Tuesday, December 28, 2010

Thug Lovin

I have always shouted from the rooftops my love of thugs. I have no idea how it came about, my mom thinks it has something to do with the fact that they are the complete antithesis of where/how I was raised, but I love em. All day, every day, baby, cause I’m a thug-lover. They are just so…thuggish. And yet, it might be time for me to hang up my thug life.

About a month ago, I met Trey, a chocolate, tatted, ebonic speaking, pit-bull raising, take no prisoners boy from the hood. I have no clue how, but he wound up with my phone number and I wound up shooting pool with him a few nights after. Okay, that isn’t true. He got my number from my cousin, who lives in the same condominiums as he does. Apparently, he saw me and during one of those routine-by-the-mailboxes conversations, asked about me. Now, my cousin assumed what I did: to not judge the book by it’s cover, after all, he lived in a pretty expensive condo. Maybe he played football…maybe he was a rapper…maybe he was Diddy! Stereotype central. Anyway, she gave him my number, sent me a quick text to let me know, and went off to shoot someone else with her cupid’s arrow.

Trey called pretty quickly. He was charming and complimentary and immediately asked me out. On this “date,” I was initially apprehensive. First, the location of our “date” was in a neighborhood I wasn’t too keen on, but it was a hood he knew well, and everyone knew him, no one “tried” him in those parts. Second, I was curious about the wad of large bills in his pocket, the rimmed out Benz he was driving, the hood ass accent that forced me to say: “huh” way more than altogether necessary. But there was something so incredibly sexy about him, so intriguing. See, that’s the thing with thugs. Their pure crazy masculinity murders any hope for a straight-laced, regular joe and before you know it, they are your crack. Addictive.

During our date I found out quite a few important facts, all of which contribute to my ultimate making of a true thug list. This is the diary of a REAL thug. I thought I knew, but I had no idea.

Baby’s mom(s). Trey has two kids, both with different moms. He also has an ex wife. She is in addition to the baby’s moms, not included.

Gunshot wound(s). Trey has been shot twice. One was an attempted robbery, the other was a botched “hit.”* He obviously lived through both.

Bitch/Nigga. Every dude, no matter what, is aptly called nigga. Every girl, no matter who, is called bitch. In fact, when we’re in bed, I’m always his pretty bitch. I haven’t decided how I feel about it. Is that a compliment?

Wads of cash with no appearance of a 9 to 5. Trey throws parties for NBA players-this is not to be mixed up with a party promoter. He isn’t that low on the totem pole. He throws like three major parties a year, kicks it with all these ballers, and doesn’t do a darn thing otherwise. Contrary to popular belief, he doesn’t sell drugs. Which leads me to…

Jailbird. Trey did a year in prison for selling drugs at the age of twenty.

Trigger Happy. He’s totally TI with it as he isn’t technically allowed to bare arms, being an ex felon and all, but he certainly doesn’t let that stop him. I’ve never seen it, and while I know it very much exists, this one isn’t totally based on firearms. Trey has punched two people in the face in the last week and a half. I have seen him threaten one. It’s very funny actually. It probably isn’t supposed to be, but I always laugh when he tells me how dude was disrespectful and he had to put him back in his place.

Actually, I’m going to stop with this list. It’s getting depressing, so instead I’ll switch to why I’m into him. Otherwise, my credibility might be on the line…

Jokes galore. He’s incredibly funny and I spend most of my time in stitches. Besides, when he laughs, he has these two dimples that pop out his cheeks and they are adorable.

Chef Boy-R-T. He’s a southern boy and puts many a gal to shame in the kitchen.

Moneybags McGee. I never pay for a thing. Ever. He might even pay my rent for me if I asked.

Healthy Arrogance. He’s totally into himself, but in a good way. He takes pride in what he looks like. His clothes are always together. He’s well groomed. Ugh, he’s totally hot.

He’s Just So Into Me. I think it’s funny that he’s Mr. Tough Guy, but with me, he’s like pure slushy mush. He does whatever I want and has asked me on numerous occasions to be his girlfriend, that he’s falling for me hard. (For the record, I’ve said no on every occasion. There’s just no point in being his girl.)

Member’s Only. And perhaps the LARGEST reason I’m with him…good golly. His member is like perfect. The most perfectest thing on earth. I can’t even describe it. I think about it at night, during the day, at the gym, in the market, in the park, by the lake-and I don’t even know where the lake is. It’s just awesome.

Protected. I feel completely safe with him. Maybe it’s because he’s so scary, no one will make any attempts. Maybe it’s because he can clearly take a bullet or two. Either way, my back is completely guarded when I’m with him…and when it isn’t, I’m laying on it, helllooo!

That bitch stole my line,


Blackie Collins

*I think he was exaggerating on the whole “hit” thing. Here’s hoping.

Thursday, December 23, 2010

Three Things You Don't Have to Do to Get Her in Bed

I'm going to share something with you today, kids. Something that contrary to popular belief isn't rocket science and is relatively simple once realized.

You don't really have to do much to get a girl in bed.

Yep, it's true. I'm not saying you don't have to do anything, but in all honesty, the level of effort just doesn't have to be that high. I'm sure the guys are saying, "Naw, you gotta do everything short of hang the moon for these heauxs," while the ladies are crossing their arms and huffing "no way Black-ay! He gotta work for this poonanie," but just you wait. I'm about to drop some knowledge on y'all in hopes I'll get my own book deal. Steve Harvey.

1. Befriend her friends: Nope, no you don't. Every girl has gone home with a guy and not because he wowed her friends. Why would they matter. He isn't bonin them. So, why would she care? Dude could spit in her friends face and she's still gonna tell her girls "not to wait up!" OK, not that far, but trust me. Girls will forget their homies the instant that hottie across the club makes his move.

2. Buy Her a Drank: I say this based on the number of men that are no longer into the act of purchasing an alcoholic beverage for a female in the club. Apparently, they stopped paying, but kept smashing, so you do the math. I'd save a dollar or two as well. Especially in this economy. Now, sure you'll get more bees with honey and drunk girls are way wilder in the sack, but it isn't a requirement, so bottoms up! But separate checks.

3. Say I Love You: Goodness, the number of men that still think love gets sex is sort of astounding. Yea, you had to do that back in high school or something when girls were hanging onto their virginities, but at this stage? In the club? Nah. In fact, you might say it and she might get all the way freaked out. Stalker alert.

That bitch stole my line,

Blackie Colins
Sent via BlackBerry by AT&T

Friday, December 17, 2010

GUEST BLOGGER: Meet the Blabbermouths

*Editor's Note* So, I am thinking of trying out guest bloggers on the site from time to time. This is the first one, Ivana. Follow her on Twitter @ivacontent. Enjoy!)
Last night, I made the catastrophic mistake of introducing the guy I’ve been dating to a group of my friends. Now normally I enjoy this – I get to see my man squirm and have a long, detailed gossip about him afterwards. What better way to measure compatibility than present him to the most sceptical people he will ever encounter in the relationship? This then somehow makes me feel closer to my date (for handling the ordeal) and to my friends (for being complimentary, no matter what).

So it’s all been casually arranged – we’re going out to a few bars because a few drinks are bound to ease awkward introductions. There are even suggestions for clubbing afterwards. We meet, drink, laugh, dance and sing along to whatever R&B atrocities are gracing the charts nowadays. And rather than being a gooseberry between the two parties – as I feared I would be – everything seems to gel together and the night is (astonishingly) a success. My guy mates are even making inappropriate jokes with my date over their pints.

But this morning, my rather rosy impression of the evening was slowly undermined. Firstly, a phone call splits through my sleep (and slight hangover) like a klaxon. On the display I see it’s one of my closest friends, smile at the prospect of their review of my new catch and answer with a cheery hallo. But after the initial perfunctorily compliments, she starts laughing and says how she hoped she hadn’t freaked him out with stories of my previous misdemeanours and quirky habits… After questioning, I found out that last night whenever I went to order a round or was otherwise out of earshot the only topic they could think to settle on was me. Apparently, some of them volunteered stories that were slightly inappropriate to tell someone I’d only been dating for a couple of weeks.

He now knows that some of my more embarrassing hobbies at school were playing chess in the library and running the recycling club. He was quizzed about the sensitive subject of my brother’s long-term illness (which I hadn’t got round to telling him about yet). He was even told the delightful anecdote about me turning up to work in a see-through dress (which wasn’t my fault by the way – always try things on in sunlight before you wear them to work).

I usually have a strict etiquette with these types of things – don’t reveal too many personal or quirky facts about yourself until you’ve been dating for a month. And when you do, they need to be dropped in gradually and carefully, small ones first – then it’s much easier to test the water and see if he scares easily. If it’s a complete stranger or someone you’ve met on a dating site, there will be a lot to reveal. I guess in the end we all find out each other’s quirks, baggage and a whole hoard of details – both pleasant and unpleasant. If someone can’t deal with a certain part of my character, they’re obviously not meant to be with me. But they might get the wrong impression if it’s all piled on at once. Like it was last night…

I guess I’ll find out when he texts me back…

Thursday, December 16, 2010

Tis the Season to Get U Some

In the wee hours of yesterday morning, around 10am, I tweeted: “S/o to all the people hanging out in going-nowhere relationships for the holidays. #getusomegifts. And the replies and ReTweets flowed in. Some claimed they would never, had no clue what I was talking about-whatever, #lies&deception; some laughed and tagged a few LOLs and LMBO’s on, but I wasn’t kidding. Actually quite serious. It must be on many a holiday goer’s mind, too, because later that day, a popular DJ brought it up as a topic for discussion: do people go back to their ex’s or stay in no good relationships just to be booed up for the holidays. Callers called in and most said they would rather that than the alternative: be alone for the holidays. I considered this the obvious, but in defense, there were a few morons who called in and swore they’d be just fine with their children and whoever else they could pretend fulfilled the same hole as a significant other and the one lady who said her man was on lockdown and she would not seek a replacement for the holidays. Work it out.

Honestly, though, what exactly do you think people who start gleaming old or new relationships around September are doing? Like setting up a chess board, they’re getting ready for winter, storing their nuts and getting ready to be all warmly nestled in someone’s vagina come December. Dead ass. So, if you’re vagina is gonna get nestled or at least have dates to the numerous holiday parties, than you better get booed or yank out that lil black book (blackberry) and find an old flame to light up.

Perhaps the best reason, as I stated in my original tweet, is the fact that boo’s obviously give the best gifts. When you’re giving and getting lovin, you’re in a better mood (it releases all these endorphins or something), so you splurge and buy that cashmere sweater she’s been eyeing or the watch Twista had on in The Source (if you missed that, you should go start a new life somewhere). Sure, mom and dad give great gifts, but you’re sure to get at least one ugly sweater adorned with reindeer and actual bells on their little reigns or the “I actually forgot about your gift until this very second and happened to have a Bath and Body Works bath gel and hand lotion set in the car” type of present. My suggestion is you’re gonna need that holiday head at the end of it all…and a nicely wrapped happy ending: a car or something. Well, not a car, but hey, you play your cards right and it could happen. Those holiday “Surprise! There’s a ribboned Lexus in the driveway” commercials have to come from reality. I mean, everything you see on tv is real, right? Besides, I’ve seen people do far more for far less, so go go gadget holiday boo and let’s see who gets a car first!

That bitch stole my line,


Blackie Collins

Wednesday, December 15, 2010

...And We're Back! (You Got Me Feeling Emotions)

**Editors Note: Wow! A full month has passed us by and soooo many changes have happened. New jobs, lots of travel. So much! But we'll get into that when all can be revealed! Promise. I have to say the month off was really needed. I just felt like the blog was philandering like a little guppy flip flopping on dry land, in search of water to swim and thrive. Not that dramatic, but close. It just felt off for some time. I found myself having to stretch out blogs, scour the internets for topics, write about things I could care less about. Everything started getting too introspective, which I don't mind, but this blog isn't just for me to dissect all my dating issues. It's to tell fun (true) stories of my own and my friends, to discuss topics as they pertain to dating/sex/relationships, and to, of course, do it with the kind of sassy craziness only B can dredge up. I felt like I was missing the flare, missing the fun, missing the frame of reference for which this blog was started. To be honest, I felt like I was missing the point and when the distraction became a giant road block, I took a step back and said, "Ok, B, take a breather. You've gone hard for over a year. Just press pause, not stop." Sooooo, we're back! I hope you missed me as much as I missed you, cause I totally did...and if you didn't, well just stop lying to yourself, cause you did. Admitting it is half the battle. And boy oh boy does B have fun things to share these days. So as usual, buckle up. *drags road block out the way* Let's get it!

You Got Me Feeling Emotions

There is a phrase that's constantly used when describing men and their emotions, especially as they pertain to relationships. Therapist use it. Women whine to their husbands and boyfriends with it and go on to complain to their girlfriends about it. Men mock it.

"You're emotionally unavailable."

I think it's an interesting phrase. To say someone isn't emotionally available just means their emotions aren't on the surface, must be dug at, ripped up like tree roots, embedded in the ground for centuries, but it doesn't mean they don't exist. They're just hidden. Locked away for a rainy day or a special occasion. Sort of like a shooting star. They're a rare treat once they’re let loose.

But to say a man is emotionally unavailable is a bit of a cliche. I mean, they're taught to suck it up, take it like a man, show no mercy, and never, ever cry. That's what it is to be a man: strong, masculine. So they're sort of taught to be unavailable with said emotions. And most women don't clamor for the sappy, emotional guy. Trust me, they're exhausting.

The issue is that most (all) women are complete emotional basket cases, which isn't always a bad thing. I think women are awesome communicators because we are in tune with our emotions. I also think we live longer because we put 'em on out there, no bottled up, held back issues for the most part. However, because we're so emotional, it's like holding up a magnifying glass to men's inability to visibly care.

Of course, this always makes me examine myself and when this came up in conversation, I realized I'm not necessarily unavailable with my emotions, I certainly have them, but I'm perhaps dishonest with them. It's my shield, my way of protecting my heart and feelings. What started as just that has morphed with my enormous affinity for sarcasm and my love of wit into a fortress full of frothy comebacks and brow beating banter. All intended as jokes to lighten the mood, push the focus off of heavier topics like me and/or my feelings. It’s great to get me out of conversations I don’t want to have, but it also sucks because sometimes I should be having those conversations. Now, sometimes, I really don’t care, but a lot of the time, I downplay EVERYTHING I'm feeling. I've had so many guys tell me it's okay to show a little bit, that I reverse the roles on them, making them wonder if I'm really into them, have them pandering, questioning if I have any feelings at all. And sometimes I really do, but I’ve just learned to keep it all in my back pocket until it’s time to start showing cards. I think it’s smart, but I was recently told this yet again by a new guy I’m seeing. He literally said, “I can’t stand how I shower you with compliments, tell you all the time how much I like you, that I think you’re beautiful and wonderful and all you do is make some funny comment or brush it off. I mean, not like I’m giving compliments to get ‘em, but can I feel good too?” Sure, he could feel good, on his own time. Sigh. I guess I’m not doing too well with being more emotionally available. Anyone know a good therapist?

That bitch stole my line,


Blackie Collins