Urban Thought Collective

In case you guys think wonder if we read you comments, wonder no more. All of your comments are appreciated, the kind, the not-so kind, even the ones that make us say WTF?

pmatters -Yes, the “My Mile High Guy” title could lead one to believe the story is about me having sex on an airplane, but come on! I’m adventurous, not reckless. I know you were teasing, but since you brought it up…the idea of “doing it” in very public places has never been my thing. Somewhat public I’m not necessarily opposed to. After hours in an office…kinda sexy. In a parked car…less sexy unless we’re talking about a Hummer…but it still holds some appeal. And yes, back in the day, on a red-eye flight when one might actually find themselves seated in the back of the plane with no one around for rows and rows and lots of clean blankets to hide under, who didn’t fantasize about becoming a member of the infamous Mile High Club?

But Toto we ain’t in Kansas anymore. Soaring gas prices have forced the airlines to pack passengers in like sardines, filling every f&*%ing seat before even considering taking off, not to mention the way airline blankets keep disappearing like socks in a dryer. Watching porn is one thing, but starring in one? I will not be “doing it” on a plane, unless of course it’s a private one. For the record, if I ever date a man who has a private plane and I get to ride on it (I did date one, but the relationship did not last long enough for me to enjoy all the benefits–another blog for some other time), please believe every flight attendant aboard can watch, the co-pilot too for all I care.

buttabrown-I’m assuming you were just cracking on your man and he has at least once taken you to a restaurant that requires silverware and a linen napkin. I took the liberty of adding the linen napkin part, because let’s face it, Hometown Buffet offers silverware. On the real though, I think we women place way too much stock on the whole restaurant thing. Sure I tongue tripped a little about nice restaurants last week and will do so again next week (the Sushi spot he took me to was more than a notion). Truth be told though, it’s not so much the restaurant that impresses, it’s the effort. Picking a place, making a reservation, getting dressed up, knowing that despite the hundreds of things we each might have to do, you’ve agreed that Friday night at 8, no matter what, it’s just going to be the two of us, that’s what I really dig. Shoot, a clever brotha with nothing but a back pocket full of effort, can ride with me anytime. Broke brothas have a shot, but you’ve got to be inventive. Innovative. Can’t afford dinner, make the reservation for 10 pm and let’s share a dessert and nice port. A for effort.

Hit up Whole Foods and grab two paninis and a bag of chips and let’s do a sunset picnic at the beach. A for effort.

Hell, put on a makeshift tuxedo, place a Big Mac on a silver platter and serve it to me like your Geoffrey on “Fresh Prince of Bel Air.” A+ for effort.

Culture Pop/Travis Utley/Lottie Markus - I couldn’t agree with you more. I am special and I do deserve the best (alright fine…the whole world is special and we all deserve the best).

Kettle Blk – I don’t wear perfume. I got tired of the pressure. It’s bad enough we’re pressured into buying the latest style shoe (the super low cut high heeled boot), or must-have purse (super large clutch), but I draw the line at perfume. Every time I turn around another Diva is launching a signature fragrance. JLo has mad style, but ever since she married Marc Anthony she’s become like paste. I don’t want to smell like paste. Mariah has the voice of an angel but she screams the entire cast of Dynasty to me. I don’t want to smell like old people from the 80’s. So I found my own signature scent, I’m a diva too dammit. Cucumber oil. Kiehl’s makes my favorite but they’ve inexplicably discontinued it. Stay away from the cucumber melon blend they sell on street corners and swap meets, too sticky sweet. Pure cucumber oil smells clean, crisp, fresh. And yes, the right amount, in the right places will drive the boys mad.

Yollee- I just love people who pay attention. You calling back my “permanent man” quest—classy move.

Serious Lee – Yes, dude does have two friends who each brought a white “youngin” to dinner but you can’t seriously think I should dump Mr. All-expenses-paid, Mr. Come- inside-the-airport, Mr. Total Gentleman because of it, do you? In case it makes a difference to you, and I’m sensing it might, one of his friends is a Spaniard, just here chilling in the states for a few months and the other is half German/ Turkish.

Yes, if I were dating a guy and I found out that all of his friends were big time drug dealers or even small time pimps, I would absolutely see that as a bad sign and I would’ve taken the first flight home. Short of that though, the pickings are too slim for any of us to start deleting brothas because we don’t completely approve of the choices their friends make. Hey, a few of my friends are straight up nutboxes (you know who you are and I love you anyway). It would be grossly unfair for a man to stop dating me because of them.

Monica Trufant – since you’re new to the game might I suggest you become more familiar with my work and buy my novel, “Passport Diaries,” available at Amazon, Barnes & Noble, Borders et al. Heck, go hog wild and buy two. They make excellent Christmas gifts.

That’s all for now, come back next time for more in the Dating in Denver series. And yes Renep, I promise to give up the goods (some of them anyway) on homeboy.

Tamara T. Gregory is a writer/producer/traveler. Happily single (yes, there really is such a thing), she is an expert on the dating game. Her debut novel, Passport Diaries, is an LA Times bestseller and is soon to become a Hollywood motion picture. The book is available at www.passportdiaries.com. Gregory’s X…WHY blog is exclusive to Urban Thought Collective.