Dating On The Other Side of the Fence

Anyone who knows me knows that I am a borderline militant black woman. I have a lot of love for my people and I love being black. I love black men to death. I can't see myself seriously being with a man who isn't black.

However, once upon a time not too long ago, I went out with a white guy. Not a Paul Wall white guy, not even a cool ass Owen Wilson white dude. I'm talking super-whitey yuppie white dude. He was a 40 year old golf instructor. It don't get no more whiter than that.

He was pink. He spent a lot of time in the sun, so his skin was leathery and wrinkly. I wondered, why the hell is he trying to get with me? I figured he wanted me to be his black girl fantasy. So, I thought to myself, hell, I never dated outside of my race, so lets give it a go.

He was a very enthusiastic person. Whenever I talked to him, he was always super juiced and perky. Thats something that always annoyed me about white people. What the hell are you so damn enthusiastic about? Maybe I've been jaded by my experiences as a black woman in America, but I digress. Anyway, when I first met YT, he paid for drinks and food for me and the homies all night at the Standard. Needless to say, we consumed a substantial amount of alcohol that evening.

I agreed to give him my number after he promised me free golf lessons. I'm usually don't give my number out to people who I am not attracted to from the jump, but when I've had 4 belvederes and tonics and two beers, I'm a little more obliging.

We talked on the phone a few times, and he asked me out on a date. I agreed to go. We went to the LA Auto Show, and then we had dinner at The Palm. Over dinner he unsuccessfully attempted to impress me by ordering a $150 bottle of champagne and calling himself teaching me about the difference between sparkling wine and champagne, which I was already aware of. He thought he was teaching me some shit. I remember thinking that he was a wee bit pretentious, but I was like whatever. Its a free overpriced meal, and maybe I can make him my white meat sugar daddy.

All ideas of making him my white meat sugar daddy went out the door when the subject of race came up. At the time, I had just came from a trip to DC. I was telling YT about the trip, and I mentioned that I was with a guy friend who was also black, and none of the taxi cabs would stop for us. I was telling him that its no small feat for a black man to hail a cab on the east coast. YT had the nerve to be like, "No! I don't believe that!" I was like dude, I was there. I saw the shit with my own eyes. Like 20 cabs passed us before a black cab driver pulled over for us. YT steadfastly disagreed. He was like, "That doesn't really happen."

At that moment I realized that YT was truly ignorant. True, as a white man he doesn't experience subtle racism and he isn't snubbed because he is a minority. But dammit he should be aware of the fact that this bullshit still goes on. Its 2006. The Civil Rights Act just passed only 40 some odd years ago. Wake the fuck up YT!

At that moment I realized that I could not date outside my race. I'm not knocking others who do it, because love has no color. But I, black girl interrupted, cannot do it. YT just didn't get it. And I'm not about to be nobody's black girl fantasy/ambassador for the black race. I deal with enough of that shit in corporate America. I don't want to deal with it in my personal life.

Jet Setting to South Beach

After four glorious sun-drenched drunken days, I'm back home. I went to Miami Beach for the Meat Market.....oops, I meant Memorial Day weekend. It was my first time going to Miami. Its a beautiful place where its always 10,000 degrees and oppressively humid. The nightlife there is sick. The bars and clubs pop off until sunrise. The water is crystal clear and warm. Its like an urban paradise.

Picturesque South Beach turns into the Meat Market District during Memorial Day weekend. My best friend and I decided to go to Miami to celebrate her birthday. I knew it would be crackin out there during the holiday weekend, but I didn't know what to expect. Black people from all over the country congregated on South Beach this weekend for Black Beach Week. It had to be over 30,000 people out there. You could barely walk down the street. The worst of the worst definitely represented. I've never seen that many gold teeth on men and women in my entire life. Even the whiteys who wanted to be down had grills. Hoochies everywhere walking around nearly nude. I'm not exaggerating. Pimps had their hoes out, and dudes were grabbing females on the arms as a way of approaching them and disrespecting them when they are non-responsive. When I went to Wet Willie's, in the span of 30 minutes I observed a drunken white girl vomiting and being carried away by her friends, a big ass black dude mooning us, and two people getting arrested. And that was on Thursday. I believe there had been 300 arrests in South Beach between Thursday and Saturday. It was crazy out there.

I don't mean to imply that I didn't have a good time in Miami. It was fabulous. I fell in love with the place while I was there. I hung out with my friends, and made some amazing new ones. If the humidity didn't kill my hair, I would think about living there. Well, the hurricanes are an issue too. The nightlife is the shit, the scenery is beautiful, and Southern people are very friendly and hospitable. I really like that. That is severely lacking in LA. People out here tend to be aloof. I am too sometimes when I don't feel like being bothered. Its also very diverse in Miami, which is important to me. There are many Caribbean people out there. Its a different flavor out there, and I appreciated it.

Needless to say, I will be making future trips to Miami Beach. But not for Memorial Day weekend. Not so some big country ass 'bama named Turk can grab my ass.

What The Hell Was I Thinking?!?!?

I done officially crossed over now. I describe myself as a down to earth LA girl (yes they do exist!) who is a little bit of a hippie and a borderline diva. I know, my self-description is full of contradictions, but its accurate. But anywho, I done crossed over to that Hollywood shit now. When I say "Hollywood," I'm using it as an adjective to describe things are are "in style" or popular among the cool people of Los Angeles. Anyway, this afternoon I went for my first brazilian. After seeing several bald snatches on a couple of "movies," I decided to try it for myself. This may TMI to some, but it is definitely an experience that warrants mention on my blog (because well, this is MY blog, and if you don't like it, don't read it sucka!).

By far, the brazilian is the most painful thing I have ever experienced in my entire life. I've had my fair share of voluntary pain; I have three tattoos, a belly button ring, and I've had a tongue ring. But nothing compares to having hot wax spread upon your nether regions and someone ripping the hair out from its follicle. And when they do the brazilian, they take EVERYTHING off, from front to crack. Marinate on that for a minute.

I was hella nervous in the waiting area. I sort of thought I was going to vomit in the reception area, but I held it together. I wasn't going to let a hot-wax-and-popsicle-stick-wielding Russian lady get the best of me. No, but seriously the lady who performed the service was nice. She talked me through it, and told me the basics. She was really good about me jumping everytime she ripped off a strip of hair and talking her ear off while she waxed my snatch. I sort of felt like we bonded. I usually feel a bond with people who get that close to my snatch. When she was done, I was like "Damn, I have seen it like this since pre-puberty!"

But I am happy with the results. And my man will be also when he sees it later. Would I do it again? Hell yeah! That shit hurt like hell, but it beats other methods of hair removal. The only other option is to go for the 70's look. Hell to the naw. I may be a generation Y hippie, but not that much.

Mundane Monday

Good evening bitches! I somehow made it through Monday after having a super-relaxing weekend. Here's the play-by-play: On Friday, I hung out with the pseudo-bf. We were supposed to go out that night, but I fell asleep on him. However, we did have our own two-person Cinco de Mayo celebration. Well, not really. We were just looking for a reason to eat tacos and drink beer. He didn't seem okay with my falling asleep on him, even though I tried to explain that I was exhausted from a long week of dealing with The Man (although I really don't do shit on my job). I kind of feel bad about that. But thats what had happened.

Saturday was nice. I saw my sister off to prom, and then went to a fight party and watched De La Hoya beat the shit out of Mayorga. Note: If you are going to talk major shit to someone you are about to fight, please follow through. Don't let yourself get beat down on pay-per view like a 2 dollar hoe. I met my best friend's fake bf for the first time at the fight party. He was a cool guy. He passed the friend test. He was on shaky ground for a minute though, when he hopped up during the fight and said that he wanted to punch out his baby's mama like De La Hoya was punching out Mayorga. I was like wtf? Nigga is you crazy? And if that wasn't bad enough, his hood-ass homeboys were egging him on. I was like, hmmmm...ok. Keep an eye on this fool, because obviously he has ass-kicking tendencies. But he redeemed himself. He treated my friend very well, and they seem to really like each other. So I'll let the boxing-up-the-baby-mama comment slide for now.

Sunday was beautiful. The pseudo-bf invited me to a surf competition in Malibu where he was shooting some footage for a piece he is working on. It was hella cold in the morning, but it warmed up around noon. I had a buzz going before noon, and the water was beautiful. It was fabulous. I felt like I was on a vacation for a day.

But, now I'm back to corporate America. Bland.