I’ve been meaning to write the story for some time. And the only reason I am writing it, is because I was conversing with a friend about that idiot boy I mentioned I was seeing, in a past blog. That idiot boy’s friend, lets call him Sherlock…the friend, not the boy, the boy is not important enough to get a name on this blog. Unless of course he pisses me off again, then I shall call him Satan and y’all will hear ALL about that hot mess.. Any how, Sherlock started messaging me on Facebook. I found that a little strange, seeing how I had only met Shirley twice. Anyway, He is a good conversationalist and I was telling the aforementioned friend about it and saying Sherlock is nice and all, but he ain’t my type…friend asked me why not. I simply responded: “He’s Black”
Now before anyone gets offended and unsubscribes to my blog, just know that I am like ¼ black. And no this does not give me the right to drop the N bomb, or hate on anyone. It’s just a rule I have and this story will explain why…
Once upon a time I was an intern at a Mouse owned company down here in Fl. I had been working as a culinary intern non stop about 7 days a week for almost 3 months when my roommates convinced me to go out to a club. I am not a clubber. Im a stay at home and watch Starwars in my underwear and get drunk kinda girl. But they convinced me to get dressed up and go out. And out I went. I was hot y’all, Hotter than a Pepper sprout, and I was on a mission to find some idiot to make out with.
I did find an idiot, but I did not make out with him that night. I gave him my number and we texted over the next few days. His name was Dante. He. Was. HOT. He looked like 50 Cent. I don’t much like rap music, but DAMN he was hot.
After a few days of texting I decided to go out with this idiot. We met downtown and we went to the BET club (figures), and I hated. Every. single. Moment. He kept trying to give me bud light…which I hate and introducing me to his friends as his “Spanish Girlfriend and she’s gonna have my babies”. Lord have mercy….NO, NO I AM NOT YOUR DAMN GIRLFRIEND!!! I kept correcting him and he kept telling people I was confused or drunk, I was neither. I chose not to drink that night. True Story.
So the night at the club ends and part of me wants to go home, but part of me wants to sleep with 50 Cent, go home, ignore him and break his heart.
So off to his house we went, and by his house I mean, his parents house. I will spare y’all the details of this ride to his house, but I will tell you that we were riding in an Escalade that had guns in it. That should have been my 32nd clue. Anyhow we get to his house and he Attempted to ‘take me to da candy shop’ I declined to have anything to do with his lollipop. Such a let down.
The next morning we had to sneak out of his parents house.
And then he had a job interview…and he could not take me home
And then he had to go see his sister…and he would not take me home
And then he ran out of gas…and he would not take me home
And then I offered him money…but he was too much of a “man” to take it
And then…we ended up at his friend’s house…and he told them not to take me home.
And then the night came…
I was in full anxiety mode. My phone was almost dead and none of my roomies could come get me. (thank god one of these idiots had a charger that fit my phone) And even if they could, I was not about to subject them to this embarrassing situation.
Somehow, we ended up TP-ing his cousin’s house. I was like “well im already in this fucked up situation I might as well roll with it”. We drank some more and smoked some stuff, and then I hatched an escape plan.
Fake a heart attack…I mean, not me…but let’s pretend someone else had one..shall we?
I haven’t spoken to my father in years, and I am sure there is a special place in hell for me, but I straight up lied y’all. I told that boy my daddy had a heart attack and I had to go home to St. Louis. I faked calls, and texts and I even cried…
I appealed to his “better nature” and it worked. It’s not my finest moment, but I had to GTFO of that place. He finally found a friend who took me home. And that asshole had the nerve to ask me for gas money after he refused it. I had my checkbook, I wrote him a check upon leaving the car…and when I got into my dorm, I promptly called Wells Fargo, swallowed the cancellation fee and pulled the plug on that motherfucker.
Fuck that…never again.
And this is why black guys aren’t “my type”
*actually there is a little more to it than that. But that was the last straw*