New Research Shatters Myths and Provides New Hope for Black Love and Marriage

Dear readers,

There's hope! Then again, there always has been. This article proves the point I made in "It's Not Me, It's You" by confirming through research that the media is "exercising arrogant ignorance or deceptive omission to sell the story."

Read the full article here

Live.Love.Learn...and repeat!

Got Plan B?

The moment I called off my three-year, long-distance relationship at the end of my junior year of college, I dated non-stop, making up for all the missed opportunities I had while being a faithful girlfriend. Once I was free of any obligations, I took a long pause from taking any man seriously enough to be his girlfriend and have thoroughly (don’t think I can stress that enough through written words) appreciated the highs and lows of being single.

I’ve met some great guys along my single life’s journey and they’ve made great friends. One of which is my friend Mike*. He and I have been friends since our college days. We hit it off instantly. We share the same taste in music, a love of God and were born just two days apart. I believe in his dreams and support his decisions and he has been there for me in the same regard. Our friendship is easy. We give career advice, laugh and pray together and reel each other in when we start to get off track. We love one another like real friends should, never crossing the line. One night, Mike called to tell me it didn’t work out with his long-time girlfriend and as we were sharing advice from opposite perspectives, he approached me with “the pact.” If we were both still single at age 30, we’d get married. Thirty seemed so far away and marriage was the furthest thing from my mind so I agreed. Besides, Mike was hardly ever without a girlfriend and I knew neither of us would still be single at 30. When he would remind me of the pact, I’d brush him off, never taking him seriously.

Last month, I had an encounter with a complete loser and texted Mike to laugh and vent about it. The first text read: Strongly considering marrying you at 30. He responded: Do you mean it? I immediately thought maybe he’d had a failed encounter as well because the response we usually gave each other was more encouraging, suggesting that “the one” is still out there. So I called him, but he didn’t answer. The next day, I sent him an instant message and there was no reply then either. Something was up, so I shot him another quick message explaining that I was merely having a moment and there was no need for cold feet. His response: you know I love you, that’s not the issue. Afraid of what the real issue might be, I dropped the subject.

Two weeks had gone by since that conversation. As I was picking up some last-minute items at the store, Mike called me. With my hands full, I managed to only drop my jaw when he told me, “I’m having a baby.” I didn’t react verbally. “I plan to propose over the holiday weekend,” he continued. “I want you to meet her and of course be at the wedding after the baby’s born.” At a loss for words, I looked at the phone trying to process the news. I can’t remember what I said once I gathered my thoughts, but I don’t recall blurting out a congratulations. It was obvious I was let down by the unprotected sex, the fact that he’d never mentioned this woman before and the shotgun proposal. But it was clear to the both of us that those weren’t the only reasons I was upset. If he was proposing to his long-time girlfriend, I would’ve been prepared. This, however, was inconsiderate and abrupt. He was my back up plan!

You don’t have to tell me. I already know how ridiculous I sound, but I was truly and selfishly disappointed at the time. Not having met anyone even remotely close to being considered for marriage, I didn’t find a need to worry because when all else failed, at least I had Mike. But as I tip-toe along the threshold of my “late” twenties, 30 no longer seems so far away. With every great accomplishment, such as obtaining a graduate degree and purchasing my first home, comes the constant question of marriage from family and now even my friends. It’s finally hit me: there’s no backup plan when it comes to love. So what do you do when there’s no plan B (no pun initially intended)? It’s a hard pill to swallow, but necessary to digest. I’m still searching for the answer to what I know is a rhetorical question, but in the meantime, Live.Love.Learn…and repeat!

*Name has been changed to protect identity.

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April's Fool #2

"New York, New York, the city of dreams..!"

Whoever came up with that was obviously not referring to the dating scene! I guess when you’re in a city where everyone is so focused on themselves, and dating is just something fun to do as opposed to finding a life partner, you’re bound to encounter a few frogs before coming close to a prince; one in particular always stood out.

DISCLAIMER: As a result of the events about to be mentioned, I intentionally forgot the name of the man involved, so for now we will simply refer to him as Bob.

Our date started out at the Underbar in Union Square, a super trendy bar/ lounge. It was St. Patrick's Day. I must say, after about 30 minutes into the date, I realized that this would be our first and last. Granted, I had no background information on Bob considering the fact that we met in Starbuck's. I usually pride myself on having a pretty good judgment of character. But we all make mistakes and agreeing to go on a date with Bob was one of mine.

Despite all the reasons I had to cut the date short (i.e. nothing in common, his lack of professional ambition and common sense), I decided to finish our round of drinks before coming up with an excuse to call it an early night. Finally, after another 30 minutes of the most boring conversation in my life, the check arrived!

As we exited the lounge and entered the subway, in a somewhat tipsy manner, we foolishly passed the turn style simultaneously after only paying for one fare. Immediately after, we were approached by NYPD, who were stationed all over the city to keep the unruly drunks celebrating St. Patty's Day in order. We were ordered to follow the officers to the police station located underground in the subway where we would be issued fines. The officers checked my driver's license and everything check out, so I was issued a $110 ticket. Next up: Bob.

For some reason, Bob's information took a little more time to check out. Now, in the state of New York, a simple offense like skipping your fare for the subway is the perfect opportunity to find people with preexisting warrants and lock them up. So was the case for Bob. As the officers told me they would have to keep Bob around for a while, I caught a glimpse of him being handcuffed. It took me all of 45 seconds to decide to leave and not wait around for Ashton and his camera crew to punk me. A few days later, I received numerous calls from Bob apologizing and confessing his embarrassment. I kindly let him know I didn't need an explanation or details of his criminal history because I "just wasn't feeling it."

Looking back at this date, and plenty others that were just as negatively memorable, it may feel like a joke while experiencing it, but in hindsight, all you can do is laugh and hopefully appreciate your current romantic situation even more! The one regret I have is not making him repay my $110 fine!

Submitted by Kristen

April's Fool #1

Ever been on a date or encounter with the opposite sex that is so ridiculous that you're just waiting for Ashton to jump out and say you've been punk'd? Each Friday this month, I'll post a real-life dating catastrophe. Have a story you want to share? Email me!

It began fair enough. We sat down for drinks at the bar at Tabard Inn where a loud, pretty woman with two men was ordering rounds of tequila shots and a couple loners were eating dinner. The bar was crowded, and felt more crowded because of its low ceilings and dark walls. The bartender was mixing complicated drinks gracefully and putting spears of pearl onions into martinis.

As I had suspected from studying his eHarmony photos, Jack had bad personal style. He was wearing a cheap blue button down shirt with unremarkable jeans, and some kind of unforgivable black footwear. He had his hair spiked up like a fifteen year old and a freshly cropped goatee. Basically, though, he was handsome and had a lean linebacker's build.

The first red flag came early. I ordered prosecco and he ordered a club soda with lime. Now, when a man at a bar on a first date orders a club soda with lime, he is making a point. Either he is a teetotaler, which is unlikely because a teetotaler is generally married by age 23, or he is a recovered alcoholic. Why recovered alcoholics can't just order a less dramatic drink like a Coke is beyond me. Anyway. Club soda. Red flag. I held my tongue, which I'm sure you all may be surprised to hear.

Conversation was easy, and yet I cringed every time he made veiled references to my eHarmony page. "I saw on your page that you like sushi. I was like, phew! I have to date someone who likes sushi." Or, "I saw on your page that you like dogs. I like dogs, too!" Super, Jack. That's great. We're in a public place. Stop with all the eHarmony talk.

So, the woman is ordering tequila shots and the bartender, who is very skilled but also very high- strung, is thinking he's above pouring tequila shots for this bimbo and her coterie. The highlight of my evening so far had been watching the bartender mix arcane drinks--something about communism and vermouth, and port wine and beer. They were complicated drinks. Jack began to tell me about his MFA program, and especially his theory class. He mentioned Heidegger, and I asked him to tell me more. I was interested in Heidegger because Chris Catanese had made some annoying comment on Facebook a couple weeks ago about objective realism. Well, Jack couldn't remember much from his theory class. More on WHY he probably couldn't remember in a bit.

He revealed that he lived in an apartment without an oven. Considering that one of his "interests" as displayed on his eHarmony profile was "cooking", I found the lack of oven strange. Perhaps, I thought, this was part of his bohemian artist lifestyle? And yet, I had never seen a more bourgeois looking artist in my life. He could've been a general manager at Kohl's. He talked a little about an artists' residency in upstate New York, and how he had been a carpenter (like Jesus!) before he devoted himself to art. It was surprisingly dull to hear about. After I finished a glass of Chardonnay, we left to go to dinner at Sushi Taro.

As we walked into the restaurant, he admitted that he hadn't made reservations. Well, you fucking idiot, then we can't eat here. It's Saturday night and one of the busiest restaurants in DC. We asked the host at the front door, "For two?" And she looked at us like, "No, you fucking idiots, we are booked all night." So, I suggested we get some oysters on the half shell at Hank's around the corner. Lucky for us, there was a table for two when we arrived. We were chatting, and eating, and I have to say that he was handy with oysters. I can't tolerate people who can't at least approximate comfort with raw oysters. We also had collard greens which were too tangy, and Brussels sprouts which were pretty good, and then he wanted more oysters. Fried. I thought, more oysters?! Yes, he wanted more.

He told a strange story about how on one of the Great Lakes his family would have a big lobster boil with bibs and everything by the shore. I thought to myself, that's strange. Lobsters on the Great Lakes.

I said, "Are there lobsters in the lake?"
He said, "No."
I said, "Where do you get all the lobsters then?"
He said, "We buy them at the store."

This seemed like a strange thing to do at the lake.

I had had three glasses of wine and so was feeling loose. Then I revealed that we had a Facebook friend in common. Even more to the point, I said, "So, you don't drink?" And he said, "Not tonight."
I said, "Have you ever?"
He said, "Well, yeah. I used to drink a lot. I go to AA meetings now."
I said, "Oh, that's nothing to be ashamed of. I know people in AA."

The only people I knew in AA were my horrible ex-boyfriend and his histrionic sister. But I was trying to be generous.

He said, "I can't believe I'm telling you this. I just...know that I don't like the effect drinking has on me, and I had to stop. I've been sober for six years."
I said, "Congratulations. That's really great. I am trying to be more moderate."
He said, "Yeah. My grandparents had it, my parents had it. Missed my sister. But I got it."

Then I was feeling really keyed up.

I said, "Did you do drugs?"

Now, when I said "drugs" I meant marijuana.

He said, "Oh yeah, sure. I smoked pot every day in high school. Then I started with the acid."
"Acid!" I said.
He said, "Yeah, acid."

He said, "I was a crack head until 2004. A crack head in Gary, Indiana."

Friends, I was speechless. He went on.

"I was a crack head in Gary, Indiana. I started with cocaine and then went on to crack. I dropped out of Drake University and it took over my life."

I said, "Well. I've never met a real crack head before." He kind of smiled, I guess.

I said, "How do you smoke crack anyway?"
He said, "You get some steel wool and burn it, and then put the crack rock on it and light it, and smoke it from a pipe."

The explanation was more nuanced, but I was kind of drunk by that point, and also--on a date with a CRACK HEAD.

I ate a fried oyster. It was squishy. I thought about eating more Brussels sprouts but they were too meaty in texture. No one should cook Brussels sprouts cut in half like that. You've got to cut them into quarters at least. Now, I'm imagining this man in front of me huddled over a burning crack pipe in some squalid opium den in GARY, INDIANA, fifty pounds thinner, emaciated, the heat isn't on, people are walking in and out, there's a dead baby in the corner like in Trainspotting--I think I mentioned the dead baby in Trainspotting to him when I asked how to smoke crack--and I had to stop for a moment. I had to have a moment to myself.

Normally, in this type of situation, I start careening into a death spiral of self-pity, the axis of which is the question, "How could my life have gone so terribly astray as to lead me here, to this very moment, on a honest to goodness date with a recovering crack head?" I thought, my ancestors didn't toil on some distant wheat field or graduate school for this. Not for THIS. Not so a crack head could take me on dates! No sir!

I excused myself and rushed to the bathroom, where I called Lucia frantically. Thank the good God that as soon as I got back to the table, she returned my call, which played perfectly into the story I had just fabricated about needing to leave to Georgetown to help a friend in need. The call went like this:

Lucia: "Hey chica! How is the date?"
Me: "Oh, no. I thought so. M Street? OK. No, it's fine. Just calm down. Yes, I can get a cab. See you in a sec."
Lucia: "Cam? You there? What's going on?"
Me: "Yes, yes. I'll be there in a second. bye!"

I said, "Jack, I'm so sorry to cut our wonderful evening short, but my friends are very important to me and she really needs my help." Oh, I gave him all kinds of elaborate details about this imaginary Georgetown scene. I, myself, almost began to believe it. He said, "Let me at least walk you home!" I said, "No, that will not be necessary." He said, "Let me at least hail you a cab!" Now, I knew that I was walking back to Birch's apartment, which was located approximately one block away. Lucia called again.

Lucia: "Cam? Everything ok?"
Me: "Ok ok! I am on my way right now! Hailing a cab! Smith Point? OK, see you in a few minutes. Deep breaths. It'll be fine."
Lucia: "What are you talking abou--"
I hung up. Looked at Jack apologetically. "Well, this was lovely! Thanks for the oysters!" I jumped into a cab and said to the cabbie, "Look, I know this is weird but please go away quickly from here I just need to be taken around the corner ooooo quickly ok, right here, great, fine, thanks bye!" I gave him a five dollar bill and ran into Birch's building.

Submitted by Cameron
Read her blog here

Who Gon' Check Me Boo?

In a game of pick up, to check the ball means that the ball is in play. The concept of a check is on a new possession. The ball is handed to the opponent to make sure that they are ready and set to go. At that point, the player passes or checks the ball back to the opponent and the game is back in motion.

Six hours after being bitten by a 24-hour bug, I peeled myself out of bed and attempted to look somewhat presentable by slapping on some make up, slicking back my hair into a bun, hopping (literally) into some skinny jeans, boots, blazer and a scarf and trekking my way through the cold rain to an underground bar in the city known best for its live jazz shows. I was going to support a friend who had made his way to my town while on tour. I would’ve stayed in bed, but it dawned on me there was a chance I could bump into a crush I’d met almost two years prior, yet had only seen once since. It was worth the chance. He was that gorgeous.

I first met him at this musician-friend’s wedding. He was a groomsman (read: he has at least one friend in a committed relationship…score!). A bunch of us stayed up that night catching up over music and a few drinks in the host hotel. There was no question he was the finest guy there as a few other women were vying for his attention. As driven as I am about going after and getting what I want, I’ve always been the complete opposite with guys. It’s an ego thing. Why in the world would I contribute to the senseless small talk, calculated giggles and batted eyes? Not my style. I decided to pass. Through mutual friends, I learned he lived in my area and so I put a bug in their ear that I was interested and hoped to run into him in the future.

In a quirk of fate, I bumped into him again six months later while on a date. For a brief second I’d forgotten I was with someone else. Yes, he was still that gorgeous. He passed on his business card and I did the professional thing by following up via email the following week. “Dear (crush), it was great running into you. Maybe next time we can do it over drinks. ‘Til then, be well.” He didn’t respond immediately, and to this day I can’t recall what he wrote, but we never met for drinks. So, eventually, out of sight, out of mind he went.

Fast forward to present day, it's been almost a year since our last encounter. I was pleasantly surprised and relieved to see my crush was in fact at the jazz show looking gorgeous...still. At the end of the night, as I was saying my goodbyes to friends in the crowd, we made eye contact. We spoke briefly in the dimly-lit venue, but again, I failed to make a move. Too many people were around, it was late and I was sick (read: I chickened out). So, I followed up with a message similar to the one I’d previously sent. As of yet, no response.

What is wrong with this dude? Didn’t I give him enough of a hint that I was interested? Or is it simply that he’s not? Impossible! Is it me? Word to Charlie Sheen, I’ve been dating so many losers that I forgot what it’s like to be winning in this dating game. Twice, I’ve made a pass by placing the ball in his court, trying to get him involved in this game of pick up (pun intended). Twice, he has failed to put this game in motion. I’m more than capable once the ball is in my possession, but who gon’ check me, boo?

To be continued… I hope.

Social Cues

I felt my mind – and my eyes for that matter – begin to wander. This man just kept talking…and with his hands no less. It was as if I were across the table from a used car salesman. His fast-talking was a dead giveaway that he was trying to hide something; too insecure to simply shut up for a minute. Poor guy.

An hour and a half went by and I learned about his parents, their parents and of course, his ex – which for a while I thought was imaginary. I did my very best to stay involved in the conversation. I interjected when possible with a smile, a nod here and there and every 20 minutes or so a subtle mention of how tired I was followed by checking the time. I even did the honor of motioning the waiter for the check. My “date” was oblivious to it all. I struggle to even label this encounter a date because I knew I wasn’t interested before we went out. Contrarily, my girlfriend was so sure we’d hit it off that I eventually gave in. I now know she simply wanted a double dating pair as she was seeing a friend of his.

Small gestures buried beneath the “cool guy façade” let me know he was a gentleman, yet throughout the nervous laughter and jibber jabber, I quickly came to the conclusion that my first instinct was indeed correct. I was not interested and there was no connection. Zilch. I’d share more of my experience, but I doubt you’d keep reading and I wouldn’t blame you.

Before I could call my girlfriend to lay her out for setting me up, she called me to report back his version of the date. Apparently, he had a great time and was looking forward to the next outing. He “felt something.” I blame the appetizers. He surely couldn’t have gotten that vibe from me. I don’t mean to be an asshole (not this time anyway), but why didn’t he pick up on what I was putting down?

Studies have shown that people who find it hard to make friends and establish long-term relationships also have trouble interpreting social cues. Go figure.

I’ve heard people say that women can decide within 30 seconds whether or not they want to sleep with a man. I wouldn’t go that far – unless we’re talking about Bradley Cooper or someone of equal or greater aesthetic appeal (insert one of your “Top 5” celebrities here). However, I will agree that 30 seconds into a conversation, we can generally decide whether or not we want to continue conversing. That’s why first dates should always be limited to less than an hour with the opportunity to extend beyond that timeframe. If you plan to meet over a drink and not dinner and the date is going south, you can excuse yourself after one drink and not have to wallow through idle conversation as you order a meal, wait for it to arrive, eat it and wait again for the check.

If you’re out with someone and you are clueless when it comes to being clued in on if they’re feeling you, keep the following social cues in mind:

1. When in public, is their body facing away from yours?
2. Do they look around the room to see who else is watching the two of you?
3. Are they avoiding eye contact?
4. Are they frequently checking their watch or cell phone for the time?
5. Do they yawn intermittently?

If the answer to all these questions is “yes,” then I hate to break it to you, but their social cues indicate that a next date may not be in the cards. Don’t be offended, simply move on. The person that’s right for you will be engaged in dialogue. When you’re together, time will fly by and you’ll both be anxiously waiting to meet again. Til that time comes, live.love.learn…and repeat!

LoveLove Vs HateLove

There's two ways you can look at love. You can love love...or you can hate love.

Choose wisely...



http://www.hotnewhiphop.com/en/view-album/8936-lovelove-vs-hatelove

Dear Single Women of NYC: It's Not Them, It's You.

This is a great read! Simply substitute NYC for your city as most experiences are the same. Enjoy!

The plight of the single lady
by Jen Doll
February 9, 2010
The Village Voice

My years of New York City dating—if you're counting, there have been 12—have involved a lot of guys, short- and long- and mid-term. My longest relationship lasted two years. My shortest—minus the one-off hookups that we all know aren't "dates" at all—was somewhere in the range of two weeks. There have been certifiable crazies, like the Eastern European fellow who broke my bedroom window in a fit of rage and told me not to complain that he'd broken my "fucking window." There was the Jersey boy who worked in women's handbags; fond memories involve him drunk-puking at the Hilton, then giggling hysterically, running, and "hiding" our soiled comforter in front of someone else's door down the hall. There was the super-successful corporate honcho with a cardboard box for a nightstand. The best friend with whom I had zero sexual attraction. The self-described "bi-coastal but not in a gay way" guy who didn't come home one night because he'd passed out in a planter underneath the Manhattan Bridge. (We continued to date for at least a month after that.)

Their ages have ranged from nearly 15 years younger than me to going on 15 years older. There were Peter Pan Syndrome–afflicted man-children, full-fledged adult males with zero desire to grow up, maybe ever. There were drunks and drug addicts and maybe once a teetotaler. There were Christians and atheists and Jews. There was a clammer from Cape Cod—a real, live clammer, with his very own waders. There was a man who shaved everything . . . down there . . . every single day. There was the dashing Argentinean only in town for a week; the Ronkonkoma deli worker barely old enough to drink; the beleaguered i-banker who came over regularly just to pass out on my couch. And I can't forget the "totally eligible" magazine editor who moved to the suburbs while we were dating, convinced me to take a bus to visit him, showed off his two-story brick house with granite kitchen counters and an actual backyard, as if knowing it was exactly what I aspired to—and then promptly married someone else. There were men who have dropped me on my head, literally and figuratively. I could show you bruises.

Read more at The Villiage Voice

Email her: jdoll@villagevoice.com
Follow her: @thisisjendoll

Committed: To Be or Not to Be

We live in a society where people are conditioned and even encouraged to seek happiness at all costs. For example, when we’re at a job that is no longer fulfilling, we have the choice to either look for a new opportunity or quit. When we want a change of scenery, it’s as simple as relocating to a new city. Most of these situations are within our control. Nevertheless, there are circumstances that are bound to change without our influence. We must be cognizant of the possibility of these very instances as their unavoidable and sometimes unexpected effects will dictate how we handle situations moving forward.

We’re taught that change is a natural part of life and that all change is good. But is it? What happens when, as said by Ellen Gladgow, “all change is not growth, as all movement is not forward”? It can be quite the hard pill to swallow. What’s even worse is that we are the very beings most capable of this type of change; change that is both inevitable and sometimes without warning. Knowing this to be true, how does one commit to someone in marriage when both parties will, without a doubt, transform over time? How does a couple survive such a transformation that could leave them both completely different from the person their partner initially fell in love with and were attracted to? And what is the incentive to stay in a committed relationship (specifically marriage) when this happens?

I was having an in-depth conversation with a friend who married her high school sweetheart in their early twenties. They were the couple everyone admired, were role models to the youth at their church and accomplished in regards to educational background and budding careers. Having grown into adulthood together for the better part of six years, she said that marrying him was the one thing of which she was sure. She was marrying her best friend. They knew each other like the back of their own hands. Alas, their marriage lasted 18 months. The reason: her spouse turned into a person who no longer freely and openly communicated with her as he did many times before. Gradually, he grew cold and quiet – not just with her, but with family and close friends. And eventually, she discovered he’d been unfaithful. Damn.

I can’t even imagine finding the one and then discovering you’re not their only one. You’d have to be crazy to stick around – like you belong in an asylum, crazy. How do u sincerely commit to someone knowing that they’re going to change, without knowing what they’ll change into? Conversely, how do you know they’ll want to remain obligated to the changed you?

Not all people cheat. I believe this. However, affairs affect one of every 2.7 couples and the number one cause of divorce is infidelity. With that in mind, if cheating is so probable in relationships should we learn to accept it when it happens and adapt accordingly? Should we agree to open relationships so that both parties acknowledge that stepping outside of the relationship is a possibility or do we hold out for the slim chance that our relationship will be different?

I really don’t mean to sound like a pessimist. I’m merely thinking like a twenty-something single female who occasionally has doubts of commitment and struggles to make sense of it all. Of course, I want to be in a long, committed relationship, but the line between being committed and well, committed is thin. There are a lot of questions raised, none of which I can answer until I’m faced with the situation (God forbid). Nonetheless, I’ve found this prayer to be of solace, “God grant me the serenity to accept the people I cannot change, the courage to change the one I can, and the wisdom to know it’s me.” -Author Unknown.