The Ex-Games

I'm sure we've all heard the phrase that dating is an extreme sport...even when you aren't really dating. Until now, I didn't really understand what that meant. After taking the advice of my friends, I decided to put myself more "out there," in hopes of finding one (or more) guy(s) to go to the movies with, chill with at the apartment, and the various etceteras that boys and girls do. Alas, I haven't had the luck I was hoping for "out here," and the alternative seems to be an increasingly better option (if only the alternative was a choice and not biologically determined...sigh)

I call the dating we do after a break-up the Ex-Games, because if only we weren't somebody's ex, we wouldn't be out here playing/ caught up in them. Consequently, the ridiculousness of the Ex-Games has me wondering which is the lesser of two evils: Dealing with one person's drama or dealing with 5 people's crazy? Let's keep it real, folks, most of these people in the realm of "out there" are, in fact, crazy or R-cubed (really, really ridiculous). Also, please note that I'm not just talkin' about the triflin' dudes, I'm talkin' about the game playin', insecure young ladies as well (no male bashing on LuvBomb, though that would generate a lot of comments).

Ridiculous guy moment #1- Guy A sends me a text (it should have been a phone call, though) asking if I would like to go out. Even though it was a school night, and I had a nice amount of work to do, I agreed because, well...the boy is foine. Looking forward to seeing him, I ask what time he'll be over my way. Silence. Things get complicated as Guy A proceeds to tell me that he doesn't like driving to the women he dates because "he got played that way last time." Even though I reminded him of the time that I've made the 35 minute mission down the 405 to his 'hood in the past, he didn't seem to see the logic in the boy-asks-girl-out-boy-picks-girl-up model. Needless to say, the date didn't happen.

Ridiculous guy moment #2 (label this one "wowsers") - Guy B from the Bay sends me a text (it should have been a phone call though...come on!) letting me know that he'll be in L.A. for the weekend and that he would like to meet up while he's down here. I agreed that we could kick it because, well...the boy is foine. The date of his arrival descends upon us annnnnd...he misses his flight. Why? Because he was "playin' video games for money and the lady at the airport said they would hold the flight, but her ass didn't." I know you're probably asking, "Damn, Bonita what type of dudes you be messin' with?" I. Don't. Know.

Even though I smelled a rat, the saga with Boy from the Bay continued when he assured me not to worry because he'd just come in the morning. He even asked if I could pick him up from the airport, and I agreed (under the condition of gas money, of course) because, well...the boy is foine. The following morning is upon us and then...the text messages start (at 7am).

Text 1- Aye I thought my flight got in at 9, but it's really leavin at 9.
Text 2- Aye my 9am flight was delayed 'til 10.

Text 1, yeah maybe. Text 2, yeah right, Homie. Confirming my 12 hour suspicion that I was being lied to, I checked his flight status, and all was well with Southwest Airlines. At that point, I could not wait until 10 to hear what he'd have to say, though I wasn't going to call him out since that would be unnecessary drama with an obviously crazy person (I mean, why go through all of this if you aren't crazy?).

Boy from the Bay asked "ya feel me?" about 15 times in the four minutes he spent on speaker phone with my friend and me explaining how he was just gonna cash out and, um, uh, sniff, 'cause um, they trippin' at the airport, yadadamean? He even made up a few terms like "jug jug (?)" in his explanation of why he wasn't coming.

So what was really hood with Boy from the Bay? Who knows? Maybe he was home, or really in L.A. the whole time and decided he had something better to do. I'm actually pretty confident that he was really in Alaska with Sarah Palin, though, playin' video games and enjoying the view of Russia from her house (that would make a lot more sense). Although, I should be thankful that he would still like to see me sometime and I am so glad he reminded me not to be a stranger (I'm sure he even did the Palin wink as he said this). We'll always have Oakland.

Now, as thankful as I am that I have friends who care about my well-being, I can't believe no one mentioned that, as hard as it is to be a pimp, it's even harder to be "out there" when everyone you talk to is trying to be a pimp.

Also, let the record show that a lot of women, like myself, aren't looking for their next relationship while we play in the Ex-Games as we extend ourselves "out there" into the black hole of Black dating. Most of my friends and I are simply looking for a friend (or 2) who doesn't suffer from various transportation related issues. As I'm finding out, however, it's cold "out there," and maybe we're just better off staying inside. I'm cool on all the wackness for now.