I Only Date Superheroes! ....NOT: Mr. Good Shit

I am not a shallow person. I will at least entertain a guy that is not physically "my type."

*cue Mr. Good Shit*

Went to a bar one night during the NBA Finals to watch the game. A guy sat down next to me, ordered his drink, and asked me how the game was going.

"It's kinda fucked up." - me.

He laughed and proceeded with the "Get To Know You" questions: What's your name? Where are you from? What do you do? And so on...

He was in his early-30s (retracted several details) working towards his doctorate.

Nice.

Wasn't my type physically, but you know...don't judge a book.

We exchanged numbers before I left the bar. Went out a couple of times. Had a coffee shop discussion about the state of the world, our young black counterparts, personal histories, and such. 'Twas quite pleasant. *+1 for the ugly dudes*

The next time we went out was to celebrate an award he received in his program. Told him drinks were on me. 

Met at the restaurant. Everything was going well until he randomly interjected into the coversation, "It's been over 45 minutes, and you haven't cursed."

Me: "Oh....? You've been timing it?"

O, how pissed I was! Mostly because he should have stated that he disliked my use of profanity... Partially because when we first met, my first sentence to him included the past tense of "fuck," but he still decided to ask for my number. Out of respect, I would have made a valiant attempt to censor my language.

Whatever the case, I gave him a 5 minute grace period and then went THE. FUCK. IN.

After a few minutes of profanity laced dialogue from me, he made another snarky comment about my language. I ignored it and salvaged the remainder of time we spent together.

The check came...

Yes, I told him the drinks were on me before we went out that day. However, we had ordered food as well. So. The check sat between us for a few awkward moments... Not really certain how long it was. All I do remember is that this man did not make a move toward it at all. He did not acknowledge its presence. I don't think he even flinched.

Let it be known: I had no issues with picking up the check in its entirety. There is something unattractive, however, about a man not attempting to take the initiative to at least offer to cover his part.

I spared him, and paid the check. Closing ramblings followed, along with a departing hug, and a subsequent decline in contact after that date. Our regular conversations dissipated into highly infrequent "Hey, how are you?" texts from one party and a non-response from the other.

Then one day post a "Hey, how are you?" text, he hit me with the "Send me a pic" text. Busy at work that day, I looked down at my phone in mild confusion as to why he wanted a picture of me after all of the random bs we seemed to subject each other to (e.g. my profane language, his broke-ass tendencies). My debate on whether I should send him a picture or not was cut short by my work duties, which ultimately decided for me that this was not the appropriate time.

Two hours after I got off work, he texts me the ellipsis (...); in this case, it stood for "Whassup with that pic tho?"

I resolved to send him a pic from Facebook. We weren't FB friends. It was my profile pic, so obviously I thought I was cute in it.

This negro responds, "Keep going"

Okay... At this point I have confirmed my suspicions that he is hoping for a provocative photo. An intrepid negro, he was. I deflected and told him we could trade a pic for a pic. Seemed fair enough.

He sent me a pic.

The picture highlighted all of the things that made him physically unattractive to me. My eyes cringed.

To save face, I told him it was a nice picture (referring to the megapixels and overall picture quality), and I was sleepy and that we would have to continue another day. Here, "I'm sleepy" served as a euphemism for ".....eww." I just knew this was an acceptable cop-out. I was trying to be as cordial as possible.

BUT NO! This is the response I received:

"Stop playing. I know you got some good shit in yo phone."

*record scratch*

FIRST OF ALL^*

*universal foreward to "reading" a person; the overture to a song you do not want to be the subject of; I had to lean into the computer when I typed this because this section is dedicated to Mr. Good Shit

YOU DID NOT ACKNOWLEDGE THE FIRST PICTURE I SENT YOU. 
The picture I sent you was "good shit," and you failed to compliment or even comment on it. Matter-of-fucking-fact, if we have not had sex and/or are in a relationship, any picture I send you is a good fucking picture as far as you need to be concerned, Mr. Good Shit.
If I send you a picture in a baptismal robe, you need to tell me I look like an angel.
If I send you a picture of me in prison, you need to tell me I would make a cute inmate on OITNB.
If I send you a picture of me in the hospital with an IV in my arm, you need to tell me I look strong and that I'm going to pull through.

WAS THE PICTURE YOU SENT ME YOUR GOOD SHIT???
You shaped like a souffle.
You should be casted as Spongebob in the biopic of his life.
You look like you belong on a pottery wheel.
You look like a loaf of banana bread. Yeast face ass.
And you have the balls and the gall to tell me you know I have some good shit in my phone? Oh okay...
If that was your good shit, you didn't deserve the picture I sent you in the first place.


However, I KNOW I'm not the same venomous bitch I once was because I did not send any of that to him. I simply responded with:


Yes, I do. Good night.



Thank God for growth.
Part of me hopes he reads this blog post, though.

I Only Date Superheroes! ....NOT: The Narcissist (Entry 1)

Ran across this journal about a month ago with a picture of various male Marvel comic book characters centered between the words "I Only Date Superheroes." Being a lightweight comic book fan, I bought it. Then I had this great idea. I can use this journal to document all of the ridiculous encounters I have had with males over the years and rename my journal "I've Only Dated Superassholes!"

I won't blog all of my entries. This is a test-pilot of sorts, to see if my less than savory experiences will at least bring someone else joy.

Oh, and if I've dated you in the past....don't be shocked if you come across a story about you. On the bright side, no one knows I'm referring to you except for you! ;)

I'll spare you the prelude I wrote in my journal and delve directly into my first entry:

The Narcissist

He was tall, dark, and (by several other women's standards) handsome. I mean.....he was aight, I guess. 

His head was rather large. A physical attribute that is undoubtedly a foreshadowing for the single woman that exchanges contact information with him.

We only had one date. It wasn't really a date... More like we were just existing in a room together at the same time. If that's what you want to call a date.

He invited me to his place to watch a Lakers game. RED FLAG NUMBER ONE

Not so much that he invited me to his place for our first chance to truly exist in each other's presence. He was a freaking Lakers' fan! I knew then that this was not going to work.

Against better judgement and as an advocate of my own curiosity, I went anyway.

His house was a complete bachelor's pad. **retracted the details just in case some of yall wimmin have been invited to the house of this same foo**

He offered me Jack and Coke. Of course, I accepted. I would need liquor to get through watching a full Lakers game with a Lakers fan. Thank God and whatever secondary-deity that may or may not exist that I did. Ninety-eight point three percent of Lakers fans are obnoxious. This is a known fact. But this guy didn't piss me off by talking about how great and mighty his team Kobe was.

Ten minutes of unmemorable conversation had passed when he felt the need to show me a picture of him and his friends at an event they had the night before.

That's koo.

"Ya'll looked nice."

Then he showed me again. 

And again.

And more times.

Each subsequent time, he had cropped out one of his friends on each side until only he remained, standing in the middle of all of his glory looking exactly. the fucking. same. as he did the first time he showed me. 

I had never been so annoyed in my life.

Around "Look at this pic now," number 5, I was fiending* to watch the game.
*http://www.urbandictionary.com/define.php?term=fiending 

Yup. 

Me.

The anti-Laker. Wanted to actually watch the game without having to gaze upon a picture of this muthafucka every 37 seconds.

Oh yea...important fact. There were 10 total people in the picture, at first. And I had to look at each freshly cropped photo.

I stuck it out to the end because back then I was polite (stupid) and figured I wouldn't have to deal with it anymore after he fully gratified himself by being The Uncroppable.

Wrong.

After mutilating that group picture pixel-by-pixel, he apparently became comfortable enough to show me EVEN MORE pictures of himself. I could not take it anymore.

"If you show me one more picture of yourself, I am going to beat your ass. I told you that you looked nice the first time. And again. And again. You look exactly the same! Shit..."

Unlady-like, but effective.

We managed to transition back into more unmemorable conversation after that, and I left with no intentions of ever returning. As I look back on that night, I can only thank God that it was during the pre-selfie era.

Thank you, God.