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Stork Pile

I first met “Diddy” during the summer about 2 years ago at his cousin’s house when I had stopped by after a hair cut. Diddy was suave, funny, attractive and talented and seemed to be every bit of a gentleman. Like any woman knows, a man that has all these qualities is more than likely spoken for and I automatically stored him in the friend zone accordingly. Rightfully so, the news came out that he was a new father which added a second to his already existing roster and he was living with the mother of his children. Through conversation, we discovered that we had professional ties so we exchanged information to keep in touch for the purpose of collaborating on projects.

 A couple of days later, Diddy shoots me a message on the fly just asking how I was doing and how I was liking my hair cut since I had reservations about pulling it off. I found this sweet but questioned how friendly it was but figured sending a neutral, humorous reply back would debase any sort of cheekiness that could develop from a seemingly harmless conversation starter. I made a joke about how my new locks were now able to brave the harsh humidity of August days in New York and he took the opportunity to point out how he found me attractive. My mind flashes to screaming kids and crazy baby mamas and I have the instant reflex to shut down the conversation. No reply sent.

About six months later, we run into each other and begin with small talk. I ask about his kids, he asks about my job, nothing short of a bland how’s the weather discussion. Diddy starts to veer off the discussion route, continuously drops compliments here and there and somehow we end up on the topic of dating. He starts to tell me about how he likes to be brutally honest upfront and gets into a story about him being a wingman for one of his boys at a lounge recently. As a wingman, he engages in a conversation with the friend of the girl his boy is trying to pick-up as a means of letting his boy get some one-on-one time with his target of affection. Diddy mentions that it is apparent that the girl he is chatting up is interested in him yet he’s not really interested in her at all but ends up exchanges numbers as a formality.  

While he is recounting this story, I’m wondering where he is going with this and more importantly why he would put himself in that situation since he is still living with his baby mama AND they have yet another addition to the roster premiering 6 months from now.  My concentration jumps back into his story and we now arrive to the part where he decides to give wing-girl a call the next day (yeah I missed why too!). Diddy calls her up and she is excited to hear from him and starts gushing about what a lovely time she had. He immediately lays out his cards and tells her about how he has kids from two different baby mothers and he actually lives with one of them but they have an open relationship. The girl understandably gets mad and asks why he’s being such an asshole for telling her all this. And his response is classic, simple and sadly true: he laughs and says to her, “How does me being honest and letting you know exactly what you choose to get into or not make me an asshole?” To this point, I respect his stance and he is right (even though I do not agree with his policy) but now it has become visibly clear why he told me this story to begin with. He is looking for me to be his Cassie and I know I have no intention of partaking in this open relationship of his with Kim Porter in the wings.

Once again, I turn the conversation to a neutral end about how it’s important for people to be honest about what they are looking for at the beginning of any sort of relationship so there is no deception regarding where things are headed. He agrees and takes it as a further cue to swoop in. As any proud father would do, he pulls up pictures of his genetically blessed kids on his phone and flirtatiously mentions that our kids would look just as great or even better. BREAKS!!!! I have left the Cassie zone and am now in the JLo/Puffy shiny suit era. I laugh off his suggestion with the “oh you’re so crazy!” giggle but I’m thinking, get the hell out of this convo now! We hug and part ways and I am running far away from this suggestion like my uterus depends on it.

Flash forward to now 4 months later, I run into Diddy once again and it’s about a couple of months before Kim is about to deliver their bundle of joy. We do the New York air-kiss and hug and as a joke, he places his hand on my belly and says, “Ok good, was just checking to see that you’re still waiting for me.” Major PAUSE!!! He is indeed after my uterus, I grin but for damn sure will NOT be baring any kids soon!

SMH some men are just in love with spreading their seed. 



808s & Dead Beats

I was 21, Slick was in his late 30s. I was an intern at a music production company; he was a producer that was represented by the company.  Slick was behind one of the biggest hip-hop artists we all know and love today. Slick had a cool, calm, and collected swagger that was never intrusive yet direct at the same time. One sly look and he knew how to melt any defenses that were inched together to create a unified front for masking flirtation or desire. Yes he was trouble….big trouble. We first met on my second day on the job, I was answering the phones and he walked in to visit the head manager of our firm. Slick nonchalantly walked in and from his build and style, Slick was not typically my type but once we locked eyes, he had me trapped in his gaze.  I had no idea who he was…

Me: “How may I help you?” Trying to maintain any decent composure while looking professional.

Slick: “I’m here to see Ed” He pauses, glances at me very quickly and discreetly up and down (though it felt like a lifetime) and then he grins slightly.

I coyly smile back and then dart my vision back to the flickering lights of the switchboard, which seem to reflect the erratic pattern of my ecstatic feeling.

Slick walks into Ed’s office. An up and coming producer that was waiting in the lobby attempts to whisper over to me but his excitement gets the better of him…”Was that Slick? THE SLICK??!!!”

In my head, I’m trying to process why I am not familiar with Slick’s career but either way, my deadpan delivery back to the newbie exhibited the corporate bitchiness needed as the gatekeeper of the company and I simply answer back with a matter of fact attitude, “Yes”.

The newbie starts to geek out and talk about all the records Slick is behind and whose career he specifically helped launch into colossal proportions and now I am definitely aware of who he is after newbie schooled me.

Slick walks out and newbie makes a point to introduce himself to him and thank him for the legacy he brought to hip-hop. I turn my eyes away out of embarrassment for this grown man. Slick is humbled and appreciates the love. As he’s about to head out, he stops over at my desk and says, “I’m sorry I never got your name.” I let out an uncontrollable but cute giggle and tell him my name and he says, “You have a beautiful smile, Sophie. See you later.” And now I start to geek out on the inside too.

The next time I see Slick is at a record release party about two weeks after our first encounter. I made sure to bring a wing girl, Kim, since I am deathly shy in general. The venue in the Meatpacking District is extremely crowded and Kim and I are milling around trying to find some elbowroom to at least breathe. Kim, who is connoisseur of anything bling, immediately spots a huge Jacob the Jeweler watch from across the room and her eyes start to follow the glimmer. I never notice these things and could care less but I do look up and see that the piece of bling belongs to Slick. He walks over to us and I introduce him to Kim. We exchange a few words and then get interrupted by my co-workers. We shift and move around to find a quiet spot again.

Once in the VIP area with the rest of my co-workers, Slick and me are sitting next to each other but attempt to not make a point out of it since everyone is around. He casually leans over and asks me what time it is and I pull out my cellphone since no one owns watches anymore and tell him “It’s 12”. He softly pulls my phone out of my hand, punches in his number quickly, hands it back to me and says, “Thanks!” all in the blink of an eye.  We socialize with the rest of the team separately and enjoy the rest of the night maintaining our different posts.

The next day, I shoot him a text so he has my info and he immediately calls me. We maintain contact on and off for quite some time. I find out a few weeks later that he has a similar relationship with another one of the girls at the company. At this point, I am not interested in hanging out or conversing with him anymore. I stop returning messages and just drop any form of communication. I end up leaving my internship due to graduating and getting a real job. About a year passes by and I have long forgotten about Slick.

On one of my lunch breaks, I decide to walk in a different direction than I typically would since the weather’s nice. While I’m waiting for a light to change, I look up and low and behold, Slick is also waiting for the same light to change only we’re about to cross each other’s paths literally. I am upset that I have to make any sort of eye contact but it is necessary in order for me to cross the street. The light changes and I walk briskly, he tugs my arm and we’re now in the middle of the street and I’m hoping that a bus hits him:

Slick: “Hey I haven’t seen you in a while. How are you? I walked back into the office one day and you were gone.”

Me: “Well I got a new job and I’m actually on my lunch break that’s about to end.”

Slick: “Alright I won’t keep you. Glad everything is going well and you look great.”

I hand over a fake smile and keep it moving. I lied. I actually had about 30mins left in my lunch break. I go window-shopping and decide to walk the long way back to my office building so I don’t run into him again. Knowing my luck of course, from opposite directions once again we meet in the middle of the sidewalk, right in front of my office building by chance. I’m starting to believe fate is my nemesis…

I am embarrassed by this second encounter but he doesn’t play into it and decides to breeze over the awkwardness. Slick asks me why I hadn’t called him in a while, mentions how he misses me and I explain that I lost his number, though I do not admit it was voluntary. We chat for about 15mins and he talks about his trips to Japan to promote his music and then the conversation takes a detour that I did not expect…

It turns out Slick has 5 kids, one of which is 17 and he downloads how one of his baby mama’s is after him for child support and is greedy. I am wondering how he kept all this from me for all this time and am even more pissed off knowing that not only was he an unabashed player, he also was a father of FIVE from THREE different baby mothers and he was probably hoping I would be the FOURTH!!! Slick gives me his number again and voluntarily I lose it once more! 



Road Kill

One sweltering Sunday afternoon a couple of summers ago, my plans to catch a concert at Central Park got canceled and since I was already dressed up for an occasion, I adventurously accepted the nervous invitation to try out speed dating with my friend, Anna. Prior to getting to the venue, Anna and I stopped to grab a bite to eat as a means of talking each other out of bailing the event. We reassured each other that this was all in fun and it was taking place at a swanky venue in the meatpacking district, which would limit the potential for unsuitable dining partners who site that KFC and Subway got Zagat ratings. Another plus to this event was each date was only to last two minutes long which was long enough to get a basic read on attraction but short enough to have Scotty beam us up if necessary. Perfect ammunition for arm-twisting…needless to say we sold each other up the river!

Anna and I finished up our meal and headed over to the lounge to check in. We were instantly given name tags, rotating instructions (which were similar to the rules of working on a conveyor belt) and scorecards to jot down notes about our various suitors as we hopped from date to date. All these procedural measures made us feel secure that there was indeed a carefully thought-out method to this madness and we were intrigued to see the pool of people that were arranged for this social experiment. Anna and I went over to the bar to scan the room and get a general vibe for the crowd. Turned out this speed dating event was the bingo for the socially inept businessman sans the Cosby endorsed Jell-O pudding. At this point, it was too late to turn back, so we just shared a mutual chuckle and vowed to sit next to each other through hell and hot messes.

The first suitor I got was the “Eye Twitchier”. Even before he introduced himself, his eyes had already played me a symphony. I was distracted and absolutely do not remember anything he had to say. His nervous blink made my eyes water and in an attempt to not be rude, I tried my best to maintain eye contact without developing astigmatism. Two minutes and a Visine outbreak later, I move onto “Preppy” who didn’t even bother to ask anything about me at all but instead, rambled on about his fabulous house in Brooklyn Heights all the while with a Pee-Wee Hermanesque voice and gestures to boot. In my mind, I am atoning all the possible sins I had committed to deserve this. Ding Ding Ding…round over, I gladly move on to “Kumar” who started off the conversation asking if I loved to travel. I was instantly pleased to hear this since it was a nice escape from the Alcatraz of floor plans Preppy constructed in our previous brick wall conversation. Traveling is one of my prized hobbies and I immediately started to talk about the countries I’d recently visited. In a response to my excitement, Kumar mentioned how he had not had much of an opportunity to travel out of the country but he and his cousin were gearing up to travel to Amsterdam because they loved smoking weed so much. Hmmm…instant winning ticket to Areyoufreakingkiddingme!

I thought I had already started to lose my sense of humor along with my patience until I got to “CMF” who really sent my internal alarm off in a frenzy. As his code name suggests, CMF was your average grade A crazy motherfucker! I introduced myself:

Me: Hi, I’m Sophie

CMF: Hi Sophie, I’m Sophie!

Ok the last I knew there wasn’t a talking parrot in the room. I gave an invisible eye roll behind my unassuming eyes and attempted again.

Me: So “Sophie”, what brings you here tonight? Trying this out for the first time like I am?

CMF: Well I’m glad you look nothing like my ex-girlfriend, that crazy bitch! I’m making it a point to not go out with anyone who looks remotely close to her…good thing you’re not Indian or you wouldn’t have a chance with me! The whore left me because I wouldn’t marry her to make her legal!

The whole time CMF was talking, he didn’t blink once. I was now longing for the “Eye Twitchier” to relieve the uneasiness of his intense, inactive stare. In an effort to lighten the excess baggage he had viciously lunged between us, I jokingly pointed out that at least he had a clear vision of how he’d like to move on. CMF went on to tell me that his ex ended up falling for one of his friends. I asked him how long they were together and he mentioned that they dated for about four years. Four years is a long waiting period for any sort of legal papers, citizenship or martial, and it became visibly clear that he also had delusion mixed in with his cocktail of crazy.

I was elated to part ways after this ordeal and managed to drag myself through 13 more of these “eccentric” two minute dates and once we finished, Anna and I nursed our battle wounds with laughter and promised to never subject ourselves to such pain again.

A couple of days later, I received the following message from CMF…

Subject: You Want Me

Folded Arms, You were obviously intimidated by my good looks. I have decided I will allow you 1 extra minute this time for a grand total of 5 minutes of my time.  If you really impress me, next time I might give you 6 minutes. I will be at Bobs this Friday at 7:30pm. At that time, you may claim your 5 minutes and join me for the length of 1 drink only. Good luck. We’ll See, CMF (a.k.a. Sophie RSVP at (777) 777-777 & provide your phone number in case I have to stand you up because I got a better offer.


My obvious lack of response to this message then prompted this follow-up:


Subject: Re: You Want Me

Folded Arms,

I was there on Friday to watch the game and the Olympics opening ceremony, but I guess you didn’t get my email in time. There was a girl that looked a little like you, but I realized at closer range that it wasn’t you because she wasn’t very attractive. When women meet me they pull out all the stops — make-up, dress-to-kill and fix themselves all up. This girl definitely did Not. In addition, she was rolling with a whole crew and that didn’t fit for someone coming to meet me. She made eye-contact with me and so did all the females in her crew, but it’s hard for me to judge based on that because almost all women do.




No need to drop hints for the clueless!!



Sliding Doors

Remember the movie Sliding Doors where the central conflict with Gwyneth Paltrow’s character in the grand skim of her love life is whether or not she catches her train and the consequences that occur from that gained or missed opportunity? Well for me, I dread embarking on the serendipitous journey of catching a train after taking an unexpected detour from my daily route because of Mr. Beckford, an expired item who always resurfaces, like clockwork, in increments of 3yrs in some godforsaken train station that I had not planned on being in.

Upon meeting Mr. Beckford, the story is always the same…See I wouldn’t even be on the train but my car is in the shop…I just got a new job in Soho…I just got a new apartment in Queens….I’m taking time off from my modeling career to start my own business…loose talk after loose talk. With someone with so many prospects and more importantly a “car”, why the hell is he always bouncing back in my life with his perpetual metro card on my damn trains at all hours of the night at random moments?!

Hopping around seems to fit him naturally as he always had a wandering eye like the time I took him to my senior prom where he proceeded to try and kick it to my friends and his lies were as perfectly tailored as his suit. I know Biggie once said, “Tell your friends to get with my friends and we can be friends” but mama don’t play that!! The only thing big about poppa was his ego and it seems to have grown even larger ever since.  So, it is no surprise why running into this hobo is always with great hesitation.

Mr. Beckford always likens our spontaneous meetings as being fate or destiny while I’m simultaneously plotting how I’m going to get my ass OFF the train…do I pull the emergency cord or duck between the sliding doors when a panhandler passes through?Whatever I try and do to avert the awkward moment where he wants to see if we can “catch up” again never seems to work because there are only so many excuses and broken cell phones in the world that eventually beckon an eyebrow raise. So being classy, I oblige the number exchange without the intention of ever saving it and stockpile messages till the next cold encounter.

It is almost that time of year again. I’m hoping fate leads me to stand clear of the closing doors on past disappointments once the clock strikes 3…