Sex In The Diamond District: Race, Love, And Relationships In Washington

The idea of love as another item on the to do list doesn’t really make sense. It doesn’t happen on a timetable. It’s as Kelis sings in Millionaire: Saks Fifth Ave don’t sell affection. So while doing things like earning a degree or landing a good job can be accomplished with focus, dedication, and follow through, love is messier kind of alchemy.

I mean, think about it. To get into a relationship with someone, you generally need two people to be: currently or soon to be available; in the same physical proximity (or internet savvy enough to be on the same website); into the same types of hang out spots, or to have enough in common to cross paths; both need to find each other physically attractive; and both need to be at a time in their lives when they can afford to spend the time to develop a relationship.

Throw all the other preferences out of the window – the list above is enough to make anyone’s head spin, and we haven’t even personalized it yet.

The article continues, revealing that Andrews may also have a habit of setting herself up for failure:

“I went on a date last night with Cornrows,” Andrews says, using the nickname that her friends have given the man. “I got in his car and there was this strawberry smell fragrance. I had to roll the window down by hand. I assume it’s paid for.”

Cornrows, she says, seems nice, but that is the problem. “He can put together coherent sentences, but they are not in any way related to my life,” she says. She laughs, but catches herself. She knows the man is trying hard. She also knows Cornrows doesn’t stand a chance.

“I’m a mean woman. I don’t date nice people. That’s why I’ll be alone for the rest of my life. I will always have to settle.”

This sentiment is one that quite a few of women can relate to. This guy is nice enough – but still not quite enough to be what Andrews is looking for. Many on the Post site seem to think that Andrews has overly high expectations. But a large part of this is the fantasies sold about life. Just as there is an entire industry around the idea of having it all, there is also one at selling the easy relationship. Sister Toldja has a hilarious take on the quintessential black romance movie Love Jones, saying:

I know many people have been let down by this movie. Talk about setting the stage for great expectations. I think sisters take it especially hard. Showing Love Jones to a group of Black women in their early 20′s is like showing a bunch of Iranian kids a Disney World brochure. Dream all you want to, kids. But that trip probably ain’t happening for you. [...]

Okay, so maybe I don’t have the longest list of reasons as to why I shoulda had a real life LJ experience by now, but that doesn’t mean I shouldn’t. Because I should.

And I’ll tell you why I haven’t. Because brothers like this don’t exist in real life:

I don’t mean brother like Larenz Tate. I am talking about Darius “groove in yo’ left thigh/tryna be the funk in yo’ right” Lovehall. This man was phenomenal. He was a poet. He cooked breakfast. He respected a woman who brought him home after the FIRST NIGHT. He was fine. He had great friends (except for Bill Bellamy; but I think dudes all got one Bill Bellamy-ass friend). And even when he got Nina started smoking cigarettes, it was sexier than anything the average man can do on his best day.

Meanwhile, I can’t find a marginally attractive and reasonably interesting man to give even half of a flying fuck about me.

I had a different read on Love Jones (I enjoyed it but it could have been subtitled “Massive Failures to Communicate”), but Toldja’s point is what’s important. Nothing comes easy, but a lot of women are convinced these kinds of men don’t exist at all.

But, speaking as someone who is a DC area native, there are lots of men that fit every type of profile around town. Hell, if you want a man that’s good with words, who will tinge love poems with sweet vulgarities, they are plentiful. Last night, at Busboys and Poets, I didn’t see Darius Lovehall, but I did see “Have You Ever Made Love to a Poet” Marc Marcel:

Page 2 of 3 | Previous page | Next page