Pinch me...or wow, are things actually clicking?

Dear readers...I'm happy to report that your terminally single blogger is no longer terminally single.

Or something like that.

So Monday night...yes, the very day that I'd written that I didn't know what was going on with K...he comes over and we talk and things are generally smoothed out. I can say that both of us are suprised by this. It's only been a few weeks, so no, no wedding bells, but there's definitely a connection. Enough of one that I cut C (the other guy I went out with a couple weeks ago). We've made plans a couple weeks out. We've talked about the race thing. And having to tell his mother - eventually - that he's not dating a Chinese girl. Basically, we've talked it out and established that we are dating. That we both enjoy each other's company.

And now we're working the rest out.

I'm learning that the large amounts of hair product needed to pull my hair back (and control it) will leave stains if I lean on his shoulder. That his kisses are a little slobbery (but not terribly so). That he owns exactly 5 pairs of shoes - and I think more than 5 pieces of Oakland Atheletics items. He sings tenor, enjoys his job, but is really passionate about music. I've replaced his XBox and watching TV with his roommates. He likes routines and schedules and consistency. He's learned that I occasionally put on way too much hair product (in my defense - I've only had long natural hair for a month or so...I'm still learning). That I love shopping sales. That I bought 4 pairs of JCrew flip flops over the last 2 weeks. That my friends and I have our own message board. That I'm not sure about having kids. That I don't consider going hiking out doors. That I don't make decisions about where to go for dinner. That my apartment, car, and office will always be just a little (or a lot) bit messy. That I fear and don't trust routines and stability. That I'm willing to move across country at the drop of a hat.

I'd be lying if I didn't say that it's a bit bizarre to be plopped down into a relationship (is that what this is?) so quickly. Bizarre and terrifying. And I, of course, am waiting to be pinched...he can't be this great, right?

Here we go again...kinda...not really

Bear with me - I know I'm probably not going to make too much sense, but I'm trying to corral my thoughts, and what better place to do that then in front of the 70-100 people who read my blog (thanks, BTW).

And so...let me just say for my own knowledge:
K (more adequate nickname to come) is not the Enigma.

K is not the Enigma.

K is not the Enigma.

...

Yeah, I keep having to remind myself of this. K is not the Enigma. K is nice. Genuinely nice. Attentive. Understanding. Cool. I want to be a better person around him. I have fun with him. He remembers things. He helps me to laugh about my completely useless - but not intentionally malicious, just lost and living in post-adolescense father. Really. Me. Laugh. Cause it's sad but it's still funny cause he's not bad, just pathetic. And K is considerate. Patient. I can lose an entire hour talking with him. And I lose this hour nearly every day. And I love it. Me. On the phone.

Yet, I feel the horrible naggy part of me saying: You thought this last time. And after the last time you said you'd be more careful and ...

Well, shut up horrible naggy part of me. This isn't the last time. This is this time.

But how do you keep all of the this times from being the last time? And if the only way to keep the this time from being the last time is to be crazy and obsessive and paranoid (yeah, I know I'm that anyway), then this time won't be too great anyway.

And so, it's making me crazy(er) because as much as I want to be open and fearless and chill and just enjoy K, I don't want to get hurt. I also don't want to spend a year mooning after an emotionally unavailable guy. And I don't want to miss out on someone great.

And so here I am. Absolutely batshit crazy(-er than usual). And without any clue what to do. The girls and the older brother recommend a state of the state conversation. You know, a what's up/are you thinking what I'm thinking coversation. My fear is that I lack the ability to articulate the fact that I pretty much like him without sounding...uhmmm...batshit crazy or obsessive or both. And I'm sure, with time, he'll learn that I am those things, but I want to give it time. Of course, I could passive agressively send him a link to this lovely blog (HA) and watch him run for the hills.

Or, I guess I could learn to live with the uncertainty. Yes, I like patterns and consistency and knowing that if I do X then Y happens. And yes, it drives me crazy that this time is this time. It may bear some resemblances to last time. But it's not last time. And it won't be next time either.

And so, all I can do is say K is not the Enigma...or the Old Man, or the loser, or the loser before that, or...and let myself see who he is. So far, I like that.

It's Still America

What perfect timing for this post that CNN is airing it's Black in America Extravaganza. I don't have a TV, so I'm not watching it, but I've heard mixed opinions. I'd like to see a tape sometime - maybe I should look for the clips online.

But of course, I am black and living in America. I don't need Soledad O'Brien or any of the official mouthpieces of the black experience to tell me what it means. I know what it means. I live it everyday.

This is particularly interesting this week as I've faced 2 reminders that not all of the US is like the quasi-racial-utopia that is Oakland and the parts of DC where I lived. That not all of the US or even the Bay Area realize that there can be rich black people. I grew up knowing this, but have become softened by a world where there are people of color in different socioeconomic positions is normal, where people don't look at me and assume that I'm poor or stealing, where my BAP-y-ness is accepted and respected.

So, last Saturday, I ventured to Walnut Creek to do a little shopping. I needed some hair product, so I ducked into Sephora hoping that this location (even with the low # of minorities) would carry Carol's Daughter. I was casual, but cute, brown cotton/silk sweater dress, jeweled flat sandals, big sunglasses, Fendi Spy bag on my shoulder, afro big and curly and held back with a headband - you know, Saturday afternoon chic. But I walk into Sephora and NO ONE can be bothered to help. It's a narrow store, but I didn't see the usual Carol's Daughter island. Remembering that the Bay Street location, also has CD in the back with hair products, I walk back - nothing. I do 2 or 3 laps around the store with my "lost" look on. Nothing. A few glances, but no help. Finally I approach a black-clad sales associate who tells me they don't carry Carol's Daughter but they do have a few items in the back, what did I need. Balm, Rosemary Shampoo, Hair Milk. She radios for one of the sales associates, who tells another sales associate something, then my girl walks away. In the meantime, I stroll back to the PhytoSpecific line thinking that if they even make an effort to sell it to me, I'll try it cause another customer had raved about it a few weeks ago. But no. The associate comes from the back with her arms full of a mish mosh of CD products - and only 1 thing is useful - hair milk. Sigh. I find out the the first associate is a manager. Still no one has tried to actually sell me anything. I say never mind, get a few more samples of Phyto and leave. Yesterday, at Bay Street, I learn that they could have shipped me my products for free.

Today, however, was worse. I had to go to the peninsula to drop off a mailing at the mail house. Being that close to JCrew, I decided to pop over to Stanford to get a few more pairs of flip flops (a recent obsession). I also wanted to drop into Banana Republic to pick up other styles of these shoes mom had sent me. I walk in the store, and being on a tight schedule, go straight to the shoes, pick one up and then look around - no one. I circle the store - still, no one. One more time (also trying to find the sale racks) no one. I check out the sale racks, see nothing, walk back up front and finally ask a desk clerk. Meanwhile, 5-6 associates have looked at me, and walked away or continued their conversations. One flat out made eye contact and then shifted it and turned. That same one, as I was talking to the desk associate with about 20 inches between us, WALKED BETWEEN US, forcing me to jump back to avoid being stepped on. Whoa. Uh. I'm not a small woman. I was wearing giant heeled wedges (from their store), making me darn near 6ft tall, bright green, big afro, and was dressed for work (so I definitely wasn't look schlubby) - you saw me. You made a concerted effort to walk over me. You're some sales associate at Banana Republic waiting on college kids from Stanford and various upper middle class women. You're making what? $10, $11 a hour. Not to be a bitch - but that's what I was making doing your job in college - come on chick. I'm shopping at your store, you work there. Yeah, she may have a rich husband at home, but let's assume she doesn't. And you just think you can walk on me???

But I guess this is still America. A black man is running for president, but a black woman still can't possibly earn you much commission. A former coworker asked me why I was still so cynical about the US in spite of Obama's candidacy, popularity, and success. This is why. Because him being president won't change the hearts and minds of the average white American. An Obama presidency promises many wonderful, great, shiny, bright, hopeful things, but it probably won't put a huge dent in the issues covered by Soledad O'Brien this week. It won't undo the centuries of ingrained hate and distrust amongst the races. It won't put more black women in magazines as models. Convince make up manufacturers other than MAC and Bobbi Brown to make foundation in more shades than "dark." It won't make pants that fit a bubble butt and solid thighs appear on the shelves. And it won't make bitches in stores provide me with the level of service that they would some PWT who has no money, but is white, so she must be right. I am hopeful for an Obama presidency and I know he'll do great things...

But at the end of the day, it'll still be America.

When it rains, it...yeah

So after years of meeting jerks or no one, I meet not one, but 2 nice guys in a week. TWO!

So, yeah, Friday, I went to the symphony with K (real nicknames to be created eventually). Then we went to dinner then drinks then watched a movie at his place. Yeah - that's a lot in an evening. But he's fun. He's chill. He's as culturally conflicted as I, but um...isn't black. I'm HUGELY paranoid that people are looking at us. I mean, if they are, that's their problem, but it's such a huge challenge for me right now. I've only dated one other non-black guy, and like K, he was from a pretty traditional family for his culture....they weren't so much cool with the black chick. This is totally jumping the gun - but it's something that is kinda poking me in the back of the head before I go too far, Anyway, I also saw him Saturday at a BBQ for his roommate's birthday. What I can say is that I truly enjoy being around him. There's not many people that I could spend hours and hours with and not get annoyed by something. It's very comfortable - when I'm not dealing with the superficial.

Then Sunday, I went out with C - a guy I met on match. He emailed me last week, and we've exchanged a few really long emails, but had some really horrible phone calls - neither of us are very good phone people, so there was a lot of silence both times. He and I went for a walk and a picnic at Lake Chabot. It was really a great first date. Like perfect. And he's really sweet. He brought 4 or 5 different sandwiches so I could pick. There was less silence in real life, but still not as easy as talking with K.

But, the thing is, I had a really great weekend. And I've now met 2 really nice guys. And one looks like he could be related to Antonio Bandaras. Seriously.

And I'm trying to not let it freak me out. In a yet to be written blog article, I'll post about a recent epiphany about faith and forgiveness. But I recently prayed to be able to forgive the Enigma - and I really didn't think about him till today. And I'm really trying to just stay open to the possibilities. That's why I'm not letting the stupid, superficial thoughts about race or a few awkward conversations (I was def nervous...wonder about him) stand in the way of something great. Nor am I letting the fact that the Enigma was a jerk force me to be unnecessarily protective of my feelings. So I'm just enjoying for now.

Singing in the rain...so to speak

Fine then...you were right

Yeah - all of you with the "when you stop looking..." advice.

Fine. You were right.

I was wrong.

And I may, or may not, be going out with a very nice guy met at happy hour last week.

And I may, or may not, have had 1 very nice conversation with a guy met on match.com.

And I may, or may not, have had 1 other guy email me.

But...I will say you were right. But for fear of jinxing things, I'm not going to say anything else. And if you gloat - I definitely won't say anything else.

When being cute is ugly

I’m a on a health kick lately, so I’ve been spending more time at the gym and less time at the bar. One of my favorite spinning instructors has started teaching a shadow boxing class, so I decided to give it a try. It’s a combination of boxing drills with cardio and plyometric intervals. It was fun.

Except for the 3 “cute” girls in the class.

Don’t get me wrong. I believe in looking put together at all times. I try to make sure my gym clothes match and I comb my hair before showing up, but that’s the extent of my attempts to look cute before the gym. I’m there to get ugly, sweaty, stinky and dirty. If I’m not dripping with sweat and feeling/looking whooped, then it’s not a good work out.

Which is a mindset that makes me different from about 90% of the other black women at the gym. The 3 cute girls in this class had the idea that the gym is a great place to meet guys while kinda doing something active. One kept posing and trying to keep her hair in place. The other two spent at least 25 of the 45 minute class talking to each other while standing or sitting still. Every tough drill was met with mumbles, grumbles, sighs and finally, standing still to talk. Then after class, they put their coordinating jackets on, grabbed their puma bags and walked to their car as if they’d really done something.

This morning, I told the instructor that I had wanted to ask them to leave. Quite honestly, they were distracting me. Plus why were they there, if not to work? What I said opened up the flood gates of 5 weeks of frustration from teaching these women. As a black man who (I guess) frequently dates white women and who puts a lot of time and effort into staying in shape and being healthy, he was perturbed by their “cute” behavior. He spent 10, maybe 15, minutes talking about the frustration of seeing our community deal with preventable illnesses that are attributable to sedentary lifestyles and bad eating. He talked about not seeing blacks on the many FREE hiking trails we have around here (yeah – I’ve experienced that, too). And of seeing the black women stand around the gym and his class and thinking that it’s “cute.” And of having to defend his decision to date white women even though they have more closely aligned interests to him.

And then he asked me why they do that. Well for his class it’s easy. He’s very good looking and likable. Spending an hour with him is pretty cool. These girls probably are looking “cute” for him. But they’re missing the whole point that he’s in shape and healthy and is probably looking for the same thing (or something similar) in a potential mate – meaning that standing around is not going to work for him. In one girl’s defense, she was actually moving, so she’s caught on to that point.

But really, why are we, as black women, willing to sacrifice our health, happiness, and life for vanity? There’s a guest post on one of my favorite blogs AverageBro today. The author used one paragraph to talk about the few black women he saw at a recent Atlanta Braves game. Apparently these women were in heels and were…well…being cute. He used this as an opportunity to point out that when white women go to games, they dress down and maybe this was just another example of why black men date white women. When the comments flared up, he defended his statement, explaining that baseball isn’t the only reason, but is one instance where black women and men aren’t speaking the same language

Like this author, I don’t think that being “cute” is the cause of the demise of the black family, bad health or anything else. But I do think that being “cute” is hindering the growth of black women. The fear of sweating back our hair, the squeezing into that outfit for that event, the whatever we do for the sake of being "cute" – holds us back from experiencing so much in life. What would happen if we just said – I’m going to work out so I can be healthy. We’d be healthy….and cuter. Or if we said – I’m going to go to the baseball game and be comfy and wear my team’s hat and get a hot dog (cause you know eating will mess up your lipstick). We’d have fun…and be cuter.

Here’s the secret being “cute” is not cute. In fact, it’s ugly. Real ugly. Living life, having fun, and being open to new experiences – that’s cute.

PS

Ask and you shall receive.

Miss you, too, Patty xo. When you FINALLY decide to come home, you have to stop in Cali, ok?

Adventures in (not) dating

Yeah – I’m back on Match.com. Because I’m a masochist, obviously. I love the self-torture of subjecting myself to paying for reject. FUN!

So things didn’t work out with the figment of my imagination. We met once. Hung out for HOURS playing Scrabble, drinking tea, and having dinner. Yes, he was fat and not rich and had HORRIBLE clothes (truly tragic clothing). But he was nice and sweet, and I had thoroughly enjoyed his company and conversation over the months. Of course after we met, he disappeared. Just like – whoosh – gone.

So that’s over. Haven’t heard from the enigma or the old man either. I occasionally think of them, but it’s not as hard as it was back in March.

So it’s just Match.com for now…which is pretty horrible. I posted the picture that’s also my profile picture here – I’ve had lots of looks at my profile, but only 2 emails. Seriously – that’s less than a 2% response rate. I’ve emailed guys and have had 0 responses. Um, yeah. It’s definitely driving me crazy. I’m a results-oriented person….so I’m getting pretty obsessed with the fact that there’s no results.

So that’s that – same song, different day – sorry there’s nothing more exciting to say there.

I am my hair….or Why my afro is an act of courage

Not quite a year ago I got a weave. It seemed like an okay idea at the time, I was trying to grow my hair out and was bored with braids. I have to admit, I loved it. It was fun. I got looks. No dates, but lots of “Hey, Shawty-s” – which is what every woman wants, right?.
Well, my hair grew. And in March, my stylist said it was getting too long to reasonably keep putting it in a weave. So a few weeks ago, I took it out. That night, I let her blow it dry and flat iron/press it. I’ve flat ironed it twice since and have not enjoyed the hassle of dealing with it, plus I’ve fried a corner of it and my curls are doing something funky – probably cause I had the heat too high.

So now, I’m rocking the afro and its variants.

I like it. It looks like me. It’s work to get the curls right and bright and glossy and defined, but it looks good on me – I think at least. And when my outfit is right, I think it looks very chic…like how I think that a black Michael Kors or J Crew model should look – classic, but with a funky twist. And the little girls at church like it – and I think that if a 5 or 10 year old likes it, that’s saying something, because they’re so much more honest than the rest of us.

But I’ve had at least 5 grown ups ask me: what are you doing with your hair now? My answer is: wear my hair. To which they reply: “Oh.” Because not straightening or texturizing or braiding or weaving my hair is such a crazy idea, right? Heaven forbid I just wear my hair.

Which is why my afro is an act of courage. Yeah, I’ll probably straighten it on first and second and third dates and for interviews or any other high-importance event because people do not seem to be with it as far afros. But the rest of the time, I’m being brave enough to wear my hair. Plus – it’s just hair. Hell-O…I’ve been bald before and would shave it again in a heart beat. My new job is with an organization whose mission is to inspire girls to be strong, smart, and bold, and staff is expected to model that mindset everyday at the office. In a little way, I hope that my afro encourages the girls that are around the office to be healthy with all decisions – including hair care and wearing the hair they’re given.

My afro is an act of loving myself and finding the courage to be happy with my beauty. And I’m trying – every day – to be more like my hair.

Pardon the Interruption

Sorry I disappeared for a few weeks. The new job has me actually doing work at work. Gasp! I know, right? But I, dare I say it, like it. The work is hard, challenging, but good. It’s nice to be someplace where I am valued and what I’m doing is valuable to people. Never underestimate the value of work that matters.

I’ve got a couple new post ideas in my head – as soon as I have time to write, they’ll be online.