Trent from Trinadad and Tobago

So I just hung up with the short order cook.  We'll call him Trent from Trinadad and Tobago.  He's been in the states for 18 months and has two jobs.  He's also looking for a wife.  One who can bear "many children."  Oh boy.

As we're having our first conversation, Trinadad and Tobago says to me, "you sure are a nice looking girl. As soon as I saw you, I just knew I needed to get you and make you mine.  I'm a grown ass man, I'm not playing around."

This is within the first three minutes of conversation.

We have a date scheduled for next week.

This should be interesting.



Evelyn Parkside

Going International

Last night I went to dinner with a friend of mine to a local diner.  As I was waiting on my sandwich to make its way to my table, one of the short order cooks winked at me and complimented my hair. (For those of you who don't know me, my hair is natural, curly, and reddish blonde in the summertime.  Most days it looks somewhere between a muppet and Orphan Annie.)

I thanked him for the compliment and asked him to hook up my sandwich (a reuben with coleslaw, not saurkraut, on grilled marble rye.  This sandwich has all the fat, sodium and calories one should consume in a year.  I only eat it once a year, and I can only eat half, but when I do, it's totally worth it).

As I'm sitting with my girlfriend, short order cook starts to wink at me from behind the counter.  "Here we go," I thought to myself.  He then cocks he head to the left and nods it at me, signaling for me to come to him.  I send him a look of confusion, like I'm too socially inept to read the signal for "come hither."

Thinking that I might be the village idiot, he tries another non-verbal cue.  He picks up a pen, scrolls some receipt paper from the register, points the pen at me, then mimes the action of writing on the receipt paper.

My girlfriend is cracking up.

Now, I know I look like a muppet.  I'm certain that any man who would hit on me while I look like a muppet is not playing with a full deck. 

I decide that he has officially asked for my number and give it to him.  He's wearing a nametag that--oh wait, he's calling now. This should be interesting, brb

Evelyn Parkside

I Feel a Clusterfuck Brewing

So, you may have noticed that it's been quiet on the blog front as of late.  That's for two reasons:  1.) My dating life has all but slowed to a stop and 2.) Some of the men I've been talking to actually know my friends who read this blog.  So, I've had to make some hard decisions on what to share and how much to share.

You may remember the Really Nice Guy.  We've been communicating via text and phone for a few weeks .  I think I might actually like Really Nice Guy, but our schedules do not permit us to actually see each other.  The times he's tried to set up a date, I've been out of town and the times I've suggested to reschedule, he has alternate plans.   In short,  it's scheduling hell.

Well, we've been going back and forth for about six weeks now.  The last time we had a date (?), was last June.  Since then, we've had nothing more than a few phone and text conversations.  Now, the phone and text conversations have been flirty, but not inappropriate--i.e., he hasn't asked me to send him a lascivious picture mail of me on a bear-skinned rug wrapped in a silk sheet. 

Last week, I finally got back in town after a summer of work-travel.  Without divulging too much information in order to minimize the potential for drama in my actual life because of what's written in my on line life, I'll share this:  Really Nice Guy had taken out a friend of mine to a very expensive dinner last night.  I know Really Nice Guy through Friend of Mine.  She introduced me to Really Nice Guy in order to work on a project. 

At the expense of sounding like Crazy Ass Black Woman, let me say that I support male-female friendships and, in no way, harbor jealousy of them.  I've written several times about my best friend, who is a man and with whom I go out with frequently.  So, I'm not irritated (?) or confused (?) about Really Nice Guy going out with Friend of Mine.  I do, however, feel some kind of way about the fact that Really Nice Guy didn't ask me.  I also heard third-hand from a friend of the Friend of Mine that Friend of Mine was on an official dinner date with Really Nice Guy.

My life is starting to feel somewhere between an episode of Friends, but featuring black people, and a Tyler Perry movie, but featuring good acting. 

My immediate reaction was to employ the "delete" strategy.  So I did.  Now, I may be overreacting, but maybe not.  If Really Nice Guy is dating Friend of Mine, then I really have no desire to continue to talk to him.  If Really Nice Guy is not dating Friend of Mine, then he still has the means to connect with me, as my number has not changed.  If Really Nice Guy still wants to go out, at this juncture, I can't say that I'm all that interested--not until I get further clarification as to the status of the friendship-turned-potential-dating between Friend of Mine and Really Nice Guy.

So, here's the deal:  I'm no longer talking to Really Nice Guy. 

On another note, as I was sitting here writing this, I got a text message and a phone call from the asshole, who still continues to contact me:

The text message reads: 

"Ok, What's the deal with us?  You know I'm interested, but you acting funky!!! Maybe you need to stop dealing with lames and come holla at a me"

That was followed by a phone call.

I KNOW that dealing with the asshole is a Bad Idea. In fact, it might be the amagalmation of all the bad ideas that ever were or ever will be.  But, evidently, I am a glutton for indulging in bad ideas and I still want go out with the asshole, so I can look him in his face and tell him exactly how I feel.  Plus, my blog needs some action.  I have a feeling he'll provide that.  :)



Evelyn Parkside