Now That She’s Gone x There You Go

*This is a bookend story. I suggest reading “Traitor/True Story/Eternal Sunshine” parts 1 & 2 before reading this. It will make the references much easier to understand if you are new here. And if you are new here…Welcome!

Hey there! It’s been a while. Life comes at you fast.

Lately, it feels like everything is moving at lightning speed — balancing work, family obligations, friends... and I guess my dating life? Well, that part seems to be moving at a snail’s pace. But honestly, that’s okay. I’ve got a lot more on my plate right now.

Maybe I’m just feeling meh because of the nonsense I put up with over the last year. These days, I barely swipe. And when I do scroll through the 2,000+ faces in my Bumble likes, I find myself thinking: I don’t like any of these people.

That said, I did go on a successful first date recently. A handsome 6’2” gentleman. When I say handsome, I mean Jimmy G handsome. Like, I’d love to see him model some Levi’s. Whoa, Nelly.

But most of the time? Meh. Speaking of scrolling, swiping, and not liking anyone... I got an unpleasant surprise in my likes.

The return of Florida Man.

Alexa, play “Now That She’s Gone” by Destiny’s Child...

“Understand? I understand. Why you think I want you back? After what you did to me? Did you think you blinded me? Boy, you know whatever you do, it will all come back to youuuuuuu…”

Pretty much everyone I’ve told has said the same thing: “That man has serious issues.” And I agree. But honestly, what should I expect from the guy who admitted to creating a fake profile to cyberstalk me for months after dumping me — all because I dared to move on happily and publicly as a singleton?

Last summer, I was on a journey of healing and self-discovery. My natural hair was thriving. My skin was glowing. My melanin? Popping. I was running outdoors, spending time with loved ones, and choosing joy — even with my mom quietly fighting breast cancer in the background.

And he couldn’t stand it.

So of course, here he is again. Back for round... whatever. Because after all the foolishness involving “C” — who he tried to lure into his apartment under the guise of “helping a friend” (when he really just wanted to manipulate her into giving up her panties) — his little plan blew up in his face.

Two weeks after I ended it — and ignored his gaslighting attempts to spin the breakup like it was my fault — he texted the dreaded: “I miss you.”

I replied: “You’ll never touch me again.”

And his response?

“I don’t want to. Never again. Not with you or hairy bush woman.”

Oh. Okay. Then… why are you here?

Alexa, play “There You Go” by P!nk...

“So you say you wanna talk? I don’t. Say you wanna change? I won’t. Yeah, it’s like that. Had your chance. Won’t take you back. Now what, what ya think about that?”

I tried to give him the benefit of the doubt. I really did. But he played a stupid game — and won a stupid prize. I knew if his bum ass came across my profile on Bumble, he’d swipe right. Not because he’s in love with me. Because he can’t stand that I don’t need him.

I’m not desperate for his affection. I’m not begging. I’m not like Hairy Bush Woman, who clearly is. If I looked like her, maybe I’d be desperate for a man in a wrinkled denim-on-denim outfit (get an iron, bro!), cowboy hat, and knockoff boots. He looks like a cowboy from TEMU. He’s Dustin Lynch from WISH.

When I dated him the first time, he dressed somewhat normal. I’m not looking for a Redneck Romeo.

Why should I long for someone who showed me — twice — that he didn’t give a damn? I don’t do 3-peats.

And since he always hated when I said this — because he wanted me to tone down my Blackness for his comfort — I say this with my whole chest:

KISS. MY. BLACK. ASS.

Be gone, fake-ass Jason Aldean.

Dear Universe: please send me a man with some soul. Someone who knows how to date a Black woman without trying to dilute her. No more unseasoned chicken eaters. I need someone who chooses Popeyes, not KFC. Someone who can enjoy Living Single and Friends. Someone who won’t make Harriet Tubman’s ghost hover over me in disappointment as he tries to convince me the Civil War "wasn't about slavery."

Thanks in advance.

And to anyone who thinks I’m being petty for flaming him?

He shouldn’t have disturbed my peace if he didn’t want the smoke.
And that’s on PERIODT.