WHITE GIRLZ

Being a “Serial Dater” it’s almost a certainty that some of my dates would have had to be with women other than those of color. Thinking back on it, there definitely was some cream in my cache of coffee. But not as much as one might think.

I’ve never really been a huge interracial dating kinda person. Not that I’m against it, but it’s just that it has never been a priority of mine. If the opportunity presented itself so be it, but if not than I keep it movin’ all systems go. I suppose it would’ve been a different scenario if I was a high paid celebrity/athlete or if I had graduated from some top D1 university. It’s just a numbers game then, but for me that wasn’t the case.

In actuality the Serial One didn’t even date his first white girl until he was in his thirties. You can say I had a late start. Back in my prime time fucking years (not to be confused with my prime time fucking years now) I was always a lot more critical of white girls. They had to have met certain criteria for me to have even looked at them and that included:

1. Growing up around Black folk (there is nothing more annoying than having to explain everything to someone not of your culture like you some damn science experiment)
2. Having Black friends (I damn sure don’t wanna be the Jackie Robinson of your friend circle and be your first exposure)
3. Must have a body like a black chick (in other words, she would have to have curves and a bodacious bootie)
4. Can cook soul food (this is a prerequisite) and lastly,
5. Can hold her own around other Black women (that passive shit is for the birds)

Really, my very first white girl experience happened in high school and I didn’t even know it was happening. I was in my sophomore year attending Milford Mill High School (Now Milford Mill Academy) and a friend of mine was kickin’ it with this chick Lisa Byrd. Being boyz, we always had to hook each other up with a friend and this time was no different.

Lisa Byrd was black and a decent looking sister to boot. When she said she had a friend for me to meet, I assumed birds of a feather flocked together. She was cool and pretty easy on the eyes, so her girl must be the same. She hooked it up and gave me her girl’s number. When she told me that her girl’s name was Jennifer, I started asking niggas from Woodmoor (that’s where they lived) what was up with the chick Jennifer that hung out with Lisa Byrd. Dudes I knew would say, “Oh, you talkin’ about White Gurl Jenny, she cool.”

Now from what I heard, everybody called her “White Gurl Jenny.” That was her name around the way. I never really thought nothing of it. There was a dude that I knew and we called him “White Boy Mike” on account of his extreme light skinned complexion. I figured Jenny’s case was the same or maybe she went to private school or spoke proper – hence White Gurl Jenny.

When we spoke on the phone, she seemed to be one down ass sistah and we hit it off well. Lisa had told her that I was cute and from what I heard about her through the grapevine, she was fucking. So, as far as I was concerned perfect match (lol). Because I lived in the inner city and she lived out in suburbs in Woodmoor, we made plans for me to catch the bus and come out there to see her.

I was geeked and got myself fresh to def for the trip. She told me what she was going to be wearing and that she’d meet me at the bus stop. When I got off the bus, I didn’t immediately see her and was a little disappointed. However, I did see this white girl with red hair. We looked briefly at one another and then the realization sunk in – “White” Girl Jenny. She really was white, as in Caucasian. I was a little disappointed because I never really had a thing for white girls. But we hung out for a while and then I bounced.

Shortly after that time, Jenny’s parents began to notice the complexion of the neighborhood changing (Black folk on the come up) and decided, like most of their neighbors, it was time to get with the sprawl and move further out into the suburbs (white flight). So I lost contact with Jenny.

Flash Forward

We all know about my most recent snow bunny experience (see: Ford Escort story) and there was another lil hottie with that “ill na-na” in Pontiac, Michigan. But between the age of 15, when I had the experience with Jenny, and age 30 I never dated a woman outside of my race (with the exception of that one Puerto Rican chick, which don’t really count and that Asian stripper, but that was just bonin’).

Naw, my first real date with a white woman came around age 30 or 31. She lived in Sterling, VA and I had met her via Black Planet. When we first communicated, I tried to make it sound like I was hella worldly and the race issue wasn’t a thing, but the truth was, other than work I hadn’t even communicated directly to a white woman. So this truly was uncharted territory for me (much like an unsuspecting girlfriend trying anal for the first time – you just don’t know what to expect).

We made plans to hook up on a Friday night. To keep her in her comfort zone, I agreed to meet her in Northern VA at a popular sports bar/pool hall called, Fast Eddies. Those from the area know Fast Eddies be poppin’ on Thursday nights. But Fridays were kinda live too. I got there first and posted up at the bar.

Shortly afterwards in walked my date for the evening. She was kinda thick like a black woman, had long blonde hair and was sorta on the attractive side. Had she been just a tad bit slimmer, white boys woulda been all over her. She came in the spot and greeted me with a hug. I could tell by the vibe that she wasn’t particularly keen on my height. Ya boy is only 5’ 7” 185lbs. And she was 5’ 4” (I would find out later that she was indeed a height groupie, but that’s cool. I’m definitely not everybody’s cup of tea. Serial is an acquired taste (lol).

Height groupie or not, she was cool about it and decided to see the date through. We copped a meal and a couple of drinks at the bar at Fast Eddies. When the bill came, I knew the drilly and immediately started to dig in my pockets. But then something unusual happened. The heavens broke, the rain stopped and a lone dove appeared. In other words, she waved me off, reached into her purse and pulled out some loot to cover the tab (including the tip). I was in awe. ;o)

After Fast Eddies, we were both down to keep the date going, so we decided to see what was poppin’ off in Old Town Alexandria. She even offered to drive, which was cool with me (I did drive all the way down an hour from Baltimore). Though I was pushin’ the gold Nissan Pathfinder, she was whippin an immaculate milky white Legend with butter soft leather seats a serious sound system. So I wasn’t minding being a passenger at all.

We hit Old Town Alexandria (she paid for the parking garage) and went to check out this microbrewery. At the microbrewery we decided to both try out the beer sampler. The sampler was a round tray containing five moderately sized glasses of the brewery’s beer ranging from light to dark. We had one of these samplers apiece.

{Totals thus far:

Serial Dater – 3 drinks at Fast Eddies (one before she walked in) + 5 Drinks at the microbrewery = 8 drinks total

Ms. White But Alright – 2 drinks at Fast Eddies + 5 Drinks at the microbrewery = 7 drinks total}

After the microbrewery we were laughing and having a good time and decided to walk up to the street to this Irish Pub. I’m thinking to myself, great more drinks…when does fucking come into the picture. But the Serial one is never the party pooper, so I went with the flow and hit the pub with Snow White.

I have to say, other than TV, I’ve never seen that many white people in one place at one time. It was like a damn N’Sync concert or sumpthin. The Rock music was blaring as we entered the pub. I looked around for any chocolate chips in the house and found one on the other side of the room. But judging from the looks of him, he’d been crossed over and probably had less in common with me than my white date. We went to the bar and ordered two more drinks. Being that I was in an Irish Pub, I ordered a tall Killians.

I decided to see what else was happing in the pub, so I left my date and went upstairs to check the place out. The entire pub was on jam. It was wall-to-wall white people. One could hardly move. I got another beer at the bar upstairs and then headed back down to find my date. She was still at the bar. When I got over to where she was at, she started to order us some more drinks. I quickly passed on the refill. I could already feel the decrease in viable brain cells. So we talked some more, listened to some music that normally wouldn’t get any burn in my CD player and then we bounced.

{Up-to-date Totals:

Serial Dater – 3 drinks (two mixed and one beer) at Fast Eddies + 5 beers at the microbrewery + 2 beers at the Irish Pub = 10 drinks total

Ms. White But Alright – 2 drinks at Fast Eddies + 5 Drinks at the microbrewery + 2 beers at the Irish Pub = 9 drinks total}

By the time we got back to where my truck was parked on Fast Eddies parking lot it was about 2 a.m. The pool hall was closed and mine was the only ride on the lot. She pulled up next to it. As we said our goodbyes, I was hoping that she was going to be instructing me to follow her home, but no such luck. She gave me a church hug and friendship peck and with that I exited her car and waved goodbye. We went through the motions and talked of hooking up again, but I knew that wasn’t going to happen, as did she. I sat in my truck and watched her leave.

A funny thing happened as I sat in my truck and started the ignition…the realization hit that I was drunk. And I ain’t talking tipsy saying stupid shit out yo mouth drunk, I’m talking multiple and blurred vision drunk. As I stated before I’m only 185 lbs. and the 185 was no match for 10 drinks. I was straight throwed.

{Editor's note: Never think that you can drink with white people. They are genetically inclined to ingest and handle alcohol. I've attempted to do this on a number of occassions with friends and co-workers and I cannot hang in drinking with white people. And don't get me wrong, I can drink (I'm college tested). Even several of my Black friends have expressed similiar sentiments. White people's tolerance for liquor is off the freakin' meter.}

Not ever one to chance my life, I decided it would be a great idea to not drive at that time. Being a Serial Dater, I’d made friends throughout Virginia, DC and Maryland, so I decided to call some of them. It was about 2:30 pm and I started calling every brawd I knew that lived in the area. Somebody was gonna have to let me crash at they spot.

One by one I got either no answer or the answering service. I couldn’t believe my luck. Of all nights, brawds all of sudden wanna have social lives. I was beside myself and drunk. So I did the only thing I could do, I locked the doors, laid the seat back and went to sleep. Shit, Baltimore was a whole hour and 10 minutes away and I wouldn’t have made it.

As I lay and began to nod off, I thought about it and I couldn’t believe that bitch never called to see if I was okay and made it home safely. There definitely wouldn’t be a second date. Moments later (actually I’d been sleep to about 4 a.m.) my cellie started ringing and woke me from my drunken slumber. I peeped the caller ID and it was Ms. Remy Martin. She was one of the gang of folk I’d called earlier.

Ms. Remy Martin: Whazzup Serial, you rang?

Serial Dater: Yeah I called to see if you were home.

Ms. Remy Martin: I was out at club, at H2O when you called. Whazzup?

Serial Dater: I called because I’m in the neighborhood and I’m kinda drunk. I was looking for a place to crash tonight. You got me?

Ms. Remy Martin: You know I got you. You can come over and crash at my spot. How far away are you?

Serial Dater: Bout 15 minutes.

Ms. Remy Martin: Are you okay to drive? Or do you need me to come get you?

Serial Dater: I’m good. I slept some of the drunk off. I’ll see you in a lil bit.


I hung up the phone and was in the wind to Ms. Remy Martin’s house. She lived just on the DC / Maryland state line, which wasn’t far at all. I really appreciated the fact that she had my back, because on the real – I was fucked up. I’m actually surprised that I didn’t throw up in the whip.

I made it to her house in good time. When I got there, Ms. Remy Martin helped me out of my clothes and into her bed. I was going to try to get some ass, but I was too twisted to skeet (lol). I slept horribly that night (her bed was so high off the floor and then there was that damn cat). The next morning, I was sick as a dog. I kept shitting and was nauseous as a muthafucker. She got me some ginger ale and some Pepto. I tried to get back in her bed, but the altitude kept making me sick. I went into her empty spare bedroom with a pillow and lay on the floor. She would come in and place a blanket on it me.

About 5:30-6pm that day I re-awoke. I was disoriented and didn’t even know where I was. All I knew was that I was hot and there was cat lying beside me. I got up took a shower and got myself together. I had a cookout to attend over one of my cousin’s house. At the cookout there would definitely be more drinks.

And I would definitely be doing it all over again. ;o)


(Epilog: I never did hook up again with Ms. White But Alright. We just didn’t hit it off on that level. However, I did turn my boy Smooth (he’s like 6’5”) on to her. He hit her up on Black Planet and eventually hooked up with her and smashed it. We did shit like that sometimes. Keep it in the camp, I always say. After Ms. White But Alright, I had one more episode with a white woman before moving to Michigan. That second one took place in Gettysburg, PA and while that situation ended with someone having a dick in they mouth [and it wasn’t me], the lil episode wasn’t interesting enough to warrant a story.)



I’m still buckin’ like five, deuce, four, tre…somebody better tell ‘em.