Dateless While Female

Dating is a disaster. It’s like a Nightmare on Elm Street – Friday the 13th type of thing shit. Dateless While Female has become my own personal movement. I think I’m too “intoxicated by love” to handle the reality of my dating demise. When I was in my twenties, dating was a breeze … it was smooth sailing. Now, dating has become too much of a chore for some men and women … easier (for them) to swap pubes and saliva … then call it quits the next morning.

I haven’t been on a date in years (I speak of an actual date)-more like five years (he calls to ask if I’m excited-me not knowing he’s just right outside the door; he’s at my door with a smile so big I can strategically count all of his pearly white teeth; he searches through his dark blue jean pockets with trembling hands and presents me with a small trinket size box-I open it to discover a hand written note, Tonight, I will be made whole because you are my better half; he hugs me and tells me I smell so divine; we walk together shoulder to shoulder to his vehicle; he opens the passenger door and sitting on the seat is a single yellow rose-he doesn’t close the passenger side door until he can sense my comfort; he scurries to the driver’s side and opens the door; he sits down, looks me in the eyes,  and utters, “You are so beautiful” right before kissing me oh so softly on my blushing cheek; he turns the ignition;  he pushes the buttons on the radio and suddenly our favorite song blasts through the car speakers, and he and I are now dancing in our seats and doing the “robot”). Ha Ha! I’m “drunk” (more like infatuated with fairy tales and love spells) as shit (not literally, only figuratively).

I often look at my phone (many times turning it off and then back on … Hell, is this thing on?) in hopes of receiving a random sentimental message (Good Morning Beautiful, Sweet Dreams Baby, I Miss You, Thinking of You, Can’t Wait to See You, I Love You). I’ve never been kissed in 2014 (he looks me in the eyes before our lips make sweet, passionate love). I know you’re thinking, WTH (What the Hell)! Well, Correcto! I have not kissed (or been kissed) by any human of the opposite sex this year (2014) – only licked on (and in) the ear by my female dog.

I’ve slept in my queen size bed alone for the past four years (no spooning, no cuddling, no exchange of morning breath, no rubbing, no dry humping, no early morning touching, no forking). The only pleasure I receive comes from BIMH (pronounced ‘IM-HA’ … the B is silent) better known as my “Boo in My Head.”

I would be lying if I told you that being single is the best thing that has ever happened to me. Being in a “singleship” with oneself does have a few perks, but I would love to make a smooth transition into the next phase of my life (into a relationship). And, I would be lying my ass off if I told you I was happy for all those “friends” on social media (primarily Facebook) who deliberately uploads a stream of photos of themselves with their boo;  changes their status from single to in a relationship; or always including their significant other in every damn post (me and ___ are watching the game, me and ___ are enjoying our cruise around the world, me and ___ are so in love … blah, blah, blah). Ugh! Stop throwing it in my face! Who gives a flip!! Yes, I am jealous! Middle finger to the computer and the iPhone screen.

Picks up iPhone, dials 626-5463 (MAN-LINE), and speaks, “Universe, can you hear me now?”

I am truly hoping to change the domain of my blog site from “Dateless in Carolina to “Dating in (Insert State other than Carolina).”

Happy 37th Birthday to Me

 Happy 37th Birthday to ME!

IMG_1571I was hoping to wake up with a “boner” on my back (leaving quite an indentation) or a kiss on my lips from my “boo in my head”… or maybe breakfast in bed with a “baby’s breath blue” Tiffany & Co. box under my Eggo waffle. Bah Humbug! Ha Ha! Instead, I rose from my bed, let out a tigress yawn, extended my arms, released an early morning surge of gas (oops, sorry … I had Chipotle last night), and inhaled explicable joy. I am undeniably thankful for life at 37 years young. I may not be where I want to be, but I’m positioned where I need to be. From this day forward I plan to LIVE … LIVE without fear of the unknown and LIVE without regret.

                          Happy 37th Birthday to ME!

 
IMG_1572

 

 

Friday Nights, No Lights, A Blanket, and Sex”less” in the City

I should be snuggling with a bare chest and boxer wearing hunk, but I’m lounging on the couch wearing oversized sweats, a black hoodie (zipped up to my neck), my dad’s old tube socks (the ones with the hole right at the big toe) and the “black girl” bonnet while wrapped in a wool army blanket. What else is a single woman to do on a cold and breezy fall night?

To help ease my pain from singleness, I have 1/2 a coffee mug of Haagen Dazs (attempting to watch my caloric intake) Mango Sorbet, a snack size box of raisins, cinnamon apple chips, and a gallon of water (sitting at room temperature). There’s no such thing as gluttony … it’s just an old wive’s term.

Triple Sigh! I’m watching a marathon of Sex in the City and wishing I had the power to escape my reality and transform into the ethnic Carrie Bradshaw. Hell, I would even be Samantha for a few seconds … minutes would turn me into a certified nymphomanic.

Sexless in the City is my newfound reality.

Southern White Men Hate Black Women

It is a known fact that I am (and have always been) attracted to the “other white meat” (and no, it’s not pork – I’m a vegetarian) aka Caucasian men. Blame it on my parents for teaching me (while growing up and maturing as a child) not to recognize color, but character.

Most of my preadolescent childhood was spent in a predominately white neighborhood (climbing magnolia trees, removing those prickly little things from my kinky textured hair, running to the mailbox in the rain with no shoes on, and camping out in the backyard). I experienced my first innocent crush in kindergarten. I recall standing by the art easels (minding my business) and painting a lady bug (well, it looked more like a beetle). And, this blond and blue-eyed boy asked me, “Do you taste like chocolate because your skin is brown?” I shrugged my shoulders and before I could completely turn back to my art project, he kissed me on the cheek. And, he then replies, “Yes, you do taste like chocolate.” I knew it was love. By the way, his name was Ray. And, till this day, my uncle still calls me “Ray Heart.”

Ray, if you’re still out there .. I’m single and available. This time I’ll kiss you back with a slight slip of the tongue.

As a child, I didn’t recognize a barrier or a difference in color until I was faced with a few racially motivated epithets … “You’re a n*****!” and “Go sit on the porch monkey!” One cannot truly understand what racism feels like until they have faced the communicable disease head-on. Racism is like poison that continuously flows through the veins of many folks … with no known antidote.

Living in the south and breathing the bittersweet country air can be annoying as hell. Many southerners are closed-minded and tend to follow a very straight and narrow path. Some tend to misquote biblical scriptures or verses (I know the Lord didn’t say that) only to mollify their tarnished little lives. And, this unjustified behavior is natively ingrained into the minds, hearts, and souls of both southern “white folk” and southern “black folk.”

Dating in the south … well, uh, yeah if you’ve read most of my posts you get the picture. Caucasian men don’t approach me or tend to look in my direction. I try almost everything to get their attention (stare them down until they feel uncomfortable; follow them around a store, event, or networking function; ask a rhetorical question-usually occurs if I’m at a sports bar or a popular eatery; or ask a friend to informally introduce me). I am only left shaking my head and releasing a long sigh of disappointment and rejection.

Some white men only view black women as “big booty whores” or “little black fantasies” or “bedroom projects.” Wait! Don’t start clapping or giving the dap my black brothers, you do the same thing shit. Always professing, “Oh, I cherish the beautiful black queen” only to turn around and ask a woman to bow down and get on her knees. I can only conclude with … men are men and of course, the obvious … southern white men hate black women.

As cliché as it may sound, love is truly blind; it releases passion, desire, affection, adoration, tenderness, admiration, intimate connections, sparks, and warm sensations …. love holds no color, religion or creed, sexual orientation (heterosexual, homosexual, bisexual, asexual, metrosexual, etcetera … etcetera), status, or any other superficial label.

 

To Be Continued …

Stepping Out on a Whim

As a woman growing up in the south, I was taught that men are the ultimate aggressors in the game of dating. Men are the “approachers” … the innocent attackers. They are the only gender to “get what they seek.” Well, I must disagree with the “morals of the land” (only in this aspect). We (women) can not only be the seekers, but we can be a little bit more aggressive in our approach; while still allowing the man to be the man. Usually when we (single women especially) see something of interest or something that attacks our psyche, we go after it (clothes, shoes, jobs, status, etc.) without hesitation. So, why can’t we apply that same eagerness to dating?

IMG_1480From personal experience, it seems that the guys who approach me are not what I would consider a fair match. And no, I’m in no way looking, hoping, praying, or wishing for Mr. Perfect. Just a man of substance … one whose first words out of his mouth aren’t, “Yo” “What’s up?” “Hey Little Mama” “You got a man” “Hey Sexy” “Can I take you home?”… I can go on, but I’m starting to get a headache (more like a migraine).

Yet, another long sigh … I miss those days when guys (some, not all) actually had a sense of adventure (rather than a compass and map to your bedroom), displayed chivalry (Can it even be resurrected?), conversed with your parents before going on a date (now, they just honk the horn or send a text … “I’m outside”), hugged you or kissed you on the forehead before they departed for the night (now, you must slap the piss out him because he tried to force his tongue down your throat), called the day after a date (Who created that damn 3 day rule?), and shared his feelings with you without shame (men still “cry” in the dark).

I have decided that I am stepping out on a whim … stepping out on faith. I’m flushing all those rules down the toilet. In order to get what you want, you must go after it. I shall remain a lady along this newfound journey. I am a woman who knows what she wants … well, at least I think I do.

Single Ladies, we must take control of our dating lives. Now, this does not mean for you to go out and start taking care of grown men. We are not trying to be a man’s mother figure … only his other half. We will approach a man of interest and conduct preliminary interviews. If we take some initiative, they may step their “weak and tired” game up.

I will create a follow-up post in a few months. Wish me luck!

Happy 1 Month Bloggerversay to Me!

IMG_1449.JPGI accomplished a goal this year … I wrote it down and made it happen. Regardless of where I may stand in the blogging world (being that I am new and an unknown blogger), I am ecstatic and full of joy. During my “one woman show” here on WordPress, I unearthed a stream of wisdom (experiences from past relationships and encounters) and created a few real-life sagas (displaying a slight comedic flair). I am most proud of one of my biggest accomplishments … Blogging from the heart.

You can do anything you desire to do! You can fly with the eagles … You can travel around the globe … You can love without fear! Carpe Diem!

I would like to sincerely thank those who have taken time out of their lives to visit my little community. It is still a work in progress. It’s a sense of relief for me … it’s like therapy.

Exciting things to come for 2015! I shall take this divine gift to unknown heights. This is only the beginning with no room for the end. Feel free to join the Dateless in Carolina family!  Like! Follow! Subscribe! Comment! Send a Sista on a Blind Date!

 

Yes My Dear, Women Fart Too

You may want to wear a gas mask while reading this post. I’m sure near the end you will smell a rather peculiar scent. Have you ever wondered how the hell a human can release such lethal toxins (into the air) from that miniscule hole between the cheeks of the buttock? I mean, that force of funk causes vibrations, sharp pains, burning sensations, unbecoming tunes, strange facial expressions, and smells that would clear a few rooms. Contrary to popular belief, the human fart is the best defense mechanism (against bratty children, obnoxious in-laws, nosey co-workers, and frenemies).

IMG_0871.JPG

A female fart is like no other bodily function. It’s like a “rumble in the Bronx” … It’s like a roar from a cowardly lion. Some men think women don’t “toot the horn” or “blast butt music.” Fellas, we can’t hold it in … we would explode only to be broken down into little women (with silent and deadly butt bombs).

Some women are too embarrassed or too ashamed to “let the gas out” … especially in the presence of their significant other. Honey, you better “rip the runway!” He’ll probably love you more … then again, he may leave your “stank” ass. Ha! Ha! Ladies, it’s natural and it’s okay to “poot.” It becomes a problem when you don’t. I mean the stench could exude through your pores (who wants to walk around smelling like day old gym socks or a loaded burrito that’s been sitting in your stomach for weeks). That daring and brave (I might add) “poot” could sneak out and leave a lingering odor (all eyes would be on you).

Yes my dear … Women fart too. Who are you going to call? Fart Busters? Let Go and Let Flow!