it through? Who will I talk to now for hours on end about absolutely nothing? Who can I go to these shows and movies and dinners and outings with? Or better yet, who is going to pay for me to go to these shows and movies and dinners and outings? Who can I call now when I need some late night lovin? And on...

And then the urges. Cause now you sittin’ in the house bored as hell. The urge to call and just see what they’re up to. To send a nice lil’, friendly, how you doin’, maybe we should link up sometime email. To invite them to a show you know they would love to see. To send that late, late night text, inviting them over for one last, last, last time, for uh, some milk and cookies. To sit outside their house and see what time they come into the house and who they wit. Ok, I’m kidding with that last one. Or am I? No, I am.

It’s a devastating occurrence. Or at least it feels that way when you’re in the midst. Because as human beings we can/do/will get attached. Some quicker than others. But for most of us, when we didn’t even realize we were. Thinking we putting up brick walls. That it’s just sex. That you can just shake ‘em off. Oh what fools us mortals be. In truth when you have spent an ample amount of time with someone, gotten to know them on some level, given up a part of yourself to another person - whether it was on a physical, emotional, intellectual or spiritual level, when that person is gone, when that feeling they brought you when they were around is gone, there is a void. You can’t deny it. Well you can, but you ain’t foolin nobody.

Cause the truth is you will miss them. You will miss it. You will miss whatever it is you thought it was at the time. You will mourn it. You will be angry about it. You will try to get it back. You will be frustrated. And it will suck. And you will wonder how you’ll make it through when they’re not around to give you [fill in your own blank here]. How will you move on? But then somewhere in there, in between actin a fool and backslidin, you put one foot in front of the other and get to walking, and start looking past that person and towards greater possibilities. And you learn you can live without them. You can get used to a life without them. That’s the thing about people…

That’s my time y’all! Happy Rum Punch Friday!

What's Your Girlfriend Got to Do With Me?

So, sometimes as a single person, you have to hear about the love lives of others. Sometimes, no make that most times, against your will. And sometimes, no make that often times these conversations make you want to kill yourself. Or if that’s too drastic, search for the nearest emergency exit you can rush through. Or start to fake stomach cramps so you can leave. Or just have the testicular fortitude to say, “no thank you to where this conversation is going” And then get up and walk away.

Now I’m not talking about when you and your friends get together to discuss current relationships, prospects, or lack of love, sex or anything in between. I’m talking about people, men in particular, who feel the need to flaunt their girlfriend in front of your face. For example…

I went to this cookout and I see this guy I used to date. We exchange that ‘what are you doing now’ banter. And for real, for real, we could have parted ways right there. Thrown up the deuces to one another and said, “see ya when I see ya.” But nooo… He hits me with, “so are you seeing anyone?” But it wasn't in that I’m interested kinda way. Let’s do this one mo’gin type of way. It was more in the way a little kid has a huge secret about somebody that they just HAVE to share with the first person they see. They just can’t hold it any longer. But they wanna make you guess what it is. And you just don’t want to play that game.

“Noooo. Not seeing anyone right now,” I drag out. And then. Long pause. We stand there looking at each other for a few seconds. And then inevitably, I feel/think that to be polite, I should probably ask him this question back. Because sometimes I'm ignorant and I don't reciprocate a question. And people be gettin all mad and stuff. On some, 'don't you wanna know about me?' Sigh. I guess...
“So. Are you dating anyone?”
“Why yes. I have a girlfriend.”
“Really? That’s nice.” Inner monologue: Ok. I should ask him a question about her. Shouldn’t I? But what should I ask? Why do I care? Wait a minute. Is he talking right now? About her? What is he saying? I should probably pay attention, so I can ask follow up questions. There may be a pop quiz. She may be here later tonight and he'll introduce us. And I can't ask her questions if he's already told me stuff about her... Oh shyt. He’s still talking. About her. I should focus. Oh who is that guy? He looks kinda cute. Hmmm... My drink is geting low. I need another. But he's still talking. Why are all these bugs around me? They are gonna tear me up. I should focus. Focus. Focus. Right now...

“Yeah she’s ………….. etc., etc., etc. And she's also. ........ And she's from.... And we met ..... And we've been dating since ....” And I sat and sipped my vodka and pineapple and cried on the inside.

Have you ever seen that Sex and the City when Sarah Jessica Parker aka Carrie first meets Jack Berger. And they have instant “chemistry.” And then when she asks him to escort her to her book signing, he says, “sorry my girlfriend’s parents are coming into town.” Shock and awe. So when she gathers with her friends, she’s like “how come he didn’t tell me he had a girlfriend? I hate when guys don’t tell you right away!” And Samantha says, “yeah but you don’t wanna find out too soon. I hate when they’re all, ‘I have a girlfriend.’ Calm down I just asked if that seat was taken!”

Church, synagogue! Check it. True story. I went to my cousin’s 30th birthday party. I saw this guy from high school. I said, “what’s up, Wesley?* How’s life of a grown up?” We commiserate briefly. And then silence. Which is totally cool with me cause I'm only still standing here cause I’m waiting for the bartender to bring me my drank.** And then he says, “Yeah. My girlfriend couldn’t come tonight because she had to do something for school.” Yes it really went like that. Yes there really was no segue. Yes I really just stood there and was like, “uh ok. Good to see you.” Inner monologue: Where the hell is my stoli and sprite? Ahh here it is. Now, don't say anything else to him. Don't even look him in the eye. Don't smile or nod. Just walk away. Right. Now.

I am perplexed. I don’t mind people wanting to talk about their love. I mean maybe if I were in a relationship, I too would shout it from the mountaintops. At this point, if and when I get a man, I will probably stop people on the street and be like, “yo. Let me tell you about my man. He is the absolute greatest. No, don't walk away. I have to tell you abot the cutest thing he did last night!!" And then follow them until they pull out their cell phones to call the police.

But a la Carrie Bradshaw, I wonder, are men rapidly telling me (and other women) about their girlfriends because they don’t trust themselves or because they don’t want me/us to push up on them? Is it like let me put this out in the atmosphere so all parties involved are clear about what can and cannot happen, before she seduces me, gives me a lap dance, offers to suck my dyck, tells me she wants to marry me, have my babies and run my bath every night, and then it’ll be way too late to tell her I have girlfriend… Or maybe they are really telling themselves, cause they see something they might could like, and they gotta remind themselves, "oh yeah I got a girlfriend." And they just happen to say it aloud.

I don’t know. Maybe it’s because I know that I have no interest in these guys, so I’m like ‘you ain’t got to worry bout me trying to get with you.' I do remember this guy I was crushing on hoard told me (seemingly) way too late that he had a girlfriend. And I was slightly devastated at the time. But now I rather appreciate it. I mean we had good conversations and it wasn’t until I showed my hand that he let me know what he was holding.

If he had told me off the break, I probably wouldn’t have even really conversed with him. I mean if he's off limits, why waste my time? Yes, that's how I get down. I mean we can make small talk, but there's no sense in putting on my Rum Punch ballet, tap and jazz show if you're not going to fully appreciate it. But this guy and I had great convo. He made me laugh. And when he told me he was with somebody, I thought, "of course. That woman ain't no fool. You're a great catch!" And then I kept it moving. But maybe too many women don't do that. And mayhap that's the problem...

That’s my time y’all! Happy Rum Punch Friday!

*Name has been changed to protect the foolish

** I really don't drink as much as this post implies... Or do I?

Wonder Woman

So I was sitting in the big chair getting my hair did when my hairdresser said to this other chick, “there is this woman who keeps calling my man and I wanna pick up the phone sooo bad.” And other chick says, “so what’s stopping you? That’s your estate.” Oh I had to hold in my laughter. So then my hairdresser talks about how she’s been through his phone and seen all these texts from said woman. And on New Year’s, this woman sent her man an “I miss you. I love you text.” And she wanna pick up the phone sooo bad the next time this btich calls late at night/in the wee hours of the morning, you know just to let her know.

So there are several problems with this here scenario, but for the sake of time, let’s deal with the snooping. We’ve all been there ladies, your man leaves to go to the bathroom, the kitchen, take what you know will be a long shower, whatever – and his phone goes off. Repeatedly. And you know deep down that it’s some other chick. Oh to look or not to look? That is the question. So Caption Obvious says don’t look cause once you go looking for something, then you’re definitely going to find something. Anything that can make him seem guilty. Start wondering: Who is this Jennifer chick who keeps texting him? Why does he have pictures of naked chicks in his phone? What type of heffas does he know? And as the image you have of him gets tainted every time your thumb scrolls, you start matching up texts or emails to when y’all met or have been together. It can be a very slippery slope. Which is why Captain Obvious is usually sitting on your shoulder, whispering, “don’t do it girl,” in your ear.

Oh but sitting on the other side is, fcuk Captain Obvious chilling with a sombrero and margarita. Why? Because the temptation to look is great, especially if you know you won’t get caught. But then what do you do with the information you may find? Two wrongs don’t make a right, so you can’t call him on it. And then if you do find something, the mistrust is there, only he should also be mistrusting yo’ ass – he just doesn’t know it. Yet.

I have to say that I am one of the nosiest people ever and yet I have only snooped once. Yeah, my ex left me in his house and I looked through his shit, found some old love letters and whatnot. It was wrong. I know, I know. And I gotta say while eye opening, not very fulfilling. And totally uncalled for. But I wonder what would have happened if I had found something. How would I have reacted?

I know women who have broken up with their significant others because of an email they found or an ambiguous text message. They never gave their reasons to the man. Just ended it. But I wonder that if you had to go through his phone or break his email passcode like you were figuring out a terroist cell, in the first place, then something is definitely wrong with this relationship. And clearly 'trust' is just a word in the dictionary to you.

But how can you trust someone if you don't check to make sure they're ok first? You know make sure they are doing right, and then trust. Because that blind, without a shadow of a doubt trust, is some scary ass shit. When you come to the realization that yo' mama was right that actions do speak louder than words, that you gotta be secure with yourself and let somebody do them, have him go out into the world and be confindent he's gonna come back to you every night, remain faithful, shake the ladies off. Oooo that's heavy. But if and when you get there, it must feel good to be able to close your eyes, dive in and then just let go...

That’s my time y’all! Happy Rum Punch Friday!