Generation B.A.B.Y.

My best friend, Maria, has been dating younger men lately. That's perhaps the first problem, but not entirely where we're going with this. She hasn't been purposefully seeking out younger guys, but it seems everyone she meets is 25 and under. We all know that your twenties are a major growth spurt. There are so many changes in those ten years that it seems you essentially grow up during that time. Who you were at 29 is light years away from who you were at 22, so it goes with out saying that two people of those ages will have a glorious time finding commonalities amidst the vast space that separates them. That's not to say there aren't mature 22 year olds and immature 29 year olds as well, which is perhaps why certain forty year old cougars seem to work out just fine with their twenty-something year old husbands.

But Maria has not been having the same luck. As a matter of fact, she pitifully asked if she had the words, "Baby-sitter" stamped on her forehead. I told her no, not literally, but in theory, yes. Maria kept dating these youngsters that needed rearing, and couldn't seem to function without someone doing something for them. They'd claim their manliness all over the place, yet when it came down to it, they were replacing their moms with their girlfriend, i.e. Maria. Maria is a producer at MSNBC(so you know I changed her name, duh), so she's doing quite well for herself. She's 28 and the last guy she dated was 25, but was turning 26 in two months (he actually said that which shows just how immature he was). To the naked eye, you'd think it was only a two year gap, but you'd be thinking very wrong. If you look closer, you'd see that he's still trying to figure out if he can run back to the safety of graduate school, while she's putting together nationally broadcast news segments. He's ordering takeout four days a week, while she's having her groceries delivered by Fairway, so she can cook for the week. He's still out tossing back Blue Moon's and partying it up on the weekends, while she's grabbing drinks with friends and colleagues and enjoying a nice night in with a bottle of Pinot Noir. There's just a slight tweaking that occurs during those few years where you get closer to thirty verses closer to twenty-five. In fact, he's still checking the 18-25 box and, well, Maria is not.

Sure, it's fun to date someone younger than you. A friend of mine said that even if he or she is just a few years younger, it still brings you back to your youth (which everyone seems to long for)and the same goes for dating someone older. They pull you up to that level, but unfortunately, someone also gets brought down. Let me not that we're not talking about the guys Steve Harvey uses as examples in his book-we're talking about young guys who have no problem texting entire conversations (um, pick up the phone), or tweeting all their business as it pertains to you. We're talking about guys who will meet you at the restaurant verses bring their ass to your apartment to scoop you up in the cab. We're talking about this generation of guys that thinks it's totally okay for you to open your own door or (gasp) pay for your own movie, meal, whatever. This generation of youngsters is way off on the dating criteria, so why not leave them alone and let them deal with the other toddlers on the playground.

That bitch stole my line,

.xoxo Blackie Collins

Welcome to Blackieworld!

Step right up, step right up, get your golden pass and map out the rides you absolutely must get on. Do you love fast roller coasters or are the water rides more your taste? Are you into watching the hourly musical productions or do you just want to grab a cotton candy and head to the Ferris wheel?

Well, just like the requirements of a perfect amusement park day, you must be just as serious about those of the partner you seek. I don’t care what you say: there are certain prerequisites that everyone has before hopping in with a possible partner. Gone are the days of the schoolyard caste system-yes we all still have a place in the greater caste systems of life-but we no longer fall into such specific elementary categories. The pretty girls with everything just right always liked the boys who had cool spikes or bowl cuts and played soccer, but would go on to be star basketball or football players (of course the pretty girls would become the cheerleaders or play lacrosse, which was also approved). There were the slightly nerdy kids who disappeared during last period to go to their gifted classes and always partnered up eventually. Every school had the outcasts or kids who couldn’t keep themselves out of mischief and they matched up too (There was always one of those bad boys that secretly made all the girls wanna leave the one they were with if necessary, though, whoops got a little distracted thinking about him). It was very specific and even then, young girls had requirements that would morph into full fledged ‘isms’ when they entered the adult dating pool.

Enter CJ. CJ is my best male friend and he’s straight. I love my gays, but for this article we must focus on CJ (sorry boys). CJ is a very attractive, super successful man who usually has his choice of females. He walks into a room and every girl’s eye finds his chiseled jaw line, while every guy shuffles and grunts at his “cannot possibly be his own” crystal eyes. Seriously, CJ is hated by many men, but loved by every woman, no matter what the type. Even if she thinks she has no chance, she will always at the very least look…and probably enter a slight world of make believe later on in the confines of own bedroom. Because CJ is so, well, perfect, he has to set his bar skewed so he can whittle out the riff raff and find someone on his level. He wasn’t always that way, though. CJ used to date the cute girl-the one all the guys on campus wanted to have on their arm. He’d proudly show her off like his shiny BMW and be the talk of the town, but the relationships never went far or beneath the surface. So CJ started concentrating on pretty girls who had a brain, which I hate to say is fleeting at times, so he cut out a huge chunk right there. Over the years, his requirements, or the things he became attracted to, became more and more specific and it almost seemed pointless to have any interest in him. Friends would ask what was up with CJ, how could he be single? What kind of girl was he interested in? And I’d always say, “He’s picky, but if he picks you, it’s a done deal.” CJ and I would laugh as we talked about the current “it” girl in his life (the girl that was getting it from all directions and then some) and how she was beginning to fall short and I would chastise him over those specificities that had somehow turned into ‘isms.’ One day he stopped me and said, “Wait a second, don’t pretend you don’t have just as many. Everyone does. You have to! Otherwise you end up with Average Joe or Jane, in an averaged-ass relationship.” I sat and thought about all my ‘isms.’ All the times I dumped a guy because he wasn’t smart enough (rarely, lol) or kind enough (often) or funny enough (a lot-get your jokes together, guys, come on). And of course the times that his looks faded and I started to see him for what he was-just a flawed man.

There are so many reasons why we latch onto some or comparatively, ditch them. Those reasons start off general, i.e. when you’re playing in the sandbox, and become much more specific, when you enter the dreaded world of serious relationships (the search is on for a wife or husband, let’s be honest). Those things that make you tick are the things that make you come back for more over and over. So, while I hate self-help books on relationships (they’re extremely skewed and usually just common sense), I do agree on the exercise of making a list, whether it be tangible or in the back of your mind, of all the things you want in your mate. I have no problem with having a specific list of ‘isms’ because quite honestly, in one phrase or less, it’s an expensive ticket to Blackieworld and there’s a height requirement to get on this ride.

That bitch stole my line…

xoxo Blackie Collins

Something worth getting attached to:

From time to time, I like to keep it short, sweet and to the point. Think of it as food for thought. Think of it as the thought of the day. Whatever you want to call it, it's way more worth getting attached to than some lame guy.



It's over.
Let it go. Move on. You can sit and wonder what went wrong or you can move on and give what you've got to someone else...someone more deserving most likely. Remember, if he was meant to be yours...well, quite frankly, he would be. Buck up girl scout. Go sell your cookies to someone else.

Spark Plugs

We all know when it happens: you meet a guy, you find something intriguing about him, and numbers (or emails, Facebook/Twitter/MySpace, and whatever other electronic database that can be substituted for actually picking up a phone) are exchanged. You go about your life, the grind of work and balancing friends and family, but you never quite forget about that guy you met last weekend. He calls out of the blue (which you were totally expecting so it isn’t really out of the blue) and a date is set. The date goes stunningly well. Perhaps better than any date you’ve been on in a while or maybe you’re seeing other people, but this date just feels different; feels right. You’re already falling, but what self-respecting girl starts planning the wedding after the first date (can you see the sarcasm dripping off the screen…)? He calls almost immediately and a pattern begins. You chat each day while at work, start each day with good morning text messages while on the train, you speak again at night and dates are rolling in. You’re sitting at dinner and you look across the table, laughing and enjoying the effortless conversation, sharing cuisine, and tasting each other’s wine. You’re lingering over after dinner drinks and dessert (one with two forks, of course) and he’s telling some tale that you realize you’re actually interested in. You aren’t sitting there thinking of when this date will end or what topic you’ll broach next to fill gaps. You look at him as he nears the punch line and it hits you like a bolt of electricity. The spark. Not just any spark, the spark. The spark that keeps the relationship going long after the days of wooing are over (which, in my opinion, never should, but whatever), the spark that makes you giggle when you tell your girlfriends about him, the spark that makes you want to be closer to him than altogether possible, the spark that sets off fireworks in the bedroom (or wherever else it just has to happen). Yes, that spark. That undeniable link of charged energy that exists between the two of you. We love it when it happens and, unfortunately, miss it when the charge is dead.

Exhibit A: James, who from the first date I had to keep myself in check. I had to constantly remind myself that it had only been a couple of dates and that a proposal wasn’t around the corner. I’d catch myself smiling for no reason whatsoever and then realize that the reason was him. I had just finished dealing with someone who just wasn’t the one (insert revulsion as I reminisce) and I had forgotten what it was like to have a man make me smile verses the opposite. Well, James made me smile ‘so big’ as my best friend always says. Everything just seemed perfect. He was just as into me as I was to him, we met each others friends, started dating regularly. And after a few months, it ended for a number of reasons, but the slew of men that came post-James seemed so lackluster in comparison. There was always something missing: that undeniable spark, which absolutely has to be there. Now I’m not saying that a spark can’t develop over time or maybe I am, because that would make no sense. Someone can grow on you, but you’d have to initially recognize that certain something about them that makes them different from Joe-Schmo, whom you either wrote off after the first date or is now like a brother to you. A spark is what ignites the flame of a relationship and if you’ve got it, fan it and let the fire burn like a California wild fire, but if not, well, you know what to do: Break the glass, ring the alarm, and evacuate.

That bitch stole my line…

xoxo Blackie Collins

In His Kiss

I recently had a wild night out, which I try not to do on such a regular basis, okay, who am I kidding? In New York City, wild nights are about as normal as the tourists in Time Square (which btw, could you please stop walking so slow, some of us have places to actually go instead of buildings to stare at). A friend of a friend was throwing a house party. You know the kind of parties that remind you of your college days: everyone’s sweating, crowding the make shift bar, guys trying to talk to just about anything that walks in the door with breasts and everyone is either extremely drunk or very angry that they’re sober. I didn’t find out until later that I did know who’s house I was in, but that’s not really important-what’s important is that a good guy friend, Darryl, who was once more than that, but is definitely now just a friend (about as friendly as male and females can be-don’t worry, there will definitely be a blog on that topic soon), came to the party looking for something.

That something turned out to be me.

He sauntered up, drunk. I was in the other category (pissed) for several reasons. One, house parties are either amazing, when you’re drunk, or horrible, when you aren’t. Since I wasn’t, it was just hot and annoying. Too many people stuffed in a small spot and I’m pretty sure I saw a girl or two in shirts that were masquerading as dresses…unsuccessfully. At any rate, drunken Darryl made his way over to me and immediately started ‘bothering’ me. Now when I say bother, I mean it in the strictest sense of the word. Another man was chatting me up and Darryl decided that my thigh needed pinching, my butt needed slapping, or my arm needed kissing, yes kissing. He was being so annoying, yet there was still a small part of me that would always have some sort of soft spot for him, so I just sort of giggled and kept telling him to stop. Eventually, I had no choice but to give him my full attention.

Darryl and I have a very sordid past-ie, he couldn’t seem to get his life together to stop thinking and start doing. He talked a wonderful game, but didn’t do much in the path of action. I grew extremely tired of it and let it go. There are way too many sharks in the sea to bother with flounder. It happened by mere coincidence that I was ready to leave the party as was Darryl. I immediately got a great idea in my head: sex. I thought it was a wonderful plan and we took off hand in hand towards my apartment. All the way there, Darryl was talking as if he planned on taking major action (finally!)when we got inside my front door and once we reached whatever surface we could find, it’d be over for all involved. Well, this fish was apparently not as hungry as he pretended to be and as soon as we got rolling he started acting odd. And I do mean rolling. Essentially, he started the engines, but didn’t leave the dock. But that wasn’t even the biggest problem, well yes it was, but it isn’t the point of this story at the moment. The point is: we didn’t kiss at all during this interesting excursion. Now I don’t know where you get your rules from, Darryl or whoever else falls into this silly no-kissing category, but women like to be kissed. It’s apart of the turn on for us. So if you’re trying to get downtown, I suggest you start uptown first. You are more than welcome to kiss wherever you want later, but you should absolutely start with the lips, er, the mouth. And fear not, kissing will not make you our boyfriend. It will not make us love you. It won't make us attached in any way. It will make us want you and then everyone will be happy.

Instead, the whole scenario went downhill from there. I realized that I’d be pretending I wanted this and he wasn’t really worth all the effort. He left mumbling something about us caring about each other too much, who knows? But as I lay in bed that night, I thought to myself: would it have even mattered? In those moments before his conscience took over, I was definitely not my usual firey self. I was thinking a lot about what was going on verses losing myself in the fun. And I believe that because we weren’t kissing, locked in some sort of steamy embrace, he was thinking too much as well-as he’s prone to do.

Kissing matters no matter which way you gut the fish.

That bitch stole my line,
xoxo Blackie Collins

Hot Dog in the City

Why do we always want what we can’t have and yet the minute it’s being served up on a bun at your nearest hot dog cart, we want it about as badly as we want, well, a hot dog from a nasty vendor. It seems the trend of the chase is always in high demand and apparently never sells out. I’ve noticed from every pick up artist to every settled down couple that there is always a chase. Whether it be from the unreturned phone call (planned of course) to the hold out on sex from a housewife who’s sick of being ignored (which happens, but is absolutely ludicrous-why must I miss out because you’re being punished?), there is always the need for this race to the most desired. Whoever is desired most or wanted most, wins.

My friend Jenny had just started dating this wonderful (aren’t they always in the beginning?) guy, Jack a couple weeks back. She was thoroughly excited as she ticked off the checklist of must’s that Jack fulfilled. He was an investment banker at a huge company, graduated from a top notch college, and was rumored to have a family swimming in money. She would regale me with stories from their dates; how all they did was laugh and how they miraculously had the same sense of humor and wit. The icing on the cake (or ketchup on the hot dog if we stay with our analogy) was that the sex was amazing…well, the prerequisite to sex was amazing. Jenny was making him wait. I found this quite strange. Honestly, there are few women left in this city who are holding out beyond date number three (I’m being incredibly kind here-I know you first date chicks are out there in droves). But Jenny truly believed that if she made him chase after her and of course, it, she’d win him in the long run.

This old adage has stood the test of time. It’s a large part of the chase- possibly the biggest and I took it to my male friends to get the real answer. Matthew is my sister’s boyfriend (soon to be her betrothed if he plays his cards right). He’s a tall, dark and handsome lawyer who’s enamored with my sister and never raises his voice. He vaguely remembered my sister holding out on him, but couldn’t quite remember whether or not it played a part in what he thought of her. He did remember that it definitely kept him around, he was intrigued, but he truly believes that he was interested in her not just her gash. However, Matthew’s best friend, Jonah, who believes he’s the number one pick up artist in America, disagreed completely. Jonah said that if he was (and I quote) “putting in work with a girl and kicking it that hard with her and not getting any, he’d be out.” Men are so eloquent these days. Now did Jack want Jenny? It'd be fair to say that at some point he did, otherwise there would have been no chase in the first place. However, he obviously didn't want Jenny enough to put in any kind of work whatsoever (unless it was the kind of work that's done with his little hot dog, which we're not counting, nor should you).

Unfortunately, there are more Jonah’s running around than Matthew’s and even more unfortunate, Jenny ended up with a ‘Jonah.’ We never actually found out what happened, but the fabulous and wonderful Jack eventually stopped calling and Jenny was left wondering if she should’ve just given in and let him squirt mustard all over her bun. Amazing, Jenny didn’t even think for a second that he was just a silly boy who was pretending to be a man. She immediately thought she did something wrong…but that’s for a whole nother day, kids.

That bitch stole my line,

xoxo Blackie Collins