I am not what one might call a morning person. I recently accepted a long-term, temporary position in DC so I’ve been dragging my butt out of bed at 7:00am–and yes, that is too damn early for me–and driving a little over an hour five days a week to get to work. The only way I can get through it is by listening to the Tom Joyner Morning Show. The music and comedy of the TJMS does a lot to make my mornings more tolerable, but a few months ago one of their bits hit a little too close to home. Dominique, the show’s regularly featured comedienne was giving her commentary about Kenya Moore’s search for a husband on the Real Housewives of Atlanta. She said that Kenya took too much time being fine and now that she’s 42, her “man snatching” days are over. I’ve never watched an episode, but from what I hear the former Miss America sounds like she’s gone a little cra-cra. Even so, if that beauty’s “man snatching” days are over, then certainly mine are gone with the wind. After all, it’s been just about one year since I started my Love Quest and I am still just as single as ever.
At this point, I’ve still got about a month until my Match.com subscription expires and approximately another four months on AfroRomance.com, but once that ends I think I’ve got to try something else. I can’t explain why online dating seems to work for countless other people, but hasn’t worked at all for me. In fact, just recently a black female acquaintance of mine who is only interested in dating non-black men met someone on Chemistry.com. She got a few great responses as soon as she joined and met a tall, attractive, professional French-Canadian within a matter of weeks. He’s travels from the DC area to see her and they go on fabulous dates where he absolutely insists on paying for everything. She’s even spoken to his parents on the phone, so I assume they know that she’s black and they are perfectly fine with it.
Just like that.
Granted, this woman is still in her mid to late thirties and wants to have children, so she’s playing against better odds. I asked her to look over my profile anyway since she’s had such success and give me her honest opinion. Here’s how our conversation went:
FRIEND (who never shows her DDD cups in photos): Men won’t take you seriously unless you remove that picture of yourself in the swimsuit and I think the clutter surrounding you is distracting.
ME: I’m wearing a tasteful one-piece at the beach and it looks like I’m having fun. Considering my ongoing battle with household clutter, if someone reading my profile is turned off over that, it’s probably for the best.
FRIEND (sporting a long, straight hair weave): You only have one photo that really shows your hair. A lot of white men who date black women find natural hair attractive.
ME: So I’ve heard. It’s funny, I get lots of admiring comments about my hair from other women, but as I recall, the last man who did so kinda looked like Mudfoot Brown from Fat Albert.
FRIEND (who used to work in marketing): Your written section is too long. Cut out at least 100 words and try to create a cohesive theme that connects your username, your self-description, and the kind of man you want. That would make for a very compelling read.
ME: Yeah, OK. Men always flip for women who can really turn a phrase.
I was giving her a hard time for someone who asked for her advice, so I did make a few more changes with her comments in mind. Nevertheless, all I ever seem to attract are these wimpy Beta males with no swag whatsoever. I went on a few dates with a lonely Greek who seemed like he barely left his house since his divorce, I chatted with a computer geek who laughed like Sheldon from the Big Bang Theory and spent almost all of his free time operating ham radios, and I cut short my last conversation with a nomadic construction worker once he said he lived with his mom and recently got a DUI on his way home from the casino. I can’t believe this is the best I can do. What a waste of make-up, a perfectly good winter date outfit and hours spent in my most uncomfortable pair of Spanx.
My swim in the shallow end of the dating pool made me reconsider my quest until I read The High Price of Being Single in America. As it turns out, single women are getting screwed and I don’t mean that in the good way. This article claims that over a lifetime an unmarried woman can pay as much as a million dollars more than her married counterparts in healthcare, taxes, Social Security and more. Their research is admittedly flimsy but the discrepancies most certainly exist. It’s no coincidence that just before Valentine’s Day of 2010 the Huffington Post published another article by Angela Stanley that examines not only the economic but also the professional and emotional costs of being single.
I know we are all sick and tired of articles and studies about the plight of the single black woman in America, but before you turn into Evilene from The Wiz and start singing “Don’t Nobody Bring Me No Bad News!” allow me to argue that Stanley makes a very valid point in her final paragraph:
“With noticeable differences regarding the workplace, insurance rates, health and monetary benefits, taxation, and social norms and a population of people unable to marry, it’s time to rethink those norms and accommodate a changing society that no longer consists of a married majority. It’s unfair to reward the life choices of some and not others when all are valid realities that should be treated as such.”
In such a marriage and family-oriented society, I don’t see any kind of accommodations for singles happening anytime soon and black women are still marrying at the lowest rate among all groups (with the legal right) in America. Do you think it’s true that marrieds have it better than singles or is this just another case of the grass looking greener on the other side?