Get Into Reggae Cowboy

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Because somewhere between Jamaica and Nashville, I realized I lived my life…”

I had a conversation with a friend about another ‘potential’ who bit the dust. She asked: “Have you considered non-white guys?

So this was me:

She didn’t say it to offend me, BECAUSE she knows me, she was legitimately asking if dating someone who wasn’t caucasian was even an option. It didn’t take me aback because HOW DARE SHE speak these words to me, it made me sad. Maybe the real reality is dating interracially is an unnecessary obstacle that can be avoided.  But she used the term “non-white” which leaves a plethora of other races…so it got me thinking, “Is it just the black and white thing playing the villain in my movie?”  The reality of this is…I DON’T THINK SO. I mean,  it could be one of a vagillion factors, I guess? I can’t say I subscribe to it but I can’t rule it out either. She continued to point out I tend to focus on them (“them” being white males) and made a very good point that maybe the guy for me looks different than I expect.  Yup, he could be short, bald and 52 years old – but he might still be a non-black. I mean, who is to say who the right guy for me is. I have many single friends  – some who have types and others who don’t…but they’re still single.  Can it all really come down to a race decision? I’ve met a lot of testicles that were attached to wastes of skin BUT I’ve also met some really good guys and for whatever reasons, things just didn’t go my way.  Maybe because I didn’t sing it like Lenny….

But I digress…

A conversation concerning interracial relationships and me will never….EEEEEVER end. Why? Because it’s entirely too complicated in its simplicity.  I explained to my friend (not that she doesn’t know this already) that I don’t care what “package” the man for me is in as long as he’s delivered on time. I’ll put my focus on whomever makes my innards flutter and that’s a combination of all that stuff we want to in a significant other. She has a certain type too and I remember trying to get her out of her comfort zone was like pulling teeth – I believe you like what you like. Your stomach flip-flops for whomever it flip-flops for…if the outside presentation isn’t as appealing as you’re used to, they might have to work a little harder for you to see all the goodness inside.

To people who grew up in a certain household, whose environment had little-to-zero diversity, who were bullied for being different, who just have a certain set of morals for themselves JUST because… ALL of this makes us the human beings we are right now. And as life goes on, we’ll find ourselves in a million other situations that reinforce or completely conflict with everything we’ve ever believed.  I AM GETTING WAY TOO DEEP.  So let me break this down how this works for me and only me so there is no mistake:

I love mens. All of them. I will say my preference is to date men outside of my race. It’s MY preference and mine alone. It is not an experiment – I don’t believe that if I’m able to check three ‘white guys’ off my “How To Date Caucasians…And Win!” Checklist that I’ll all of a sudden not get spit on when I’m taking the TTC. I find my dark skin hella sexy. I love seeing my fingers entangled with a paler hue. To me, that speaks volumes. I think it looks so powerful, especially in the world today. It’s a beautiful thing when those hands are connecting two people from (on the most part) very different backgrounds and yet were able to find each other and come together and care for each other despite the added pressure of race and how others view it. You don’t have to like it. I’m not asking you to. You don’t have to accept it either. But little things like that, well that makes me happy and my happiness is something I’m going to put on the top of my priority list for once. Listen,

  • You like that guy because he keeps his hair shaved low.
  • You enjoy a European man with dark features BUT light eyes.
  • You like them tall.
  • You like Latin men and their Volvere hips.
  • You like men in uniform.
  • This dude makes you laugh no matter what.

Does this mean I can’t find compatible qualities in a black man or a man that isn’t white – of course it doesn’t. The black gentlemen who have reached out to me are men I cannot relate to on several levels. Having the same coloured skin does not equal instant compatibility. If I meet ANY man from ANY ethnic or cultural background who makes my heart a-flutter…trust me, you’ll be the first to know.

Until then, maybe I just need to find my Reggae Cowboy. He obviously has all the answers. *single blink*

follow me on Twitter: @Bettykiss


Insane In The Membrane

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“So why are you single? By choice? Because some loser gave ya the boot? What type of man do you like. Vanilla perhaps??”

*single blink*

This was me absorbing, then attempting to stop the insanity.

Leave Me Alone

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“Betty Blinks.

Jack seems to blink alot less when looking at Betty’s photos !!! LOL.

Your sweet Betty. Do you look away from the camera because your shy ? humble ? modest ?

All of the above ? LOL.

What an exilerating rush it would be to spend a lunch with such a beauty.

It would be so fun to serenade you with my acoustic guitar.

I would have so much fun singing romantic blues songs to you while you blushed and looked down.

It would be cute.

My sister lives near Eglington and Allen. My car broke down and while I waited to have it fixed I played my resonator acoustic in this big mall for at least 3 hours. It was cool. People didn’t know what to make of me, this white guy smokin’ the blues. a few stopped to chat. It was fun.

Peace Beautiful Lady.


Really? Eglington [sic] and Allen? For those who don’t know, Allen Road is basically the dividing line between what would be considered Little Jamaica (West of the Allen) and Forest Hill (wealthier, Jewish neighbourhood, East of the Allen). *single blink* Are you with me now? Do you see where he’s going with this broken down automobile story? I guarantee his car broke down closer to the West than to the East, therefore I must totally understand and gush at the fact that “this white guy is smokin’ the blues.” Seriously? I know he’s not typing this with any negative connotation, it’s just the biggest turn-off for someone to try to connect on an “ethnic” level when it’s unnecessary. It leads me to believe that’s all they see. I may be completely off base (TRUST – I’m not off base), but it doesn’t change how it feels to read this stuff.

I have only one question for Mr. Jack: How dare you.

Nevermind. I can’t.

You Can Dance If You Want To

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And now the conclusion of STORYTIME TUESDAYS!

BM had just returned for the weekend and our routine was that I would meet him at his place after I finished work (I already had a key). He had on his pajama bottoms and I was in his pajama shirt when we retired to the living room after dinner (yes, he fed me often EVEN after traveling all day) to listen to some music.

SIDEBAR – Here are the three steps to win my heart:

  1. Humour – he took care of that from date #1.
  2. Food – CHECK!
  3. Music – if we jive on this, I’m picking out the China patterns in my brains.

Now, I can’t remember how we got on the subject of high school but we were retelling memorable moments during those years. Obviously, he had his health issues to deal with on top of the usual problems had by the average teen. He explained he was involved with everything and never felt he missed out.  I told him how I went to prom but felt pretty invisible when I was there because I was never asked to dance. He called my date an expletive and we laughed. I told him I would agree with him IF I had a date for prom but alas, not I. He immediately jumped up and ran out of the living room. For reasons I’ll keep to myself, he only jumped like that when he had to go to the bathroom.  I remained on the sectional, lying upside down with my eyes closed humming along with the music. Then I heard, “May I have this dance?”

*single blink*

When I opened my eyes, he stood in the doorway wearing a top hat and a bow tie (still no shirt). I started laughing hysterically until I realized he was totally serious. (Please note: until that very night, I had never slow-danced with anyone). I turned right-side up, stood and said, “Are you serious?” He hit a button and Billie Holiday’s voice came flooding in through the surround sound. He pulled a flower from behind his back and handed it to me and then spun me around once and then we started dancing. As a grown woman, I felt like a complete tool because it seemed so simple but I had no clue what I was doing. My brain was going a mile a minute:

Where do my hands go?

Do I actually lift my feet or just shift weight from side-to-side?

Don’t couples slowly spin when they’re doing this thing? How does that mess happen?

As though my thoughts were coming through the speakers, he just said in my ear, “I’ve got you.”  SWOOOOOOOOOON! Do men really say things like that?! Yeah, they do! I completely blocked it like a trauma. I read my journal so this story would be as accurate as possible and came across this tidbit. Hot damn he was so hot. Damn.

This was the first/last time I’ve ever slow danced in my life.

I wanna dance with somebody!

Our relationship obviously didn’t last and I won’t go into the details as to why we stopped seeing each other. The purpose of this particular story is to show it doesn’t matter how people meet, you still go through the same ups and downs as any other relationship. You will have amazing memories and painful arguments and confusing conflicts that have no bearing on the way you met. Please think twice before you judge someone who uses other methods for meeting people. For whatever our reasons may be, this is an avenue we’re more comfortable with and shouldn’t be mocked because we don’t find dates as easy as others do. You don’t need to participate but you don’t need to put us down. That’s my little piece and I hope you enjoyed m’stories.

Eat Steak

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A continuation from last week’s STORYTIME TUESDAY.

I was positively smitten with BM after our first date. He travelled a lot for work but we kept the embers ablaze with texts, emails and *le gasp* phone calls (I abhor talking on the phone and yet it’s all I wanted to do with him). He would tell me about his next great idea that caught the eyes of his superiors and I’d pat him on the back. I’d tell him about the amount of food I crammed back that afternoon and he’d textually stroke my belly. It was a great partnership, equal give and take in my book.

We hadn’t been out that many times but we had built a strong connection through all the ways we stayed in touch. Because he was away so much, every time we hung out meant that much more and we didn’t take it for granted. I actually loved the whole arrangement. I did me while he was away – I hung out with friends, worked, whatever…and throughout the day I’d get an email or two.  Maybe a text, and always a phone call before bed.  One of the weeks he was in town he asked to make me dinner… In his home!!! He’d mentioned, on many occasions, how much he enjoyed cooking. Other than rotten-tomatoed nachos, I’ve never had someone want to prepare a meal for me. For some reason it made me nervous.  You see, I’m a human garbage dump. I eat almost everything. What if he made something, the one thing in this world, that made me barf real chunks all over his table and chairs? *single blink* He told me to trust him, so I did.

Let me paint a picture of how this evening went down:

I arrived at his home and he asked what I’d like to drink as he led me to his living room. He told me to have a seat and brought in two drinks and sat beside me. We made a toast to the night ahead and then he said he was going to start dinner. I got up and asked what he needed me to do and he looked at me as though I morphed into Gary Busey and made a poem out of the letters of his name. He disappeared into the kitchen and just as I slinked back down onto the sofa,  he returned with another drink (for me) and picked up a remote control. He pressed a button and a movie screen emerged from the ceiling. He told me he knew I’d missed Saturday Night Live and other shows from the previous weekend and had created a folder with my name on his high-tech tv system with all of them queued for me to watch. He flashed his movie star smile and went back to the kitchen closing the french doors behind him. There was a moment when he was at the stove (his back to me) when I saw him taste the sauce he was making. He shook his head as though to say, “Nope, this isn’t gonna cut it for what I’m trying to do here,” and my heart grew three sizes that day.

I was caught up in one of the shows when I noticed the kitchen lights had dimmed. He opened the door and asked me to join him at the table that was set with schmancy silverware, cloth napkins and candles lit everywhere. He wouldn’t take a bite of anything until I had tasted it first. It started with a tomato and bocconcini salad followed by shredded brussel sprouts w/ bacon. The main course was a pasta in a homemade cream sauce (not Alfredo) with steak. And guys, he gave me the big steak. Can I get a swoon-swoon!!! He rounded it off with chocolate mousse for dessert. He genuinely found pleasure in seeing me enjoy the entire meal. This….is how you wine and dine a chick. IT WAS THE MOST ROMANTIC MOMENT OF MY LIFE.

Oh wait…no it wasn’t. That mo’ will be explained next week…

It doesn't take much to wine and dine a b!tch!
To be continued...

Rhythm Is A Dancer

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This is my heart’s new desire. His name is Keith Apicary aka Nathan Barnatt. You must pay special attention to his Twitter bio – for those who do not have Twitter, it states:

“I gotta be careful about shadow boxing, eventually I’ll just defeat the air, then everyone will suffocate.”

Things to note in the video are as follows:

  • He likes to make his own rules.
  • His dance training is from Samba De Amigo.
  • It’s not a fanny pack. It’s for the Sega Nomad.
  • His power moves.
  • His speech impediment.
  • His mom jeans.
  • His glasses.

His catchprase is "Segacide."

I want to breed with this man. *single blink* No lie, I want to breed with him.

He’s currently in the midst of a war of words with the WWE’s Dolph Ziggler and you can see his response to the wrestler here. I’m pretty sure they’re going to fight and I will be glued to any screen I have in my life to watch it happen. I know you guys think this is a joke but I have true feelings for this man and I thank Kat for bringing him to my attention.

He Walked Like A Man

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You may believe all of my online dating adventures began in utter horror (if they ever begun at all), but you’d be wrong.  Even though this relationship never worked out, it was one of the best experiences I’ve had in the shortest amount of time.  Welcome to STORYTIME TUESDAYS!!!

I messaged him first on POF (2 years ago) because he was BEAUTIFUL. Online dating is a funny thing: you are drawn to them because you are physically attracted to the photo you see, but then depending on what they write about themselves will increase that attraction or completely dissolve it.  It was the former for this gentleman.  He was a triathlete, family-oriented, did I mention he was beautiful? He did a lot of volunteer work, he owned his own home, he was successful in his line of work – everything on paper was just what I was looking for. For the sake of this story, let’s call him “BM.”  We had a few days of email interaction and he was super sweet and gave me butterflies and was really into meeting in person, so he suggested we get together for a drink.

I remember being incredibly nervous. My best friend’s mom was over at my place that evening helping me decorate and then gave me a ride to the meeting spot. I arrived early facing the stairs he’d have to climb and decided to browse the ol’ Facebook to pass the time and calm my nerves.  All of a sudden a rose landed on my lap.  I looked up and there was this shiny, happy person smiling at me. ‘Twas him. I swooned inside.  BM took a seat across from me, locked eyes with me and never let mine wander. The bar was a dump and that’s what made it even more fun.  We made joked about the possible lives of the regulars, we had a few drinks and the conversation was SO easy.  I can’t remember what I asked but it prompted this answer from him: “Well, I have spina bifida.”  *single blink* This was probably the only time when my single blink was not done to make someone feel stupid or to punctuate something I didn’t agree with. I single-blinked in sheer shock.  I looked at him, I looked at the steps he’d have to climb to reach the table where we sat, I looked into my mind at all the TLC specials I’ve seen on people with spina bifida.  Nothing was computing and when my eyes got back to his, he was smiling like a Cheshire cat. The next words out of my mouth were: “Are you sure?” And he doubled over in laughter and then I was laughing!

If you’re unaware, someone with spina bifida is born, essentially, with an opening in their spine. The messages we get from our brain to get our body to do simple tasks, i.e. kick a football, doesn’t necessarily translate to the body of someone who has spina bifida.  Our brain tells our leg to kick, so it kicks. In a lot of cases, people with spina bifida suffer from paralysis and those messages don’t get to certain parts of the body.  So you must understand how I couldn’t wrap my head around it. I mean, I saw pictures of him riding bikes and standing for his friend at a wedding and he was fully mobilized and he had muscles and he wore his suit jacket so well and he WALKED UP THE BAR STEPS – how does this beautiful creature have spina bifida??!?!?! I wasn’t shy, I asked him to tell me everything. I asked him to spare not a single detail! He told me about being diagnosed with it a few years after he was born. He had more than 20 surgeries on his back to correct the problem as much as they could and as a result, he was free of his wheelchair and crutches he used growing up.  He told me about the times he died on the operating table. While you may have been angry or felt like you were betrayed that someone didn’t reveal something like this BEFORE meeting, I pretty much fell for him after that story.  I didn’t care that he didn’t tell me because it didn’t define him. He was BM, he wasn’t spina bifida. I was in awe and just wanted to know more about him.  It was only when we left that turrible bar that I noticed he walked with a little bit of impairment but if he didn’t just tell me that story, I wouldn’t have noticed anything. We agreed it was a great first date and he asked me for our second date right then and there.  I said yes.

To be continued next STORYTIME TUESDAY!

How You Remind Me

**If you haven’t noticed, I use song titles to name every post. I also associate a song to go with each post – I hope you take the time to press play. This is the only time I’ve strongly suggested you to bookmark this page (if you’re reading from your phone) and have a listen when you’re in an environment to do so.**

Have we all seen this? In her own words, you’re getting her wrong if you think she hates black people. That’s not at all what we would think after reading her tweet rant. *single blink* This gyal is lucky she and I aren’t size**

I could really go in on what she said but this is not what this forum is for.  How this relates to today’s post is that after all the discussions I had about the aforementioned oxygen thief, the interwebs decided to disturb my Gmail and let me know where I should find the man for me. I’ve received this message a million times but today (shaking my head)…TODAY….was not the day.

Really?!?! Did y’all read every last word of that ad? My eyes rolled so hard and for so long at the testimonial: “…Don’t be afraid!”  Don’t be afraid to date outside your race? (WARNING: PLEASE BE AWARE YOU WILL NOW BE ASSAULTED WITH A FLURRY OF QUESTION MARKS!) As much hate as I felt from that idiot’s tweets earlier; seeing the complete opposite makes me feel ABSOLUTELY NO BETTER. This site is dedicated for white males seeking black women. Why does this exist? Why in the bloodclot do I need the world to “remind” me of the colour of my skin every, damn day? You can’t just like me ‘cuz I’m cool?  You can’t like me because I can bowl strike after strike? Because I’m funny? BECAUSE I’M PRETTY?!  BECAUSE I EXIST?!?!?!?!?  Why do I need to know about this secret group of admirers? Do people honestly believe this makes things easier? The fact there’s a target market for this just reinforces we haven’t progressed as much as anyone thinks we have.  The f*ck????  World, be better…this entire attitude is SO yesterday. I’m the first person to scream from the rooftops that I’ve dated and continue to date outside my race because I love up a man, you see!  Red, white, purple or green – if you’re fine, you’ve got my attention. Why the hell am I going to limit myself to one meal when there’s a buffet of all the foods of the world???  All jokes aside, I know who I am and where I’m from, so stop distributing outdated Cliff notes to those who should be thinned from the herd.

If there was a way for me to hack into this site and upload a music player – it would only play this song on repeat (lyrics below). Please press play: 

“Curious White Boy” – Cree Summer aka Freddie from “A Different World” aka the voice of Elmira from “Tiny Toons”

Politically erect
Romanticizing ’bout ancestral innocence
Conscience easin’ curiosity pleasin’
Slum teasin’

Lab rat is crude ego food
Ain’t no afro nor halo
Can pick that cotton out your conscience

Inside the petting zoo (was it good for you?)
Can’t hide me in dark night places (‘Cause in the spaces)
Curious is the luxury (to be wrong)
White, wrong, still belong
All my jungle’d come out

Curious white boy
When am i gonna meet
Your mamma?
(met yo’ daddy already)

Curious white boy
When am i gonna meet
Your mamma?
(met yo’ daddy already)

Another housekeeper fantasy
Coffee-colored remedy for your hangover from history

I know your daddy and your brother too well
And his friends made me swear i wouldn’t tell

Inside the petting zoo (was it good for you?)
Can’t hide me in dark night places (‘Cause in the spaces)
Curious is the luxury (to be wrong)
White, wrong, still belong
All my jungle’d come out

Curious white boy
When am i gonna meet
Your mamma?
(met yo’ daddy already)

Curious white boy
When am i gonna meet
Your mamma?
(met yo’ daddy already)

What you so mad about
Always gotta scream and shout
Find a difference point it out
Spread your legs, shut your mouth
My virginity hanging from your family tree

Why you so angry?
They just crowned Mammie Miss America

Curious white boy
When am i gonna meet
Your mamma?
(met yo’ daddy already)

Curious white boy
When am i gonna meet
Your mamma?
(met yo’ daddy already)

**This is a West Indian saying – it basically means that we’re not on the same level and respect who you’re talking to.  When you come correct, we can have an actual discussion.  So the next time someone steps to you with attitude; trying to talk down to you…look them up and down and simply say, “You and I are not size.”

White and nerdy…

Continuing on this issue of race (I’ve received some interesting questions – hopefully this answers some of them):


I will be one half of an interracial coupling at any given time in my life.  History shows that I like ’em white and I like ’em nerdy. If your opinion of me changes because of this, it’s not my concern. Interracial relationships have been mixing this world up for centuries so *to the tune of Oprah’s theme song*…get with the program!

Now, my love for vanilla shakes started very early. I remember my first crush in Jr. Kindergarten on JB. His flaxen hair and lashes left me ga-ga for him. He was also so much larger than the other boys; a regular Prince Adam of Eternia.  By all the powers of Grayskull, I didn’t have a chance – the seed was planted.

I don’t think it’s possible to tally the number of men who have expressed interest in my bod-day BECAUSE I’m a blacker berry with all kinds of sweeter juice.  I can’t fault them for having a preference, however I’m not chomping at the bit to get to know them.  Here’s why:

When I know I’m being addressed solely based on a “black girl-fetish,” it immediately turns me off.  It just doesn’t have the same effect as someone telling me they like my eyes or have a great smile.  I couldn’t explain why it never sat right with me until my friend T put it this way, “I…sure as hell ain’t trying to be his interracial dating experiment.”   And that’s it exactly!  I’m a person not a test or a notch on your fantasy belt.   Honest-to-goodness pick-up line from my past:  “Do you want some cream in your Oreo?”

*one long…slooooooow single blink*

What? No!  No I do not – my black, dry biscuits are just fine so I bid you good day.  Now, think about this for reals…   This person will speak to anyone black. They don’t care who who they’re approaching as long as they are blacker than a black man’s cape.  They don’t want ME.  They don’t care about my family values or love of extra value meals! It’s all a waste.  The flip side is when I do meet a desirable black gentleman, he doesn’t want me.  It’s a United Colors of Benetton world and everyone needs to deal with that cuz I did…back in JK.

Listen, when I finally meet someone with relationshiphobia, damaged baggage and a mommy complex, I will know he’s the one.  But seriously, as extreme as these cases may seem they have been the norm in my life more times then I care to think about.  This doesn’t occur for every interracial couple in the world – I’m only talking about personal experiences.  Many people are attracted and love everyone for the people they are.  I’m not attracted to certain men because of their race – I want to know them because they’re funny and have similar interests.  It’s just that easy.

FUN FACTS: Other criteria on my checklist for potential mates include but are not limited to having a 24 hour-a-day desire for pork, a strong kinship to Roger the Alien and Steve Smith and the understanding that weekly piggyback rides are in our future pre-nup.

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