The Headline

Match.com requires users to write an introductory blurb about themselves before posting descriptions into their individual Match.com profiles.

I was slightly annoyed that I didn’t have an option about writing a headline, so I just wrote the first thing that came to mind: “Headlines are Corny.” Initially, I had planned to go back and change it; but as time has gone on, I’ve come to really like my word choice because I think it gives a nice peek into my real personality.

I’ve also realized that I’m more inclined to converse with a guy if he comes across a bit silly and lighthearted in his profile… and the first way to make that impression is in the headline.

Generally, speaking, serious headlines appear devoid of humor and uptight.

Take Jesus Boy for example, whose headline reads:

“Educated, happy, fit, man of God.”

Hated it.

Or another fellow who writes:

“Chivalrous Southern Gentleman”

Hated it again.

Off the bat, you’re selling yourself too hard with headers like that. This isn’t a used car showroom. No matter how you dress it up, I’m not purchasing the Nissan Cube.

My top 3 favorite headlines so far:

1. “Na”

Reading this literally made me laugh aloud. For some reason, in my mind, I read it in a Jay-Z accent and added words to create the following sentence: “Nah, son…I’m good on writing a headline. Fall back.” Based on my mental transformation, his two letter narrative professed extreme swag and so, when he emailed me, I replied.

Simple as that.

So far, this 27-year-old investment banker who lives in Chicago, looks very attractive. He’s not the best conversationalist over match.com emails, but I guess that was to be expected based on his two-letter introduction of himself.

Wait…maybe he meant “Na” like “not applicable.”

Regardless, I think the description was a solid choice. I’ll be interested to see how our conversations develop.

2. “I should put something smart and funny here but instead I’m just going to keep writing till I fill up the character limit. I have 9 more ch”

Loved it.

This guy also made me laugh aloud in his first email message. He had winked at me two days prior, and I had decided not to wink back. With the flood of winks, likes, and emails that I have been sifting through, the cuteness of his pictures hadn’t provided enough leverage to catapult him to the top of my match.com priority list, so I had skipped over his greeting and put him in the “not so much” pile.

Two days later, he emailed me with the subject line, “It’s not right to not wink back! LOL” And then the body of his email went on to joke about how he was so impressed with my profile that he had used two eyes to wink at me instead of just one…and how he was sincerely hurt that I failed to reciprocate his advance. The entire email body was really quite witty and cute; so I replied, suggesting that if he had, in fact, used two eyes to wink at me, then perhaps he was actually sleeping at the time, in which case, no wink would have actually occurred at all.

And so our game of ping-pong banter began. And so far, it’s so good.

3. “Bacon…”

Any friend of bacon is a friend of mine.

nom nom nom nom

Practical Tips for Taking and Sending Suggestive Pics

In anticipation of the weekend (because doesn’t the weekend really start on Thursday night for most?), just thought I would send a few helpful nuggets for taking quality, seductive (which can, but is not limited to meaning nude, partially nude, or suggestive) pictures for SMS or iMessage transmittal.

  1. Do not use your camera phone.
  2. Prop your laptop on your bathroom counter, turn on your webcam, and pose in front of it.  This eliminates the use of a bathroom mirror and prevents your crooked arm that’s holding the phone from being all over the top half of the photo (which looks extra ratchet and basic).  The webcam makes for a much classier shot.
  3. If you plan to stand up in the pic, (recommended for the most flattering look), wear heels, even if they won’t be showing.  This lengthens your legs and helps with your posture.
  4. Lean against a wall or doorway. I don’t know why, but it just seems sexier. Also, suck in your stomach (not so much that your ribs show though, because that looks wack) and poke your derriere upwards if you are facing sideways. If you are facing forwards, extend your hip out to the side in a Shakira-esque fashion.
  5. If you plan to be sitting or laying down in the picture, I don’t really have any advice for how to not make your stomach look lumpy.
  6. Don’t say “cheese!”  A simple smirk or a slightly opened mouth will do the trick.  Oh, also tilt your head to the side a little bit.  This looks sexy as well. But don’t tilt it too much or you’ll look confused.
  7. Take at least 8 photos so you have various options to choose from.
  8. Depending on your comfort level with the person to whom you are sending the pics, crop out your head and any identifying features out of the photo.  With the Internet and social media these days, you never can be too careful. (which is probably why you shouldn’t be sending this suggestive picture AT ALL, but hey…  YOLO!)
  9. Text these 8 photos to a girlfriend who doesn’t mind seeing your naked or quasi-naked body.  Ask her to help you pick the top 2 pictures.
  10. Wait for your friend to tell you to send the most nude out of the 8 choices that you have to sent to her.
  11. Tell your friend that you’re worried these pics may end up on Wordstarhiphop.
  12. Believe your friend’s reassurance that they won’t.
  13. After the two of you narrow down the best photos, thank your friend for telling you that your titties and ass (TNA)  look great, no homo.
  14. Try editing the photo with any edit features you may have on your phone or any photo filter app in your phone (NOT Instagram because your TNA will be on blast to the whole world)  to optimize the sex appeal of the photo.
  15. Now send a text message with your top two pictures to the desired recipient.
  16. Before pressing the send button, ensure that you have the correct phone number and person in the “To” section.
  17. Check again.
  18. Press send.
  19. (Now it’s time for the clean up.) Delete the pictures from your text message history (to your friend as well as to your desired recipient).
  20. Delete the picture from your camera roll in your phone.
  21. If you use Apple products, be sure to erase the pictures from your photostream as well as your camera roll so they don’t show up on your iPad, Macbook, and iPhone simultaneously.
  22. If you emailed the picture to yourself from your laptop, delete it from your “sent,” “inbox,” and “trash” folders.
  23. Wait anxiously for your desired recipient to respond to you.
  24. Schedule a booty call.
  25. Wonder what you’re doing with your life.
  26. Shrug and say, fuck it.
  27. Grab your keys and walk out the door.

Have a great weekend!!

Goodnight Moon, Goodnight Mom

In the great green room there was a telephone and a red balloon and a picture of…

Mom: “Dr. Oz says the optimum age to have a baby is 30 years old.”

So random that I would receive this text from my mother out of nowhere at 10:30 pm …but then again, I am my mother’s child…and as random as her text message was, is as random as this blog post now becomes.

Here we go…

In the last two years, I’ve come to emphatically advocate that every major life decision be postponed until the age of 30…i.e. marriage, children, and major career investments, if possible.

And by advocate, I mainly mean bitch to my friends about how I should have waited to do mad shit like get engaged all those times (more on that later) and become a lawyer until I knew what the fuck I really wanted to do with my life.

Oh, I also tend to predict how I will dictate to my daughter NOT to pay hundreds of thousands of dollars for a graduate program that she’ll probably be over four years later, have kids, OR get married prior to age 30 (hmmm, maybe 28 because she’s so mature).

But that’s really of no consequence, as she’ll probably have ceased taking my opinion by then and be doing a more sophisticated version of the tuning out that she does to me now.

More than anything, I hope she spends her 20’s frolicking aimlessly throughout Europe and then backpacking around East Asia…only to come back at 30, speaking various different languages, eating really weird foods, practicing yoga religiously, and talking about how “America just doesn’t get it.”  I want her to be as randomly prosperous as her little heart will allow…and if I can afford her the luxury of stalling some of those pesky “adulthood” responsibilities until she reaches 30…I intend to do that.

Life, as we know it, is long..and there will be ample time for stress-having, bill-paying, child-rearing, wish-you-were-husband-stabbing moments.

Besides, by 30 she’ll likely be ready to come back the states, marry a handsome gent, complete a Ph.D program, start having my grandchildren, and begin healing the world.

No pressure.

Serious question though: Why is there all of this pressure from society to have “accomplished” so many things by the age of 30?

  • Kinda takes the fun out of your 20’s if you ask me…
  • Kinda makes me feel guilty for all of the drunken nights and walks of shame that were happening in my mid-twenties that apparently should have ceased after college graduation…
  • Kinda makes me wonder if 30 is really the new 20 or if that was just some catchy slogan coined by the media to keep us all dooped.
  • Kinda makes me think this whole societal construct is some gotdamnmotherfuckingbullshit.

I am basically an entirely different person at 30 than I was at 25 …and 21…and luckily so.

Especially because for some reason, at 17, I envisioned my 30 year old self married with 2 children (one more to be had at some unspecified date in the future) enjoying a booming career, eating breakfast in the nook of my tudor style home with craftsman wood finishing, and buying new glittery collars for my golden retriever named Paisley.  And, had I known to wish for it at the time, I would have assumed myself to be having earth shattering good sex every night as well. *pause*

Mmmm, ain’t that some shit? (insert remainder of  Po Pimp lyric here for those of y’all that are feeling me out there!)

It all sounded good then…but now…those set of goals sound like I was setting myself up to hate myself and to hate everything about my current life; whiiiiich is actually really unnecessary considering my life is relatively more awesome than most.

(Your life probably is also…especially if you have the luxury of free time to sit and read this random ass, pretentious blog on your fancy laptop or smartphone…and then go check your groupme or facebook feed.)

But I digress …

Why do we create this trap?!

Prior to 30, you literally know nothing about who you are.

Argue this point with me if you want, but I’ll counter every argument. The reality is that we (30somethings) still don’t know anything about ourselves or how to deal with our emotional issues and hang-ups, but at least we have more money (allegedly) and more life experience than we did at 24, and hopefully some tools to start making progress in the right direction.

These life tools should, I conjecture, help to counter the effect of our daddy abandonment issues, middle child syndromes, diseases to please… and whatever other issues and insecurities that we should be working through on our therapist’s couch instead of our boyfriend’s shoulders…

Not to say that its impossible to be happy having made those major life decisions prior to the big 3-0 because clearly I love my life, but, with an introspective look, I am most assuredly more finely in tune with me at 30 than I was when I became a mother at 23.

In fact, I giggle at the little girl  who so adorably thought she had it all figured out… and I scoff at the society that brainwashed me (and most of us) into thinking that there was some race we were clawing to finish before reaching this most exciting life milestone of three-zero.

And so all of this ran through my mind before replying to my mother’s text with these three words:

Me: “Lol. I agree!”

And yet, my thought process hadn’t been the direction my mom was going at all…

Mom: “Well…that’s ok…we have Sydney…and his guest had her first child at 42 AND second at 44…its abt how you take care of your body…see you still got 14 more years…except I don’t know how you will explain to Sydney at 21 why her mom is still having sex.”

Ha!

Silly mommy, tricks are for kids…

Me: “Well…I guess I should do it the same way you’re going to explain to me why you’re still having sex and I’m 30.”

Mom: “LOL!!!  Goodnight Kristen. I love you.”

Me: “Goodnight to you too mom. Love you.”

…and goodnight noises everywhere.

Mister Jesus, I’d Love to be Your Queen

“You’re having a serious conversation with me about chakras and psychics… You realize you’re not about to have a relationship with Jesus Boy right?”

I laughed hysterically and said, “dude you’re totally right.”

But I had no idea then just how totally right she would be.

And so, I commenced to prepare for my Skype date with Jesus Boy…who had also affectionately been coined Christian Boy by myself and friends.

These nicknames seemed appropriate because of the following gems floating around on his profile page:

  • “First and Foremost I am a man of God. Nowadays that scares most women because there is a bad connotation that I must have a troubled past or I am boring.”
  • “I am currently one year celibate.”
  • Last Read: “Whew! Need to read more books because I enjoy it but currently only reading the Bible.”

To the average Jane Doe, these lines might have been an immediate turn on.  Something to make one say, “oh! He’s a good catch!” or “oh! What a nice, God-fearing man who isn’t just trying to get my goodies.”

A bitch like me? Nah, not so much.

…I was seeing right through all that Maybelline…

Like yea, you say you aren’t lame….but um, you probably are.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m not walking around wearing WWSD (What Would Satan Do) bracelets or anything (although one of my daughter’s friend’s parents did slightly imply that we were devil worshippers when we invited her child to trick or treat in the neighborhood with us last year… So open-minded right?)

but I definitely identify more with the modern-day yuppie outlook of being more “spiritual than religious,” and accepting everyone’s religious faiths as equal, valuable, and valid. Furthermore, I definitely am not interested in anyone shoving his or her religious viewpoints down my throat.

You can miss me with all of that.

After reading Christian Boy’s profile, my intuition had me both confident and concerned that this fellow might be the type to brow beat me with bible verses on a daily basis and that’s just not my style.

However, his redeeming Internet qualities of using capital letters, punctuation, and emoticons to express excitement, as well as the fact that he had a cute face, coerced me into making the committed leap from virtual conversation into reality conversation over Skype.

And so here we sit….Skype date preparation for Moses.

Some important questions I asked myself while getting ready:

  • Why do I feel the need to take a shower before a Skype date?
  • Vaseline or lip-gloss?  Which will resonate best on webcam?
  • Tank top or t-shirt?  (My shoulders are kinda sexy though….)
  • Log into Skype at the specified date time or a few minutes early?
  • Why am I so perfect?

With these preliminaries taken care of, I sit down in front of my laptop, make a few sexy faces into my webcam to confirm that I look adorable, and I log into Skype.

He calls me….and the conversation begins, proceeds, and ends over the course of 1 hour and 43 minutes.

We begin with the typical formalities and I immediately notice his southern accent…not the sexy, gangsta T.I. southern accent that makes me want to drop down and get my eagle on; but more so that southern accent that makes me think, do you have chewing tobacco in your mouth?

I presume that had the accent been in the body of an elderly black woman, I would have found it endearing somehow…but with him, it mostly just got on my nerves.

Fast forward…

As predicted…30 minutes into the conversation, while eating his baked potato and lemon pepper chicken that he had just warmed up in the microwave (What in THE Fuck?!), he asks…

JB (Jesus Boy): So do you read?

Me: Yep, I read…. I’m not one of those people who has read every best-seller, but I definitely read.

His hand thoughtfully finds his chin and he says,

JB:  Mmm hmmm, so what are you reading currently?

Me: I’m working through a few books on my kindle right now…but I’m almost finished with a book by Deepak Chopra, “Buddha: A Story of Enlightenment.”  Pretty interesting. (For the record, I’ve also read “Jesus: a Story of Enlightenment“)

Well, I must have said something wrong, because Jesus Boy looks around discontentedly and replies…

JB: Well, have you ever read the Bible?

I freaking KNEW it! Here we go…

Me: I haven’t made it literally from cover to cover, but I’ve started doing that three or four times and I’ve gotten a little farther each time.  I’m familiar with the Bible though.

JB:  Well, um, (looks around judgingly), I highly recommend that you read it. Cover to cover. More than once.  I recommend that everyone read it at least three times so that you can really understand the word of God and start to feel good in your life.

Wait…how did we get to the presumption that I don’t feel good in my life?

Reminder: this is 30 minutes into “meeting” someone on Skype. Am I the only one who feels like this is really intense!?

I mean shit, I’m not hating on his love affair with King James, but come on…this is not how you begin an open, non-judgmental conversation with someone about their religious/spiritual beliefs…and that’s more my cup of tea (even thought I don’t like tea…but you know what I’m saying.)

I don’t even know your last name, Jesus Boy!!!…and you’re already evangelizing to me over Skype??

Ugh, I was immediately placed on the defense.

Silence

JB:  Soooo you’re not reading it all right now…like not on a daily basis?

Me: Nope.

… said with a purposefully defiant tone.

JB:  Do you even own a Bible?

Me: Um, yea…I own two actually.

Silence

JB: Well, yea, like I said, I recommend that you read it.

I knew I would never talk to him again.

Even more awkward silence

… 

JB:  You know, you’re so well-mannered.

Was this his attempt at a change of subject??!! 

At this point, the entirety of my attitude was completely fucked up…and I responded:

Me: Is that supposed to be a compliment?

JB: Of course it is…

Me: Well, It sounds like something I would say about someone’s dog or child….Sounds like something people say when you expect the exact opposite…(like when people say “oh!! you’re so articulate to be black.”)

JB:  No, I just meant you are really well-mannered.  I like that.

I still didn’t understand what the fuck he was talking about, but I just let it go. Perhaps he expected me to run around screaming and hollering over Skype or to start cursing, spitting, and sniffing my armpits.  I have absolutely no idea.

Regardless, I was anxious to log off Skype and go rip him to shreds with one of my many faithful, non judgmental friends on gchat.

I ended the conversation with him shortly after this “well-mannered” compliment.

Fail…

…after fail

…after fail,

Jesus Boy.

Luckily, the next day, while recounting the Skype date with my coworker, she helped me to see the glass half full.

“Hey, at least he wasn’t a pervert who got naked on camera and started masturbating on the screen!”

Maybe that’s what he meant by well-mannered.

Thoughts? 

 

Kendrick Lamar in the Morning

For a brief moment, I became distracted from my drive as I glanced into the back seat of my car and noticed the crusts of my six year old’s toast, her spoon, and her yogurt cup dancing along to the beat of Rihanna’s “Pour it Up.” In the past seven years, I’ve come to accept and be peaceful about the fact that my back seat is third cousin, twice removed to a garbage can. However, even the most customary of events can strike a nerve from time to time.

But, whatever.

A quick eye roll back to the road ahead of me and I was focused, man.

Make it to the carpool lane before 7:30am. Make it to the carpool lane before 7:30 am.

Seriously people! (and little innocent, unassuming children skipping to school)….get the fuck out of my way.

After 7:30 am, the crossing guards come out to help direct traffic. Once this power shift occurs, the obstacle of making my typical illegal left turn into the school carpool lane becomes nearly insurmountable. At which point, (sigh) I am forced to either drive NINE extra minutes down the street, turn around, and come up the correct side of the street OR park my car, get out, and walk her into school.

Even Sweet Brown wouldn’t have time for that. And frankly, neither do I.

Illegal left turn before 7:30am. This is my goal every morning.

Every.single.morning.

It’s my goal when I leave my apartment at 7:05am (I live a literal 3 minutes from the school) and it is my goal when I leave my apartment at 7:29 am (which is more often than not). No discrimination here.

Given my propensity to try to get two people ready and out of the house in approximately 13 minutes every morning, I’ve set an unattainable goal at best.

But mostly, I find that this goal shows my proclivity for overachieving and my flair for sticktoittiveness.

You can’t hate on me for that homie.

Having this mental thought process while driving, I felt a strange sense of empowerment as I turned into the carpool lane at 7:29!!!! Just as Rihanna finished pouring it up…

”That’s how we ball out” (Motherfucker!!!!)

Sincerely, I think it’s in good taste to add motherfucker as an audible exclamation point, if you will, to express joy and accomplishment and I seek to do it often. If its uncomfortable for you initially, start with a silent expression and work your way up to a verbal expression. Either way, it’s well worth the hallelujah moment.

Carpool lane accomplished.

And just like that, the tone was set for a day of greatness…a day filled with the grandeur and thought-provoking qualities of those inspirational quotes and memes that people post to instagram and facebook.

A day that, as Ghandi might say, I could be the change I wished to see in the world.

And so as I made my way out of the school parking lot, feeling good, feeling great…I turned my attention back to V-103, where no song was playing and instead the reporter (or whatever they’re called on the radio) was reporting that the Census Bureau is planning to stop using the word “negro” in its census data and her feelings on that.

Bitch, don’t kill my vibe.

Clearly I’m riding on the high of my carpool success (motherfucker!!!!) and now what? I have to be subjected to this early am racial diatribe about how the Census Bureau has used “negro” since the 1900’s and has just fiiiiinally decided to remove the terminology in 2013?

I don’t need this shit.

You know why? Oh, for a myriad of reasons I suppose…

  • Because my favorite cousin calls me militant.
  • Because yesterday, a man looked at my afro and told me, “Have a good day sister.”
  • Because I grew up in Birmingham, AL.
  • Because I can connect six dots to bring every modern day racial injustice back to slavery.
  • Because the little panther in me won’t let me ignore these type conversations without judging myself and wagging a nagging, disapproving finger.

But you know what? I won’t do it this morning.

I will not let this bitch kill my vibe. Furthermore, I will not let AMERICA kill my vibe.

Who gives a fuck if I’m a negro to the Census Bureau? I just made an illegal left turn into the carpool lane before 7:30 am.

“Motherfucker!!!!!!” …said audibly and ostentatiously as I merged back onto the highway, changed the channel to Star 94.1, and let Bruno Mars serenade me to work.

What Just Happened?

I just got stood up…virtually.

Mark was supposed to email me back yesterday to let me know where we were meeting for lunch today.

His words on Friday night:

“Sure. Sunday is good for me . Is 1 or 2 ok with you . I’ll look around and let you know where we can meeet by tomorrow. .”  (I left that lack of question mark and extra period at the end of the last sentence to keep the integrity of his message.)

And yet, no email from Mark.  And seeing that it is now Sunday at 12:14 pm, his window of opportunity has now expired for staying in my email rotation.

And so we press onward and upward into Match.com day 6. I shall not be moved.

As an aside, I promise that online dating isn’t the only thing I’ll blog about…but hey, it’s my new thing…and you know how it is when you buy new shoes, you have to wear them the very next day.

Back to Mark:

In all honesty, I’m not too disappointed about Mark.  There was always the unresolved issue regarding his teeth; and, where he failed to produce a date location in the last 8 hours, I have been rewarded with comedic attempts at saying hello and sparking conversation by a few men.  Laughter goes a long way.

Unfortunately, they both fell into categories that I can’t budge on:

bad grammar:

“hey there how you ? i m noah , i think u cute and i would like to get to know you …”

Capital letters and appropriate possessives sir!  Oh and then ending your first message with those dirty slut of ellipses…no.you.did.not.

Next.

jacked teeth: (I debated putting the user’s picture up here, but because I feel thats wholly ignorant, suffice it to say that I was literally aghast when seeing his face and teeth.) Bless his heart.

His opening line was actually nice. With a different face/teeth combination, I would have been able to reply back.

“Hi, You have a nice profile. How are you? Rafiki”

Isn’t word association crazy? Does the name Rafiki make anyone else think of the mandrill who served as the narrator in the Lion King?  I don’t think that association helped this gentleman’s attempt (assuming, of course, that the attempt could have been helped) but that’s irrelevant now.

Lastly, in keeping with the idea of not being wholly ignorant, I will keep my opinions of the visual similarities of these two Rafikis to myself.

Yikes.

Who’s up next?

Welcome to the Jungle

Have I mentioned that this entire Match.com fiasco is actually a mitigation technique to steer my mind away from another individual that I don’t want to get sprung on?

No? Well, now you know.  You having that information is probably vital to your appreciation of this journey.

You’re welcome.

(Yes, I think this is a completely healthy way to deal my feelings. You probably do it also, but don’t admit it on your blog about fashion and black people politics. I, on the other hand am dealing with my emotions!)

But, I digress.

Last week we were sitting at the bar. I’m playing it cool. Because I am cool. The third glass of Hennessy and coke is happening.  (Ahhh…Hennessy, my long lost love child that I’ve just recently been reconnected with in the last 18 months.)

Back on task…

He ups the ante.

Let’s have a round of 1800.

My brain says, “Oh leh do it!”

My mouth verbalizes, “Sure, why not?”… because I’m cool.

Why am I doing this to myselfffffff?

And so thirty minutes later, my hand goes to my head, and I stumble to the bathroom to get my life together.  I’m a graceful drunk, but luckily, I have on flats.

He smirks… thinks its adorable….

He wins.

And so, here we are, two hours later, while in the middle of professing my love to this man that I’ve convinced myself in soberdom that I am completely OVER, I decide that I need to join match.com.

30 has really brought on a wave of maturity.