The Politics of Love & Fuckery…


I go to work. I go to the gym. I go to the grocery store. These places have not netted the best dating prospects, so, I turned to the Internet for a suitable mate. Not just or I shelled out big bucks to find the guys that are “serious.” Yep, I turned to After sorting through, literally, hundreds, of potential suitors, I was intrigued by a British guy named Simon.

What a catch! Simon is a few years older than I am, non-smoker, no kids, he’s smart, fun, financially stable, spends his free time playing rugby, canvasses for Obama votes, he’s well-travelled and has an English accent. Swoon!

Dating Simon was like something out of a fairytale. For our second date, he invited me over for dinner. We rode his Harley to a lake where he rented a boat so we could watch the sunset in all its romantic glory. Then, he brought me back home, poured me a glass of wine and started to cook dinner. And not just spaghetti and meatballs. He could burn! I was so impressed. I ignored the fact that a bat-sized roach scurried across the wall after I kissed him goodnight and that he had a Confederate flag magnet on his fridge. Must have been an old roommate’s, right?

For our second date, he took me to the mountains for a music festival. We stayed in what he called a ‘Bed & Breakfast.’ This place was more like a castle. Beautiful gardens, waterfalls, gourmet cookies on the bed, the works. This is what dating is supposed to be about! I ignored the fact that he spent a good part of the weekend checking out other women, trying to score weed and had gotten so drunk that he told me how he had once been arrested for beating the hell out of a taxi driver. He didn’t so much remember telling me that story the next day.

Over the next few weeks, he met my parents, we went to the beach, I met some of his rugby mates and he even started planning a trip to London because his parents just had to meet me. Hey, Simon, that sounds great but who left all those cigarette butts by your sink. You don’t smoke, right?

The more comfortable Simon got with me, the more he started to slip-up. Turns out, Simon is a smoker. He had been married. It was clear he had money, but not so clear what he did to make it. He did drugs. Real drugs. When I asked him to get tested for STDs he presented a clean bill of health, which I wasn’t entirely sure he hadn’t printed out himself. The more time I spent with Simon, the more I realized he had very little in common with his own eHarmony profile.

I decided to break it off with Simon, but it would have to be done in person. He wouldn’t really accept a simple “thanks for playing” text message. Afterall, he had “waited two lifetimes for a girl like me.” So, I went out to watch him play rugby and planned to break it off at the end of the day. I even started to feel sorry for him as he proudly waved to me from the field.

After the game, we went to a pub with some of his friends and he announces that he has joined the McCain campaign. That is it! I lost it. If he wants to support John McCain, that’s his business. But he specifically made a point to me, my family and my friends that he was working for Obama. This shit right here must stop.

I sat Simon down, told him that he had clearly misrepresented himself about a variety of things and that I had seen enough. He begged. He pleaded. He cried. Finally, he admitted he had lied and apologized, yet still felt justified in his actions and said to me, with a straight face, “how am I supposed to get a girl like you if I don’t lie?”

Oh, yes he did.

Despite Simon being white, I had to stop myself from standing up on my own chair and shouting, “Negro, please!” This was my cue to ride out. I pulled my little self together long enough to gather my things, say goodbye, get in my car and laugh all the way home. I sure can pick ‘em.


Like Leezy’s take on love, check out Finkies’ story from yesterday!


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