Dear Universe

Okay Universe… you’re being real cute right now and I don’t appreciate it. I also feel like we’ve had this conversation before. It’s not cute.

Let’s talk about money. It’s been a relatively simple ask: let me have some money. I’m willing to work for it, but it would be more fun to have it fall into my lap. Either way, I want money. Cash. Windfall. Long lost relative who leaves me something in their will. A REAL prince via email.


You send me exes. You sent me the ex from TEN years ago to creep my profile on LinkedIn (why?). You sent my ex from nearly two years ago to work down the street from where I live and work…right smack in the middle of my dog’s favourite walking route.



Not cute.

One of my friends suggests that the universe is TRYING to tell me to recognize the signs and acknowledge that it’s trying to send me a man…

Okay. Let’s roll with this. It wasn’t what I was asking for – because I don’t think I’m ready – but sure. Why the hell not?

So. Universe? I’m guessing I have to be specific. Because if you’re going to send me a man so attractive that I momentarily forget how to use words, CAN YOU MAKE SURE HE’S 100% SINGLE?!


This guy. Well. This guy seems sweet and funny, and smart, and OH HE COOKS… but is “sorta” seeing someone.


Is this the kind of “sorta” where he means that he’s just started to date someone and things are great, but like any great romantic comedy moment, our meet cute causes him to rethink that relationship with the harridan* of a girlfriend, and pursue me…or is he a typical Toronto dude, in which case “sorta” actually means that he’s been with the same chick for over a year, they live together, and just got a dog…but y’know, he’s not looking to “define what they are.


*(Yes. She’s probably a wonderful woman…but for my fantasy, she’s a harridan and an obstacle to overcome, okay? In my head, she is a MINOR TECHNICALITY.) 

Please dear Universe: send me the dude who is tatted, bald, with strong features, nice eyes, nice smile, wonderful voice, professional, close to my age, with a sense of purpose and a sense of style. Make him easy to talk to, a little bit flirty, loves to cook, and make him 100% AVAILABLE.

If that’s too much to ask, I’m willing to settle for cash.






No Julz.

No Kylie. No Kendall. No Khloe. No Iggy. No Kim. No Miley. No Rachel.


No to all y’all.

This past week has seen Miley Cyrus “give up” hip hop, and Julz whatever her name is cancelled in my city for using the word “nigga” one too many times. Once again, Black women stared in collective confusion wondering (rhetorically) how these women achieved this notoriety in the first place.

WE know. So lemme try to explain it to those who don’t get it, or who are woefully obtuse.

BEFORE you grab a cape and tell Black women – or any other woman of colour, or hell, women period – that this is about race, it’s NOT about race.

This is about being rewarded for plagiarism. Remember that time you let a kid copy your homework and they got the better grade? Yeah. Exactly. Julz and her aforementioned cohorts are regularly criticized for their performance of Blackness. Let me be really clear: these women were NEVER “down”, they were NEVER “cool with us”, and they were NEVER given an invite to the cookout. We get mad with those of you who elevate their mediocrity because we know you only do so because it seems like a novelty.

Meanwhile, those who ARE, those who CAN, and those who will ALWAYS be, are told that they’re just “regular”, or worse, lesser than.

Julz and her ilk are not new. I knew girls like Julz in high school. They dated Black guys to upset their fathers. They even had “likkle brownin’s” that looked like me to further solidify their hood passes. Keyword: pass. Just like Black people have done throughout the years, these women were simply “passing” as a means to an end. They capitalize on the novelty, earning money, fame, and more money from it.

The money YOU give them. The money you won’t give us because we’re not enough of a juxtaposition to make it seem cool. Rather than recognizing the magic, you get excited by three card monte.

They co-opt our shades with buckets of self-tanner stopping just short of blackface. They braid their hair in intricate styles and post up on the Pinterest instead of the ‘Gram. They squat, inject, and twerk their asses to Hottentot proportions and you buy it every single time. But if we object, we’re jealous. We’re haters.

Shut up.

For every NO we say to Julz, there are yes’s to our White girlfriends who sing along to Beyonce with us at the club. For every NO we say to Kylie and her Khornrows, there are dozens of yes’s to our White girlfriends who have Black boyfriends and husbands and we HAPPILY stand as bridesmaids at their weddings. For every NO we have for Rachel, there are hundreds of yes’s for our White friends who stand beside us and shout, “BLACK LIVES MATTER”.

Sure, they sometimes have to get jokes and song lyrics explained to them. They know we can lose a whole day to getting our hair braided (properly). They love plantain even if they pronounce it “plan-TANE”. They body roll to Chaka Khan, think we are beautiful in all shades, and ask for cocoa butter beauty secrets. They watch Scandal and ooh over Olivia’s outfits with the same passion we do. We aren’t mad at them.


They don’t try to Columbus our lived experiences for their personal gain, because they are confident in who THEY are and what their relationship to us is in the world. Because they also know how OUR relationship to the world differs from their own. When they call to see how we’re feeling about the latest #INSERTDEADNEGROHERE hashtag, they don’t open the convo with “hey girl heyyyyy” or perform Blackness to engage in a conversation with us– they are our friends and they want to know how we feel.

But you don’t see those women, because they’re not injected and deep-fried for your misguided consumption. So instead, you accuse Black women of being mad that “White women are taking over”, and assume means every White woman.

WE are mad at the White women who are TAKING FROM US because they’re the ones YOU KEEP GIVING YOUR MONEY TO. Because once they’ve exhausted this revenue stream, they will cut their hair into a pixie, put on a long flowing white dress, and pose on the cover of Marie Claire with a doe-eyed expression announcing their return to virtue or if they’re not famous, they’ll submit a personal essay to Jezebel or Buzzfeed. They will talk about lost years spent with all the “wrong people” and detail that one morning they woke up and thought, “what am I doing with my life?” They’ll talk about how misogynistic the music was, and how they’ve realized that bodies shouldn’t be objectified. They will find peace and “real love” through a guy named Will. The main picture will be them sitting on their porch with their cocker spaniel named Daisy. You won’t recognize her at first because her name will be Julieanna, or Chloe, or Sam, her skin will be it’s natural shade of milky white (“SPF 50 is, like, so mandatory”), and her “thug life” tattoo will have been lasered off.

They’ll sit back and reminisce about “those days” with “those people” and they will chuckle softly to themselves while they count all that money you gave them.

As for us? We will go back to living our lives and comfort each other with reminders that these chicks never had the range. We’ll dance in a circle and celebrate our magic. We’ll braid our hair and revel in our melanin. We will say YES to all that is real and wonderful and ours. We will give each other OUR money and be enriched through our mutual support. But YOU will be denied entry from her world…and ours.

So you tell me: why do you keep saying “yes” when at the end of it all, you’re only going to be told, “no”?


Serena Williams is Not Your Ex…

Okay. I’m gonna try and come at this Serena Williams engagement thing from a place of compassion and understanding.

My darling male members of the species, let me walk a mile in your shoes. Let me look at this your way.

(Steps into a pair of Timbs)

So here’s Serena. Super accomplished. Fun. Geeky. Beautiful. Amazonian in a Wonder Woman kind of way (IMAGINE her instead of Gal Gadot?) A woman who can crip walk on centre court, twerk with Beyonce, and smash a window with her serve all while dressed like your WCW’s Saturday night Instagram pic.

(the good stuff happens at 4:30)

Yeah. That’s cool. But she’s still not “feminine” or “delicate”. You like them like that. I get it.

She starts to date your boy Lonnie. Y’know he’s cool though right? He’s like alternative n’ shit. Probably borrowed a dollar from her from time to time. But you know, YOU wouldn’t smash it. Lonnie would. But he likes those alternative chicks with the phat asses.

Serena’s ass tho’. Yoooooo.

But I get it…she’s not “conventional”. She’s not really your type.

Oh! Remember when Drake started taking her out? Weird, right? How does mans go from RIHANNA to Serena? Serena’s kind of a big girl though ain’t she? I don’t mean “fat”. She’s just like, really tall. Not delicate. What? She’s only an inch taller than Rih? Well. Sheeeeit. She SEEMS bigger. Alright alright, still…Rihanna is an exotic ting tho. She’s got that accent. She got them green eyes. Serena’s just y’know. Regular. Drake has bare panties thrown at him, he doesn’t HAVE to settle for regular.

So. I mean. Like. Can we agree it’s kinda CONFUSING she’d just suddenly pick up with a White dude? Some geeky internet guy. Like. C’mon! She could get an athlete or another rapper! How she just gonna pull up with a WHITE guy who created like – a MESSAGE board? Right? So, YOU don’t think she’s attractive. It doesn’t mean that another man won’t find her attractive! She just didn’t give Black men a chance!

Okay okay okay. I’m not saying she HAS to give Black men a chance. But a STRONG BLACK WOMAN ™ needs a STRONG man, youknowwhatimean? Queens need Kings, amiright?

Oh wait…dude calls her “The Queen” on a regular? Like publicly? On his social media n’ shit? Not just in private when they chill?

Oh wait…they don’t just chill? They go out? Like OUT OUT? Oh…wait, you mean for EVERYONE to see? Like they do #couplesgoals shit like dress in goofy onsies and hang out with friends?

Look, I know a lot of you would do that with the RIGHT girl…when she comes along. But y’know, she could’ve TOTALLY done that with Drake if he hadn’t snuck her through a side entrance. Drake is TOTALLY capable of couples pics on the ‘gram. Look at him and JLO!

But sometimes, these females, they just want a RICH dude. They don’t care about how the man looks at that point; he’s paying those bills—

Oh. Wait. Serena makes MORE money? Dude founded REDDIT…oh. She made 10 times he did last year? So it’s NOT money?

What else could she possibly need? She has money. She has success. She’s the GOAT*!

(*GOAT among women. I’m mean there’s still King James…)

Why is she choosing to marry THIS GUY?

(Takes off Timbs…reverts to my natural state)


Love. L-O-V-E. Love.

That’s all it is folks.

Is this really THAT hard to understand? That someone can love whom they love. Imagine that. Dating a variety of people and figuring out what you do and do not want in a relationship. Then, you MEET that person. The one who meets your expectations.

ALL your expectations.

They give you that strange elusive thing called: happiness.

Serena is your ex. The ex you maybe feel a little bit guilty about being an ass to. The ex you dated as filler, an in-betweener. The ex that DIDN’T hit everything on YOUR list. So you kind of let it linger. Not out of malice. Just because you weren’t all in.

Guess what? That’s okay. That happens.

But when (NOT if, WHEN) she moves on, you do not get to evaluate her choices. You don’t get to weigh in, critique, assess, or judge her choices. Because I need to you remember one very important fact: she didn’t meet your expectations.

Do not fault her for finding someone who meets all her expectations just because you don’t meet hers.



Word of the Day: Transmorgrify

I have questions.

These questions have been bubbling for a minute now. But the announcement today of the #BlaccRob engagement makes me want to ask them out loud. This happened with Ciara and Russel Wilson a few weeks ago, and I’m sure has happened with other famous and non-famous folks for years now. I’m just using these two as examples.

A woman is with a dude who isn’t – let’s be fair here – great.

For whatever reason, they break up. The dude who wasn’t…great continues being not so great and living his life like it’s golden.

When they were together, the guy was celebrated by other men for having a “fine ass woman”…a woman who is a freak in the sheets. A woman who has the perfect face, the perfect hair (re: weave), the perfect whatever. When they were together, the woman may have even had a special “designation”:

She has a kid – she’s wifey/babymoms

She gets his named tattoo’d on her – she’s a ride or die

She marries him – she’s a wife

She lives with him – she’s a “girl”

Then. The breakup.

For WHATEVER REASON because that’s not what I’m here to question.

The woman starts a new relationship and this relationship is on new terms. This relationship doesn’t unfold under the same circumstances as the last one. She seems happy. New dude seems happy.

Boom. They get engaged. Or move in together. Or have a kid.

Said girl/wifey/ride or die/wife has now becomes a “hoe”. With a high body count.

This is my question: at what point does that woman transmogrify into a hoe?

Is it when the other dude has sex with her for that first time (increasing this “body count)?

Is it when they commit to each other?

Is it when he says he loves her?

Is it when they move in together?

When does it happen? I really want to know.

Oh. I have another question. When it happens to a non-famous dude – let’s say it happens to YOU –  do  you ever wonder what kind of reflection this has on your character? Your choices? Because if being with a  hoe is a bad thing for a guy to do, and you’re now worried about new guy’s reputation since he’s decided to wife up a hoe. If said hoe has been with so many dudes before she got with this guy.


Do the guys that came before you not count? Are they erased? Did you penis magically transmogrify her vagina and erase all those other penises? OH MY GOD! IS YOUR PENIS MAGICAL? DOES IT HAVE THAT KIND OF POWER? Let’s say it doesn’t. Back to my original question: YOU chose her. YOU dated her. YOU may have even had a CHILD with her. What renders her a “hoe”? Because she chose poorly?

*by “poorly”…I mean she chose you at some point.


Imma sip this tea while I wait for the answers to my questions…

Today’s Dating Lesson…

Today’s lesson:

Don’t cancel a date with me two hours beforehand, make plans for a new day, and then disappear for four days (without even a text or something to say “we still on”?).

If you do decide to disappear, fine. But don’t then message me the day of…out of the blue and ask me out for a date.

Also. When you do go dark for four solid days and message me out of the blue to ask me out on a date, how about you reference that TODAY is the day I told you I’d be available and acknowledge that?

Another good idea? Don’t message me after four days of silence to ask me out like it’s a brand new thought, and invite me for the SAME DATE YOU DID FOUR DAYS AGO AND THEN FORGOT ABOUT.

I’ve told you once – and I’m not telling you again – I’m a busy person. So guess what?

I’m busy.

Stop messaging me “good morning texts” (GAWD I HATE THOSE).

Don’t message me in the middle of meetings.

Don’t ask me how my day is going. Because I’ve already told you I’m having a busy day. I’m not here for your small talk.

Go play Adele on repeat.

*I’m not even trying to be passive aggressive. I made a space for you in my hectic schedule and told you that from jump. YOU MISSED IT. 

Looking at my phone and all these messages and I think “dang, I miss flip phones now”

Tinder Made Me Drink (My Attempt at Online Dating – AGAIN)…


I tried online dating.


I joined a few sites around my birthday, thinking that I really shouldn’t end the year dateless.

Is it 2016 yet?

Now…why would I do this? Because I cannot flirt to save my life. I could be in a hostage situation and realize that I just need to flirt a little to escape alive…and I wouldn’t just die…I’d end up like Cleo in Set It Off.

So, I thought the apps would ease that awkwardness that happens in social situations.

So. I joined (in order) OkCupid, Tinder, and Bumble. I also signed up for Match, but I got THIRTEEN marketing message in less than 24 hours and one of my potential matches was a man I cannot STAND…

When he popped up on the screen the morning after I signed up, I nearly threw my phone away.

Yes. The. Whole. Damn. Phone.

So…how was it?

OkCupid – You answer bunch of questions in hopes of increasing your chances of finding a personality match to go with that cute pic. Yeah… didn’t happen.

Tinder – Basically “hi, hey you’re hot…sex?”

Bumble – Basically Tinder, except once you match, the onus is on the woman to reach out first and they only give you 24 hours to initiate contact or you lose the dude FOREVER.

For quality of men…Tinder is the island of misfit toys. OkCupid is an MRA haven, and home to the stupidest #WhiteBoyFails in online dating history. Bumble…? Well. Well. Well. I’m not one bit surprised that a woman created this one.

Gentlemen…I didn’t think I’d be pulling HLBB out on this blog, but seriously. Your profiles suck. I mean in 2010…yes TWO THOUSAND AND FUCKING TEN –  I was trying to tell you to improve your spelling, the quality of your photos, and your opening lines. But these photos? Okay. I get it. You’re a fitness model. Great. But bruh, seriously…you standing by your car in a parking lot wearing nothing by white speedos is not the move. Trust me.

My first day on OkCupid, an 18 year old hit on me. I believed the age he posted, because in his photos he actually looked 12. I told him that I was too old for him and he picked a fight with me! Then there was the dude that asked me (as his opener) why is that no man of any race wants a serious relationship with a Black woman. He was doing a survey. Both of these accounts are no longer active BTW.

Now Bumble is new. I like shiny new things. Bumble is where all the unicorns go to play. Created by former Tinder execs, Bumble is basically Tinder with a twist: once matched…the woman has to initiate contact. Since I’m known for NEVER making the first move, I took this twist as a challenge.

I was not expecting to see what I saw.

Men who could spell.

Who took the time to post pics that showed them at their best.

Men who wore clothes.

Men who DIDN’T wear sunglasses in every pic —


I swiped right so much that Siri popped up and said, “girrrrrl… are you sure your phone hasn’t been hacked?!” My girl is convinced the men on Bumble are fake. But the pictures – carefully filtered and cropped – seem real.

I’ll stick it out with the bees in this hive a little bit longer. If only for the eye candy.

Tinder and OkCupid were deleted yesterday.

For ANYONE looking to delete their dating profiles… I want to share with you something VERY important that I learned. Tinder requires you to link to FB. When I tried Tinder last year, my research told me that they did this so you could see what friends you have in common, and not be matched with any friends.

Not ONLY was friend listed as a potential match (he saw me as well). I was reminded of a moment I had about 3 months ago. As mentioned, I had Tinder last year. I deleted my profile. Tinder states that once you delete, it UN-links from your Facebook. During that time, guys that I had matched with on Tinder – guys that I had no friends or interests in common with – showed up under “people you may know” on FB! Not. Amused.

To properly un-link, go into FB > settings > Apps. You’ll see all the apps that are linked to your account. This is common with 3rd party logins, so you might be surprised to see a whole bunch. Delete Tinder and any other dating site.


File Under Fuckboy

File under “Fucking Halfwit Fuckboy”

Walking along Richmond, I decide to stop at a side street to catch my breath, take a sip of my drink, and look at my phone. This way, the driver going north has the right of way and can merge into traffic…


“you know you AIN’T WHITE!”

Look up
“Excuse ME?!?”

“You KNOW you AIN’T WHITE just because you don’t answer me…and you AIN’T BLACK EITHER!”

“Oh. I KNOW I’m Black. I also know I’m not a fucking cat, so I don’t answer to ‘psssst'”

“You’re not Black. You think you’re White because you don’t answer…”

“Fuck off”


(cars are now behind this guy…the driver behind him has his windows open and can hear the exchange)

“Keep it moving guy…you’re holding up traffic. I’m not a fucking cat so I don’t HAVE to answer you…”

“Go have some Albino babies you stuck up WHITE BITCH”

(guy blares horn…he’s now annoyed)


(guy blares horn and yells “c’mon!!”)

Guy drives off.

So. Moral of the story is, if there are men out there who think that it’s “White” to ignore a pitiful catcall…lemme pull a reverse Dolezal right now.