BGT on Interracial Relationships (nothing personal)

…should I tread carefully…nah I never have before lol

5680865_1580914For those who have followed my past blogs, you know that I have had my arse chewed and handed back to me when it comes to my views on interracial dating. Example 1 and Example 2.  I have been called racist (yep! me! racist! ) I have been called ignorant and a list of other things that made me giggle. All because I have stated that I am not interested in dating anyone outside of my race.

Excuse me for thinking that I can date who I please and get away with it! Excuse me for blogging about why I date black men exclusively! Excuse me for saying that I loves me some black men and have no interest in dating outside my race. I never knew that it was mandatory to be open to interracial dating 😐

Well when I heard about this story I raised my eyebrow and said “hmmm, that’s disturbing, AND it has to be breaking some kind of law, isn’t it?”

Now those ppl who gave me a few words back on the BGT blogs about my interracial dating posts, would say that I would agree with this, but I don’t. My view is this: Date/marry whoever you like, but as for BGT I will date black men and black men only. I don’t  have to be open to dating outside of my race and I don’t have to be excited about other people dating outside of their race. Personally it has nothing to do with me, but as for me, I will stick with my black brothas.

BUT I do not believe that there should be any law that can determine what race of person you marry. That is utterly ridiculous and Keith Bardwell needs his ass sued for this. He says his denial of the marriage license to the interracial couple was based on his experience with interracial marriages and the fact that they do not last long. He went on to say that he is looking out for the children.

Bullshit Keith!

This statement is the one that screamed out racist douchebag

I’m not a racist. I just don’t believe in mixing the races that way,” Bardwell told the Associated Press on Thursday. “I have piles and piles of black friends. They come to my home, I marry them, they use my bathroom. I treat them just like everyone else. 

  -Keith Bardwell

Keith that statement alone says that you are a racist. You are so racist you could be Rush Limbaugh’s play cousin. It is from MY personal experience Mr. Bardwell that when a white person starts a statement off with “I’m not racist” and throws in “I have black friends” you had better watch out because their KKK robe is hanging in the hall closet waiting on the next rally. And did he say mixing of the races? That is some Mississippi Slave Master talk if I ever heard any.  This happened in Tangipahoa Parish, Louisiana so thats close enough I guess.

The couple plans to consult the U.S. Justice Department to file a complaint and rightfully so.


Pet Peeve #001

Pet peeve #001

eyeclipartif2People who stare into your car as you sit at the red light. Ugh that irks me to the 10th power.

Now I don’t mean to come off as some meany with road rage, but staring in people’s cars as they sit in the lane next to you is annoying. I don’t know if people do it out of habit or because they don’t really realize they are doing it (yeah right, like you don’t know you have your googly eyes glaring at a person) But I absolutely hate to feel someone’s eyes on me as I sit waiting on the light to turn green. Sometimes I give them the “UGH what are you looking at” face. Other times I try to ignore it, but the lady in the blue Ford Taurus took me to a whole new level with this pet peeve.

Have you ever been driving along and it seems as if one car in particular is following you. You know that most likely they aren’t following you, just going in the same direction, but each turn you make, they make it also. Each yellow light you speed on through, they are close behind.

Well the lady in the blue Ford Taurus was my follower for about ten minutes one day. I was kind of annoyed that she wouldn’t get in the other lane or take some other route to her destination, but who am I to make her alter her driving? Finally after what seemed like forever she changed lanes, and I had to look over at her to see who this bitch was lol (yeah I know that was mean, but hell she was purposely trailing me and not getting over) So I look over and she is a middle aged black woman with one of those little beanie hats on. She looked over at me and the stare she gave me said “What, you wanna laugh at my beanie hat?.” The light changed and we both went through, but from that point on each light we got to she would stare at me with her beanie hat slightly tilted on her eyed. It was obnoxious. I wanted to slap it off.

Two more lights, two more stops with her and the hideous beanie hat. Goodness I was annoyed. Just her eyes glaring and the beanie hat looking like it would topple off of her head at any moment had my nerves on edge. I needed to change lanes. So I change lanes and get behind her. Then I could feel her looking at my in her rearview mirror. It was soooo obnoxious. Either I would have to slow down and lose her or she would need to take off that beanie hat, something had to give.

I knew she wouldn’t take the hat off, so I decided to slow down and get some distance between us. It worked until I got to the final red light before I was to make my turn. I look over and she is right beside me again, beanie hat still tilted, eyes still glued on me. I flipped her the bird and zoomed off. Was that mean? YES But her staring problem combined with a hideous, tilted beanie was even meaner.


My ex doesnt know what a manwhore is…..

manwA few weeks ago we were sitting around talking, and as usual the talking turned into a  discussion aka an argument. And as usual we began arguing about the petty things that happened during our 5 year relationship and as usual he said something stupid that made me say thank God I’m no longer with you.

The stupid thing he said this time was in response to me saying that I never felt catered to in our relationship. Before he said the utterly stupid thing, he proclaimed that he did cater to me the best he knew how, and that when we first met he was young, so there was a lot he didn’t know at first. Then he said

Plus I was a manwhore when we first met, so the first few months shouldn’t even count

||blank stare||

My jaw dropped,  my eyes bucked and rolled hard enough to get stuck at the top of my eyelid. “You were a what?”

Of course he was stupid enough to repeat it.

I was a manwhore. I am going to be honest about it

I couldn’t believe that not only had I not known this, but he was stupid enough to admit that he had been a manwhore. OMG I had dated a manwhore.

That of course is when the big(ger) argument started. Now I had a reason to bring up every mistake he had made since I met him. Now I could call him every name I had said in anger over the years and have a valid reason for doing so. Now I could blame our break-up on something besides his immaturity and pettiness. Now I knew why things didn’t work. I had attempted to turn a manwhore into a husband. Had I known this tad bit of information going into the relationship there wouldn’t have been a relationship!

After saying quite a few rude things to him, some that were completely unrelated to this argument but were necessary due to his manwhore revelation, I decided that now I would play the little game I was so good at…well at least with him. It was called make up some shit and get him to tell you details he had no intention of giving. This game had worked on him numerous times over the years. I would pretend to know some information and go on and on and on until he gave up the real details.

So now I had to say something that made him  believe I knew more about his manwhoring, which would make him in return give me the information I wanted.

After bringing up a few past incidents that had left me suspicious and even calling his ex girlfriend a few ugly name (she had nothing to do with it, I just didn’t like her and wanted to call her ugly names) I still had no information from him. He just kept saying the same things I had heard over the five years we dated. “I never cheated on you.” “I was always faithful.” blah blah blah

Now I began to wonder why he would reveal that he was a manwhore if now he wanted to play saint. I decided that if I kept prying I might find something that I really didn’t need or want to know. Especially since we were no longer together. But before I let it go I had to make sure he knew how disgusted I felt that I had dated a manwhore for over five years and had been clueless to the fact that he even had the slightest of manwhore tendencies. I had to make sure he knew how nasty I thought he was and how I am thankful I never caught anything while messing around with his nasty manwhore tale!

About an hour after the argument and after I told him how utterly disgusted I was by his manwhore revelation. He came in and said that he felt like I was blowing the entire thing out of proportion. He said that true enough he had a lot of female friends back in the day, but for the mot part he was very selective on who he slept with.

I gave him an awkward stare and informed him that manwhores are not selective in who they bone (yes I said bone) that is why they are called manwhores DUMMY!

He stood there looking confused. Which I expected, because that is typical of a manwhore. Dazed, confused and nasty!

…fast forward a week

A week goes by and my ex calls and says that he needs to straighten something out. He said that he had a conversation with his sister about our falling out over him being a manwhore and he said she laughed so hard that tears came to her eyes. Again, he was confused. He didn’t know why we were making such a big deal out of a man who has more female friends than women and who is kind known as a ladies’ man.

I can’t say many good things about his sister, but I can say that she quickly corrected her manwhore..or not so manwhore brother. She gave him the real, low down dirty description of a manwhore…hence his phone call to me to straighten up the situation.  Thank God for clarity!

My Bernie Moment

6a00d8341caa5853ef00e54f12b2218833-800wiYesterday as I was rummaging through some old photos I ran across one that made me want to immediately tear it up and do some “Waiting to Exhale” type shit. It definitely put me in a Bernie type mood. Sitting there holding that photo I could almost see myself standing outside with a cigarette not giving a fuck lol

     The smiling, or should I say smirking, face on the photo was that of my ex boyfriend James. Even from the photo one could tell that he was up to no good; so why did it take me so long to realize that this man has issues and more issues. Maybe it was his warm embrace or his soft kisses. Maybe it was the sense of security he gave me every time he was around. Or maybe it was that $725 check he wrote for my rent every month, either way I didn’t see through his web of deceit until I had given him my heart, amongst other things.

     James was the kind of man who would make you so mad, then love you so good. He had a way about him that just spoke to a woman’s heart. From the outside looking in you would say “Now that’s a do-right-man.” BUT and I say BUT sternly, because unless you got to know James you would continue to think he was a do-right-man…UNTIL you woke up one morning with a note beside your pillow like I did.

     I remember as if it were yesterday, mainly because it was James’ birthday. He had spent the night at my apartment and when I woke up the next morning he was gone. On his pillow lay a note in pretty, soft paper.  I unfolded it and the first words I saw were “its over.” The next line read, “It’s been good, but sorry it has to end.”

     I KNEW I was dreaming. There was no way in the “real” world that I had been dumped while I was sleeping AND given a damn Dear John Letter on pink stationery. This shit here was impossible. I turned over, closed my eyes and decided that I would take my ass back to sleep so that I could end this horrible nightmare.

     Of course I didn’t actually go to sleep but I did close my eyes extremely tight in hopes that when I turned over there would not be a pretty, pink You Are Dumped letter lying next to me. Of course when I turned over it was still there. Reality set in and the tears began to stream down my face. How could someone be so cold as to dump you while you are sleeping? How could he be that less of a man that he took the time to sit at my desk and write me a Dear John Letter on my own pink stationery. That was cold.

     That day went by for me in a blur. I called James a gazillion times; he didn’t answer once. By the third day my eyes went from being bloodshot from crying to being bloodshot with rage. I had called in to work all three days, so I had plenty of time to sit around the house and mope and cry and cry and mope.

     By day four I was in full crazy woman mode. I would get so mad just pacing the floor that I would need something to tear up and destroy. After I had broken one of my favorite vases and knocked a few knick knacks off the shelf I realized that this was my shit that I was tearing up. Shit that I paid for with my own money. Aww hell naw I had to snap out of that delusional state quickly. I may have been in a crazed state but I wasn’t crazy!

     After calling James a few more times and realizing that he was hitting reject each time I called , I decided I should pay him a little visit. There is nothing more up close and personal than an unexpected visit from a woman scorned who has an ice pick and knows how to use it. I decided that I would call my sister as I drove, just so she could be on standby in case I needed bail money later.

     Of course she tried to talk me out of popping up at James’ home, but this was a trip I couldn’t turn back on. James needed to see me face to face. He needed to see how hurt I was and how hurt he was going to be if he did not get to explaining. As I drove along, I thought of all the things I could possibly do to him. The first list included hitting him in the head with the big stone flower pot that he kept on his front porch, sticking all four of his tires with the ice pick and throwing a huge object that would somehow be in hands reach through his front window. That list sounded good to me until I realized that those things would land me in jail and knowing now that James was low-down, that sucker would press charges. I would be thrown under the jail all because of his pretty ass Dear John Letter.

     As I gathered up ideas for the second list of things, my phone rang. It was my mother.  I should have known better than to tell my sister anything about this. If she hears the word bitch she gets antsy, so I should have known that telling her of my violent plan was a no-no.

     Now I had my mother on the line and she was going on and on about bulldaggers in jail and how she only had $125 in her rainy day fund so I would have to sit in jail a while unless she asked the family to raise money to get me out. Which she then explained would make them want to know why I was in jail, and she would then have to tell them how her stupid daughter went and cut a man for dumping her.

     The next thing I remember is hearing a car horn blaring. I was at the red-light, it had turned green and I was still sitting there. I decided right then and there that I would not go to James’ house. I would not cut him, throw anything at him, stick any tires or burn up any cars (that was on the 2nd list) I would instead, go home, turn on some Anita Baker and accept the fact that James had dumped me with no explanation at all. I would accept the fact that even though I was hurting and angry I could not act on these feelings. I could not have my Bernie moment 😦

     That night I decided that I would watch “Waiting to Exhale.” I would order some Chinese take out, drink some good wine and cry. I would live out my Bernie moment through Bernie’s actual moment. I would allow her vengeance to be mine. Lord knows I wanted to go cut that man, I even had a particular knife I wanted to use, lol, but I knew I had to let go of that anger. I had to accept James for what he was, a pink Dear John Letter writing asshole.

Probably Not

57051-bigthumbnail“I will be married before I turn 30.”

…probably not

Sometimes when thoughts of marriage come to mind I get…what’s the word…depressed..yeah that would be it. With so many of my friends and family getting married I sometimes wonder why I haven’t jumped the broom yet. Hell after all, I am all that ..and some! So why is it that my prince charming hasn’t come along and swept me off my feet and allowed me to spread my pretty wings?

Well honestly I think it has something to do with that “and some” that I mentioned in the paragraph above. See I’m a different kind of woman. Yeah I know you guys will need me to explain that, so I will. When I say that I am a different kind of woman, I mean that I’m independent, but not bossy (even though I have been called that countless times) I have a very good sense of humor, but I do know when it is time to get serious. And I overall, I have a positive outlook on life. I also……

love to have things go my way, doesn’t always accept help, even when I need it, can and will cry at the drop of a hat, isn’t always forgiving, isn’t as organized as I should be, can cuss like a sailor who has been drinking Thunderbird

…well you kinda get the picture. The “and some” are just a few teensy weensy things I need to work on. Nevertheless, I am a work in progress and admittance is the first step towards progress.

I used to have it engraved in my mind that I would be married before age thirty, now I can shake my head and say “Probably not.”

This may sound quite ridiculous but sometimes I see married couples and I say to myself, “If SHE can get a husband I know for damn sure I should have been married at age 10.” There have been times when I have just wanted to ask a brotha, ummm how she get you because she is a hot mess. But of course I keep thoughts like that to myself.

I wonder if those kinds of thoughts have anything to do with Black Women Behaving Badly  as mentioned in the August 2009 issue of Essence Magazine. Or maybe it’s  just the women being spiteful and bitter syndrome. I think it may be, because when I heard about the split between “our” Reggie Bush and Kim Kardashian I jumped up and yelled “We got one back!”

Nevertheless, I have come to the realization that most likely I won’t be married by thirty as I had planned and honestly I may not even find a good man by age thirty.  

Then there is the question, what is wrong with black men? Why are so many of them playing the field and choosing not to get married.

….I hope you weren’t waiting on me to give an answer because I am also wondering what the problem is.

So for now I will continue to daydream about love while listening to Maxwell’s Pretty  Wings and visualize a time when I will have my own Maxwell, Idris Elba or Reggie Bush (he is off my “humph no he didn’t” list now) or even Trey Songz. He is a little young, but he’ll do!

Tata’s Bad Habit

park_benchLast night me and my girl Tata (like Pa tata) were sitting around shooting the breeze and doing everything BUT getting ready for the work week.  Somehow we got on the subject of bad habits. Now Tata is one of my closest friends, I have known her almost nine years, so when the subject of bad habits came up I immediately thought of her ultimate bad habit which is smoking cigarettes.

When I first met Tata she didn’t smoke; and even though I don’t like the smell of cigarette smoke and I truly hate inhaling secondhand smoke, Tata is one of the very few people I will allow to smoke in my presence; the others being my grandmother and a few other relatives.

As the subject came up I was tempted to tease her about why she began smoking in the first place. His name was Bobby Ray.  Around my second year of knowing Tata she started dating this guy named Bobby who I thought was the cutest thing ever. He was tall and chocolate and had these pretty round eyes that just made you want to stare into them forever.  Tata seemed to really like him too; I mean every time she talked about the man she would have this huge smile on her face. It was so teenage and cute.

After she had been dating Bobby Ray for about five months I noticed that every time she would come to visit me she would always have some reason to go out to her car during the visit. At first I thought it was nothing, but then I also noticed that when she came back in she smelled of air freshener. After she did this on about four visits I decided to ask her what was the deal with the trips to the car and coming back smelling like fresh linens.

She stood there for a minute, then she let go of the secret, she was smoking cigarettes. I was shocked because I had never seen her smoke a cigarette the entire time I had known her and I had spent entire days with her on many occasions. I promptly demanded to know when this started and why in the hell she decided at this age in life to begin puffing cancer sticks. She told me that this new habit was all because of Bobby Ray. Once she said that I knew there was going to be a good story behind this one. I just hoped the story was funny instead of upsetting.

Tata went on to say that Bobby Ray wrecks her nerves so bad that she turned to cigarettes as a way to calm down and keep her sanity. What started out as an every now and then smoke had turned into a vicious habit. I stood there in awe, because if this man had turn a woman into a chain smoker in less than six months he had to be a bad mamma jamma! I needed to know what in the hell he was doing that was so nerve wrecking that it would cause her to form a habit that she was embarrassed of.

With a sad look on her face, Tata went on to tell me that Bobby Ray was the nicest man she had ever met in her life. He was such a gentleman. He cooked for her and he was a great father to his children. He worked every day and so far she had no complaints with him…except the fact that he stuttered somethin serious.

Before I could catch myself I burst into laughter. I knew it was wrong, but I couldn’t help it. How could this sexy man, who knew exactly how to treat a woman, be a stutterer? And first and foremost how had I not noticed that he stuttered? Even though I had only met him twice, each time we met we conversed and he had not stuttered one bit. Tata’s explanation for that was that he had controlled it during our brief conversations.  He could do that sometimes. When I thought back to both times I had met Bobby Ray each time he had seemed kind of nervous and honestly Tata had seemed even more nervous. Now there was an explanation for him seeming uptight and Tata standing in the background looking as if she just swallowed a hairball. All this time I thought the man had been nervous to meet me because Tata had warned him of my witty personality. No, he had been so uptight because he was trying his darnest to control his stuttering problem and Tata was just as nervous because she didn’t want him to slip in a shhh or thhh.

Now back to Tata’s bad habit. I asked her how his stuttering would cause her to smoke. Now I could understand if he turned to smoking, but her…? I needed and explanation for this one. She said that sometimes having a conversation with Bobby Ray was so frustrating that she would immediately feel the need to smoke a few cigarettes. Not one cigarette, but a few. She said that he would begin a normal conversation and a few minutes in, it would turn into long strings of thtthhh hhhh aaa tttt is whhhaa ttt happp ennnn. She then told me to imagine holding a conversation with someone on a day to day basis and almost every time this was the result. It frustrated her to the point that she sometimes caught herself wanting to clinch his lips shut with her hands.  So instead of doing something so spiteful, she turned to cigarettes. They were her shelter in a time of storm; Bobby Ray’s stuttering storm that is.

I felt sorry for my friend. I could tell that other than his stuttering problem he was the perfect guy for her. I asked her had he thought about speech therapy and she said that he was too embarrassed to seek help. She had mentioned it to him once and in the end she felt as if she hurt the situation more than helped it. She had even offered to go with him but he stated that her going with him would be like her taking her son to pre-school for the first time and helping him pronounce his alphabet. He wanted no part of that.

Almost a year into their relationship, Tata was smoking a pack of cigarettes in two days. Her habit had become so mandatory that she was no longer embarrassed. She would fire up a cigarette at the drop of a hat. Bobby Ray was still stuttering away, but he was also still cooking dinners, still paying bills, still holding her hand, still kissing her softly and still being an overall nice guy. Tata didn’t know what to do. She felt that she was getting closer and closer to a man that she knew she could not marry unless he stopped stuttering. This burden caused her to smoke even more. The stress of having the perfect man in her life, except for one little bitty thing that wasn’t such a little bitty thing was stressing Tata out beyond belief.

But soon Tata would find out that Bobby Ray had a problem with her also. One day after dinner they were sitting at the park on a bench and Tata fired up a cigarette as they sat and watched the ducks in the pond. Bobby had taken the entire length of dinner to tell her about one of his coworkers being fired today at work. What should have taken ten minutes took an hour and a half. Tata’s nerves were frizzled by the time they ordered dessert. She could not wait to get out of the restaurant and fire up a cigarette.

As she sat there dangling her legs and puffing on her cigarette, she realized that Bobby was staring at her with a not so nice expression on his face. Before she could ask what was wrong he asked her if she remembered one of the first conversations they had which took place on their second date. He then refreshed her memory. They talked that night about falling in love, what they expected from each other and lastly pet peeves. Bobby reminded Tata that one of his biggest pet peeves was women that smoked cigarettes. He said that over the past couple of months she had turned into the exact kind of woman he despised. A woman who was stressed and instead of dealing with her problems she puffed cigarette after cigarette. He said if it hadn’t been for his love for her he would have called it quits a long time ago.

Before Tata knew it Bobby Ray had dumped her sitting there on the wooden bench in the park while a cool breeze rippled past. It took her a few minutes to gather her thoughts and realize that the man who she loved and also the man who caused her to smoke cigarettes was now dumping her because of her cigarette smoking. She was shocked.

It took my girl quite some time to get over Bobby Ray. She never even told the man why she started smoking in the first place. Had it been me he would have gotten an earful that day at the park. He wouldn’t have got the opportunity to finish his rehearsed dumping speech. Once I realized where the conversation was going I would have gave him a piece of my mind and being that he has a speech impediment he wouldn’t have had the time to finish what he wanted to say because I would have been gone. But poor Tata was on such a high from the relief of her cigarette that she never saw it coming.

Till this day every time someone talks about cigarettes it makes Tata fume inside. Had it not been for those damn cigarettes she would have known she had been dumped much earlier. After all, it took Bobby Ray almost an hour just to say it was over.

1/2 man half something or another

FEB072098_hi_CIVIL_WAR_FALLEN_SON_WOLVERINEThe single life is one turbulent fight that only the courageous should take on, and even they should approach it with their head gear and full body armor. What should be simple and fun, is for many of us painful and at times greatly annoying.

Personally I have sworn off dating until God sends me a man worth dating. So far I am almost 3 months in on that plan and needless to say I am still waiting.  I made this decision when I kept meeting one specific kind of man, I like to call him “half man, half something or another”. This breed is becoming more and more common on the dating scene and sistahs I want to tell you, if you are not careful you will waste countless months being involved with him before you realize that something just isn’t right. The main reason you won’t recognize his “something or another side” is because he will be fun. He will be charming, and unlike many men he will be a great listener. He will buy dinners and hold doors, he will send cute little texts during the day and even offer to run errands for you. Sounds good doesn’t it?  Sounds like you have found a good man. A man that you wouldn’t mind investing more of your time with and maybe, just maybe giving your heart to.

Months will go by and you will say “Dang, something must be wrong, either this man is hiding something or this man is hiding something.” and guess what…ditto…you have hit the nail on the head. Not only is he hiding something, he IS SOMETHING. He is half man half something or another. He can lie without blinking an eye. He can sleep with you at 10pm and go sleep with someone else an hour later. He can kiss you so softly and make your whole body tremble and then do the same thing with this long time girlfriend. He has super whoreish powers!

Once you come to the realization that you have been dating a psychopathic liar and that you want no part of him, he will then flip the script and play the victim. He will try his damndest to convince you that you should give him another chance because you know that you liked the way he made you feel, and honestly you did. He will go so far as to beg, cry, plead and even do whatever you ask of him, just for another chance. And when I say anything I mean anything. This half man half something or another is as nasty as they come and even though he puts off the appearance that he has the upmost respect for women that too is a lie. He can’t respect women because he doesn’t respect himself.

So now you sit back and actually contemplate giving this man another chance. You think about how loving he is, how he caters to your every need and how he is always there when you need him. Eventually you fall for the trap. You get wrapped back up in his wickedness and VOILA he pulls his magic trick again. He is able to make love to, wine and dine and keep a smile on the face of various women, each one crazy enough to fall for his trick over and over again.

Didn’t I tell you he had super powers?

I label him half man-half something or another because he has all of the qualities that a real man has.  He makes his woman feel as if she is the most beautiful creature God ever created. He takes care of home and his charm and romantic qualities are on point. However, the part of them that is exceedingly whoreish is what adds the label of half something or another. I would like to say half dog, but most times a dog’s bark is worse than his bite, but in this case his bite is deadly.