I truly wonder why I still bother to participate in the ultimate tournament of dating. Unlike other aspects of my life, I haven’t been able to crack the code that would yield a positive outcome. I have been doing this for almost 10 years and this is one area in life where experience doesn’t seem to matter. Folks claim that experience is supposed to give you an edge, a repository of wisdom, a bank of knowledge – all supposed to give you a stronger armor to shield you against the parasites ready to suck on your happiness, confidence, and contentment over cheap drinks. I have yet to reap the fruits of countlessly dating.  But here I am purchasing a new dress for another first date, debating whether to go with a  smokey eye with red lipstick or soft glam, and visualizing the hair style that will impress this candidate. One …

These days I wonder when I ever put out into the universe that I was interested in becoming some sort of commentator, talk show host, podcaster, or any other profession that requires constant conversations to no end. Did I accidentally pray to become someone’s permanent unauthorized therapist? Did I imply to God that I would like to be engaged in a perpetual loop of useless good morning texts and how was your day messages? I took stock of all the male creatures I have engaged with this year and suddenly found myself assessing how I ended up in the realm of endless text messages. When I embarked on this journey called dating, I certainly never anticipated that these creatures would enjoy so much useless conversation. I thought they were like me – that they would be interested in evolving from talking to actually establishing an actual relationship – whether casual …