Dates From Hell: Macy Gray, Top Shelf Liquor and a Paper Bag Test - Part Uno

I had just moved to this hellacious town, and was still keeping some of my old Tri-State Area Man Talent in the old rotation. Only a fool keeps an empty stable! And my momma ain't raise no fool! (A trollup, maybe- but definitely not a fool!)

This young man was one of my favorites (that just sounds very Old French Whore): cute, smart, fun, tall -and you KNOW you just don't get tall these days.

Anyyyywhoos...he called me with a whole weekend plan set up for us, that included him making a brief pit stop to his DC based DeadBeat Dad’s along the way. Now, I had the 'pleasure' of meeting his DBD before and expressed gently that I never needed to be in his company again. Family situations can be complicated and not to go into detail, let's just say DBD did not raise his son, and seemed damn envious that his son was a successful MAN without any input from him. My boo had never told me anything nice about the man, and upon our first meeting, I couldn't come up with anything nice to say either. But I had the good sense to Shut The Hell Up, out of Respieto. Let's see how long that could last.


It’s a gorgeous early summer weekend, and I’m excited...a man a girl can wear heels with, fine sea crustacean and sunshine. What more can a girl ask for? Apparently a girl needs to be more specific with what she DOESN’T want as much as with what she WANTS. I was about to learn. My young tenda fella calls me around 11 am. He's leaving his dad's house and he'll be over in twenty minutes.

TWO hours later, he shows up with DBD in tow. JIGGA, WHAT? I open the door with the fake grin pasted on my face. "We're just dropping my dad off..'' he whispers as his father looks like he's 'casing the joint'. I push them both out onto the sidewalk. "OK, LET'S GO'' Now his dad is asking me about the neighborhood property values. Not in that 'making conversation way' but in a: 'Get my 'ish the fast way, ski-mask way, leave a ransom note!'- (RIP, BIGGIE) tone. I ignore his questioning and change the subject, every time. (As I said before, my momma ain't raise no fool!)



We get to the car. Has dad suggests that I sit in the back because his legs are longer. Holy fock. I enjoy sitting back there only so I can shoot daggers at his son, who refuses to look me in the eye. Finally, I take matters into my own hands.. 'Mr. DeadBeatDad, what are you doing with your gorgeous Saturday?!' I smile.



''Hanging out with my son!" is his answer... now, I'm still hopeful because if there's one thing that deadbeat dads have is a LOT of kids, so really he can mean anyone in a 10 mile radius. I innocently ask,"Oh which one?!" DBD laughs, "The one right next to me!" he says like I'm nuts.

Well, guess I can put them panties in my purse on.

Still cordial, because I was raised right, I politely converse with DBD and Son Who's Ass I'm going to Kick (henceforth known as S.W.A.I.G.T.K) from Capitol Hill to Georgetown. I think that I'm being hella graciuos since our Annapolis sea food bonanza trip is now cancelled, because 'Dad's allergic to shellfish'...this is some bulljive, you KNOW HOW I FEEL ABOUT MY FOOD!!

As we're sitting in M Street traffic, I'm listening to Guy-Talk in the front seat, on my date. As we inch past the sex toy shop and this man nudges his son.. 'Aw yea, you guys gonna stop in there? I know you're a freak like your dad!!!' S.W.A.I.G.T.K looks suitably horrified and I throw up in my mouth.

To sedate myself, I count popped collars on the sidewalk.

Randomly, DBD proudly and firmly declares 'MACY GRAY IS THE FINEST BLACK WOMAN ALIVE!'' I am not kidding and I am not exaggerating. DBD of course keeps pressing, because he's a douche, "I bet you neither of you can name me one, JUST ONE black woman finer than her!" His son is dumbfounded. I can't be contained and say, "Vanessa Williams (hell both of them), Lisa Bonet, Halle Berry, King Queen Latifah, Nancy Wilson, HELL Nancy Sinatra, shit ME!''

DBD glares at me and says "None of them are African Queens!!!"

Well, I beg to differ. Halle as Queen let you know that she IS indeed Nigra. I joke. But he is looking for a race war and goes on a rambling tirade about how I'm not black (to him) and my features have been diluted and therefore I cannot appreciate true African beauty when it's in my face. I reply. "First of all, it's not like you said Alek Wek (who I think is a cutie pie, btw). I'm not even going to engage a 'black enough' conversation. However, while I have never vomited at the sight of ''Macy Gray'' she has never stricken me as the hottest sister alive. (Highest maybe, which could be the attraction.) But, hey we all view beauty differently.'' I say diplomatically, trying to remember that this is someone's dad. But nooo, he presses the issue and goes on a long tangent that basically calls anyone lighter than a paper bag ugly. Insulting me and ironically, the son sitting next to him. I say "So, all black people who do not look 100 percent Watusi should kill themselves? Cool, hey, S.W.A.I.G.T.K. maybe we can get a group burial discount!'' DBD shuts up finally. THANK GOD.

That is until we get to the restaurant of HIS CHOOSING.

to be continued....