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  • Writer's pictureBrande Victorian

Niggas Be Bored

Not long ago I hit a milestone in my adult life: I came across the 1,723rd man for whom #WasteHerTime (her texts, her minutes, her data plan, etc.) is a way of life. In a quest to prevent a 1,724th occurrence, I decided to do a little social searching, i.e. determine what exactly is up with men texting me all day, calling me all day, complimenting me all day, flirting with me all day, promising me memorable dates (and other satisfying things that begin with the letter d) and then when the time comes to actually make good on any of those promises-- meaning see one another in person because, thankfully, dates (and the other d-word) are the only remaining things in this world that haven't gone entirely digital yet-- nada. Suddenly the man who is so into/attracted to/interested in/enamored with me only has enough free time in his day to tell me he just saw my text a day later and won't be free to chill for another 463 days depending on whether its a leap year, Mercury is in retrograde, and he has to run errands for his mama.

If my words convey the tone I set out to when I began crafting each of these sentences, you're probably reading this thinking, "ooh she's mad," and you're right. I'm also, "mufuckin tied," irritated, annoyed, frustrated, disappointed, and confused. Scratch the last one. I was confused until I came to this conclusion: Niggas be bored. And I'm just the decent-looking good listener they love to turn to to take their mind off the fact that they're not taking to/dating/sleeping with whom they really want. It's a harsh truth, but, honestly, I feel a little peace coming to this understanding. It certainly beats feeling like something is wrong with me.

Here's the thing, I've been there -- sort of. There's been many a time I've sent out a "Hey" text to a negro I was 98% sure would respond because I was sitting in the house bored waiting too many minutes for another episode of "Sex and the City" to buffer thanks to the monopoly that was formerly Time Warner Cable. Did I like said negro? Not really. Did I like that said negro liked me and I could count on him to give me attention when no one else was? Absolutely. But did I do like a lot of these men out here and ever make said negro think he could get close enough to even smell it? Of course not. I'm a woman of integrity (humbly chuckles to self).

Still, I get it. Boredom is a bitch, and loneliness is the persistent sidechick who doesn't really know she's a sidechick. When the two get together, bad shit goes down. Numbers get dialed, texts get sent, time gets wasted, and if you aren't smart enough to realize what's up -- or took 31 years to do so -- feelings get hurt. There's also the possibility tires get slashed, shady Facebook statuses get written and phrases like Bitch ass nigga get used far too frequently. Of course, being a woman of integrity, I don't do things like that. I'll just block said BANs and write articles about them that he'll never read because being interested in what I do for a living wasn't part of the boredom game. (FYI, I believe that's what they call a red flag, but I'm not sure. My track record of ignoring those isn't so good.)

Anyway, I write this as a warning because the height of nigga boredom, also known as cuffing season, is still upon us. That means a lot of "Hey strangers" are popping up in your inbox, likely from the same man who's sending that text out like a chain email until the one woman he sent the message to that he really wanted to respond actually does and suddenly he's no longer sitting around the house just "chillin." Now he has to babysit the little sister he doesn't have and help his boy move a piece of paper from the living room to the bedroom so he'll be busy from now until 7 minutes before Jesus returns. Don't worry, he'll hit you then and see what's up before the planet is engulfed in flames and he goes to burn in hell, which is clearly where he belongs, if that's cool with you.

If you're the type who doesn't take phrases like "I want to get to know you" and "we should hang out" at face value, then you'll probably say yes. And if that's how you live, by all means engage in the no-contact sport known as nigga boredom where men literally scroll through their contacts and ask "who can I send mixed signals to today and call a crazy bitch for believing them tomorrow?" Me, myself, and I will be occupying our time blocking as many bored men as we can... and then unblocking them one by one when we realize our inbox is just a little too dry and pretending you're about to actually give a man some is more fun than memorizing the lyrics to "Broken pussy." As Yoshi would say, "these games are for two players."

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