My Thoughts on Tinder

While perusing Tinder as one does while procrastinating on homework that is due on Tuesday, I realized why I can’t take the app too seriously. Though I would never knock anyone who goes on Tinder for real love. There are some Tinder success stories and on the flip side there are some Tinder horror stories.

Take my friend Gwhendulynne for example. She was perusing through Tinder and we thought we might have found the woman for her. They both liked the game Danganronpa (please use the link as I have no idea what the heck that is) and Zelda. They both agreed on the same starter Pokemon, Bulbasaur. And for the kicker they both had little bichons.

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[ This is Gwhendulynne’s dog not a photo from the web. She insisted her’s was cuter than the one’s I found on the internet although, I think there might be some bias there.]

I was ready to start making the wedding playlist and ordering the matching Converse. Probably something to the effect of the Gwhendulynne’s line of  bridesmaids’ (I use that term loosely, it includes everyone that she feels a close connection to regardless of gender) shoes going in a descending rainbow order.  Beeyatchuh and I could have gotten a cool DJ to come that only played songs by P!nk and Lady Gaga. It would have been lit.

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[Image by Flickr user Ginny]

But nevertheless, after a strong month of chatting and texting the first date was a disaster. The girl started asking what Gwhendulynne wanted in a relationship and disclosed some deep intricate problems about her friends. Not that one shouldn’t be open and honest on a first date. More so, that might not be what ya lead with while strolling through the lesbian book store downtown.The first date should be grounded on the basis discovering if the two people enjoy each other’s company.  The concept of being involved in a romantic relationship and what each person wants in a relationship shouldn’t come up until at least date five. And I felt bad. Mostly because I pushed/strongly encouraged her to get back out there and date other people and then that just went badly. But…aint nothin’ I can do about it now so….

Coming full circle I don’t trust the app because of this problem. Who people are via chat and who they are in real person to person contact might be two completely different humans. As much as the modern world likes to forget, we actually do not live in the tech sphere (which I am kind of helping create by making a blog but whatever). Also not to knock that. For some people’s form of communication it works but it doesn’t work for me. I am someone who fully invests my time in the people who are currently in the room with me. Also, I’m a full-time student and I don’t time to invest in people who may be someone else when I meet them. But I also respect that dating apps are often the only way some people feel comfortable exploring their sexuality, forming bonds with others, facing the fear of rejection or gaining confidence in themselves.

I guess I’m kind of split on the issue then. Whatever works for you, works for you.

What are your opinions about finding love on dating apps? What do you think are the dos and don’ts of the first few dates?

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The Legacy of Zarme: Part Two

Last time I was here we were talking about the surrogate child I promised to give one of my gay best friends Beeyatchuh, as one does.

This parenting thing can only yield two options: this kid either loves us unconditionally or plots our slow demise in their basement laboratory. Yes I’m assuming this kid will have a basement laboratory.

The more we talk about it, the more this idea really starts to come to life. We could be the worst best parents in the world. Imagine this. We get a call from school saying the Zarme cussed a kid out. Beeyatchuh shows up first because he is a professor at some high-end college teaching linguistics and has the ability to cancel class because he is a freaking boss. I casually roll in ten minutes late (or early if we are counting CP time). Principal Winslow (idk I just assumed that would be the name of the snobby principal) looks at the kid, then looks at Beeyatchuh, then looks at me. We both look back at Principal Weasel Winslow with that face that says “Bish Please. Dare you to say something.”

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[Image by Flickr user Obama White House]

Then Weasel Winslow will tells us with that look of fear and a few sweat beads drip down their face that Zarme called another kid the B word. Without a hesitation we ask if the other kid was acting like said B word. And if that other kid was picking on our little Zarme than that little…Ray of Sunshine deserves whatever name they got called. We will demand that action be taken considering our beautiful child was bullied by some little pissant kid. That is racist and homophobic and we aint gone stand for it.

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[Image by Pixabey User StockSnap]

Like a boss we leave that office and take Zarme out for ice cream. Yes we assumed that our kid would always be in the right because our kid can do no wrong. It would never be our kid because they would know better than to be out there tryna act grown. They will have the fear of every deity (we promote the child to choose whatever religion they feel most reflect their beliefs if they choose to believe in religion at all, most religions and common human decency kinda all say the same thing about love and stuff so…moving on) and the knowledge that we have eyes everywhere to guide their playground banter.

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[Image by Flickr user Obama White House]

Now that you see our parenting dynamic the wonderful name we chose for the kid will make more sense. First name is Zarme (pronounced Zar-may), middle name Vagina (pronounced Vagi-nay) Clitoria Deshwantae (pronounced Duh-shhwan-tay) Nemo but all separated by semicolons and spelled james, with Beeyatchuh’s last name.

So the full name of the child will be:

Zarme Vagina;Clitoria;Deshwantae;Nemo*spelledjames* [Beeyatchuh’s Late Name]

Don’t worry we won’t actually name the kid this, we are not that bad. If it’s a boy his name will Theodore. But until this kid becomes a real thing we will refer to them as Zarme.

If you had a child what kind of funny moments are you looking forward to?

The Legacy of Zarme: Part One

Hey y’all, I’m back again.

So my friend Beeyatchuh asked me to be his surrogate some time last year. Any one who knows me knows that I don’t want children. Now listen to me, hear me out. I think little kids are cute and cuddly and down right angels…when they are asleep. I have two nieces, a nephew another nephew on the way, two little cousins and I used to baby sit. At nineteen, I have really had my thrill of children. Unless some man comes along and convinces me to let go of my insecurities, this is my plan.

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[Image by Open Clip Art user skinbus]

So when Beeyatchuh asked me to be a surrogate a was little hesitant but then I realized that helping someone bring a child into the world is kind of a phenomenal gift. And if I can help someone who really wants to be a parent and someone I think would be a really great parent, then I don’t mind going through labor.

But don’t worry, we aren’t trying to have this kid now. Hell naw, we still in college. Plus technically it’s against the contract we signed upon moving into our dorm. It says we can only have someone stay for a max of three days straight and up to six nights a month. But I mean technically, we could just bounce the child around between all of our friends rooms. Granted the neighbors might not like a screaming child at like two in the morning but then again there are always loud people in the hallway at two in the morning. Not that I have thought about this or anything.

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[Image by Max Pixel]

Nevertheless, the plan is to do this whole shabang when he is thirty, making me twenty nine. He wants to do it so that it is half of his partner’s sperm and half his sperm. And I like to intentionally forget that in about eleven years I signed up to have some stranger’s sperm implanted in me. But hey, that’s a problem to tackle in eleven years.

So what does this have to do with Zarme you may ask. When thinking about names of course we wanted something special, so the child’s first name will be Zarme…oh but it gets better. Come back tomorrow to find out the rest.

My Natural Hair Journey

This is for my Afro Queens and Kings who don’t know they are royalty yet.

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[Image by Flickr user Tony Monblat]

 

So last night, I realized that my twist out was getting a little bit old. You know that two-day time period where the curl pattern is good enough to go outside but is on the brink of knots and everything not cute. Yeah I was right there. Recently I found this trick where I can take that on its way to disaster hair style and make people believe I did my hair and that my wash and go is just phenomenal.

This is what I like to call, Lazy Beautiful.

Its really simple. You hop in the shower (or submerge your head in water) and let the water flow through your hair. This kinda gives your hair that shrinkage but awesome curl pattern from the twist out you labored over earlier in the week. Then apply a nickel size amount of oil (or less, I only put oil in my hair once a week because I forget so yeah don’t judge me). Next get that glob of moisturizer out and apply in a downward motion from the root to tip. And BaBam, honey you got a hella good looking wash and go.

{Will update with picture later, I just washed my hair and picked it out for the first time in about two weeks so chill on me. I got y’all next week}

But there was a time (not that long ago) where I couldn’t do this Lzay Beautiful hairstyle. Its called a natural hair journey for a reason. It’s a journey. I stopped getting relaxers my Junior year of high school and I went through that stage of crunchy roots and random straight pieces. Oohh it was bad. I looked like one of those Troll Dolls from back in the day.

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[Image by Flickr user Cali4Beach]

Sidenote real quick: who in the heck thought this was a great idea in marketing? That thang ain’t cute; its scary and looks like it might possess you if you skip out on the tea party. Just saying. But, I digress.

Point in case I was lookin’ a little, okay a lotta rough. I didn’t really know what to do with my hair because there wasn’t mush I could do. I too had watched tutorials online with the girls with the luscious hair promising curls made of coconut oil. My braid outs were dry and looked like Mamma forgot to check the paper before pressing out my hair. My bantu knots were a little bit better but those pins hurt when I was going to sleep. My afro had peaks and valleys.

And I had to deal with it.  knew I was lookin’ hit but I’ve never been more confident in how I was. Despite my hair fallin’ out in the shower, my Mamma saying I looked like Heat Miser and constantly being under the pressure to straighten my hair by this stupid concept of professionalism and family, I kept on moving. I walked out everyday crunchy roots and all daring somebody to challenge my beautifulness.

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So this is for my Afro Queens and Kings. You be beautiful. In the words of Corrine Rae:

Don’t let the other boys fool you. Gotta love that afro hairdo. Maybe sometimes, we feel afraid, but its alright…Put your records on, tell me your favorite song. You go ahead let your hair down.

In the comments section tell me about your natural hair journey.

Did My Mamma Just Say That?

I love my Mamma. I love my Mamma so much that I call her almost every single day. We FaceTime and its hella cute. Go Mommy.

Today while commencing our regular FaceTIme, I told her about the parade that is happening this weekend from 4-5pm on Main Street I’m helping out with called FestiFools. As the name suggests, we act a fool in public. There are monstrous puppets that are made by college students, community members, high school students, volunteers and cameos of small children.

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[Image by Flickr user Blacklisted]

Below is the unfinished head of Beeyotchuh and Gwenduhlyenn’s President Cheeto sphinx puppet. They also have one of Mike Pence wearing a rainbow skirt.

Cheeto Puff Head

The Cheeto Puff puppet alone is about thirteen feet long and there will many other puppets so they must be carried in a twenty-six foot UHaul truck. For some reason the guy who leads the parade trusts me, someone who is five feet tall, to drive one of these said trucks.

I highly doubt I will be able to see over the steering wheel but ya know, it’ll be fine. Nothing can go wrong with this plan. Just know, if you see two small black hands and curly hair sticking out from a steering wheel of a UHaul this weekend just switch lanes.

Anyway, I explain this concept to my Mamma (it’s important to note that she drives a school bus for a living so her definition of a big vehicle and mine are just different). I jokingly say that I hope I don’t hurt anyone while driving and she agrees. I tell her to kind of help with the blind spots Beeyotchuh will be riding with me.

My Mamma says, and I quote:

Black girl kills a white guy with a truck is not a good headline.

To which I respond “they will put me jail.” My Mamma’s tried to ease my mind and said something to the effect I wouldn’t go to jail because it was an accident. Perhaps she was right and perhaps the conversation should’ve ended in this beautiful moment of motherly love and concern.

After few moments Mamma says: “If you’re gonna go to jail, it should be because a million dollars went missing from the truck and your mother is nowhere to be found.”

Pause sway. Couple of questions.

  1. How the heck did we get from the school to prison pipeline to my Mamma getting away with a million dollars?
  2. Why does she think I am gonna let her get away with the money? If there is a million dollars in one of the puppets best believe I will be nowhere to be found and I will definitely frame my Mamma for grand theft auto. Okay, maybe I won’t cause that’s my Mamma but still, she ain’t getting that money. Swedishfish and Bubble Tea ain’t free.

 

Has your parent or gaurdian ever something off the wall or try to use you use as a scapegoat for theft while they party on a remote island?

Who is This Mysterious Zarme?

We sat patiently at our table. We always sat at the table in the corner, near the window under something I guess was supposed to be visually appealing. The awkward stares and growling stomachs were indicators that yes we were at Markley dining hall waiting on personal pizzas and burgers to get done cooking. We waited more and more and more for a college student wearing a dingy blue shirt to belt my friend’s name from the kitchen. Alas we heard a voice, “Zarme!”

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[My face when I heard that name]

We all paused. What parent would name their child Zarme? I shook my head. I know a few of my black brothas and sistas that would name their babies Zarme. Some would even cite how cute the name is. I love my people, don’t get me wrong, and I love creative names; but this name was just straight up bad. After another moment we all stopped and looked at each other. Could this mysterious Zarme be our friend Zarine???

I mean, although the names sound nothing alike nor do they looking alike, there is always room for people botching a name. Like the time at a scholarship luncheon the older white gentle pronounced my name as Doe-mi-nick. We all started laughing. Yes the very white man behind the counter probably consulted another black worker and questioned his intelligence before yelling such a name. Or perhaps it was a long day and he was tired from studying. Either way, he missed the mark by a long shot.

My good friend Zarine laughed all the way past the ugly ass tables and chairs, condiments, drink station, french fries and finally into the archway of severely misguided culturally mispronounced names. As she walked back with her burger and hand she exclaimed “Zarme!”

We all couldn’t handle ourselves. Gwhenduhlynne almost choked on some food. Beeyatchuh did a nose dive into the table. And I. Oh I just fell to the dirty floor and convulsed for a few seconds until I was able to gain some form of control over myself.

What is the worst way someone had messed up your name?

The (Almost) Wedding

Most ideas should probably just stay ideas. Like the time one guy decided to burn his ex-boyfriend’s house down with spaghetti sauce wearing a bull onesie. Though now I kinda want to know where he got that onesie from. But, moving on. Yeah that was probably one idea that should have been a funny story from the bartender when he went to grab his keys the next day. But nevertheless, it is now in an official crime report in Florida.

My bad idea was less criminally bizarre, and more so a reflection of my lack of common sense. My friend (lets just call her Gwhenduhlynne) recently got accepted in grad school. Major whoop whoop and congrats to her. While Gwhenduhlynne searched for an apartment like the responsible person she is, and I sat and procrastinated on her futon; I could feel the obvious frustration. Gwhenduhlynne expressed how expensive the housing was. Just when we thought all was lost she found a cheaper housing option. And the only catch was it was family housing. Sadly, Gweheny ain’t married nor does she have a child.

You know that thing that happens between thought and action, yeah, I don’t have that. With my amazing problem-solving skills I’ve gained in college, I thought the best way to solve this dilemma would be marriage. Yes, you read that right. I offered to marry my friend so she could get discounted housing. Did you know it only costs twenty dollars to get married in Ann Arbor? Split that in half and we are only paying ten bucks a piece. Sounds like a good deal to me. Gwhenduhlynne gets cheap housing and the extra space because I’ll likely never see the inside of the apartment. I get to say that someone loves me and mooch off her bougie healthcare.

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However, this slightly fraudulent marriage bothered my friend (lets call him Beeyahtchuh). He holds the sanctity of marriage very dear to his heart. But more importantly, this marriage would give me leverage in our bet: whoever can get married AND divorced first wins bragging rights and pack of double stuffed Oreos. Although never explicitly stated, it was assumed we had to marry for love.

Due to these new facts in the case Gwhenduhlynne and I decided not to get married sadly.

What’s a crazy idea that you and your friends had that probably should never become an actual thing?