Blackie Collins

Enough is Enough

2011-06-02T16:47:00.002-04:00

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,

Xoxo

Blackie Collins

(Not So) Free Falling

2011-06-01T15:13:00.004-04:00

(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,

xoxo

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.**

Blackie Does Cali!!

2011-05-18T01:19:00.004-04:00

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,

xoxo

Blackie Collins

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

2011-03-08T14:03:00.003-05:00

**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,

xoxo

Blackie Collins

Pots and Kettles

2011-03-03T16:36:00.001-05:00

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,

Xoxo

Blackie Collins

5 Reasons You Shouldn't Sleep w/ Your Ex

2011-02-25T03:46:00.002-05:00

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,

xoxo

Blackie Collins

Happy Friday!!

2011-02-18T16:16:00.003-05:00

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!!

xoxo

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...

Valentine's To The Max

2011-02-15T22:08:00.007-05:00

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?

Genius!

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 life...at 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,

xoxo

Blackie Collins

The Girl Code

2011-02-15T01:20:00.006-05:00

**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,

xoxo

Blackie Collins

A Gift From You to You

2011-02-11T13:27:00.001-05:00

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,

xoxo

Blackie Collins

On B: Tall Tales (from the Hood)

2011-02-01T21:55:00.000-05:00

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,

xoxo

Blackie Collins

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

2011-01-31T12:09:00.003-05:00

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,

xoxo

Blackie Collins

Don't Take It Personal

2011-01-28T09:26:00.006-05:00

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,

xoxo

Blackie Collins

The Dermatologist

2011-01-24T15:22:00.004-05:00

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,

xoxo

Blackie Collins

Tales from the Hood: The E.N.D. (Conclusion)

2011-01-19T13:20:00.003-05:00

Author's Note***I was looking over the previous posts dedicated to Trey and my little soiree into the thug life and being that I'm such a child of therapy, I sat pondering the relationship/situation and what I'd learned from it. I'm sure this isn't all I'll get from this, as you always see clearer in hindsight, but I will say this: I will never again judge so carelessly. I will never listen to a friend rant about someone, who from my side, seems like a bad idea, and judge harshly and with an iron fist. I have no idea what their situation really is. I have no idea what he's like in their intimate (not sex) moments. How he treats her outside of the bad. I have no idea what she's going through or how she feels about him. I do know that as a friend, you just need to support and be there when the cards fall or if they build a tower that reaches the heavens. The thing is, you can't ever say what you'd do in any situation until you are standing at it's door, knocking. There were times that I was arguing with Trey and I'd have a moment of, "What the hell are you doing with this guy, B?" And as soon as the feeling would come, it would leave and I'd be so punch drunk intoxicated by him and intrigued by every bit of his tattooed self that I'd push forward. It was selfish to embark on a relationship that I saw ending in tatters. A rocky start leads to a shaky finish and as I tell you the last piece of this tale (which is my life please remember), I am not sure I'd do it all again. Who am I kidding? You know I would-and as one commenter said-maybe I like it...

The following week zoomed by, it seemed. My deadline** loomed, but things with Trey were better than they'd ever been. We talked everyday, saw each other repeatedly, claimed we missed each other when we weren't together and slowly I started noticing Trey softening, opening up.

One night, a Thursday, he called and sounded audibly upset. He told me his grandmother was sick and he'd have to go out of town to deal with it. He was scared, he was upset, his family wasn't forthcoming with the details, but it was bad. Really bad. I listened to his voice crack, tried hard not to be uncomfortable, as I tend to be when men cry, and offered my advice the best I could. He asked me to come over, then said he'd rather be alone. When I hung up the phone, I fought tooth and nail not to just go over there, show up on his doorstep and take care of him. I knew I was treading on unsteady ground, walking into a territory that would be hard to extract myself from in a few days. I pictured myself in army fatigues, stranded in the middle of nowhere, a helicopter trying to pull me, save me from an uncertain fate, but my ankles caught in a quicksand that pulled with just as much force. This would not be easy. I sat tight, sent him a text saying I was there for him and went to bed.

The next morning, we talked again and he laid out his plans to head out. He was borrowing a friends car, had packed up and was just running errands. I had a lot going on that day, so it looked as if I wouldn't be able to see him before he left. He'd be back Monday. It was Friday. I told myself to chill out, it was just a few days.

Then he asked me something that shocked me.

Trey: I really wish you would come with me. I want you there. I need you. Would you want to go?

B: Um, come with you?

Trey: Yea, it's fine. I figured you wouldn't want to come.

B: Um, I don't know. I have an even Saturday. I can try and get out of it, but I don't know.

Trey: It's fine don't worry about it.

After we got off the phone, I sat and thought about it. It wasn't so much as whether or not I wanted to go, because I did. I wanted to be there for him. But much like meeting his son, I didn't think it was the best idea. Meeting his entire family? In a time of such strife and sadness? It just didn't seem like a good look, but I threw caution to the wind and called him back.

B: Do you seriously want me to come?

Trey: Yea, I do.

B: Okay, I'll come. Where are we going to stay though? I cannot stay at your grandmother's house.

Trey: Oh, right. I didn't think that far. I guess we'd have to get a hotel room or something. I don't know if I told you, but my family lives in the country. It's all dirt roads and kick the can and sh*t. I think there's an inn or something that's by the hour.

B: Um, ok. *cringes*

Trey: It's fine babe. You don't have to come. That fact that you would means a lot though. I'll be back in a few days, don't worry.

But I did. The whole rest of Friday, I waited to hear from him, figured I might not as he'd be inundated with family and the weight of his grandmother's illness. I still sent him a text before I went to bed: Hope you're okay down there. xx, but I received no response by the next morning. It was Saturday. I ran errands, went to the gym, met up with friends, performed the regular Saturday routines. And as day settled into night, I realized I still hadn't heard from Trey. I was starting to worry, but I tried to tell myself he deserved a pass, he was with family. Maybe there was no cell phone service out in the country. I went out for a night of dancing with friends, tucking my cell phone into my jean pocket, on vibrate, just incase he called.

He didn't. Around midnight, I'd had enough. I picked up my phone to call him, but it kept reading Congestion, so I used my friend's phone. He answered:

B: Trey?! Are you okay?

Trey: Yea, why are you calling from someone else's number?

B: My phone is acting up. What's going on? I haven't heard from you. I was worried.

Trey: I'm fine, about to go to the club.

B: Wait, what? Where are you?

Trey: Back in the city. Got back like an hour ago.

B: WHAT?! You're WHERE?!

Trey: *hangs up*

What. The. Hell?! If I could put into words the anger that shot through me, I would write it for you right now. All I can say is that my father, grandfather, sisters, and brothers all have what we affectionately call: "The Collins Temper." It was given as a "gift" from our great grandfather, handed down generations like the color of our skin and the shape of our noses, and it plagues each of us. Some deal with it better than others, some not so much. I have always been able to keep it in check, but when it flares, it's never ever good. In fact, it's bad. Really, really bad. (Mental note to continue working on that in 2011.)

I picked up the phone and hit redial. It went to voicemail. I repeated this about 3,214 times before I finally gave up and started in on the text messages. I think I might have lost my mind in those few minutes of texting. I said everything I wanted to say, I was livid. I didn't think about any kind of explanation. I didn't think about the reaction this would garner. I just went in on him. He'd never seen this side of me, I'd barely seen this side of me. In fact, I've never called or texted like that. I actually have taken many a phone from many a friend to keep them from performing foolish acts like the one I was knee deep in. Thinking back, I am slightly embarrassed.

But he never answered. Finally, I got a text message back from him: Stop calling my phone. I was in shock. Where was all this coming from? What the hell was going on? How did we get to this point and in such a flash? TWO days ago, not even 48 hours since he'd asked me to come with him, that he'd broken down and shared his stupid life with me. I thought about whether or not I had the right to even be upset and decided I did. He brought me into his personal life, his family drama. Once you make me apart of that inner trust, I'm in. I care. Even with friends. I check on you, make sure you're okay. It's my little bit of nurturing that sits in the place where others find motherhood I guess. But I was mad, and hurt, and my mind was boggled. We went at each other on text message. I'd say our worse fight to date, and oddly, our last one.

Around 2am, he called. I started to forward him to voicemail, the way he'd done me a zillion times, but I didn't. We went back and forth, this time a bit more calmly. I'd give you the details, but it's tiresome. In a nutshell, I told him why he hurt me, he told me how much he cared about me, how he didn't mean to hurt me, but this was all getting to be too much. I agreed. We both said we wished it could've been different.

For the record, I care for you a lot, he said. I love you. It came out muffled, laced with stress and pain. I almost tripped over the flat pavement in the parking lot I was standing in alone. He what? I asked him again what he said, asked if he was drunk. He said he wasn't, that he did, he cared about me more than he ever thought he would. He was in a car full of guys, he would call me tomorrow. Dumbfounded, I hung up the phone.

The next morning, I recalled the previous evening's events and was still utterly confused. Where were we? Where did we leave off? Had he meant what he said? Did I care if he did or didn't? I awaited his call to figure things out, though. No more jumping to conclusions. He called around 10pm, complaining that I hadn't called him all day, I must've not really cared about him. In that moment, I just switched off. Dealing with him was exhausting, a roller coaster at a theme park called "The Great Exhauster." I just couldn't do it anymore. In just two months, he put us through a ridiculous amount of drama. I could only imagine what two more would bring. We didn't have that kind of time anyway. Suddenly, it seemed pointless. When we got off the phone, he said he'd call me right back. He didn't and I'm not calling him. Like Oprah and Gayle's radio sing along on their last camping adventure: You gotta know when to hold em, know when to fold em.

January 20th is tomorrow. Fin.

That bitch stole my line,

xoxo

Blackie Collins

Tales from the Hood: The E.N.D...part 3

2011-01-18T14:58:00.002-05:00

The drink turned into a 48 hour session of playing house. We laid up in his house, watched endless movies, talked, went to dinner only to come back to his house and do more of the same. And of course, the make up sex to which, at one point, I swear he said it was "like f*cking magic or something." (You know I had to toot my own horn right quick.)

The two days felt like two seconds. It was during the second night turning in morning, that I realized we were in trouble. The 20th was looming. I felt myself negotiating the deadline, trying to find some loophole in my iron fisted decision. I listened to him snore loudly-a sound that used to annoy me to no end-and wondered what was going to happen? There was no way we would ever make it as a real couple. We were way too different, had lived such extremely different existences. He was the guy you looked back on and laughed at how wreckless your affections were. He was a chapter in the book, not the book itself.

I rolled over and wrapped myself around him. He wasn't used to this. I'm not a cuddler, but he sleepily (I doubt he was even awake) adjusted to hug me back. I fell back asleep.

We woke up on that last day and decided we had to go back to reality. We had both ignored phone calls and emails, pretended the outside world didn't exist, but there was life to deal with. His house was a mess. We decided to do a crazy clean up, I took the kitchen and living room, he took the dog's area and the bedroom. We made the bed together. I watched him shave the scruff he'd collected over the last two days. I showered and talked to him over the glass door. He asked me questions about my past relationships, about my life growing up. We joked. Played cards, decided what movies we'd watch next. I popped popcorn, he made wings, careful to only Jerk his portion as I hate spicy food.

His phone rang. He turned to me and explained it was his son's mother, that he wouldn't usually answer the phone with me there, but something might be wrong with his son. I told him to go ahead, of course. There was an emergency and she needed him to watch Marcus for a few hours, maybe overnight. She said Marcus had been acting up a bit, needed a good talking to from his dad. Trey said of course, he'd call her when he was on his way.

I sat listening, but not listening. I was losing at our current card game, one I swore he made up, and was trying to recall one of the endless rules. He ended the phone call and asked me if I was okay with his son coming over. I told him I could leave, it was fine with me.

"I didn't say you had to leave though," he said confused.
"Yeah, but I probably should. I don't need to meet your son." And I didn't. I knew our end was coming. I wasn't about to bring a child into the mix. Talk about further complications.

Moments later, his phone rang again. It was his son's mother. She needed to bring him there immediately. She'd drop him off. Trey tried to pursuade her to let him come get Marcus, but obviously he lost the battle. He hung up and said, "Yeah, you probably should go. She's bringing him now and I don't think she'll like you being here." Baby mama drama. I'm out.

I packed up my things and made my way to the door. He hugged and kissed me, told me to call him when I got home. We talked that night, the next day. He missed me already. I couldn't lie. I missed him too. January 20th was just a few days away.

I was in trouble for sure.

To be continued...
Sent via BlackBerry by AT&T

Tales from the Hood: The E.N.D...(part 2)

2011-01-17T13:47:00.003-05:00

So, I was back to business. Went to work, went to the gym, breathed and breathed out. Even went on a date with this dope dermatologist who was the catch of the earth (fine, grown, graduated first in his Ivy League class-for both med school and undergrad). Everything was fine. And when the first phone call from Trey came later that night, I hit the silencer without a second thought and went to sleep. I woke up the next morning and hopped out my bed, turned my swag on, took a look in the mirror and said what’s up. I was in the best mood. The kind of mood you’re sort of surprised by because by all accounts, you should be down or even a little sad, but I wasn’t. I listened to girl empowering music on my iPod and walked with extra pep in my step the whole day. I told my friends I was done and they all nodded their assent or concurred with my decision. Everyone was just as worn out as I was.

Around 5pm, my phone rang. It was Trey. I hit the ignore button. It rang again. It was him. I thought to myself, I can answer the damn phone, no biggie. I was a grown up. I was over it already. Cue: No More Drama by Mary J. Blige. What I wasn’t prepared for was Trey’s, “Hey, baby. What are you doing?” Huh? Was he misinformed? Did he miss the argument? Did he not get the “I’m done” text I’d sent that night? I scrolled through the sent messages in my phone only to see it had failed. Failed! Damn phone never decided to fail when I was drunk texting or talking to people I had no business talking to. Instead it wanted to fail at a time when it counted most. I made a mental note to get an iPhone.

I quickly told Trey I was at work and I’d call him back. He called six times between then and 9pm. I started to freak out a little bit. What if Trey was one of those stalker type of guys? What if he just snapped and showed up outside my apartment, standing in the rain, staring up at my window?!

That night at 3am, I received a text: I miss u.

I looked at the phone through bleary eyes, my thumb hovered over the delete button, but I didn’t do it. Instead, I placed the phone back on my nightstand and fell back asleep. I’d deal with it in the morning, which Trey was prepared for. At 9:37am, my phone rang. It was him. I hit ignore and got up for church. And brunch with the dermatologist, who I clicked with like crazy, but I couldn't help but miss the crazy intoxication that Trey put on me. The day continued, I went running, grocery shopping, all the while, waiting for the next Trey call. It came around 4pm. This time, I picked up the phone.

Trey: Hey babe, please don't hang up. I just need to say this. I'm really sorry. You didn't deserve to be spoken to that way and I shouldn't have just driven off and ignored your feelings. I'm really really sorry. I understand if you don't wanna f*ck with me anymore, but I miss you. I wana see you.

B: *silently shocked*

Trey: Ok, I get it. If you change your mind, please call me. Okay? I know an apology isn't gonna change how I acted, but I'm going through sh*t right now and I took it out on you. I wanna tell you all about it though. *silent for a second* Ok, I'm sorry. I'll talk you later, I guess.

B: Thank you for the apology. *hangs up.*

Well! That was the absolute last thing I expected. An apology from someone so stubborn and pugnacious was like getting water from a rock in the desert. I sat and thought about his apology, whether or not it was sincere or just an attempt to get back in my good graces. I had a dinner party to attend. I got dressed and headed out, pretending I was over it, that the ice around that Trey space in my chest wasn't melting and when he called me again around 9pm asking if we could meet for a drink, I acquiesced, excused myself from the after dinner chatter and drinks, and once again headed out into the cold air. Back on my collision course.

To be continued...

Tales from the Hood: The E.N.D...

2011-01-13T03:41:00.002-05:00

We hadn’t planned on spending the night together. I had just been with him the one before and we hadn’t done two in a rows since the first week of seeing each other-which everyone does because they’re just so excited about the newness-so I was surprised when my phone rang Thursday night. Trey sounded sick, he was on his way home, he wanted me to come over and take care of him, could I meet him at his house? At first, I said no. I was in my bed, dozing, planning on getting back the sleep I always seemed to miss out on when I crashed at his house. But he sounded so put off by my initial decline, that I threw on some sweats, and headed out into the cold night air. Making him feel better, watching him morph into a little boy, all pouty as I gave him “horse pill sized” cold meds and having him fall asleep wrapped around me (ugh-cuddling) made the trek worth it.

Until the morning.

Trey snores as it is, but apparently, a horrible sinus infection made him snore at a decibel level that probably kept all of greater North America awake, so I woke up grumpy as hell. It had now been two nights in a row where I found myself sleep deprived. Trey woke up pissed because people are always pissed when they’re sick. No one’s ever happy to be under the weather. So we woke up and collectively decided to jump off the wrong side of the bed. He got up and decided he needed to get more medicine right at that moment. He threw on clothes, mumbling about going somewhere after he stopped by the local CVS, but I wasn’t really paying attention. I was trying to grab thirty more seconds of shut eye.

“Babe, get up,” he said in my general direction. I definitely ignored him as I figured I could just stay in bed while he ran to the store. The thought occurred to me to go get the medicine for him, but drowsiness prevailed. Maybe that irritated Trey too, I have no idea, but two seconds later he all but shouted for me to “Get the hell out of the bed! Now!”

I’m sorry, what? I rolled over and looked at him to gage how serious he was, but one look cleared all that up. He wanted me out of the bed and out of his house, he continued on, explaining that he was going to the gym and he wanted to leave right that second. I argued back, tell him to watch his tone, that I’d come over to take care of him, I was sleepy, etc. Somewhere between his calling me selfish and telling me that I always wanted my way and my telling him that we did everything he wanted, when he wanted to do it, how on earth was I the selfish one, we were in a full blown fight and I suspected I was losing. After all, he had the home field advantage, and he was kicking me off that field. Literally.

I jumped up, grabbed my stuff, and headed for the door while telling him I hoped he got better and by better, I meant more sick. Yea, I was that childish at the moment and while I was angry, I wasn’t quite at the moment of “I’m done with you.” That came in just a few minutes.

After leaving, I sat in my car for a moment (oh, yes, if I haven’t mentioned before, I’m one of the few idiots who has a car in the city-Trey is the other) and cooled myself off. I was hot to say the least. Moments later, Trey came out his house to walk his dogs. He walked up to my car and asked why I was still sitting there to which I decided meant I should yell at him some more. He walked off. Like while I was in mid yell. There are few things I hate more than being ignored. I don’t do well with it. It sets something off in me. I shouted out the window to him, but he kept walking, back into the house as if I’d never uttered a word. I picked up my phone and dialed his number. He forwarded me to voicemail. I dialed again. He picked up and immediately hung up on me. My inner time bomb ticked it’s final digits and full on exploded when he walked out his door, right passed me calling is name, to his car, which he got in and started the engine. Oh no, you don’t, dude. I didn’t come over to take care of your ass only to have you treat me like shit and then ignore the hell outta me like this. No way. So, I maneuvered my car in front of his, so he couldn’t really get by and rolled my window down. He didn’t have much choice and followed suit.

Trey: What the hell are you doing?

B: Why are you ignoring me? Am I speaking a different language? Can you not understand me?

Trey: You’re calling me and calling me, then you call my phone. Did you not get that I don’t want to talk to you? Now you’re cornering my car! Are you crazy?

B: doesn’t like the word crazy at all CRAZY!?? Are you serious? Apparently I am crazy. To even bother with you!

Trey: I’m not into this. Like for real. I’m not into all this shit. When I wanna go, I wanna go. You weren’t moving. I said to move, you didn’t move. You don’t listen! I can’t stand that. I live alone and do what I want when I want to. I don’t want no one keeping me from doing what I want to, when I want to.

B: I don’t listen? Am I your child?

Trey: large, calculated breath. I said, I’m not doing this. Trey somehow squeals by me and rides off

I sat there sort of stupefied. He’d just left! In the middle of the discussion! That was it. I’d had it and drove off, planning my escape route, ie not answering calls or texts, never speaking to him again. This was no longer fun, no longer worth the drama, in fact, the drama was no longer cute or entertaining and Trey was definitely not nearly as fun when he was yelling at me and scolding me like a child. I, for the most part, do what I want and listen to no one. Trey seemingly did the same and we both expected the other to kowtow to the other’s whim. Wasn’t happening. The whole way home, I kept thinking how stupid this was. How he had less than two weeks in my life, why was I losing my temper and acting crazy over a flash in the pan, someone who would barely matter in just a few days. I decided not to wait, it was over.

Or so I thought.

To be continued…

Tales from the Hood: That Time of the Month

2011-01-06T14:57:00.003-05:00

There's something so intriguing and interesting about dating a hood dude. There's this authority they have. This way about them (I refuse to use the word. The one that starts with an S and rhymes with Jagger). Whatever it is, they do whatever they want and everyone else just sort of falls in line and if you don't, they really don't care. No really. Well, unless you're like me and you've gotten under his skin.

A few nights ago, Trey and I were coming home from our usual bar/lounge type of night. He played pool. I perched on a bar stool nearby, grooving and "cheering" him on. We were in a good mood, home early for us, around midnight and decided to do a movie night. After deciding we were hungry too, and created a small feast, he popped in Robin Hood (with Russel Crowe, not Kevin Costner), and we snuggled into bed to nosh and watch the Prince of Thieves do his thing. Unsurprisingly, Trey loved the prequel describing the hood's life, I'd never seen it and loved the movie too, but I was more intrigued by Cate Blanchett's devouted hood princess. Ha! Anyway, I hopped up to use the restroom, opting for the guest bathroom instead of his for whatever reason I don't know, but it turned out to be both good and bad a choice.

I walked in the bathroom, did a little perusal of my teeth (we had just devoured a spinach dip so I had to check), and turned around to lift the toilet seat so I could do my business and get back to a waiting Trey (and a paused movie, "Babe, come on!"). But when I turned around, the seat was already up and floating in the toilet, goodness how I wished it could have been an unflushed bowl movement or something, but it wasn't.

It was a bloody tampon.

Funny, considering the fact that my period wasn't on. I hadn't been there the night before, we didn't usually do back to backs, but I had spoken to him several times before falling asleep around midnight. From the contents in the toilet, it looked like Trey had himself a good time after midnight...with someone on their period no less. Gross.

It's good to stop here and make everyone aware of my temper. My father has is, his father had it, my siblings have it. It's a cure. It just flares and unless you take proper care to curtail it, it spins a crazy web, killing every bit of sensical awareness in it's wake. I felt the warm anger immediately and without even taking a breath to calm my ass down, I swung the door open and all but stomped the hallway back to his bedroom. He looked up and noticed my demeanor had changed drastically.

Trey: What's up?

B: There's something gross in the toilet. I'd play a little game of "guess what's in the toilet," but I don't have the patience. So why don't we skip to the part where you explain to me why there's a bloody tampon floating in the toilet and don't say it's mine because my period isn't on, which you are well aware of, but maybe it wouldn't matter anyway, since you like running red lights obviously.

Trey: *looks at me like I'm crazy because he's never seen this side of sweet B. He barely flinches before saying* I don't owe you any explanations.

B: *steam flies out ears* No, you are absolutely right, you don't owe me any explanations cause I'm not your girlfriend (and I'm dumping your ass on the 20th). But what you could do is remove any and all evidence of all the chicks running through your house, how about that? Do you hear my phone ringing all night? Do I let you know of every other guy I deal with? No! I do everything to make it seem like it's just you and me, because in all honesty, there's no one else involved in you and me besides YOU and ME!

Trey: Are you gonna get back in bed and watch this movie or you gonna do this all night?

I huffed and puffed. Went back in the bathroom, slammed the door, put down the toilet seat and sat there for a good few minutes before going back into the bedroom and sitting on the floor to watch the rest of Robin Hood. What a dirtbag! I was furious and it showed as I snatched food, sighed audibly and made it completely known how pissed I was. It is one thing to inadvertently assume there are others, but to have them confirmed and slapped in your face? And on a movie night? Ugh, not cool.

Somewhere in the middle of the movie, Trey, leaned over the side of the bed and said, "I'm always honest with you. My friend was over here today. Just my friend. You know I'd tell you if it were something more."

He was right. He was and is overly honest. To the extent that sometimes I have to let him know I'm in a sensitive mood and to tread carefully. He's told me about chicks, not in depth, but has mentioned them. I never really cared one way or the other because we weren't serious and in all honesty, we aren't supposed to be now.

I sort of shrugged in response. Then remembering I'm supposed to be using my words and communicating better, I said, "I know we both see other people, but I also know you like me and I like you and I don't want to hear or see a reminder of others, ok?" I felt very mature about my statement and judging by Trey's nod of agreement, he did too.

The reality is that while we do enjoy each other's company and care about the other's feelings, it's imperative that I get a grip and stop liking this dude. It isn't going anywhere, the 20th is looming, and it'll only be worse if we keep on the path we're on.

To quote John Mayer, we're slow dancing in a burning room.

That bitch stole my line,

xoxo

Blackie Collins

Tales from the Hood: The Phone Rules

2011-01-03T14:06:00.002-05:00

I’m still dating my thug. Yep, I am. But I gave myself another two weeks. I’m not kidding. It’s a done deal after the 20^th of January. Let the record show, my New Year’s resolution is to the tune of TLC’s No Scrubs: I don’t want no thugs, a thug is a guy that can’t get no (more) love from me. I’m serious. Just you wait. I don’t make idle threats or promises.

But...in the meantime, let’s share the fun tales!!!

The other night, I was out with Trey, we hit a bar on his side of town again, to which I’m getting used to-no bueno. The usual colorful folks were out and about and while he played pool, I sat on a bar stool nearby, sipping my Guinness and talking to friends of his while cheering him on as he whooped ass. Somewhere around one in the morning, I got bored. He let me know he’d play one more game and then we could go to a spot more for me. I nodded my assent and picked up my ringing phone. It was my friend Maria, who had called three time previously. I figured it was an emergency, so I excused myself and went to the bathroom. Maria was having a mild crisis, but nonetheless, she was upset, so I tended to her and wound up being on the phone with her for almost twenty-five minutes. During those twenty-five minutes, Trey came out looking for me twice. The second time, he looked annoyed. Thirty seconds after I hung up with Maria, my phone rang again, this time from a younger sibling, asking advice. Always being the consummate big sister, I walked outside and gave him some quick advice.

Then I went back inside. Or at least, I tried to. The door woman (if we can call her that) squawked, “Figh dollas to get back in.” Huh? Why did I have to pay “figh dollas” when I had been in there all night? I said just that. “Cuh dat duh rule. Figh dollas.” She responded, punctuating it with that suck your tongue, popping noise that every gay black man on the planet can do and every ghetto girl, but not me.

I pulled out my phone and called Trey, he didn’t answer. Great. Trey is one of those guys who does not use his Blackberry for anything other than phone calls. He doesn’t text, unless it’s one word and most times he simply calls me back and answers whatever question I asked in the received text. I know he see’s them, but he barely pays them any mind.

They’re making me pay to come back in. Come get me. I hit send and shuffled my feet in the cold air, observing the motley crew of people outside the bar/club, willing him to check his pocket phone and come to save me from my “figh dolla” fate. Moments later, he appeared and mild hell broke loose. He chastised the door “woman” for not knowing I was with him as she apologized profusely and a nearby security guard reprimanded her as we walked back into the back room. Trey eyed me the whole time. Uh-oh, I’d never really seem him mad, at least not at me, so to see it was not to love it. But me being me, I sat back on my perch and took a gulp of my beer. Trey stood next to me sort of grilling me. I looked over and said, “What?” but the subtext was, “Why are you looking at me like that? Go somewhere.” Apparently not the way to make him less angry. He leaned into my ear and hissed, “Stay the f*ck off the phone when you’re with me.”

This time my what was laced with, “Who the hell are you talking to?” And it was much more audible over the blaring music. No one seemed to be paying us any mind though. It seemed that type of establishment was one where people minded their own business no matter what level. Trey leaned in again. “You can’t be running around here by yourself. In case you hadn’t noticed, we’re in the hood. This shit is real, someone will snatch your little Louis Vuitton bag off your arm and you won’t even know it cause you stay posted up in that black berry. “ Hmm, he had a point, but then why would you bring me here? Because you’re the man? Cause you can do what you want and every says how high when you demand they jump? I rolled my eyes vehemently and with extreme purpose in his direction. I topped it off by being a smart ass and snatching my beer off the table. You could feel the tension at our little bar table. His friends weren’t paying attention directly, but you could tell everyone was anticipated what would happen next in our little novella.

Next thing I knew, Trey leaned in and took my beer out of my hand. “Go home,” he said in a way where it was not up for discussion. I made a face and he responded by lifting me off the bar stool and repeating, “Go. Home.”

Would you believe all this time, I was incredibly turned on? Shameful, I know.

So I get up and say, “Fine!” in a very pouty six year old way and I push him, just for good measure and because I love dramatics and exited the club. Moments later, as I was trying to find a cab in the ridiculous neighborhood, swearing off Trey for good, my phone rang. I hit ignore already knowing it was him. It rang again and I hit ignore once more. I heard him calling my name several feet behind me, but I pretended not to hear. This was my own Broadway show and I was in the starring role. You couldn’t tell me this wasn’t funny or exciting or wildly stupid.

He caught up to me, put his big manly hand on my waist to stop me from walking. “I’m sorry for losing my cool. Come back inside. Can you please limit your phone use when you’re with me? It feels disrespectful for some reason.” I turned around, already knowing I would go back inside with him, limit my phone use, have a drink, got to the next spot, sleepover his house, wake up to him making me runny scrambled eggs and turkey bacon. After all, I’m a sucker for thugs.

But only til the 20^th.

That bitch stole my line,

Xoxo

Blackie Collins

Thug Lovin

2010-12-28T01:50:00.001-05:00

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,

Xoxo

Blackie Collins

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

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

2010-12-23T12:11:00.000-05:00

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,

Xoxo
Blackie Colins
Sent via BlackBerry by AT&T

GUEST BLOGGER: Meet the Blabbermouths

2010-12-17T09:29:00.005-05:00

*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…

Tis the Season to Get U Some

2010-12-16T12:49:00.002-05:00

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,

Xoxo

Blackie Collins

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

2010-12-15T00:24:00.006-05:00

**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,

xoxo

Blackie Collins

Friday's Question of the Day

2010-11-12T00:03:00.004-05:00

Friday's question involves something I'm definitely going through right now: learning from my past mistakes. So here goes:

What are you're biggest regrets in past relationships and what have you done to fix them in present ones?

A little deep, grab a shovel...

Mr. Telephone, Mannnn

2010-11-08T10:59:00.003-05:00

I've come to the conclusion that sometimes they just don't call. I'm very smart, I know. But I'm being serious. Sometimes, even when the date is great, or the connection is there, or there's a giant billboard that says: you two belong together, they still don't call. I don't know why, I could say I don't care, but then I wouldn't be dedicating a post to it (aside from the fact that I've had major writer's block).

There's times I don't call and I know my reasons usually have to do with one of three things:

Life gets in the way, which is really kind of a cop out because people make time for the things they want to make time for, but nonetheless it's a reason. Sometimes I look up and realize it's been a week since I talked to my mother, showered, or ate! Well, not really, but there are definitely times where I just totally get involved in my life and forget to call you back. Sometimes it's personal, a lot of the time, it isn't. Life was just way more important than you at the time. And I have a terrible memory, so once it's out of my mind, it's gone.

Pride gets in the way. The days pass and you realize said person hasn't called or contacted. When you bring it up to your friends, they say, "Why don't you just call him/her?" Eh, gets tricky. At a certain point, your ego gets slapped and you say, "No! I'm not calling him/her! S/he should call me!" I got a big egoooo, such a big egoooo.

Someone else gets in the way. One of my oldest and bestest male friends told me long ago: when a man isn't giving you attention, he's giving it to someone else. Street goes both ways for men and women. If someone isn't chasing after you, it may very be because s/he's chasing after someone else.

Those are my reasons and this post also acts as an update to the "blind" date I went on a couple weeks ago. He ran back and told his friend how much he liked me, wanted to hang again, but then never did. I got a random text from him several weeks later about something we discussed on the date, but nothing more, so I just let it move out my phone. It's not that big of a deal, but I am surprised. Still any number of things could've happened to keep him from calling, but what it all boils down to is that he just wasn't into me enough to pick up the phone (beyond that text). Oh well, I'm not supposed to be around boys anyway, so maybe someone was stepping in on my side :-/

That bitch stole my line,

xoxo

Blackie Collins

Friday's Question of the Day

2010-11-05T12:03:00.003-04:00

In the spirit of The Real Housewives of Atlanta's Sheree, when seeking a mate, what's more important money or looks? Would you date an ugly millionaire over a fine McDonald's employee? Extremes, I know, but you get my drift. Chime in! DING!

Me and the Married Man

2010-11-02T04:12:00.004-04:00

I'd like to think there's something wrong with them; that I am fine, doing me, won't change and all that, but now I'm wondering if I'm doing something to warrant this kind of behavior so repeatedly.

You're wondering what I'm talking about. Well here it is: taken men always want to sleep with me. Am I the ideal mistress? I don't like this one bit especially given my dad's extracurricular activities when I was growing up. I just do not condone the married men shit. So, you understand how unwelcomed this sort of thing is for me.

It recently started bothering me again as a guy friend of mine has started making some weird comments in the midst of what I thought was a regular friendship. We've been friends for years, but have gotten closer in the last several months. I'm doing some freelance work for his company, so we're in contact for both business and personal reasons now. And he's married. And I know his wife. And I like her. Even if I didn't, it wouldn't matter, but I felt I should say it just for security purposes. One of the things I love most about him is the fact that he's married, so I don't have to worry about another problem I seem to have a lot: guy friends who have ulterior motives. Since he's married, there's no chance, no shot at him coming out of pocket one night and stepping over the line. Well, ideally there isn't. See, that's exactly what's started happening lately. The other night he was up late doing work and we were chatting on the phone. It was around 1 in the morning, and while my best friend, Maria, is always warning me about the messages late night exchanges gives off, I usually ignore it because I'm such a night owl. I do my best EVERYTHING after midnight and I know so many people who are similar, so we're all up at 3am, g-chatting, tweeting, texting, etc. I don't think much of these kinds of things, but maybe I need to? But back to the story. So, we're talking, regular conversation, when I ask him some advice about some guy I'm not supposed to be dealing with anyway (no boys). We are heavily debating the situation with said dude, and I tell him once again about my abstaining techniques I'm practicing and how this is an issue with the new guy. And at one point my supposedly platonic and married friend says: I mean, if it's a horny issue in general, I'll take care of that for you.

Whaaat? I ignored the comment and said something else to continue the conversation. But a few minutes later, he said something snarky again! Suddenly I looked around, realized it was now 2am, and I was having an inappropriate conversation with a married man who was in his office talking to some woman while his all-unknowing wife slumbered upstairs in their marital bed. I literally looked up to the sky and thought why does this always happen? Can I have one guy friend who never tries me? Especially a married one?!

So, I told my supposedly platonic and married friend this conversation had taken a turn for the worse and that I suddenly felt weird. I told him how I valued the few faithfully married friends I had and wanted him to stay in that category, so even if he was a cheater, I didn't want to know about it and I certainly didn't want to be on the receiving end. He responded by laughing and reminding me how much shit he talks, how I should know he's never serious. Mmmhmm.

So I've been wondering why lately. I just finally put the nail in the coffin of that other guy I talked to several months ago. The one who was "separated" but still lived in his house with his wife. He still texts me even though I haven't responded since 1904. And I won't go into the ex who's married now, but won't leave me alone. As a close female friend put it the other day, "B, you're an atypical type of girl. You are both a girl's girl and a guy's girl, so naturally both men and women flock to you. For a guy, seeing a woman who can hold her own in a crew of dudes, won't make him turn off the game because she's watching too, and loves having a good time, I mean, you're the freedom a married man seeks. They get around you and think, man, how'd I miss this boat." But how is that my fault? This is just who I am, so now what? Cut off all male friends who are married or have serious girlfriends? Well, that's half my contact list being the age I am. I will say the late night calls and content should be exed out. Maybe they are giving off a bad aura. Like shouldn't he be upstairs having a nice conversation with his wife? Content is important also because I don't want you thinking I'm the girl you go to when you want to lament how boring or square your wife is. Nope, not my problem. You should've thought about that when you married the old ball and chain.

But that's all I can come up with. What else am I doing wrong? I seem to be the common denominator amongst these situations, so I am assuming there's gotta be stuff I'm doing without realizing it and it's gotta stop because I'm running out of patience...and guy friends.

That bitch stole my line,

xoxo

Blackie Collins

Friday's Question of the Day

2010-10-29T03:45:00.001-04:00

Can you ever truly date someone a friend slept with and/or dated? In essence, someone who "smashed the homie?" Why or why not? Can people get passed that sort of obstacle?

That bitch stole my line,

Xoxo
Blackie Collins
Sent via BlackBerry by AT&T

Dude Sit Down: How'd I Do?

2010-10-26T01:11:00.001-04:00

I never quite understand why men like to delight in their sexual prowess but for some reason, they totally do. They want to know how it went, how it felt, what they did that you loved, how many times you climaxed, if you would in fact put them in the Guinness Book of World Records for best sexual prowess. Sometimes I feel like they want a literal play by play, the highlights reel, or they come completely unhinged, which just seems altogether weird to me. I don't ask them how great I was, but then again, I don't have the weight of our sexual experience riding on my shoulders, which is an incredibly dramatic statement, but you get my drift. I also don't ask because I know what I'm like in bed and I'd rather the compliments be volunteered versus asked for, but whatever. Moving right along. So, I recently had someone ask me "how he did?" It was thrown in in such a nonchalant way-like months after the fact too (I am still Keeping Up with The Abstinence, although I have no idea how long the season will last-probably gonna get cancelled). I was totally caught off guard. It went like this:

Him: So yea, I told my sister about that new west nile virus exhibit at the American Museum of Natural History and she really wants to go. I figured we could all go together.
Me: Sounds good. We should bring insect repellent though, just in case some of the mosquitoes are staking the joint, waiting to get us.
Him: True. I'll buy some OFF. Oh, speaking of getting off, how'd I do in bed?
Me: ???????????????????

That's exactly how it happened too. And I was at a total loss for words. A) I could barely remember, it was forever ago. 2) Who asks that? Thirdly, what was I supposed to say? It wasn't even in the context. I can sort of deal with the dumb question right after the actual act, maybe the next morning, but a couple months after? Get. A. Life.

So I said: You did well enough that I'd do it again.

Apparently, this comment was not to his liking at all. In fact he said it wasn't a glowing compliment but he'd take it, he guessed. Then he copped an attitude and said bye! Cue Beyonce's Ego like right now. What exactly was he expecting me to say? Sweet JEEESSUS, I have been thinking about how great you are in bed since that night and I have been waiting for you ask me that asinine question because I wrote a list with 122 items, in alphabetical order, and a Power Point presentation with 16 pages of bulleted reasons why you're the best I ever had!!??

Probably.

I insist my answer wasn't a foible, but in the event it was, here are my top three picks for better responses to help prevent future dumb predicaments like this one:

1. You were amazing.
2. You were amazing.
3. You were amazing.

That bitch stole my line,

xoxo
Blackie Collins

Welcome to the Boring Life

2010-10-19T09:49:00.004-04:00

I'm so tired. I've been dating for over twelve years and damnit, I'm tired. Well that's not entirely true, because during some of those twelve years, I was in relationships, but those were tiresome too, so it remains the same. I'm tired. I feel like Charlotte on Sex and the City. I'm just over dating. I'm watching all these people getting engaged and married and, no, I'm not thinking, "When will it be my turn?!" Nope, you know B better than that. Instead, I'm just like, "I think I give up."

I've told you all that I'm on abstention mode. Well, I touched on it, but let me elaborate. I love me some hims and it's too easy for me to get distracted from what I need to be doing because of a guy. I don't turn my life over to them, but I definitely think about them way more than I should and I have an uncanny ability to refrain from saying no to them. It's a bad habit. I'm trying to break it by not dealing with boys at all. And if I do, it's in such a strict-arms-length-way, I doubt anyone will feel like bothering, hell I barely feel like it. Yes, I went on a date on Monday, but that's small potatoes compared to all the dudes I've written off in the last two weeks. That's been tiring too! But I really want a fresh start. I had a few icky situations going on in the last couple months and they all led me to the point of cleaning house. So, the house is clean and guess what? I'm bored! In some ways, I've totally become used to the drama that men bring in your life. They swear it's us, but I insist, they have more drama than Broadway. It seems enticing when you're in it, the drama, but once it's over and all is quiet, you're like, "what the hell? That was about as fun as diving into a mosquito nest wearing a pair of sugar panties."

In some ways, it's sad. I'm being very honest, I definitely feel the lonesomeness set in and this is coming from a person who loves dining alone, taking in a movie sans partner, or doing other activities by herself. I've always been that way, okay in my own company, but as I've gotten older and damnit, everyone getting paired off, I've started to wonder about my settling down, if I'll settle down, when I'll settle down, will I settle down? And it's all making my brain hurt...and my heart too.

I give a lot to people, I always have. I remember my mother warning me to be careful with my heart because I liked wearing it on my sleeve. I've tried to heed her warning, but I don't think I've done such a good job of it when it comes to giving myself to others. I give my time, I give emotion, I give passion, I give everything but money, and that's only because I barely have any myself, but if I did, I probably would. And a lot of times, you give to people and they just take it and you get used to it. You say, "I'd rather still have a good heart even if people trample it." But then you get smart and you shield yourself just a bit, you don't believe in people until they show you who they really are, or you just stop trying altogether, which might be where B is right now. I just don't feel like it anymore. Of course, I like being in love and of course I enjoy having a boy around, but I'm not sure that's enough to counter all the bullsh*t that comes with it. The games, the phone rules, the dating, the getting to know you, the realizing you're a douchebag, the moving on, the having a hard time moving on, the missing them, the starting over, the repeat cycle. I just don't have it in me. That's also why the blog has been suffering, I'm just interested in dating right now. I could tell some old stories, sure, but most of my antics are of clear and present dating, but I will be pushing through, blogging about the perils of missing boys and fighting my urge to ignore the voice saying Take care of you, please! This may be incredibly boring for you, but it actually might be eye-opening, at the very least for me, which is sort of all that matters being that it's my blog, so there. I might also say eff it and meet a boy today. We'll see, we'll see.

That bitch stole my line,

xoxo

Blackie Collins

Dating is Blind

2010-10-17T23:59:00.001-04:00

Last Friday, I posted the question of the day about blind dates. Of course, my questions are sometimes out of nowhere and me just being curious or nosey, but sometimes they are based on my own personal situations. I had been summoned by a good friend to go on a blind date with a guy friend of hers. This particular friend, Susan, is one of my most fun friends I have. She's quirky and crazy and insanely a blast to be with. I think she feels the same way about me and our wild nights are always the best. BUT when Susan said she wanted to hook me up, my first thought was this guy had to be equally crazy and one thing I'm desperately trying to abstain from in my life is craziness. In fact, I have done a major 180 and have abstained period for almost a month. Do not laugh at me. That's a long time, sadly. Anyway, Susan thinks this is the best idea she's had since 2002, which is okay because works for a hedge fund and I bet her ideas get pretty boring. Far be it for me to stunt her imagination, so I asked her a few questions about said friend. I didn't say yes, but she took the questions as a confirmation that I was going on the date, which I wasn't sure I wasn't, but also knew I probably would. I figured, if anything, it'll be fodder for the blog. We all know I've barely had anything to say lately, probably because I'm abstaining, which means I'm sitting at home watching dust settle (on my vagina).

Susan described him in language she knew would make me stop pussy-footing around and just say yes to the date. He's about 6'3, dark skin, loads of tattoos, plays basketball, dark hair, really nice guy. I blacked out after loads of tattoos, honestly. I was sooo in, but I asked more questions. What did he do for a living? Where did he live? Was he married (you have to ask these things because so many are okay with it if you are)? Where'd he go to school? On the last question, Susan hemmed and hawed before announcing that he went to school with me! I instantly recoiled, renigged, indian-gave, whatever. I'm not going. I probably know this dude. No, negative, sorry tattoos, I'm out. Last I need is a blind date with someone who I've SEEN before, which kind of negates the whole point. And what if it's terrible, as many people say blind dates are, and then I have to see him at Homecomings or mutual friended parties. Nope. That's a set up for a lifetime of awkward and I can provide that on my own, thank you. Susan pressed on, stressing that I probably didn't know him at all, and I should just buck up and go. I told her I'd think about it, which was synonymous with when you'd ask your parents if you could please please please get that pony from Jessica's birthday party last weekend and they said they'd think about it.

A day later, the ever persistent Susan, called and asked what time I wanted to meet for my date. I told her I'd never said yes, which she ignored and said, "You know you're going to go so just stop the act." I thought about it for a little bit and decided she was right. It could be a huge laugh and a great story for the blog. I love using the blog to blame for my shenanigans. So, 9 o'clock at night, the following evening, I was going out with Rob.

We met at a popular sports bar, which turned out to be the smartest thing considering how into sports I am. It ended up being a huge topic of conversation. Susan told Rob what I'd be wearing, a pair of black boots, a new pair of black suede, high end, peep toe, platform heeled boots to be specific-they're amazing-so when a deep voice said over my shoulder, "Nice boots." I knew when I turned around I'd be in for a huge cringe or a big laugh. I whirled around, and there stood Rob. Rob, who I'd made out with sophomore year at a drunkard frat party, but never really spoke to again. Rob, reached out to shake my hand and introduced himself. I almost choked, but somehow managed to giggle girlishly and say my own name to which Rob laughed and said, "I know, come on." So, we realized we knew each other, great, and it didn't seem weird. We laughed about Susan's idea of a "blind date," and found a spot to sit and watch some Monday night football.

The conversation was effortless, we knew a lot of the same people, we talked about what we'd both been up to since our make out and graduation, and generally had a good time. There were flags in the conversation that eluded to more time spent together, and I felt really nice with all his compliments on my pretty skin, gorgeous legs, etc. I could get used to that for real. We shut the bar down and when our server meandered by for the seventh time, we knew it was time to put him out of his misery and leave. He walked me to my car, opened my door, said he'd had a great time, we should do it again, hugged me and went to hop in his ride: black, rimmed out, dope Charger. Damnit. A nice thug. Exactly what I need right now.

The next day, I purposely didn't call Susan. I knew she'd been sitting by her phone salivating, waiting for our report, so when she finally called around lunch, I wasn't shocked by her exasperated, "OMG, what happened? How was it? Start from the beginning!" I gave her a brief rundown. Told her I thought he was nice, I didn't have crazy butterflies, but it was a solid first date and if he called, I'd go out with him again. I could live with butterflies for a while, they make you sick anyway. Susan was thoroughly excited, but I made her swear she wouldn't divulge my thoughts on him to Rob. She said she wouldn't. A few hours later, she hit me again saying, "Rob said he really liked you. I gave him your number. He wants to hang out again."

I'm not terribly shocked. After all, I'm an attractive girl with pretty hair, I drink beer, love sports, am articulate, and crack people up. Why am I not married again? Oh, right, because I said no. So, anyway, Rob has my number and now comes the fun parts: waiting for him to call and staying abstinent while in the company of all those tattoos once he does.

That bitch stole my line,

xoxo

Blackie Collins

Friday's Question of the Day?

2010-10-15T09:11:00.000-04:00

The ongoing debate continues here...

Spit or swallow? (Insert groans)

Have at it, kids.

B.
Sent via BlackBerry by AT&T

The Home Team

2010-10-12T23:21:00.003-04:00

Ok, first I have to apologize for the lack of posting again. A combination of writer's block and life have made me the worst blogger in America. There. We're done. Moving on to today's post...

It's fall, baby, and that means boo up season is beginning. Summer has been fun, but it's time to whittle down to the final few who will make the cut into fall and the one who will keep you warm through winter. Yep, It's dating season. Of course B is here to make sure all your I's are dotted and T's are crossed. I've learned every woman should employ a group of men when she's dating. This group of men is called The Team. No, B isn't suggesting you cheat on your man-this is for when you're uncommitted. No, B isn't suggesting you sleep with your entire team-that's some heaux sh!t, but don't worry, you'll be satisfied in every way as every guy on your team provides a service. While extreme descriptions, the list remains. Here's who you should pick when it's time for the draft.

The Romantic. This is the guy who wines and dines you. He's probably the first seed, top spot, dude you're rooting for the hardest. He's the captain of your team. He will probably end up being your boyfriend. The Romantic is the one you go out with the most, curl up and watch a movie with on occasion, and kiss in public. When people say, "Are you seeing anyone?" You say his name lightly, knowing it could very well be heavy if all cards are played correctly.

Pro: All the aforementioned. Most likely to succeed as winter item.

Con: Make this selection with care...he'll be around for a minute.

The Maintenance Man. Ok, we all know his job. He's the plumber. If you don't get that, we've got other problems to tend to.

Pro: He, um, maintains you.

Con: See Jump off posts. Careful with this one!

The Thug. So, maybe not everyone needs a Thug, but B does;) We can also call him the bad boy. Every thug needs a lady and every lady needs that bad boy in her life. You let him post up on your couch, blunt in hand, loud Rick Ross playing on the stereo, while you braid his hair or something. It isn't going anywhere permanent, but it sure is fun. Oh, sometimes the thug can double as the Maintenance Man...actually, he should. #biased

Pro: Muscles and tats are your friends.

Con: Bad boys are called that for a reason. Try not to get attached, they break hearts.

The Gay. The Gay is the only character on the team who isn't used for romantic purposes. He's the one you go shopping with, the one you gossip with, the one you brunch with. He's the one who fills the girlfriend position so your dudes don't have to find themselves sitting on a couch in Bloomingdale's watching you try on endless little black dresses which all. look. the. same.

Pro: B loves the gays!

Con: B loves the gays!

The Intellect/Renaissance/Earthy Man. This is the guy you go to museums, art exhibits, Talib Kwali concerts, poetry readings with. Maybe he has dreads too and wears those nerdy glasses. You talk endlessly in coffee shops about the poverty rate in America and how you too can be a Vegan in three easy steps. The next date will include handcuffing yourselves to a tree he used to climb when he was 9.

Pro: IRE man helps you stay cultured and opens your eyes to different parts of life.

Con: You'll miss animal products, trust me.

The Baller. Few have this guy, but he's great if you got him. He's the dude who flies you out to meet him wherever he is. The guy who showers you with gifts, drives a dope ride, and wear tailored suits ala the men in Takers. The baller can range from some finance type with a big bank account to the athlete who adds you to the payroll.

Pro: The inside of a Mercedes SL500 is pretty nifty and you'll feel crazy awesome stepping out with a fine dude to boot.

Con: When you go back to slummin it, you'll miss it badly.

What about guys? Who's on your team?

That bitch stole my line,

xoxo

Blackie Collins

TGIF: Question of the Day

2010-10-08T09:41:00.002-04:00

Thank goooddnesss it's Friday! Writer's block continued this week, but here's your question of the day:

Would you ever go on a blind date? Have you? Was it terrible or are you about to celebrate your 90th anniversary and birth your sixth child?

That bitch stole my line,

xoxo

Blackie Collins

Sexytime Relationships

2010-10-05T21:43:00.002-04:00

Chris Brown said it best: Three in the morning, you know I'm horny. So why don't you come over my place and put a smile on my face..." Oh, the late night booty call. Fun times, or disastrous if you don't know how to navigate this tricky relationship. I've talked about jump off relationships before, but I've done some more research since then and since it's an ongoing debate for many...Here's my little list of managerial duties for the sex only relationship:

1. NO SLEEPOVERS. Cuddling and spooning into the night are for boyfriends and girlfriends, not for jump offs. JOs do not serve that purpose and I promise you, if you are sleeping with someone and then SLEEPING with someone for months on end, someone will definitely catch feelings like pneumonia.

2. RULES. Make the rules and stick to them. If you two don't kiss because it's too intimate, don't kiss. Don't get all drunk and start slobbering each other down. Some people can kiss and keep it breezy, some cannot. Know which camp you're in, pitch a tent, and stay put.

3. MINIMAL TALKING. This sounds harsh, I know, and I don't mean you can't talk to each other at all, but keep the topics surface. I don't come over to hear about how you quit your job and you're stressed or how your father who bounced when you were little is back and driving you crazy and you don't know what to do. How about we talk about the last movie we saw or how great the weather's been instead. Getting to know each other too much starts to lead to wanting to know each other too much and confuses the issue.

4. CONTINUE TO DATE. Do not put all your relationship eggs in the JO's basket, s/he will drop them quicker than a third string wide receiver. If you keep your options open and date others, leaving just sex as your focus with the sex buddy, it'll make your life easier.

5. KNOW YOURSELF. I know I already said this, but I can't stress it enough: IF YOU START TO FEEL ANYTHING, THINK ABOUT THEM WHEN YOU'RE EATING FROZEN YOGURT ALSO KNOWN AS CATCHING FEELINGS, FLEE. Fast. I had to put that in caps. I've been here myself, not realizing that I was starting to like dude (usually after I broke aforementioned rules) and didn't realize until it was too late. It happens, easily if you're not careful. Additionally falling under this heading, know yourself enough to know if you are NOT a jump off type of person. If you aren't, nobody really cares, so go about your business and don't employ any heauxs. Don't force the issue, it'll only make you're life hell. Buy a vibrator or jack off, and keep it moving.

That bitch stole my line,

xoxo

Blackie Collins

I Know It Isn't Friday, but...

2010-09-30T12:47:00.003-04:00

So, I've decided to do a Friday question of the day. Just to kind of tie the week together, gear up for the weekend and sort of give me a day off from blogging......I've had way too many, yes, I know, but life has been very crazy these last weeks, but as things come together, I will be blogging daily again. Friday will be Question of the Day. So answer away and submit questions to blckcollins@gmail.com if you'd like too:)

Also, I'm up at Zora and Alice today. Great blog and Blackie is happy to be included!

TODAY/TOMORROW'S: QUESTION:

How many partner is too many for a woman?

That bitch stole my line,

xoxo

Blackie Collins

Over It, Over You

2010-09-28T00:02:00.002-04:00

It's a pretty great feeling to realize you are truly over someone. Gone are the days of sitting by the phone, hopping they'll change their minds and beg you to give them another chance. No more do you lay in bed at night, remembering how it felt to have the warmth of their body next to yours, as constant as they were there when the sun came up. It surprises you how sad you can be, how you can literally feel your heart aching in your chest, wondering if you will ever go back out into the world again, trust again, let down walls again.

And then you hit a point where the ache dulls and it's just a little numb feeling you learn to live with and it really isn't so bad. You start to think to yourself, "I'm over it. Great." But there are fleeting moments, oh are there ever. Moments where it hits you hard and you feel as if the wind has been knocked clear out of you. Maybe you see him or her out in public, pass them on the street, have the awkward run in, hear that he or she is dating someone new. Those little moments are the ones where you think, "Shit, maybe I'm not over it," and it drives you up a wall like Lionel Richie. You can't stand how they still have an affect on you. How you can not hear from them for months, but seeing their name pop up on your blackberry reduces you down to the slobbering, crying idiot you were when they walked out the door. It's silly really, but at the time it feels like mountains crumbling. An avalanche of emotions.

You date other people and try not to compare the apples to the oranges. Try to enjoy yourself and move on. It's fun sometimes, but other times it just all around sucks. You want them to laugh like s/he did, hell, just be funny as s/he was and probably still is. They aren't the same and it's a glaring reminder whenever they open their mouths. You. Are. Not. Him(her). Annoying. But you press on, cause you have to. You can't be that idiot who still has pics in frames around the house, hopes unhealthily for reconciliation, hangs around his/her hangouts, hoping for a "run in," doesn't move on all around. Friends look at you like you're crazy and get sick of talking you down off your ridiculous ledges. You sorta get sick of yourself, but you can't seem to shake it. Nope, you cannot...will not be that person.

The only cure for the common break up is time, sad but true. The hardest thing to face and yet the only thing proven to heal broken hearts. Time comes and goes and before you know it, you realize you haven't thought of them in days, weeks, months. You forgot to answer his/her random text the other week because you were genuinely busy. You're life no longer comes to a crashing halt whenever they come a knocking. Then some sort of event happens, maybe you sleep together randomly (I don't recommend that for the severely broken hearted) or you see them at a party. Something that makes you remember how you used to feel and more importantly, how you don't feel anymore. It feels awesome. Like warm chocolate chip cooks fresh out the oven. You actually look at them as just a regular person and maybe you say, "What on earth was I thinking?" Maybe you don't. None of it really matters and that's the best part. It doesn't matter. You don't care. At all. Eureka's castle.

That bitch stole my line,

xoxo

Blackie Collins

On B: Leaf Me Alone (?)

2010-09-23T00:13:00.004-04:00

So, my new leaf I was all kinds of turning over... Yea, about that...

Wait, let's back up a bit. I decided a few months ago to start connecting with the men who came in my life, to stop being so distant and guarded. Oh yeah, and to stop sleeping with boys.

This is hard for me. I'm not running around hopping on every pop that pops up, no, no there aren't any slut baggers in my camp, but for those who do get lucky, I'm a complete wall. For example, my current man friend or lover or whatever actually called me out post-coitus the other day, asking why I was so far away, both literally and metaphorically. I was genuinely sleepy and we all know how I hate cuddling anyway. The truth is, I learned a while ago to just shut that valve off. One too many heartaches and you just sort of say, "how can I keep this from happening? Oh, I could just not care." And it was hard, I think, I almost don't remember, but I recall realizing that I didn't give a crap. At least surfacely I didn't. I was hanging out with this one guy for much of the earlier part of this year. I knew him from college, but didn't know him. One night we were blowing each other's backs out when I decided to ask him if he had pledged while we were in school. Like while I was bouncing around on him. I'm pretty sure it wasn't the most appropriate time to ask, but I had cum a few times and was starting to get over it. He laughed and told me he had pledged, that I knew this. Maybe I did, but I don't think so. It was in that moment I realized how bogus the situation was. What am I doing, what am I doing. Oh yeah, that's right- I'm doing me and not giving a cat's cradle about anyone else. This could be a problem. This can't be normal.

There's something freeing and refreshing about being the one not to call, the one to roll over and not spoon into the night, the one asking if your're staying or going home while secretly hoping you'll roll out like Luda. But at the same time, it's not admirable to be so apathetic or to have suppressed feelings for so long, you're not sure if they ever existed; almost can't remember the last time you cried yourself to sleep because he dumped you. Told you he didn't want you, pulled the rug from underneath you. This can be a lonely place, not caring. I guess this is when you realize one of two things: you're jaded and love has knocked you out too many times or you've grown up and know what deserves tears and what's just spilled milk. You learn what's worth your time and what is not, what deserves attention and what is better left ignored. The issue, in my opinion, is at some point all that catches up and you say, "Hey, what does it feel like to love someone, to care about someone, to want to be with someone longer than a few nights, to fall again?" I just have so many non-feelings on the issue that I don't even know. It all feels like vulnerability which equals weakness in my brain these days. Obviously not true. I think it takes true courage to put yourself out there, to fall and soar or crash and burn. It's the coward who does otherwise.

So, I guess I'm the cowardly lion in this tale, but at least I'm aware and even though my leaf has blown away down 5th avenue, it's still in view. I can still grab it and start anew, learn to care again, be honest with myself and others. And now I have to stop because this is getting too mushy and emotional. I haven't grabbed the damn leaf yet, back off.

That bitch stole my line,

xoxo

Blackie Collins

Beautiful Isn't Enough

2010-09-22T14:08:00.000-04:00

There are a lot of beautiful single girls in the world. There are a lot of beautiful girls, period. Yes, there are a lot of the opposite, but it doesn't take a whole lot to be considered pretty or even beautiful. Tack on a few genes from the fam and you're good even without make up.

I'm always a bit surprised at just how different men view beautiful versus how women see beautiful. I'm not talking about the chicks we all KNOW are pretty because the world says so (Halle Berry, any Victoria's Secret model, Zoe Saldena, Lauren London, etc), but the regular girls on the street, in the bank, at a club, riding through the car wash. Those are the women we all seem to be divided on.

A couple months ago, the wise guys at Very Smart Brothas did a little online experiment where they posted 5 photos of women and 5 photos of men. The instructions were to rank by looks and then rank how we thought the opposite sex would choose. It was interesting who came out on top from both perspectives. It can't just be that beauty is in the eye of the beholder; it has to be more. Maybe it's because women are much more emotional creatures and we don't just see asymmetrical features and nice hair, but her attitude, his "swag," the whole package, the person. Men, when told to judge a female's looks, do JUST that. Judge her looks, which is also directly tied into whether or not he'd beat.

So I wasn't all that shocked, just took note of a situation I came across yesterday. I was over my boy's house when I remembered I wanted to hook him up with a friend of mine. He swore he'd met or boned most of my friends at some point in his 28 years, but I informed him this was a relatively new friend and he didn't know her from Eve. I grabbed his laptop and signed into Facebook, all the while chomping off at the bit about how cute she was, how she was funny, how she was just his type. I went right to her profile pictures and tilted the screen so he could concur.

"Yeah, she's pretty, but I told you I wasn't really trying to date anyone right now," he said as he clicked through a few other pictures. "She's beautiful, for real, though."

Huh? If she was so beautiful, why wasn't he interested in buying her a slice and popping a squat in the park? This must've meant he didn't really find her attractive and didn't want to hurt my matchmaker feelings. I said this to him.

"No, she's really pretty. I don't know what else to say, though. That's it." He kept clicking and then stopped on a picture of me, said friend, and another friend he'd met once. "Now SHE'S bad! She could bring me outta hiding." Suddenly he was amped as he shoved his finger at my other friend's picture asking what she was up to these days. It should be said that the other friend is just as pretty, maybe more so, but in a different, island-exotic way. Nothing major separates the two honestly, but again, these are my eyes talking. Not his.

"She has a boyfriend," I replied and snapped the computer shut. We moved onto other topics, played a couple rounds of that weird Def Jam game where the label rappers fight each other, but I kept thinking about how being pretty wasn't enough anymore, which perhaps solves the whole "single pretty girl" debacle. So the next time you're feeling all fancy and everyone's telling you how pretty you are, don't even get excited, cause apparently it ain't enough.

That bitch stole my line,

Xoxo
Blackie Collins
Sent via BlackBerry by AT&T

A Trip to the Dentist

2010-09-20T01:56:00.003-04:00

I was on the phone with my mother today and she was prattling on about the neighborhood gossip, things she knows I don't care about, but I listen to anyway, because that's what funny mothers and loving daughters do. She was going on about our dentist getting re-married and how he hadn't married the woman he'd been dating for a zillion years-since his divorce from one of my mom's good friends-and had married a more recent girlfriend instead.

I didn't care much, but I played along and asked why?

My mom went on to explain that the previous girlfriend wanted kids badly and despite him informing her throughout their relationship that he had many a grown child, eight grandchildren, and no, he didn't want anymore of either, she stuck around, trying to pry him away from his steadfast decision, maybe popped a few holes in a couple condoms, whatever. In the end, she got dumped and he married a fifty-something who had no desire to harvest some eggs she'd frozen back in the Ice Age.

It always amazes me the lengths women will go to keep a man. I don't mean the obvious, more insane tactics like trapping a man with a baby (which clearly works so well), I mean sacrificing in such a way where you'd have to be delusional at worst, demented at best to believe you will come out victorious or happy. Women make all these lists with their mate requirements (like be nice to me), then go on the biggest detour, clinging onto men who couldn't be further from that list. Yes, he's fine and make your legs melt, but he doesn't call you back, treats you like a mere option, and is oddly secretive among other issues. 2 out of 20 is not winning, babe. I mean this woman was willing to waste more time trying to release water from a rock rather than head on over to the lake and get herself an endless supply. She clearly wanted a child more than she wanted a husband (even though she might've convinced herself otherwise), so why didn't she just go get one? Like with someone who wanted one?

My guess is she didn't want to be alone and starting over at square one with a new man probably seemed less enjoyable than swallowing razor blades hidden under J-Woww's tongue. It's no secret women feel they have the cards stacked against them when it comes to relationships. Men have the numbers so they get their pick and many never pick anyway, so women must take what comes their way. Exciting prospects, seriously.

The truth is women fear being alone like the plague itself, so their ability to put up with bullsh*t, sacrifice their wants and needs, and compromise themselves is uncanny. Why do we do this?! When you compromise yourself, you don't have much left and the man you're bending over backwards for is probably going to be the first to lose respect for you and bounce anyway. He said no kids. Not ask again tomorrow, outlook cloudy, or any other 8-ball ambiguous response. He said none. That's pretty finite, and while people change their minds often, it's usually like, "I decided to have the chicken tarragon instead of the salmon for lunch," rather than, "I decided I wouldn't mind stopping my life, rewinding the clock, and having another child that was will creepily be younger than my grandchildren."

Unlike women, men are pretty simple, so no means no, my brother (are you deaf sucka?). So, when a man says, "I'm not doing this, I'm unhappy," they usually do just that. Women say, "I'm unhappy, but I'm sure this is just a rough patch," and go on to fight like Layla Ali, assuming they'll win the wifey title when it's all said and done. Meanwhile, it was over long before you ever stepped in the ring.

That bitch stole my line,

xoxo

Blackie Collins

From B to U 2

2010-09-16T04:23:00.004-04:00

I was so proud of myself the other night. Really I was! I went out for a friend's birthday and had no thoughts of men on the mind. I was all i-n-d-e-p-e-n-d-e-n-t and feeling myself, fancy and whatnot. After several cocktails with the girls, a guy acquaintance showed up with some of his boys. I didn't know any of them. They started buying the rounds and as the drinks flowed, everyone settled in for one of those nights that was sure to be a win.

Throughout the evening, one of the guys, Darryl from LA, took a liking to me. We discussed books and movies in depth. We discovered our love of the written word; he worked in publishing, me, the writer/editor. We got so immersed that when we came up for air, everyone had moved to the dance floor and we were left huddled on the bankette.

The night wore on, the deep conversation turned to flirting, and when everyone started heading home around 4am, he "realized" he'd miss the trains back to his friend's crib in Jersey. One of my girls, who knew him from back home, said he could crash with her-in her tiny studio. Me, reverting back to my naïve self, told him he could sleep on my pull out-in my giant one bedroom. It made more sense, in my opinion.

We arrived back at my apartment and let him know I was serious about him SLEEPING over. I grabbed a blanket and pillow and pulled out the sofabed. It was like that scene in Love Jones where a horny Nina makes an even hornier Darius sleep on the couch. I was heading back to my bedroom when he said, "you going to sleep now?" Haha. Of course. I went back and sat down on the couch with him. We listened to music, talked for a while, and just chilled. We were doing said chilling when Beyonce's "Speechless" blarred through my Mac's speakers. "Love this song," he said. "Let's dance." Get outta here, that's so corny to me. I said so to him. He stood up and yanked me to my feet. Apparently it wasn't up for discussion, but that forcefulness right there???!!!! Yes, you don't have to save mine for later, I want it right now!

We're slow dancing just the way we weren't supposed to at middle school dances. Hands roving, bodies pressed together, his breath steaming up my neck, lips kissing it gently. I was melting. No, no, no, I told myself as he pulled away, cupped my face and neck. He kissed my right cheeck, my left, my forehead, the side of my mouth, my temple. I was just sort of dying, but I kept telling myself I was not going to sleep with him. I am turning over a new leaf gatdamnit!

And then he kissed me. And I actually blacked out. If this were a movie and he were Idris Elba, you all would be dying up in the movie theater too. Slapping hands and "mmhmm girl-ing." Jeeeez-us.

The kiss got intense, he wrapped my legs around him, picked me up, and sat back down on the couch. Argh! I will not sleep with him, I will not sleep with him! I won't even diet coke him, my thoughts cried out as my body screamed for a bit more. Okay, a lot more.

After some intense making out, several attempts on his part to go down on me, I let him know, verbally, that there would be no sex. It was through clenched teeth and I probably would've lost my will power had he contested, but instead he said, "I don't even have condoms. This wasn't the goal." Eh, I don't believe dudes much, but I took it as a possibility. We kissed a bit more and eventually fell asleep listening to music.

Sometime after the sun rose, we woke up and he headed to catch the train back to Jersey. He went on and on about how great it was to meet me, texted me to inform me that he had in fact found the PATH station, and hit me a day or two later.

Then. Nothing.

In the two weeks that followed, I've been a distant thought apparently. So the million dollar question: Huh?! I was such a good girl and yet no reward. Lame, someone point me in the right direction, please. My brain seems to have had liposuction.

That bitch stole my line,

xoxo,

Blackie Collins

No Big Deal

2010-09-14T01:35:00.000-04:00

It is not a compliment if a guy wants to sleep with you. I know the attention seems flattering and for those 20 minutes (if you're lucky apparently), you may feel less lonely or whatever, or maybe you just do it cause it feels good, but trust me, it isn't anything to jump and scream about. Don't go thinking you're Helen of Troy, setting off thousands of ships, wars, and whatnot. It really isn't a big deal.

The reason is actually very simple: Most men will sleep with just about anybody given the proper circumstance. I know all the guys will immediately start sprouting how they wouldn't sleep with this one and that one, how they have standards, but let some alcohol be involved. Let him have not had any in a bit. Let Snooki climb into Vinny's bed drunk and kissing all over him and see what happens. He's gonna take it cause it's there. He's gonna go for the good old W.

Most guys' standard involves their conquest standardly having tits and a vagina. Easy breezy. So, it's safe to say if you have those two, I'm pretty sure a) he's gonna try you and b)you've got a chance.

Doesn't equate to much, though, this possibility, this "desire" of his, but it's definitely there. I tell you all this because perhaps it'll help some ladies out here. Maybe if you understand their psyche a bit more, you won't be so shocked by their shenanigans. It's rare that B is shocked anymore. It's possible I've heard it all before, but probably not. I just pay attention. To what? Well, I consider myself to be a pretty observant person, so I pay attention to the actions of others, what men do-their, uh, activities. For example, what do you learn when you watch one of those shark week specials? You learn that sharks, 9 times out of 10, are out there murking people left and right, so you know to either keep your butt out the ocean or enter at your own risk. It's possible to come out unscathed, but it's also possible to come out missing an arm or left pinky toe. Knowing this is half your battle.

Then there's what my guy friends tell me. That's really the only reason to keep them around. They are your little translator, so listen. Besides, unlike dude you rocked with last night, your homeboy loves you and will look out for you. (And he might try you some time too, he is a man and you are a woman, so do the math.)

Lastly, I pay attention to the crap that's happened in my own experience. Sure, I've fallen flat on my face a few times, but cut up enough and eventually you stop making the same mistakes over and over. I don't take a guy wanting me physically as anything more than just that-a fleeting feeling that disappears as soon as the nut is cracked.

That bitch stole my line,

xoxo
Blackie Collins

Little Bits: Bag It Up

2010-09-10T00:05:00.004-04:00

I hear some funny things, some astounding things, and then I hear some extremely stupid things. Mostly the last one right there. I have a friend who's quite attractive actually. He has a great job, dope body, lots of friends, the proverbial whole package.

But...

He doesn't wear condoms. Not because he's allergic, not because they don't fit (o_O), but because he just doesn't like them. Doesn't want to wear them.

I hate this phrase, but I know you need time, so Pause.

There are tons of things wrong with this guy. One being he's engaged and cheats, so he's out there raw dogging and then coming home and sleeping with his fiance sans condom. The second reason this idiot is of note is the fact that he still gets a ridiculous number of willing participants to hit the sack with him. I know a good number of chicks he's boned and while many say he's great in bed, I think that point is completely moot. Anyone's sex is turned up a notch bare back. In fact, I told my teenage brother to never ever have sex without a condom, not just because it's unsafe, but because it feels too damn good and if you never know what it feels like, you'll never want it.

Whenever I hear about his crap, I'm always stuck on how successful he is at bagging girls without a bag. Like how does he get away with that? Who says yes to this kind of proposition? Who willingly knocks on that door, pushes it open and just moves on in nestling in somewhere between itchy and burny? I imagine the conversation goes something like this:

Him: oooh, you feel so sexy, I can't wait to give you the business.

Her: yea, daddy, me too. I can't wait, so let's get to that business.

Him: you want this business right here?

Her: uhhuh, let's take care of this condom business first though

Him: nah, shorty, I don't like that kinda business. but i can assure you my business is so fresh and so clean. i got an MBA-that's how great my business is.

Her: oh wow, you're so smart. gimme that business, big daddy!

Yep, I bet the conversation goes just like that. Too bad the only business she's getting comes from a stork in about nine months. Or worse. I just don't understand how this is okay in 2010. How can you go around talking about "you don't want to wear a condom?" People in hell want ice water, but that doesn't mean they get it. It's silly and stupid and what's worse are the girls who still lay down with him, still decide to take a chance. Sure, sometimes you should take the risk, take a chance, but you only do that on small matters like, "hmm, I'm gonna chance these scrambled eggs my three year old niece made with her toes," or "I think I'll risk missing this meeting because of the DVF sample sale across town." Not your life! Dude, sit all the way down, and when you get there, put a condom on just in case some girl trips and falls on your dumb ass.

That bitch stole my line,

xoxo

Blackie Collins

Why Are All The Pretty Girls Alone in the Club

2010-09-08T01:00:00.005-04:00

My girl Trish, spent her weekend club hopping. She had a burst of energy and spent the entire holiday weekend out. Thursday and Sunday included. When she called me to give me the morning-after stories, I was sort of surprised as to what she had to say.

"I know it's been a while, but did being pretty go out of style? Are ugly girls trending now?"

I laughed thinking Trish was just being Trish, but instead she replied, "No, seriously. I think men are into average or lower now. Based on the weekends events, that's what I'm goin with 'cause it's the only explanation." Realizing she was serious and then remembering a previous conversation with another friend about a similar topic, I asked Trish to elaborate. She went on to explain how she noticed, during a more sober moment, many of her girlfriends, who are a gaggle of hotties to say the least, were alone most of the night. Once she noticed the trend, she couldn't shake it. A couple guys ventured into their table's vicinity, slugging their own drinks, maybe offering to buy one for the lady of interest, but that would be it if that. Long were the days of the "who can get the most numbers" game. The girls were striking out. A few sideled up, attempting to grind a bit, but again, that was it.

Trish, despite having a boyfriend and not really caring about love in the club, was pissed off. She sounded insane as she popped off left and right on how it was absolutely ridiculous to be a beautiful woman and not have a line around the door for your attention. I listened and immediately pulled out the mac to jot my thoughts down for later. I came up with a few points; some of which have some validity and some of which might be pure sh*t.

The average girl is easier to try. If you think about the number of times men have complained about the failed attempts at gorgeous girls, it would make sense to go ahead and try the average girls instead. It's shrinks your odds and the girl who's just average will be so excited that you chose her. My dad's third wife wasn't nearly as attractive as my mom and I really believe he needed a woman who was of no competition to him. He had to be the cutie in the couple. Maybe it comes from insecurity on his part.

The scales are so tipped. One of the flagged items from Trish's weekend was the fact that the clubs were completely beaver fests. There were way more chicks than d*cks, so in a numbers game, the men have the pick of the litter. They can essentially do whatever (it seems to the naked eye, not necessarily the truth), while the female masses teeter around hoping a dude will toss 'em a bone. If you know this, as many men do, your options are far greater, so why settle on any one.

Who looks for their wife in the club? With the exception of Bethany from Real Housewives of New York, few meet their husbands/wives in the club. Knowing this, you're not necessarily looking for Mrs. Right. You're looking for Ms. Right Now. It's not like it matters that much what she looks like. Doesn't mean he's running around, chasing ugg muff, just means he's chasing muff. That's the real focus and she probably doesn't have to be the most gorgeous woman ever in life.

Pretty girls have issues. There are so many theories on the issues that plague girls of the attractive persuasion. They either rely too much on their looks, have zero self esteem from dealing with dingbat dudes dogging them, or they have spent so much time being treated like pretty princesses, they are spoiled rotten and no one wants to be around them anyway. So sure, if I were a guy and I saw a great looking woman in the club all long hair flowing, banging body displaying, beauty shining, I might back off. A guy friend of mine once said, "Look, I love Ferraris, but I know I can't afford a Ferrari right now. Will I test drive one if given opportunity? Absolutely. Will I eventually be able to snag it? One can hope. But can I actually afford one right now? Nope, so why even bother? I can, however, afford this nice reliable Camry and it'll do the job without breaking the bank." I mean, if that isn't a sermon of sorts, I don't know what it is.

That bitch stole my line,

xoxo

Blackie Collins

If I Were a Boy...

2010-09-03T10:14:00.004-04:00

I really, really wish I were a guy. Then my behavior would be acceptable. I'm serious, this is getting on my nerves, all these double damn standards. Some dude can have 4 kids by 4 different girls, one of which is his third cousin, have no job, but somehow have a wad of cash in his mattress, and live with his mama, but let him have a cute face, a dimple (just one, he doesn't even need two), a couple tats, and a relatively nice body and all hail the king! Girls still chase him. He can still call some unassuming girl at 2am and she'll pick up, all giggly girly, ready for his command.

This is so lame. I mean it. They get away with highway robbery and nobody seems to care. They always come out on top. They can stay bachelors forever and never have children (that they know of) and no one bats an eye. "Oh, that Robert. He's just so handsome. The girls love him. He's just picky. Oh well." What?! Let a woman be 45 with no husband or kids and she MUST be reading to hang herself from the baby mobile that's been hanging in the hidden nursery since her child bearing years. Obviously.

I know you're with me, but you're wondering why. Where is this rant coming from. Glad you asked, kids. In the last twenty four hours, I've been ready to get a sex change yet again. Here's just a few reasons why:

The douchebag on the corner. There are many bags of Massengill sitting on the corner. They're young and old, ugly and not so ugly and all seem to think it's cool calling out obscene comments when you walk by. This morning, I walked by two guys having a deep discussion about the arse on a girl several feet in front of me. It was pretty regular as far as asses go. One claimed it looked like it was once something great back in the day. The other agreed and added that she probably "don't do much for it and it just went away. You gotta take care of it ya know?" Both of these fools looked like they'd gotten stuck in a trash compactor, yet they had the arrogance and audacity to sit there and pass their important judgement on this chicks ass. Well I'll be; who knew all I had to do was have a beer belly, a dirty t-shirt, and a penis to be the end all be all. And I'm about thirty-two seconds away from punching my super in the throat. His "hello, young lady, how are you's" turned into "hey beautiful, you can't call me cause you don't have my phone number." Yeah, that must be the reason. The other day, I was on my phone and he actually jumped in front of me on the sidewalk, flailing his arms, trying to get my attention. I told my sister to hold on and snatched my earpiece out my ear and through clenched teeth gave him the business like my mom used to when I interrupted her on the phone. "Don't you see I'm on the phone? What is your problem?"

They get around. Only girls have to worry about their "numbers," which seems pointless since men either don't ask or ask, but assume the number that comes out our mouths will be a big, fat, round lie. I have a guy friend who's had sex with 106 girls. ONE HUNDRED AND SIX and no body cares. Last night I told him I'd be good and happy if both Idris Elba and Chris Brown were in my bed when I got home and his response was: "Whoa, you're a freak." WHAT? No, I'd be a freak if I actually thought for two seconds this could feasibly happen and then decided to take them both on at the same time. And how many threesomes have you had? How many one night stands have you encountered? How am I chastised for merely mentioning something, yet you are the virgin mary incarnate. Get outta here. I'm sick of liking sex and getting f*cked in the ass (not really, sheesh) for it. Not. Fair.

Sleezy by association. Finally, around 3am, I got a text from this guy I've known forever. He's cute, he's exactly my type, except for one small issue: he's engaged. Not cool and inviting ala engaging, but walking down the aisle and getting married engaged. In fact, he's getting married in t-minus a few months. I don't care what kind of world he has created where this is acceptable, but I find it wildly hilarious. Like for real? This isn't the first time either. It's safe to say he's been barking up my tree for quite some time. Here's the kicker. I made mention of it to a friend who knows us both, told her in a "what a sleezebucket he is" type of way and do you know who she got upset with? ME! I got reamed out for not telling him where to put his 3am phone calls and texts. We went from laughing at him to blaming me! Somehow I was treading on shaky ground, I was the problem, I was wrong. WTH? I didn't answer, I didn't invite him over and hop on his d*ck sixteen times, slap his chick in the face next time I saw her and said, "how does it taste when you kiss him?" No. None of that has or will happen, yet somehow I'm wrong. He cheats on his fiance! Doesn't that trump any and all? Stupid.

I'm in a pissy mood. I shouldn't be writing today. But you feel me? I know you feel me. We're always in sync. Justin Timberlake.

That bitch stole my line,

xoxo

Blackie Collins

Dude Sit Down: The Worst I Ever Had

2010-09-02T00:17:00.006-04:00

It was the third of September...that day I'll always remember. Well, not exactly. But I will hopefully forget two Friday's ago because I, finally, had the worst sex ever in life.

No, really. In life. Like everyone's life, not just mine.

Of course you're first question is how did I get away with twenty-something odd years of amazing sex? Well, for one thing, I haven't been having sex for twenty-something odd years, that'd be gross. The other is I never said I always had amazing sex, but it's always been anywhere between pretty good and amazing. Pretty good to me on a bad day is still okay. It's like getting a B on a report card. It isn't an A, no, but it ain't a C either, so you're still satisfied. To me, average sex was what I considered bad sex, but to those who've had bad sex, I'm sure average would've been like winning the lotto. Twice.

So, nope, I've never had bad sex. And now that I know exactly what bad sex is, I'm positive I've never had it before. So, let's get on with the story, shall we? It's a bit long, but worth it.

It was really late. I had opted out of traipsing the streets and instead was on my couch (where I'd been for hours) cleaning out my DVR. I was in the middle of an episode of The Bad Girls Club when the familiar text message ding of my phone sounded. I'm a night owl and so are most of my friends, so it didn't strike me as odd to see the number on the screen. It was Jay, a guy who wasn't quite a friend, but wasn't quite an acquaintance either. Somewhere in between, we chatted on the internet or hung out when common friends were together. I could count on one hand the number of times we'd actually hung out alone.

J: What are you doing?

B: Nada, killin brain cells watching tv.

J: Me too. Wanna watch together?

B: Not really. Wanna go for a walk instead? It's nice out.

J: Sure. I'll call you when I'm near you, so you can come out.

B: Ok.

Simple enough. It was nice out and my ass was seriously losing that loving feeling, so I hauled myself up, threw on some shorts and a t-shirt and waited for his call, which I didn't get. Instead, several minutes later, I got a text that read:

I'm outside, but I gotta go to the bathroom. Buzz me up. I did.

But after he did his business, he plopped down on my couch. I told him I thought we were walking, not sitting. He responded about some weird homeless guy perched outside my building and maybe we should chill for a minute until he cleared out. Homeless man? In NYC? Noooo, we must run for our lives. I rolled my eyes and sat down next to him. Jay and I always have pretty okay conversations, and this evening was no different. We're bussin it up, having a few laughs, catching up as it'd been a while, when I shifted my position and my leg wound up sort of leaning on his. All bets were off as he reached out and started rubbing my leg. Oh, for real? Suddenly I totally got it. Call B, naive, because the signs were all there: later than 11pm phone call/text, finding an excuse to come up...Jay was trying to get it in!

I immediately gave Jay the once over. He was going on about something I didn't care about, but as he talked, I noticed he had really nice teeth. And a nice smile to match. Shoot, Jay was actually pretty handsome.** However, the question wasn't whether Jay was attractive or not. It was whether or not Jay was gonna get it or not. Hmmm...decisions, decisions.

I finally decided to go forward with a little making out when the opportunity presented itself. Worst case scenario, diet coke. And when the opportunity did in fact present itself-he had left my thigh behind and was now rubbing my hand-and he pulled me over to kiss him, I was relatively excited. I love kissing. It's the best thing since purple Skittles, seriously. Taste that rainbow, homeboy. Or not. It's the worst kiss I've ever had. In fact, if you go back to my kissing blog last week, he was "Solid As a Rock." Yuck! I should've just stopped there, but I kept thinking how it had been a month and I really wanted some! Damn hormones, I should've been thinking, "If the kissing is this bad, imagine what the rest is like!" Sigh, some lessons you learn the hard way. No pun intended.

So somewhere during the bad kissing, he starts rubbing around on me, which of course makes me a tad bit distracted, and I sort of forgot how bad the kissing was. So instead I sort of shoved a boob in his mouth and let him rub around elsewhere. (Gosh, this is a bit much, but in order for you to get the story's entirety, we must do it this way. If I have to suffer, you do to. We're all in this together. HSM.) So, he's doing whatever he's doing and then he says, "Are you on the pill?"

What? Who stills asks that past the twelfth grade? I don't think I've been asked about the pill in ages, do they still make that thing? Maybe that's just me. More importantly, who cares about babies; I care more about the HIV, my friend, so pill or no pill, you're wearing a condom. I said exactly that. He didn't have one. o_O. We pulled from my stash, which took us off the couch and into the bedroom.

All this time, I felt that little voice saying, "This won't end well," but I shoved it out my head in the name of an orgasm, but little did I know, that little friend wouldn't be coming to visit that night. But, we'll get to that.

So, I'm lying on my bed as he's pulling the rest of his clothes off and man, oh man, clothing is such a damn liar. It fools you into thinking all kinds of good things are hiding underneath them when the truth of the matter is they mask reality. No, my body isn't the best, but damnit, he looked like he hadn't eaten since 1972! I have a serious problem with thinking one of my breasts will take out one of his ribs, but like many black men, he was well endowed, so I surged forward. The sex. About a minute in, he's moaning and says, "I want you to give me some head, too," to which I respond, "No." We all know I've said how much I like head, so for me to not want to give...When I decline, he says, "Well then I'm just gonna have to tear this pu**y up aren't I? I'ma tear. it. up!" The funny thing is that while he was "tearing it up" I was thinking about roller skates. Like what are you doing up there? He was talking shit, pumping away, and I think I made ONE sound, which is highly unlike me. I'm a screamer, but Jay doesn't know that, how could he, so he's thinking he's doing it big willy style. Speaking of which, a note to black men everywhere: it is not just enough for you to be well endowed as many of your brothers are, so do not think for one second that you can rest on your big laurel; you must work the big laurel as well, thanks. Back to Jay, who is not working his big laurel at all. About four minutes have passed when he lets me know he's about to cum. I gave him a Sam Jackson eye roll and told him to go ahead.

He does and then collapses on top of me. The only movement are the small shivers that come every few seconds. That good, Jay? Enough to have the shakes?

"Did you cum?" He asks. In the thirty-two seconds of sex? No, I didn't, my man. I say that, but nicer. No, I didn't.

"Why are you breathing so hard then?" He says as if I am trying to pull a fast one on him so I can sneak another in or something.

"Because you're laying on top of me." He rolls off and apologizes then wraps himself around me like a damn curly straw and apologizes again. This time I assume it's for my lack of climax. Two huge problems here: one, sorry? I mean, are you going to fix it? Two, get off of me! I hate cuddling.

"Are you staying?" I ask. His response:

"Zzzzzzzzz." He was out cold. DEAD. I'm not going to lie, I almost cried. Sexual frustration does not look good on B and I was locked in bed with someone I wanted to punch repeatedly. So lame.

Eventually, I fell asleep and was roused in the AM by him kissing on me. I'm sorry, did you miraculously find a toothbrush hiding on the bedside table? Get. Off. It didn't take long for him to recall the night before as he came in for more. Hell to the naw, I wasn't about to be a double sucker. In my opinion, you have to be a real dingbat to mess up a good fingering, so I pushed his hand down there and helped him help me. When I finally finished, he asked if I had another condom. I told him no and I had an early appointment just in case he thought he was gonna have a shot still.

He left and I washed my body with a brillo pad, hoping to erase the memory while I was at it. Some say it could've just been first time jitters; that people sometimes need to get comfortable with a new partner. To that I say: I wouldn't piss on that dude if he were on fire let alone sleep with him again.

That bitch stole my line,

xoxo

Blackie Collins

**Later, when I showed Maria a picture of him, she concurred that he was handsome, so no I didn't make that up for my vagina's benefit. It was true.

Go Shorty, It's Your Belated Birthday!

2010-09-01T11:19:00.004-04:00

In my haste, ie complete absentmindedness, I missed the year anniversary of my blog a week or eight ago. So happy (extremely belated) birthday Blackie Collins! The last year of this blog has been a blast and as I read back, it truly is a little bit of my history. Whether it be the stories of B or friends, I'm proud of each post. Even the shitty ones;) As promised, it's been a wild ride and there's sure to be twists and turn in the future. I thank you guys for reading and commenting whether it be public or private. I'd also like to thank the dudes who provided my fodder, your idiocy or greatness-probably more the first than the second-has helped me learn so much about myself. I know what I want and what I don't. Mostly I know what I deserve and I guess that's worth thanking y'all for. Blogging is one of those crazy things that you never expect to do anything more than help you with your writing. You never really think you'll touch someone or really make me people think. I think humility in your writing is one of the most important characteristics and every time I get an email from someone praising my writing, I'm a bit sheepish. I still get elated when I get those, so thank you. When I started this blog, I knew it had to be anonymous for the sake of others mostly and also for the sake of me and my family. I by no means hide behind the anonymity, but I know enough about the blackmail to not put my business on the internet like that. Those who know who I am, know the stories and have either already blackmailed me or will keep my secrets just that. It's been hard in other ways though. Hard to market a blog when you can't tell people it's you. But the fun part is seeing a new follower and realizing it's someone I know. They have no clue it's me, but that's the fun part! Maybe one day, I'll tell you who I am. The good part is that every single thing on here is the truth. I may change the names or the situation to help shield the story form familiar eyes, but it's all me. Even though Blackie Collins is a pseudo-name, the personality behind it absolutely lives in me. I'm crazy and outspoken. I love boys and I love love. I say how I feel and I love giving sex advice. So rest assured, you aren't getting some made up fictitious character. I'm not some dorkbomb hidden in a closet with a computer and a dream. Well...actually... Anyway, it's been the most! Can't wait for the next year. Love you guys!

That bitch stole my line,

xoxo,

Blackie Collins

My Draft Picks

2010-08-31T10:37:00.009-04:00

I have never been into fantasizing over unattainable men, ie celebrities. I like to keep my happy moments to real life; those I have had or know I can get. I do, however, I do believe in the list of famous people I'd leave my significant other for...and I know you have one, too. So without further adieu:

Idris Elba. I think every single man cringed collectively when Idris Elba came on the scene. Like, "what the hell we gone do now?" Perhaps the browner skinned men were a little geeked as they realized the light skin crackdown would be held off that much longer. I don't really care either way. Idris Elba is thee definition of FINE. You hear me? Greek god status up in here. I'd marry him on national television. Twice.

Chris Brown. Sorry, I can't help it. I do not care that he's a child. I do not care that his fashions used to (and sometimes still are) questionable. I do not care about his personal life. I just think he's so cute. I know, I know, but I think Rihanna is over the whole incident, so perhaps it's time everyone else got over it, too. And he looks like he'd tear it up. He's so young, too, imagine what he'll be like when he knows what he's doing. A friend pointed out that he isn't very articulate...right, he doesn't really need to talk much in this fantasy.

Simon Baker. I have been in love with this guy forever. I don't even know where I first saw him (maybe that tv show the Guardian), but when he starred in Something New with Sanaa Latham, my heart skipped a beat. And that Aussie accent, just proves there's goodies down under.

Jon Hamm. I already stressed how I feel about the Mad Men star in yesterday's post. He's the classic handsome, leading man. And he's for real leading man, as in not faking the height factor by inserting lifts in his shoes or standing on boxes cause he's vertivally challenged, which wouldn't matter much since he'd be on his knees anyway. Behave, B.

Darren Sharper. When the New Oreleans Saints ran onto the field after winning the Super Bowl last year, my twitter feed went ablaze when safety, Darren Sharper flew into the camera. Back off girls, he's been in my daydreams since his William & Mary days. I hate kids, but he could make me have babies. Like 8 of 'em.

Taylor Kitsch. Tim Riggins. Friday Night Lights. Google him. Then enjoy. Those are my top seeded pocks. Who you lovin, who you wanna be huggin?

That bitch stole my line,

Xoxo
Blackie Collins

Jon Hamm is the hottest man alive. Oh, and the Emmys were okay, too.

2010-08-30T11:06:00.003-04:00

And so the step sister award season begins. Not quite the season between February and April when the Golden Globes, Spirit Awards, SAG Awards, and Oscars take place. Nope, the end of summer is not only signified by commercials about Trapper Keepers and backpacks, but the Emmys and other "award" shows like the MTV Video Music Awards alike. I find the MTV VMA's to be a bit of a stretch for a station that hasn't played a music video since 1996, but I barely watch MTV anyway, so who cares. On the other hand, I did tune into the Emmys and while I spent much of the broadcast cracking up with my best gay (who works in fashion and alway gives the most amazing criticizing descriptions ever-can someone give him a reality show please? And then nominate it in the best reality category, so we can sit and crack jokes live?), I also realized quite a few things from my very-third-party brush with Tinseltown:

1. Stephen Moyer is the most petite man and I no longer believe him as Snooki's, or whatever her name is on True Blood, vampire boyfriend, Bill. I am praying Anna Paquin had on a pair of 6 inch platform stilettos because they were literally neck and neck. I hate Hollywood for that. They have all these tricks like camera angles and blocks for the actors to stand on. Tom Cruise has special shoes with lifts in them. Lifts! Cheater. The leading man is supposed be the perfect, dashing man. That means he has to be over 6 feet. That's just the way. Too many sidekicks pretending to be leading men, I tell ya.

2. Jon Hamm is the hottest man alive right now. That Jennifer Westfeldt is laughing all the way to bed.

3. The quickest way to kill your sex life is to host a big award show. The opening numbers on those things are so incredibly bad. You ever notice how the writers of award shows never get nominated? Right. Because the jokes suck and ruin people's sex lives.

4. Only white people live in Hollywood-that includes Kim Kardashian.

5. I want E! to stop going out of it's way to make the American public think Ryan Seacrest is straight. He's dating Julianne Hough by the way. Major side eye.

6. Rita Wilson is the ultimate Hollywood wife and she and Tom Hanks are the ultimate power couple. Forget the Will and Jada's, the Brad and Angelina's. Tom Hanks and Rita Wilson are mega producers who make mega bucks and have have been around since the ice ages. Tom also still does a bit of acting, which is a hefty paycheck on it's own. They're the kind of marriage that would cost a whole lot more to break up, so they might as well stay together and be the conglomerate they are.

7. Lea Michele (from Glee) is never going to get laid if she doesn't grow those bangs out STAT.

8. This is a two parter about the hateration in Hollywood for black people. 8a. Blair Underwood has a new show out. He's the President of the United States. His character's last name is Ramirez or Rodriguez. I'm sorry? Did I miss the memo regarding Blair's "clear" hispanic descent? Oh that's right. I forgot every black person thinks they're Dominican and since Hollywood doesn't like black people, they went along with it. 8b. There's another new show coming out by producer J.J. Abrams, Undercovers. A Mr. and Mrs. Smith-esque show starring two black actors as the husband and wife! Yay!! Thisi s huge for us! Like Amistad getting his freedom ("Give us free!"). But then the two stars presented at the Emmys and I was blasted with the girl's British accent. I IMDB'd her and I can't even pronounce her name. She. Isn't. Black. She's the new Thandie Newton, if she's lucky, the resident Halle Berry. She is not Angela Basset or Viola Davis. Well, guess what, Hollywood? We aren't stupid, we elected a whole President into office, and he smokes and has the lips to prove it, so there! We can tell Gugu Mbatha-Raw isn't all the way black. Damnit, when is everyone going to just let black people be great?

9. I want to marry Ricky Gervais. He's hysterical. We'd laugh all day. Did you hear his little bit about Mel Gibson? I won't have a go at him. He's been through a lot...Although, not quite as much as the Jews right? I mean, if we're honest. Crack up.

10. The cast of Mad Men is insanely, unfairly, gorgeous. Except I was really annoyed with Christina Hendricks' dress. That va-va-voom figure of hers looked downright chunky in her dress and you could see her girdle undergarment underneath! I don't care about the fact that she was wearing one, long live spanxx and such, but I don't want to see your underclothes. There's a reason they're under your clothes. But we can always stare unabashedly at Jon Hamm. Sigh.

Honorable mention: Seat fillers are the happiest, hardiest clappers in all of mankind.

That bitch stole my line,

xoxo

Blackie Collins

Go On And Be a Man, Man

2010-08-27T14:40:00.000-04:00

I went out last night, had a blast, did some work events and then wound up at one of the big shot spots where I ran into some well off friends who had table service. And while I drunkenly relaxed as my cab zipped uptown, I realized I hadn't spent a dime the entire night. Even my cab fare had been handled.

I think we can all agree that everything is better when it's free. And my whole night had been a blast, but even better was the fact I wouldn't check my credit card statement the next day and fall out my chair (or as luvie says: make me jump out a first floor window). So, I thought about how this happened. I mean, NYC is potentially the most expensive city in the universe. No, seriously. From the moment you walk out the door, there are little money magnets in the sidewalk sucking the dollars and cents out your pockets. I think it's Bloomberg's doing.

So, where was I? Oh, yes, New York is super expensive. In fact, I'm on the subway now and there's an ad for the Brooklyner, a "luxury" apartment high rise that has studios starting at $1790. A f*cking studio, which should actually be called a shoebox, a shoebox for a children's size 4 shoe. $1800 for a studio in BROOKLYN, so you can imagine what Manhattan is like. To have a night sans bankruptcy is heaven sent, so I ticked through the ways I wound up drunk and all over Manhattan without going broke. There was one reason: every guy I was with last night, bought my drinks.

Now, I'm not saying dudes have to, not totally, but they should want to. I don't expect my guy readers to get this, because, well, you're the ones who fork out the dollar bills, but I've decided you should want to cover the ladies you're out with (assuming you got plenty money-I'm not advocating overdrafts in the name of liquor. Even I have my limits). It's just common courtesy, manners, NICE for crying out loud. Niceness is such a dying character trait.

I thought about the first venue, where a drink was bought for me by a friend; the second spot where my friend's male friends purchased round after round for us as we jammed in their little section; finally our last destination found us sitting in VIP with bottles all around as I mentioned earlier. Not once during the night, did anyone expect me to fork over my part. At one point, I even offered. As far as these gentlemen were concerned, you took care of your female guests. You know what? It was really, really nice. And no, I didn't go home with any of them nor did they seem to expect it.

Again, I'm not advocating spending cheese you don't have, but if you can and your out with some girls, go ahead and remind everyone what chivalry is. One of the few agreeable things Steve Harvey has said is: men feel like men based on their ability to provide. So go right ahead. Don't let me get in the way of your being all manly and whatnot. In fact, let's go ahead and celebrate your manliness. I'll totally drink to that.

That bitch stole my line,

Xoxo
Blackie Collins
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