Thursday, June 2, 2011

Enough is Enough

Social media sites are here to stay apparently. Any business worth it’s salt has a place you can “LIKE” them or an @handle you can mention them. It’s all apart of marketing their brand and getting their name on your fingertips. But social media sites like Twitter, Facebook, and MySpace for all you kids still hanging on to Black Planet, is also individual’s little corner of the Internet reserved for their personal lives. They post funny pictures with friends, videos of them out and about, statuses that either glorify their everyday lives and call attention to their activities. Or they cross the line and post entirely too much.

I was on one of these sites the other day and discovered a “friend” had posted a picture of something so out of line, I had to write a blog about it. So without further adieu...

Pregnancy Test Sticks. Yup, the aforementioned friend posted a picture of her positive pregnancy test. Not only is this soooo tacky, it’s also bad luck! Aren’t you supposed to keep pregnancies under wraps until twelve weeks or something just incase? I saw that picture and immediately thought A) there’s urine on that stick and B) if she’s like this with just the discovery of pregnancy, imagine what my timeline will look like when she’s in labor. I hid all future posts.

Sonogram Photos. I don’t know why all my peeves have to do with pregnancy, but I guess it’s just that it seems so incredibly personal. Something exciting for you and your loved ones to share, but not for 1,279 of your closest followers or facebook “friends.” I don’t know about you, but there are many a times when someone pops up on my Facebook timeline and I’m like Who is that and when did I accept their request? Anyway, I’ve seen A LOT of blurry doctor pic in which I can’t even tell there’s a baby in the first place. There’s usually an arrow pointing to Baby _____ so I guess that helps. But it’s just too much.

Personal Spats/Fights With Significant Others. This always drives me crazy. You see two people going back and for on your Twitter public timeline and you think to yourself, “Can someone please pick up a phone and get off the Internet?” I know we live in a technology nation these days and no one under the age of 300 picks up a phone anymore, but goodness, if you’re gonna break up or lament how horribly he’s treating you, can you at least DM or Private message? We really don’t need to see that. And if you keep being so incredibly emo, you will get unfollowed…at least by me.

Bathroom Pictures. Ok, I understand that’s the only place where the mirror and lighting are JUST right, but every time I see one, I feel like I’ve just entered some personal space and you might have just finished dropping a load or something. These pictures are even worse when you’re wearing minimal clothing and yes, I’ve seen lingerie photo shoots on my timeline. Gross.

Relationship Status Extremes. There was a news story several years ago about some groom stopping his wedding right before he kissed his bride and right after the I Do’s to sign into his Facebook account on his Phone. He changed his status to Married and everybody laughed (including the bride) and then he laid a kiss to his new wife and ran down the aisle to his happily ever after. It sounds cute for a news story, but in real life? You gotta be kidding me. That should be the last thing on your mind.

What it comes down to is these sites are all public. It may seem private because it's just your friends, but we all know the Internet is called the WORLD WIDE web for a reason, meaning anyone can have free reign over your "private" sites. Don't put your personal business on front street. It's Facebook for goodness sakes! Not the Holy Grail of life.

Add your own, what’s driving your timeline batty? What gets someone deleted asap?

That bitch stole my line,


Blackie Collins

Wednesday, June 1, 2011

(Not So) Free Falling

(Photo note: This is what happens when you google "girl falling.")

I was having a conversation with CJ (for those new to the blog, he’s the ill best guy friend ever and I talk about him a lot on here) and was filling him in on my love life-he asked. When I told him I was trying not to fall hard for this guy, he said, “You’re always falling for someone.” I took such offense to his comment, so I decided to write a list of the last 5 guys I’ve dated or crushed on to prove my point that I haven’t liked anyone for real in a really long time. (Current situation notwithstanding)

Wife Bob. This nickname came from one of my closest girlfriends when I started describing some of his behavior. She insisted he was trying to “wife me” all the time, hence the nickname. Wife Bob (WB) is the closest I’ve come to an actual boyfriend in quite some time, yet I was still running from it. He is/was an incredibly great guy, just not the guy for me. The whole time we dated, I kept feeling like something was off and when I realized he and I were meant to be friends, I broke it off immediately. Especially since I started feeling like he was getting closer to Exclusivityland than I was.

Thug Life. Everybody’s favorite thug. I definitely got caught up with him and there are blogs on here to prove it, but I was by no means in love with Trey and every time he said it to me, something felt wrong with the comment. It just didn’t feel right. Add that to the fact that he was crazy and a liar and discovered he had fathered two children years ago on FACEBOOK, there was NO way that relationship would’ve gone anywhere, but to hell in a hand basket. And if I really felt all I could’ve felt, I would’ve never left him.

The Engaged Guy. I never really talked about EG on here, but I had a massive crush on him for years and eventually started messing around with him last summer after he and his then fiancé started falling apart. The funny thing was that he’d been chasing after me or laying the foundation months before he and his fiancé actually broke up. The whole thing was a mess actually because people found out and rumors flew and we eventually just stopped talking. He hit me to let me know he was in town, but we ended up arguing and blah blah blah. Always knew he wasn’t Prince Charming so it didn’t really phase me.

Paddington Bear. You can guess why this was his nickname; he looked just like him. A complete left turn from the kind of guys I usually dated, this chubby nerdy guy and I just had amazing chemistry. That was really it. We’d talk and laugh and be cool (he’s actually a friend to this day), but it just never really jumped off. He had an ex-girlfriend he was dealing with and I left town for work, so it didn’t really matter.

The Youngin. Do y’all remember The Youngin? I think I wrote about him a few times before, but he was just that: too young. Immature, not sure what to do with his life, and loved to bed girls just to say he did. He was entertaining and young guys love to show off in bed, so win/win for me, but in the end, I knew it wouldn’t be anything major too. Especially when we went to a bar with some friends and I announced I wanted a beer and he just stood there. Broke college student was never the move.

The interesting thing is I look over this list and realize a few things. Some of which I’d already discovered and some a bit brand new:

1. 1. I have slight commitment issues

2. 2. I have a tendency to go after disastrous situations. Guys that are so much of a challenge, I know what the outcome will be, which leads me to…

3. 3. As much as I love the L word, I’m super afraid of heartbreak and realize I haven’t taken anyone seriously since my heart was shattered two years ago. It’s funny because I’m definitely over my last exclusive relationship, but the residual damage left behind is that I am in need of someone good to cancel the old out and allow me a real shot with someone worth it.**

That bitch stole my line,


Blackie Collins

**I think I might be embarking on just that, but I don’t wanna say yet. I feel like Beyonce on Jay in the good ole days. Trying to keep this special thing to myself. I will say this, though, it's the first time I’ve felt like this in…maybe ever.**

Wednesday, May 18, 2011

Blackie Does Cali!!

Hey kids! It's been a while, this is true, but a LOT has been happening so let me catch you up as to where B has been. I was doing so much writing that I had to ease up from the blogging for the gigs that were paying my rent, ha! Speaking of apartments and living conditions, I've also recently moved to Los Angeles!! Yep, Blackie's gone west. Work brought me out here and so far so GREAT! I've loved every sparkly/beautiful people moment of Hollywood and I'm already up to my usual shenanigans. New boys in the new hood, of course!!

So, lots happening and even more coming. I'm so excited about it all!! Anyway, here we go! LA has no idea what it's in for...

That bitch stole my line,

Blackie Collins

Tuesday, March 8, 2011

Tales from the Hood: The Sequel That Shouldn't Have Been

**Author's note** Everyone keeps asking where I've been...well, I'm right here, just been super busy. It seems my professional writing has taken over these days and most of my creative juices are being splayed on AOL Black Voices, Hello Beautiful, News One, Urban Daily and the like. I can't complain though, it's pretty awesome and there are some major things in the works for B, which excites me to no end. It's exactly what I wanted to happen, so YIPPY! But I will do my best to continue bringing B into your lives with my crazy blog, but forgive me if a few days pass without a blog going up. It's usually because there's stuff on other sites. So get it in with me there when we aren't here! xoxo***

So, Trey is gone. Out the picture. But he's still in the same museum, lurking, observing, dropping in from time to time to jack my life up and throw my little universe off it's axis. He calls and leaves messages saying he loves me and misses me. He sends me random pictures of him in the club with the title: I want you back. And on the nights when he's out drunk, he calls me, and calls me, and calls me, and calls me repeatedly, over and over until he either gets the point or passes out I assume.

I don't really know what to do. I'm seeing someone new. He's a great guy. He's sweet and fun and fucking normal. He isn't out of his mind. He doesn't have a record, he isn't ridiculously intense to a point that he drives me up and down and all over crazy. And yet, I can't full get into him because I can't get over Trey. I've told Trey to stop calling. I've told him to leave me alone, to let me get over him, to keep it moving, but he doesn't. Or he does for a week, right to the point that I feel life find it's rhythm without him in it and as only men magically do, he calls "out of nowhere." How do they know when the power is starting to shift away from them, that their grasp is loosening on our hearts. They somehow have a sixth sense for that shit and they call or come back immediately, tightening their grip, ruining the semblance of regularity.

I hate him and yet I'm still so hopelessly missing him. It's sort of stupid. It pisses me off that he won't just go away or that I can't answer his calls, talk to him like a normal human being. You're wondering why I don't just answer? Well, the last time I did, he went on and on about how much he loved me, asked me to come back to him, quit my life and be in his basically. He was quiet and sincere, choked up and growly in his voice. It was the worst conversation. He kept asking me why I wouldn't tell him I loved him too. I kept telling him I just wanted to make sure he got home safely, that I'd stay on the phone with him til his drunk ass got home. It's draining. It's like the drain in a bathtub and all my energy just gets sucked right down and out. This is why I can't answer. Why I have to do the ignore thing that I hate so much. I hate when men do it to women. I find it rude and even more, cowardly. And yet, I'm doing it to Trey. But in my defense it's because he's just too much to do deal with. And I want to give the new guy a solid chance. I want to date a normal guy, leave my thug love tendencies behind me. There's a line in this song and it goes: "Passion is fine, but passion burns fast. Passion's design seems never to last. Better a match, better a blend. Who needs a lover, I need a friend." This many sound depressing, but it's true. Right now, I need easy, honest, relaxing, a guy who's just as much a friend as he is the guy I'm romantically involved with. I need balance and for goodness sakes, NORMAL. Trey is the exact opposite, so I have to keep him at bay, keep it moving on my end and hope he gets the memo and goes off to ruin someone else's love life.

That bitch stole my line,

Blackie Collins

Thursday, March 3, 2011

Pots and Kettles

A few days ago, I had a really annoying conversation. But we have to go back to the beginning to understand why the conversation was so irritating. About 5 years ago, I went on a date with a guy I’d known in college. We’ll call him Russ. Russ was older than me and apart of a group of guys that all knew my cousin, who was older than me (their age) and much more like a sister than a cousin. Said group treated me like their little sister when I cam on campus, but much like the little sister growing up theory, Russ and I reconnected 5 years ago and recognizing a certain connection decided to go out. Well our first date turned into quite a story, which I can’t all the way share because it turns out a lot of people are interested in who Blackie really is and if I tell the story in true detail, quite a few will guess it quite easily. We aren’t there yet, especially with some of the kettles in B’s fire.

At any rate, the date was an epic first date and to this day, I’ve never had that kind of immediate knowledge that this person was IT. I don’t know what it is that clicks when you feel like you’ve met your match, but it is the only time I’ve experienced, which says a lot for all the relationships I’ve been in. It’s like a drug; you keep chasing that feeling, that high, for all your life until you either rediscover it or find something equal or better. I specifically remember thinking, very shortly after our first date, that I was going to marry him. I even called my mother and told her. I was also just out of college, young and naïve, so take that for what it’s worth. So, fast forward to it’s end. It ended really oddly. He was studying for his medical boards, holed up in a house upstate, preparing. We talked all day every day, we talked about everything from daily check-ins to the future. Things were pretty solid. I sent him care packages and egged him on to study and succeed. He supported me in the things I was doing. Then one day, he said it was crunch time and he needed to really dig in for the upcoming (a few weeks) test. He called me from the house line, cut off his cell and studied for hours. Of course in hindsight, that was probably about 60% true. I’ve always been taught: when a man isn’t giving you his attention, he’s giving it to someone or something else-more than likely someone. A few days into the new quieter “relationship,” I went out with a common friend. During this meeting, his phone rang, and a quick reactionary glance at his phone’s screen showed it was Russ’ CELL PHONE. “Oh, it wasn’t turned off?” I asked? “Why would be it be turned off?” he responded and then immediately realizing that he might’ve just put himself in a tizzy, tried to back pedal. I didn’t need much else, I knew it was on the downslide officially. In the following weeks, Russ gave me ridiculous explanations, complete with an email that said, in the most unattached, corporate language, he “didn’t think this particular merger was going to work.” He said I had certain insecurities he wasn’t sure he was in a place to deal with. I couldn’t fathom what he was talking about, but I said, ok, fine. See ya. I’ve seen him several times since and each time, he tells me how great I look, flirts, etc. One time, he came home with me, but I decided it wasn’t a good idea and he left. He’s probably still salty about that. Oh well.

So that brings us to now. The conversation I had with one of my good guy friends, who also happens to be super close to Russ as well. In the conversation, he mentioned something that I hadn’t told him: a person I’d messed around with off and on during our college years. I asked how he knew about it, he said he’d heard from Russ. Russ had just been in town for a guys weekend and my friend apparently brought me up (because he loves me oh so much) and Russ responded by talking about when we dated and saying the real reason he cut things off was because he couldn’t go somewhere serious with someone who’d been with a guy he was really really close with. So he basically dumped me because of my “relationship” with college boy.

Here’s where I get pissed. Double standards have never been my thing. It is completely unfair that men get away with things women can’t even put their finger on without being labeled negatively. I cannot tell you the number of guy friends who have the same chicks in common. It’s absolutely ridiculous that it’s okay for them but not for us. The fact that you’d cut off something that was so obviously AWESOMELY RIGHT because of your ego makes you not the man I thought you were, Russ, and I swear I’m two and a half men away from outing you on this blog, but that’s not my style and not the point.

Six degrees of separation is more like two or even one or none in most worlds, and it’s virtually impossible to not at the very least have crossed paths with someone in common. It’s just impossible. I’m not saying you should change your morals or whatever, but man are you throwing those stones mighty hard for someone with a glass address.

That bitch stole my line,


Blackie Collins

Friday, February 25, 2011

5 Reasons You Shouldn't Sleep w/ Your Ex

You broke up. You're more or less over it. So what. Blah blah blah. But the sex. OOOH, the sex. You miss it. Of course you miss it! Duh. So....why not? Well here's why you shouldn't revisit sexytime with someone who's time has come... and gone.

Feels like the first time. Or not. It's never quite as good as it once was. Why not? Because you used to be in all kinds of lurve and we all know sex full of emotion is way better than the opposite kind. Might as well leave all those lovely memories where they belong-right on Memory Lane where love don't live anymore.

Too much feeling. One of the biggest reasons I've never gone back sexually to my (major) ex boyfriend is because I knew without a doubt that he wouldn't be able to be with me without expecting more, hoping for reconciliation. Now before you decided I'm a completely arrogant prick, know that I broke it off for good with him and every few months after (and still), I get a phone call or a text or a BBM that says something along the lines of, "I miss you and want you back." I tried to sleep with him once before and we wound up getting back together. Never again.

Standstill. It is virtually impossible to move on from a relationship when you are continually going back to that person emotionally, mentally, physically, so why would sexually be any different. If anything, it might be worse. It's just so hard to develop feelings for someone knew when you refuse to leave the old ones alone and I don't care what you say, it's really really hard to separate feelings when you once had so many of 'em. But good luck, lemme know it goes.

Too. Good. Let's say you go back and it's awesome; just as you remembered it except better. Now you're in real trouble. One of two things will happen: A, you will keep sexing, fall back into the habit of being around each other, and get back together. It'll be all nice and slow until you start to remember exactly why you broke up in the first place. Now you're sorta fucked. Well, not really anymore cause now we have to go through another lovely breakup and trust me, it's worse the second time around. OR B, you keep sexing because it's just so damn good and then one day he sits you down and tells you the sex has to stop because he's met a great girl and he wants to give it a real shot. She gets to have your good sex now. Whoopy!

Dead and gone. Worst case scenario, honestly, is probably going back and having it be bad, not because it just isn't as good, but because it's just so empty. It's over. You really are over it and so is he. Then it's just kinda painful and completely not worth the effort. Hell, you coulda had a V8.

Don't say I didn't warn you. In fact, I'd love for you to go out there, find your ex, diddle his pickle, and find out for yourself. I've given so much damn advice and people still do what they want. I find the best advice is learning from your own mistake. Work it out in the c-section-add you own. You know the deal.

That bitch stole my line,
Blackie Collins

Friday, February 18, 2011

Happy Friday!!

Hey kids! It's been a really busy week, but there are a couple articles up over on AOL for you to get your Blackie fix. New post just put up today on "Why Women Are Such Haters..." More next week!!


ps- it's All Star weekend over in LA...get your smeeze on if you're out there! You could be on the next season of Basketball Wives or something! Get your come uppance...

Tuesday, February 15, 2011

Valentine's To The Max

I don't know about you guys, but I love these new Pepsi Max commercials. They're funny, to the point, and witty. Not to mention, they give everyone a 30 second lesson in gender differences and relationship advice. They make my job easier! *Gets jiggy with it*

The latest installment shows a first date taking place in a restaurant. The girl's interior thoughts (which viewers can hear, but not the participating daters) are rattling off things like: I wonder how much money he makes; I wonder if he loves his mother; I wonder if he'll lose his hair; I wonder if he wants kids; I wonder if he's the one. She's all smiles and apple pie as she runs the gambit in her head. Meanwhile across the table, the guy is doing the same except his interior monologue goes like this: I wanna sleep with her, I wanna sleep with her, I wanna sleep with her, I wanna sleep with her, I wanna sleep with her. Moments later, the server appears and places a Pepsi Max on the table in front of him and like a small child or cute puppy, the guy's eyes dart to the can as his brain seamlessly switches to: I wanna Pepsi Max, I wanna Pepsi Max, I wanna Pepsi Max, I wanna Pepsi Max, I wanna Pepsi Max. Suddenly, we cut back to the girl who glares at him and "thinks," Not a chance. To which the guy responds: Darn...wait, which one?


Not only is the woman a magical, mind reading creature (as we are in real life), the man is extraordinarily simple, which they are in real life, too, as I say constantly and stole from both experience and my guy friends, who would surely agree on their simplicity. The good people at Pepsi go even further by showing how extreme and complex women can be just with the first date, while the guy is going after his ultimate goal: sex. I guarantee if you are new to this blog, my readers will school you on how many times I've said men do everything to get some booty. They are the booty warrior from The Boondocks. "Booty is more important than drinking water." Period. And Pepsi knows it too.

As much as I love the Pepsi Max commercials, they aren't my point. They're my segue into today's post. A little Valentine's drama for you guys this morning. Maria is dating a new guy, Ron. He is special. They are special together. They will probably have a special marriage at some point. So it's all special and whatnot. A day or two before Valentine's day, Maria called and asked if she should get a card for Ron. She and Ron are not yet boyfriend and girlfriend, but it is understood that they are in a dating situation that is well on it's way to exclusivity and as I said before, some sort of permanent union. I told her she could go ahead and get him a card. No big deal. She also bought him a box of chocolates (which was more than I said to do and you'll see why she should've listened later). The evening before Valentine's Day, Ron cooks for Maria. On her way out, she sees a pile of Valentine's Day cards on his counter, and either consciously or subconsciously decides one must be for her. Valentine's Day comes...and Valentine's Day goes. By 11pm, Maria has not heard from Ron at all and despite them not having pinpointed any plans, she assumed they'd at least exchange cards, at least call each other. Instead Maria finds herself on the couch, watching Castle, eating said chocolates herself. She later got a stomach ache. Told ya.

Around midnight, Maria calls me and she's fuming. How could he forget Valentine's Day? Why didn't he at least call or text! Hell, an email? She spews at me. I explain that first of all, she would've been pissed with an email. Secondly, has she talked to him all day? Maybe something happened. Granted, I don't think anything did, but I was being nice, playing devil's advocate, trying to help out Ron who I actually think is a rare gem. Maria argues that they hung out the night before, that she saw the cards, that she just doesn't get how he could let such a special day go by without acknowledging perhaps the most special woman in his least romantically. She has a point, so I tell her she does and we end it with her planning to wait til he calls because she refuses to call him. I concur.

The next afternoon, Ron calls Maria. He tells her about the awesome Mexican takeout he grabbed on the way home from work the night before. How her craving for chips and salsa sparked his own. He talks about how excited he is for their weekend trip and how his presentation at work went really great the previous day. He talks and talks and not once does he mention Valentine's Day or the fact that he forgot to wish her a good one. It is almost as if he pulled two pages off his Word of the Day calendar, skipping Valentine's altogether and missing out on the word "endemic."

Maria participates in the conversation, but being that she's about as subtle as a billboard when she's pissed, and celebrates every holiday down to Arbor Day, Ron notices immediately that something is off. He asks if she's okay. She says she's fine. Suddenly Ron is quick on the uptake and he asks again if she's sure she's okay. Finally Maria says, "No, Ron, I'm not okay, but I am not in a place where I can talk about what's upsetting me. We will talk about it tomorrow in class." By class, Maria is talking about the cooking class they signed up for...together (which is so New York of them, seriously). Ron doesn't like having to wait and asks if he can at least know the topic. Maria says, "Acknowledgement. It's about acknowledgement." She then ends the conversation and calls me screaming.

I don't know which is funnier. How completely out to lunch Ron is or how stereotypically female Maria is acting. It's like their own little Pepsi Max commercial and I'm gobbling it up, which Maria hates because I am not being "serious about something that matters to her."

Look, to Maria and anyone else who doesn't quite get how different men and women are (and how unserious Valentine's Day is), at the end of it all, men are very, very simple. They care about the basics and not much else in between. Life's challenges are solved easily as men seek out solutions and move on. They also barely get it and when they do, it's usually because some woman had to draw it out with an Etch-a-Sketch. Women, however, care immensely about a plethora of things that men could care less about. Women are emotional and complex, silly at times-especially during their period when they go absolutely crazy, but are also loyal and loving, so dudes deal with it. And we have vaginas, which if you didn't get anything from the Pepsi commercial, you at least learned it's all men really care about anyway.

I can't wait for Ron's excuse on missing V-day. He better get it together before President's weekend...

That bitch stole my line,

Blackie Collins

The Girl Code

**Happy Valentine's Day, kids! Hope it was festive and full of love (making)...**

I'm hesitant on the girl code. No, I'm not a mean girl who thinks we should all go around stealing our friend's ex's, but I also think some chicks are claiming far more than their share. I had a friend who, in the simplest and most honest way of saying it, got around. She'd dated quite a bit, slept around a bit more. It's safe to say that she will tap out 3 of the 5 boroughs if she keeps at it in her current pace, but to the point. The point is she, unlike many girls, she doesn't get to stake her claim as frequently because the odds of running into a guy, who she happened to smash or date, is so incredibly high. So, we've all decided she gets two. TWO, that's it, so she better make them count.

In most cases, you steer clear of the old flames of friends because most times it isn't worth the trouble. Who wants to lose a good girlfriend for a boy she cast aside (or vice versa)? And let's say, you get the go-ahead. Congrats, you're now the proud participant in a slew of awkward group outings, divided circles of friends, and odd territorial fights that stem from the fact that you're dating the guy she once pictured in a tux at the bottom of an aisle, and less to do with which movie to choose at the cineplex. Or, you hide out, as the little dynamic duo you have decided to be, looking around street corners, hanging out on odd sides of town, finding new circles to rotate into. All so you don't run into your one time friend who you traded up and in for.

That's girl code. Let's discuss the guy code. I've always loved my close guy friends. They've schooled me in so many ways, there's little a guy can do that will shock or surprise me. Ain't nothing new under the sun, some is just a bit shinier, but it's all been done. Anyway, guy code. They don't date for real girlfriends of for real boys. For example, none of the guys on Jersey Shore would ever date Sammy because Ron would surely kill himself and everyone within a forty-two mile radius (those steroids make you verrryy emotional). Most guys don't frequently fall in love and cry hysterically on national television-or in real life-so when they do, their boys know not to tread even remotely close to that trail. She is off limits. Forever.

But somehow, men go after the friends of their ex-girlfriends may more regularly than altogether necessary. I'd like to say they just have a different code, but it really seems they just don't care. Case and point: I was at a club this weekend (for the most part, I believe anyone over the age of 27 is too old to be kickin it at the club, but a friend rented it out for a birthday celebration, so I gave myself a pass) when I ran into one of Maria's ex boyfriends, Oscar. Now Maria is my serial monogamous, she's had several boyfriends, none less than at least nine months to a year and almost all of whom would've married her on the spot if they could. So, let's say she's had about ten boyfriends in the 13 years I've known her. That means there are ten men running the earth who I will never go near; not with a pole the length of six football fields. So, when I ran into Oscar, I chopped it up, talked a bit and generally just caught up. Several moments into our conversation, though, Oscar reached out and interlaced his fingers through mine and linked our hands. The ensuing conversation is worth sharing because it proves the point:

Oscar: You look so pretty. I'm loving the eye make up. It's all smokey and mysterious.
B: Uh, thanks. Why are we holding hands?
Oscar: I don't know. Why not? *insert what is usually interpreted as a smile that charms the painties off most girls I'm sure*
B: Oh, ok. Not sure it's a good choice for this situation.
Oscar: Come on, why not? I've always liked you. Why can't we hang out?
B: Have you forgotten you dated my friend?
Oscar: *pauses as if trying to figure out which friend I'm talking about*
B: Maria.
Oscar: No, I knew who you were talking about. I mean, that was forever ago!
B: No, it wasn't. It was right after college and that doesn't matter. She's my best friend, Oscar. Not some girl I used to know.
Oscar: I bet if we asked her she'd be okay with it. We should definitely ask.
B: I'm not asking, but feel free.
Oscar: I just might. *smirks*

The conversation more or less ended there, but I was so annoyed by how persistent Oscar was. It was neither flattering or cute. It was just kinda sad and ridiculous. There are a million girls roaming this island and the fact that Oscar would rather add to the number of hurdles he'd have dating someone in such close proximity just isn't smart. And like I said, Maria isn't just an acquaintance or a girl I once knew. She's my best friend! The fact he didn't put it together is even more irritating. Not that we're close, but that he knows we are! The very fact that Maria and I are best friends, means I know all the ins and outs of their relationship, especially as to why they broke up. I know all about his overly flirtatious habits, about his lack of direction, about the desktop folder full of porn she discovered one rainy day. So, no thanks, Oscar, I'm good either way.

I do kinda hope Oscar calls Maria, though. Clearly, he doesn't remember her Gemini flipping tendencies. That conversation should be lovely. And I'll probably be giggling on mute via 3-way, like a real best friend should. Long live the girl code.

That bitch stole my line,

Blackie Collins

Friday, February 11, 2011

A Gift From You to You

Hey kids, couple things to check out today. This current post, of course, and my article written for AOL Black Voices on Love Wednesday. Anslem Samuel, author of Naked With Socks On, and I teamed up with "10 Lies Women Tell" versus "10 Lies Men Tell (and a few more because men lie a lot)" Enjoy!!

"Closure is not something a man gives you, it's something you give yourself."-@madamnoire

I saw this quote on twitter last week and immediately RT'd it for obvious reasons, the most being I loved it. It just made so much sense in one of those clunk on the head, simple ways. Like duh! It got me thinking about my past relationships, those that ended well and those that went down in flames, and this quote won in every single instance.

For some reason, women really feel they need closure or the stamp to move the f*ck on from some guy. A friend of mine, Nina, is in one of those platonic male/female friendships that isn't actually platonic at all, but mostly on her part while he gets the best of both worlds: he gets the "you're my bestest friend in the whole world" routine AND sexytime. I've been telling her for almost a year to let that dude, James, catch the K, but she insists that he's all kinds of confused and that he really does love her, just doesn't know what to do, blah blah blah. That's what I hear when she imposes all her complex female feelings on his simplistic male psyche. I have seen this whole "friendship" blowing up since the beginning. Since she over analyzed her interaction with him while he fell for another girl who he punched a wall over and broke his hand or something. Whatever. Anyway, my inner Cleo saw it coming, which brings us to the current issue.

Long story short (something I never do well), Nina and James went out for a beer and to catch up, which was normal for them. At the end of the night, Nina invited James up to "make out for a little bit." Again, normal for them (odd to me, but whatever). So Nina and James go upstairs and make out for said little bit before things escalate and Nina and James go from making out to knocking boots.

At this point in the story, as it was being relayed to me, Nina says she felt weird, like the connection they had back in the beginning (when they were pseudo-dating) was absent. Apparently, the "no strings, platonic friendship despite being in love with you" sex wasn't working for her and when they finished, James announced he was going to go home instead of stay the night since he had to get up early in the morning. To this, Nina burst into tears. James was confused, he asked what was wrong. Nina attempted through snot and tears (which she later blamed on PMS), to ask him why they weren't together, why they couldn't work, etc. To which James replied, "I really don't want to have this conversation right now." Not having much of a choice, Nina continued on her quest and they had one of those kinds of exchanges that embarrasses listeners who weren't even involved or present. As Nina told me how she almost begged him to give her reasons why he didn't want to be with her, how he kept reiterating how he just didn't see her that way, that he tried, I physically cringed on the other end of the phone. I kept wanting to stop her, like, "Girl! What were you thinking? Not your finest hour at all," but we've all been there at some point (mine just so happened to be when I was 16 and I never went there again. I am still highly embarrassed by that story. Perhaps why I haven't told it in detail.) so I left that part out. Instead, when she finally finished, I asked, "What exactly did you want to gain from that conversation?" She rattled off a few answers, the most relevant being: "I need answers, I needed to know why not so I could move on one way or the other." I found this part interesting. Nina was under the impression, as are many, that she needed James to give her the go ahead to move the heck forward. As if he were the quicksand holding her back and had suddenly released her from stagnant prison. Nope. Nina didn't realize all that time that she had the keys to processing and filing away. We may feel like we need closure from the other parties involved, we may even trick ourselves into thinking we can't move on without beating the horse til it's dead six times over, but it simply isn't true. It is entirely possible to control your own feelings, your own actions, your own outcome. You look yourself in the face and say, "Bitch, please. He's a dirtbag and it's his loss." And because you surely don't believe it initially, you work the whole fake-it-til-you-make-it angle until you look in the mirror and don't even think about the fool you think you need permission from to move on with your life. It's really that simple. Sure, forgoing closure from him is hard in practice, but trust me, the theory is solid, and probably the best present you could ever give yourself.

That bitch stole my line,

Blackie Collins

Tuesday, February 1, 2011

On B: Tall Tales (from the Hood)

I write this blog and I get the awesome emails and I see the how-do-you-always-verbalize-what-I’m-thinking comments and I’m still in awe of them. Because half the time, I have no clue what I’m doing. I tell my stories, I put my life on the internet (albeit anonymously to protect those who aren’t as free as I am), and at some point it goes from a funny anecdote to therapy to quite similar to the little pink diary I scrawled in ferociously when I was nine. Sometimes, I write on here just as a train of thought, as a way to release into the atmosphere what I might not be able to do in conversation. In conversation, people interrupt and judge, whether they mean to or not. In real life, people impose their own life lessons and examples onto your own. In real life, people don’t understand because they simply aren’t you. But when I write on here, you guys seem to get it. You seem to say, “Yup, I’ve been there or yea, I was a fool once too. Sure, my sh*t stinks just like anyone else’s.” And it feels like a big hug, it really does. One of my closest friends in the world read the Tales from the Hood series and informed me she had to stop midway through the second post because she felt I was making excuses for him. I won’t lie, when she first said she read the series, I got quasi excited. I thought maybe she’d see what I wasn’t able to convey in our long conversations about Trey, about what this thing was we were doing, how I felt, how he felt. I thought she’d get it a bit more. But she didn’t. And that doesn’t mean, she’s anything other than my best friend honestly. She loves me enough that if anyone even so much as thought to hurt me, she’d call in the firing squad. I’d kill someone for her too. So I get it, I really do. But I still wanted her to understand. To see that this was more than a crush, more than a little fling, more than someone to pass the time. That despite the drama that came packed in suitcases at his feet, there was just as much good, just as much appeal. I’m a glutton for punishment, but even I’m not gonna run around with a 100%, Grade A Asshole. I have some common sense.

So, here I am, the point of this post. Trying to figure out what happened. Trying to understand how you can want someone, want to be with someone, maybe even love someone and not be able to figure out how to make it work. Of course, I’ve been with people whom I had strong feelings for, even loved, and it didn’t work out. I’ve watched relationships disappear, I’ve shed a tear or ten thousand over a seemingly broken heart. But, this right here. This Trey thing. I don’t know how, I don’t even know when. I think I knew from the very beginning that this was about to be some sh*t, but I had no idea it would roll into what it’s become.

I miss him. Terribly. I miss him when he walks out the room. I miss him when it’s been a few days. I miss him when I haven’t talked on the phone with him six times a day. I miss lying in bed with him, talking. I miss his crazy stories about his crazy life, one that is so opposite mine, it’s amazing we can find common ground at all. I miss going somewhere, meeting people who respect him like crazy and listen when he says, “This is my girl. Take care of her.” I miss shopping in the grocery store at 3am, watching him meticulously pick out snacks that are actual meals to other people: eggs and turkey sausage, fish, crablegs, jerk chicken over rice. I miss how long it takes him to get dressed, just to wind up in some version of jeans, a tshirt with a hoodie and a fitted. I miss his annoyingly, sparkly white teeth, his dimples that jump out and steer me off course. I miss how he needs to have his right bicep tickled to fall asleep. I even miss how he snores if he’s on his back. I miss how he walks, how he talks, how he looks at other people with authority, how he looks at me, goodness, how he looks at me. He looks at me and I pretty much fall apart cause of what I know he’ll do to me later. But you know what I miss most of all? I miss waking up to him slipping his tattooed arm around me, pulling me over to his side of the bed, kissing my forehead, and snuggling in for more sleep. I miss when my little thug melts into me. I just miss him. Terribly.

And there is nothing I can do about it. He hates me for leaving him. He hates me for “making him fall in love with me,” yeah, love. He’d said it on numerous occasions and I’d always tossed it off to him being drunk, waited for him to bring it up again, knowing if he didn’t, he didn’t remember or didn’t mean it. Until the last time he said it. When I told him I had to go for good. He said he tried to fight it off, knew it was happening all along, that damnit, he loved me. Like for real and it was f*cking him up. He didn’t know what to do with it, so he was putting a wall up, pushing me out, after all, I was abandoning him.

He asked me to stay. Told me he’d take care of me, love me, be with me. Isn’t that what I wanted? Isn’t that what we all want? As surely as I know the answer to that, I also know I have to go. There is so little that could work between us. It would be a disaster. But, God, I think I love him too. I have this feeling in my gut, that I don’t understand, that I haven’t felt in a really really long time. But I don’t know what it is? I don’t know how to label it. Does that make sense? Like love seems corny, seems small, but it also seems too big, too serious, not possible after only a couple months-not to mention a couple months laced with drama. I wonder if the drama had anything to do with him trying to fight me on what he knew was brewing in there. But, I can’t. Like I physically can’t. There are so many reasons, a big one that I can’t share with you guys yet, but I will really soon. But it’s taking me out of his life whether I want to or not. I’m not dying, so don’t worry, and I’m not moving to Mars, but I won’t be around for a long period of time, so geographically, we’ll be separated. I would never ask him to hold out or wait for me. I would never expect him to change his life from what it is- I also know him well enough to know his stubborn ass wouldn’t. But I don’t know what to do. I don’t know how to let go of him. It feels like my own little personal The Notebook except not nearly as romantic. More, the feeling I know they felt, that ridiculous connection, one that you couldn’t forget, wouldn’t be able to shake, even when the next one came around. Cause you can’t help it. Flaws and all, the heart wants what the heart wants and my heart is so stuck to Tre, it’s, well, it has to be something special right? But alas, life is nothing like the movies...unless, it's Blue Valentine.

That bitch stole my line,


Blackie Collins

Monday, January 31, 2011

Dude Sit Down: No, Bang-a-rang Peter!

Somewhere along the line men were taught that blowing a girl's back out was the move. I don't know who told them, I don't know where they got the info, who the memo came from, and I worry constantly about these secret classes guys take throughout their lives because they seem to be getting so much wrong information. Who teaches them all this bullsh*t? They should be fired and whoever told them that cracking a chick's spleen was the business should be sent to jail without passing go and collecting $200 (and in said jail, someone should crack their spleen so that can see just how "good" it feels).

Think about it. When men talk about how they gave a girl the goods, they always say things like: blew her back out, broke her off, banged her out, dug into her, tore it up, and the like. I had a really funny conversation with a female friend of mine who lamented how rough men can be when it comes to cunnilingus. She likened it to chewing on a piece of bazooka, making her scream out slave spirituals where she was more praying someone would come and free her versus sentence her to a lifetime of this type of hard labor. The reality is that so many men are under the ridiculous impression that to hurt us is to make us happy. Personally, I blame Ja Rule.

Pain is not love, boys, pain is not love.

One of my closest guy friends, Sam, is married, but Sam used to be the ho of the earth. I often wondered how he even made it out of college alive, without an STD or six children. Instead, he's now settled down and even leads a couples' counseling group at his church. I've known him through the entire transition, and it's still hilarious to me, but just goes to show how men can change (given the right girl, I guess). Anyway, he made a really interesting comment and I've decided it should be turned into a movement. He said his wife taught him how to really have sex, that before he was just banging girls out, (and felt really good about himself for it), but when he met her, he learned how to finesse, how to do slow deliberate strokes, how to make her ass go crazy on a pretty regular basis. Um, hello? Can he be the one teaching the class instead? I'm not saying the hard stuff doesn't do the job, doesn't feel good, and in all honesty, isn't a LOT of fun, but variety is the spice of life, kids. I suggest y'all run (don't even think of walking or even a nice trot-full on sprint)to your nearest female proctor and get a lesson on how to really get down to business. She will show you that it isn't just about showing off your pelvic thrust muscles, or how fast and hard they pound, it's about how you rub it just the right way. Much more of a deep and purposeful Barry White R&B song rather a Wacka Flocka BOW BOW BOW BOW. So, take note, class is in session. Tell 'em B sent you. Pencils out. And Go!

That bitch stole my line,

Blackie Collins

Friday, January 28, 2011

Don't Take It Personal

I like sleepovers. They've been fun since I was twelve playing Light As a Feather/Stiff As a Board and putting toothpaste on the foreheads of those who fell asleep too soon. They've always been a blast, snuggled up in our sleeping bags, chatting into the night, hoping morning would stay back just a few more hours.

Well, sleepovers have changed since then, but I still love them nonetheless. But let me be specific about the kind of sleepover I'm talking about. Not the kind where you wake up next to someone and you're like, "ugh, why?" I'm talking a bit more consistent. Like someone you're seeing regularly or dating. The sunlight coming in the curtains, you open your eyes and see that certain someone who's making you feel all warm and giggly. Take you to your happy place in all ways possible. Cooking breakfast, burning the foot while you make out on the counter. It's just, well, it's just really nice.

But before you get all warm and fuzzyish, let's discuss why you or I are going home too. Like Monica said, "I just wanna be all alone. Don't think I treated you wrong. Don't take it personal, baby."

Suck it in. There's always this moment, I don't care how secure the chick is, when her dude tries to cuddle her and as he wraps his arms around her middle area, she quickly sucks it in, just a little bit. We know you've seen us in all our glory, but you're also very distracted by the activities at hand. Maybe if I'm not riding you like a wanton goddess, you'll actually see that I skipped out on the gym a few times since I met you or that I ate 4 cupcakes last Wednesday, in bed, with cool whip, from the can.

Where the wild things sleep. I'm a wild sleeper. I always have been. I sleep wrapped around my pills to start out (odd since I hate cuddling actual breathing individuals), sometime during the night I flip myself upside down, inside out, run a marathon in my sleep, and change the sheets all before the sun comes up. And if I can't sleep, I toss and turn like a violent tornado, minus Dorothy and the lolipop guild. It isn't pretty and when I have to sleep over elsewhere or have someone in my bed, I get all weird and don't sleep well because I'm never quite in a deep enough sleep to actually rest. I'm afraid if I conk out, you'll wind up on the floor or in North Africa somewhere.

Must See Tv. Look, I love sports, I watch Sportscenter and PTI, BUT I also watch Grey's Anatomy and whatever crazy installment of housewives is current on Bravo. I love cheesy Lifetime movies starring Tori Spelling too, oh and old reruns of Buffy the Vampire Slayer. That to say, I love watching what I wanna watch. My DVR is just that: MINE. Nothing makes me happier than snuggling up on the couch-alone-and seeing that my DVR is 91% filled and it's up to me and me alone to lower that precentage. You probably don't wanna watch my recording of Steel Magnolias or that Quantum Leap marathon I've been dying to get into.

Fart, etc. Sorry to be the bearer of such incredible news, but women pass gas and poop, too! Even the pretty ones. ESPECIALLY, the pretty ones. But we also understand you like to live in this weird world where women don't do such hideous things. Instead our kidneys just hold onto all our waste until the same magical stork that brought us into the world, comes back and sticks it's beak in our tummies and takes the waste with them when they leave. Right. Just in case you're actually falling for that, let me warn you, women scratch, and belch, and fart, and much more when they're alone. Which is why we need to be alone sometimes.

Space Bar. I likes ya, and I wants ya, but if I don't get some space from you sometimes, I'm not gonna. I always seem to date men who go from hard to get to suddenly moving in with me. Or at the very least, taking major attention and wanting all kinds of snuggle fests at least a few times a week. I appreciate the love, seriously, but I would get sick of myself if I could-actually, I do, sometimes. An Ambien fixes that. Us having some alone time, alone, keeps us from getting sick of each other.

Any others I'm forgetting? Happy Friday too!

That bitch stole my line,

Blackie Collins

Monday, January 24, 2011

The Dermatologist

I tried. I really, really tried. Well, that's not entirely true. I won't lie. My brain is still thinking about Trey, my heart is still tugging at me, whispering my lust for Trey, and my loins...well, they are having their own conversation about missing him as well. But, moving right along. The Dermatologist, Jay. I met him through a friend, a general group outing that resulted in him asking for my number some months ago. We'd had a sprinkling of text conversations and a couple missed or botched attempts at hanging out, but once Trey came into the picture, my focus definitely shifted.

About a week before New Year's Eve, I received a text from him asking what my plans were. My plans involved Trey loosely, but I didn't want to rule out him flaking either, so I inquired what Jay had in mind. He spoke about a house party he was going to, told me I should come through. Let me stop and tell you about my issue with the words "come through." It is not how you ask someone on a date, it's how you ask a friend to come by, it's non committal, and it's so laid back, it turns the invite into a luke warm indifferent approach to hanging out. So, I told him, I had a few other parties to attend, but I'd let him know if I decided to "come through." I didn't.

A few days into the New Year, Jay hit me again and invited me to church and brunch. A much better invite, I accepted and we met for an encouraging word and some yummy food. The conversation was easy, we got along great, occupied the restaurant's table for quite some time, long after our bill was paid. When we parted, we agreed to do it again, hugged and kept it moving.

We hung out a couple more times, texted at random, but I was still inebriated by Trey, so I wasn't paying it much attention or giving it much weight. But this past Sunday, when we decided to do church/brunch again, and I was sans Trey, I told myself to really give it a chance, give it a little bit of poundage.

Jay walked into the popular diner before me, as I was running a few minutes late. It was just before noon, so the brunch rush hadn't yet hit. Apparently he spotted a booth and let the hostess know we'd take that table to which the hostess asked how many people were in his party. He told her two and after looking around, she responded by asking where the other member of the party was. At this point, I walked in, but stood behind him, so he couldn't see that I was observing the confrontation. The hostess said she couldn't seat incomplete parties and Jay went off. He told her she was ridiculous since his dining partner was just outside and since there wasn't even a wait, he was going to go ahead and sit down at the booth and she could get over it. And with that, he went and sat down. I apologized to the hostess, telling her I was the completion to the party before going to sit down with Jay. Moments later the manager came over, apparently Jay requested his presence, and asked if everything was okay.

Manager: Is everything okay today?
Jay: No, it isn't. Are you the manager?
Manager: No, I'm the owner.
Jay: Oh, you're the owner. Well, I'm DOCTOR CLARE.
B: *rolls eyes*
Owner: Okay, nice to meet you. What seems to be the problem.
Jay: The problem is that your customer service is terrible. The hostess is completely rude. I've dined at other locations and I've never been treated like this.
B: *wonders how Jay's managed to get treated as anything but a douchebag in the entirety of his whole life*
Owner: I'm so sorry you feel she was rude, but I can assure you...
Jay: No, don't give me the passive aggressive apology. I don't feel she was rude. She was and if you want to generate any type of serious revenue in this establishment, you need to reprimand her immediately and work on making sure your customers are happy from the moment they step into your restaurant.
Owner: *fumbles, hems and haws as Jay continues to berate him before apologizing one last time and walking into the kitchen to presumably tell the cooks to spit in our food*

It seems Jay has a complete and utter problem with ego. Yes, he's smart as hell. Yes, he graduated top of his class from Princeton and Duke. Yes, he's in a field of medicine that is 100% bad ass (his words) and super competitive. Yes, he drives a nice BMW. Yes, he's light skinned with curly hair (which I found out is because he is biracial and yes, he has a color complex), but for all that mess, Jay is an utter ass. I slowly but surely turned the brunch into a fun friend outing, even informing him I had a friend who lived just down the street, could she come join us too? By the end of the meal, I insisted on going dutch on the check and told him I'd talk to him soon. I don't plan on it, though. At. All. Too bad, I was hoping for some free botox.

That bitch stole my line,

Blackie Collins