Mr. Nice Guy From Hell

I have a new blog. It should be fun. I might ask you to contribute!!!

https://mrniceguyfromhell.wordpress.com/

Hope you enjoy!!!

I QUIT! You’re On Your Own

*NOTE* The click here link is http://www.markay.com/courtneyd

Recently, I had one too many drinks and told a friend of a friend that I would find a suitable mate for him. Little did I know, giving birth to a 9 lb 6 oz Sumo monster baby was a less arduous task than what I promised while blinded by the thrill of Mayweather knocking the shit out of ol’ boy and cocktails courtesy of the fine gentlemen of Atlanta. Unreasonable requests and unwarranted pickiness have forced me to throw in my matchmaking towel. I’m through with helping the delusional find love. They’re not good listeners and I left teaching so I wouldn’t have to deal with individuals who won’t listen. Instead, I offer a few words of advice to the clueless.

Ladies: I agree 100% that at the end of the day, looks shouldn’t be a priority. The most attractive people aren’t always intelligent (Tyrese), they might be crazy (Halle Berry), or just a horrible, terrible person (Kobe Bryant). Physical beauty is so subjective and one man’s Tyra Banks is another man’s Mo’Nique…I think I’m the shit, but not every man goes for my type. As a matter of fact, some men don’t even have a type. Their only requirement is that you don’t look like you just rolled out of bed ALL THE DAMN TIME!!! Is it really that difficult to show up for a date with some makeup, a cute outfit and the façade of a freshly coiffed head? I’m not even saying look like you’re headed to the Oscars, just look like you give half a damn. You may believe that it’s what’s on the inside that counts, and you’re right but look at it this way, who wants to sample a cake that’s slightly overcooked with no icing?

Some women have spent so much time being plain, they don’t even realize their quest for a husband is being hindered by the fact that they look as though they don’t want a husband. Men are shallow, but only to a certain point. They want someone another man wants too. He may learn to love all of those fabulous things about you, but if you’re not turning any heads, it really doesn’t matter how great you are. This has nothing to do with your attractiveness, nor judging a book by its cover. This is all about packaging and presentation. Some women don’t believe they need to do anything with their appearance and want men to look deep into their souls….MEN AREN’T THAT DEEP!!!! So wax the mustache, do something with your damn hair, buy at least one figure flattering going out ensemble, put on some makeup, at the very least mascara and lip gloss (If you need cosmetics help, click here. My girl Courtney is happy to help) and head out. You can go back to being your frumpy, funny-looking self tomorrow, but enjoy at least one day not looking like a school marm.

Fellas:

Fellas, fellas, fellas, fellas…..

Now that I’ve berated the ladies, it’s your turn. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: HAVING A JOB AND NO KIDS DOES NOT MAKE YOU A HOT COMMODITY! Women aren’t impressed by your almost six-figure income, because guess what? THEY ARE PULLING SIX FIGURES!!! No one gives a damn that you don’t have any kids. Do you want a fucking cookie?!?! I’m not gonna repeat the same thing over and over again so for more information read this. There is nothing I can’t stand more is a man who thinks he deserves to date model chicks simply because he has the desire to date them. Perhaps you believe you can have any woman you want, but men are the most unrealistic creatures on the face of this earth. I’m not saying settle for a woman you’re not attracted to but shit, something’s gotta give!!!! Men blame their rejection on women’s standards being too high instead of looking in the mirror and saying, “If I were a model chick, would I wanna date me?” Or they ask their single male friends their opinion without understanding that their “boys” aren’t gonna tell them the truth. Of course you’re not annoying to your boy who never seems to have a shortage of women at his behest. As a matter of fact, you’re doing just fine to him because the dumber you look, the better he looks.

You may say you’re not looking for anything long term, but you know that you’re terrified of growing old alone. All of you men who seem to have a problem with commitment keep reading all of these articles about the Desperate Black Woman and figure you can have any woman you want, so why settle for just one? What you fail to understand is that, pretty soon, you’ll have a reputation for being a whore and women will wonder why you’re 40 and have never been married. She won’t think you were waiting for her. She will think something is wrong with you and she’s right. Something is wrong with you. It’s called “I was too busy being full of myself when I was younger to engage in a meaningful relationship with one woman.” And don’t think you’re gonna get a young girl…she’s gonna get tired of having to run to Walgreens to pick up your Cialis. Stop being such a douche and exploiting the fact that women believe they can’t do any better than sharing you with other women because frankly, you’re making men look really fucking stupid (yourself included).

I am officially done. I’m done worrying about you broads not having a man because you won’t dress the part. I’m done worrying about dudes being too stupid to recognize a good thing standing right in front of them because they’re expecting Beyonce to drop from the sky into their laps. I’m done with matchmaking, hookups, talking you up, mentioning you. DONE!!!! I have a kid to raise.

TFZ

“I want more.” Simple to say when asking for mashed potatoes. Not so easy when letting a friend know that friendship just ain’t enough. I’m not good at honesty. I laugh and bullshit my way out of emotional situations – “whatever” is my special little place of false indifference. There comes a time in every “platonic” friendship when someone needs to just man up and say it. I’m not gonna do it, but somebody should…and if you don’t, you’re going to spend perpetuity in The Friend Zone. There are other ways to end up there, some not so pretty ways. I can guaran-fucking-tee you’ll find yourself holding her purse while she’s in the fitting room instead of in the fitting room holding her booty while y’all sneak a quickie. OR you can end up helping his fiancé decide on her wedding dress. Take your pick. Either way, you’re losing and yet, there’s a way to be an even bigger loser in the friend game. Do any of this shit and rest assured, you will never get anywhere.

Creepy shit is just, well, creepy. The difference between creepy and sweet is the level of attraction, and when sweet involves touching *RED FLAG* you better make damn sure there is some chemistry, like AP chemistry, not that remedial shit. Don’t lingerhug me. Don’t massage me. Don’t get drunk and try to kiss me. Just. Fucking. DON’T! For real dude. Don’t. The biggest mistake the homie wanna be lover friend can make is to do uninvited shit. It’s not sweet. It’s creepy. Wanna know how to determine whether you’re being sweet or creepy? Does she say stop? Did you stop? STOP CREEP!!!! It only MIGHT work if she was kinda feeling you. Otherwise she’ll hate you and talk about you to her friends. And your friends. And your mama.

You know that movie, Friends With Benefits? Well, those friends added benefits because they were attracted to each other and well, they’re both fucking beautiful. YOU ARE NOT MILA KUNIS. YOU ARE NOT JUSTIN TIMBERLAKE. LIFE IS NOT A MOVIE. Shit rarely happens that way, so if you think that because you and your friend started banging each other, a relationship automatically comes next, you’re sadly (and pathetically) mistaken. Jumping into bed with a friend fulfills carnal needs and that’s about it. I’m not saying something more can’t develop from the FWB scenario (see homies to housewife ) but chances are, it won’t end up like the movies because frankly, life just doesn’t imitate art in the romance department.

Getting comfortable is one thing. Losing all types of manners and decorum is another. Take your nasty ass in the bathroom to fart and use the damn air freshener. Cover your fucking mouth and say excuse me when you burp up that disgusting ass two pound burger you just ate on a dare. Being gross is inexcusable, no matter how platonic the friendship and the moment you’re viewed as repulsive is the point of no return. Lying in a pool of your own urine and vomit (or anyone else’s for that matter) because you decided to get whiteboy wasted is a deal breaker, no matter how close you got to the Brown Sugar Sanaa and Taye ending you were hoping for. I’m not saying implode in lieu of performing any bodily functions in front of your “friend,” but dammit have some damn tact.

I’m all for compatible people forming alliances…even romantic alliances…but that decision gets made mutually and not exclusively. You alone can’t decide that you get more just because you want more as you very well may in violation of some very basic shit you should never ever ever EVA do – like put your uninvited hand on my booty or lock the windows after you relieve yourself of Chipotle gas. You may have been on the fast track from friend to fiancé, at least you were until you screwed it all up with your utter disregard for the sanctity of normalcy. It’s understandable if a platonic friendship evolves into something more, but unless it’s mutual, it’s nothing more than a crush. Don’t fuck it all up (friendship AND potential relationship) by being a damn dummy.

A Letter To My Future Husband

Dear Future Husband,

They say no experience is a bad experience if you learn from it and vow never to repeat the same mistakes. I got married in May 2004, was separated in January 2006 and finally divorced in May 2010 and since my very first boyfriend in 1998, I’ve had a lot of experience. *take that how you want* Those experiences have caused me to laugh, cry, throw shit, and wonder if I could handle a life sentence…sometimes all at the same time. I’ve met men that I thought I loved, a few (one) that I wanted (want) to spend the rest of my life with, and some I refuse to admit ever existed…nigga, who are you. But over the past 13 years, I’ve learned enough from those relationships to make some vows. There are things I will never, ever do. I promise.

I promise to never go through your personal property to seek answers to questions that I should be asking you. Seek and you shall find. Ask and you shall get something accomplished. I’m not naïve believing that you will never lie to me, but I do believe that trust is a two way street and once someone starts snooping through cell phones and pockets, trust is gone. If you’re cheating, you’ll be found out because baby, I’m smarter than you. You will never put one over on me. You see, I’ve been single for quite some time for a reason: I just haven’t met anyone I trust with my heart…yet. I haven’t opened up completely to anyone in a while, and before I make a commitment to you, you should know that full disclosure is a requirement on both of our parts. One thing I can not stand is a liar, and if I get the impression that you’re not being trustworthy, I won’t go through your shit to get the truth. I will ask you, like an adult, and fully expect you to tell me the truth, no matter how hard it may be. The truth may hurt me, but I swear your lies will hurt you more. I will cut your dick off if you lie to me…mutha fucka.

I promise to give you your space, because I will for damn sure need mine. Since we’re a couple, chances are, I’ve told you how much I hate that McDonald’s commercial when the dude punks out and agrees that Sundays isn’t for football. I don’t want you in my face all the damn time and I know you don’t want me in yours. I’m okay with knowing that there will be times when you’re sick of me so long as you understand that I left the house before you woke up because I was tired of hearing your loud ass snoring. One thing people fail to realize is that if they spend every waking moment together, togetherness isn’t that important. It becomes mundane, routine, and downright annoying. Sometimes, I want you to help me pick out my new shoes. Most of the time, however, I don’t want you near me and my sales associate. When I need your presence, you’ll know because you’ll need mine, too. Don’t worry, I’m not one of those call you when I need and that’s it types. But if we’re planning on spending the rest of our lives together, I’ll be damned if we drive each other crazy in the first five years because we’re sniffing each other’s butts all the damn time.

I promise I will be mad at you and sorry won’t fix it. Neither will flowers or jewelry…although shoes might do the trick… Unfortunately, no one is perfect. You’re not, I’m not, our relationship won’t be either. You’re going to fuck up. You’re probably going to fuck up bad. I’ll eventually forgive you, because that’s what Jesus, Jigga, and Jennifer would do, but pretending we won’t have problems is insane. Expecting perfection is the worst expectation to have because it’s impossible and I don’t deal in impossibilites. Marriage isn’t about how perfect we are together; it’s about how we deal with the difficulties that we face. I’ve been married before and there was nothing perfect about it. It wasn’t imperfect either, though. Inability to resolve the problem is what ended my marriage because not all problems can be solved. If our marriage is worth it to you, because it definitely is to me, you’ll be willing to do whatever it takes to make things right again, and buying me shit won’t always work. Please don’t insult me with flowers when you continue to stay out until 4am with your boys every weekend after I’ve asked you to knock that shit off. I won’t insult you by giving you head to make up for the money I can’t seem to stop spending…although I’m sure you won’t turn it down… Our problems won’t go away with band-aids. We WILL have problems. We WILL make it work….because I swear I’m not doing this shit a third time.

Future Husband, being with me ain’t gone be easy… I’m not an easy person but I promise I’ll be the best wife I can possibly be because I swear to sweet baby Jesus, I’m not getting married again. You’re stuck with me and I’m stuck with you. Luckily, I’m a reflective little something and I try to grow from every experience, good and bad. I’ll try to make our marriage as painless as humanly possible but if I don’t, just remember that I love you and I tried to warn you.

XOXO

Me

P.S. I wrote your mom a letter a few months ago. Can you give it to her for me please? Thanks!

STFU 2011

There’s this McDonald’s commercial…no, not that coontastic one…no, not that one either. The one with the couple enjoying a cardiac distress inducing meal where the chick says: *insert neck roll* “Tyniquana new boooooyfriend say Sunday just for football. *insert lip smack* Can you buh-leeee dat?” (I took poetic license with this part, in keeping with the usual black McDonald’s ads) Her bitchmade ass boyfriend responds with: *insert pussy whooped alto* “Yeah baby, he’s a jerk.”

I. Could. Whoop. His. Ass.

This commercial is wrong on so many levels, but the one thing that fucks me up is that for a few months out of the year, ol’ boy wants to not be disturbed with her yingyang and watch the damn game. I am 1059% sure (no Maury) that any couple who buys into the nonsense portrayed in this ad will break up within 6 months. *puts reminder in agenda to set up for the rebound in March* Not only is he lying about something that is obviously important to him, it’s apparent – to me, at least – that any other response than the one he gave will result in a ridiculous and unnecessary argument. Too many people spend way too much time trying to mold their mates into the person they want them to be instead of celebrating what was so endearing about this person to begin with. We all have our quirks – some of us more than others – but at the end of the day, making a commitment to someone involves accepting not just their flaws, but their likes, hobbies, and interests, as well. NOTE: I do NOT mean things that are illegal, demeaning, or anything that makes you uncomfortable. If he spends every Sunday watching football, chances are he’s been watching football every Sunday his entire life so who the fuck are you to try to come between him and his game. Sorry bitch, first downs before females. You know how you get when Bad Girls Club, Basketball Wives, or whatever foolishness you broads watch these days comes on? Yeah, it’s like that. Now let me find out somebody I know is subscribing to that bullshit portrayed in the McDonald’s commercial. We’re gonna have to have a serious heart to heart about your future break up, because he’s going to get sick of lying to you to keep you from jappin’ out and he’s gonna leave yo ass for a white girl.

A Letter to a Woman I Haven’t Met Yet

Dear Future Mother-in-law,

I wasn’t too fond of my last one, so let’s get some things out the way right here and right now. The last time I got married, I expected to have to deal with HER for the rest of my (or her) life. Unfortunately, I still do, because of my daughter, but it’s in a much more diminished capacity since the divorce was finalized (May 18, 2010 – thank you, Jesus). I’m not getting married a third time, so since you’re gonna be stuck with me, we may as well make this thing work.

I already have a mother. I was raised by her and although we don’t always get along, she is mine. I don’t need another and you’ll never replace or even compare to her. I’ll never be your daughter because I’m hers. Our relationship will never equal the one I have with my mother, but I don’t want it to and you shouldn’t either. Yes, we can go shopping together. Sure, I’ll meet you for lunch. Of course that spa appointment is still on. But I want my mother to be the one holding my hand if your son happens to knock me up and I go into labor in Target. I’m not saying we can’t share precious moments because I want to have a relationship with you, but when I think of the most important times in my life, the person who’s always been by my side is my mommy. She’s got 31 1/2 years of being my mother under her belt.

I love your son. At some point during the course of our marriage, I will despise every fiber of his being. Hopefully, those times will be minimal and fleeting, but what this means to you is mind your business!!! We’re not competing for his love, there are things I can do that you can’t because it would not only be disgusting and incestuous, but illegal in almost all 50 states. I can’t be the one who held him all night when he was four and had a fever that wouldn’t break; that was your job. I have the job of taking care of him now. The way I love my mom is the way he loves you, but please don’t make him choose sides. The first time he chooses yours is the day he’ll be packing his stuff and moving back into your house. He and I are a team, it’s ok for you to retire. Don’t worry though, I’m pretty sure you’ve already made it to the Hall of Fame and I’ll make sure that’s never forgotten.

You’ve never known me as a child. I was grown when we met, so although you’ve known your son since birth, you don’t have a right to talk to me like I’m a kid. I respect you for raising a man wonderful enough for me to vow to spend the rest of my life with. Respect me because he thinks I’m wonderful enough to spend the rest of his life with. I appreciate all the wisdom that comes with your experiences, but please don’t be offended if I don’t accept your unsolicited advice…my friends don’t, and neither should you.

I know we haven’t met yet…and since this letter is to an imaginary future mother-in-law, I haven’t met your son yet, either. But what I do know is that I already had mother-in-law beef, and I’m just not willing to do that nonsense again. You’ll get Mother’s Day gifts from me, we’ll spend alternating holidays with you, and nothing but the best nursing home will do when you start calling me his ex-girlfriend’s name…you know, the one you had to console on my wedding day when she couldn’t compose herself (oh, wait that happened already – can’t happen again, can it?) So, Future Mother-in-law, as long as you know where we stand, I think it might be time to go looking for your son.

Love Forever,

Your Future Daughter-in-law

New Math

From the dawn of time, women have been pretending not to like sex…inexplicably, but whatever. Out of our feigned disdain for intercourse arose our need to keep the number of sexual partners a closely guarded secret. We divide, dissect, and dismantle every sexual encounter until we’re left with a number suitable to share if we’re ever questioned by someone to whom we’d rather not reveal the actual count. There are all sorts of formulas and variables, derivatives and exceptions but we need to come up with something consistent, let’s call it New Math.

The first thing one must do is calculate their Actual Number and compare it to the Allowed Number. Your Allowed Number is calculated as such:

(C – V)/2=Allowed Number, where C = Current Age and V= Age One First Lost One’s Virginity

For example, a 34 year old woman who lost her virginity at 16 would have an Allowed Number of 9 partners. Once you’ve determined your Allowed Number, now it’s time to itemize deductions. You’re allowed to itemize one partner from each category. Any more than that would be dishonest.

A) One Night Stand – You’re allowed one. That is all. If the majority of your partners are one night stands, you should probably revisit your standards and stop drunkenly picking up strangers.

B) One Minute Man – Similar to the one night stand, you can only deduct him if he CONSISTENTLY lasted one minute. Don’t try to sneak in a man you’d been screwing for months because the first time was less than memorable. He gets three times to prove himself. Best two out of three.

C) Is it in Yet? – I’m sorry, but if you don’t feel anything, it doesn’t count.

D) Oh Yeah! – I always forget this one guy every time I try to get an accurate count, even if it’s a recount 30 seconds after the first count. Obviously, things just weren’t that memorable and I’m trying to subconsciously erase him from my memory…well a little bit more than subconsciously…

The same 34 year old woman with an Allowed Number of 9 could potentially rid herself of 4 partners leaving a nice round figure of 5. Being able to deduct insignificant men is a necessary evil. Men don’t mind counting their mistakes, women would rather pretend they never existed. With New Math, you can!

Thank GOD none of my exes read my blog…I’d hate to have to explain to them which one they are…or if they still count

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