11 April 2014

Harlem: On Being Home & Belonging

Harlem 1981

 "Harlem was home; was where we belonged; where we knew and were known in return; where we felt most alive; where, if need be, somebody had to take us in. Harlem defined us, claiming our consciousness and, I suspect, our unconsciousness." ~ Ossie Davis 

The other day I got home from the gym and opened my mailbox to find my lease renewal form waiting for me.  Though my lease isn’t up until the end of June, I had expected to see the paperwork fairly early this year. (My building has recently switched owners causing quite a bit of ruckus in the process.) As I ripped open the envelope, I stilled myself in preparation for the increase in rent.  (NYC rent is NOT a game.) As I peered down at the number for my rent I blew out a breath coming to the realization that after two years in my little studio, it is no longer feasible to continue living here. (Not in this little space for that much money.) I knew then that I would be moving. Only three more months in my first real big girl dwelling, a home that I’ve called my own.

Two years ago, after finishing undergrad at NYU, I went back to my hometown for a little bit, biding my time until I could move back to NYC to begin my graduate studies at Columbia.  Even then it was Harlem over any other neighborhood that had been calling my name.

Except for the four years that I spent at NYU, I’ve always lived in neighborhoods that have been “isolated”; cut off if you will, from the rest of the city. I was raised on the South Side of Chicago, almost as east as one could get. (Damn near in the lake if you know anything about Chicago’s geography.)  99% of the people in my neighborhood and the surrounding areas were brown people. I went to an all black preschool, elementary school, and middle school. In the majority of the activities that I participated in (bougie block parties, Girl Scout sessions, forced basketball lessons) the people that I interacted with looked like me. It's difficult to understand how comforting that is until you no longer have that blanket of protection. Until you’re the only Black person in the room. ( A near constant state of being for me during the past six years.)

In high school my horizons were opened in the best way possible. I realize in retrospect how rare that type of “diversity” actually is.  I would take an express bus from 67th Street and Jeffery until 110th street in downtown Chicago (no stops in between) and transfer over to a train that dropped me off near my school on the near north side.  This was my comfortable cushy ass experience from birth until 18 years of age when I moved to NYC to begin my freshman year at NYU.

Thinking I was destined to live like a young chocolate Carrie Bradshaw I was in for a rude awakening. First I had to contend with being the only black girl in my year for my program and when I went to Duane Reade (Walgreens) I could find nary a hair product that I recognized to tame my kinks and curls.  My frustrations of course didn’t end there, but as I got older and I hope a bit wiser I started to find my niche and seek out my own group of friends.

But then there were those days, days that I still have every now and then when I just wander about the city, people watching and contemplating. On days like those I always seemed to drift towards Harlem. I know people feel that same way about Brooklyn and other hoods, but with Harlem the history was always so prevalent in my mind. The Garvey parades in the 1930’s, sites and locations from Malcolm X’s autobiography. The apartment parties during the Renaissance. The places and spaces where Hughes, Hurston and McKay talked, wrote, lived and experienced.  Not too far from Columbia, it was the ideal place for me to end up.

116th and Lenox, Last Sunday

Harlem is familiar; it’s always been just like home. I feel as at ease here as I felt standing on the bus stop at 69th and Jeffery back home or when I spent summer days lounging about at 63rd street beach listening to the men drumming as I ate jerk chicken and rice. Nowadays much of my time is spent on express trains running from 59th Street to 125th Street (no stops in between). As the train hurtles towards my stop, towards my home, I never feel isolated I simply feel freer.

As June 30th quickly approaches, I have some decisions to make. I’m open to the world (or at least that’s what I keep telling myself), but the truth, is I’m not sure if Brooklyn or LA will ever measure up to the love I have for Harlem or even for my hometown. Right now all of that is up in the air.

People ask me why Harlem, why am I so attached? It’s because of my history and my people and the fact that it’s always embraced me without judgment. I’ve never felt the isolation that I felt when living in the West Village. In my fellow Harlemites I see my family and my friends.  In these past couple of years I’ve had some crazy experiences and I’ve learned a lot about myself. One thing though is for certain; Harlem has never asked me to be anybody I’m not. 

xoxoxo Chocolate Girl in the City xoxoxox

07 April 2014

Why Dating is An Activity and Not A Status


A perpetual lack of communication seems to be the downfall of many relationships, and mostly it’s because we seem to be getting off on the wrong foot to begin with. There’s hooking up, then there’s dating and then there are relationships. These are not one in the same, but for whatever reason we have deluded ourselves into believing that they are. So let’s save one another some heartache and confusion and define these terms, or stages if you will.

Hooking Up

This is basically your friends- with -benefits type of situation. (Disclaimer: I’m 99% certain that this never works. Someone always catches feelings and it nearly always ends poorly).  Hooking up is all about the physical, getting a warm body for the night. This is literally all that it is an all that is should be expected to be. If you are hooking up with someone, you should expect that you are not the only one playing this position at night.  I personally wouldn’t recommend “hooking up” because there are too many diseases, too many fertile people, and quite frankly life is waaaay to short for BAD SEX.  (How many times have you actually been sexually satisfied with a random?) In case you missed the signs, “hooking up” or being in a friends-with-benefits situations means that you are SINGLE.



Now dating is a little different. Dating involves getting to know another person while participating in activities. I’m sorry to burst your bubble but sitting on a couch in someone’s apartment does not a date make. (You could have stayed in the comfort of your own apartment if you were going to sit up and watch Netflix.) But here is where dating gets tricky. Just because you are seeing someone and enjoying your times with him or her does not mean that you are in a relationship with that person. Relationships mean exclusivity. While dating you are free and clear to date however many people you would like. In fact, it is highly recommended.  Get out there and meet a few people. You will learn what you like and what you don’t like. In doing this you will learn what your deal breakers are in relationships and also, what qualities you most desire in a partner. Most importantly, you will learn a lot about yourself.  I’ve heard so many people distraught when thy found out the person they were dating was dating other people. … Ummm, yes they are suppose to be dating other people and quite frankly, so are you.  Assuming that you are in a relationship without any conversation or communication will simply set you up for failure.  After all when you are dating you are SINGLE.


A Relationship comes AFTER dating, AFTER getting to know someone for a period of time.  How can you decide you want to be exclusive with someone if you don’t even know him or her? If you’ve only been dating for short period of time then you’ve probably only seen them at their best. I would suggest investing a little more time with a person before jumping into a relationship. And please remember you cannot assume you are in an exclusive relationship with someone unless you’ve had a cleat discussion about it. Once you have this discussion, you are no longer single.

I’ve written all of this in hopes that it will prevent any impending confusion or hurt feelings. If you insist on “hooking up” go in with NO EXPECTATIONS…literally NONE. You really can’t expect much from strangers. If you plan on dating, do just and be honest about it. And if you want to be in a relationship please know that you cannot conduct yourself in as if you are single.

xoxoxo Chocolate Girl In the City xoxoxoxo

22 March 2014

How Did I Get Here? On Being Melancholy

Sometimes it feels like the world is a shiny ball of poo

I’m mostly happy I would say a good 90% of my days are filled with laughter and joy, fashionable clothing and delicious foods. And for that I am forever grateful. I’ve never been clinically depressed or had any mental or emotional illnesses. I’m thankful because I never knew how strong I could be until there was no other option.  But there are days like today when I slip into a melancholy state. Its usually abrupt, I wake up have my morning coffee, the sun is shining into my tiny apartment and all seems right in my world. Until it’s not.

I really wanted to go to an event that was happening and literally none of my friends were able to join me. Now I don’t have a problem doing things alone, in fact I’ve labeled myself an introverted extravert, but this was just not one of those events that I couldn’t attend solo.  So there isn’t much on my agenda today and normally I’m content but then my friend and I were chatting and he asked me about my happiest memory, and I thought about my childhood and my parents and the things that I once had and what I’ve since lost. Before I knew it the tears started rolling (I’m usually not a crier) and the melancholy set in.

Here’s the thing about melancholy, it will make you question all of your decisions. Yesterday I was content in my life, in my situation and even this morning I was feeling blessed and free. But suddenly just like, that I wondered am I wasting my time? Am I really living like I should be at 23? Is NYC where I’m supposed to be? Was quitting the best decision for me? Why do I feel like I haven’t experienced anything? I’ll admit that that’s partially my fault. I’m not a huge party/drinker/bar girl but I like to hope that I’m moderately sociable. I haven’t gone out much lately because quite frankly after getting in from work I would be EXHAUSTED and the weather was atrocious. However, I also won’t sit here and pretend that I haven’t turned down outings on perfectly sunny days where I felt well rested and free.

So what is it? What do I fear? What am I missing out on? Or is all of this fear simply the fear of missing out? I think part of it is. I genuinely don’t enjoy clubbing I have had a small handful of nights out at clubs that have been epic but more often then not, I’ve been groped,, spent too much money and sat on the side calculating how much longer I had to stay until I could race home to my kindle. Part of it was my self-esteem and my lack of initiative (but those are thoughts for another post).

But I think a lot of it, which I’m just now fingering out, and goes back to why I can’t sleep if my apartment is too messy is the lack of control. So much in my life has been out of control in the past few years and as I’m coming into a period of stability (please GOD let this be a period of stability), I still can’t let go of that feeling of feeling out of control. That’s what nightlife and being sociable is right? You have to break out of your comfort zone. You’re not eating dinner at your normal hour, your workout nay be thrown off or may not happened at all. That feeling of being out of control, of going with the flow has been extremely difficult for me to deal with.
So I’m sitting here, in this melancholy mood (luckily not with my face stuck in a pint of ice cream).  But I feel restless, unsettled, irritated with myself. I know I need to be better, do better about keeping up with people, saying YES to myself which means saying yes to the things I’m afraid of. So by the time you read this I’ll probably be in the “happiest place on earth” perhaps that will hopefully give me some perspective. I'm headed out to prowl. And hopefully some stuff I’ve been working on shall see the light of day shortly.

Meh…this is me in my feelings, please ignore me.

xoxoxoxo Chocolate Girl In the City xoxoxoxoxoxo

14 March 2014

Perhaps, Just Maybe, You Are Doing Too Much

These days people use the word "thirsty" to describe someone who is coated in desperation. This parched individual will go to great lengths for recognition. They spend a great deal of time plotting and scheming in an attempt to capture the prized panties or drawers. Now normally I don't condone using the term thirsty. I personally live for a reliable man. (For example, there is something about Jake from Scandal that does it for me. Perhaps it's because he actually killed someone for Liv, meanwhile all Fitz does is whine, cry and stay married -_-) Anyways, though you may have the best intentions in the world, your actions are quite possibly thirsty, if you are throwing all of your attention on to someone who does not welcome it.

I was thinking about this because of a incident that occurred some Saturdays ago. I'd risen early to go to the Post Office, visiting USPS is like descending into the eighth circle of hell, I should have known no good would come of it. As I headed back to my building shades on, earphones in, Starbucks in hand I heard someone say "HEY THERE!". Now the sunglasses and headphones typically serve as foolish negro repellent. However, due to my traumatic experience at the post office I was off my game. Befuddled I looked up at a buttery yellow smile. My senses were assaulted by the smell of stale cigarettes and moonshine. The fool then proceeded to ask if I was was walking far. I mumbled that I was, and he then rudely took it upon himself to gesture like he would be escorting me. I promptly informed him that I was not interested and began to briskly walk away. To my utter horror the clown bellowed "Are you running away from me?!" 

You know that moment when your gut tells you to be on HIGH ALERT. Well that moment happened for me just then. There was something really off about the brother (more off than the fact that his teeth were the color of big bird). I sprinted into the nearest deli and hid behind the shelves. I'd passed up my apartment building  because obviously I didn't want this psycho to know where I lived. After several minutes of hiding behind a large gentleman and calming myself with a Diet Peach Snapple I cautiously made my way home.

As I'm sure you can tell  this man was doing WAAY to much. (Also I'm convinced that he was a serial killer). He was disgusting and overly enthusiastic.
This foolery got me to thinking about how we act in our dating lives. It's very simple really,  if someone is interested in you I'm quite certain that you will have some indication. If they aren't interested you will also know. People have the same 24 hours in the day that you do. If they are interested they will make time, they generally won't run in horror in the other direction, they won't ignore you or treat you poorly. There is no reason to continue to force yourself into their lives when you are so obviously unwanted.

Case in point, a couple of months ago I went out with a guy (ONE TIME). It was a lackluster experience, as many first dates are. He then proceeded to blow me up, acting like we would be married by the summer time. Sir, I don't know you, there is no reason why we need to speak at length every day. He even had the nerve to comment on how expensive dating is. (While I agree, no one told you to date if you can't afford it.) Obviously I thought he was creepy and ridiculous and I finally had to hit him with the "you're a nice guy but..." text.

Desperation is a sickness.  People that want to use you can smell in from miles away. Others who want nothing from you, will look at you in disgust and plot the most swift and safe exit. Once again I live for consistency and reliability but ONLY if the interest is mutual. If you are asking a woman who you just met why you are the only one initiating contact (which you do EVERY SINGLE DAY. Listen anyone can send a generic ass Good Morning text I'm unimpressed),perhaps,  just maybe you are doing too much.

xoxoxo Chocolate Girl in the City xoxoxo

19 February 2014

On the First Anniversary of My Father's Death

Death,” she said, “is a great teacher. It reminds you, almost mockingly, that everyone is stamped with an expiration date.”

One year ago today, I got a phone call that I'd been expecting. It’s a strange thing, expecting a phone call like that, expecting death. You can feel it, its been hovering around and you think about it constantly. You try and fight thru it; smile even but there's no escaping it. One year ago today, I sat in a classroom bored out of my mind until I looked at my phone and I knew. It was the third phone call I'd received like that in three years.

My dad was a vivacious man, stuck in his ways; some would even label him inflexible. But I understood him. I feel like I understood him in a way that often no one else did. He was stubborn and he expected a lot, but he laughed too, and he danced, and he listened and understood. He never told me what to do, not as an adult anyway. He simply made his suggestions and it was up to me if I decided to go along with them. He always allowed me to make my own decisions, to be grown up. He expected nothing less.

I've always thought it was interesting how we don't see our parents as people. During our childhoods they are these powers at be, not really human much more like superheroes than anything else. As you get older you begin to see the chinks in their armor. The cracks, the mistakes, the experiences that have exposed them, and that have worn them down. My dad wasn't easily worn down. (Years ago his doctor informed him that at some point in his life he had a heart attack. He hadn't even realized he’d had one.  He probably just felt a pain and decided to sit down and listen to NPR instead of carrying on with whatever he was doing.)

Growing up my dad worked a lot. It was very rare that we got to spend the day with him. There were special occasions, Christmas Eve, New Years, anytime something related to Harry Potter came out. And then there was the summer I graduated from college, the most time I can ever remember spending with my dad.

He came to NYC for my graduation; we talked a lot, laughed a ton and walked around what is now my neighborhood. I take comfort in knowing that he's been here, in the area that I now call my home.

Last winter I was visiting him in the hospital, he liked to joke and laugh and keep things light despite what was occurring. And he told me two things, two things I'll remember forever. My dad told me about the day his father died. He was leaving for the States and he had gone around the neighborhood to say goodbye to his friends and relatives. By the time he returned home, his father had passed. A couple of days later he got on that plane and came to America. (That tells you a little bit about the stuff I'm made off).

And then he told me something else, something that broke my heart. He said, "Just continue to be a good girl, that's all I ask."

I have been a good girl, for the most part... I hope. I've made some really big grown up decisions lately and I hope that he would be proud. Or, he would suggest otherwise and then leave me to my own devices.  

Its been one whole year since I received that phone call, and I’m very different and also very much the same. Death has been a great teacher, but so was my dad, I wish now more than anything that he was here to give his two cents.

Chocolate Girl In the City

12 February 2014

Giving the Side Eye to Side Kids

Girl, I Can't!
"If you want to be single, be single. If you want to be in a relationship, understand that you can not conduct yourself as if you are single, or you will be single again" - Demetria Lucas

Ever since that story dropped about a certain athlete and his "side baby" I've been waiting to write about this subject. Since then, other reports have arisen about other celebrities and I constantly hear of the same nonsense on relationship blogs. The newest report on a side baby is about a certain rapper and his wife who have a full ass TV show about their family. (Reports have yet to be confirmed.)
Let me first say that if the situations were reversed in ANY of these stories (if a certain actress had gotten pregnant by another man while on a "break" with her bf), or if any of the women involved in these stories had gotten pregnant by a man she wasn't in a relationship  with she would have been dragged by her edges around the world. Men everywhere would have called her every foul name they could think of. (Think about it, people have being calling BEY, a married woman with a child, "Whore BeyoncĂ©" since her new album dropped). Let me also say that "breaks" are bullshit. either you are in  relationship or you aren't in my opinion its very simple, people just make ish complicated. I'm not above believing that this whole "break" garbage was invented as a cover up in order that both parties may save a bit of face.

But here's the thing sis, none of the men involved in these situations are acting like they've done anything wrong. Yes,  everyone makes mistakes but chile this is a moral failing. Not only are you completely disrespectful and carrying on long deceits, you are putting others physical and emotional health at risk.  It has been my experience that men who strap up ALWAYS strap up and men who don't always try and find an excuse not to. Clearly there is no latex shortage if you are in fact too weak-willed to be faithful. It is the VERY LEAST you can do if you're gonna step out.
My question then becomes why be in a relationship? Why get married? Why not be like certain A-List actors who have entire fleets of supermodels lounging about on their yachts? Ain't nobody MAD at that. If you're not about that monogamy life then by all means. DON'T  BE ABOUT IT!. If you pretend that marriage and monogamy is what you want then,  it literally becomes what my bestie proclaimed as " an elaborate scheme to humiliate your wife/girlfriend/partner". The other side of this is that they're are children involved. (Children model what they SEE not necessarily what they are TOLD.)

What kills me is that often times these men want to boast about what good fathers they are and how they take care of their kids and so forth. (Honestly I'm not here for giving praise to people who do what they're suppose to do. It's just like when my daddy didn't see it for celebrating my high school graduation LOL). But back to these kids, so you're such a good parent but this is the life you choose to show your children. You show your boys that they can treat women like disposable Kleenex and you choose to show your daughters that men can treat them any old raggedy kind of way and their suppose to just accept it.

I don't care what anyone says, as a person coming from a home of "divorce" a lot of how I behave in relationships is patterned off of both my parent's relationship and how my relationship was with my father. Some of those bad habits are so deeply ingrained that it took me awhile to recognize them and its a battle every day to break the bad habits.
Still, there are two sides to every coin so I'll take these moment to address the women who find themselves in these horrific situations. My bestie told me, "Women are selling themselves short and its disgusting". (How women conduct themselves on reality shows is not helping and its nothing that you should be modeling your behavior after.)

First to the "other woman" who finds herself pregnant and an unwelcome third party in someone else's relationship. I'll never understand women who go after someone else man its, weak minded an disgusting. Is this your end game, to be at the end of someone's list, to be a thorn in someone's backside? That's really what you're on? That's how you want to raise your children. If its money that you're seeking can you at least get with someone whose single? (Or better still how about you hustle with something other than your uterus?) I realize that everyone isn't raised in households where they see positive, loving relationships so that idea of one may be farfetched. However,the entire series of The Cosby Show is on Amazon for $250, that's a better investment than some raggedy negro who barely has a grasp on the English language. If that's too expensive I suggest you gather a collection of romance novels to get some inkling of how you should be treated because after all you are a woman phenomenally (NOTE: Olivia Pope & Mary Jane are fictional character, they are for entertainment, this is not real life. Even still, they spend a great deal of time looking silly and ridiculous).

Now for the women who thought they were in loving and committed relationships. It's your life do what you want but what that being said, something like a "side baby" really shows the true character (or lack thereof) of a man. And as Queen Oprah tells us, "Once someone shows you who they are believe them". Yes you may love them but they obviously don't love you. I've never humiliated or intentionally disrespected anyone that I loved. I've had two men humiliate and disrespect me in my life and that was more than enough. At some point you have to look at yourself and ask why you're accepting that. You have to love yourself more than you love anyone else. This is why its so important to have standards. (I've learned that I may not have a large number of men coming by way but its about quality for me. It may sound harsh but I turned down a second date with a man who didn't walk me the two blocks to the train after our date very late one evening. Obviously that wasn't the only red flag I saw that night but it was enough for me not to want to see him again).
I get that people are afraid to be single, to be "alone" trust me I've been there. There are times now when I'm over it, but then I think back to my last relationship to the times were I was unhappy or disappointed and I grin to myself with delight because I may be bored but I'm not irritated or upset.
All of this is just to say that in my book "side children" are ALWAYS a deal breaker. The level of disrespect is daunting. Its very foul that these men try and act like what they did was ok and that women should just accept it or that its normal.  Well this woman CAN'T & WON'T. I know that some people will suggest that I should just keep on living and I plan to do just that. But know this I will never see it for a man who not only cheats on me which is horrific enough but who has the audacity to produce a child out of the indiscretion.

xoxox Chocolate Girl in the City xoxoxo

16 January 2014

Possible Bed Bugs and Other Tuesday Humiliations


Tuesday was supposed to be a grand day. My discounted vanity from Amazon was slated to arrive and I was finally going to watch the Golden Globes so I could clear up space on my DVR.  I also planned on taking out my waist length Marley twists and finally having an epic night of sleep.  (I don’t think ya’ll understand the exquisite nature of sleeping on a fro. No weave or braids itching you. You don’t have to try and sleep pretty. It’s like sleeping on the bed sheets of the Lord.) Anyways let’s not get off track, so this was my Tuesday plan, but of course my plans are usually thwarted. Let’s rewind a bit shall we.

Last Friday I sat in my longest job interview to date. (Do you have any clue how hard it is to appear professional and competent for an hour?!!) I was informed on Monday that I’d miraculously made it to the next phase of the hiring process, but they needed to skills test me. I was given a testing time slot for 9 am on Tuesday Morning.

Tuesday Morning arrived and I awoke with calm reverence. Now I won’t classify myself as a “morning person” but I normally don’t mind my alarm. I‘m definitely NOT a SNOOZER  (I really can’t understand why people snooze?!! It’s like being transported to a mystical land where you marry Idris Elba and then you’re exiled back to your tragic normal existence on earth).

I just......... We are not worthy xoxoxo Le sigh

 Anyway my alarm rang and as I stood up from my bed I noticed I had three little bug bites on my hand. I IMMEDIATELY began to panic.

Let’s be clear, I am not a brave girl. I despise scary movies and amusement park rides, but above all I am TERRIFIED of bugs. Naturally then, I assumed that the bed bugs of NYC finally found my Harlem dwelling and I immediately called my building management company in a state of panic. Now as most New Yorkers will know this proved to be a useless endeavor. I was gonna have to file a work order and blah blah blah inspection blah blah blah… it would take a few days.

Ain’t Nobody Got Time For That!!!!!!

By the time my management company was going to send out an exterminator I would have been eaten alive. Instead I turned to YELP, the number one how- to app that has aided in my survival of adulthood. My lover YELP always comes thru for me, and I was able to find an extermination company that would come inspect my apartment later that afternoon.

This all happened before 8AM, and if you recall I still had to get skills tested and make it to the laundry mat to wash ALL of my clothing/bedding. There was also the matter of the Golden Globes and my twists.

I gathered my wits and ventured downtown to take the tragic exam. And let me tell ya’ll that it was VERY tragic. I was tested on my knowledge of Microsoft Word, Excel, Outlook and Typing.  The test is obviously rigged because my score was that of a drunken imbecile and here is why:
 1. I didn’t understand how the test worked until I was halfway done.
 2. Since becoming a full time Mac user in 2010 I no longer have the ability to understand PC 
 3. I don’t understand how to NOT use shortcuts
 4. The test is just dumb.

Afterward, I stumbled into Starbucks to ego my pain while vigorously scratching my bites. I would be forever unemployed and itchy but at least I allowed myself the luxury of Half & Half instead of skim milk.

Resigned to my fate I ventured back to Harlem to spend the next decade at the laundry mat debugging my fabrics. (I realize now how ridiculous I am I didn’t even know if I actually had bed bugs but I convinced myself that I did and went about the treatment as such. This included drying everything first, washing, and then drying again). Millions of hours later I was finally finished with my laundry which was now pilled to the ceiling of my “foyer” in large garbage bags. (I use the term foyer loosely here. It is really a 4-foot space in front of my apartment door where my bookshelf and granny cart live.)

Whilst awaiting the exterminator’s appearance I decided it was wise to begin taking out my twists. About an hour into it, the exterminator showed up and that’s when things got even more humiliating. I didn’t want to frighten the man with my partially fro’d mostly twisted head so I shoved on a colorful knit cap that my mama used to wear. He went about inspecting my tiny studio and though he found no evidence of bugs I insisted that he treat my apartment anyway. (Recall my irrational fear of bugs.)

Here’s the awkward part. I’m a very friendly person, so that exterminator and I began having a smooth chat, which was fine with me. As he was spraying the beloved bug-be-gone he began to slyly try and figure out if I was single. He commented on one of my pictures and asked if the guy in it was my man. He also asked what I enjoyed doing and inferred that he as well liked the same activities. Now I have nothing against exterminators in general, but I despise when people come to my house to do a service and they try and flirt with me. It’s awkward and uncomfortable. Just like the time the refrigerator man told me I had beautiful feet and asked if we could exchange “pictures”.

Therefore I acted oblivious to his dreadful flirtations and seriously contemplated whipping off my knit cap to continue taking down my twists. I restrained myself and contained my laughter when the man told me my hair was beautiful and asked how long I’d been growing it out. (I couldn’t understand this question. He was Black!) After staring at him in disbelief I calmly explained to him that they were extensions. I smiled, paid him for his services and sent him on his way.

After shutting the door behind him I turned fully ready to exhale in relief and get back to Leo’s acceptance at the Globes, but that was not to be the case. Instead I screamed in horror……

There sitting on my nightstand, right next to my bed where the man had spent the majority of his 45 minutes in my dwelling was my Battery Operated Boyfriend in all of its hot pink glory. (I have no clue how I missed it. I was probably just exhausted from the previous foolery of the day and I was too focused on trying to hurry the man along so I could get back to my hair.)
Now I know why he was so damn eager. He obviously thought I was the harlot of Harlem who left sex toys strewn about her apartment for strangers to see. SMH

Until next time, a slightly humiliated, unemployed, but bed bug free
Chocolate Girl In the City xoxoxox