From Precious | People | Updated January 2010
Chelsea Black archives:
Dear Santa
Now, I know, (like lots of men) when I talk, you sometimes don't hear everything I say; but PLEASE, after last years Christmas Prayer I really feel that I am going to have to be a bit more specific if we are going to crack this 2nd husband thing.
I know that you are busy Santa, and that there are too many women out there in the same boat as me, but to be perfectly honest I think with a little Chelsea team work we can crack this thing by Valentines' day. So here is my Santa gift wish list for the coming year:
Single
I really am not one to share. So when one guy proposed to someone else just
two weeks after we broke up I realised that he had been a time share. It's
also bad that I have accidentally dated married men. Santa dear, can’t you
mark them? Maybe a partridge tattoo on their neck? I might be regularly merry,
but I'm not ready to be any man’s hohoho.
Ambitious
Oh Santa, bartenders and students are great but it's not so much fun when they
are over 30, eyeing up your flat as if it were their new home but still on
a pay-as-you-go contract. I don't need a professional man, but, seriously,
someone who can't get a T mobile contract? Please sprinkle some tinsel their
way and give them the gift of wanting to be the best that they can be. If
I have to sit through another old home made rap / band CD I think I might
be spending New Years behind bars for assault.
Nubian
I know it doesn't snow much in Africa but I would still like an African diaspora
Nubian elf to erm... help me fill my stockings.
Trained
I really thought you had cracked it when you brought me the divorcee. On Skype
it was hot, exciting and I almost believed that I heard angels sing. Hark!
On dates he was constantly late and made love like an over eager adolescent.
I was bruised by his clumsy attempts and nursed bite marks for 3 weeks afterwards.
I don't mind tweaking Santa but he needs to know how to make the angel on
the top of the tree light up. At 40 surely he should be trained by now?
Accessible
Don't get me wrong my precious Santa I have had real moments of fun this year,
but it has nearly all been on the internet with men on other continents.
Please can you sleigh some of those fine men over here? I will gladly pass
the gift of cyber sex on.
There are obviously other things I want, such as good health,
wealth and for the annoying woman at work to get sacked, but we can focus
on those separately (Please see attached Appendices A to G marked Private
and Confidential) So to all the single Bells out there: Merry Christmas
my precious as we try to find our very own Mr Jingle.
The Search Is On
So, after my many attempts to avoid it my precious, I too have succumbed to the
somewhat soul destroying pursuit of …internet dating
Oh I know I’ve done it before, but I got fed up with African students or the European 50somethings that clearly had a black girl fetish (well who wouldn’t?). But this time my precious, this time is going to be different, because this time I have one essential ingredient I’m looking for …SPERM
'What?' You cry, with all the dating and intimate encounters I have and not a potential daddy in sight? Well, you will be surprised to hear that I had a plan so foolproof that even I couldn’t mess it up.
I started off with the obvious solution to my 'getting older/ men are evil' plan: The ex-hubby.
At first he was on board, although he may have thought that it would get me to agree to a divorce more quickly. Oooh I sold it my precious. The turkey baster, access every other weekend and proof that not only was our marriage not a complete waste of time, but his little soldiers weren’t drunken swimmers like their daddy.
All was going swimmingly until HE discovered speed dating. 3 events and one puppy eyed 20something blonde later and he rescinded the offer. His parting words; 'How would I explain it all to my mother?' His mother was a nurse. I’m sure she would get it.
Next were my 2 best friends from university. One immediately declared his love for me but pointed out the obvious; with his huge head and my larger than average butt, the child would not only suffer life long ridicule, but potentially may never be able to balance properly. The other friend was more keen than I was... until the men in white coats came and took him away. Turns out the voices in his head are my fault and our kids would have grown up to rule the world. Hmmmm...
But as you know I’m nothing if not determined. A few months ago I met a new ‘friend’ who surprisingly raised the issue of kids on our third ‘date’. He was so keen that he said that if I did get pregnant, he would be happy to take the baby and I didn’t need to have anything to do with it. From then on I invested in my own condoms, because there is nothing scarier to a desperate woman than a desperate man.
Foolproof huh? So I am back on the internet on a different sort of mission. A girl my age can’t afford not to have a plan. The world of internet dating for sperm seems exciting but if I’m honest its déjà vu. Lots of African students and Scandinavian 50somethings. Is this really my destiny?
Wish me luck my precious. I will let you know how it goes.
© Chelsea Black
The Butt Effect
The
problem with being blessed with curves my precious, is that some men think
its ok to make an unsolicited approach in public.
I say this, as my recent chocolate induced weight gain has all been suitably placed on my most African part. Not ideal admittedly, but a curse that I have accepted as my lot in life; that men will beep their horns or approach me from behind. Gone are the days when they even pretend to be interested in my personality.
So... three recent incidents have highlighted the relationship
between black men and the butt.
My work colleagues
Last week, I was on the train on the way to a meeting, when a guy stumbles
into our carriage, cuts me off in mid-flow (as I was intricately explaining
to my boss and his PA, why I deserved a pay raise) and told me that his friend
wanted to
talk to me.
I said that I was busy, whilst my white colleagues looked on baffled.
But no, the man had the persistence of a dog with a bone and insisted that
I talk to him and his friend before they got off the train at East Croydon.
Now I recall them walking behind us on the train. Coincidence? I think not!!
The PA gently asked me later if this was a cultural thing. I told her that
it was a black man and butt thing and that they really didn't discriminate.
The grabber
Saturday on Oxford Street is an assault course at the best of times, but this
time I felt a definite grab of the butt. Turning around, a black guy smiled
at me and acknowledged that yes, that had been him. I was annoyed but resigned
to such behaviour, but my friend Jalinda was not impressed and started having
a go at him. His retort, delivered with a smile was, “I saw something I liked.”
There is no shame or grabbers remorse in this world.
Shhhh…Im praying
Some people have church, the bath or bookshops as their special place. I have
HMV. A place I go to worship the musicians and directors who will give me
hours of joy. So needless to say I wasn't too impressed when a young man
saw me walk past and started making 'woop woop' noises at his friend.
His approach was immature at best and I knew he was completely inappropriate when he bragged that he was 28. Purely out of pity my precious, and a keen understanding that you never know when there will be a man recession, I took his number. But these are the times when we need to put aside our prejudices and be appreciative that young men exist. Just not in HMV!
The strange thing is that I think I will miss this behaviour when I am so old that my butt has gone south and no one takes a glance at the continent. Oh well my precious, back to those glut building leg lifts for me!
© Chelsea Black
My Alternative Girlfriend
I know, I know my precious. I’ve been AWOL for the longest time but with VERY good reason. Keep this between us but...I’m on the run.
Not from the law or amazingly a man, no it's a new phenomenon for me. I'm officially in a relationship…with another girl.
It can take a while for you to realise that you are involved. Their tactics are so stealth and subtle that MI5 should recruit them. It's only when they decide to date you without your permission that you’ll know.
Mine started off innocently enough. We met and she seemed like a sociable happy-go-lucky type of sister with 'a life'. She was a little more conservative than me and was slightly determined and dreamy eyed about meeting a guy called 'THEONE' but showed no other signs.
Then, one day, I got a mysterious call from her out of the blue
saying she wanted to 'hang out'. She needed a 'friendly' ear. I barely
knew her. Surely I wasn't the 'friend' she was referring to?
At this point I should have probed. Why didn't I probe? Instead I envisaged a passion fruit mojito and chocolate brownies from Bar HaHa and ignored the danger signs.
Eight hours later and my life had changed irrevocably. For hours I had sat through this woman’s analysis of every single break up from the age of 16 and where she went wrong. I tried to be understanding, sympathetic and caring but I kept thinking: 'why is she talking to me about all of this? Why aren't we talking about me!'
The trouble is that I can really see why the men in her life may need a break from her ...a permanent break. I couldn't cope with that level of intensity when I had alcohol to distract me ,let alone sober trying to watch Match Of The Day. This is the only time I have sympathised with the other side. You gotta love her though 'cos she is an eternal optimist. who believes that one day she will meet THEONE and live happily every after.
But then there were the late night calls of woe, the requests for 'crazy' girls nights out that turned into therapy sessions with the constant analysis of 'where all the black men were'. She must be crazy asking me because if I knew I wouldn't be sitting at home on my computer chatting to her.
So now I'm on the run. It's ruining my social life as I avoid being online. Does this woman never sleep? She thinks I work half the week in Scotland and that I barely go out. I can't post pictures on Facebook. It's no way to live. Funnily enough her number is withheld so she corners me when I assume it’s a recruitment consultant. Always the same theme with a teary end.
So take care my precious as this species is growing and on the
loose. Hmm… methinks my plans for a career change to life coaching might
have to be put on hold.
© Chelsea Black
In the Black - My Pretty Woman Moment
So today I had a Julia "Vivienne” Roberts moment. There are scenes from the film Pretty Woman that are imprinted on my mind. The bit where she(Vivienne) is in the red dress at the opera, the bit where he(Kit) climbs the fire escape, that hotel piano scene or where she's walking towards his car and Kit says: “Work it baby, work it work it. Own it!”
But my moment, alas was of the 'snobby shop keeper on Rodeo Drive' variety. As is often the case, on my way home I got distracted by the shops. I spotted this gorgeous dress in a window, so I went in and asked if I could try it on
"You do realise that it’s a size 8?” the shop assistant exclaimed, looking me over with disbelief. I nodded eagerly, that yes, if I don’t eat for 14 straight days and catch flu I too am a size 8 on top. Clearly she wasn’t fooled once she caught a glimpse of my African butt...but the dress puffed out from the waist. Honest!!
“And I think I should tell you that its quite expensive?” Well my precious that
was it. This women had looked at my dazed and confused fashion sense and
JUDGED me.
Carefully considering which of my cards I could put it on and whether or
not I remembered any of my pin numbers, I figured I might as well do the
14 day fast now. Of course there was no Richard Gere in sight with a platinum
credit card when you need one. Just the nervous guy in the CD collection
with the greasy hair and smelly dog. Oh did I mention that this was a charity
shop? Maybe Richard Gere types don’t do charity shops.
I was feeling confident and resolved that I wasn’t going to be defeated by a
piece of fabric. All was going swimmingly untill...I had to zip it up.
I popped my head out of the changing room and humbly asked for someone
to help me.
I won't describe the tussle that ensued my precious. It's just too embarrassing
. But needless to say it took all three shop assistants to do the zip up.
I feigned calm, fought back tears and pretended that I wasn’t breathing
in, cursing the panini I had munched for lunch and claiming (not for the
first time) that I had IBS.
Realising that the dress nearly fit and that they were close to
a sale, the shop assistants changed their attitude pretty quickly. I now
had the age old dilemma: buy the dress I could ill fit into and afford
or just tell them where to stuff their gorgeous dress and their boutique
attitudes?
I am now the proud owner of a fuchsia David Fielden silk dry clean only
dress which needs a team to get on. Erm... who is David Fielden ? But I
won my precious I won!! And that’s what counts when you are having a Pretty
Woman moment. The happy ending.
Happy shopping!
© Chelsea Black
In the Black - My Not So Funny Valentine
Ok so here’s is the deal. I tend to put a lot of hope and thought into Valentines Day. Don’t ask me why my precious. Even when married, its not like I got more than the standard card and something functional like a steps video for those wintery nights at home whilst I rushed around looking for 5 perfect gifts for our 5 imperfect years together.
But this year, this year was different, because not ONLY was I single for the first time in forever, I was seeing not one, but two delicious men. Call me greedy but I see it as portfolio diversification and I’m not one to preach but in a financial crisis a girl has to have options. Dinner options.
So the first one, Young Banker, was a hangover from 2008. A boy that proudly told me that he was a year older than last year. He booked me a whole 9 days before V day. I was almost impressed. He claimed not to be the same cheap, lazy young man who couldn’t be bothered to make an effort anymore. I claimed to be the same demanding chick who couldn’t cook.
So then he texted me with two hours to go to the meal and asked
me if I had any food preferences? A tad late I thought. We met and made
our way to dim t, Pimlico. On the way we passed a Nandos and he suggested
that 'we go there instead.' I told him firmly that I supported Nandi’s
every week and today, I wanted something more romantic.
I think he felt that all his efforts had been spent, as we sat to eat a meal
where I chatted with my friend Sugar on Blackberry Messenger and he regaled
me with tales of …erm; I really don’t remember any of them
At the end of the meal he proudly presented the waitress with his 2 for 1 voucher. She proudly told him that it didn’t work on the weekends. I reluctantly offered to pay for my share (£17.50) and only his reluctant refusal of my offer won him a space in the cab back to my place.
Once at home, just as I thought things couldn’t get any worse, he jumped onto my laptop and began to search porn sites. He couldn’t even be bothered to think up his own foreplay? That was it; the boy was shown the door.
Thankfully the day was saved by Guy 2 who accidentally sent my
card to the address upstairs. It finally made its way downstairs (but I
could feel my neighbour’s resentment steaming off the envelope she had
tried to hastily stick back together.)
He then bought me chocolates, perfume and knickers. Now you know that red isn’t
my colour girl, but when a man asks you to wear the gift for him, what’s one
to do but buy a pair of matching red heels and fishnet stockings?
Bye for now my precious, I’m off shopping
© Chelsea Black
In the Black - My Christmas Prayer
Every year it’s the same. Every year without fail I start praying. I send a prayer to the big man upstairs asking for a man who will treat me like a queen, spoil me like a princess and never EVER question my need to buy shoes, chocolate and cosmetics. It’s not too much to ask no?
And yet every year Santa says the same ole thing. NO!!! Well I’m tired of listening to the cuddly guy in the ill fitting crushed velvet suit. So this year my precious, well, you know moi, this year I had a plan. I was going to find my own man. You know: a gift to me..
And I made some headway. By August I had successfully stopped contact with all lovers and ‘accidental’ friends (cyber lovers, drunken dials and Facebook flirts don’t count).
January saw my dalliance with a guy who was separated but still living with his
wife. He didn’t mind practising kissing under the mistletoe when we were
tipsy but when sober he reminded me that he didn’t plan to marry until
he was 45. He had just turned 30.NEXT!!
Step forward Bachelor number two: Mr April. Own business, serious and cute!!.
We spent a lot of time texting. He gave great text. Who could want more?
Apparently me.
On our first date he failed to turn up. Assuming (or kind of hoping) he
had been in an accident, I found that he was no longer able to dial out,
pick up or text. Turns out that he was already giving great text and sex…
to his wife. I’m hoping she gave him the gift of breaking the bones in
his hands.
So onto my August man. Yes my precious, I had almost convinced my mother that this could be the one. He’s fertile, (has kids), a hectic job (money and no time to monitor how I spend it) and no wife (a girlfriend). She asked me to send her a picture of him which I did. She then asked me to send me pictures of alternative sperm donors. He clearly clashed with her Christmas card photograph.
Now it’s December and I’m back to being realistic and circling the Tiffany catalogue.
I just pray for the energy and patience to go on blind dates, flirt online
and worse, pretend that I too want to eventually move to Nigeria and build
an import business from scratch.
So what to do my precious? Let’s drink, be merry and enjoy the fact
that only us single girls can get away with truly misbehaving this month!
Carry lots of mistletoe, sing bad karaoke and make sure you are standing
next to true potential at midnight on New Years Eve. This, I fear, is as
much planning as a single girl can do.
And when you are filling my stocking please slip a few condoms in there for me. I think its time to find some new lovers to see me through the misery that is an English January.
Merry Christmas my precious!!
© Chelsea Black
In the Black - The Wedding Plan
OMG! I’m getting married!
I know what you are thinking my precious; it was bound to happen eventually.
Apparently all the women in my family are right. Perseverance, stalking
and lowering your standards CAN pay off. I strive to be just like them.
Most people go low key on their second wedding but not me. (I
almost pity future hubby number four) It’s over three continents so there’s
a lot of planning. I’ve chosen my dresses, the venues, and guest list (all
subject to last minute Bridezilla changes). I also have scrap books of
backup suppliers in case of emergency.
Last time I didn’t anticipate the wobbly table / mother in law combo and ended up with orange juice on my white dress. (I’ve thoroughly searched that footage for evidence of malicious intent I mean really, who drinks orange juice at a wedding?) But not this time, this time I’m wearing RED and splash proof.
Detail is needed before his family get involved and potentially ruin MY big day with colours and traditions that don’t flatter my outfit. Like that trekking up the mountain for photographs in heels and an empty stomach. I have a doctor’s note for Vertigo.
The question de jour is this…assuming you want to get married,
at what point in a relationship do you plan your big day(s)? Before I continue,
there is a disclaimer: my groom is TBC (to be confirmed) but it’s never
too early to have a wow wedding planned, right?
My girlfriend, Flower, met a guy last weekend at a wedding. He’s the right
tribe, income bracket (don’t pretend money doesn’t matter) and really into
her. Most importantly, both families approve. Her mother affectionately
commented, “He’s really not that fat”. Poor lamb, his fate was sealed.
Within 48 hours we have chosen a theme for the hen night and wedding days, picked dates and decided on the wedding party. This is critical as it gives some of us time for that all important wedding accessory – the bridesmaid diet. Now you may argue that friends are friends, but those wedding pictures are forever so I don’t think lightening up on the custard crèmes and the occasional 5k is asking too much.
But Flower isn’t stupid. Operation Groom will only be revealed to him months after he proposes. Initially he will raise the M word. MOVE IN is an attempt to save you both money. But if you have a plan then hold your nerve my precious. Make sure that you don’t book the man with a van without a trip to the jewellers with your man.
And my groom? The poor poppet must be in some sort of witness protection programme because I just can’t find him. I’ve looked in nearly every dive bar in London. I guess I’ll just wait for him to trip over me……literally.
So see you at my wedding my precious and wear something wow! (Please see attached dress code.)
© Chelsea Black
In the Black - Foodie Call.
I've finally figured out what you all have known for years. Food and sex are the foundation of any good casual relationship, now more commonly known as the foodie call. Two essential needs being met at once. A delicate balance of being fed and erm… being fed! You get the picture.
So this is how mine went down. For a while now, he had been
flirting online. I’ve only ACTUALLY met him once but you know when it’s
special. He likes you, showers you with loads of attention, hence, its
special. Normally I would have tried to seal the deal on the night but
hey, I was drunk, the club was loud and sweaty and I may have been slightly
distracted by the Thierry Henry look a like at the bar.
Last Thursday I came home and scanned the fridge. Hmmm. Beetroot, Soya milk and chocolate body paint do not a meal make. Even though I live within a mile of six supermarkets, I just couldn’t be bothered to leave my house again and then come back and cook. So I jumped online to see if there was anything happening where there was likely to be some grub. My friend Tia was suggesting The Westbourne, but only for a quick drink. But then HE came along. The email asked me how I was and we started chatting. I broke it down: I had no food, I can’t cook and I was so hungry that I was contemplating eating at the dodgy chippy conveniently forgetting the stomach cramps from last time!
Yes, I know black women are meant to be able to throw down in the kitchen but I guess I assumed throw down meant something else entirely? Don’t judge my precious.
So he suggested that he come around and cook. I pictured him trying to rustle up something with the body paint and beetroot. It would also mean me having to clean the flat. So I told him no. Then he counter offers to cook for me at HIS place. Now this is a plan I could work with. A meal, potential sex and NO laundry in the morning? JACKPOT.
I jump in the shower and mentally plan an outfit that screams: 'I could wear this to work tomorrow.' Then, just as Kylie and I were hitting the dodgy high note, my stomach rumbled and it hit me. I didn’t know where he lived! So I jumped back online and asked. He eventually told me.
CATFORD
Needless to say Tia and I had a great night out at The Westbourne and I managed to grab some food. I’m all up for a foodie call my precious but you need to have the right ingredients. What if he couldn’t cook? What if he couldn’t satisfy? What if he lived outside Zone 2?
Gotta run. I’ve got a foodie call with a guy in Gloucester Road who swears his food will make me cry out. I guess that means lots of onions.
Ciao for now my precious
© Chelsea Black
In the Black - The gift basket.
It’s always a tricky one isn’t it? Your latest fling invites you over
for the night. So let's think; dinner, sex and the morning after to
stress
and obsess over.
My “sex date” look takes a good three hours plus industrial strength products
to achieve; so you see what I’m working with.
But this one had potential hubby written all over him. I was determined
to stand out and be remembered. Yep, the legendary shag of pub and stag
do conversations!
I thought I had it cracked. I would simply fill a gift basket with foods for the evening, toys for the night and products for the morning without looking like I was moving in…just yet.
So first, the contents. I did my research and bought his national foods, soaps and bath bombs from Lush, went crazy in Ann Summers, Harmony and Simply Pleasure in Soho and of course, the mandatory Mark and Spencer’s underwear purchase. I’m a traditionalist at heart. It took three days of hardcore shopping and heavy reliance on the blackberry but I had a plan.
He’s an African man cooking me an African meal so I went for a wooden bowl as a basket. I eventually track one down in Crabtree and Evelyn, but realised at home that it was too small! I would still need to take a suitcase to get through my 12 hour visit. So, mustering all my resolve I went out again and just as I was about to give in and treat myself to some well deserved chocolate cake, I stumbled across a cute vintage wire basket at Victoria & Jill’s. I still had the chocolate cake mind you.
But, like most best laid plans I still have the basket and (cough, except the chocolates) most of its contents at home. Why you ask? Because when I wrapped it all up in netting and ribbons I realised that despite failing Home Economics, I had created a masterpiece too good for a mere man. A few cuddles and kisses do not a gift basket make. Plus I spoke to my best friend who relayed a similar story about a seduction scene straight out of 9 1⁄2 Weeks too early in her relationship. So I did what any normal girl would do and packed my biggest, ugliest work bag. Now he just thinks I have bad taste, as opposed to too much time on my hands and the intention of robbing him of his single status.
Needless to say the date wasn’t what I was expecting. I was made to help cook (see Home Economics. reference above) the sex was underwhelming, and I woke up stiff-necked whilst he snored and hogged all the pillows. Not even so much as a poke on Facebook these days. Good job I nixed the Robin Givens “Boomerang” rain coat idea eh?
Nope, I’m going to save any creative outbursts for my girls. So look out my precious, there’s a hen night gift basket coming your way!
Ciao for now my precious
© Chelsea Black
In the Black - A Girl with a Plan.
So you know when you turn up to those business networking ‘do-da’ things and they tell you that everyone is going to have to stand up and do a 60 second pitch? And you’re standing there thinking to yourself; “****! I’ve got half an idea, my deodorant stopped working around noon and I’m hungry.” Well that’s how I feel about writing this column. It’s half an idea based on a series of status updates on a certain social networking utility but, hopefully, by the end of this, you’ll get the idea.
Deadlines and word counts, my parents would be so proud. Not that they’ll see this. I mean, who wants to be confronted with the fact that their daughter is a dating disaster, spends way too much day time in the local park and thinks that the recommended drinking limit for women is 21 units? (Its actually 14). Oh, and the sex! No one wants to admit that their precious child is out there exploring. Not as much as she would like to mind you, but exploring none the less.
So a bit about me just to set the scene. Ok, I’m over 21. I’m at the age where men ask me how many kids I’ve got, as opposed to asking if I have any. Then again, this could be due to my permanent ‘budda belly’ that I call Maxine Saj. She goes everywhere with me and constantly craves chocolates and ‘woo woo’ cocktails. I don’t question these desires, I just provide
I’m a girl with a plan. I plan to have babies, get married 4 times (1 down, only 3 to go!) and am destined for great things. Unfortunately I am severely allergic to kids, fall in lust way too quickly, and lack the focus for success. But none of this stops me from dreaming. You’ve got to have dreams right? I work for myself as an administrator and social group organiser (see reference to park above) but am a full time bar fly.
I live in London and will not be removed unless under the influence of lots of champagne and a Tiffany ring. In fact, I saw the perfect champagne pink bauble ring in their window the other day. I think the ring, a house in zone 1 or 2, a great credit rating to counterbalance mine AND patience makes for the perfect compromise for being stuck in a relationship. Oh and a credit card would be yummy but I’m a realist. You can’t have it all.
Now I would love to stop and chat some more, but you’ve just reminded me that I need to contrive a subtle way for my latest ‘lust bunny’ to see the bauble ring. It’s been 3 weeks and I’m hopeful. So what if he hasn’t called me for a week. A girl with a plan, that’s me.
Ciao for now my precious
© Chelsea Black