It was a bit of a switch-up, really,. – Charlie Parker

When I’m not on one of my hiatuses (because (a) I found someone that I believed was worth investing time and energy into so I canceled my membership or (b) because I didn’t meet any strong prospects during that particular membership) I’m either meeting men the “organic way” (at parties/game nights, while commuting, running errands, etc.) or I’m being set up by one of my “big sister” girlfriends.

L (one of my fave unofficial big sisters) and I go way back, 12 years to be exact.  We met at my very first corporate HR job and hit it off right away. She had that straight-no-chaser-around-the-way-girl vibe with a snarky sense of humor and keen fashion sense to match. When she wasn’t schooling me to the corporate world she was doing what big sisters do – hooking me up with eligible bachelors.

Her initial hook up was to fuckboy extraordinaire, P, the first “Greer Childs” of my life.   P was GORGEOUS (and knew it – he used to model for Christ’s sake), extremely stylish, dabbled in photography (the Greer Childs comparison is fitting, no?), intelligent, funny, sensual, and adventurous.  What I appreciated the most about him was how cultured he was.  P (about six years my senior) took my young, wet behind the ears arse and cultured me.  Patronizing “sceney” spots like Morgan’s of (Asia de Cuba) for after work cocktails (where I developed my appreciation for Ketel One vodka), going to small movie theaters to watch Indie films, and dining out in quaint bistros/restaurants was the norm. We dated for several months (off and on for the better part of a year), but nothing of substance ever became of it so we parted ways.  I grew tired of his fuck shit (i.e. his random disappearing acts for days at a time and lack of exclusivity) and I guess he grew tired of me reciprocating his treatment. No love lost though, we’ve ran into each other a time or two after we stopped dating and exchanged pleasantries. P was a chapter in my life – a very fun, sexually charged, enlightening chapter in my life that I have L to thank for.  

True to form, L put on her matchmaking hat recently and sent me a random text a few months ago (November of 2017 to be exact) informing me of a new prospect. “I think you and my cousin would hit if off really well”, she proclaimed. Needless to say my interest was piqued so I asked for the full rundown.  He was gainfully employed (he worked in the financial sector as a Project Manager), a new homeowner (recently purchased a home out of state), childless, physically fit, within my desired age range for prospective mates (32 – 42), and handsome. Good shit right? I know, almost too good to be true. She gave me all the good stuff, but left out the “but”.

Sidebar: Be forewarned whenever ANYONE hooks you up with someone, there is ALWAYS a “but”. How else do you explain why such an eligible bachelor/bachelorette is on the market? The “buts” are usually the last thing you see coming because what prefaces them is quite impressive.

“I have a great friend. She’s single, has no children, in great shape, works as a HR Recruiter, BUT … that heaux is bat shit crazy and her last two boyfriends have active restraining orders on her.” Or how about this one, “My cousin’s friend is newly single. Girl he’s SUCH a good catch! He has his PhD in Rocket Science, lives alone in a dope apartment in downtown Brooklyn, loves to travel, lives the vegan lifestyle and works out 3 – 4x a week, BUT….  his last girlfriend broke up with him because she walked in on him and his old college roommate giggling in the dark with their shirts off.”

You get my drift, hold your excitement for the BUT!

Anyway, despite my trepidation, I gave L the green light to give her cousin my phone number so we could see if there was any chemistry between us. L was 1 for 1 (kind of… P and I never did wind up in a monogamous relationship, but we did hit it off, so I’ll give her that), could she be 2 for 2?


Mr. 2 (L’s cousin and prospective love interest) looks didn’t exactly excite me when I saw his pictures.  He had a milk chocolate complexion, was taller than me (he stood between 5’10 and 6’0”), had shoulder length locs, and facial hair.  He was a decent looking brother.  However, I noticed that in the few pictures that saw of him he didn’t smile. Possible red flag.  Did he have a mouth full of unfortunate teeth? Was the state of his mouth “the BUT”?  I didn’t dwell on it as I was still open to getting to know him, largely because of how highly L spoke of him. Besides, I’m at the age where looks aren’t as important as they used to be.  If the homey has all his teeth and limbs, speaks fluent English, and works, I’m open to at least engaging in a conversation to see if we have some sort of chemistry.

Mr. 2 and I engaged in a “textversation” (text exchange instead of the typical conversation) a few days after we were hooked up and made plans to actually speak later that week, but it never happened. It was the holiday season and familial obligations were abundant (for him anyway, I don’t celebrate the holidays). Weeks went by and I started to count him out, but I decided to reach out to him (on Christmas weekend) and propose we schedule a conversation the day after Christmas – after all this was L’s family, she wouldn’t steer me wrong  To my pleasant surprise he accepted.

His name and number flashed across my screen at around 10:00 pm (ET) as I lounged on my couch watching TV.  When I picked up the phone, I was met with a deep, authoritatively, strong voice. Niiiiiiiice – I appreciate a little bass in a man’s voice.  We exchanged the usual pleasantries – “How are you, how was your day, how were your holidays – yada. Yada. Yada and started to dig a little deeper.  After about 15 minutes or so I learned that we had quite a bit in common – we both came from large families and were very family orientated, were fluent in sarcasm, into the same television shows, enjoyed working out, and indulging in the “jazz cabbage” from time to time (him more so than me), and a love for animals (specifically dogs). We spoke effortlessly for about three hours – only ending our conversation because my phone was starting to die. Before hanging up, we made tentative plans to speak later in the week and I bid him adieu with a smile. It’s always nice to have something new to look forward to, don’t you think?

A few days later and it was time for round two. I didn’t exactly have a laundry list of questions that I wanted to ask him, but I did plan to ask about his most recent relationship and his views on long distance dating (as I mentioned, he’s a homeowner out of state) because you can learn a lot about a person by how and why their last relationship ended. The phone rang and we picked up where we left off… well, at least I did….

First impressions are so deceptive. As Chris Rock said in one of his stand-up specials, when you meet someone for the first time you’re meeting their representative – not the real them. Folks present what they THINK the person on the receiving end wants to see/hear the first time they speak and/or meet and have a hard time keeping the facade up.  Eventually the person’s true colors shine through and you get a glimpse of what you can expect on a regular basis.   I guess Mr. 2’s representative left with the rest of his family for the holidays because the man that I spoke to during our second conversation would not have kept me on the phone for three minutes, let alone three hours.  

I answered the phone and noticed that he was in a rather good mood. Cool, who doesn’t appreciate a cheery person? The conversation flowed, but I noticed that his vernacular was different. *Insert dazed and confused Scooby- Doo face*. What the hell happened to the Corporate dude that spoke so eloquently about the influx of (dusty) Hoteps and fraudulent “woke” people on social media?  What happened to the brother that spoke about his aspirations to leave the corporate game and consult on his own terms?   What happened to the brother that listened attentively and patiently as I shared elements from my world?  The conversation was high school-esque at best – laced with borderline inappropriate jokes and constant left-field interruptions. Was he high?  Maybe he was high?, I thought to myself as I ignored his erratic behavior.   

My subtle attempts to commandeer the conversation and steer it back to where we left off days earlier were in vain. In fact, the conversation got worse. Shit hit the fan when we took a trip down memory lane to talk about 90’s fashion, hip-hop, and the party scene. He must’ve got caught up in the nostalgia because he lost his fucking mind as he reminisced.  “Yo, my nigga” ——- PAUSE.  *Insert Blank Stare*.  This dude referred to me as “his nigga” while recanting a story about how his brand new Avirex jacket was stolen from the backseat of his cousin’s car while he was partied uptown one winter Saturday night. Word? He thought this was ok?  I sat there shaking my head and I let him finish his story trying to figure out how I was going to address this.

“What’s a polite way to ask, ‘Are you crazy?’ ” “What’s a polite way to ask, ‘Do you have a closet full of khakis, Clark Wallabees, and ill-fitting button down shirts in your closet that you put on for ‘special occasions’?’ “ “What’s a polite way to ask, ‘Did you just come home?’ “ “What’s a polite way to ask, ‘Do you identify with Rich Porter and Ace from Paid in Full?’ “ There had to be a logical explanation for as to why he thought it was acceptable to speak to someone that he barely knew like I was his day one (male) ace from the block.  I never did figure out a nice way to ask him any of those questions, so I humored him for a few more minutes, waiting for him to finish his story.   My game plan was to address his possible slip of the tongue when he stopped talking long enough for me to get a word in edgewise.  

Just when I thought it couldn’t get worse, it did.   After sharing my desire to visit Tanzania and see the Masai warriors in person he inquired about who these warriors were.  Not in your typical “Wow, that sounds interesting” kind of fashion, but in a “Who are those warriors, those niggas with the bangs?” kind of way.  As of matter of fact, that’s exactly what he asked me. *palms face*.  That did it. My patience ran out that night . As a traveler big on cultural immersion, the last thing I could entertain was someone’s ignorance about someone else’s culture, so I found an excuse to get off the phone. That was a week ago.

This past Friday morning I received a “I’m thinking about you” text and refrained from responding because that message sounded like a personal problem.  What did he expect me to do, respond back with a message letting him know that I was thinking about him to?  Why lie? I wasn’t.  Two days later I receive another text message with a request to speak as he “missed the sound of my voice”. Just when I thought that the Mr. 2 representative had returned, I received another text message. “Lemme find out a nigga get’s ghosted because it’s the weekend?” Buzz kill. Despite this, I agreed to talk to him (not text him) later in the afternoon when I was free and requested a call.  Instead of a call I received the fuckboy calling card – the ever so ANNOYING “WYD” text.

Folks, das it. Party done. I readily accept the fact that I am at an age where I am open to dating men that may not be conventionally gorgeous by societal standards, but I am no longer at the age where I entertain fuckboys. I still haven’t spoken to him and honestly don’t feel the desire to. He hasn’t called, so maybe got the hint. Who knows?   He started off so strong, but the switch up happened so swiftly and left me turned off.  Am I being too critical?  Would you respond to his text message if you were me?  Should I forget about his switch up and call him to talk to him about it because my friend hooked us up and we engaged in an enjoyable introductory conversation?   Comment below and as always…


Stay Wild,

Marissa C.