Can we talk?

“And I’ve dreamed of you ever since, Now I’ve built up my confidence, Girl next, next time you come my way, I’ll know just what to say, Can we talk for a minute, Girl I want to know your name”—

I’ve reached a new level of fed up with dating. I go out on Saturday to the Reminisce DC party. Great time, lots of dancing, awesome DJ. As I’m leaving the club, I return back to ask a question to the security personnel out front. As I typically do, I adopt an accent when I’m uncomfortable. It catches the attention of one guard in particular. He proceeds to hem me up, telling me my face is gorgeous but my accent makes me beautiful.

In a last effort to be “open” to possibilities, I give him my number. He promises to text and walks off. I wait for @NicknotNikki as she flirts with another one. A woman leaves the club. He guffaws with his cronies then proceeds to follow her, another victim to hood boy charm. He’s on that Wale, Let me just talk to you for a moment and enjoy the luxury of like not knowing each other for a minute, swag. And I kick myself.

Not just because I gave him my number in this game of digits but because I wasn’t even the Grand Supreme winner of thirst. He saddled up to me, sniffing out an available spot to piss on, but he chased after her, focused on his intent and intended. And so blatantly. I wasn’t even 4 feet away from him, when I saw his arms flail in abandon and momentum to catch up to her brisk pace. Oh you rude…

Sunday ambles on and I don’t hear from him. Mind you @NicknotNikki exchanged numbers with two men on Saturday and they text her repeatedly which led to calls about when they were going to meet. She even met up with one Sunday night. As I rationalize the difference, I understand that their mind stayed on Nick while I was an afterthought once the others failed to nibble on the bait he dangled. Don’t believe me, here’s the text that woke me up this morning:

Hey I don’t remember what you look like but your name is my phone, wanna send me a picture to jog my memory?

What all the fuck?!?!

What kind of ‘I only use 1/3 of my brain power, so you’re really not that important’ message was that? Mind you, I haven’t had my coffee yet, and even worse the whole vibe turned me off. I’m tired of being someone’s second option, like could you possibly work for me?

I respond back: Sorry, you have the wrong number.

He doesn’t take the hint so in a rapid series of texts he tells me that he found my number in his phone and he’d not sure how it got there. Then he sends me a picture of himself to bring all things to my remembrance. As persistent as he is I tell him the name in the phone isn’t right, that I’m actually Kierra.

Rico Suave is thick as Noah’s wooded ark. He says:

I don’t mean to bug you; if you got my picture then you know who I am. If I don’t look familiar than it will forever be a mystery of how I got your number. You sure you don’t want to send me a pic?

In my mind, I’m like Naw Nigga I don’t even want this phone number anymore. Just take all of it and move your hound-dog tendencies right on over to another lawn.

Though nice guys finish last, they do finish. The inverse, however, isn’t true. I’m starting to recognize that men don’t want nice women. It doesn’t blend well with their woofish inclinations. They want the woman who’s lost all of her nice after being drug through the pine needles of men’s intuition so that when they date her they can howl how women don’t know what to do with a good man anymore. Nigga please. Miss me with that bull dung. Fling it on someone else’s rose bush.

You know what the problem is? Men of a certain maturity have this false perception of perfection. They build her up, hunt her down, grab her by the haunches then realize that this object of perfection isn’t really perfect for them. They blame it on the woman time after time. It was her flaws that broke us up, while failing to grasp the two to tango trope.

Anyone else as tired of this game as I am? Spinning your wheels in Monopoly, the closer you get to finishing the more the rules change, or the pieces are misplaced, or the bank runs out of money. Someone has to forfeit, and it might just be me.

I miss the beginning stages. The intrigue. The phone conversations that last for hours. The heightened anticipation when you know you’re going to see the other person. Little things that add up in the long run. I don’t even want to be in love, I would settle for a steady stream of like at the moment.

Is that too much to ask?

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4 Comments (+add yours?)

  1. Up4Dsn
    Nov 09, 2012 @ 19:18:44

    Oh my! That is some adventure. I say, don’t give up. Dudes like that are only tests. Once you get pass them you’ll be in a new class with men who’ll know how to appreciate you. Trust.

    Reply

  2. SNOCE
    Nov 12, 2012 @ 13:19:19

    I loved reading this.. I really did. It’s so exciting to know that you’re able to write an experience we ALL go through so well.. Now there is a trick to overcoming this..idk it yet..but when I find out..ill share. 🙂

    Reply

  3. Trackback: Walk Away Beautiful, Don't Run | Up 4 Discussion

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