Say What?! Black Men Aren’t Good Enough for Black Women?

Brace yourself kinfolk, this one might sting a little. More than once I’ve seen articles about how black women are opting to date other ethnicities because black men aren’t meeting their standards. Ouch, right? I mean like…damn. I had to shake off that lick. Apparently finding a black guy worth dating is something like finding Bigfoot pumping gas that’s under $2 into Malaysian Flight 370.

I haven’t seen a male perspective on this subject yet, so I’ve taken it upon myself to provide one. Because I do what I want…that’s why. So let’s get at it. I’ve come up with 3 issues that I felt needed to be addressed on this topic:

1. The need of black women to justify who they date

2.  The way black men typically approach black women

3. The education argument

Why justify it?

Let’s be clear, I have no problem with people dating whoever they want. But I don’t buy the argument that lack of options is causing black women to crossover like a Justin Timberlake song. One of my best friends told me she thinks of men of different races like different flavors of ice cream or maybe like an accessory.

 Which is fine in my opinion. Lord knows back in college a lot of my boys were trying to collect a Rainbow Coalition of notches in their belts, so I get it. But why throw black men under the bus in the process?

In fact, why should women feel the need to justify their dating preferences at all? I think this is the real issue that sparked this whole ‘black men arent good enough’ excuse some of y’all use. Instead of just owning up to the fact that maybe youre just attracted to that white or Latino and/or Asian guy, the conversation became ‘I just cant find a good black man’.

So why do black women feel like they have to explain their choice to date whoever? Maybe there’s a double standard and their black male counterparts are judged less harshly for dating a non-black person. Maybe black parents are less tolerant of their daughters dating outside the race. Or maybe…some third thing I cant think of right now. My point is there are more factors at play here. I think a lot of black women adopt the argument because they feel pressured to explain their choice not to be with a black man, which is unnecessary because it really is nobody’s business. That being said, let’s not go straight to writing off black men as less qualified partners. Cool? Alright. Next up, I gotta speak on this:

The approach

I was talking to another young lady friend about why she opted to dabble in other genres of menfolk. She made the point that the overwhelming majority of black men that approached her treated her like she was something they were entitled to.

I can’t deny some bruhs will come at women any ole kinda way. I don’t think that’s race specific either, I think that’s just how some guys get down. Personally the “aye ma” approach baffles me because I’ve never seen it work. Which you would think is reason enough to make this a thing of the past, but that shit is alive and well. All I know is I don’t want the woman that finds that charming. And I think women have made it clear they don’t want the man that tries it. Sooo yeah. Let’s retire that shit like FUBU jerseys and spinning rims shall we? Good? Okay, moving along. Next up:

The education argument

So this is the one argument on the topic that I consider halfway legit. Black women graduate college at a much higher rate than black men. That’s real talk. There are facts and figures that support it. I won’t include them here because if yall are anything like me, all those numbers and charts in the middle of an article gets skipped like commercials on the DVR. Just know that its undeniable. And I guess it is a decent point that women with some schooling might enjoy a brother that knows a big word or two. That’s a compatibility thing. Gotta be able to talk to each other.

I can’t really make an excuse for this one. But maybe one of yall can. Speak on it, or anything else I’ve said in the comments. Go!

Sallie Mae Aint Coming to your Funeral

I’m going to the beach this year. Yeah I said it. Just let that statement sink in…I want you to appreciate it. Let it wash over you like the waves are gonna wash over me. Let it get all in your face and up your nose and in your mouth until you have to spit it out yourself.

 Let me give you a little background so you can fully appreciate my bold declaration. First of all, my car don’t love me and I don’t think it ever did. After 11 years of stressing over it and slaving for it and finally paying it off a while back, the ungrateful bastard broke on me so thoroughly the first week of 2015 that I thought it would ruin all my financial goals for the whole year.

 My last time driving it was the trip to the shop. I didn’t even get to cut off the engine, the car just collapsed right there in the parking lot coughing up smoke and making terrible noises that I can now only remember as spiteful laughter and maybe a “fuck you”. I somehow remained hopeful as I watched three grown men frantically fanning smoke and running up with fire exstinguishers. I think one of them even burned their hand. My car just laughed and laughed. A little while later I was listening to a manchanic run through a two thousand dollar grocery list of problems that I would have to pay for just to get damn thing to crank again.

 Everything’s good now, but I’m still a little bitter about the whole thing (could you tell?). But as mad as I am at my car, you know who I can’t help thinking about? Santander, the company I financed it through. Whenever I was a little behind on the payment, my friends at Santander would get worried and call to make sure I was ok. At least I assumed that’s why they were calling…I never really answered. I’m more of a ‘no news is good news’ kinda guy. They never caught on to that. I eventually paid them off. I was never more proud…and that feeling lasted all of 10 minutes. It remains the most anticlimatic moment of my life. My friends at Santander didn’t call to congratulate me.  We didn’t laugh about the two separate points I lost a job while still paying the bill. They didn’t send me a thank you card for my hard work. I never got my bumper sticker that said “this bitch is mine”. I didn’t get anything. Even my real life friends weren’t that excited for me.

Of course I wasn’t really expecting any of that, but I had romanticized paying off that car for so long that when I finally did I was surprised the moment wasn’t more satisfying. I think about that whenever I get stressed over bills. While you’re pacing the floors, and chewing your nails and tossing and turning at night worrying about Sallie Mae or American Express or whoever, they are not stressing over you at all. Even if you could magically pay them all off at once, they would just turn their efforts to the next guy that owes them.  Sallie Mae won’t congratulate you when you’re done, or come to your wedding, or speak at your funeral to tell everyone that really loved you how you paid your bills on time. Chris Brown thinks these hoes aint loyal…I bet he don’t know about Sallie Mae and her clique. They’re the coldest bitches in these streets, and they really don’t give a damn.

 So I’m going to the beach this year. Let that statement sink in. Let it wash over you like the waves are gonna wash over me. Let it get all in your face, and up your nose and in your mouth until you have to spit it out yourself. You don’t have to spit out the beach though. You can spit out whatever you want. Work hard like you do to pay everyone else and put a little away to do something for yourself. Cuz these bills aint loyal.