i loathe myself

The Black Guys I Know

One of the most popular questions I get as an Oreo is;

“You’ve never dated a black guy?”

And then when I ask them if they want to see my piccolo or otherwise try to change the conversation, the next question usually is:

“Piccolo? Is that a euphemism for something?”

And when I say no and smile inside because I think I’ve distracted them, they say:

“But wait. Really? Reallllly? You’ve…never…dated a black guy?”

That’s when I usually try to direct their attention to photos of me at a Renaissance Faire and ask them to help me pick out bodice patterns for next year.

“How is that possible…?”

First of all, I haven’t dated tons of guys who share individual traits with me. I’ve never dated someone from my hometown.

Maybe because I looked like this when I lived there.

Maybe because I looked like this when I lived there.

I’ve never dated another Journalism Major from The University of Texas at Austin. I’ve never dated a guy who was 5’5” who wore a small in women’s blouses. I’ve never dated someone with a birthmark on his shoulder, a bellybutton ring or a hatred for the Oxford comma that rivals mine. I’ve never dated someone who’s the offspring of an engineer and an accountant and I’ve never been in a relationship with an only child.

Second, it’s not like there are all these hordes of black guys who I’m denying access from the top of my ivory tower.

Though if we do build an Ivory tower, can we use this pattern? (source)

Though if we do build an Ivory tower, can we use this pattern?

Though if you know an ivory tower for sale, hook an Oreo up!

Honestly, apart from my own family members, I don’t even know that many black guys. And the ones I do wouldn’t be viable options even if they could sunburn.

If I were to try date a black guy (#spoileralert, never will, it’s against the rules) these are the only options I could choose from:

  • That quiet kid at work who sat down the hall from me last year – Much too young. I’m not opposed to dating someone my junior, but there’s maybe a 10-12 year age gap here, which—as you can tell by looking at me today—makes him like 12 years old.
  • That one guy at the office I see coming into the same entrance to my building – I think he’s gay.
  • That older guy at work who wears the fun t-shirts – Married
  • That guy who works one floor down from me – Moving to the northwest in a few months. I’m much too needy for that.
  • That guy with the round face and beard – I think he is also gay
  • That guy at swing dancing – We don’t even talk. He Balboas, I don’t Balboa. When we tried to dance once, he was so annoyed that I don’t Balboa that we nearly stopped dancing halfway through the song
  • My hairdresser’s son – He really is 12
  • That priest – He’s already pledged his life to someone else. Way to c-block, JC!

So unless I want to be a homewrecker, a Mrs. Robinson or an RBP, there’s no market for me.

Even when I was dating online, I was never approached by guys of color. All of my friends regularly got pinged by a Jamaal or a Kendrick or a Michael. But not me. It’s like they knew, nay, respected who I was.

…Could have also been the fact that I put that picture of tweenage me on my profile and that I talked a LOT about Renn Fests.


Who are the black guys you know? Do you want to date them? Let us know in the comments!

Remember that time Dr. Drew couldn’t get over my dating habits? Click here to reminisce.


For Mor-eo Oreo:

This Is Why We Can’t Go To Nice Places!

The rope is there for a reason.

Because in a group, black people are scary!

Look, Ivy League alum who are upset that your were turned away from a club even though you weren’t doing anything wrong, we’ve been over this. One of us in a crowd is delightful, maybe even amusing. We provide the image of diversity in a neighborhood with declining property values.

But standing in line…outdoors…where people can see you…that’s just threatening. Even if you are a bunch of Harvard and Yale law students. Yes, the argyle and the discussion of this year’s lacrosse teams is a start, but you have to look at the whole picture.

Here’s what happened: A group of of-color Ivy Leaguers with a phenomenally strict guest list were waiting on line to get into a new club.

The owners of the club, seeing the line, believed it to be attracting “local gang bangers” and shut the party down. Or maybe they just thought the line would attract local gang bangers, because according to one of the event’s organizers, the club management said both.

In a letter to the party-attendees, one of the organizers explained his mistake:

At approximately 10:30PM club management called the owner to say that they saw individuals on line whom they recognized as “local gang bangers” (their words not mine). In response to this, the club owner directed the bouncers to only let individuals with a Harvard or Yale ID in to the club. At this point Kwame and I argued that no alumnus would have his or her expired college ID with them and reiterated that the reason we did the party on a pre-sold basis with strict admittance based solely on the guest list was to guarantee that the only attendees were Harvard and Yale alumni, grad students and their close friends and to ensure that no “bad seeds” could contaminate our party. However, given that this was the club’s opening weekend, the owner was particularly sensitive to anything going wrong.

At approximately 10:45, after we won the argument concerning the amazing quality of our crowd and the strictness of our guest list, management began letting people in but then became worried that as our crowd waited in line it could attract the attention of “local gang bangers” passing by who would try to gain entrance to our party. Furthermore, they feared that if these individuals were turned away for not being on the guest list they could hypothetically cause problems with the bouncers outside of the club and draw negative attention to the establishment. Despite the fact that our Friday night party went off without a hitch and had no problems when we turned people away from the door for not being on our list, management decided to shut the party down as to avoid the hypothetical chance of attracting the “wrong crowd” (again their words not mine). In spite of our attempts to reason with them, we were left in a position where despite agreeing with our logic, the decision had been made and we were left powerless

Well, the management here really be blamed? There are very simple rules for being a functioning Oreo and one of them is that we don’t congregate en masse. Check the FAQ here if you have any questions…or check this link to see which people might be more excited to see you.
And make sure you sign the sign up sheet for next month’s Caroling Fest so we know if there’s still room.
Wouldn’t want to upset anyone.
For Mor-eo! Follow The Oreo Experience on Twitter (@oreoexperience)
Leave a comment here or at any of the above and let us know what you think!

Diary of a Mad White Black Woman – Old Friends

Dear Diary,

I was back at my favorite performance venue last night and was again looking for ways to avoid the line.
I saw my favorite bouncer and waved him down. He came over to me and I switched into light ethnic mode. Using a few choice phrases that WhitePal taught me, I ‘hollered at my boy’ as I tried to see what I could do in terms of mitigating me standing in line. I reminded him about the show he invited me to and I told him I had to miss the all Black Comedy Spectacular because because traffic that night was retarded.

The look in his eyes told me he wasn’t feelin’ that shiz(?).

I didn’t understand. Last week, he was more than happy to accommodate my requests in exchange for the momentary belief that we had anything in common based on our simliar ability to not sunburn. Tonight, he was cold, distant, it was if he had seen through my facade and wasn’t havin’ it.

He confirmed the fact that I would have to stay in line and then moved on.

Then I saw another brother come out of the club.

Ohhhhh, that was the guy I had flirted with the week before. I realized this because he came up to me, put his hand inappropriately on the small of my back and called me his shorty.

I guess we all really do look alike.

Feliz Fiestas!

Had to put down my Corona, piñata y Rite Aid purchased sombrero to get this one in on time. Didn’t want to Cinco de Mayo to go by without an homage to an institution that helps keep self-loathing in the hearts of my Latino/a hermanas and hermanos. Why should black folks be the only people who get to celebrate the subtle erasing over of the truth of their ethnic history? It’s an acculturation all-skate!

So, the public school system and a host of beer commercials lead us to believe that Cinco de Mayo is a day to be celebrated because a small band of underdog Mexican fighters defeated the much more powerful French forces.

While it is true that this did happen on 5/05/1862, by 5/05/1863, the French recouped and captured those fighters in an effigy that caused the Mexican forces to think twice before standing up to white folks again.

The less marketed Dieciseis de Septiembre is the actual day we should be celebrating. Because this is the day that Mexicans actually began the fight that would win them their freedom from their European oppressors. But “dieciseis” is harder to say, thus less marketable and would allow a people of color to truly celebrate a victory of substance.

And that’s just silly.

I will admit. Part of me feels guilty for knowing this information, much less disseminating it. It goes against the very principals of the autophobic Oreo way of life. But as long as I don’t have to talk about the upset inherent in Juneteenth, the next round of Dos Equis is on me!


(because botched border crossings are hilarious for children to see)