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The Blog

Ain’t No Body Got Time for That and Other Reasons The Last Three Months of Love Jumping Has Sucked So Much

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So it’s March and maybe you’re somewhere where the warmth of the sun is shining on your face— P.S. I hate you— but D.C. is a freezing, 30 degree, ice rink right now and I hate it.

Yesterday I successfully attempted the worlds most terrible parking job trying to parallel park my Honda Civic over a mound of ice, after which I got out of my car and quickly banana peeled it straight into the air and busted my ass on the ground. The best part— wait for it— the landlord I was going to meet to check out an apartment that I could not in a million years afford— was kind enough to tell me that he watched the entire thing happen through his overpriced living room bay window. Thanks, guy.

The bottom line is, winter sucks enough as it is. When you are dizzy from getting lost on unfamiliar, icy D.C. streets, avoiding parking tickets, hiding from the law because your out of state tags are expired and the Wells Fargo teller lost your drivers license (I can’t even begin to explain this one) the last thing you want to do is go to a singles speed dating mixer at the end of the week— not to mention the agony of actually having to shave your legs!

Here are a few more of my late night flirtation frustrations about my D.C. love jumpin’.


It’s been a lot more work than play since I’ve moved back east. Working for myself means mingling with smart, professional, fine black men— everywhere. But I’ve been warned— don’t date guys you work with. I’ve managed to line up a few jobs with super eligible bachelors, which is good for my bank account but not so much for my dating life.


I’ve had more than a few bad pick up lines, OKCupid encounters gone wrong and drunken 20somethings hitting on me over the past few months. It’s the reason I loathe online dating. But none took the cake like random Eddie. The guy who stopped me at the bus stop to invite me to watch Birdman with him, that night. Right. “Sure, Eddie, and after that, why don’t I join you at your place for a “cocktail”?


You know the saying more cushion for the pushin’? Well, look, I ain’t doing any pushin with anybody, but even if I was it would be way too much cushion if you know what I mean. The truth is, I’m fat. My cheeks are cheekier. My belly is bellier and my jeans just don’t fit like they used to. I’m currently crashing with family in the suburbs where the Chik-Fil-A and Popeyes next door are doing NOTHING for my dating life. Who wants to go out when they’re feeling like fatty boom boom?


The worst thing for your dating life is a gay dating life. I’ve had a series of outings with the most brilliant, kind, generous guy who just happens to be married to a man. If you need to know what a nice night out on the town is like, go out with a gay man. Afternoon tea, strolls through Georgetown, the ballet— good God, gay men know how to show a girl a good time!
As much as I adore my new BFF, I need to be working on the BF.


A friendly recently told me not to expect too much dating wise because “guys hate The Gaunlet.”
The Gaunlet? The Gauntlet. That period between Thanksgiving and Valentine’s Day when hopelessly romantic emotions are running high and expectations wildly unrealistic.
“What do you mean you’re not proposing after 6 months? it’s Christmas!”
Yup, that Gauntlet. Guys hate this season and according to my friend, avoid it at all costs.


Anyone who starts their own business knows what it’s like to be bald and broke. The stress of life is enough to make you your hair fall out and mine is doing just that.
I’m pretty sure I have this Rick James, Jermaine Jackson curly girl mullet going on. The back long, the front short, the middle holding on for dear life—lol. When your money and your mane ain’t right— the only date I’m working on is the one with my deep conditioner.

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