Posts Tagged With: dating

The Reality of Responsibility

*disclaimer – Skrap is not a father though he is open to the idea of having a rugrat of his own one day. Perhaps because of this fact he is not the best possible author for this subject but, as you see, it didn’t stop him from writing on it anyway. Go ahead, start reading.

-Management

Hey all, first of all I want to apologize for the extended delay between blogs here. Between the last blog and this one I was lucky enough to get a contract gig in the field that I love (marketing) and I’ve been busy trying to impress so that this short term contract turns into something a little more permanent. Hopefully you’ll accept my apology, if not, then just blah to you and yours.

Obviously, last weekend was Father’s Day. For me, and many others, Father’s Day allows the opportunity to show love and appreciation to the patriarchs in our lives, those that have made a positive impact on not only their children, but also to the entire family unit. Families across the nation gather and shower the man of the house with ties, socks, cologne and of course the two largest pieces of chicken all in a show of love to that man that has unselfishly given so much of himself to make sure that his family doesn’t have to go without.

Obviously and regrettably in our society, however, not everyone was as lucky to have a loving and worry filled father like I and many others have. There are many men that have chosen to walk away from the children that they had a hand in making. Perhaps they think themselves above having to deal with a child and the demands they would make on their lives. Maybe they felt that their plans were too important to give up for something unforeseen like an unplanned child. Some men just choose to bounce leaving a large amount of women high and dry with a child to raise armed with barbs about “deadbeat dads” and “no good brothas”. A number of these women spent a good amount of time on Father’s Day shouting themselves out, saying that most men didn’t deserve any respect or “props” on Father’s Day because they have left a large number of single mothers doing the job themselves; and saying that men within “The Community” have little to no sense of responsibility.

Hmmm…speaking of responsibility.

Whenever I hear of an absentee father my first emotion is sadness. Fathers offer so much in the lives of their children that they miss out on when there is a strong male figure in the house on a daily basis. It’s not the fault of the child that the father decided not to stay, but I’ll tell you something else, that mother – that  woman that you’re listening to that goes on and on about everything that is wrong with the father of that child – has more than her fair share of fault on her hands too.

Now, this is not at all an effort to excuse men that skip out on their responsibility to the child they make as there are no excuses for that. What it is, however, is me flashing the “C’mon Son” sign at these women that conveniently forget that the baby didn’t get there without a little input (pun intended) of their own. With some of the carrying on my only visual is that in that bedroom, or hotel room, or park bench, or wherever they were that day/evening/night there were two lawyers, one for the young lady and another for the young man. Before anyone in this scenario got naked or the least bit horizontal there were negotiations and stipulations and detailed information shared between the two parties explaining what could happen as a result of the bumping and grinding that was about to take place. After the information was shared, both parties signed off on a 3 page contract stating they understood said risks and promised to handle any situation that arose as a result of said sexual activity. After that, one of the lawyers lit some candles, the other one hit play on the Ipod playlist entitled “My ‘Get Some’ Music” and they left the room where you were then free to sex to your heart’s content knowing that everything would be okay should any surprises pop up.

But that’s not the way it happens is it?

No one has a lawyer on retainer. No one talked you through the risks. No one gave you any papers to sign, right? It was just sex…and since there aren’t any Lifetime movies written and directed in your honor I’m gonna go ahead and guess that it was sex that you consented to, perhaps more than once. Sex you probably liked a lot with a dude that you thought was fine, or cute, or who had – ugh! – swagger. In short, you are where you are because you contributed to it.

I commented on this fact on my Facebook page and I was equal parts applauded and skewered because of it. While the proper response to this situation is not to point fingers back at the accusers and say, “You did it too!” like a 5-year-old, it is important to remind those that like to sit back and talk about how their “baby daddy ain’t shit” that the baby daddy in question got permission from you to engage in the process that created that life. So while you cry about a “Deadbeat Dad” it could be equally said that a woman is engaging in Irresponsible Vaginal Ownership. It’s unlikely that one of these exists without the other.

I refuse to make an excuse for a man that bolts on his responsibilities to his child; likewise, I choose not to listen to the rants and outbursts from a woman that forgets that she was open (pun completely intended) to the idea that created the life that binds both of you knuckleheads now. But if you have a female friend that just has to complain, if she simply can’t see that she had a role, can you at least tell her to clam up about it on Father’s Day because that’s not the day to fume about those fathers that won’t or didn’t…it about those that will and do.

~thanks for reading, say ouch if you have to.

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Categories: Attempts at Seriousness, Family, Relationships, So Incredibly Random | Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , | 6 Comments

Real Relationship Advice: Vol. 1

As always I’mma try and keep it light in here for a Friday. We all got stuff planned for the weekend and we don’t need to clutter our thoughts of fun with a blog about the government shutting down, or the fight for abortion rights, or the dwindling value of the dollar; it’s likely I wouldn’t write about any of that stuff anyway but you see the point I’m making here.

In the blogosphere there are three main categories that get the most run: Gossip, Fashion, and Relationships. If you want to be noticed you’re going to have to write and write well in one of those categories or else you’re basically taking up valuable server space, sort of like I am with this random stream of consciousness blog that you’re reading now. Because everyone out there doesn’t like hearing stories about a dude and his friends nearly burning down his apartment or about Black folks’ penchant for naming their children some real bullsh*t, I have to dabble into the relationship arena in an effort to keep my little corner of the internet viable; little things like how the vowels in someone’s name determines if I’ll date them or about how a mighty vagina goes a long way in society. So today I’ll offer some relationship advice of my own; like most relationship advice that is offered out there it is a good chance that you already know what I’m about to tell you, but since that doesn’t stop you from reading Steve Harvey’s books, go ahead and keep reading.

Most men are messy by nature. Unless you’re dealing with an anomaly or one of these new millennium metrosexual types that are borderline chick, the man you know and love takes pride in his ability to keep everything where he likes it – what you like to call junky or messy. The average man’s house has to reach critical status before reaching the point that he says, “you know what, I can’t trip over that pile of clothes on the floor in the kitchen one more day; I have to clean up.” The only other thing that makes us want to clean up is when our women come through because women’s desire to cuddle and show affection seems to be directly tied to your surroundings and as much as we think that those dishes can stay in the sink one more day, we’d better wash them before you get there if we want you to be halfway amorous. So when our women get to the house they see a sparkling domicile, the clothes, both dirty and clean, are no longer on the floor or the couch, the golf clubs are no longer taking up residence in the foyer or the living room, and the 13 empty water bottles are no longer on the nightstand…

…because all that ish was thrown in the closet 2 minutes before you rang the doorbell.

That’s why it’s very important that a woman never look in a man’s closet. Assuming that you’re not buried under the avalanche of dirty clothes and porn upon opening the closet door, what you see there will forever change the way you see your man. It will both shock and horrify you and make you reconsider if you really want to spend another day with us.

How long does a sock have to stay dirty before it gets stiff?

What was that damp rag in the corner used for?

Did I just see that shirt move? WHAT’S UNDER THAT SHIRT?!

Is that moss?

A pizza box? Really? A pizza box in the closet?

If you don’t want to ask any of these questions then it is the advice of this lowly blogger that you never open the closet door in your dude’s bedroom, in the hallway, or anywhere else a contractor would think to put a closet in a home. It is a deep dark place resistant of light and makes you believe again as you did as a child that there is a monster that lives in there. It conjures images of a Scooby Doo mystery, Velma and Daphne appear from behind the suit hanging in the back looking for the keys to the Mystery Machine, bats flutter about and a howl emanates from that dusty pair of shoes in the corner.

They probably shot the Thriller video in here.

So if you get to your man’s house and it’s inexplicably clean, bed is made, and not a shred of anything is out of place don’t ask any questions, just appreciate the cleanliness. Never mind the fact that he is sweating and breathing hard like he’s just been throwing stuff around last minute, just…just appreciate the clean and don’t ask any questions, dammit! And for goodness sake don’t open the closet; you don’t know how hard it was to close that thing after we threw everything in there.

See, this is relationship advice you can use. Practical, everyday advice that if heeded can keep you and your man happy, not to mention keeping you from blunt force trauma due to flying items knocking your nosy ass in the head!

Have a great weekend, everybody! Have a blast wherever you are!

~thanks for reading 🙂

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Categories: Humor, Relationships, So Incredibly Random | Tags: , , , , , , , , , | 4 Comments

More Decatur Stories: Ghetto Thugonomics Pimpology 101

Welcome back to Stories From Around My Way…my name is Skrap and I’ll be your host for the next 2 to 3 minutes depending on how well you used to score on those reading tests back in the day; remember those joints in elementary school? I was always a good reader so the clock never ran out on me, I finished my paragraphs in enough time to answer the comprehension questions and write a “Do you like me? Yes or No” note to that cute girl that sat three desks over…meanwhile the kid in the back of the class that rode the short bus to school and had to wear a helmet so as not to kill himself between Language Arts and Science class was slamming his pencil down because he only made it 4 sentences in. Anyway, all that to say, if you were the helmet wearing kid back in the day, it might take you a little longer to get through this…don’t bump your head walking to your car after work today, a’ight? Let’s move on.

I was on my way back to Decatur this evening after hanging with some friends of mine down at Centennial Park. There’s something about the park in the summer, the evening air, sounds of music from the nearby bandstand, the beautiful sight of black woman hips swaying in sundresses; yes, the park in summer in Atlnta is a beautiful place…anyway…I was on my way home and pondering what I was going to eat for dinner because I knew that I wasn’t going to be cooking anything; then the little voice in the back of my head said, “Hey Skrap, you haven’t had wings in a while. Why don’t you go and get some chicken wings?” The voice was right; I hadn’t had wings in a while so I pointed my car in the direction of my favorite wing joint smack dab in the middle of grey Decatur at the intersection of Memorial and Covington. When I entered the spot there were two people in front of me in line, one of which ordered up a 50 piece hot wing box which meant that I would be posted up in that spot for at least the next twenty minutes. As usual there were only three people staffing the place…there was Ming Li at the register, and Yung Won and Yung Tu were in the back firing up the grills, they do good work and the wings are always worth the wait so I grabbed a seat by the window so I could watch the world go by while I waited.

Because we’re in grey Decatur there’s no telling who is going to walk into the spot at any point. There were older people, families, and regular folk like me that came in while I was there but I’ll get straight to the principle characters in this story. About 5 minutes into my wait I notice two dudes by the entrance to the wing place. Dude One is about 17, wearing a pair of red Dickies shorts about 7 sizes too big and a white tee (of course) that was about knee length, white socks and some fuzzy house shoes. Dude Two is about 18-19, in jeans, a black shirt with a picture of a Wheaties box on the front…wait a minute…that doesn’t say “Wheaties”. After further review I see that the box printed on the front of the shirt says “WEEDIES” with a picture of Bob Marley blazing a fat one on the cover. Anyway, Dudes 1 and 2 are posted up out front, they have ordered earlier and are killing time outside smoking a cigarette.

About 2 minutes after noticing these two I see a group of people coming in, 3 females and a male. The ringleader of this set is a female that we will refer to as “Candy” because that is what she had tattooed on her left arm. “Candy” is about 18 and is about 65 pounds past “thick”; she had on a pair of black pants with the drawstrings at the cuff and a black t-shirt that she must have borrowed from her little brother because it wasn’t quite long enough to cover what was an impressive gut by NFL Offensive Lineman standards. She had a Batman backpack purse slung over both shoulders, piercings in her eyebrow, 3-4 in each ear, and one in her tongue which I only know because she was playing with it every so often while standing in line waiting to order. Being the nosy person that I am, I noticed Dude One and Dude Two watching the crew of 4 walk into the spot. The Dudes shared a few words and went back to smoking their cigarettes until they heard their number called to pick up their order. This is about 15 minutes into my wait…and also where Skrap gets his education in new millennium Ghetto Thugonomics Pimpology 101.

Dude One in the Dickies and the houseshoes walks to the counter to pick up his wings; he gives Ming Li his ticket and she, in turn, hands him the bag of chicken wings. He turned to “Candy”, she of massive girth and piercings galore, and the following exchange takes place at regular conversation volume in the middle of a small chicken wing/chinese food restaurant populated by roughly 13 people not including the three staff members. Please excuse the profanity

Dude One: “Ay, Shawty…you dyking?”
Candy: (full of Decatur attitude) “What you say?!?!”
Dude One: “Are you gay, shawty?”
Candy: (louder and with more Decatur attitude) “Awwwww hell naw, n*gga! I don’t lick no p**sy, I like d*ck! You must got me f**ked up!
Dude One then says “A’ight then, well here…” He pulls out his cell phone and says, “I was just checkin’; you in here with these two otha hoes and this gay lookin’ n*gga so I wanted to know. Here’s my cell phone, put yo number in it, I’mma call you in about 5 minutes so I can holla at you…and make sure the number real, shawty!” Candy shoots him a smile and says “okay” (she said OKAY?!?!)and puts both her home AND cell number in the phone before handing it back to him. He looks at the numbers and says, “A’ight shawty, I’mma holla at you tonight” and he and Dude Two head out the door.

At this point my mouth, boys and girls, is wide open…I replayed the exchange over and over again in my head and tried to make sense of it all: Did this cat really roll up on Alice the Goon, ask her if she was gay and upon her denial, hand her a cell phone and say “here, put yo number in here”? Every time I asked myself the question, though, I’d get a syntax error, then a bunch of clanging noises in my head and I’d have to reboot my brain. What’s that you ask? How do I know the number was real? I’m glad you asked, boys and girls…

I’ve been waiting on wings at this point for over 20 minutes, I’ve missed a good portion of the baseball game I was listening to on the radio and my butt hurts from sitting in this hard wooden chair. Candy and her posse are sitting at a table waiting for their order and I hear a cell phone ring, Candy looks at her phone and then looks at her girls, guess who…

Candy: “Hello?…Yeah, I know you said you was gonna call…..Naw, n*gga, I told you the number wasn’t fake when you left here…..I’ll be home in about 20 minutes, call me back in 20 minutes…A’ight den…”

Mercifully, Ming Li, called out “NUMBER FIVE” and I sprung out of my seat to get my wings and get out of dodge; I’d had just about enough of this place for one night. The last thing I heard before leaving the wing shop was “Can you believe dat n*gga asked if I was a dyke? As much as I like dick???” I got in my car with my mouth still hanging open, turned the game back on the radio, and headed for the house thinking to myself, “I couldn’t have dated if I were a teenager now…”

But that’s my little slice of Decatur, and there’s no place like home…

Categories: Decatur Stories, Humor, So Incredibly Random | Tags: , , , , , , , , | 10 Comments

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