Monthly Archives: July 2014

Today’s Word is… OPEN


Dear Open Letter Writers,

This is the part where I act as though I don’t really know who you are, it makes me feel self important even though I’m obviously moved enough to write an open letter.  Now, allow me to qualify myself by saying as a blogger, I really get the need for lazy writing I truly do, but these open letters, well, they need to cease.  I don’t understand when these Marge Simpson manifestos became such a writing staple, but writing letters to celebrities you’ll never meet is weird, and lame.  As for you Dom Lemons of the world, calling out black people is not brave or new; you arent Martin Luther King Jr writing from Birmingham Jail, you are writing on a smartphone on the toilet…..please be seated….way in the back.

Let’s stop pretending you’re doing this for your kids, real or imagined, or for the better of your people.  You’re doing this for hits, buzz and e-pats on the back. Nicki Minaj and Miley Cyrus aren’t corrupting your child, her TV in the bedroom, iPhone, iPad and friends you don’t take any interest in are.  Open letter parents, you were kids right?  Now looking back were the pop culture staples the reason you acted out, skipped class, kissed classmates?  Perhaps you’re parents should’ve wrote strongly worded letters.  Of course, without the internet it would be even more likely no one of whom it was intended would give a f ck, so maybe they could just read it to a bunch of people who agree, well, like you do now.

Oh by the way, stop acting as though you don’t know what you’re going to say in this letter prepped for public consumption.  As someone who himself can qualify himself as an author of a half written open letter I can say that I know exactly where I’m going with this and if a thought did come to me I wouldn’t have to say Oh and another thing, because no one ever implied I was finished, because its a damn letter, who are these people playing the wrap it up music in your head.  You should probably get that checked out.

So open letter writers, I must ask, whats the point of this  Are you expecting a response, do you really plan to go back and forth with Beyonce like Ta-Nehisi Coates and Jonathan Chait? Do you get a purple heart for the bravery it takes to take a stand against no one in front of your readers?  How many E! True Hollywood Stories and Behind The Musics have you watched where the person’s life changed for the better because they read a thinkpiece? Why do you end letters with rhetorical questions?  Is it because no one will answer these questions so by default you win?  Anyway, even though I wasted my own time writing this letter, its time to be cool and nonchalant again.  DO YOU(did you really think I wasnt going to have pointless caps like I’m Tweet Mill) open letter writers, get them likes.

I’m just saying.



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Today’s Word is… ACCOUNTABLE


So I got a letter recently from a male fan? Reader? Troll? Admirer?…he starts off by qualifying himself, he sees me around the blogosphere and thinks I speak real spit ,  I’m funny whathaveyou HOOOWEVER, when he found this blog he was disappointed to see me pander to tired black women (he referenced my big girls and bachelorette posts…guessing he missed the actual #loveletterstoBW post) he went on to talk about how us kings get platforms and are afraid to hold these women accountable (to what exactly? He didn’t know) yada yada yada…

I never responded. I didn’t care to think how to, it slipped the back of my mind until Friday when I saw Twitter abuzz about Stephen A Smith’s comments on the Ray Rice suspension.  Ironically, at first Smith qualified himself (raised by women, would go off if someone dared touched a woman whom HE cared for) then went way left speaking on provocation and how ladies need to do a better job of being accountable.  To what? He didn’t know.  He’s expressed similar sentiments in the past, notably regarding Evelyn Lozada. Be on the look out for “Domestic abuse: Don’t Start None, Wont be None” signs on your subway.  I express my thoughts on the topic and while my followers have some damn sense and agreed, I saw some of them combatting dumbasses who didn’t.  Once again using “accountability” to make their fuck ass logic valid.  But then I must ask, if women are supposed to be the accountable ones, the hell are men….just pawns? Beasts?



Thanks Gary.

Are women morally superior to men, probably.  But I refuse to cop out to the ideal that me man me no control.  Its weak as hell to place conception of children, domestic violence, rape, the decreasing value of marriage, the breakup of the Beatles, world hunger, Hangover 3, mayonnaise, and the 1999 NBA lockout all at the woman’s feet.  Dude, be accountable for something. I see a beautiful woman every day, I’m perfectly able to resist the urge to mount them.  I’ve been “provoked” so many times,  I’m capable of walking away.  This doesn’t make me special, this makes me a man. 



Filed under Oh, Internet, Simply Stan

Today’s Word is… HARASSMENT

“Will you marry me?”

She giggles, actually it was more of a cackle like I wasn’t right there.  She smiles, I stare in her inviting brown eyes, it was only a few seconds but it felt as though time stopped….


Well, now that’s awkward.


“Why not”

Well for starters, she didn’t know me.  Like, at all.  This was my formal introduction, a spontaneous proposal.  She was more charmed than turned off, and after a brief chat we exchanged numbers and I happily walked back over to my friends I just hit a buzzer beater.   It was almost like a sport for us, the hunt.  My old house was across the street from a park as well as equidistant to two subway stations so on a good day there was always new girls to approach.   I’d like to think I never harassed anyone, if for no other reason my sisters walked those same streets.  I remember when my mother got my oldest sister mace to carry around or how my other would walk around with a powered off CD player just so she could appear busy. My little sister well, she had me. 

I remember having to answer the phone so some dude would stop calling, listening to stories about a creep attempting to follow my sister home.  Then I’d go outside and be the dude offering to walk with some girl.  A double standard? Probably.  So one day I was escorting proposal girl home and she spoke about how she hated walking around my neighborhood because of the dudes hooting and hollering.  It was like Bruce Wayne hearing a Batman story….oh.   She talked about how she took alternate routes, kept in headphones, just avoided walking altogether.  In essence, she sounded like my sister.  I asked so what separates me from the pack. 

“You just make me feel comfortable”

(cue ringing bell and confetti falling). I get it.  I was 15.


A decade later, “street harassment” has since became a mainstream topic causing a divide between feminists and well, nurt higgas.  Arguments from each side have gone to extremes from women starting a hashtag just because a guy looked at her to men sounding like damn near neanderthals with their entitlements.  The middle are trapped between whats actually harassment and whats an approach.  Men point out how attractive men get passes, women point out how men will take an accept compliment and take a mile.  Basically, we’re all talking in circles to the point plenty men don’t know what street harassment is or whats their responsibility to fight it.  Myself, well, I’m just going to stick with the lesson I learned growing up. 

Make her feel comfortable. 

Whether that’s not being too forward, respecting her space, approaching in a way that won’t get me on XoJane somewhere. As for what can a man do to help curb street harassment…well again, I consult teenage me

After my epiphany of sorts, I was even more mindful of how I and my boys were perceived.  But when you’re 16, ain’t nobody trying to hear you preach.  Hell, I can’t even comment or tweet now without being called a panderer. I mean, I can shut them down if it was my sisters but for a random girl, now I’m Captain Save Em.  It didn’t take much to change things, whether it was me just telling my boy to actually go and talk to her or doing so myself and them subtly deciding to work smarter not harder.  I didn’t need to be a hero, but if ya mans ya mans you can tell him chill and that be that. Fast forward to now, I’m probably not walking up going #youoksis ready to fight a group of dudes like Spider-Man, but sometimes all it takes is just smiling at her as she rolls her eyes at those doing it wrong, not affiliating yourself with those said people, and just treating any woman with respect.  At least that’s what I think, but this is the internet so I’m probably still not doing enough. 

Sidenote: Me and proposal girl never worked out.  She wouldn’t even become my first real girlfriend.  I wonder what she’s up to now.  I’d look her up but I can’t remember her last name. I’m getting old.


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Today’s Word is… BITTER


As an adult male, sans online you make new male friends primarily off a shared experience, run ball together, live near each other or work together.  You can make new female friends the same way but there’s also the accidental friendship; one of you tried to pursue a relationship, the other turned down (for what) this offer and now you’re left with two options, chill in this here friendzone or take your ball and go home.  The former is usually the option since people hate appearing bitter even if they feeling some type of way about this curve they just received.  For what its worth, I think more people should be bitter, sometimes its okay to say “you broke my heart, so f ck you”. Friendships are just as optional as relationships, there’s truly no need to be in one that doesn’t make you happy. 

Perhaps it is because bitter is such a loaded word.  It’s synonymous with hating, “who hurt you” and rancor.  No one wants to appear bitter, be called bitter or even admit to themselves that they are bitter.  It was a struggle that I have fought myself plenty of times.  From back in the day, all the girls I had a crush on around the way called me their big brother, me and Dessi having regular conversation like a heartbreak didn’t happen, remaining civil with an ex and us both pretending we’re not in love with each other.  Men typically are used to swallowing this bullet anyway, I’m not going to be churlish with someone just because they choose not to be with me (of course I’m speaking for men, not buckfoys who seemingly have no sense of coping skills).  In that same sense, there’s times when I realized that it was no point in keeping up a facade and saw my way out.  (Which always seems to turn the tables and now she’s sweating you but that’s besides the point)

You can’t make someone stop feeling, stop hurting or even swallow the rejection to maks your life easier.  Its something I’m learning still.  When I’m on the other side of the table, I have no control on whether they want to stay or go, just as none of my dreams deferred had a choice.  However, the key is still to make a choice and not waver. Don’t tell me you’re my friend and all you’re doing is trying to woo me, don’t tell me you’re my friend and passive aggressively unload your hurt.  Don’t tell me you’re my friend and really you’re just planning to flip the script so you can then reject me (this last one might’ve been me a few times, but I’m petty. Jesus is fixing me. Judge your auntie.)

Rejection sucks. It hurts worse then stepping on a lego at midnight or getting a charlie horse mid coitus.  What I will say is, even if I initially planned to give her that work be more than a friend, some of my closest homegirls I wouldn’t trade for the world.  Depsite the fact, she probably was planning to put my face in a figure four leglock be Mrs Stan Gemini and was denied, I would hope one could appreciate me as a kind, supportive, friend.  And I give great hugs.


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Today’s Word is… SELFIE


It recently occured to me, Me and Her never did it.

Me and Reine did it frequently.

Me and Ms. Avo did it a few times, now we do it ourselves for the other one.

She hated when I did it alone, thought it was weird; even though she did all the time, I always caught her.

Of course,  I’m talking about selfies.  I detest the word but a self taken photograph sounds way too official for a picture of your reflection in the mirror or self controlled mugshot.  For men, selfies have been a gift from gawd, especially when you can see anyone from your new boo to your favorite model or actress at any time without a photoshoot.  As for men taking them; they get a bad rep.  People point to vanity, narcissism and self importance.  True, but its also capturing a moment in time, ego boosting and well, kinda necessary.  Its a way to keep up with friends and family, a prominent part of dating now and well, I’m a grown ass man and will do what I please.

I have about 215 posts on Instagram, I would say bit less than a 3rd are “selfies”.  When I joined 2 years ago it was a good way to keep track of my weight loss, I could visibly see my face thinning, arms toning etc, there was the added element of putting it out in public that let friends and family take notice and their additional support guided me (perhaps I need to start doing that more….cuz, yeah).  I don’t think I’m over the top, the day I post 12 pics of the same damn outfit or start posing shirtless, please identify yourself as a reader and then kick me.  You’ll never catch me posing by some car that isn’t mine, or wearing somebody else’s chain, or tonguing down a significant other.  In that same vein, I want to see what my friends and family are up to, a Facebook update is just as efficient as that dusty wallet photo. 

Selfies are a pretty big deal in dating as well.  Men had a good run as “the visual creatures” but these days women tryna see something too.  There’s still no country for dicktures,  but isn’t a woman I met that hasn’t hit me with a picture inquiry of my face, my outfit, my dinner.  Dating long distance? Its almost a prerequisite (cuz #catfish).  Once again, selfies have replaced the wallet photo where a friend will quickly show a picture or social account of their newest flame or conquest.  And of course there’s the couple selfie; an unofficial rite of passage.  Every girl I’ve dated probably has a picture of me, not every one has one with me.  Shrug life.

We can pretend to hate selfies all we want, they aren’t going anywhere.  The 50th President of the United States will probably pass on the official portrait and upload his or her own.  Assuming they themselves don’t have any “other” selfies floating around the interwebs. Cuz, yeah.


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Today’s Word is… TEXTING

[Editors Note: Its the repost baby….ain’t like y’all read every post before anyway, okay maybe one of you did, but the rest enjoy like its new]


You know the story: Boy meets girl. Boy charms girl. Girl gives Boy her number. Boy walks home happy, lighting up the sidewalks like in the Billie Jean video.  MJ Gone, our nickel dead.  While he’s celebrating his new acquisition, he forgets that last boss battle, he charmed her enough for a number, but now that he’s found love what is he gonna do, with it.  Heavy D gone too, damn.  He must again charm her enough to get to know her better or in up in something far less than the friend zone, “the meh zone”.  The Meh zone is where boring texters go, when conversations never go much beyond:

“Hey you”
“Nm, u”
“Ok cool”


A nice text game is essential in a new age of dating.  Gone are the days of sitting in the kitchen on the house phone talking about eachothers day, trying to keep your late night r&b radio voice going.  They’re busy, you’re busy, texts are convenient (even though some people act as if we’re still on landlines and will be all types of mad if you don’t answer their texts the second you get them, or everytime you hit them up they only going to talk about the times you didn’t, like seriously, if you wanted an instant response or some way to know I’m busy why not, you know, call…okay mini rant over).  Whether its on the phone or texting, the point is to have something to say, the awkward silences followed by “my mother needs to use the phone” is now just the “ok.”

I’ve been meh zoned, I’ve meh zoned.  Some people I just drift into the abyss, others I made a valiant comeback.  Of course, I’m an aspring writer who spends his spare time writing 600 word posts about whatever pops into my mind so making spontaneous conversation is a piece of cake.  It’s more an issue of if I actually care to.  Which brings me to step #1 of getting out the meh zone

1. Assess why you care- If i really dont wanna get to know you better, its hard to fake the funk.
2. Be random, be memorable- Hey beautiful works, random song lines works better
3. Death to LOL- i always hated lol, even in aol chatroom days.  Most texts are assumed to be in jest you dont have to attach lol to everything
4. Use your surroundings- Talk about a coworker, people watch, something on tv, rarely are you in solitary confinement and texting theres always something to talk about
5. I know you’re bored- We all text when we’re bored, its assumed, you dont need to say such.

The meh zone is an inconvenience but it’s fairly easy to recover.  No different from being on the phone, or actually out on a date, we all just want to be entertained and engaged, and when we’re not we’ll find something or someone else. As you know, I’m iffy on texting period but I do appreciate a free flowing back and forth conversation, it shouldn’t be a chore.  Oh and umm don’t text and drive….the more you know n sh t. 



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Today’s Word is… BIG


For better part of my dating life, I’ve dated bigger women.  Not as a fetish, not as a secret, not as the safer alternative. I never even heard the terms “BBW” or “pear/apple shape” until social media, where it’s taken somewhat of a life of its own.   To be real, I don’t like to even refer to a woman as a “big girl”, it lends itself to the notion that she’s somehow different from any other girl.  I have similar stances to women outside my race and older. As for thicker women, its primarily just been what I’ve been attracted to; man like curves, chubby girl has curves, man likes chubby girl, I never thought I was doing anything special, nor did she.   I don’t defend my preference, I detest those memes about how big girls ride better, nor did I ever feel as though she was or ought to be “easier”. She’s my girlfriend not a statement.

Enter….Lily (she had another name but I forgot), me and Lily dated briefly one summer, didn’t work out.  For a multitude of reasons.  Me and Lily remained civil, and by civil I mean she pops up every couple of months trying to get that old thing back after some other dude broke her heart.  On her latest attempt, I respectfully decline #thelob, she sits and reflects on this rejection and retorts “its because I’m fat, I know it is you ain’t gotta lie.”


Dramatization of my reaction

Full disclosure, after I broke up with Lily way back when my next girlfriend was fairly petite, so in her mind it was forever engrained that she was REALLY my type.  The dialogue that followed went into how every man “likes” the big girl, they’ll flirt, they’ll smash, they’ll entertain but at the end of the day they always rather wife a smaller woman yada yada yada.  At this point, I could correct her, maybe even reassure her of her beauty, but it would fall on deaf ears; I’m just another man who didn’t want her.  My inaction will speak louder than words.  These are the breaks.

For what its worth, I never cared about her weight.  What turned me off to her as you could tell from that anecdote was a overall lack of confidence. Just as I think most men, whether she’s skinny or plenty, has a low tolerance for low self esteem.  When we dated, I always felt I set a standard that hopefully she would forever hold others to.  She’s someone’s queen, even if she isn’t mine.  However I set one standard, society and cold beds set another.  Lily has unfortunately fallen into this fallacy of what a “big girl’s” dating life should be…..low expectations, promiscuity, overcompensation.  Alas, she returns to my inbox with another story wondering if this is what its supposed to be like, I tell her no, she doesn’t believe me. Perhaps I just got persuer privilege (not that its so easy for a chubby brotha….spinoff post? Maybe.) But what I do know is, size doesn’t dictate worth.  Lily is no less worthy of love than Kelly Rowland, and hopefully, eventually she’ll accept that not from me but from herself.  Also, say no to Buckfoys kids, like seriously.



Filed under Dating, Love, Randomness, Relationships