Posts Tagged ‘black’

So there’s a certain Facebook datin group with which I’m associated and has a chapter devoted to it in a new book that’s coming out this year (I will advise when it’s out) and I was looking back on the early days of the group and dug out this old gem. I think it’s time to reinstate Bougie Black Macking Week. So many people are off complaining that they can’t find a man/woman/midget to marry/date/sodomize that I think now’s the perfect time to go out and get it in. Here are some tips I posted for the ladies back in ’07 when the economy was good, but I think they’re just as relevant as they are today (Unfortunately, I still think my boot cut True Religions are too, but that’s just cause I can’t get with this skinny jean shit.) Enjoy and report back your successes:

Since clearly I hit a nerve with the last note, and it seems like there’s a genuine thirst among the bouges to seek out and find a suitable bougie partner, I am declaring the week beginning Friday August 21 and ending Labor Day Monday to be the 1st annual Black Bougie Macking Week. Come on, fellow paper-baggers! This is your chance to throw down that Principles of Tort Law, sign off your company’s VPN, and turn your Blackberry off! It’s macking time! With that said, I’m going to open up the floor for game tips to the opposite sex, since I’ve been told by a number of my female friends who are eligible, smart, and very attractive, that they don’t know how to attract a dude in a social setting, even though I know good dudes that would happily date them. I also know a couple chicks who will turn every dude down in the club and wind up crying on the way back to the car about how lonely they are. So here are a couple tips and tactics for YOU, ladies. And feel free to share what you got for our male audience. I’m sure they’ll appreciate it and so will the fembouge who ends up meeting ol’ boy

1. Smile.

Simplest game in the book. If you look fun and happy, dudes will holla. Most men, whether they admit it or not, fear rejection when they open up a conversation with a woman. Unless they got that good liquor courage in them, in which case, who gives a damn. But if you want sober dudes to talk to you, look like you want to get talked to. If a guy who might be worth your while is checking you out, acknowledge, and give him the green light. This doesn’t make you easy, or less of a challenge, it just means fewer people will pass you by. Crossed arms and an “I’d rather be somewhere with richer dudes than you” look is going to make dudes think “She’d rather be somehwere with richer dudes than me.”

2. Leave the hating ass friend at home.
Listen, I know y’all came together, y’all gonna leave together, ok. But does it help anyone to have her yanking you away from old boy in mid-conversation or beginning of conversation? I know, sometimes, she has to come because she’s your best frind, cousin, ride, etc., but at least give the hateful trollop a good talking to beforehand. I know, “let’s go, these niggas are wack” is a real convincing statement, but if you disagree, show some backbone and tell that monkey to relax.

3. Stop herding.

I mean really, how many dudes are going to fight through all eight of y’all clustered in the middle of the dance floor to talk to you? Statistically, at least 25% of your crew falls into the aformentioned category, so that means a dude has to take down at least two gatekeepers before he gets to you. Think Special Forces, not 81st Infantry type numbers. Two to four in one area is a cool little number to roll with. And stop being so scared to split up. The club aint that big and y’all have unlimited text messaging, you’ll be able to find her. You can find a quiet spot to chop it up with a new friend, and no one’s going to kidnap and sodomize your friend for the five minutes you’re gone.

4. Realize we don’t shotgun mack
Unlike those lucky dudes with do-rags and XXXXXL t-shirts in Adams Morgan, we don’t have the luxury of grabbing every single one of y’all’s arms with a well-timed “A bay bay.” Because of the clusterfuck, we have to be real selective or we end up crossing lines with some chick we had no idea was your (insert bougie association here). Thus, you have to be a little more cooperative if this is going to go anywhere. (See rule 1) Otherwise, it’ll just end up being polite conversation.

5. Leave work at work
Tyler Durden is not his khakis. You are not your job title. Hopefully, you have interests, activities, wants, and dreams that stretch further than getting a corner office with an Eames couch. Talk about that, not about how you went to xxxx and now do xxx and are planning to go to xxx so you can get an xxx degree which will allow you to move into xxx. And let’s all cut out the education/career one upmanship.

6. Flirt
It’s fun, try it!

Ladies, what do you want us guys to do better?

So I’ve heard more and more black women of our generation refer to themselves in some capacity or other as “socialites.” What I take that to mean is ladies who have a full social calendar of events, fundraisers, and parties to go to, in an attempt to be socially meaningful. Kind of Gossip Girl meets My Sweet Sixteen meets The Hills, I guess. Are these women aspiring to a long-standing woman’s dream? Or are they sinking themselves into a game of worthless trifles? We’ll discuss when I get back. In the meanwhile:

Cracking the Black Socialite Code

and to illustrate what I’m talking about:

Vodpod videos no longer available.

There’s no escaping it. It is the blob of our generation. The sweet smell of rock to a crackhead. That one last job that Don Logan made Gal do in Sexy Beast. Our version of “just when you think you’re out, they pull you back in.” Of course I’m referring to the two degrees of separation (max) that seems to separate every black person with a college degree in this country. The Clusterfuck was again brought to my attention when I was checking out another blog. Another commenter picked up on that we went to the same school, knew the same people, and more than likely, know each other. So how does this affect dating within the professional black world?

First, the positives: It’s easy to meet people because so many people know each other. Looking to date someone? Chances are your boy is friends with a chick who has a couple single girlfriends, you all go out for drinks at Coco Sala or Trois or Caftereia or whatever’s hot in your city and chop it up. Cool. Need to do a background check? My homegirl’s sister went to law school with old boy. I’ll let you know what comes up. Need to track down that cute girl that you were eyefucking with all night at the Hillman Black Alum party but didn’t get a chance to get her number because she left early? No problem. Me and her used to be cut buddies a couple years ago and we’re still cool. I’ll set up the intro.

Sounds great, no? An ever-expanding network of like-minded potential friends and lovers. What could be wrong with that?

Plenty. Like to hear it, here it go.

A friend of mine in law school once mentioned to me how she and her black friends at the school made a pact hen they came in that they would only date two black dudes in the school for their entire three years. Knowing how small the world is, they attempted to hedge the possibility of getting the “Slut” tag the only way they knew how: By instituting an arbitrary number. One of the biggest problems with the clusterfuck isn’t that everyone knows each other. it’s that everyone THINKS they know each other. They know a little bit about each other, and most of that comes from hearsay and reputation. So the natural thing for many people to do is armor themselves up with a carefully crafted PR message. Instead of feeling free to be themselves, warts, crazyness, bad musical taste, and all, there’s this diamondcutting pressure to walk the straight line in hopes of preserving a positive or desirable message for people they don’t even know yet.

And wo can blame them. I know way too much about a lot of people I don’t even know. I can tell you whose pussy stinks (at least it did 8 years ago, but you know how these rumors stick), who’s a closet homosexual, who gives good head, and who’s a gold-digger. Have I ever met any of these individuals personally? Nope. Or maybe in passing. But I know people who know them, and word on the street moves fast. And unlike they say in Carlito’s Way, if there’s one thing you can trust, it ain’t word on the street. So what if you were who you aren’t now? What if after having sex with most of the football team, you’re a reborn Christian? What if you used to be a gagster wannabe but you wised up? What happens when you grow up, basically? Are you still at the mercy of what the street says you were? I dunno.

The other problem is, ironically, the more people you know who know each other, the fewer people you can date. There’s no fresh meat anymore. It’s like 90210 with waves and weaves. Brenda fucked Dillon who fucked Kelly who fucked Brandon who fucked….but replace them with names like Jamaal, Tiffany, Sheretha, Keisha, and the occasional Lamar. I mean, do you really want to start a relationship with a woman who will have had sex with three or more of the dudes (and reportedly a chick) that are going to be at y’all’s wedding? That can create some pause. I dated a really great girl once who used to be cut buddies with a good friend of mine. I, in turn, dated a girl in college who she’s really good friends with. We didn’t have a title or anything and it was pretty light, but I do have to wonder, would we both have taken it more seriously if we hadn’t had the comingled relationship history we did. Who knows. I asked her what she thought about it once, and she said, sometimes she just shook her head. In her mind, it was like, “oh that’s just…., that humorous dude I went to school with.”

I think this is especially damaging for women’s dating prospects. While women can get over their beau having had a past relationship with one of their female friends, I don’t think the male ego is really built to take that. We’re a possessive gender and the idea that some dude we know “had” what we consider “ours” is a tough pill to swallow. I know women who have married guys that have fucked their friends. I don’t know guys that have done the same. And since women are constantly harping about the lack of qualified male suitors, it almost feels a little unfair to urther push that number down by disqualifying these women from competition because they might have had a certain kind of relationship with someone you have a relationship with.

I had a situation where a woman I had a very undefined relationship with maybe wanted a little more than that. I knew some dudes who she had dated before, and that didn’t really bother me. Although in retrospect after I learned about one, who I’m really close to, that kind of destroyed any possibilties that could have existed. But I’m friends with some of her good female friends. And I knew if we went crashed and burned (which eventually we did, spectacularly I might add), that would put us in a tug of war with them. since we both knew these friends before we really got to know each other, that’s a lot of potential fall out. After she and I parted ways romantically, she ended up dating one of my boys. And didn’t tell him, which I strongly encouraged her to do. It’s one thing if he knows and he’s cool with it. Even if he’s not cool with it, she knows where he stands. But is there anything worse than getting blindsided by the fact that a dude you kick it with on the regular used to mash down your woman? That’s not a good way to find these things out. After him, she moved on to a friend of, get this, both of ours. She told Dude 3 about me and Dude 2, but still kept Dude 2 in the dark about the both of us. Eventually, she was out with Dude 3 and Dude 2 happens to be in the same place. Awkwaaaaaaard. Now, imagine the three of us didn’t know each other. How cool would that be for her that she could have dated any of us independently and not have to deal with any of the interpersonal relationships we had? But try finding three pofessional black dudes in the same city who don’t know each other. Godspeed.

This all of course, gets even worse with the advent of social networking websites. What mystery there was about someone is pretty much dead after you see them tagged huddled up in the corner of the club with your boy in the facebook album “2003 Spring Break.” You can draw your own conclusions. My homeboy 2.0 loves to say “your friends aren’t my friends.” It’s his attempt to keep worlds separate, I imagine, but it’s kind of like King Leonitas trying to beat back all those fucking Persians. Eventually, the phalanx pretty much has to give, and your friends will follow his friends on Twitter.

So yeah, do I have a solution for any of this? Nope. But maybe you do. Feel free to comment and let me know how y’all get around it.