So…. yeah about that pissed off girlfriend… who texts so fast that you can’t even get one text out before she’s already sent 5. And I when I say 5… I mean 5 loooong texts. You know the ones… your cell phone provider can’t handle the length so they break them up into different texts while you’re still trying to compose one!
Yeah, I’ve been that guy… I’m a generally fast texter, but not one male on the planet earth, matches the raw texting speed of a pissed off girlfriend (or wife). It’s like, in that moment, nothing else matters to her. It’s gets so bad you just stop responding and wait for that brief pause, so you can press send on your 1 measly text.
I’ve gotten so frustrated, that I just put my phone down and let the notifications go off. At that moment when they stop… you pick your phone up, and another one comes through (face palm). So… most men know, when this happens, you have seriously f’d-up. So what’s your next move? You send back a text with 10 words, vs. the 10,000 she sent—and she responds…”that’s all you have to say?”
At that very moment, you have no words… just a blank stare.
You start to type in your response, and you stop, read what you typed, and delete it. Then, you start again, stop, and delete it. This redundant process goes on for the next 15 minutes. No sent text, no reply, no rebuttal. If you do happen to press send, you’ve reviewed what you typed like the editor of a world famous magazine.
Faster than a speeding bullet, more powerful than a locomotive, it’s a bird, it’s a plane, no dammit, it’s your girlfriend trying to get her point across.
That being said, me being a creative man, I gravitate toward things that are colorful and vibrant. By colorful, I mean that literally and figuratively. Women of color just astonish me. That means, Indian, Native American, African, Latin, Arabian, Polynesian, Asian and anyone else I left out.
Why do I Love Women of Color?
Not just because of a skin color, but because of the heritage, the culture they all come from and the history of said culture.
From the beauty and vocals of Dorothy Dandridge, to the dancing grace of Maria TallChief. Or, we can easily tout the powerful presence of Eva Peron or Tejano vocalist Selena Quintanilla-Peréz. What about the eminence of Hatsheput or the Mother of the Modern-Day Civil Rights Movement Rosa Parks? I find all of them the most attractive. Not just physically but on a much more profound level.
What About That Look?
That being said, I can’t leave out the physical aspect. The facial features, the various skin complexions, tones, contours and hair textures. Did I mention the accents? There’s nothing like a Latin woman born in the Northeastern section of the United States. Or, a woman born in Spain, Portugal, Brazil, Panama, Puerto Rico, the Dominican Republic or Costa Rica. What about the culture and beauty of an African woman from Nigeria, Somalia or Ethiopia? The storied history behind those countries’ women and all that comes with the heritage. What about an African-American women from all-over the United States? They themselves bring a certain uniqueness that I find most sexy.
From their level of intellect, charisma and fortitude, to their independent yet humble nature. That melanin carries historical perseverance and pride, while the tensity of their hair represents the strength of their people. How can you not find that beautiful?
These women are more than just a beholding of beauty to me. They are the very definition of perseverance and inner strength. Which, is so much more significant when you view women of color. You must look beyond the surface.
Women of Color Are Profound
Think of the native African or even the African-American woman and what they or their ancestors endured and continue to encounter in today’s society. Slavery, War, Segregation, Racism, Sexism, Discrimination, Genocide are all trials embedded within their beings. When you look at a woman from these cultures, you have to see more than a face. More than pulchritude. More than sexual commodity to be had. They are the essence of overcoming an oppressive state of being.
Women of color are born into a world where they are automatically at a deficit because of their gender. Even with the feminist movement and the rapid advancement of women’s rights on the rise in the United States and other countries. Women are still at a bigger disadvantage than their male counterparts. Add to that, a lot of these women are born into cultures where they are beneath the men and have to scratch and claw their way to prominence. There’s a certain beauty in that… a certain sex appeal. And a definite strength.
In a earlier blog I spoke about, “Dating and the Plight of the Black Woman.” I highlighted the literal canyon of obstacles black women have to overcome just to be seen as intelligent, desirable and beautiful in the dating world when compared against women of other cultures. To give you a small example, I want you to do something for me:
Pull up another window on your phone, tablet or laptop.
Do a google search on, “beautiful women.”
Click on images.
What did you see? What did you notice?
5 out of the first 100 images are of women of color. I would’ve gone farther, but I chose not too. You have already received my point. Women of color are not considered, “as-beautiful-as…” white women. This is the deficit that women of color face. They already have to work 5 times harder just to be viewed as beautiful. Can you imagine how difficult that is, in the world of modeling and fashion alone? That is unacceptable. However, as shown above, it’s a harsh reality for women of color.
That is how black beauty is viewed the world over. Vogue, Elle, GQ, Vanity Fair, Cosmopolitan, L’Officiel, Harper’s Bazaar, and more… rarely place women of color, let alone black women on their covers.
I for one, believe that all women are beautiful in their own unique way. No matter how they pull up in a google search or if they regularly grace the cover of internationally syndicated fashion magazines. Women of color will always be beautiful to me, inside and out.
I sat across from my girlfriend last night telling her about my problems. She and I were friends in high school. We reconnected at our 20 year class reunion three years ago. She was the photographer for Munch’s last birthday party. Our children were two years apart.
She and I had shared values. Raising wonderful boys. The seriousness of sisterhood and the desire to see women succeed. We put our boys in similar programs and always shared information. But, this was a first for me. Sharing my pains with her. I had a stressful day. I needed to talk to someone. We had plans.
So, I poured my heart out. I slowly drank my glass of water. No wine for me. I was upset. I refused to drink my calories rather I opted to indulge in dessert. I needed one. I deserved one.
As I sat there pouring out what had been going on with me for the last few months. I was teary eyed. I told her that I couldn’t understand why my son’s father and I couldn’t get a long. I was trying. I couldn’t continue to live like this.
She asked me about my marriage. Why did my marriage fail? I looked her in the eyes and said that I wore a mask. I had a mask on every day for the majority of my marriage. He didn’t know me. He couldn’t see the mask that I wore. He liked that “fake” me. I was living a lie.
I told her that there were many reasons. I could blame him, but I shared some of the blame. I lived a lie. I thought at the time it was my truth, but with each passing year it became more and more unbearable. I was literally drowning. Slowly.
Underwater and never to be seen.
He couldn’t see it. I explained to her that I realized that all women wear masks. Especially if you are a Type A personality. You tend to be the overachiever. You know the “I’m a Woman” type? You know the lyrics from Peggy Lee’s “I’m a Woman”…
“I’m A Woman”
I can wash out 44 pairs of socks and have ’em hangin out on the line I can starch & iron 2 dozens shirts ‘fore you can count from 1 to 9 I can scoop up a great big dipper full of lard from the drippins can Throw it in the skillet, go out & do my shopping, be back before it melts in the pan ‘Cause I’m a woman! W-O-M-A-N, I’ll say it again
I can rub & scrub this old house til it’s shinin like a dime Feed the baby, grease the car, & powder my face at the same time Get all dressed up, go out and swing til 4 a.m. and then Lay down at 5, jump up at 6, and start all over again ‘Cause I’m a woman! W-O-M-A-N, I’ll say it again
If you come to me sickly you know I’m gonna make you well If you come to me all hexed up you know I’m gonna break the spell If you come to me hungry you know I’m gonna fill you full of grits If it’s lovin you’re likin, I’ll kiss you and give you the shiverin’ fits ‘Cause I’m a woman! W-O-M-A-N, I’ll say it again
I can stretch! a green black dollar bill from here to kingdom come! I can play the numbers pay the bills and still end up with some! I got a twenty-dollar gold piece says there ain’t nothing I can’t do I can make a dress out of a feed bag and I can make a man out of you ‘Cause I’m a woman! W-O-M-A-N, I’ll say it again ‘Cause I’m a woman! W-O-M-A-N, and that’s all.
I was living up to this song. Doing it all. Dying a little bit each day. Inside. I smiled on the outside and accepted the compliments when people commented on how I did it all? They would say “You make it look so easy. You work full-time, care for your child, attend every meeting, fund-raise for the school and then send out custom holiday cards or birthday cards, mother’s day cards, etc. How do you do it all?”
I was dying. I was trying to live up to the perfect woman with a smile on my face masking the real me. But, cracks showed in my marriage. He complained about the lack of sex. I was exhausted. It had nothing to do with attraction rather than exhaustion. I was too tired to perform my wifely duties.
This is a two part post. The second post will be continued tomorrow.
Today is election day. I love election day. Always have. Maybe because my mother instilled a strong sense of racial pride, politics and history that I always knew that voting was something I wanted to do. I was devastated that I couldn’t vote for President Bill Clinton in the first election. He was my hero. He was a cool white guy, who played the sax and loved black people. So at 17 I knew that I wanted him to represent me as an American. Didn’t take much, but I think his election resonated with African Americans and we felt like we had a “black” president. He was concerned about us as a people and we elected him.
I remember standing in line when I moved to Nashville to attend Fisk University at the city hall registering to vote. I was 18. I wanted to exercise my right in the electoral process and couldn’t wait. I filled out the forms and received my voter registration card. I was official. Although I didn’t cast my official ballot in Tennessee, that didn’t stop me from registering when I moved back home to Maryland and yes, I’m a Democrat. Do I believe in one party over the other? No, not really. I’m probably somewhere in the middle, but I feel as though Democrats genuinely like black people which is something I don’t quite experience in the Republican party. Doesn’t mean I dislike them, I just want them to find educated brown people that look like me and maybe I will be persuaded to change lines. Maybe.
Today is a great day because it is an historic time for African Americans. More than 100 African Americans will be on the ballots across the country. I’m loving it. How about the fact that 83 black Republicans and Democrats are running for the U.S. House and of that 83, 30 of them are women?Yep, I am still smiling. How about the fact that in Georgia, 5 black women are making history and running for statewide offices? They are known as the Georgia Five. This is change. This is progress. This is what happens when people step up and exercise their right to vote and make change. They believe that they can make a difference.
Voting changes things. This is true:
I’m encouraging you to get out and vote today. READ the issues affecting your county and state and vote.
Why do I vote?
I vote for me. I am a woman. I matter.
I vote for those that marched.
I vote because up until the Voting Rights Act I couldn’t vote. I’m from the south. This Act gave me the right to vote.