1. But I use 'bitch' as a pejorative for men.

I'll call a man a bitch in a minute.

Yeah, it smacks of self hatred and it's really misogyny cloaked in a tough girl disguise, blah blah blah--miss me.

It sounds horrible, but feels so good.

What? I'm trying to cut back!

2. I tend to discredit people who start sentences with "My pastor/bishop says..."

I give them the raised eyebrow treatment, and step about 100 yards away.

Though I try, I really can't take them seriously from that point on.

3. Things happen to me in waves.

If one person says that I'm 'intimidating',

the next twenty people I meet will say the same thing.

If one person treats me like I'm a unicorn because I'm a single black female over the age of 25 with no children,

the next twenty people I meet will do the same thing.

If one person acts completely clueless in their dealings with me..

You get the picture.

I just have to breathe, and remind myself that this is only a test.

4. I tend to not be able to separate the artist or practitioner from their craft.

Once I discover the artist is morally reprehensible, I can't really enjoy their work the way I used to,

especially if they're supposed to be somewhat spiritually awakened and leading others to the path of righteousness.

Though they won't likely admit it, pretty much everybody else on earth is the same way.

Everybody's willing to hate R. Kelly, and dislike his music and rightfully so.

But I'm noticing that he's the only one people will openly hate on, while others who are just as disgusting

are lauded as being among the best to ever do it.

5. It's been said that Home is where you go

when you have no place else to go

and they have to take you in.

If that's the case, I've been wondering where Home is for quite some time.

Disclaimer: The names have been changed to protect the Negroid (hell, the Caucasoid, too), but, like everything I post here, the following is a true story.

You've been watching this show for a while now, so you should understand by now that we only talk about real-life shit round these parts.

If you 'don't feel like readin all that', bounce NOW.

But I'm telling this story because:

1) I want to

2) I can

and

3) The shit is funny.

And hey, I could use a laugh.

As usual, disparaging remarks about my looks and intelligence are expected, but no snark thrown by anyone negates the fact that this really happened.

To me.

In front of other people who can vouch for the veracity of this story.

That being said,

Let's Start The Show  ©  Old Man on Chappelle

So with ceremony and fanfare, I officially returned to the dating scene in March of this year.  My networking and auditions took on a social aspect, and, at the behest of a friend who tried it and loved it, I even put up a profile on a black singles site.

Now, truth be told, I wasn't at all impressed with the dating site, but I had paid for a month, so dammit, I was gon stay my full thirty days.

Well, I had about one more week left on my membership when I was sent a message by an Atlanta-area hip hop artist.

For the purposes of this tale, we'll call him H.I.P. Tha Hopnik.

H.I.P. Tha Hopnik is pretty well known on the ATL hip hop scene. In addition to being an artist, he's hosted beat battles and open mics, and his entertainment company has brought a few good shows to the area.

In his message to me on the dating site, H.I.P. was very complimentary. He told me I was beautiful and asked what it would take to get to know a sister such as myself.

And his approach would've been all well and good--except for the fact that H.I.P. Tha Hopnik and I had met at least three times before.

See, H.I.P. didn't remember, but I met him online back in 1999 (good ol' Yahoo), once at a show in 2004, and another time at an open mic at Apache in April of 2006.  I mean, I'm good with names and faces, but  it's kinda hard to forget what a (underground, locally) famous dude looks like--especially when his look has stayed exactly the same over the past 9 years.

So I sent H.I.P. a return note on the dating site reminding him of our previous meetings. I told him that he'd even hugged me before.

H.I.P. didn't reply to the message I sent--at least not before my membership expired about a week later--but having had enough of the site, I figured it was all good and that I'd just see him around.

Now, honestly, despite the nice note, I was never interested in H.I.P. on the romantic tip. I mean, what I look like being interested in a nigga that can't even remember he met me before? But I figured we'd bump into each other at Sugar Hill or Apache, say hi in person again, and possibly network and see what we had in common from an artistic standpoint, right?

Well, fast forward bout a month to Memorial Day Weekend, 2008.

Friday, May 23 to be exact.

My favorite drummer/DJ was spinning at MJQ after the Badu/Roots show, and I was all up in the house.

Matterfact, soon as I walk in MJQ--surprise, surprise! I see a big ass banner bearing the name of H.I.P. Tha Hopnik's entertainment company on the wall of the club.

"Oh, H.I.P. should be here, then," I thought. "I'll say hi."

So my favorite DJ and his emcee friend get it poppin like Redenbacher in that joint. After The Illest gets off the mic, H.I.P takes over emcee duties from the DJ booth and it's a great night. I'm seeing people I ain't seen in ages, enjoying chemistry with a really cute nerd, giving hair ties to movie stars (lol), and having a fabulous time.

About an hour before it's over, though, H.I.P. looks out into the crowd and sees yours truly.  We make eye contact; he points at me and smiles, and I smile and wave back.

I think, "Cool, he recognize me. Hopefully we'll get to talk for a sec."

Bout 3:15 AM, show's over, H.I.P. verbally ushers everyone into the parking lot, and it's a wrap right?

Now, I figured that as the promoter for the evening's festivities H.I.P. prolly had after-show stuff to do, and prolly wasn't gon have time to talk, so I didn't really wanna hang around.  But just as I was about to head home, I check my messages and hear a friend of mine suggesting that we go grab a late-night bite, so I leave my parked car, and decide to stick around MJQ and wait for my friend.

And this, boys and girls, is where it gets interesting.

So I start walking back up to the club, and H.I.P. Tha Hopnik is there, telling people rather loudly to stop leaning on his car and activating his alarm. There's a white girl there, and she's standing near H.I.P., talking to a musician friend of mine.

Now as I re-approach the club, H.I.P. and I make eye contact, so I know he saw me.

But when I got within speaking distance, he suddenly went from telling people to get off the Pink Pacer (oh yeah--I changed his car name, too), to having to run back inside the club.

By this point, I'm like 'whateva man'--I could give a damn about talking to H.I.P. anymore. I figure I'd see him around, and besides, I'm hungry and waiting on my friend, anyway.  Ain't no telling how long the homie's gon be, though, so I stand next to my musician friend, and join his conversation with the white girl.

The two of them were discussing my favorite DJ's hectic schedule and possible afterspots when my curiosity got the best of me. I mean, this chick's talkin like she somebody who know a li'l somethin, so dammit, I wanna know who this white girl is. I interject that she looks kinda familiar, extend my hand and introduce myself, and she says:

"Hi, I'm Bekki, H.I.P.'s girlfriend."

Yes, boys and girls, this is the part of the episode where the record scratches, and I look directly into the camera at the viewers at home.

SO IT'S LIKE THAT, NIGGA?!

Is having a girlfriend and a dating site profile really what's hot in the streets?

Is this what it's come to, player?

Now, my white-boy dating ass won't even think about callin H.I.P. Tha Hopnik out on the race thing, but to be on a black singles site, blindly hollerin at me and G-d only knows who else, all while in a relationship with an unsuspecting white woman?'

That's dirty.com, my nig.

Oh, and Bekki? Sweet as she wanna be, man. I mean, no woman deserves that shit, but especially not Bekki!

In talking to her, I learned that she, like myself, works with kids and is a genuinely nice girl. When I asked her ever so charmingly how long she and H.I.P. had been together, she told me that they had been together for three years.

Yeah.

One, two, THREE years.

And he just hit me up on a dating site not even six weeks ago.

Okay.  Player.

Thankfully, at just the right moment, y'all, my phone buzzed. My friend had returned to the vicinity and we could finally go get us something to eat, but the whole way to the grub spot, I'm thinking,

SO IT'S LIKE THAT, NIGGA?!

I'll be whatever y'all say I am for this one, but it is, unfortunately, a true story.  Balls are made out of industrial-grade steel these days, people.

Do yourself a favor, though, and hit up that blackpeoplemeet.com.

Apparently, it's what's hot in the streets!