Office. Crush(ed).

I’m working this contract gig (yawn), and most of my days are filled with contracts, reports, and contractors. Disappointing because not a single contractor is hot.

I thought this was the point of contractors. That they be hot. What the hell?!!?

I’ve had a tendency to work in environments that are predominately women, which is great for keeping track of your period, not so great if you want to have a little eye candy (and you’re straight). The men I have worked with have either been married (no go zone) or just not attractive.

Realizing this a while back, I had complained to my BFF that I’ve never really had a proper work crush because I’ve always worked with unattractive schlubs or married men. Never have I been able to flirt or gaze admiringly at a man I’ve worked with.


Then. He walked in. The new guy.


Everything. EVERYTHING about this man? The face, the smile. The horn rimmed glasses. The impeccable taste in clothing. The cologne. Then he spoke. You would think that he had David Beckham Syndrome, but no. Even his name was heavenly. I was ready. I was so ready.

I have this one problem though – I always  forget to look for the ring. Not that I’m out there looking to be homewrecker #1…I just don’t. But chances are that if I find you attractive, you’re more than likely married. Married means you (hopefully) have your shit together and own at least one suit. So I was ready to give up before I started.

Then my Office Auntie came over.

“Did you see the new guy? He’s very attractive. Do you find him attractive? Is he single? I’ll find out for you…”

(Did I mention that my Office Aunties want to see me married by the time I’m 40? Which is in 6 months? Erm…)

I sent out text messages to friends

“THEY HIRED A BLACK GUY! AND HE’S HOT!! (insert heart eyes emojis here…all of them) 

Both me and my Office Auntie tried to spot a ring on his hand. But the future father of my children is a very diligent worker. No chit chat. Buried in his work space. One day three, he had a question about his computer and the person he asked didn’t know. I passed by and our coworker said “I betcha RR knows… she’s a whiz with Macs”


Fix the issue. Takes 30 seconds. My boss walks by to see me at Hot Guy’s desk. As I head back to my office he asks what that was about. I explain that new guy had a quick question and I was helping him (seriously, I was at his desk for about a minute and that includes being asked the question, fixing the issue and walking away).

“He’s NOT the priority. He can figure it out on his own.”

Boom. All my blessings. Blocked.


Still. The Office Auntie tries to persevere on my behalf. But Hot New Guy doesn’t do the chit chat. Takes lunch on his own or with one of the (few) men in the office.

Yesterday, I finally get a chance to talk with Hot New Guy. I try to insert a little bit of flirt…then I remembered that my flirting usually makes me seem like a serial killer trying to get you into my white van. So, I regroup and try to keep it casual and professional…and that’s when he said it.

“…one time, my girlfriend and I went to…”



The rest of the conversation? Dunno. He sounded like a Charlie Brown adult after that.
He lives a nice part of downtown, which means he and his girlfriend are definitely living together; which means (in my mind) married.


Girl. Friend.


My ONE chance at an office crush. A work bae. A chance at a private meeting in my office…

Girl. Friend.

He goes back to his desk and I cue up YouTube to play some music (and to muffle the sounds of me muttering “fuck fuck fuck fuck fucking girlfriend”) “The Boy is Mine” came up…

The suggested by YouTube songs after that?
“He Wasn’t Man Enough for Me” – Toni Braxton
“Try Again” – Aaliyah
“Heartbreaker” – Mariah and Jay Z
I see what you did there universe. cute.
I told the Office Auntie that he mentioned a girlfriend.
“But that’s not married. Otherwise he would’ve said ‘partner’. She’s just a girlfriend…”
(yes. She’s ruthless)



File under “NOPE”

“If I meet someone and that person is disgusted by the idea of a box, then maybe I should be spending time with someone more akin to myself,” 



Meet the Guy Paying $400 to Live in a Literal Wooden Box Inside Someone Else’s Apartment – (vice mag)


I have questions:

  1. where are your clothes? Do you sleep on them? I’m not gonna judge. I’m single. There are days I just take the fresh laundry and dump it on the empty side of the bed or on the armchair. But, you…you’re living in a box.
  2. You pay $400 a month for a box. I’m not going to fault you for this. The rent is too damn high where I live also, but really… roommate? I mean, you’re already living with (surrounded by?) people. How is essentially building a room of your own any different?
  3. When (if…) the opportunity presents itself, how are you going to invite someone back to your…box?
  4. Now that we’re on that topic, say someone says “yes” to you and comes back to your box…and they are “akin” to you. What are the logistics of this? Because it’s more than just your dick in this box. There’s a whole other body. How? Have you created sex positions that allow you to fuck inside the box?

#mycoworkersmademedrink – St. Patrick’s Day

I enjoy whisky. I enjoy drinking whisk(e)y in bars with friends and having a good time.

There are a few days of the year when will avoid drinking whiskey in a bar.

Christmas – because that time of year is for rum. It’s my mother’s birthday. Also, most places are closed.

Mother’s Day – because I have to take my mother out to brunch, so I need vodka…

St. Patrick’s Day – because of stupid people…

I’m a light skinned Black woman. I’m a bit melanin-challenged.  My family nicknamed me “Casper” as a child. Bronzer is my friend. A marketing person would describe me as “racially ambiguous” in the creative brief. Every year that I’ve gone out on St. Patrick’s Day,  without fail, some drunk White guy will come up to me and say, “do you have any Irish in ya?”, and I will respond “Yes. As a matter of fact. I do. On my dad’s side. Do you?”

Blank stare

One year, I felt particularly evil and convinced some young buck that was Black Irish.


Because that conversation gets real old real fast, I have generally avoided the aggressive and green beer-fueled come ons on this day. But one year, my co-workers made a BIG deal about going to a local Irish bar…and made an even bigger deal that I didn’t want to go with them.

Finally to shut them up…I went.

I had one coworker who really liked her whisky…and beer…and shots…and tequila…basically she was carried home from all the holiday parties. Tonight was no different…but just before she blacked out, she got her holidays mixed up and thought it was Valentine’s Day. She was going to play matchmaker for me!


“OMIGOD. I just saw this guy at the bar that would be perfect for you! Totally your type!”
(yeah, I doubt it)

“I’m gonna introduce you two!”

“Let’s not. Please.”


For someone who was barely taller than a Smurf, this woman was very strong once the likka got into her. I had to hang on to furniture to keep her from dragging me to my “destiny”. I figured that my “destiny” was like Ben Affleck’s character in Good Will Hunting and that is NOT my type.

“Fine. I’m gonna go get HIM and bring him HERE!”

Now, there is a benefit to being the same height as a leprechaun…because she darted off and no one could catch her. Five minutes goes by…ten…now I’m getting nervous. Has she successfully played wingman or has she passed out (again)?

Just as we’re about to search the nooks and crannies of this crowded bar, she comes back to us. Red faced and giggling.

She started to chat my “destiny” up…turns out he’s in our industry…they have people in common…he lives kinda close to our boss’ house. Of course now she’s ready to present him to us…

“Are you here by yourself?” she asked him with a smile.

“No. I’m here with my wife…”, gesturing to the woman standing beside him. Who has been standing there the entire time while this woman chatted up her husband.

Her. Black. Husband.

My co-worker found the ONE OTHER BLACK PERSON in the bar and figured it was our destiny to meet.

Except that he was there with his WHITE (and as luck -heh- would have it, Irish) wife.

His now PISSED off wife.

She pointed to my “destiny” as he and his wife made their way out of the bar in a somewhat hasty manner…



#mymothermademedrink – March 17, 2016

*phone rings*

(seriously, why don’t I have a custom ring tone for her?)


“How’s my dog?”

“Again. Mom. He’s MY DOG. Not yours…”

“I miss him…how is he?”
(I had mentioned that he needed a bath…which is an activity that can also can drive me to drink)


“What about me, mom? Don’t you want to know how I am?”

“I spoke to you already. I know you’re okay.”

“He’s fine”