Hyenas, Cougars, and Gold-diggers- Oh My!

The epoch of my love life is marked by an epiphany that took place on a crowded rooftop between sips of a Dirty Grey Goose Martini, and Polyester wearing financiers. Rooftops are synonymous with New York City; they stand in as the playgrounds for adults, somewhere in between happy hours, strip clubs, and sample sales in no exact order- and I commence to recess as soon as the bell rang. Once Mother Nature Schizophrenia was treated with medication- it was a beautiful 86 degree, humidity free, perfect day. Apparently, I missed the memo, because “seemingly” every eligible bachelor in New York was out playing ‘tag’ too- and oh so were the women!

As the bouncer ushered me into the elevator roof-bound I noticed the shiny watches, bleached blond hair, polyester suits, and myriad of exposed skin. Yet, it wasn’t until I got to the rooftop that I could accurately express my discombobulated assumption to my girlfriend. *Audible Sigh,* “Girl, do you see this, or am I tripping.” *Audible groan* “No girl, were here now, but umm… he is cute though.” And to the bar we sojourned, to secretly confirm our speculation of female to male ratio, burry it deep in our hippocampus, and hope that the vodka helps us forget that this was ever a topic Katie Couric featured during primetime.
What we saw, was the sorted tale of the dating dilemma in New York, which I teetered on the fence of acknowledging- until now. Visibly, for every one guy standing, sitting, squatting, smoking, sweating, and despite the fact some spat while they spoke- Eww, they were surrounded by women. Literately, for every one man there were two cougars, one Asian, one blond, one gold-digger (noticeable only by the way she kept rephrasing the same question “So which firm do you work for again?” *I thought to myself, poor girl, doesn’t she know that asking a man which firm he works for in this economic climate is like asking an employee at Mc’ Donald’s which position he holds- ROOKIE! Then it hit me, this is the supposed shortage of men “crisis” that is paralyzing Black Women with fear. Is this the “epidemic” all the married anchorwomen on CNN and CBS warn me about? Is this why Tyler Perry and Essence Magazine Editors are persuading me to date a janitor, or a brother with felony expunged from his record?

Hmmm, let me test this theory out real quick.

Waiting for your drink at a crowded bar is always like standing at an open cattle call- you have nothing to do but scope out the scene, again, or pretend like you don’t know people are scoping you out until the bartender blesses you with his/her attention. And since my bartender is a woman- I had a while to pretend like I wasn’t being scoped out. As I face the bar thinking of all the books Steve Harvey sold, and all the horribly written Tyler Perry Plots where the “Good Black Man” is the Mexican Gardner with three kids, a cholo cousin, and they all praise Jesus, who is really the Vigin Mary in disguise- I wonder with anxious amusement- so am I suppose to join the pack of hyenas circling the banker like the Essence articles instruct me too, or… “Hello, I couldn’t leave this bar without getting your name.” My thought was interrupted by the Brother wearing a Rosary being cordial. Unfortunately for him, I don’t do men with Rosary’s- I only date reformed Catholics, long story. Twenty minutes later some Suit approaches me with a line “You look like my Ex- wife, can I buy you a drink?” *WHOA, I HOPE SHE KEPT THE HOUSE AND GETS SPOUSAL SUPPORT WITH A LINE LIKE THAT, NEXT UP TO BAT!*
As we finally sit with our second round I'm approached again, by another young, intelligent, professional, man. Unfortunately, I was not physically attracted to him at all, in fact, not in the slightest. To each, its own. However, like most litigators he was “good with his words.” At some point during the conversation I zoned out, and the dialogue that went through my head was something like this… “F**k you CNN, NBC, Tyler Perry, and Essence Magazine, and any other media institution preaching the Gospel of Young Black Educated Women not being able to find a Black Man.*Note the news sources never give cool adjectives to the men* Soledad, Isn’t your last name O’Brian- What brother did you marry? I mean no disrespect, but how exactly are you black again? Cougars, I’m sorry you didn’t do it right the first time, maybe it’s the stench of desperation your giving off to the next man who will pay for the maintenance of your breast augmentation. Dear, Gold-digger- Get a Job, or Dig Deeper.

My point is not to ‘brag about how many times I was approached by men, trust me for every one night like this, there are three nights of involuntarily social celibacy that plagues me at an event. Seriously, sequentially, maybe for two to three event's straight, I miraculously morph into invisible Girl. My point is this: that despite the Bull Crap our media is feeding Black Women, we still have a pletohra of options, don’t be fooled Ladies. We may out number men, but have you seen what their selection looks like? In short, don’t settle for lies, I still have options.