Alas, the concept of dating in the DMV is brutally perplexing for innumerable women, and dare I say, hazardous to the self-esteem of many. Oh, that you were a fly on the wall in some of the conversations I’ve had the perversion of being party to. They make you want to throw yourself (or push the woman recounting) in front of a vehicle moving at the speed of fucking light just to put her (and you) out of your respective miseries. Hers from behaving as a complacent doormat to “catch” a suitor; yours from having been regaled of her unfortunate man-tales until your ears start to bleed.
Southern belle with metropolitan sensibilities that I am—a mere transplant to the DMV of over a decade—I have never in all my life seen such fuckery when it comes to the art of what was once coined “courting”. A lot of the men in this area tread the line of being fun-crazy and about to be committed to St. Elizabeth’s-crazy when it comes to their dating tactics. No, really. I once engaged in conversation with a man—and “man” is being utilized loosely here—who said, “I don’t approach women because I know my worth”, while also referring to himself as Leonidas the King. I’m not kidding. What continually astonishes me is that people are this arrogantly stupid, and in the company of near-strangers, if not complete unknowns.
Twist it thou not. I love men, but I’ve been giving myself orgasms since the age of 12, so I’m never desperate, and certainly not sexually. And before you get to finger-wagging, just know that as a child, I found my parents’ copy of The New Joy of Sex. Your parents had one, too; mine just weren’t all that adept at hiding theirs.
At this point, you’re probably asking yourself, who is this devil-woman? Is she human? Does she truly desire the warmth of a man’s touch, the prospect of coming home to a little candlelight and surprise takeout, a probable spell of afternoon delight? And the answer: Yes. To all of the above. But if I must part with my dignity, legitimate IQ and common sense to obtain it, uh—pass, bruh—PASS. Because in addition to a literal penis, I also require that my man have an allegorical appendage. What’s the use in owning a penis if you aren’t going to comport yourself as a member of that particular species?
The main thing is…men are outcheah acting like women. And it’s nauseating. Particularly because women are chasing these men like they’re gonna win some sort of Nobel Prize if they catch them. And men are bowing to this, as though it’s acceptable admiration. Where the fuck are your cajones, mayne? And ladies, do you honestly want to take Leonidas home to meet daddy? 
To put this in greater perspective. One day, I was having a phone conversation with some random dude who had “expressed interest”, though had yet to ask me out on a bona fide date. He eventually went on to inquire, “So when are you cooking me dinner?” Wait, what? *squints and eye-rolls into next month* We go from no dates to me slaving away in the kitchen based on his irrecognizable merits? What kind of primitive creature expects a woman to exact such an act of grandeur reserved for appreciation, reciprocity or even a relationship when he’s done absolutely ZERO to garner that treatment? I understand the concept of hedging one’s bets, but only a man in the embryonic stages of development would find that an appropriate request.
Listen. I get the alleged demographic ratios, and how this “statistical research” based on the fact that you’re Negro and female is supposed to make you cringe with anxiety and go into survival-of-the-fittest-mode. But please stop latching on to the first thing you see moving that is shlong-adjacent and becoming emo over this person when all he does to propel you to the next level of loyalty is text you from his white cell phone and believes that sending you unsolicited peen pics is the way to your heart. First of all, what are you doing keeping company with a guy who owns a white cell phone, anyway? Girl, bye. Have some damn respect for yourself. These boys are manstruating and exuding bitchassness at astronomical levels, and you don’t have to be the next victim. For God’s sake, these people have scrotums and are wearing skinny jeans. Why the fuck is this happening, and exactly how are they managing it? I cannot be the only one turned off by this.
Dudes are running around listening to Drake like it’s normal for a man to be continually nostalgic over every single notch on his bedpost—and sing about that shit. And make no mistake about it—they are eagerly awaiting the 6 God’s next release. What was your first inclination that somethin’ in the milk ain’t clean? I had someone make me a Best of Drake mixtape once. It was not one of my girlfriends. I almost chucked it out the window like Queen Latifah in Set It Off. I don’t want a man completely devoid of human emotion, but I’m good never seeing him cry or get beside himself in utter and complete sadness unless someone dies.
Oh. Word to the wise. You probably also want to avoid any man who gets into unprovoked arguments with Black women about why he doesn’t watch Scandal. No one cares why ol’ boy doesn’t make that trip to Shondaland each and every Thursday night. No one. Non-muthafuckin’ factor, much?
And sistagirl, regardless of what you’ve been told, don’t trust any man who gets upset with you for using him for sex. Wait. I think I need to hear that again. A man who gets mad at women for using him for sex. Yes, that guy. With the penis. I sat down and had a talk with a man I had been seeing one evening—made dinner and everything. I relayed to him that though I had no interest in pursuing anything serious with him, I’d be happy to continue our mutually gratifying sexual relationship. He was fine with it. Wayment. He acted like he was fine with it. Less than two weeks later, I hit him late-night with “the call”. He got all Whitley Gilbert on me and pouted verbatim, “I RESPECT MYSELF MORE THAN JUST SOME SEX!!” He was serious, and I, in awe. I almost flat-lined from being propelled into an unending fit of laughter.
Rest assured, there is one side of this conversation the kid will never be on—that of dating victim. I rise above. Aside from the fact that I’m afflicted with a chronic case of Resting Bitch Face and probably always look as though some type of Negro uprising is perpetually emerging in my soul, it saddens me that the illustrious women of the DMV are often compelled to succumb to this bullshit. And I’m here to help.
My best relationships have been with men who are not offended by my effervescent, biting wit (because someone—we’ll call him Angry Bird—did leave me on a first date after I denied his request to “stop being sarcastic”. Good thing I always drive myself). These men understand that I’m on their level intellectually if not a step or more above and aren’t taken down any pegs by the challenges I present when it comes to my expectations in regard to a mate. And though they don’t mock the fact that chivalry is alive and well (and chivalry, I’m such a stickler for), they still believe in actual real-time, 21st century, new-millennial equality for men and women.
*Phaedra Parks voice* . . .Everybody knows Black girls are magic. Women in general are fucking awesome. And any man worth spending time with is going to recognize your special brand of je ne sais quoi. I’m not suggesting you ram your achievements up a potential’s ass like an anal probe. BUT…*doing my very best James Brown impersonation* PLEASE, PLEASE, PLEASE…refrain from dumbing yourself, your interests, your degrees, your level of education, your accomplishments and your goals down. Because desperation is unbecoming on you, boo.
That being said, when you finish reading this, I need you to take a good, hard, long look in the mirror and ask yourself, have I experienced any of the above? Am I bending to the whims of men who probably don’t give a fuck about me? Is he expecting ass but continually refusing to do basic shit for me and seemingly taking an immense amount of pride in it, as though this attitude hasn’t left his Black ass abandoned in a commuter parking lot before? Is he part of the increasing demographic of heterosexual men who take an overabundance of selfies, and are any of them lying down with him looking like he’s about to rub one out to Diary of a Mad Band playing in the background?
If any of your answers are slightly near the vicinity of yes, throw a flag on the play and regroup. I implore you, DON’T DO IT, ICE-COLD. Because who run the world? Girls. And people with vaginas shouldn’t chase men. EVER. And, well, the pussification of men is real, y’all. Protect ya neck.
