extra credit not applicable…

In order to maintain a nutritionally balanced dating life, we realize all readers need to gather povs from various know-it-all bloggers spouting our own versions of words of wisdom over the interwebs. With this being the case, from time to time I take a gander at what other (read as more sober) bloggers have to say on all things coitus-related. The other day I stumbled on to this post from the gents at Single Black Male…

Obviously the picture of the highly attractive Paula P. matching her lovely dress to the loveseat caught my attention, but also one of the bullet points supporting the overall hypothesis of the article proved to be an interesting morsel of ‘you ain’t neva lied’ that I find myself all too familiar with…pretty women don’t have to do extra credit…

Now if you are a pretty female that disagrees with this statement, you are either incorrectly categorizing yourself OR just wrong. Your pick…

Don’t believe me? Let’s dive into this deeper…

where there’s smoke…

it starts with that sinking sick sensation in the pit of your stomach…that slight inclination that your mate really wasn’t where they said they were or they weren’t with who they said they would be (yeah…say that 3 times fast)…if you’re one of the lucky ones, then you have no idea what i’m talking about…however, for that other 68% of the population, this post is for you…and hopefully it’s not too late…

the tendency is to stuff that feeling away…to tuck it into the very bottom of your heart where the hard candy, weird lint balls and loose change hang out…and why not…your feelings are obviously unwarranted right…it is perfectly logical that your man accidentally bumped into a clown outside of his office, and that’s how he got that red lipstick-ish stain on his collar…or that your lady goes to a pole dancing class after work everyday and that’s why she must wear her finest undergarments…sure, these are plausible options but one would have to do no more than tug at one of the pre-loosened threads before that entire garment of deception unraveled completely…

ghost of nonexistent past…

While out celebrating a friend’s birthday with a group of friends, including her current situation, her phone buzzed next to me. She glanced at it and that’s when I saw it- The unmistakable look of wistfulness that can only come from one thing: a lover of the past invading her present.  Knowing this look very well, I raised an eyebrow and she pinched me, showing me the evidence under the table. Busted. It turns out, it was her version of sliding doors- that guy that she had never been in the right time or place for. The missed opportunity. Let’s not get into the reasons why he and she would never be (His girlfriend of ten years then and of five years now, her propensity to live in a million different states, the fact that he can never make up his mind…) and talk about why he still had the power to make her wonder about the ‘what ifs’ in spite of being happily ensconced with Mr. New Booty.

Nostalgia, the human memory’s greatest jedi mind trick. The belief that past people, places and things were better than they really were.  What is it about that blast from the past that makes us so damn stupid?

the holla scale…

The ubf contingency is all about you leaving here with more knowledge than you came with or worst case scenario an 8×10 mental image of one of us in our draws (see what I just did there). So today I’m happy to present you with a small nugget that dawned on me the other day.

I was making the normal trek home from the job to the crib when I passed by a bus stop. At first glance, It appeared this bus stop was no different on this particular day as it featured the same bag lady with not-so-good posture, the guy holding the sign asking for beer contributions and the man that carries two lawn chairs everywhere (no idea why as I’ve never stopped to ask). However, there was actually one minor thing that stuck out to me…a potential dime piece. I say potential because my mind instantly took what would have been a certified 10 in a usual bar/grocery store/swingers meeting scenario and downgraded her to a 7 and a possible. Now I’ll admit it was largely due to my ingrained hatred for public transportation but it lead me to wonder about other times my mind is re-assigning ‘she can get it’ values all willy nilly based on surrounding data.

why you’ll never know how we really feel…

several three of our readers have recently asked us to take on the topic of male emotions…or the lack there of…after searching through 3 different dictionaries and having the concept explained to me by my outback steakhouse waitress nancy,  i believe i am ready to take on this daunting task…

the common misconception is that we go through our lives attempting to usain bolt away from any exchange that forces us to admit that we’ve ever even met our emotions…kinda like that 4 you “accidentally” bumped no-nos with during spring break that one year…the reality is, we are usually pretty clear about how we feel, but for some reason there is a disconnect between you ladies and this clarity…

well today i will attempt to clear up any misconceptions about males and these matters of the heart…your inability to figure out what we are feeling is most likely linked to 1 of 3 well researched reasons…

times to keep it unreal…

I’m a huge fan of telling the truth. But, I’ve burned a lot of bridges over the years under the guise of “Keeping it Real”. The fact is, sometimes it’s better to be dishonest. While the truth may set you free, it also has a tendency to hurt. For this reason, I felt it was my duty to share with you times when lying is not only 100% ok, but encouraged.

How many people have you slept with? – For asking this question alone you deserve to be lied to. My answer to this is usually a non answer, but if you feel so compelled to give an actual live, active, working number, Lie! Unless the answer is none, there is no good way to answer this question. It’s a setup. Don’t fall into the trap.

How do I look? – “Do I look fat?”, “Should I lose some weight?”,  “Do you think I am prettier than her?” There is no good answer to these types of questions …well except one. Lie! Always err on the side of flattery. The more complimentary, the better.

facebook…a powerful tool…

I’m lucky to have good homiettes with not so good dating experiences. Otherwise I’d be forced to handout disclaimers on all the dates I go on stating that anything that happens can and will be blogged about in a humorous to negative light which kind of ruins the chances of coitus related fun. But enough about me and my weekends, back to the homiette.

One of them met a gentleman who checked off her requirements for exchanging her actual phone number. As any man in 2011 would do, he hit her with a text to which she responded. This is where the story turns for worse and his lack of careful positioning became obvious.

Guy: Are you on Facebook?

Homiette: Yes I am.

Guy: There are a lot of people with your first name on here. I couldn’t find you.

Homiette: Why would you want to add someone without knowing their last name?

We’ll stop there as the conversation lead down a path that found the guy’s named saved as ‘do not answer’ in the homiette’s phone…another lesson for another day. But the question I’m here to answer is why did this gentleman feel the need get a +1 on his facebook friend total after one chance meeting and 2 texts?

a few things that corporate america just won’t allow…

so my b-school graduation is but a few short weeks away and after spending the last 2 years bs’ing experimenting with alternate haircut schedules, facial hair lengths and definitions of business casual (and that’s all…i promise), i am coming to the realization that these days of experimental living are quickly winding down…i am now staring down the barrel of corporate america’s shotgun, where they will once again do their best to strip away any inkling of individuality that i have amassed since we last spent quality time together…

fortunately for me, i own enough fusion razors and gordon gartrells  to at least look like i’ve been there before…although my need for individualism has generally still left me within arm’s reach of what is consider corporate friendly, there are others that have made some personal alterations that may earn them permanent membership in the group of citizens that can only talk about gainful employment in the past or the future tense…

below is a brief list of things that may have taxpayers unwillingly paying your salary for a while…

excuse me miss…

There is an old sorority hazing chant saying that goes, “Excuses are the tools of the weak and incompetent, used to build monuments of nothing…” And yet, I find myself today weeding through a boat load of those very IKEA quality wording wrenches in order to get to “The Truth”.  I’m writing this for a few of my girlfriends.  I’ve heard some discouraging tales of the excuses men use to get out of commitments.  There was the dreaded lost wallet , the tried and true “stuck in customs and missed my flight”  and of course, the fail-safe “I got lost”. (And those were this week alone. I’m writing this on a Monday).

Now, whether or not the ladies on the receiving end of  the obvious bullsh*t lies being purported choose to believe is up to them. Me? I don’t believe much of anything anyone tells me, anyway. But even if I did, the caliber of excuses given leaves much to be desired and are, therefore, difficult for ANY of us to digest.

game over…

While the majority of you were spending your Sunday afternoons either taking in the beautiful spring weather or complaining about the delay in your spring weather arrival on facebook, I spent my lazy day alternating between a poor excuse for a pimp limp and elevated icing of my baseball size ankle. You see what had happened was earlier in the day I made the mistake of challenging gravity to a duel during my weekly basketball game without realizing that my foot wasn’t familiar with my limited hang time allotment. Upon arrival back on the ground, my ankle apparently traveled faster than the standard 9.8m/s^2 of my heel (using that engineering degree after all…moms would be proud) leading to an ankle sprain…

After hearing of this news and seeing the picture of my professor klump ankle, a homie suggested that I might want to consider hanging up the nikes and substituting bingo as a weekend activity. Disregarding this foolish advice, I began to recuperate from my brief setback through whiskey filled rehabilitation and I drunkenly considered other things society should be waving the white flag on in normal daily activities.

*cue the list*