Brah, you have come to the right place! This is your guide toward a deadly goal: bachelorhood! In no particular order, I am going drop some serious knowledge about not letting a week go by without thinking about dying on the toilet just like that brother in that creepy documentary A Certain Kind of Death.
Be an actual Black man. The ultimate secret of Los Angeles bachelorhood is to be an actual Black man. There has been no fashion trend so completely out of style in the United States in General and Los Angeles in particular than being an actual, genuine Black man. Let’s not get it twisted: impersonating a Black man is one of the most lucrative gigs in white history. But being the real McCoy makes one “lower caste”—which is why many of my elder brothers over-dressed upwards and wore too much cologne. To take it to a completely other level of otherness, we determined-to-be-alone brothers develop a “nerdy” side on top of being true Black. I am so Black and so nerdy that I actually expect the woman I date to read my Black essay and be eager to talk to me about it over dinner at, say, n/naka. And when I mean eager I mean like it’s something she has never heard of before in her life but it’s something BLack she has been actively searching for…
Reserve at least one weekend day for your black children. The L.A. ladies do not love trying to fit me in their schedule around my children. Deeper still, I have found that many, many “women” do not have a powerful, abstract concept of solidarity in the Black cause, such that they do not view the children of other Black women as if they are theirs. However, I do agree with many, many of these ladies: they have every right to start a family fresh, without having to negotiate with another “woman.” Sexism prevents a “regular guy” from thinking that women—especially high-achieving, financially self-sufficient women—can have a ‘virginity concept’ about men: that their man should never have children, making a clean slate for her brood.
Discriminate against women perceived as overweight. There is no quicker path to solitude than discriminating against women in the United States in general and Los Angeles in particular based on the obesity correlated with their Standard American Diet. The honeys will think I am too stupid for an in-person hangout because of my apparent ignorance of the often correct assumption that the only (black) women over 30 who are in any kind of recognizable physical condition are there because it is directly related to business income—and many of these business tycoons date exclusively interracially (to avoid wasting all of her hard work on a genuine Black man).
Rent small. When you rent small, even when she wants to come over she can’t come over because you have no extra parking place—and not that much street parking (remember this is about Los Angeles, right). This is sending a powerful and clear message that you are powerless and punked. You are providing your beau-to-be absolutely no space of her own that you own because you have “decided” to “live” in one of the worst property markets on the planet for those of us who are not multi-millionaires.
Provide zero narcotics. Offering absolutely no alcohol, weed or worse to a robust lady of the City of Angels is considered, by many, insulting or kind of Amish. This lack of mood-altering substances is a huge investment in repulsion. This horrifying sobriety, coupled with your children and your advanced age effectively screams, “Dad!” Experience informs that too many North American women totally hate not just their biological father but the father concept itself. Slam dunk, baby!
Refuse to participate in adult childcare in exchange for sex. The difference between me and one of the few famous Black men still alive today, Jim Brown, is my rejection of classic codependent relationships, reflecting the dominator culture of systemic inequality. Many “strong women” actually need this behind closed doors as substitute for the father they never had. My determination to instantly stop a relationship once I see these rituals appearing is a perfect way to have my body discovered in a stinky, little apartment three months later.
Stop showing up. It’s simple, Brah: stop showing up and they will no longer invite you. On top of that, is economics squeezing all of us out of the disposable income and “leisure time” required to invite people to anything. On top of that is the mass exodus of Black people out of Los Angeles for the last 30 years. Isn’t this just wonderful? My reward for being somewhat of a financial survivor in this brutal city is the gentrification of intimacy.