Written by Aja I. King
Um this online “dating” shit … it’s more than a headache. Especially if you are like me and actually value being your authentic self and placing your heart and innermost feelings in the public domain. I really need to learn to hold back, but it just ain’t in me. It’s like trying to contain an emotional volcano. I feel and I feel deeply.
But back to my online “dating” rant: It ain’t for everybody and definitely ain’t for the faint-hearted. Maybe I’m too naive for these treacherous “dating” waters. I tend to take things at face value until proven otherwise. So now, even in my old age, I actually believe that’s you in that picture. The way the light catches you sexily posing in a bathing suit … silly me … didn’t know you swiped that shit off blackhotbabes.net (I’ll wait while y’all search for that made up site … nosy, thirsty asses). You know what I seriously want to see on these profiles? Pics of sistahs lookin’ the way they do when they first get out of the bed in the morning … full disclosure, baby. This would cut out all this nonsense.
As it stands now… we all seem to be acting like used car salesmen … hoping and prayin’ you don’t notice that leaky gasket under the hood (translation: closet alcoholic) or the completely worn out interior in some spots (translation: your coochie mileage is up there chile, don’t know how else to put it). Most of us are just hoping that we make it far enough along the road of love before you notice these ‘flaws’ and want a damn refund … or worst yet, abandon us inoperable on the side of the road. FYI: the cosmos fines you for that kind of shit, so don’t try it.
Look, you’re not perfect. I’m not perfect. If you don’t want to cop to it, let me be the first to admit it. And the real deal is: Nobody on these damn sites is or hell, we’d all be booed up. And I also realize I won’t be everybody’s cup of tea. Some people don’t like voluptuous or larger women. I get that and that doesn’t bother me. I was one of those people in my younger years before metabolism took me hostage and held me for ransom.
I also get that some women do not like, cannot take, ‘no labels’ like me. They see it as sexually ‘confusing’ or heretic to actually not want to be constricted by some arbitrary sexual category. I can imagine some sistahs thinking: “By Gawd, the bitch likes to wear makeup AND wear men’s boots? Ok, I’m getting this Boy George vibe… I’m confused …fuck dat … where tha ‘real lesbians’ at?” or “She wants to give AND receive? WTF?”
Lol. Yeah, I understand these ‘labels’ make it easier for some of you, but hell, some of us don’t want easy. We want to be acknowledged as a total, complex woman and human being, not just bits and pieces.
I’m a little bit of a tomboy and a little bit of a femme and a complete woman who loves pussy. What tha problem is? Why does that make some women uncomfortable?
Are you just a woman? Are you just black? Are you just crazy? Ok, that may be a bad analogy. You’re either crazy or you’re not. You can’t be a lil’ cray. That’s like being a lil’ pregnant.
So choices and options are good. If I understand nothing else, I understand that a woman likes options. And I’’ like to think I am a mature enough adult to happily allow you yours because I expect the same consideration. I also realize that I’m not as refined as some other sistahs. But I LIKE that shit. And I know that about me. I’m rough around the edges but it all smoothes out in the end. And the right woman for me will recognize and be drawn to that quality. Everything ain’t for everybody. And that is as it should be. If we were all the same, what a boring, pointless world this would be.
You Want to Keep My Attention?
Sistahs, please recognize that perfect doesn’t exist. We need to wipe that from that personal computer hard drive called our brains. I’ll repeat: Perfect does not exist. Jesus walked on water but his ass was as SINGLE as the day is long. For some strange reason, that brings me comfort.
For those of us still out here looking for our “Miss or Mrs. Perfect For Me,” if you are that brave, why we gotta sift thru lies, lies and more damn lies? And then there’s the embellishments. Again, there is nothing wrong with being real. If your mode of transport is a skateboard, hell, maybe Bertha Mae will think that shit’s sexy. Kick, push, kick, push and coast. (Did I mention mine is in the shop for “repairs”?) And if you have five kids, why tha hell would you just mention ONE? What, you gon’ do, when your date comes to visit? Or why pretend those are your godkids or the neighbors’ kids? Um, explain to me why the “neighbor’s kid” keeps calling you Ma?! Huh? Why?!
So, Sistahs be real. Be authentic. Be honest. Embrace your flaws. Embrace the times you’ve fallen and gotten back up. Embrace your unique self. Embrace your Creator-divined gifts, whatever they are. Being a nurturer is a gift. Being a good friend is a gift. Having a big bootay is a gift.
I just want to find a sistah who can be authentically flawed. Human. Baby, believe me, that’s more than enough. And if it ain’t, then she probably ain’t the one for you. Find someone who is. Believe me, there is somebody for everybody. It’s the natural order of the Universe. I really don’t give a damn about the masks we wear: the weave, the fits or the make up. Or the fact that you “get money” or about how much you own (or more truthfully—leasing to buy or mortgaging to the hilt. Let’s be real).
Tell me, instead, who are you in the quiet hours of the dawn when no one but you and your Gawd can peer into your soul? Who are you when you are at your most stressed and defeated? At your most fearful? At your most joyous? At your most sensual? What makes your flower bloom and what causes your love to wither on the vine? What makes you the uniquely beautiful and imperfectly perfect being only you can be? Those are the things I’m most interested in, and no, I don’t expect all of that on your dating profile but making a vow to be authentic and real is always a good start.
And you may “see” me around on one of these “dating” sites, you’ll probably recognize me. I’ll be the big ass sistah pictured waving on my skateboard, that is, if it’s out of the shop by this weekend.