I found myself cursed out and ousted from a room for expressing a seemingly simple preference: I don’t date broke men. This post isn't about that particular incident; it's about the broader question echoing in my mind — why does such a stance trigger some men so intensely? As I strive to amplify the content on my website, this became a moment to think out loud.
Read MoreEdit the Picture, Not the Person
In the world of Instagram, photo editing is an art form that allows you to enhance your images and make them stand out. However, it's crucial to strike a balance between enhancing your photos and maintaining their authenticity. In this blog post, we'll explore some basic photo editing tips for Instagram, emphasizing the importance of preserving the integrity of your subjects and your genuine self.
Read More8 Reasons I HATE Lori Harvey
The Lure of Lori: Men Want Her and Women Want to be Her
Why is Lori Harvey famous? Why do women look up to Lori Harvey? Why do men want Lori Harvey? I don’t know, but let me tell you why I hate her…
She doesn’t talk.
When she does talk, she’s not a caricature of a Black woman, nor does she “act white.”
Her skin is smooth and her baby hairs lay down on their own.
The banging body she has now is mostly a result of mental and physical work she put in.
She’s an influencer. No, fr.. She has actual influence.
Her and Ms. Marjorie are a picturesque idea of a mother-daughter duo.
Ms. Marjorie made sure anybody that Lori would call daddy was well off. And I mean “daddy” in more ways than one.
The darn child is even pretty and pleasant in-person!
If you’re new here, aroundLAwithTK is a personal blog. A quick Google search lets us know that “a personal blog is a blog that focuses on the writer’s individual experiences and thoughts”.
I’m Te’Keya Krystal, the writer. You’re you, the reader, or what I like to call here, if you rock witcha girl, a rider.
You’re in the opinion column section of this personal blog, meaning, herein lies opinions based on my own experiences. It’s okay if we disagree. Rebuttals are welcome under this blog post, in my mentions on Twitter or the comment section of an Instagram post, or even on the blog’s Facebook wall, if you so desire. (I’m hoping you do, I like to chat.)
Enough disclaimers, let’s get into these:
8 Reasons I Hate Lori Harvey!
When Lori Harvey hits a red carpet, she will stun. | photo: People Magazine
She doesn’t talk.
Back in junior high, there was this 80-pound, lightskin girl with the shiniest curly hair and thick glasses, who never said a word. We had classes together, she never raised her hand. We rode the school bus together, she never cut up. We had recess together, she never made a scene. It perplexed me. I wonder if she remembers me picking with her, “girl, say something!” She would look and respond with a small snicker, “like what?”
You hear what we’ve been talking about?!
Yeah.
Okay, what do you have to say?!
[one-shoulder shrug]
You mean to tell me you really have nothing to say?!
[head shakes “no” at a tilt]
Well, what’s going on in your head right now?!
[eyes dart from left to right under glasses] Nothing.
THERE IS NO WAY YOU HAVE NOTHING TO SAY. There’s no way.
People that don’t talk bother me because now you’re putting more work on my brain making up what you could possibly be thinking because you have to be thinking something. My thoughts never turn off, so ain’t no way yours never turn on.
Come on now, Lori, girl. All the Instagram gossip pages were running amuck when you were thought to have been romantically involved with a man after already having been romantically involved with his son. (I doubt y’all didn’t hear this one, because I don’t even keep up with the rumor mill for real, and I heard it, but if you didn’t, the rumor was Lori dated Diddy’s son, the one that looks like a Teddy Graham, then proceeded to date Diddy). All of it sounds like a bunch of bologna, if you ask me.
The most logical explanation is Lori and Teddy were hanging out because they’re kids of rich dads. It’s expected for folks in the same realm to cross paths. The kid may have had a crush on her, but I doubt she entertained it. My girl probably hit him with that, “aw, you’re cute.. But where’s yo’ daddy at?” Then, maybe she gave getting to know Diddy a try, but they didn’t vibe. I don’t see her giving the yams up to Diddy either. I’d’ve had to be in the room to believe it.
Whichever way the cookie crumbled or the yams smacked, I know she heard the talk and there’s no way possible she had nothing to say about it. That’s only one example. She says nothing about nothing. It’s annoying like the skinniest girl in secondary school, but worse because I don’t have access to eventually work her thoughts out of her.
When she does talk, she’s not a caricature of a Black woman, nor does she “act white.”
You know when you’re walking along Hollywood Boulevard, or a state fair, and there’s a vendor offering to do a drawing of you with the super big head, toothpick neck and your most prominent feature further exaggerated? Those are cute. The behavioral version of that is not. Nothing grinds my gears more than a Whoah Vicky acting person. It’s when a person takes a style, trait, and/or way of speech typical to one type of person and applies it to themselves in an overly dramatized form. Unfortunately, it’s getting folks ahead, especially via social media.. so many caricatures that lack true character.
Lori talks like she’s being herself and like she might have some sense.
Her skin is smooth and her baby hairs lay down on their own.
I don’t know about you, but I’m ‘bout tired of seeing hair from Sri Lanka slapped on the front of a girl from Philly’s forehead. Did wigs always have those super short pieces? Nah.. Y’all came up with that, hein? Whose idea was it to add tendrils of hair around the perimeter of a unit to then be glued to the skin’s surface?
Then, when you’re not wearing a wig that comes with it, you all have gone to an even further extreme of sticking shavings of hair around there.
But you know what, if my hairline ever tried to recede on me, honey, you better believe I’d be right there with you and the best of glue, adhering those strands around this big pie face. This brings me back to my point, the nerve of Lori Harvey to not only have a hairline full of natural baby hairs, but for them to lay down like she came out the puss yesterday! Ugh.
I’ve seen people in the comment section under pictures of her saying “she needs to brush those lil’ hairs back” or “let go of those childish baby hairs Lori”, and I’m not sure if they simply felt like saying something or if they really don’t understand that natural hair growth pattern exists.
I kid you not, I heard somebody say, “you trying to do your edges like the edges of a lacefront wig.” [inserts “b**** what” gif]
Yeah, and Neiman Marcus is trying to sell shoes like the shoes sold in Steve Madden.
The banging body she has now is mostly a result of mental and physical work she put in.
A lot of these Instagram fitness girlies are scamming tf out of y’all! They have you buying the flat tummy teas and the waist trainers and their workout plans, to get their body, when they got their body from a surgeon. [inserts “make it make sense” gif]
These InstaThots are selling y’all dreams and y’all buying into it continues to afford them that ability (more trips to the world’s best in medicine). Not Ms. Lori though, she’s fine for no reason at all, not with the gimmicks, just fine. And fine by her doing!
Now Ms. Marjorie is a very attractive woman, oh yes she is, but the banging body department is not the blessing she had to pass down through her genetics. Lori’s face is an undeniable natural beauty that she really didn’t have to do anything to have; that neck below though… My girl wasn’t gifted a 90s-supermodel/Tyra-Banks-body; my girl had to work for that slim and trim waistline she has today! She may have bought the boobs, whatever.. And that newly chiseled look to her face may have been assisted by a buccal fat procedure, but anyway.. You can look at her and see the rest of that figure is all hard work and dedication. And she looks tf GOODT!
She’s an influencer. She has actual influence.
The term influencer is being run through the ground. Everyone and their mama with a camera phone and a pair of shoes is an influencer now. Yeah, yeah.. Lori Harvey, however, has actual influence. Benefits of a yogurt face mask have been purported for years before that youngin’, but when that youngin’ posted about putting yogurt on her face, it sent the girlies running to their local grocer. It’s me, I’m the girlies. I’m subscribed to a range of newsletters from neuroscience to beauty to holistic health, so yeah, I’ve seen this home remedy for brightening and fighting inflammation. It was something about when Lori said she’d tried it though that made me go “oh”. Next thing ya know, yep…
Lori Harvey is a beauty influencer. | photo: Refinery29
We humans trust other humans. Even if it’s not a human we know personally, when it comes to certain things, we are more willing to give something a go if someone else has and they had positive results. And though a random person could work, a person we’ve built a rapport with (even in our head) works even more. We’ve seen Lori over and over and over again, we know, at least from what we know, that her skin always looks good, so when she says “this is a trick I use for my skin”, even if it’s a trick we’ve heard before, we’re more interested in that old trick.
I won’t belabor this point because Lord knows this opinion column post is already way too long with my long-winded behind, but the same applies with her sharing the calorie limit and high cardio exercise routine to burn fat. And that’s why I hate Lori Harvey, because I don’t even have any fat to lose and she had me ‘round here ready to cut my calorie intake to 500 and run on the treadmill in my sleep!
(In the event you’re unfamiliar with my humor, which you probably aren’t, cutting calories to only 500 per day is NOT a good idea for anyone; you’ll send your body into starvation mode and end up worse than your bad-built behind started.)
Her and Ms. Marjorie are a picturesque idea of a mother-daughter duo.
At my first luxury industry job in Beverly Hills, I met Lori’s mother Ms. Marjorie. And, as you’ll find out in the point-after-next, at my following place of employment, I assisted Lori. In my time, the two didn’t come in together, so I don’t know how they interact with one another, and even if they had, I still wouldn’t know the inner workings of their relationship. Yeah, I don’t know what they have going on for real, but from what I’ve seen on the Internet here and there, they are got darn picture-perfect! Oh em gee, I love a good mother-daughter moment.
Ms. Marjorie made a lovely little “mini me” with Lori. | photo: International Business Times
Ms. Marjorie has a commanding yet soft presence. It’s the way she looks you squarely in your eyes, lowers her eyelids just a smidge, then turns her mouth up into a smile. She is a woman! My God. Once again, this is off of first impressions and speaking in passing, me and Ms. Marjorie have never sat around Beverly Hills chopping it up. If we had though, I could imagine her having just the right amount of sass, while maintaining all the class.
It’s very clear that Ms. Marjorie has passed down this charming essence to her daughter. Most women dream of making a “mini me” (even if the world didn’t need a one of them). Mothers want to mold. Mama Marj made a lovely young lady and I love that for Lori. And I hate Lori for that, because all my mama made was a ghetto a$$ b!tch. Damn.
Ms. Marjorie made sure anybody that Lori would call daddy was well off. And I mean “daddy” in more ways than one.
Honey, listen, that charm isn’t thee only thing Ms. Marjorie passed down to little Lori. First of all, Mama Marj wasn’t becoming no mama for no rag-a-muffin. Mm mn! From my understanding, Lori Harvey’s biological father was at the top of his industry in his realm, and we all know the man Ms. Marjorie later married and made Lori’s father by law is at the top of his industry in his realm. I remember riding the school bus in elementary school and hearing the Steve Harvey Morning Show with Uncle Tommy prank calling folks. Steve Harvey is in my grandmother’s generation but transcends entertainment to where my little, little cousins, her great-great-grandchildren will probably know his name and consume a piece of his content at some point in their lives.
All the boys want Lori, baby! | photo collage: ItsGame7
And baby, Ms. Marjorie taught Lori how to pick ‘em because you won’t see her messing with no bums either!
Hey, daddy.
The darn child is even pretty and pleasant in-person!
When I was an assistant to a personal shopper in Beverly Hills, Lori was one of our clients. The Korean princess I worked under told me this early on, I suppose to get me excited about the job, and possibly as a point of connection. Working with the likes of middle-aged white women such as Jamie Lee Curtis didn’t exactly make me jump up and down when they’d come in, so it seems she thought talking about a poppin’ young Black girl that we work with would do the trick. Little did she know, only person I’ma jump for is Jesus. Before joining that personal shopping team, I’d already worked in these environments for a few years, seeing everybody from Kendall Jenner to Beyonce, none of which gave me a thrill because I was raised by a grandmother that would say, “you walk around on two feet just like me.” And it’s not to say idgaf about who a person is, but… [inserts blank stare]
I care greatly about how a person is, not who the person is. And Lori was lovely.
I must admit, I assumed Lori was going to be some bratty, aloof girl with a valley voice. She wasn’t that at all. She was warm. I was stunned. Working in luxury retail, I’ve had clients walk into the area I’m working, look me square in the eyes, then look away without saying a word after I’ve greeted them.. enough to make me lose my religion. Child, I don’t know what’s worse, that, or when they don’t even see you as if you’re Casper the Ghost. Unlike those wretched clients, Lori was smiling, present and engaged.
Oh, it’s “8 Reasons I Hate,” but here’s a bonus one…
Lori Harvey gets free publicity. Look at me, out of all the topics aroundLA I could be bitching about on my little soap box, I’m in this cute Culver City coffee shop writing about got dawg on Lori Harvey. Now this is only a low-traffic personal blog that may not have any effect on her public profile, but the point still remains; she gets folks talking. People will cover Lori Harvery without her (or her publicist, really) having to ask. Shoot, if anything, they’re rejecting requests.
Chugga chugga chuuuu chu! 8 Reasons to Hate Lori Harvey has reached its last stop. Everyone must deboard.
Okay, this hate train has come to a halt.
Prediction is, Lori Harvey will have the attention of many for years to come! | photo: HuffPost
She’s above the average level of attraction. She’s a wealthy woman in her 20s, and has been a child to a mother that made sure she was always somebody’s rich baby. She carries herself well. And on top of being good-looking with money, she may even have the most important thing of all: being a good person. Did I miss anything?
Hopefully, Lori will give me reasons to hate her for years to come. The girl looks like she’s only getting started!
(Whew, I’m so glad I’m finished this.. each time I typed, and read over “hate” it made me cringe a little. My grandmother once scolded me saying, “no child of God hates another child of God, or anyone for that matter, so I better not ever catch you saying you hate anyone.” So even though it was used for dramatic literary purposes here, it felt more crude than dropping the F-bomb all up and down this page.)
If you found any point in this blog post to be true, please share it. If you found any point in this blog post to be false, you really have to share it (you know the Internet loves lies). If you have a direct line of contact to Lori Harvey, keep this one to yourself… how will we ever be BFFs if she finds out I’m a total creeper?!
Thank you, riders. I appreciate you.
Put Out Because I Wouldn't Put Out
Y’all, tell me why a guy sent my tail packing when I wouldn’t let him in my panties yesterday.
Whew child, where do I begin?
Do I start describing his dingaling out or the degradation that followed?
I suppose I ought to give a disclaimer. Mildly explicit content is likely to follow in this blog post that I didn’t want to (or even think to) write. It wasn’t until earlier today, the morning after the encounter, that I was moved to share. My best guy friend, Calvin, with his sickening behind, responded “blog content” as I was trying to talk to him about my rather eventful evening.
My closest straight male friend, Calvin, was even taken aback by this move by a fellow man.
Calvin’s crass response is definitely not what motivated me to be writing this right now; I’ll get into what did later, but for now, lemme just run it to you..
Lawd, I should’ve known better than to give a fine man a try. That was my first mistake.
Usually, I prefer me a good smedium ugly negro, I ain’t lying. The men I gravitate towards most often are men that I find attractive, but others find creature-like. Never was I the girl to like the pretty boy. In elementary school, while all my female peers were screaming their hearts out about Lil’ Bow Wow or Lil’ Romeo, I was entranced with the man behind a bullet-shattered glass on a bootleg CD cover my PawPaw had bought me at the barber shop. A little rough, a little rugged, an unconventional beauty in my eyes, is what I tend to like. The man that put me out yesterday though?? Oh no baby, fully conventional beauty!
⁺Amon has looks that almost every woman would find attractive, and even straight men could honestly say “that’s a good-looking dude.” Yeah, everybody is somebody’s type, but you know those people that are fine to everybody? Think Morris Chestnut, think that one #PrisonBae guy that went viral. There’s a general consensus that those are highly attractive people across the board. That’s Amon, that’s the type of fine he is. Just fine. Ugh! A damn shame… Towering over folks at 6’6”, carrying a good 200lbs in toned, masculine, mouth-watering muscle. Mr. Goodbar, milk-chocolate looking muhsucka.. Mm, mm, mn! Dayuuuuum.
Oss, him being a decent candidate for dating.. no kids, doing well for himself.. makes it hurt more. If it were a man I would’ve never considered no way, I wouldn’t be as disappointed by the way things transpired.
How did I meet, and end up inside of a private residence with, this man?
We had to meet ‘round the top of my stay here in L.A., back in 2017. Sitting at a sidewalk table in Hollywood, I remember a few guys approaching my co-worker and I. They were all a part of the same hedge fund management group. We chatted it up and found out there was some overlap in people we knew. We exchanged contact information and began linking up when work would bring them to L.A. from NYC. Group hangouts were great for entertaining my girlfriends. We bumped into each other here and there from being in the same place at the same time aroundLA, and once, me and my girls ended up rolling with that crew in Vegas.
Amon and I never spent any time one-on-one. Really, he was thee only one, out of that whole connected web, that had never flirted with me. It was always very cool and casual whenever we’d see one another. Though we had each other’s number and social media handles, there was never much conversation beyond small commentary or basic checking in. Sure, I could safely assume that he found me attractive, but he’d never come off strongly nor aggressive at all. As I said, it was always cool vibes. Which is why, when he’d told me he’d relocated to L.A., as opposed to flying back and forth for work, I was open to the idea of linking up.
What? A friend that’s always cool whenever he’s in L.A. has moved to L.A. and wants to link? Absolutely. Bet.
He initially hit me up some months ago about getting together, to which I responded, “let’s.” Time passed, I was in and out of town, he was in and out of town, schedules didn’t align, no one pressed the issue. We stayed in contact and revisited the idea. A little less general, and with much more urgency, this man said, “what you doing in an hour?” I was thinking, “oh, okay, my boy ain’t resting on his laurels this time!” And it’s early in the afternoon?! Okaaaaaay! Yes!
When the sun is out, I am much more likely to accept an invite to hangout.
A daytime invite from a male suitor seems innocent, harmless. It’s after the sun has set that makes me suspicious, so I save us both time by not responding until the morning. Because… sir, wtf do you think this is?! Pull up. [at midnight] For what? Baby, goodnight.
An hour comes and goes before he hits me with the eyes emoji. I let him know I was waiting to hear more from him. He calls me and we talk on the phone for an hour. He seemed very undecided about what he wanted to do or where he wanted to go. He asked me what I wanted to do, but every suggestion I threw out, he knocked down.
“It’s so pretty out. Runyon’s nice.” … “I’ve been up since 3am; I don’t have energy for a hike.”
“Sitting out somewhere grabbing a bite is always an option.” … “I ate in the meeting I just left.”
“Oh, the pool…?” … “Yeah, I don’t feel like swimming.”
Sir… You don’t want to go for a hike. You don’t want to go have lunch. You don’t want to go for a swim. What you tryna do then?!
He asks me if I smoke and says I can pull up to the house in ⁺⁺Beverly Glenn. When I told him that I don’t smoke, he asked me again what I want to do, adding the comment, “I don’t want you to pull up to the house then stare at me talkin’bout you bored.” I giggled and let him know that I don’t have to smoke to chop it up and I won’t be bothered by him smoking.
“Are you good at massages?” he asked randomly. I smacked my lips. “Whaaaat?” I smacked my lips again. He asked why I was doing all of that and I said, “because you is a n****.. and we know how n***** is.” He let out a good laugh and agreed with me. We all know that most times a massage can never be just a massage with a man. He tried to reassure me that he wasn’t even thinking of it that way, he “honestly” only had real body aches in mind, not foreplay to increased action.
Yeah, okay… (I’m saying “yeah, okay” sarcastically now, knowing better in retrospect, but in the moment, my duck a** went for it.. “hm, yeah.. when I started working with a personal trainer, I definitely could’ve used a serious business massage”-looking-a**.. annoying)
My girl CeCe must have a crystal ball, because how did she predict this man “wants to hump”?! It was noon when he hit my line to link up for goodness sake! Who makes booty calls at noon??
[BTW: …By the way, a little BTS (behind-the-scenes, but BTW for behind-the-writing.. I just made this up as I type this.. It’s September; according to Google docs, I started writing this a little after midnight back in November… yes, darn near a year ago… I’m sickening. Does anybody else start a project or task, then fail to return and finish it? Ugh.. Well, since I’m here, lemme finish this one right quick..]
Long story short, he sends a car for me to meet him at the mansion where he’s there awaiting my arrival at the top of a steep driveway behind a keypad-restricted solid wooden gate. He greets me with open arms and a big smile, takes me inside, shows me around briefly, then lets me sit down to eat the food he’d picked up for me (since he didn’t want to go out to eat).
“You said you drink, right?” He says as he looks towards to the living space’s bar.
“Yeah, I actually brought something.”
“Oh sweet, pull it out.”
I grab a bottle of bubbly out of my Saint Louis Tote.
“Oh…” He says dully. “You hold on to that,” he continues, “let’s take a shot.”
He walks over to the bar and pours us both a shot. We take them, few words, little giggles, the usual shot-taking decorum.
“You still eating?” He poses a rhetorical question as I’m putting another fork of food into my mouth.
“Man come in here.”
I close up my food and follow him.
Next thing I know, we’re in a low-lit bedroom with music playing and his penis out.
Hey, I said long story short.
I’ve since picked up in conversations amongst males the “draw down” technique. Surely I’d heard this terminology before my encounter with this fine man in that mansion, but it wasn’t until after this experience that it registered.
Shiiiiiid, I ain’t doing all that playing, I’ma draw down on her.
This is a method where a man will pull out his penis in a private setting unprompted to see if the woman will move the sexual encounter forward.
I did not move the encounter forward. I left. ⁺⁺⁺And I had to pay for my own Uber home.
There are so many sticky situations when it comes to dating in Los Angeles. [inserts “I hate it here” gif] Ugh, I love it here, but the dating scene aroundLA is less than desirable. If you live in L.A., would you agree that the dating scene isn’t great? Or, if you live elsewhere, where most men in the dating pool don’t induce a headache or heartache, let me know your zip code.. you know, for polling purposes ☺
⁺Subject’s name and occupation have been changed to conceal the individual’s identity.
⁺⁺Neighborhood has been changed for privacy.
⁺⁺⁺The creative writer in me must’ve made up this ending, typing off the cuff, rushing, filling in the blanks with my imagination when I didn’t feel like digging thru my memory… upon checking my Uber and Lyft history, I see no ride orders placed from my account on November 21st. See, that’s why I take my time telling stories, going detail by detail. Now it’s coming back to me, see, if I’d’ve continued in my normal fashion of detailed storytelling, I would’ve went thru how after I didn’t do anything with the d***, Amon abruptly ended our quality time, saying the car would pull up quickly when I don’t think he’d ordered it yet. I’m giggling to myself now, remembering how I told my girls CeCe and Niccolette on the way to Eaton Canyon the next day, “y’all, he didn’t even let me wait for the ride inside.” I suppose it wasn’t without chivalry completely, at least he paid for it. [inserts squeamish emoji]
aroundLAwithTK is a personal lifestyle blog where I share my experiences as a normal girl navigating Los Angeles. Other writers have readers, I have riders. Thank you for being here, riders.
Broke Up With My BFF and Now She Says She's Suing Me
Waking up from a midday nap, I open YouTube on my phone to get me going, in hopes I’ll make it from my bed to my desk and do some writing. Shortly into my well-curated suggestion page scroll, a video by TED-Ed catches my eye, How Friendship Affects Your Brain.
The educational video goes into how the adolescent brain forms particularly special friendships because of “changes in the way you value, understand, and connect to friends.”
In my adolescent years, I was too wounded, and as a result, guarded, to allow this magic of neurology to do its thing for relationships then. Now, as a maturing, healing 20-something, I’ve been making up for it, really deepening connections with people in my life.
I take friendship seriously.
Coming across this video about how friendship affects the human brain is on the heels of a recent breakup with a friend. Yeah, I like science, but the timing may also have something to do with why it caught my eye.
Related: Bestie Breakups Are Worse Than Breaking Up with a Boyfriend… Here’s How Separating From a Friend is Similar to Separating From a Romantic Partner (I haven’t written this yet, but the points have played out in my mind and it deserves its own moment on my soapbox)
We really broke up some months ago, days after being together for our mutual girlfriend’s birthday. (And really, we’d already started silently shifting apart a couple of months before that.) But, it’s the exchange we had a few days ago, after not talking for four months, that’s brought her, and this endless series of debacles with her, to the front of my mind.
This darn girl told me, “I’ll see you in court.”
A slight grin comes across my face as I close my eyes and shake my head at how completely laughable this is. Let me run it back for y’all.
A girl that once called me her bestfriend is now saying she’s going to sue me. Here’s the story.
The funny part is, this threat of litigation can’t be for a claim much over a hundred bucks. But child, we’ll get there.
First, meet Pea.
⁺Peahendra, called Pea for short, is a single mother of 3 living on the outskirts of a capital city in the South. She regards the man that fathered her children as the biggest mistake of her life, still holding strongly to the belief that if it weren’t for him ruining her early 20s, she would’ve reached Internet stardom and been a million-dollar baby mama. These are not secrets, nor private desires. These are facts she’ll gladly tell you upon introducing herself, before even saying her zodiac sign (and we all know how early that comes into conversation these days).
In a video compilation my sis put together of a few people wishing me happy birthday last year, Pea restated a sentiment she’d shared with me on multiple occasions, “this has been one hell of a journey for you and I… I’m forever thankful for meeting you when I did, I do wish it could’ve been sooner, ‘cause you know we would’ve been [does upward hand motion]... but I hope we continue this journey.” Basically saying we would’ve been up.
Since becoming girlfriends, Pea began experiencing the experiences she always desired: getting flewed out, traveling out of or across the country regularly, shopping luxury designer, being in close quarters with famous and/or wealthy men, and so forth. She believes if we would’ve joined forces, so-to-speak, sooner, her therealkylesister-type career would’ve catapulted by now. (Her telling me these things, where she could’ve been in life had we met sooner, was her Peahendra way of saying “thank you for being the great friend that you are to me,” she’s just never been one to say it in those words.) I was there to facilitate these opportunities to put her on that track. My role as a friend to her was to boost her up, to support her, and as long as it wasn’t hurting me, I didn’t mind playing that role because I love loving on people.
What’s that TikTok audio, I’m going to be JaydaWayda? Yeah, that’s Pea.
One of Pea’s favorite self-reassuring remarks to make when we’d be on FaceTime, sometimes group FaceTime with the mutual girlfriend that introduced us, talking about our future plans was, “all a n**** gotta do is see me.”
That was it. That was her plan for success, a man laying eyes on her. Drake would lay eyes on her and POOF! BOOM! PIE-YOW! She’d be carrying his seed and that seed would take care of her and the children she already had. And all I had to do was put her in the room for it to happen. …So, I put her in the room. [shoulder shrugs]
Now, look. I know what you may be thinking… I used to think that way too. Every woman needs to have her own, make her own, do something with herself, and never put her efforts at getting ahead into getting a man.
Even our mutual girlfriend said it on group FaceTime before, “girrrrrl, all this energy you put into getting a man with a bag, you can go get your own bag!”
Related: Hypergamy is Encouraging Women to “Date Up”
Yes, back in the gap I used to preach against these golddigging hoes, sharing posts on my InstaStory, then my best guy friend made a good point in a reply one day. “T.K., not every girl can make it without being a hoe.” Of course I had a rebuttal, knowing good and well he was making some sense, causing us to debate on the topic, but I eventually understood where he was coming from.
Jemele Hill made it from her brains, but some of these hoes have to make it from their butts. Calvin wasn’t applauding, nor looking down on either, he was only highlighting the fact that there’s a role in society for everyone. Hey, somebody’s gotta be the garbage man.
Pea helped me to be less of a prude and opened up my perception. These are real goals and desires, even though they look a lot different than my own.
Related: Not All Attractive Girls in L.A. Are Gold-Digging Hoes
At least being a cute girl having a life goal to land a rich man isn’t as improbable as banking on getting drafted to the NFL when you’re 5th string at a D3 school.
Becoming a ⁺⁺Jayda or Ari of the world is not that unrealistic when you’re an above-average attractive, youthful woman.
Peahendra is as pretty as, if not prettier than, majority of the women I’ve seen walking around Beverly Hills that have bagged ballers. In addition to smooth caramel skin and a nice grain of red hair, her defined jawline and high cheekbones combine for a face that’ll make a man doubletake. She also has a naturally nice body, flaunting a waist that goes in with hips that go out, giving her that highly sought after coke bottle shape. And that’s only her at the bare bones.
Honestly, she has what it takes to be a major headturner, especially if we throw in all the additions these InstaThotties do (full glam makeup, hair extensions touching their tails, overly branded drip, shiny jewels, etc.) to draw more attention to themselves. And this admirable description is coming from a person that has her blocked on everything, so you know I’m not lying out of bias. Though I want nothing to do with her, I can’t lie and say she’s not an extremely good-looking girl.
Seeing her potential, and seeing that there are rich men that actually want a bimbo to depend on them, I didn’t too much mind setting up these situations for her to climb. It’s a whole strategic game to this madness, child, I somewhat enjoy a close-up seat without having to be in it. I rather not give up game, but I hope I’ve explained enough for you to get the jist of it.
I figured the more I could give her what she wants, the happier I could make her, the better person she’d become, then the better friend she’d be to me. Yeah, early on she showed signs of selfishness and lack of care and consideration for anyone other than herself, but maybe she wasn’t a good friend to others because no one had shown her how to be a good friend by being one to her. [swoosh] Here goes me with my cape, ready to be Captain Save-A-Hoe.
Ou, I’m right over 1400 words here and my goal is 2000/day. Aye! Let’s see if we can wrap this up in under 600 words, shall we?
Long story short, after not having spoken for months, Pea contacted me via iMessage using a different email address, one that wasn’t saved to her contact (therefore not blocked), saying to let her know how much it would be to ship her “stuff” she’d left in my possession over a year and a half ago. Child, she need not hold her breath, because… IKYFLTM!
Last May, a gentleman caller of mine wanted to see me.
Thick as thieves, talking every day all throughout the day, Pea was abreast of any situation I had, so naturally, as he started making requests for my time, she knew.
If Pea can benefit, she’s interested; if she can’t, she doesn’t want to be bothered. (Basically, any male suitor of mine that had it within his wheelhouse to do something for her, whether it be an experience or a connection, she was for, even if I had no interest in him, she’d convince me why I should. Uhnt uhn, girl, that’s so-and-so’s manager, that could put me closer to so-and-so, just talk to him! And what would my duck a** do? Yep.) She was aware that this was seemingly a man of means, means enough for the both of us, so she’s all, “ouuuu, I’m down for New York!” I kind of giggle, but figure, why not?! If it’s within my reach to do something for someone that I consider a friend, that I know that friend wants, why not do it?!
If you can’t fly my friend out with me, I can’t come.
Now, ain’t that some sh*t?!
I told the man that wanted to see me in New York that even though we’d met in-person and been conversing, I still didn’t know him well enough to come on his turf, where I knew no one, all by my lonesome, just so my friend could come. “Would you want your daughter to fly across the country to go hangout by herself with some man that she doesn’t know that well?!” Let me be quiet, I’m giving y’all too much game. But, it’s really not game, it’s the truth. Maybe I watched too much Law & Order: SVU with Granny, but naw, you ain’t bouta slice me up and leave me on a back street in one of them burroughs for Olivia Benson to try to figure out what happened.
He understood my safety concern and offered for him to come to me in Los Angeles instead. Of course staying at my house, or even knowing my address, wasn’t an option this early on in getting to know one another. He said he’d rent a place for himself to stay and I could meet up with him aroundLA as my schedule permitted. This would’ve been perfectly convenient for me, not having to miss any work or anything, but Pea quickly reminded me this wasn’t about me. “Uhnt uhn, New Yorrrrrrrk!”
After talking to him quite some bit more, he finally conceded.
He told me to go ahead and book flights for me and my girl and he’d put the money back in my account. I guess this was his way of seeing if I was a broke b**** that would be choked up by this. I wasn’t. I was cool as a feather, as if two stacks gone from my account made no difference. “Girl, what are you going to do if he doesn’t give you the money back?!,” Pea exclaimed in wonder as days passed. I said I’d cancel the flights. “Oh no, don’t do that, we’re going to New York! We. Are. Going! Don’t worry, he’ll probably give it back to you in cash, in person.” She definitely wasn’t forking over a dime.
And wait, can you believe as I’m coordinating flights for us, flying from different starting points being that we live in different states, trying to make it work to where we land around the same time, a time good for him to pick us up, this girl had the nerve to say, “don’t give me a layover. I need direct flights in both directions.” Girl, you gon’ getcho raggedy a** on whatever tf flight you on. Ughhhh! I just remembered that as I’m typing this. That’s the first thing that comes out of your mouth? Not “ayeeee, thanks biiiiiiitch”? Something?? Nothing?!
Anyway, let me move on, because the tangents I could go on ‘bout this one… whew!
We’re in New York and I brought a pair of Celine shades she’d asked me for. I told her I’d broken my black Tom Ford shades, that’s why she’d seen me wearing tf out of these black Celine’s, so while she holds onto these, let me hold onto her black Versace shades, that way I could still have a pair of black shades. Cool, we swap black shades.
A month prior, April 2021, she had come to L.A., staying as a guest in my home, as always. I’m not even about to try to go back and count the number of times she’d traveled this way since our first link up in fall 2018. Her visits to L.A. were never for me, or any reason in particular other than to see what she could get into.
L.A. is where the celebrities frolic.
L.A. is where the trappers and the rappers hang. L.A. is where the ballers ball. L.A. is where the rich n***** do rich n**** s***. And if you’re a somewhat decent-looking girl with a passable personality, who happens to be at the right place at the right time, it’s not difficult to get into any of that. Pea made frequent trips to L.A. in hopes to get into all of that. I was about to say, I did what I could to fulfill those hopes, but let’s cut the modesty… I made it happen. I can’t think of an L.A. dream she dreamt that I didn’t facilitate coming into fruition.
Oh, you want to be treated to fine dining in Beverly Hills? Done.
Oh, you want to take shots with an NBA player at his private mansion party? Done.
Oh, you want to walk down Rodeo Drive and have a random dude buy you designer shoes? Done.
Oh, you want to be inside of Delilah, when it’s closed to the public, partying with Drake? Done.
None of these examples are made up. And I could go on and on, but y’all get the point. I made sh*t happen.
Side note: Some of you may be aware, but I’d guess most of you are not – there are women that “curate lifestyle experiences”, like what I did for Peahendra, and collect a fee for their services. They are modern day madam’s. I was not aware of this phenomenon until living in L.A., being in various spaces, exposed to various persons… and I really couldn’t ignore it after listening to an episode of a podcast called Trappin’ Anonymous where the host, @Christylezz, interviews an admitted madam! Child, that’s another blog post for another day. Anyway… I want to be clear, though I seem to have the skillset and connections to be a madam, I am not a madam. I’m chuckling because as I read this part of me and Pea’s story back, it’s giving madam, but baby, ya girl had no financial gain from none of that. Every position I set Peahendra up in was purely out of love.
Being that Pea wasn’t in L.A. for me, it wasn’t mandatory that I clear my schedule to be with her the entire time, every single time.
If there was a gig on the table that I rather not resist, I’d make sure she was good and go handle my business. One of the times that I had a prior engagement, I suggested Pea go entertain herself at The Grove. She came back to my house with a shopping bag from Nordstrom and asked what I thought about the two-piece set she’d bought. Though it was cute, she said she really didn’t have that to spend. (She really didn’t have the money for a trip to L.A. at the time, but she said she needed a break from mom life, and she knew once she got to me that pretty much everything else would be taken care of.) “Yeah, 80 dollars?! For this? Uhnt uhn. I mean, I can afford it, but I also could do something else with my money,” she continues to verbalize her buyer’s remorse. While still here in L.A., she wears it once with the tags tucked in, then decides for sure that she can do without it. “T.K., return it for me, then Zelle me the money,” Pea says to me on her last day as she’s packing to leave. “Girl, you better take that home with you,” I respond very clearly letting her know that I will not be making a trip to Nordstrom just to return something for her (that she knew she didn’t want and had time to return herself). “Well, you don’t want it?” she giggles. “Girl, don’t leave that here,” I reiterate. “Ugh! Ima just leave it here,” she ignores me, “remind me to deal with it when I come back to L.A.”
SuperBowl LVI came to L.A. the following February, so you know my girl was on the first thing she could be on out here.
Ballers outside = Peahendra outside.
(I ain’t mad at it! How serious are you about your craft if you aint?!)
One trait I did appreciate about Pea is that she owned her sh*t. She wasn’t trying to be one of these girls hiding behind a bundle business or philanthropy front, those are the ones that vex me. My girl Pea was always honest about what she wanted to be, an ⁺⁺⁺RNB.
Before she could even roll her carry-on across my door seal good, I was reaching beside my big brown armoire and grabbing that Nordstrom bag with that two-piece set inside it the same way she left it. “Girl, I don’t want that sh*t,” she swats at the bag like it’s a fly. I’m no neat freak, but I keep a pretty decent house; no need for that bag to sit in the corner of my bedroom any longer. I place it beside her luggage she’d plopped down in my beauty room.
From sliding her into Lil’ Baby’s SuperBowl pre-party to almost sneaking her into the SuperBowl itself at SoFi, both of which I was working, that weekend could be a blog post of its own. I don’t know if all my brain cells have regenerated yet from all the sleep I missed between running plays with her and running my tail to event gigs.
The last day of her visit comes and she’s packing her suitcase with the Nordstrom shopping bag sitting right there once again. Do you think she took it?
Where she was packing, right there in that beauty room lay also the black Versace shades I’d had since our linkup in NYC the year prior, where we’d swapped. I would’ve been glad for her to leave the black Celine shades and take back the Versace pair, as the oversized styling of the Celine frames fit my big face better.
If she hadn’t seen the Versace shades, maybe that would’ve been one thing, but she did. To make sure I wasn’t tripping, I looked back thru my InstaStory archive and surely enough there’s a snap of us walking to a day party where I’m wearing the Versace shades and we’re both looking in the camera. Child, she wasn’t worried ‘bout them shades she’d gotten for ‘bout 80% off when she was working at Sunglass Hut way back when she only had one kid. She never said, “oh yeah, let’s not forget to swap back.” She wanted to keep the nicer, newer, trendy Celine shades; and I wasn’t pressed in either direction.
You see how the two-piece set and sunglasses came into my possession over a year and a half ago, and stayed there, right? So, you tell me what you would do at this point in time if this girl contacted you saying to make your way to the post office to mail her her items.
My immediate reaction was “hunh?”. My face scrunched up in confusion as I was out on a jog aroundLA.
My second thought was, “I’m not mailing her sh*t.”
Then, my third thought was, “why?”.
Why has she found a way to bypass my block list to contact me about some items her actions made very clear she didn’t want?
Why does she think I’m going to ask “how high?” when she says “jump”?
Why am I not?
I heard a quote once about the connection between writing and thinking that really resonated with me. "I write entirely to find out what is on my mind, what I'm thinking," the late American writer said. And I guess that’s why I’m here, on my soapbox.
I knew I wasn’t shipping a darn thing, but as I was making my way down the Miracle Mile sidewalks, I didn’t know why I wasn’t.
Now that I’ve really thought this thing through, there’s a couple of reasons.
Here’s why I’m not returning the items my ex-BFF asked me for.
First of all, I would say she didn’t want them because she didn’t take them when she could’ve, but I suppose people have the right to change their minds. Okay, you didn’t want the items, now you do… Cool. How is that my responsibility? I don’t see how it’s my responsibility to get her belongings back to her that she left in my possession on purpose and blatantly chose not to retrieve when she had the opportunity to retrieve them.
Second of all, let’s say she did want them all along and it was my responsibility to get them back to her. Are you kidding me? All that I’ve given this girl and I’m being bothered behind what?! One candle I gifted her alone earlier this year is worth more than those old shades and that jogger set. Shoot, I’ve spent more at the liquor store and dispensary in preparation to host her in my home than she spent on those items she’s pressed about. Ain’t no way. You’ve got to be kidding me.
I’ve not wronged you, I’ve not taken nothing from; I’ve only given to you, time and time again. Yet you look for a way to take from me? I don’t understand. Mind you, the moment I put the baggy set on my body the other day – which is what seems to have ignited her because I posted it on Instagram thinking nothing of it – I knew I would be giving it away, and the little frames definitely aren’t my favorite either, so it’s not the absence of the items that would bother me, it’s the principle.. I’ve already given you everything, and you want to take some more?
But I don’t know why I’m pretending to be surprised. Of course she’ll look for a way to take, even months after we’ve gone our separate ways, that’s her nature. She’s a taker; I’m a giver. She’s a tic; I’m a dog.
Our symbiotic relationship has always been parasitic.
Willfully ignorant, under the false hope that's been created in my own head, I thought I could love her into loving me properly. Each time she’d show herself, we’d “breakup”, but it wouldn’t take much for me to take her back, thinking, without any real reason, maybe by the stroke of a magic wand our relationship would turn into a mutual one.. maybe this time we’ll be able to depend on each other. My logical mind knows better, but I suppose my heart would always hold me back.
In a mutualistic relationship, both parties bring equal benefits to each other and are able to depend on one another. In a parasitic relationship, one individual only takes and ends up causing harm to the other.
I really wish I could say I’m exaggerating, and I’m making lies up about this girl. Unfortunately, I’m not. That’s really Pea.
As I write this, I’m trying to decide if I’m upset, if I want vengeance.
Do I want to insist she mail me any and all items of mine that are in her possession? Do I want to demand she give me the 2-thousand-dollar designer bag that a man paid for, in pursuit of me, for us to be “Goyard sisters”? Do I want to hold her to paying me back the 900 dollars I got from my friend for the flight to L.A. this past Easter weekend that she failed to get on due to her own poor family planning?
Lord. Lord. Mercy me.
All I can do is shake my head. I can’t believe this girl. But, I can. It’s Pea.
There’s so much there, and nothing at all, a black hole, a star that’s collapsed onto herself. You pour and pour and who knows where it goes.
Since her saying she’ll see me in court for her three items valued somewhere around a hundred bucks, there’s been a slight internal debate about whether or not I regret having given not only material items, but so much of my effort, connections and resources, when she provided nothing.. And, I don’t. She needed it.
And if she does fulfill that threat of taking me to court, and the judge rules in her favor, she needs that too.
Friendship can be complicated anywhere, in a fake city like L.A., it gets even trickier. I’ll have to get back up on my soapbox another day to tell you about some other disheartening situations I’ve had with girls since living in Los Angeles.
Have you ever had a toxic friendship? Tell me about it in the comment section. And if this story kept your interest all the way thru, it may keep someone else’s too! Please share.
⁺The name and descriptive aspects of the individual have been altered to conceal her identity.
⁺⁺Baby mamas of rappers that have now gained millions of followers on social media and built a profitable brand out of their bad b*tch personas.
⁺⁺⁺RNB is an acronym for a lady that’s well taken care of by her wealthy man. A male and female rapper collaborated on a song in that relationship title’s honor
blog cover image: Society19
Not All Attractive Girls In L.A. Are Golddigging Hoes
Some are… but don’t lump ‘em all into there.
Listen, it’s after 11 o’clock at night and I need to get a blog post up because I’m on a 3-day streak of posting on this personal lifestyle blog daily. That means I need to get something up here quickly, before midnight. I wouldn’t be rushing now, if I started when I came to my desk earlier, to pour out my full heart of God’s grace that I was reminded of by a stranger. I went and took pictures in my front yard for that grateful/blessed/inspired/all-that-good-sh*t blog post. Then, I got distracted.
A new blog post idea came to mind as I thought about these catfish a** h*** flooding social media airwaves. I created a “How to Edit Your Pictures to Be a Baddie, NOT a Catfish” promo graphic… for a blog post that I hadn’t even written yet. Then, this little mind of mine went floating off again, landing me years back in my Instagram archive. And that’s where this quickie blog post comes in.
When I wrote my first post of this Los Angeles opinion column, defending the practice of women dating up, I tried to clarify the difference between an honest hypergamous woman and a lying gold-digging whore. Two responses from uneasy male friends of mine showed me that some people lost literacy when it came to that part, letting me know that I may have to further clarify at some point.
Hypergamy ≠ Gold-digging
I’m not going to full-blown “go in” with pages and pages of text the way I did in my first essay on the concept of hypergamy, but I’d like to share the words I wrote in an Instagram caption almost 3 years ago.
The other day, as I was on FaceTime with a younger cousin, trying to decide how to wear my hair for that night’s dinner reservations, she stopped me and inquired how I’m able to always be going out.
“Out there hoe’ing,” she said playfully, yet seriously wanting to know how I fund my activities.
That’s a notion I’ve received multiple times. One of the most important people in my life, my big brother, made a similar suggestion a while back in reference to trips I was taking. When I relieved his concern, he said, “okay, I know you were raised better than that, little girl.” (Apparently, you don’t if you had to ask.). I suppose it’s an understandable assumption in this era of where-da-bag-at female mentalities and you-can-have-the-biggest-Chanel-bag-in-the-store-if-you-want-it male bravado.
Yes, women exist whose lifestyle is sponsored by their romantic partner(s), but that doesn’t mean women that are the sole providers for themselves have gone extinct.
The main reason my little cousin’s conversation stuck with me is because I’d hate for young girls to think that the only and/or best way to have fun experiences and nice belongings is by way of a man. I want to set an example for my baby cousins, and other young girls, to let a man be an addition to what they have, not all that they have.
In the 2.5 years I’ve lived in L.A., I’ve worked a full-time job, in addition to having multiples side hustles. Thee. Entire. Time.
I haven’t received a dollar towards this high-as-giraffe-p****-a** rent, and I bought every Gucci and Louboutin in my closet. This is not glamorous. This is not what you post on Instagram, especially in Hollywood, where the motto is “fake it until you make it” and everyone pretends to be more than what they are and to have more than what they have — that ain’t me tho.
I appreciate every struggle; I know it only sweetens the taste of success to come.
I heard some wise words once: “find a woman that doesn’t need you to take care of her; then take care of her.”
image: Google
I’ll end on that. Women want to be taken care of. Women want a man that they trust to take care of them. Honest hypergamous women want this; they are already providing for themselves and want to multiply with a man. A woman that takes care of herself, that provides herself a certain level of lifestyle, has something to multiply. Hoes, on the other hand, need a man with money because without what a man provides, they have nothing but a vibe and vagina.
If you are a hoe, I’m not mad at you. I’m just saying that I’m not you.
I am not knocking anyone’s method of survival. It’s like my best guy friend, Calvin, said to me when I was critiquing a very well known LA pass around’s hoeness being the root of her success: “T.K., not every girl can make it without hoeing.” And he’s right. There’s a place in society for everyone, and God loves all His children equally.
I understand that not every girl has a skillset to create her own success. Or, maybe, strategization and manipulation is her skillset. Do you, girlfriend.
However, it’s when the lines are blurred that bothers me. It’s when young ladies think that their only option to a better life is spreading their legs that disheartens me.
And on a personal level, I don’t want the notion to be that a decent-looking girl with a nice lifestyle is bending over in front of the highest bidder for it. (As I said in my Instagram post, they exist, yes, so I don’t want to lie to y’all and say they don’t; I want y’all to be able to differentiate.)
Side note: I wonder what foul language Google will penalize me for.. I don’t want the algorithm to think that my personal lifestyle blog is some sort of inappropriate debauchery. That’s why I inserted asterisks in place of some words.
Good women (that aren’t using men for their money) exist.
I talk about hoes because people like to hear about hoes. One of my girlfriends from Baton Rouge was giving me advice on my YouTube channel once and suggested I give my videos spicier titles because YouTube users like drama; negativity gets clicks. I get it. I have to have upwards of 50 blog posts on this website by now and the one titled “Why Black Women In Los Angeles Should Date Up” got more engagement than all the others put together. I’ll continue to include polarizing titles and topics in my opinion column here on aroundLA, but I also like talking about the stuff that doesn’t bait people in with gossip.
As I’m repeating for the third time, yes, a vast portion of Instagram models, influencers, and girls on the social scene in L.A. are essentially high end escorts (that sometimes end up in long-term relationships or with a baby for a rich n****). However, once again, there are honest working women that aren’t hoeing on the side. And I’d like to highlight those women.
Hoes get too much attention.
My new blog series, #WorkingWomanWednesday, features girls getting to their own bag in L.A.
It’s a spin on the popular hashtag #WomanCrushWednesday.
As this is a personal lifestyle blog, the women I select are women that I know personally. I’ve witnessed them work in L.A. and I know what they’re about. They have their own and are not trying to use a man for his money.
They’re not those girls on Instagram trying to get you to buy their “Learn How to Create a 7-Figure Business” course for a thousand dollars, but leaving out the part where they slept with this one and that one to create theirs.
My woman crushes are working actresses, flight attendants, storefront owners, corporate women, and more.
The girls in LA that I feature are telling their true stories of where they were, what they did, and where they are now. They are goal-driven, not gold-diggin’. And I hope they’re doing will be a testament to young women everywhere, that if they want to, they can do it too… without laying on their back.
Follow @aroundLAwithTK on Instagram to have some LA sunshine show up on your feed.
See… It’s 3 o’clock in the morning now! What happened to a “quickie,” T.K.?! [gives self the side-eye]. If I’m going to continue being a personal Los Angeles lifestyle blogger, I need to figure out how to move a little faster. Aïe, aïe, aïe.
Later, y’all!
Only Broke Men Are Mad When Women Say They Don't Date Broke Men
A few weeks ago, I told you all reasons why women should date and marry up, and I didn’t think I’d be back on a related topic this soon. I was thinking I’d finish my list of 50 Photo-Ops in Los Angeles today, but after being annoyed by ignorance on Clubhouse, the spirit led me here.
When I was a little girl and I’d get in trouble and told “I don’t want to hear anything… you better not say a word,” my head would be ready to explode! I’ve been opinionated, and very vocal about those opinions, since I learned my first words. I began using writing as an outlet when I wasn’t allowed to speak, and I suppose that’s what I’m doing right now.
I was cursed out then kicked out by a mature (in age), grown man.
This blog post isn’t about him, though. The anger he spewed at me, and the sheep that supported his venomous rage, simply got me thinking… why does it make some men so mad when a woman doesn’t want to sleep with a man that has one foot in a studio apartment and the other foot halfway into homelessness?!
I’m steadily trying to increase the amount of content on my website, and since this was on my mind, I figured I’d think out loud.
I’ll do the other blog post (a list of places to take pictures that will say you’re in L.A.) later.
If you don’t care to tune into my on my soapbox, please go enjoy the While in Los Angeles guide. Yesterday, I added a new piece under the Buy Black section, where I share Black-owned businesses aroundLA that’ll get you vacation-ready!
Okay, let’s get into it.
The only men that get offended when women say they don’t date broke men are broke men.
I hopped in the group message with a couple of my girlfriends from Louisiana and told them what had transpired on Clubhouse.
Let me fill you all in.. what is Clubhouse?
Clubhouse is an audio social media app. I liken it to a big conference or convention, but virtual. You know how a conference is held at a set location and at that location there are multiple rooms with different conversations or activities going on in each? That’s how it is. You can walk down the (virtual) hallway, getting a glimpse of what’s going on and see a little of who’s in each room.
If a room looks interesting to you, you can walk in (click on) the room and join it. There’s an elevated panel of speakers “on stage” (users at the top of the screen with microphone audio ability) and there’s an “audience” (users towards the bottom of the screen without mic ability) tuning in. If you have something you’d like to contribute to the conversation, you can “raise your hand” to speak by clicking on the icon of a hand in the bottom right corner of your screen.
If one of the moderators of the panel discussion (users highest toward the top of the screen with an asterisk in a green circle beside their name) would like, they can send you an “invite to join the stage”. When you press accept, you’ll be moved up from the virtual audience and onto the virtual stage, and given a mic (have the ability to speak on the app).
And now let me tell you what happened there.
I opened the app and joined one of the first rooms that appeared in my hallway. (Clubhouse will put rooms in your hallway that the algorithms think you may be interested in, the same way Instagram puts posts on your explore page). Though the lead moderator invited me to the stage immediately, giving me the ability to join the conversation, I left my mic on mute for a few hours or so and didn’t say a single peep. I was writing the “While in Los Angeles… Buy Black” blog post I told you all about earlier, and I had my phone volume completely turned down, allowing the Clubhouse app to only play like a radio on low. I also had soft music playing from my desktop computer. So, I was on the app, and in the room, but it was more for background noise as I work in my home office, which is something I do often.
I finished the piece I was working on, and shortly thereafter hell broke loose.
When I picked up my phone and started listening to the conversation, it was on the currently trending phrase “broke boys don’t deserve no p*ssy.” I don’t know how it got there from the original topic of the room, but that’s where it was when I happened to tune in. One of the men said, “why not?!” They then began to say that a man being broke shouldn’t be a factor if you find the man attractive. The lead moderator with his vulgar mouth said something along the lines of “if you want to f*** him, f*** him.” Then a man’s voice said, “just because a man is broke doesn’t mean he doesn’t get horny.. a broke n**** got needs too!”
And here comes what some people would define as a “pick me,” a girl that tries to insinuate that she’s different from other girls and/or say something in agreement with the male perspective in an effort to gain male desire and/or attention.
This woman did a whole soliloquy about how we don’t know what a man has been through, what type of childhood trauma he survived and the resulting pain and behaviors he brought into adulthood. “Maybe he’s still living at home with his mom for a reason. Maybe he stuck for a reason,” I remember the woman’s voice saying. Then she continued on about how a man that is struggling needs a woman, and that a woman can help him get a job and a place. She said a whole lot and I wasn’t recording, so I can’t quote her exactly word-for-word, but what I do remember for sure is that she ended by saying something along the lines of being denied sex isn’t going to make broke men feel any better, so “they need p**** too!”
I took my microphone off of mute and said in a cartoon voice, “sure they do.. they just won’t get it from me.”
Ladies on stage came off of mute with laughter and words of agreement. The lead moderator, the one that brought me up to stage, immediately quieted the room. One of the men said, “T.K. has been in here a while and hasn’t said anything, I want to hear what she has to say,” but other people starting talking. He quickly brought it back to me, “T.K., what do you have to say? Answer the question.” I asked what question. (Maybe before I picked up my phone and started listening they were going down the line asking women to answer whatever question was at hand). He said, “would you give a broke man some p*ssy?” I simply responded, “no.” The man that posed the question and the lead moderator asked “why not?”
I’m not a woman that has ever been promiscuous, though I admire women that are sexually liberated, I’ve never found it in myself to be so free. It takes a while to work your way into this womb. And I don’t foresee a broke man making it there. I explained this.
For some reason, people chose to have selective hearing, and responded, “oh, so a man can’t take you on a walk in the park as a date?” Then the lead moderator jumped in and said “yeah, but you’ll let him f*** if he takes you to a fancy restaurant.”
Whaaaaaaaaat? [inserts RHOA “who said that?” gif] I had to let him know that he made that scenario up in his own mind because I didn’t say anything of them sort. In fact, I said the opposite. I don’t care if the first date is at a park or the fanciest restaurant in Beverly Hills, it’s highly unlikely that I’m having sex with someone after either. Then I reiterated my initial point that it takes time for me to reach the level of sexual intimacy with a partner.
The lead moderator gave his best effort at a rebuttal. “See, you don’t know this, but a man that takes you to a park will be better at connecting with you than a man that takes you to a bullsh*t a** fancy restaurant. I promise you that.”
Then another pick me joined the lead moderator’s efforts and said, “yeah, what’s wrong with the park? A man can trick you to think he has money with these PPP loans right now, take you to a fancy restaurant, f*** you, and then you find out he’s broke, so you can’t say you don’t f*** broke men because you have been fooled before and f***** a broke man but you just didn’t know it.”
Whooooooooooooooooo? I told her that she obviously missed my opening statement. I know I haven’t had sexual intercourse with clown, bum, nor fraud, in the way she described being fooled or falling victim to a facade because I deeply get to know a person before I allow them to put their private part inside of mine.
Okay, I’m starting to yawn and get a headache, so I’ll spare both of us the remainder of this back and forth dialogue, and get to the point… men being mad and where they should channel that energy instead.
You’re not missing much because the dialogue portion ended quickly when the lead moderator either had no valid points to make or was incapable of articulating them. Instead, he resorted to yelling insults into the microphone, making up stuff I hadn’t said, then calling me a golddigging a** b**** and repeatedly saying how dumb I sound for it (it being the stuff he made up in his mind).
I would say he manipulated my words, but he wasn’t oratorically skilled enough to do that. I don’t know if his understanding is so poor that he completely misinterpreted everything I said, or if he straight up told bold faced lies on me.
If you’re wondering what I was doing during this verbal attack, I couldn’t do much. In his screaming words, “this is my house and I can be as disrespectful as I want to be in my house. I say whatever the f*** I want to say in my house. Shut the f*** up!” (Reminder: this was all taking place virtually, over an app, even though the way he was talking, you’d swear he has keys to a physical location). The moment I did squeeze a word in edgewise, he (virtually) kicked me out.
When I talked to my girlfriends from Louisiana about it in our group message, I came to the realization that it’s never the secure and successful men getting upset about women having reasonable and respectable standards. It’s actually the complete opposite.
Successful men take pride in the fact that a woman they’re involving themselves with wouldn’t entertain any old dusty!
What did Young Dolph say?
You cain’t f*** with my girl, she a rich n**** b****
Have some pride… or don’t.
If you’re interested in a low value woman, pursue that. If you want some sympathy cat, according to that Clubhouse room, there’s some women out there willing to give it to you… don’t get mad at those of us who won’t.
Good things don’t come easy
If you want something a little more quality, that’s going to take you some time and effort.
Dating and relationships are unique to each pair of people, but most of them tend to follow an evolving sequence of stages. First comes basic attraction, then comes interests (getting to know one another), and after those two comes deeper intimacy (which may include physical intimacy). These stages don’t happen in the matter of hours, days, or even weeks or months. That second stage alone, the one after the initial meeting/attraction, is likely to last 3 to 4 months, according to Licensed Marriage and Family Therapist Sally Connolly.
Maybe you aren’t thinking about dating seriously. Maybe you only want to get your little pedawhacker wet. There are still other things you can focus all that pent up energy on.
3 Things broke boys can try other than trying to get in a girl’s panties
Pray
The Lord is your Shephard, you shall not want.. for p**** you think you should have but are not entitled to
Get therapy
A 60-minute therapy session with a licensed professional will likely be more beneficial than the 60 seconds it takes you to climax
Make some money
Not to pry your way into the penis fly trap. Prioritize. Maybe start with paying off your back-owed child support
Yeah.
I started this blog post very spur of the moment, got distracted, went on about my day, then came back to my desk and noticed it up on my computer screen, after I was already over this topic, but I figured since I started it, I may as well finish it. I didn’t jot down notes and work from there, how I like to do, which now leaves me unsure if I covered everything, or approached the topic at the angle, I originally wanted to for this post. At this point though, it’s approaching 2am in L.A, I’m a couple of glasses of wine in, and I’m ready to go to bed, so I’m done.
If it’s terrible, let me know. I probably won’t delete it because I need all the content and clicks I can get. Let’s run these analytics up! I will, however, take it into consideration before I get on my soapbox again.
A hit dog will holler.
I’ll close on that note.
Before you attack a woman that says she doesn’t desire to have sexual relations with broke men, ask yourself why does that trigger you?
Feel free to unleash your hurt male egos in the comment section of this blog post below.
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