A Toast to Interracial Dating

Some more thoughts on Interracial Dating:

The following year, 2010, I read this quote from John Mayer and it got me thinking about y matchmaker experience and examining overall the interracial landscape in Atlanta and how it feels to be a single sista who just wants to date without reference to color. It was hard to be in that space.

PLAYBOY: Do black women throw themselves at you?

MAYER: I don’t think I open myself to it. My dick is sort of like a white supremacist. I’ve got a Benetton heart and a fuckin’ David Duke cock. I’m going to start dating separately from my dick.

Ever since John Mayer made this infamous quote and declared himself (and his world traveled dick) secretly prejudicial, I've been thinking a lot of about this. Honestly, really I do not blame him, I don't hate him. I just think he was expressing his inner most thoughts. And if I may be so bold I would say that he speaks for about 80% of the white men in America. 60% of these men don't even have as much as a Benetton heart and the overall 80% even though they do, don't care as much to even look at a black female. I know this because living in the south I have kind of noticed that there's a preponderance of white males that don't care for black females which is sad because our black men jump at the white females the first chance they get, it's not even an issue with them. So what would you call them a Benetton heart and dick and those that don't, have a Black Panther dick.

It's just upsetting that we live in a society where the colors don't mix, they may get to hang out together (if at all) but they don't mix romantically in anyway. Or they over think it if they want to. I've talked about it so much on here I am beginning to feel like maybe I have a problem because I am African where we are all one color and even if we weren't we are not coated with such blatant prejudices. We have other things to think about.

It's just like in school when you have these anal kids that always have a knack for arranging their crayons in order, the black and grey color pencils on one side and then the oranges and yellow pencils all nicely and neatly arranged on the other. And if you dare, pull one out and put it back in out of order, they would scream to high heavens. That's just the way we live now. We are all nicely and neatly arranged in our social lives and it would be an anomaly for a white male to really, ever really fancy a black female. Then, the black female should not really expect to be picked up by the white male because that rarely ever happens, why, because of his "David Duke like cock." Sad, isn't it.

Sometime in 2009, I know I mentioned it on here, a not so Traditional Matchmaker had rejected me because she didn't have any black male clients who would be interested. What she failed to say all so subtly was, that means her white male clients are not really interested in dating outside their race so she would really have no luck for me in her dating pool. See that, silently echoing John Mayer.

One of my girlfriends, the one who's been trying to convince me to sign onto eHarmony, sent me a note yesterday. Mind you, she claims she is not prejudicial and she loves every color, blah, blah, etc. However, she always has a knack for introducing me to every black guy she meets. It's like here is a black man and I know a black lady so they should get together, like arranging the color pencils in her head. It doesn't work that way. There are other qualities which 2 people should have to be attracted to each other but they really don't matter to them, as long as the two people in question are the same race they should quite frankly get along. Yesterday, she compounded the fact by telling me eHarmony has a Black Enterprise section, thus turning herself into the evil matchmaker lady I had encountered in 2009. At this point, I don't know if I really should continue my friendship with her because clearly she has latent prejudices she is yet to confront. Or maybe I am reading too much to it. The funny thing is if the roles were reversed and she happened to be single I wouldn't introduce her to the first white male I meet. I would ask her her type and connect her based on that. And they always seem to shriek whenever you state that you have a Brad Pitt crush, like he can only be loved by white women. You see...the frustration here.

The sad part is our brothas don't even think twice about dating outside our race, I actually know some that prefer to, saying the sistas have too much drama. Why won't we when we have to face these prejudices every day.

So that's it. I think everyone, every white male and female should ask themselves, is there a part of me that agrees with John Mayer?

A Toast to Interracial Living

Sometime in 2009,  when I still lived in Atlanta I tried to use one of those matchmaker services. I don't know why it just came to my head and seemed like a good idea. I did go out a lot at the time and I would meet a lot of people I just never found one that clicked. Maybe the venue was wrong or the people were wrong, it just never worked out. So I thought a matchmaker service who interviews you and the prospects would be a fabulous idea. She would know who would be most suited for you and vice versa. I called one that was based in Atlanta, I had actually passed her office a few times on my way to work, so we played phone tag for awhile until she eventually returned my call. 

I put this post up here because people often wonder, how did you get this age and not get married. Or how did you live in America for so long and not find husband. Well, it's not for a lack of trying, like I said, the timing, people, connection often or not ends up all wrong, so I keep looking and the years go by. Then, you re-prioritize, you put other things before finding love, like finding the perfect apartment, perfect job, etc. And before you know it your [insert age here] and still single. There are also times when it seems like a much quieter preserved way to live, one that's not faced with all the drama, one without prejudices like I experienced with this matchmaker. 

Finding love is a lot like finding yourself, that version of you that accepts you as you. If you're not sure of you how are you going to know what you're looking for in a person. In those days there was so much uncertainty for me as to who I was...now, not so much. 

And now, I don't ever have to use a matchmaker service.

 - March 2009

So I had a shit for brains weekend. I should have known it was going to be that way from the moment on Friday morning I called the matchmaker lady at Traditional Matchmakers that I had signed up with a few days earlier to discuss their "matchmaking process." Her first response was..."I don't have any African American clients."

Your point?

Her point was simply, and she found a way to say it so it's not coated with such prejudice: she doesn't have black male clients to date the newly signed up black female client. Like she is trying to make sure the waters don't touch. In my mind, I thought matchmaking went a lot deeper than color, like to personal interests, hobbies, backgrounds, etc. Not necessarily, I don't have black male clients, simple. Trust me, if you had black clients, they may not want to date me. Don't you think I've tried dating them and found out that rarely do we have anything in common. I don't speak ghetto, hence I am not always a match for them.

At that point I was disappointed. I wasn't pissed. Just disappointed. I cannot date outside my race because I don't fit what they are looking for and I cannot date within my race because they don't necessarily sign up with matchmaker services. After going through the craziness of the weekend, and regretfully bumping into this weekend affair filled with black people (it was promoted by a black lady so she kept the theme the same) I just started to think about it, and now I am angry.

I keep wondering what category do I fit into, because surely I don't fit in well with my people. I just stood there thinking, I cannot do this. I can't even strike up a conversation with one of them. The one person I tried to talk to had to skip out on me to go to the restroom. He apparently came there to "network" for work not socialize. This is an event on a Sunday evening. Who is thinking about work?

Every event in Atlanta has a theme. Either the waters don't mix, gender-wise and race-wise. The men stand to one side and admire the ladies who all look so desperate and intrinsically pissed and then, there's Anita. Anita is wondering, why in the world won't the men talk to the women? And the women are all so nicely dressed, like ladies in waiting for the men to talk to them. But they don't. Then, race-wise. It's either filled with one race or the other. Sometimes there's a little sprinkle, a dash here and there. But nothing major. How can that be? Like someone purposely arranged this?

Look The Other Way

I'm really battling with how some women can knowingly and consciously share their spouses (lovers, significant others, etc) and just be quiet about it, just swallow it like nothing happened. I don't have it in me. It's just not a mechanism that is inbuilt in me, the look-the-other-way mechanism. I just feel like exploding. I feel like this is not a space that someone else needs to exist at least while I'm in it. How can I truly express myself, be myself, and be in this space while someone else is in it? But all this is news to men.

Men just inadvertently put women in an uncomfortable competitive position with ourselves. Ordinarily this might be a woman that if you met her under normal circumstances you might actually get along with her, have a nice chat, may even be good friends, but because this man exists between both of you and you happen to be 'sharing' this man (in more than just the biblical sense), it just creates a "hostile" situation between both of you, it puts you in an unhealthy rivalry so to speak. The whole scenario is just unfortunate if you ask me. The worst part is meeting a woman and both of you get along tremendously and then you find out she is the other woman that's been having a piece of your man. 

For me, I always think why don't I take myself out of that equation - that is, after I've raised the roof with my rage (as you may have gathered!). But my mother used to say, "Don't let another woman chase you out of your man's house...." or something like that. Meaning, don't let the fact that another woman exists discourage you from staying with your man. Is that the same thing as "look-the-other-way"? So are we all sadly with one man while he samples all of us trying effortlessly to win his heart? It's all so confusing, uncomfortable, and very icky. All because some people don't know what monogamy, at least for a little while, means.

I just want a simple kind of love. Boy meets girl, boy gets enamored with girl, girl feels the same, boy and girl explore each other, boy and girl commit to each other. Boy and Girl have fun while being so committed. Even if 6 months down the line they get bored...at least for that 6 months they had a chance to experience each other mutually and exclusively with no interruptions. That's what I want..that's what I've always wanted. All this, "meeting the other woman who's been fucking your guy at the same time as you" is just total and complete emotional bullshit that no one should have to go through. You start to ask yourself, are men even worth all this trouble?

Right Person, Right Spark

The Spark that exists pre-Dinner for One

Dinner for One

What is with relationships? It's like a riddle, that cannot be solved and we are all guessing who's the first to solve it.

It really is all about what feels good to you. If you meet someone, he might not be feeling you, he might be feeling someone else, who is, unfortunately, not feeling him?

In the end, it's all about that spark, that IT factor that makes it feel right. I've always given into that spark and an internal list of attributes of what I want in a man. If that spark is there, it trumps everything. I may have a list of what I want in my ideal man, for example, non-smoker, and then I meet a chain smoker whom I am so attracted to, and I just chuck that attribute and give in. You just go with the spark, forsaking all else, the list, everything. That is it. You don't waste time trying to figure it out, what seems practical, and let your head give in, you just go with it, and ask questions later.

That being said, most times, when you're feeling someone and he's not feeling you back, for me I start to internalize it and wonder what did I do wrong, is it me? Nope, it's not. It's more of that spark, and sometimes, he might be feeling someone who is not feeling him as well. It's an endless vicious circle, that eventually ends up with "right person, right spark." Oh, but it takes forever to work itself out. And for impatient folks like me, forever is quite a while. And in between that forever moment, you just might have lost your mind, or lost hope or lost all faith in the belief that right person, right spark exists, and between you and I, something in me actually doesn't truly believe that it does.

There's compromise, there's right moment, there's timing, there's social status, there's good upbringing, there's opportunity, there's my personal favorite "looks good on paper," there's fuck it I don't care anymore, there's every frustrating thing in between, but not quite right person, right spark. There's just enough bullshit to make you loose your nerve and your faith in love and life. But there's never that it that just puts it all together.

That's just it. That's all.

A Hairy Situation

One of the most intriguing aspects of Nigerian women which I noticed when I reunited with my African sistas is their inability to complete their modern "western-world" influenced look with bare shaved legs. This is a general statement as I have spotted quite a few exceptions but it is a reality that exists nonetheless.

The hairy situation that exists below the knees...fascinating isn't it? Let's find out why.

When I first decided to embark on this article I wanted to explain to myself why Nigerian women, who are known to embrace every single iota of the Western world, have slowly neglected one important aspect of it by clutching onto their African ideals and maintaining a "hairy outlook" below the knees. I would glance corporate women in their offices with very tight (obscenely tight almost) micro mini skirts and Loubotin platform pumps with hairy ghastly looking legs. The juxtaposition of modern day dressing fresh from the runways of Milan and Paris set against hairy overgrown curly hairs just did not present an overall fashionable outlook. Modern day look set against African extremities. Everything else above the knee is modern except the legs, how can it be? This is a country where very few women have natural kinky, unrelaxed hair.

When I went to the villages in Nigeria, I would still see women with hairy legs but the look didn't seem quite as off as it did in the city because these were women with traditional garb from natural plaited hairstyles to noticeable absence of makeup to African styled 'ankara' clothing, shaving just just seemed so out of place for them and it was understandable. I didn't expect them to embrace that at all. It's like expecting your grandmother from the village to shave, she will not comprehend or appreciate the necessity. What is a shaving stick to her? However, for my modern day Lagos women, it was highly expected of them. How can we embrace everything about the Western World from our obsession with designer clothes, to brightly colored makeup and the waistline Asian originated "human hair" extensions, but carefully neglect to extend the welcoming committee to shaving sticks and the mane situation that exists below our knees. We would completely ignore shaving our legs to give it some glimmer, smoothness, suppleness, i.e., rub Vaseline on the thing to make it shine.

The response I received from friends and colleagues as to this question was astounding and illuminating. Asides from shaving battles that even I immediately encountered when I first started shaving, i.e., shaving bumps, ingrown hairs, and rough terrain that exists between shaves fondly known as "bottle", there were other reasons, that are somewhat rooted in our culture. Some called it a "fad" brought upon by the western influences in hopes of pushing on more sales of shaving sticks, sprays, etc.

Most women who lack the shaving etiquette always ascribe it to a lack of time and dedication to a single act that could make such a huge difference in the aesthetic makeup of their legs. Nigerian women immediately point to their men as being responsible for the look. They say everything from, "He doesn't mind it" to "He prefers it." What man truly prefers grown hairs on a woman's leg? Is he trying to be polite so as not to be put in the doghouse if he makes just one more request of the woman's appearance? Or is his preference rooted in something more traditional, that is, he is used to seeing the African woman with visible hairs from the side of her neck to her feet, with everything natural, unfettered, abhorring the Hollywood manufactured plastic look and maintaining some sense of ethnic authenticity. Are our men really that traditional? Or is this the one time they completely want to embrace the natural look, where they shun the big plastic boobs, fake hair and of course, shaved, smooth supple legs? Is this the one time African men actually want to take a stance on how they prefer their women to look?

Most importantly, how many women really care when a man makes this type of unreasonable demand? Actually, quite a few. Not me. Not now, not ever. But then again, I'm single so I may not be a good authority on the matter.

The way I see it is this simple. We as women own our bodies. We own how it should look. If we appreciate and love what we have so will the men in our lives. If we take care of it and present it to them as a masterpiece it will be treated as such. I've found that men treat their bodies this way and women, have little or no say in what they do to their bodies. I've dated chunky men that I've requested to loose weight for health reasons and they've shunned my request. I've dated hairy men that I've requested to shave their full bodied "homeless man" beards and they've ignored me too. Their responses: The women are not complaining. So women, why can't we respond as such when they ask us to grow out any part of our bodies? Or do we prefer that they not put us to task just because some of us are too lazy to put shaving on our agenda? It's your body, take care of it, because if you don't he's not going to complain but he may not respond to you as much as he used to when you used to pamper you. Every time I heard this complaint from women I just thought, how many men have ogled Beyonce's thick hairless thighs even though they would not admit it. If they have, why can't they make the same hairless request of their significant others?

Nigeria is so hot and balmy as it is that the fewer hairs we have shielding our skin the better, better ventilation, better aeration, and a little less odor when the sweat traps in between the hair follicles. That's one of the main reasons why we shave armpit hair. So why can't we extend that same courtesy to our legs?

When I first started shaving my legs it was a personal preference. Granted I am not the hairiest person in the world so it was easy for me to neglect it for a couple of days and not have the hair be visible. But even when it was I would rush to put it on the program before it starts to curl and seem to me, ghastly, and just not in general, a "good look." With time most people have preferred the look of my legs that way and have come to jump on the shaved leg bandwagon, to the extent they request a more frequent shave when I just happen to miss one. That's the way it should be. I feel sexier and more confident when I know my situation is hairless and smooth. I may be barking on the wrong horse here by not embracing the unity in diversity of the shaved/unshaved look but I am yet to see a picture of a hairy woman that I can appreciate. And I dare anyone reading this to send one to me.

So unless you're "Granola" and embracing your tree hugging roots and everything in your house is green or solar powered, you don't eat processed foods and only eat natural organic foods prepared without the use of a microwave, have natural kinky hair that you comb with a wooden comb, make and wear African inspired clothing and have never even heard of Christian Louboutin, grow out your eyebrows till they form a 'unibrow', thus fully embracing your sistahood wholeheartedly, unless you are all this and more, there is really no reason to keep hair anywhere -- the legs, armpits and of course, there.

Trust me, it really just looks better, feels better and is better without it.

Exhibit B

Exhibit C

Why We Love

Why do I think of you on a night like this. Your face adorns my wall and I flicker at the weakness of your smile, whenever you do smile. Why do I seldom think of you and me, and what if at all, could be, if only I were stronger not weaker, beautiful not less beautiful, living in another time and not this one. Why do I think of you, perhaps only when I am high or stubborn or withdrawn as I feel now? Why do I wonder, if he is wherever he is, what is he doing now? And why does it matter amidst the propounding problems that I have that I would have to think of you and make you one of them. 

 

Why do I think of a laugh, a house, a place, a story that I believed in once upon a long time ago, of the people who knew so much, shared and loved so much that they wanted to be with one another...Why do I think of you at all? Isn't it sad, that I may have to live this life, like I have lived every day of it till now, without you, without knowing you, and you without even stopping for a second to know about me. Why does our love ever even matter at all. If only to my myopic configuration of peace, happiness and belonging in a part of a fiction I created, becoming the non-fiction of my life...our life.

Day 365

The last 365 days have been some of the hardest, most emotionally wrenching days of my adult life. 40 just hit me with a bang and slapped me silly. So tough, so lonely, so depressing, almost reminiscent of the first 365 in America when I started this blog just so I could have some place to let off steam so as not to explode. It's just been rollercoaster of ills after another. I keep waiting to turn the corner and see the light through a crack or something, but still nothing. I wonder, what is it about changing locations that just brings on the struggles.

I've faced so much rejection, back stabbing, gossip, anger - expressed and experienced - bitterness and in some ways, snobbery. I've also experienced so much loneliness that I watch the hour tick by as the rest of the world has fun. I've had several days where I couldn't get out of bed, and some days I did, and I wondered, so why did you? I've had shit thrown at my face at every instant and I've found myself ignoring the shit just so I could find my smile. I've just been a colossal mess and I've seen my life unravel and become a colossal failure. 

The other day I found myself almost begging at an interview to be hired. I just had to stop myself and say, NO, Anita, you don't BEG, You can ASK but you definitely don't beg. Most especially for a job I know I will want to quit within the next year. And even knowing that, I still got rejected for it, subtle rejection but a rejection nonetheless. The whole thing just left me speechless. 

I flashback to so many days and think, maybe I could have stopped any of this shit from happening to me if I was more intuitive. When someone tells you that you can't come live in their house even though said house is in a shitty location and has everything crappy about it, they still don't want you to live there. When they say that, you should really listen because despite the fact that you're familia they can still reject you. When someone also tells you that they can't come visit you in said house because it is way too faraway, you should take that as a sign that He's Just Not That Into You and he's just subtly rejecting you, because as was said in the movie, if a guy likes you, he'll come see you no matter how far away you are. 

I just live in this cocoon where I imagine things are great, and that I can ignore such idiosyncrasies and use love and kindness to bridge the gap between "NO I don't want you" to "Okay I DO want you." It doesn't work that way when folks are set in their ways. I've just seen the other side of the mercenary lifestyle here that money speaks volumes and love, it's regarded as bullshit. Sometimes I've prayed that these experiences do not turn me into one of them: a slave to money, wealth, a strategist. Most times, I've just prayed for the strength to one day wake up and have all this nonsense of the last 365 behind me. 

Most people tell you they can understand what you're going through, but the fact of the matter is, no one makes a big change in their life. They all just kind of sit there examining the plateau. They don't change countries (or any location for that matter) and start over, they don't even get out of bad marriages. They just sit there and avoid rocking the boat just so they don't experience the kind of upheaval I've experienced this last 365. But me, I'm in search of a way to live my best life now, so much so, the life is almost over and I'm still searching.

They talked about rejection today at church. They said we should pray that God helps us defeat rejection and that He grants us the faith to overturn rejection. I just listened to that and smiled, how much faith can I use to overturn this one because I've just been hit with a shitload. 

Day 365 - What have I learnt from it? To not turn into one of them. To still believe that love and God's grace conquers all. God's gotten me through so many battles, so many times I've been in situations where folks have said, this will never happen for you and I've said God, but You can make it happen for me. Let's go make it happen. And you know what, He has! They can be mean, proud, selfishly content with their lives and I don't fault them for that, I just want to get what's mine and hope that in doing so I can put all the drama and foolishness thrown at me, really and truly behind me. 

Day 366 - God, I ask you now to turn things around for Anita, enough of this nonsensical rejection and relocation upheaval. It's time to make things happen for Anita. Do it like only You can. By Your Mighty Name I pray. Amen.

The Female in Me

Girl Power!!

In celebration of International Women's Day, I've put together some of my favorite poems from my personal archives. Yes, these poems are written by me, oh so long ago - I apologize if they are not as fantastic or poetic as the masters. They just represent me and I hope every woman. 

Sometimes when you allow yourself to feel so much it results in a poem - words jumbled up coinciding with your unspoken thoughts. I haven't let myself do that much thinking lately because I have to keep my head screwed on straight in order to reinforce my formidable womanhood (in hopes that no man takes it from me). But when I did feel, and I hurt and I stopped long enough to capture it, this is what I wrote. Let's all celebrate the women in our lives. And women, let's celebrate us, our feelings and our wants and our laughter, and whatever it is that makes us so wonderfully awesome.

1. The feMale in Me

Everyday I amaze myself
With my continuous want and need of pleasure
Only I can feel and taste.
It spits out like bitter wine,
But I swallow every gulp of it
And wash my face with its spittle.
This is pleasure like I've never known.
It corrodes my skin
And burns my scalp
Yet I long for its ever cyanide taste.
Its' what makes me whole.
Makes me a woman.
A COMPLETE woman.
Make me a woman,
While I stand right by my man.

2.  Phenomenal Woman

I am of old and of new,
Of all things beautiful,
And yet still more beautiful,
I am of my fathers and forefathers,
I am the pride of my sisters
Who am I?
A Phenomenal Woman,
I am of big and of the strong,
Of all things hidden,
And still revealing
I am the catch of the hunters,
The envy of their daughters,
I am a solemn gift from thy Father,
I am the work of His pleasures,
Who am I?
A Phenomenal Woman,
That's me!

3.  Our Voice

Do you know me? I am that bird who has the hand clasped over her voice, choking to sing, traveling miles to chirp. At times I am set free to whisper to the eagle that wants to eat into me, and sometimes, I stream miles to make it closer to the moment my voice shall return.
I still cannot speak, my voice is still trapped in my throat and my wings flap at a stillness I shudder to invigorate. Do you know me? I wish you did, because after all the miles I’ve flown to find my voice, my speech, my song, I am afraid the race has lost me myself. So even if I do sing, I wonder... to whom?