I apologize for writing so much about dating lately… wait, no I don’t, pfffft. Almost everyone is always thinking about nookie whether it’s dating to get nookie, marrying to get nookie, cheating to get nookie, or just daydreaming about nookie. If you don’t think about nookie… there’s something wrong with the baby-maker between your legs. You should get it checked out. Moving on… something that has always been an issue of mine.. race and nookie:
It’s not that I dislike black men. I’ve dated plenty.
But I’m not really attracted to that many. It has nothing to do with attractiveness as a whole. I’ve dated wonderful black men. I dated horrible. I’ve dated good and bad white, Hispanic, Asian. I’m interracial and international with what attracts me. But mostly, it’s the peach crayon crowd that attracts me.
Its funny. I remember my first serious crush. The dude was very peach crayon with a mullet. A mullet, for cheezits sake! I think it was 1st grade. I can’t remember his name, so we’ll call him Redneck Jr. He probably wasn’t one, but that’s what we’ll call him.
So my school was mostly all peach, with a couple of chocolate drops like me dripped here and there. The same was for the neighborhood we lived in. So it was only natural to like the guys that my friends liked, which were very much not my color. And so Redneck Junior was my crush. But he didn’t like me. Not with all those blond hair blue-eyed (non-birth control glasses glasses up) peachy girls. And although that’s not the problem as much anymore, I still have a problem or 2.
Much like women who don’t have a gaydar and can’t tell when their best bud doesn’t want them out of their dress unless it’s so they can try it on, I don’t have a peach-dar. I have no clue when a guy is actually interested in me, except for the ugly guys. And when it comes to my peach crayon men, I’m as clueless as an Amish virgin in a whorehouse. Knowing the basics, but no finesse,and terrified of getting it all wrong.
At least that what I THINK an Amish virgin would feel like.
I’ve never hung around with any Amish dudes or chicks.
I should quit while I’m ahead.
Anyway, case in point, I end up on a date with a dude I’ve known for probably 2 years. And I just found out that he’d been attracted to me the whole time, and I was completely missing the cues. But he was a dog anyway, and that one date was one enough.
It should be mandatory for me that guys have to put it in writing that they find me attractive. In plain words too. I’d hope I’d get the hint then.
Problem 2 is that I become a complete basket case trying to make the first move if I do find someone attractive and really want to see if we’re on the same wavelength. Because my peach-dar is on the frizz, I end up having to do this a lot. Which means nothing gets done. Much like cleaning my house. I have no idea why, but it feels like getting turned down by another race is even worse. It’s like, instead of just staying in the safe pool, you decide that maybe your swim skills are good enough to go surfing. During a hurricane. With one arm tied behind your back. So I punk out. Me, fearless dimensionthe5th who drop kicks fear in the throat usually.
I have come close to anxiety attacks on this. But I’m adamant about trying because, what if I let a good guy get away? Why can’t I just make sure at least that HE knows I’m interested? Well that kind of goes against my new lease on dating life through self-help books (ugh, no shame DT5, no shame!). Relationship gurus say like Confucious, man must make first move or leave woman’s goodies dry. I don’t like dry. And… I’m rambling.
I’ve recently had a date with a dude that looks like Luke Wilson’s broke cousin from Iowa. Which means he’s quirky and adorable. The cool thing about online dating is that I don’t really have to suffer for my lack of peach-dar. So I can meet generic Luke Wilsons. Yay!
Now, throw some generic Morris Chestnut in there and then no one can complain that I’m discriminating.