The Idiot

So...It's been a while...but have no fear. There are so many dates to update you on.

I think this is a good place to start...

So he was fine...and light skin. That was the first problem. However, he lived by himself, had a job, with benefits and was fashionable. Check. Check. Check.

But the first time I met him--He told that he liked that I talk "proper for the Black girl." Yes, he's Black. Then he went on to say, "I also like that you are educated." I'm sorry sir...I'm not sure what type of Black girls that you have been accustomed to, but...there are a lot of educated Black women... (I said this in my head)....then he finished the stupidity with, "But the secret is, I usually date Spanish girls."

Now, I should've said, well go ahead and get Consuela who lives above the bodega, with her kid and three little sisters, and her mother, and her aunt, and her abuela who is staying for the summer. I didn't though. I liked him. Don't ask my why, but there was something about his crazy that was interesting to me. Very interesting.

So he goes on to explain that Spanish chics are usually all about him and that's what he likes, and he's looking for a family, and on and on. And my friend said he really said, "I'm insecure and too immature to give you the love you deserve, so I find other insecure girls to coddle me and run behind me." But I liked him.

Fast forward to date night. We decide to keep it in the house and "chill' out. Yes, chill. It ends up being one of those magical movie moments where he was nothing but the perfect gentleman, we talked all night, giggled, laughed, shared that rare intimacy that people dream about and I felt like I could deal with his crazy. The next day, he goes to play basketball and stay home to run errands and catch up on some sleep. I didn't call him, because in my mind, I was like well he's with his guys let him play ball, he will call me when he's done.

He didn't call.

So the next morning, I send that Happy Monday text...and I get back, "Yeah, thanks for calling me yesterday, I went to the hospital. Something about a girl that can't be there for me I want no parts of."



I'm all apologetic and ask what the injury was....he pulled a muscle in his calf. So...what you're trying to tell me is, you have a charlie horse and you went to the hospital? Where do they do that at?

Needless to say, this fell off...until I hit him up to ask how he was weeks later.

"Hey! How are you"?

"Heyyy friend," (you see how he made sure to throw that friend in) "I'm good, just working and saving up for vacation."

"Ok, cool."

I put the phone down and went about my business. The next morning, I reach for my phone and the text that's waiting from this idiot...

"Hey, you should lend me $50 for vacation..."



Testing to see if he was serious, I said, "When and when am I getting it back..." He responds..."OMG, forget it..."

Who needs $50 for vacation?? If you need $50 for vacation, you shouldn't be going...$50 is something you ask your mother for...your friend. Not ME.

And the funniest part? My friend in group chat goes..."Where the hell is he going, Resorts Casino"?!

The Monkey Chain

My story isn't done yet…

I have been MIA…but today I thought about NYC…and dating…and boys…and laughter and decided there's so much to tell you.

So my friend's boyfriend decides that I sit on her couch way too much. So he says that he has someone that I would be interested in. Here we go. He happens to live in the same complex as my friend and he tells him to come by.

I go downstairs and this nice looking kid is there in his sweats and his lil pumas and his fabric snapback and I'm like, "hey" and he's like "hey.." and so we take a nice little summer stroll. I mentioned my background and that my major was African-American studies, and he went into a ten minute rant on the African-American community, men, the new revolution, the list goes on. I smile and nod and as we approach the door, I agree to go out with him soon.

That Friday my friend and her guy invite us to come out with them…Now, don't get me wrong, I know that people have a different interpretation of "fly." For example, what I think might be cute, may not be the same for someone else…but I don't judge…to each's own.

I get downstairs with my friend and he gets out of the car to open my door..gentleman…I like. However, as I scan his outfit he has on a pair of shorts, a wrinkled shirt, some wallabies with socks I think…and this necklace…and there…is something…hanging from the leather cord on his neck. But I can't make it out.


We drive to the restaurant and I guess in an attempt to impress me he talks about how he always gets pulled over in his car by the police and then he gets in a frenzy because we lose my friends--as if we don't have GPS or phones and then there's more African-American talk.

Fast forward to the restaurant and we're sitting at the table and my friends are cracking up….My friend's boyfriend leans over to me and says…your friend said that thing on his neck…is from Beetlejuice or a shrunken head…He proceeds to sprinkle his fingers in the air as if he's sprinkling dust on a little head and now the three of us are in tears and poor monkey chain is asking what's so funny….

I stare at the necklace and finally make out that it's one of those carved elephants, you know ethnic pieces…

But now it is too late…I am cracking up…my friends are in tears…and this is another date that will go down in history.


Someone asked me recently why haven't I been writing. Not necessarily for this particular blog--but in general I haven't sat down to write much of anything.

As I look back on this blog, and laugh my way through most of the posts, I realized that I never finished The Papa Bear series, never wrote The Scar and a few other funny moments. Thanks for the push to anonymous and thanks Destinee Revealed (Marie) for constantly pushing me to do one of the many things I do best.

I promise to get in the writing mood soon, and update all you fans on what's been new, what's been old, and what's been...been.



The Swag

So, I just thought of this and I can't believe I left this one out! (It's short, sweet and as usual unbelievable).

I had a clothing store for a couple years and as you can imagine, I had a lot of guys come in flirting, trying to get a discount, trying to get my number, the whole nine yards. However, this time this guy comes in and he looks around and he's decent, you know I could tell he was a little older, mature, you know, swag.

So he makes a compliment to me and he's chit-chatting and I'm giving him the okay let's hurry up with this one, and he makes another compliment, and I admit, I'm kind of falling for it. So I say, "You're pretty good. You get two points for that one." He laughs and ends up leaving the store.

Not an hour later, a flower delivery comes with some of the most beautiful flowers that I've ever seen. The delivery guy leaves them at the desk and I search for the card. On the card it says, "I need more points, two is not enough -The Swag" and had his number on it. Now if that ain't swag I don't know what is. Even I was impressed and that's pretty hard to do.

Oh but don't get on his side yet. There was a diner downstairs from my store and one day a few weeks after that (I never called) I walk in to order my usual and lo' and behold, who's chillin' in one of the seats? The Swag, The Swag's wife and The Swag's newborn son. Are you kidding me?

The Entre-po-negro

I am really all for the guy that has ambition, drive and most importantly--vision.

But sometimes you run into men who have this...but it doesn't quite manifest itself in the way we would like it to. Say for example, you ask him "What do you do"? And he replies, "I'm a rapper." While there are many talented individuals out there who are very successful at the art of rap, the chances that they will become the next Jay-Z are highly unlikely. So after they tell me they are a "rapper," I proceed to inquire more about this career path they've chosen.

You know, where do you rap? who are you signed with? Are you recording now? How many albums do you have out? Are you under management?

If the answers to these questions are not satisfactory, I'm going to assume that you don't have a job. Which is fine. You have to follow your dreams. I just don't think I'm going to be able to ride along.

Don't get me wrong, people grow to be stars but if your plan is not aligned correctly, then we won't work out anyway.

Soooo, I'm chilling in the restaurant with my girl and in comes The Entre-po-negro. You know who I'm talking about. The one who is dressed pretty decently, clean, jewelry nice but not gaudy, teeth clean, nails manicured, you have seen him a hundred times. Your interest piques and then you get into a conversation.

"So what do you do"?

"Oh well, I own a clothing store, I'm managing my homeboys rap career, I sell mix tapes (you want one), and gift cards (we can shop anytime you want), I promote parties--that's why I'm always out, and I got umbrellas in my trunk for sale but they got that Rihanna logo on them and I'm about to open a barber shop and then I'm doing this skin care line, cause my mom nem' own a restaurant that I'm about to take over."

Now, at a younger age you hear some crap like this and you are so excited that he has some sort of a job or at least it sounds like it, that you're running around hopping in his Range as if it's paid for.

Ahh yes, there's the catch. How much of this "stuff" does he actually own.

Moving on.

I won't lie to you. I fell for the blurb. It wasn't quite as extensive but it was enough stuff to throw up the stop sign that I completely ignored.

But I'm saying I don't know what it is about New York guys, but they LOVE to eat. No really. Even if they work out or stay in shape, they still LOVE to eat. It seems as if there is some unwritten code that you must meet a girl determine her "type" and try to impress her with as many restaurants that fall in her category.

For example, you meet a bird, you know Olive Garden will do. You meet a school girl, anywhere will do. You meet a girl that's you know semi-fancy then you might upgrade to Brooklyn Moon, you know a few Sundays at Habana Outpost, you know. But, you meet a socialite or a girl who's been around the block a few times--you already know...Phillipe's, Tao, Kittichai, Blue Ribbon....the list goes on and on a tshirt and jeans day she wants Habana too.

It's like this thing with them. And I'm just sayin...I like to eat.

Okay, so back to the story. Here we go. So he decided that we're going to Tao and then after we're going to stand on some couches. My kind of night.

Everything is going...okay. Besides the off color remarks like, "You'd be so pretty pregnant..nothing but belly....and I make pretty babies too." Oh, really? I totally skipped past the fact that he assumed that I was interested and went straight to the fact he said "Babies" as in plural. I had to ask. Two babies, two different mothers. But I don't judge.

Moving on.

He's funny, he's cool, no harm no foul. We decide that we're going to skip past the couches and going to chill at his house. Trust me. I don't go to random people's house, I had learned my lesson by then, but you know entre-po-negroes...they like to show off. So when he's paying for the bill I notice that he's credit card heavy. Not like two or three, more like six or seven. Now my first mind would have taken me to a credit card scammer, but I said give him a chance, he is a "business person."

So, of course we get to his spot and it's in Battery Park and decked OUT. No like, something out of MTV cribs with a sick view of Jersey. TV's (plural) in the living room, balcony...I'm talking plush carpeting. It's like one of those places you can see yourself walking around looking fab in heels and a long silk robe like you're Tony Montana's wife or something...

So anyway, as I pass the kitchen counter I see bills. Stacks and stacks of bills. How do I know? You haven't figured out by now I'm nosy?? So I'm thinking to myself how is this dude affording all this crap if he can't pay his bills??

Drugs? Credit Cards Scams?

Ahhh, whatevs....So we watch this movie and the whole time I'm thinking like what the heck does this dude do? I mean I've seen his business, but it's not doing that well from what I could tell. Not enough for this sub zero in the kitchen.

I over think everything and I've already decided that he's a notorious drug dealer and leave it at that. I pull the well, I've got a million things to do tomorrow line and ask to be taken home. When we get downstairs, we go over to where he had parked his truck. It's not there. So he's like cursing, like where the heck is my truck. He's like looking around with the shrug face...confused...and then he gets this enlightened face and says..."Oh no it must've gotten towed...I knew I shouldn't have parked there."

*Raised eyebrow*

I look around like I think this is a legal park, but you know I don't drive in NY so I'm not going to assume, I see a sign down there, but I want to support him in this moment and not go reading signs, you know men don't like to be wrong.

So he gets it together and I'm like "Well the West Side impound place or whatever is right there, you wanna cab it over and just go pick it up"?

So he gets all chivalrous like, "Nah, nah, it's already late, I'm sorry I'm just going to put you in a cab and then I'm a take another one to go get it."

We go back towards the corner and he hails a cab. "How much you think it is"? So I tell him about $20-30 and he pulls out this money from his wallet that looks like its been folded in there for months as if he's holding onto it for dear life.I felt so bad, but had to hold my composure from laughing.

He tells me he will call me later, and I pull off.

Before I got to my house I ran back the night in my head. You know where we parked, how there was no other cars towed....all the bills. And like the great detective I am. I cracked the case.

His truck was repossessed not towed maaaaaaan *Martin voice*

I never said anything though...I think I might've asked him how did it go getting his "truck" out of the tow pound and he came up with something....but we went out a couple more times but you know how it goes...things fade when they aren't real.

The Friend's Friend

Okay okay, so everyone has been telling me, "BRING BACK THE BLOG."

There are a couple more stories that I couldn't write before because well--I was dating them...but ah have no fear. Now that I've washed my hands with that foolery, we can move on. As a matter of fact--now that I'm writing again I'm laughing because there a couple more FUNNY stories I'm forgetting.

Anyway, The friend's friend. I know what you're here we go. So let me break it down. My friend was talking to this guy...adorable. Like really adorable. Had a lot going for his self. You know self employed (no not a promoter), had his own place (not in his parent's basement), somewhat smart (don't ask), but you know good socioeconomic background. And was adorable.

The relationship between him and my friend was sketchy. She was actually just a girl I knew from going out but I never quite got the details and wasn't for sure if there were elements that I should know (i.e., did they smash, did they talk, etc.) So when I saw him in my store at the time, I didn't quite know how to react. Fast forward he invited me to dinner, so I said (to myself), "Self...Yes..Is this a direct violation of the unwritten rule not to mess with any of your friend's friends"?

Self answered that everybody has to eat. (I'm not that shallow) (LIES!)

So first of all, he calls me for dinner and tells me to call up a friend...and why? Because he's with his friend. Mind you dude is in a whole different car also. First turn off. If it's a first date no man should have any friends, relatives, etc joining you, well unless you guys are just hanging out. So then, I thought to myself well you're right, maybe we are just hanging out and I shouldn't think anything of it. *Kanye shrug*

I call up one of the homegirls and we head over to this Hibachi spot. Now. If you for example, frequent a local spot and for example your friends go there often too, and for example you have a BITTER BITTER relationship with your probably shouldn't bring anyone else there.

But he did. And low and behold...his ex and her birds--I mean friends are there. So you know how it goes. The looks, the whispers, the laughter, the nose turning, the smart comments (and this was just from me and my friend). Thank God I'm not interested like that in this kid. But she doesn't have to know that.

I ask him in my innocent sweet voice, "Well if you're uncomfortable, do you just want to leave"?

"Nah, that b!tch is mad."

Second turn off. I mean I can bad mouth the girl, but I don't want you doing it in front of me. We grab this seat WAY in the back and are enjoying dinner. So all throughout the dinner his phone is going off. And he has to text back of course. So I'm shaking my head eating my shrimp like Lord, please just get me out of this one because I know that it's them going back and forth. I'm like Lord, I just want to get the rest of this rice and be about my business.

So we make it to the end of the meal and we're leaving out. As we're standing there me and my girl are giggling like only I could be put in these positions. His friend is standing there too attempting to be a "G" and not gossip but wants to stick up for his friend anyway. The Friend's Friend goes to get the car and dun, dun, dun...who walks outside. Yep. The Ex.

So she's with her friends and I'm just thinking Lord, please don't let this girl get rowdy. But no, I must pay for this frivolous free meal.

He pulls up and I don't know if it was the liquor or her instigating friends but something rose up in her body and all I could hear was a tirade of curses in the thickest New York accent, "N this, F that, B this, AIIIGGGHT?? Mutha F her, You's a Punk, B...." and him, "B STFU! this, that and the other...."

Me and my friend are standing there mouths wide open and all we can do is laugh. His friend is attempting to separate this nut from his car where she is slowly approaching and the next thing out her mouth,

"You can keep his ass...he gave me something anyway."


Dinner done. Even his friend turned around like...come on. I'll take y'all home.

Only in NYC.

The Papa Bear, Part V

It's only fair that if I'm going to come back I come back with him right? I've gotten beat up for the past few months on how, why and where the heck is the blog. I've been....busy. We'll get to that.

So, where did I leave off with this?

Ahh yes. Homegirl. In the store. Crying. *Rolls eyes*

Soooo...wait did I mention how his cousin is in there with her telling all they business?? Yes. She was.

"Oh they were talking about kids...I feel sorry for both of y'all."

Really? So I give homegirl the look like babygirl, there's nothing further for us to discuss and they leave. Soooo, I pick up the phone. I call him to tell him that this was NOT acceptable. He's like "I know, I know." I tell him how his cousin was spilling the beans and I hear him pick up the "other" phone.

"Really?? You finished, you gone take her up there and you gone go in there"??

Blah. Blah. Blah. He's cussing his cousin out. I'm sitting on the other line thinking to myself like how in the WORLD did I get myself into this.

We hang up and I'm still mid shock and call Misha. Not two minutes into the phone call. His cousin is stomping back up the stairs screaming and crying at me...

"You told my cousin what I said, how could you tell him what I said, I was just saying I felt sorry for both of y'all"

Here we go. I reply, "I simply repeated exactly what you told me."

She's crying, I'm looking crazy, the girlfriend is looking dumb and I'm wondering what the next move is. As Misha is yelling into the phone, I hang up with her and the store phone rings.

"Hi, this is her mom, The Papa Bear just told me that she and homegirl is in there. Call the police on them. I'm her mom and if they want to act grown, call the police. She saying how she done with him then be done. You'll be fine."

She hangs up. At the moment a neighbor comes into the store and is like is everything alright? I let him know that these ladies were leaving and he gave me the white boy, I'm scared too look and they left.

My heart...was officially on the floor. Not only am I the only person there, but he's no where to be found (hiding) and mind you--it's Christmas Eve...