Thursday, May 20, 2010


So folks, Betsy is trying something relatively new—dating. I’ve been a terrible dater, making me habitually single. There wasn’t even a reason (i.e. not meeting men, being asked out); I just didn’t date. Lovelies, that’s about to change.

I’m working on a new project centered on relationships/dating and as part of the research, I’ll be going on bonafide dates. And, some folks have already cosigned this social experiment so holler if you’re down to participate.

My story: I met a fellow recently and went out with him for three reasons: he had an accent (a plus in my book), I had free time, and he had a luxury vehicle. The latter is shallow, oh-so-shallow, but I wanted so ride around in a ride instead of antiquated mass transit, especially late at night when there is always construction. I wasn’t trying to husband-up the dude; just have a good time. And folks, don’t front like you’ve never gone out with someone just because they had a _____ (fill in your answer here).

Anyway, when we met, he was amicable. Ditto for phone conversations, though they were more on the pleasantly parched side. Still, I went out with him giving him the benefit of the doubt. Perhaps, he’s not a phone person, I thought, trying to justify the doldrums attached to speaking with him. I should have known something was up when he couldn’t even make a decision as to where he wanted to meet. He said, “Downtown.” Where the heck is that? I’m not a hooker or a police officer on patrol. After much teeth pulling, he came up with a specific location. We linked and were off. Ol’ boy made a restaurant suggestion, presenting it with such flourish that it was almost impossible to decline—but you know I did—so I offered up another suggestion and went somewhere I knew I could at least get a good meal.

Besides the fact that he rolled up shades when we met at 9 p.m., which I thought was to impress me, ol’ boy kept them on throughout dinner as well. Perhaps I missed the night-sun memo. But wait, the date became better when he invited his homeboy to join us. LOL. And he accepted the offer so you know what happens? I start thinking I would rather be on the date with him (not that I was bowled over by him but at least he was without shades in the dark and seemed more relaxed). As I dined with ol’ boy, my thoughts alternated between writing this blog and going back to the restroom to text this other fellow ☺ I felt like good girl gone bad.

Eventually the date ended when I had ol’ boy drop me off at a friend’s birthday soiree. He totally wanted to join me, but since I didn’t know what to expect of the party and didn’t want to spend any more time with him, a great big hug ended the evening. Now it’s time to delete his contact info.

Got a story to share? Holler.

Lata Lovelies
-Betsy “Baller” Ice

Thursday, May 13, 2010


People at work are hysterical. Even as a professional working adult, I have to choose sides like this is The Amazing Race. Perhaps it is and work really is a jungle.

The story: There’s a fellow that I’m cool with. We have lunch occasionally. I’ve always gotten the I-want-to-be-more-than-colleagues vibe from him, but downplayed, or rather, outright ignored it, naively thinking that things would be cool and he would get the hint. And it was working—until he saw me out with a few other colleagues. His ire was barely contained and though he pulled me to the side for some choice words (mostly related to the group I was with), I could feel the tension and disappointment emanating from his body.
He talked. I listened, and sometimes I even concurred. I told him that we were cool, assuring him that it was the first time I was with these folks socially and me hanging out with them had nothing to do with him. Different people, different events, different everything.

I thought everything was alright…until he laid the I’m-feeling-you-like-a-girlfriend line on me. I wondered, Girlfriend? This brother doesn’t even know me like that. Without mincing words, I let him know that I only saw him as a colleague, someone that I am amicable with. I didn’t even use the word friend. Through his tipsy haze, he understood and asked that I call him when I got home to let him know I was in safely. I agreed.

I sent a text to him a few hours later letting him know all was well and I was home safely. Now, it was around 2 a.m. and ol’ boy must have had my number on speed dial because no less than three minutes later, he called. I let it go to voicemail. What on earth did he want to talk about at that hour.

When the sun was up—way up—I responded saying I would call him at some point over the weekend. I did, the following day and left a message when his voicemail kicked. Guess the conversation wasn’t so urgent after all. When I got to work, I sent him a text letting him know I was stepping out for a bit. No response. Now I get it. He’s mad and ignoring me. This I know to be true because every other time I’ve reached out, he’s hollered back ASAP.

I wasn’t accepting BFF applications anyway, but find it strange how people carry on in the workplace. I mean, can’t I be Switzerland? Anyone else ever found themselves caught between folks? Holler!

Lata Lovelies,
-Betsy “Baller” Ice