Posts Tagged ‘dating’

So the response was pretty much evenly divided. A few women actually admitted that some of their sisters (not them, of course) were so interested in the flashing lights that it would be to my benefit to be a bit ostentatious. It’s not that they necessarily think badly of these women. they’re not bad people, it’s just they’ve grown accustomed to certain things and like the trappings of success. They’re still educated, kind, do-right women. They’re just more attracted to 43mm Cartier Roadsters than they are to Swatches.

And who am I to really fault them for that. I’m a kind, educated do-right guy. And I’m more attracted to big butts and small waists than I am the converse. Doesn’t make me a bad guy. You could argue a little shallow, but hey, I like what I like.

A couple people blew me up for even making the claim that “some” women are into a little flash. They argued that those that would be swayed by cars, suits, botle service, etc, were just the kind of young and dumb status-chasers that I should be avoiding at all cost, no matter how cute and stout-butted they are.

So I decided to look back on my own general past and see what I could surmise from my own experience. So here it goes:

When I came out of college, I was making pretty much nothing. I started as a temp at a banking outfit and they liked me enough to hire me full time. it was a great entry=level position with a wonderful boss. And it paid terribly. I moved into my mom’s basement. Hot as hell in the summertime and cold as a witch’s titty in winter. But from a dating standpoint, I did just fine.

When I first moved to the city, I started dating an ex investment banker who worked for a major finance company. She was smart as the day is long, beautiful, and sarcastic. Just my type. She probably made double or triple what I made, had a luxury car, and a beautiful apartment. We fell apart because I think she was worried that I wasn’t as into her as she was into me. She was wrong, but nonetheless, it kiled the relationship.

After her, I dated a gorgeous slim chocolate older woman who had a child, and boobs the size of my head. It was exasperating taking her out because people (especially older white men, go figure) stared at her to no end. I came very close to fighting a couple guys over them leering at her. She was sweet and kind, picked up the bill at about the same rate I did, and was overall a great person. She could have done much better than me. She wanted to be exclusive, but I didn’t really see a future with someone in her mid 30’s with a child at that point.

I got a new job and briefly dated one of those wannabe urban model chicks who I met at a friend’s barbecue. The friend has postgrad degrees from MIT and Harvard, so I was a little surprised by the intellectual level of this one. Cute as all get-out but dumb as a brick. Not even the regular bricks, like the slow, chipped bricks that have to take the short bus to the construction site. But agan, she had tons of options much flashier than me. The modelish chick had a little Benz coupe her ex had bought her. I was driving a company Ford Taurus at this point. We went to the opening of some club once, and they were tripping on letting me in cause I had jeans on. She made a call to her “friend” to have him get us at the door. Her friend was a well known NFL wide receiver with a diamond chain that weighed about what I did. She came home with me that night. I found out later that he was the ex that bought her the car.

About the same time, I started dating another brighter woman, and pretty quickly stopped dealing with the urban model. She had her own place, was extremely pretty and had tons of options. She went to a great school and had a good job, was sweet, and while she never really reached for the bill, I got the sense that this was more her being a traditional woman than a hardcore leech. We dated exclusively although we didn’t have a title for 8 months or so. We’re still friends.

After we broke up, I started dating a woman who was a college dropout. But she had a great job managing her family’s contracting business, was drop dead gorgeous and unbelievably nice. I met her while she was bartending at cute little boutique hotel (for fun, apparently). It was close to Valentine’s day and a lot of her single friends were there getting hammered. I automatically assumed she was out of my league because of her looks, but she was so friendly and kind, I felt immediately at ease with her (I’ll be talking more about this in a future post for some of you women who complain that you “intimidate” men. You don’t. You just drive them off.) She insisted on paying for our first date because the restaurant was her choice. I almost had to fight her to pay the bill but she would have none of it. I later found out she was a Miss *insert African Country here* and was going to be participating in the Miss world pageant. She had also been in some national ad campaigns. She told me about this in the offhand manner someone would mention that they got third place in a gardening competition. She never acted like these things in any wat made her a better or more interesting person. About the time I met her, I bought a property and the night before my first showing, she and my mom worked in tandem buffing floors, scrubbing tiles, and nailing in drywall. We eventually broke up for one reason or another, but we both thought the other was such a great person that we would try to hook each other up with our friends. She now lives in an unbelievably huge condo with views of the water and is on TV. I saw her interviewing Hayden Panettiere (however you spell it) and definitely looked the better of the two.

Soon after, I was recruited to work for my company’s major competitor. And that’s when the big bucks started rolling in (Relatively speaking). I literally had more money than I knew what to do with (It’s not that it was that much money, it’s just that I’m pretty dimwitted). So I bought me a Swiss watch. Bought so much Armani I could go a week in Girogio without repeating outfits. And of course, I bought me a car. Not a flashy car per se. But a car I wanted. The fastest thing with four doors I could afford. And we went to the club. And I had it valeted so it was out front.


Did all this change my dating life?

NO, not really. Although when I pulled up anywhere, I definitely got more women checking me out than in the old Taurus. I sometimes wonder what would have happened if I had gone and bought the luxury car I was thinking about buying back then. I test drove a benz, a couple beemers, and a Range, but they just didn’t meet all my needs.But I would have loved to do a regression analysis of how much more attention I would have gotten, and from who, if I had bought one of those.

So I dated a girl in med school who was very pretty but didn’t really have much of a butt. Sh was a friend of a friend and she wanted to be exclusive too and the Nassatall really didn’t do it for me. I chased around after some local celeb type chicks to no real avail. And I started dating another urban model type, a miss *insert state here* contestant. She was really sweet and always down for the cause. She was a little rough around the edges, which was one of the things I think that hampered the relationship. And maybe that was just me wanting too much. My female friends can be harsh and while they recognizd and respected her looks, I think they kinda looked down on her a little. We stopped seeing each other, and I started dating a girl working on her second post-grad degree. We clicked really well but I didn’t want to commit to her. As it happens, toward the tail end, I started dating the girl who would become my girlfriend for the next year, and pretty much the entire time I ws in school. She was conservative lawyer and seemingly upstanding. My friend said that lesbians didn’t approach her because she looked like a Republican. And she was a great girlfriend. Eventually, the distance drove us apart and we decided to part as friends, but I have nothing but great memories of her, and we still try to remain friends.

The moral of this very long and drawn out story is this;

Real women don’t really give a shit if you stunt or not. So there’s my answer.

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 another group I used to frequent used to post Sex Diaries, and they were really fun to read, not just for the content, but to figure out whether they were real or not, or what parts had been embellished or fudged. The idea originally came from NY Mag’s Sex Diaries. Since these were so popular, I’m going to start posting up some of them. These are not necessarily written by me, mind you. As a matter of fact, I’d love to hear yours. If you want to contribute, just send me an email, and I’ll post yours up (anonymously, of course). If there are any details which would give away that it was you, I’d suggest you change them, but that’s up to you. Anyway, here’s a good one from a while back. Enjoy!

Day 1:
8:30 PM

Enjoying post sex feeling. She gets on the computer and checks her email. I get some water. We have a nice little groove. She’s super busy, I’m super busy. We make sex dates usually about a week in advance, if not more. It’s good sex; I know what she likes, she knows what I like, there’s none of that staying over business or pretense that this is what it ain’t. Plus, she always asks me to come in her mouth, which is quite the bonus. She’s finished banging away at her email. I check my Myspage page. She wants to see my friends. We peruse my friends. She picks out the ones she thinks are cute. A couple are not so cute upon clicking on their actual pages. I’m embarrassed to have banged a couple of the not so cute ones but don’t mention it. She probably knows anyway. We discuss which ones might be into girls. I ex out a couple of potentials immediately. She zeroes in on Artsy Girl and asks if she’d be down. Pretty sure she would. I’d never actually had sex with her, but some heavy petting before. I took her on an actual date once, but didn’t see any reason to continue down that path. Regular Sex Girl gets phone call. Makes shush motion to me. Some “un-huh’s” and “OK’s” and a “see you soon.” She has a date tonight. I was wondering why the early call time. Apparently, he’s booked a limo and all kinds of fancy action to impress her. Nice. Hope she used my mouthwash if he goes in for the first date kiss. She gets dressed and heads out. We agree next Saturday works.

11:24 PM

Squeeze one off to some ‘Mike in Brazil’ porn. Lucky ass Mike. If it wasn’t for the third world AIDS rate, I’d consider heading down there for a sex tour one of these days. Those chicks are ridiculous.

12:47 AM

Sex girl calls. Date sucked- no limo, jazz place was wack, but guy was really nice. She’s not really into really nice. No first date kiss so I guess whether or not she used Listerine was irrelevant. Wants to come over for round 2. I make an excuse about having to go running with my co-workers in the morning. It’s a lie. I don’t run with them on the weekends. Shoulda called me before I got that second nut out. Feel bad for first date guy.

Day 2:

11:20 AM

In meeting. Boss lying to his boss about all the good work we’re doing. We’re not doing good work. We’re doing just enough to not get fired. Send dirty text to ex. She broke it off because I didn’t want to get more serious. She still gets drunk and nasty-texts me every once in a while. She’s game today. Very descriptive about what she wants me to stick and where. Great thing about smartphones in meetings- people think you’re emailing someone about something work-related, so dedicated. She SMS’s a picture of what appears to be her va-jay-jay. Angle screen away from any potential nosy coworkers. Picture of va-jay-jay lips not huge turn on without context. Tell her to send boob shots- they’re huge. Says she can’t because in office. Damn. Conference table hiding boner. Could be embarrassing when meeting ends. Think about boss’s boss naked. Lose wood quickly.

7:06 PM

At happy hour. Flirt with attractive light-skinned girl with short bob. Buy a round for her and her friends. Female bartender looks on and winks suggestively. Wink back. It’s pimpin’, pimpin’! Light Skinned Bob and her friend are heading to another spot. Ask her if she wants to get a drink sometime. Sorry, but she has a boyfriend. Mutter under my breath that she should give me my $18 back then. Should have gone for the less attractive, more desperate-looking friend. Bartender asks how it went. Lie, and tell her they we’re just friends. Close out, and leave bartender conspicuously large tip. Ask for her number. Says she lives with her boyfriend. It’s not pimpin’, pimpin. Consider asking for change for tip. Decide against.

Finish editing powerpoint. Enjoy Hennessy and Coke in plastic cup. Realize
I’m a stereotype. No one around to see, so doesn’t matter. Whack off to Exploited Black Teens compilation.

Day 3:
No news to report

Day 4:
Send text to Nasty Text Girl about getting together this weekend. Says she’s on her period. Make tentative but unlikely plans for next weekend.

Day 5:
Dinner with chick I met a few weeks ago. Surprised she remembers who I am. Is cuter than I remember. Very white teeth. Doesn’t take herself too seriously, which is attractive. She goes to the restroom. I check things out as she walks away. Potential donkey, but not sure if it’s just the skirt. Text Nasty Text Girl that I’ve been thinking about doing her. Date comes back. We finish eating. She offers to pay. Act like I wouldn’t dream of it, but slightly consider it. Still have to see about donkey before I get cheap and lazy. Drop date off at her car. Not sure whether to go in for kiss, so just squeeze extra tight. She still has hands around my ribs so go in for quick mouth kiss, no tongue. Tell her to text me when she gets home safe.

10:13 Text: Got home safe. Receive boobs picture from Nasty Text Girl. Spectacular. Grab the Jergens and get to work.

Day 6:
Go to club with the homey. For some reason, he’s bought a table. We entertain countless youngish, wanna-be fly types. Glad music is loud so can’t hear stupid conversation. They spend much time trying to make their jobs sound like they do something worthwhile. They don’t. Get bunch of numbers. Buy second bottle, forget which girl is which. Wonder why there’s a Tiffany in my phone but no number for her.

2:34 AM
Swerve home, drunk dialing the whole way. No luck. Text Date Girl. No response. Probably getting banged by some other dude. Consider jerking it but decide against.

Day 7:

11:15 AM

Headache. Check sent texts to see how bad I was. Pretty bad. Fortunately, didn’t say too much stupid to Date Girl. But a 2:49 AM text probably not the right impression to give after one date.

9:15 PM

Regular Sex Girl comes over. Asks if I have something to drink. We drink Vodka OJ’s. She says she invited Artsy Girl from Myspace over. This is unexpected. They text back and forth. We discuss what we’ll do if Artsy Girl just wants to do her and have me watch or some bullshit. We both decide that would be unacceptable.

My rationale: It’s my fucking house. Don’t know why she’s so crunk about it, but I appreciate the standupness. Artsy Girl gets here. We make her a drink. All three of us sit on the bed kind of awkwardly making idle small talk. Decide something needs to be done. Kiss Artsy Girl. Regular Sex Girl’s face lights up with glee. They start kissing. This. Is. Awesome.

Clothes start to come off. Artsy Girl massages Regular Sex Girl’s back while I suck her titties. She’s really turned on. Never looks this turned on when I do her. Not overly concerned. Go down on Regular Sex Girl. Artsy Girl straddles her face. We look at each other and she licks her lips. Dick hard as a rocket right now. She extends her hand. I give her low-five.

Switch positions. Regular Sex Girl lies on her back while Artsy Girl eats her. I push Artsy Girl’s ass up in the air and eat her out from the back. Pussy is saltier than regular sex girl’s, but quite pleasant. Super wet. I spit some of the saliva/pussy juice between her asscheeks and slide thumb in her ass. She likey. Start hitting it from the back. She’s eating out Regular Sex girl like a pig at a trough. Regular Sex Girl tries badly executed maneuver to switch into a 69. We almost fall over. All burst out laughing. Switch. Fuck Regular Sex girl missionary while Artsy girl plays with herself. She gets behind me and starts licking my ear. Really trying to hold off coming.

Think abut taxes, sheep, and boss’s boss. Not working, so get up, and lay on back . They take turns sucking my dick and alternately kissing each other. Kiss for too long and I point to my junk and let them know it requires their attention. Regular Sex Girl sucks while Artsy Girl tongues balls. I put hands behind my head and bask in glory of the moment. Doesn’t last long. I tell them to stick their tongues out. They make lewd faces and I come a gallon all over Artsy Chick’s extended tongue. Try to get some of the second squirt on Regular Girl’s tongue, but get it in her hair by mistake. She puts it in her mouth and keeps sucking until I’m done. I tell them to kiss. They oblige. I get up to grab another drink and a towel to wipe them off. They wipe off. Both are impressed with the volume and velocity of skeet. Good thing decided no to jerk it last night.

They start making out again. Getting wood again, so go back in. Artsy Girl straddles me cowgirl while Regular Sex Girl works her titties. Artsy Girl comes with dramatic jerking. Not sure how much performance, but hope the neighbors don’t hear. Or do hear. Claims pussy super sensitive so I awkwardly froggy style Regular Sex Girl so Artsy girl can lick her clit. Also tongues my balls every once in a while, which is pleasant. Lay Regular Sex Girl on her stomach and do her from the back. Artsy Girl bites her butt and sticks her tongue out. Take condom off and jerk off. She tries to catch it with her tongue but most just dribbles on Regular Sex Girl’s ass. She licks some off. Wonder if I can get third wood. No such luck.

I go in the kitchen and make eggs. Hear them still going at it. Loudly. Get camera. Take some shots, but they come out blurry. Probably for the best. I watch for a while eating my eggs. Semi third wood, but feel like I’ve done enough for the night. I give them omelet and we take some candids. They make me promise never to show anyone. I lie and tell them I won’t. Everyone starts getting dressed. Kiss Regular Sex Girl goodbye. Artsy Girl claims she’s jealous. I tell her to mouthwash it first. Long Three way kiss. Walk them out. Try to give knowing nod to my man at the front desk. He could give a shit.

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.