I like to think that I’m less picky about men than other women because I really don’t care about a man’s height or how much money he has in the bank or what kind of car he drives. I learned a long time ago that none of that matters in the grand scheme of things. But what my recent dating experiences tell me is that maybe it is easier to find a “Mr Right” that has all of those material or superficial things than it is to find someone that I can really and truly connect with.

In the past month, I’ve been on two dates and had conversations with two other “possibles” beyond that. All of this activity has been through online dating. Though I’ve been putting my happy black woman spirit out there more often when I go out, lately what I’ve been attracting are men that are way too old to be looking at me like that. Like older than my mom. Ew.

But back to my dates. I tend to have a good time on most of my dates, just because I’m the type of person that makes any outing fun, unless the person I’m with is such a downer that they keep me from enjoying myself. Typically if a man makes it beyond the “possible” stage, then I already know I’ll probably have fun with him. I should tell you more about my stages of online dating another day.

The Southern Gentleman

So anyway, I had a date with a guy from South Carolina, who we’ll call The Southern Gentleman, because he was really a sweetheart. Almost too sweet actually. We met on OK Cupid and his pictures showed him to be this tall, strong, chocolate delight. In person, he was tall, but a lot less masculine than his photos indicated. He showed up in skinny jeans and a shirt that may or may not have had sparkles in it. OK, cool. That must be his style. Then we went dancing. He was a really good dancer. Too good. Like stripper good. Like how did he learn how to slow whine better than me? And finally, there was the high-than-normal voice and the hand gestures. Now, I’m all for getting rid of black male stereotypes, but I don’t ever want to have to wonder if my man…um, likes men. Needless to say, when he contacted me to go out again, I politely declined and wished him well.

The Black Socrates

The second date was a lot more complicated. We’ll call him the Black Socrates since he’s a PhD student studying philosophy. We met on Match.com in March and clicked instantly with eerily similar tastes in music, books, travel, education. We talked on the phone for hours at a time. But he lives in Pennsylvania while I’m in DC, so it was always a slim chance that we would actually meet, but we kept in touch just the same. We finally got a chance to get together when he came to visit friends in DC a couple weeks ago. And again, there was that instant click. We laughed and had drinks and danced and danced. He was fine online and fine in person. Only thing is, at 29, he has no real job to speak of and virtually no idea what he wants to do with his life after school or even during school. But even with his lack of professional ambition, he’s still smarter and more interesting than 99% of the men I’ve met and dated. Including the rocket scientist.

I won’t even get into the “possibles” right now. They don’t really matter individually, but collectively what my dating experiences keep reinforcing to me that I’m not necessarily looking for Mr. Right. I’m not necessarily looking for a man that already has it all together – a steady job, a car, his own place, a five year plan – all those arbitrary things that men think women care about. What I’m looking for is a meaningful connection with a Mr. Right for me. And that’s actually much, much harder to come by.

It’s been a weird week. Two of my exes emailed me and I ran into another one while I was having lunch with a friend on Saturday. And just like that, I’m going back, back down memory lane…

***

It’s the year 2000 and I’ve just moved to Virginia after being in Hawaii for six years. It’s the year of Dave Hollister’s Chicago ’85…The Movie on repeat. I’m still wearing weaves down my back and hoochie mama clothes like I’m still in the damn tropics. I meet C at a club while we’re dancing to the Percolator. He’s a nice boy, and even though he’s a few sandwiches short of a picnic, the fact that he worships the ground I walk on keeps us together for about a year.

Earlier this week, C emails me (at my business email address, so I know he must have Googled me) with this subject line:

“Hello there nubian princess”

I didn’t even know people still said this. Maybe it’s my hair. Anyway, he goes on to say, “I just wanted to congratulate you on all your successes in life.” How nice. For a split second, I think about writing back “thank you,” then decide that I don’t really want to start up an email chain with an ex-boyfriend from 10 years ago. But I did say it in my head.

***

And then it’s early 2006. I’ve just broken off my engagement to K, and I’m not yet ready for anything but learning how to live on my own again. Then I meet A, who was the epitome of everything I would have wanted at the time…if I had wanted anything, that is. He had beautiful locs down his back and a smile to match. I think we met on Myspace, when Myspace was full of cuties that you’d actually want to date. His only flaw was that he smoked marijuana, and yeah I know weed’s from the earth, but it’s still a drug, people. And I just cannot date a pothead without wondering if he’s high while we’re talking on the phone. We date for a few months until I do something stupid that I can’t even remember now. But I know that whatever I did, it was probably just to avoid telling him that I didn’t like his drug habit.

When I get a glimpse of A having lunch at Eatonville, I do a double take. He waves. I wave back. And wonder if that’s his girlfriend sitting across from him. I don’t have to wonder long, though, because they come by our table on their way out. The girl is his friend in town from Chicago and we start chatting it up about nonprofits since apparently she is starting one in DC. He asks me how I’ve been. He’s standing above me with those long locs laying over his shoulder as perfect as they wanna be. He says, “I see you finally went natural,” AND THEN PROCEEDS TO TOUCH MY HAIR. Lawdamercy. At this point I basically zone out as he continues to talk. I’d meant to casually throw out an invitation to get together some time, but my brain must’ve realized that wasn’t such a good idea, so the words never made it to my lips. It was nice to see him, though.

***

Finally, we come to the summer of 2007. I meet J on Craigslist at a time in my life when I hadn’t really been seeing anyone seriously for a while. I wanted some stability, and he was it. We dated for almost a year, within which time we moved in together in a big 2 bedroom apartment in Laurel, Maryland. I wasn’t into the relationship as much as I could’ve been, but I was so heavily focused on my career at that point and I told myself I needed something low maintenance.

I don’t exactly miss J, but I do miss the life we had created together. He was the kind of person who wouldn’t let me be a total workaholic. He made me slow down and watch a funny movie or go for a night out dancing at the club and leave work alone for a while. When we moved in together, he even found a cleaning lady to come help us keep up the house since I was so busy at work and traveling all the time for my consulting business on the side.

J emails me this weird message this week:

Hello Rosetta- If possible, and if you still remember the password to the yahoo account we had together can you delete that acct if possible. I have no idea what we set the password to and Im still getting reminders from the accounts calenders.

Um, seriously? We broke up in late 2008. So you’re telling me you’ve been getting my calendar reminders for over a year and just now contacting me for the account password? How strange. I try to figure out the real motive behind his message and end up not writing him back at all. In any case, I can’t even remember my address from 2007, let alone an account password that we created back then.

***

And now it’s 2010. I’m on my way home from taking myself out to dinner at Ted’s Montana Grill when this song catches me off guard on the radio.

Now I love Eric Benet and all, but his new joint hits a little too close to home. It makes me wonder about what could have been, what my life would be like now if I had stuck it out with any of my exes, really. What might have happened if we’d tried a little harder?

It’s a song about moving on, but a little bit about regret, too. A fitting way, I suppose, to end the week of the ex.

Now I understand why he didn’t call.

One thing I’ve learned about online dating is that whenever someone uses the word “slightly,” it usually means that the problem is significant, but they’re just trying to downplay it. Same thing with the disabled man. I wish I had a better name for him. Let’s call him K.

After K emails to tell me about his disability, I do some quick research on cerebral palsy. I find out that it takes many forms. I learn that cerebral refers to the cerebrum, the affected area of the brain, and that palsy refers to disorder of movement. I want to be knowledgeable and aware when I call him.

But let me back up a minute.

My gut said not to call him. My gut said it’s hard enough dating a “normal” man, why would I want this additional complication? My gut said “on to the next one.”  But maybe I wanted proof that my gut was right.

So I call him. As soon as K answers the phone, I hear it. His slur is definitely noticeable, though probably not as pronounced as it could be. At least I can understand him, and can even detect a slight southern accent beneath the slur. We talk about our interests, our careers, our families. I don’t want to pry, so I just say, “You must have had to overcome a lot of challenges to get to where you are today.”

I want to hear about his disability and how he’s able to live a normal life. He tells me about how his brothers and sisters were his support system growing up. How his parents were the best ever. He doesn’t mention anything about kids teasing him or bad luck with women. He does tell me about his father committing suicide a few years ago, right after he moved to DC, which is how I lost my own father. The amazing thing is that there’s no bitterness in anything he says. Despite K’s disability, he has the most positive outlook on life. The lawyer definitely could’ve taken a lesson from his book.

And so could I.

My girl Vivrant Thang said it best:

You never know what lesson that man may be in your life to teach you. Reason, season, lifetime.

K may have shown up in my life to remind me to choose happiness in all aspects of my life, even where I feel God has dealt me a bad hand. You just make the most of what you have and appreciate the journey.

Although K may have a lot of life lessons to teach me, I know we could never be more than friends. Even though he sounds pretty well-adjusted, the way his voice sounds makes me think he’s mentally slow, which I know he is not. It’s the perception that makes me pity him, and I would never want to date someone I feel sorry for.

I can also tell that he’d be a pushover. During my younger days, I learned how to manipulate men and got really good at being able to tell if someone is a “mark.” K is definitely the type of man that would do anything for a woman. But since I’m no longer in that stage of my life, I don’t want to be with someone who will do whatever I say. I want someone who sees themselves as my equal. Already, he is agreeing with everything I say, saying we “must be twins” because we have so much in common. Too much in common, actually. Which is kind of weird.

After a while, I start feeling like that one scene from Coming to America:

Akeem: What do you like to do?
Bride to be: Whatever you like.
Akeem: What kind of music do you like?
Bride to be: Whatever kind of music you like.

Everything I say I like, he likes. Everything I say I like to do, he likes to do. Either he’s just really a “go with the flow” kinda guy or he just wants to connect with a woman, any woman, on whatever level she will allow him to.

In the end, I realize that I probably shouldn’t go on a date with him at all. One date would set up an expectation for another. I’ve had enough experience with men falling in love with me overnight, so I know this would not end well. And I don’t believe in offering friendship to a man as a consolation prize, so it’s either all or nothing with me.

This time, it’s gonna have to be nothing.