DWE: Dating-While-Educated

 

These days, a college degree is the new high school diploma. With Everest college and Education Connection, going to college isn’t special anymore. Everybody and their mama, and Ray Ray, and their sister-cousin-friend are in college, going to school, or my favorite “trying to do something with my life.” Don’t get me wrong, it’s not like that’s bad or anything, but how’s a girl supposed to weed out the educated men when almost all men are in college? Now at this point you may be asking, aren’t they educated men if they’re in college? Well, this used to be the case. Not anymore.

College used to be reserved for the brothers who really wanted to make something of themselves typically in the business, law, or medical sector and had the cojones to back it up. Today, the more guys I meet in college, the more I’m convinced colleges and universities are accepting anyone with some, and I repeat, some high school education. Now I know it’s a tough economy, but damn have a little selectivity. This isn’t my bougie girl talking either.

I mean a couple weeks ago I met a fairly decent young man in his senior year at a credible university who asked me did I have a tongue ring....like...what...the...f@*&%? This isn’t the first time I’ve been accosted by an “educated” man. Another fairly decent young man at an accredited university told me the reason why he was single because it’s, and I quote, “money over b******.” Serious face. Now how in the hell am I supposed to meet my future Mr. Obama when men, and I use that term loosely, such as these are in college?

My point exactly. If anything, weeding out educated men isn’t really the task on the agenda; it’s more finding any educated men in college. I’ve been to several college parties where I’m astonished that universities are handing out degrees to these guys. The only conversation you can provide me with is where you party? What happened to current events and hobbies? Once again, a college degree is the new high school diploma. Everybody’s getting one so why don’t you get one too? (Completely and totally making a sarcastic joke here, by the way)

Now you understand my plight of dating-while-educated. You’d assume that you’d be able to meet or at least run into a couple clearly-going-to-own-his-own-business-empire kind of men. Quite the contrary. I still meet men in college who are excited by my intelligence, as if being intelligent is not a requirement for college (obviously). It’s like, are you not used to meeting intelligent girls in college..? Actually now that I think about it, that’s quite understandable since I’m not used to meeting desirable, intelligent, black men who are in college either.

I gladly attached the DWE sticker to my ass when I accepted my offer to university (as the Brits say) over 3 years ago. But now I just want to rip it off. Dating-while-educated has proven to be more of a cheap bumper sticker than a gleaming badge of honor. S***, everyone’s DWE. (and DUI in most cases I know)

 

Deep Conditioning

 

“Long hair, don’t care” the boys preach as I reach for the $4.99 creamy crack. Every 2 months. 8 weeks. 56 days. A lifetime of addiction. Well, I wouldn’t call it an addiction per se. Well, maybe. Merely one of life’s necessities, like food or water. A black woman’s necessity. Soft & Beautiful Just For Me. You see, I must scratch the “good hair” itch, while my natural-haired peers ridicule my requirement. Merely rooted from a shallow desire or stemmed from a deep-seeded dislike, they assume. Quite the contrary. 

Must I debate with my dreaded, locked, afro-sporting sisters because I hadn’t experienced the damaging effects of permanents? They had been beat down and tore up.  From broken ends to a lack of hair growth to scalp burns, these women chose to end their relationship with relaxers because of the abuse they endured. But, the creamy crack had been good to me. The creamy crack treated me well and I had no reason to call it quits and move on. My hair was long, thick, and nicely moisturized. A success story of a relaxer? Possibly. Most girls can’t believe it. Can’t believe it to the extent to which they see it fit to contest why my “good hair” will only last so long. As if my creamy crack will one day turn its back on me and leave me bald headed and regretful. To their disappointment, my creamy crack and I are forever. 

Do I suffer through the discomfort of the ammonium thioglycolate in a simple-minded attempt to assimilate? Do I relax my texture to soften the blows of those not of my culture? Yes, I thin my thick roots. I crave employment. I fixate over easy mornings. I obsess over broken combs. But no, I’m not enslaved by my addiction. Merely infatuated. A case of deep conditioning is all.