Inspired enough by my late convo with a brilliant friend of mine over nectar mexicano, and clearly inspired enough to push through this migraine and fatigue from shovelling out of Blizzard 2011, I want to invite us to think through what would keep a postmodern couple together. Disclaimer: The migraine is really shortcircuiting wit. This is going to be quick and to the point.
Seriously. Why would two relatively wealthy (as Americans) individuals, whose distinct, horrifically equally dysfunctional upbrinings, full of the complexities of humanity (present even in the strongest families), AGREE--in fact, VOW, to stay together FOREVER. FOR-EVA'? FOR-eva eva??
Most of us have grandparents who stayed together--even if they couldn't stomach each other to sleep in the same bedroom by the time they had reached their 70s--both were present at holidays, birthdays, family cookouts. I've occasionally heard of divorced grandparents--that just feels weird when I hear those stories. Our grandmothers stayed through infidelity, emotional absenteeism, and many, many CLOTH diapers (my grandmothers had 13 and 6 children respectively). Our grandfathers stayed through hard, long hours at factories, mortgages that seemed to never be caught up, and sheer monotony (they NEVER saw the world as many of us have).
My anthropologically bent friend believes it was sheer social turbulence that kept our forefathers locked in holy matrimony. Simply put, they NEEDED one another. Rent couldn't be paid on one income. Immigration into a new country was too lonely and hard alone (beyond economics). Partnership was viewed as a way to "make it"--a way to stabilize.
Now, we all "single ladies" and "can find another you in a minute". Women can afford to buy their own properties. Men continue to and have many options. We can choose from many different "options" and as soon as we get bored or are just not "feeling it", we can move onto the next. We're marrying later and we're divorcing more frequently. And why would divorce not be the logical solution if you're not getting along, feeling bored with the monogomy (oops, I meant monotony), and especially if you don't NEED the other to "make it" in this country.
Is it true? Did our forefathers stay together out of sheer need? or did something deeper (and more romantic and noble) keep them together? Now that we're financially independent, have all kinds of racial, educational, personality and body type options, do we feel compelled to have shorter relationships that aren't expected to last the long haul? What's the benefit of "forever"? Why "forever"? Pros? Cons? Pros and cons to 1-2 year flinglationships?
Why is it so hard to take Al Green's advice to just "STAY TOGETHER"?
Thursday, February 3, 2011
Monday, January 24, 2011
Love Hard, Hard Hurt
Move on.
These two words are easier for some of us to do than for others after a break up (whether it's the end of a casual dating relationship or divorce). Why is it that some people become obsessed with the "whys" of their breakups and seem to drown in despair, while others are able to quickly "move onto the next one"?
I regularly talk with friends who are having a hard time "moving on". I also have a hard time "moving on" (from anything or anyone because my loyalty is deep and fierce. I had a hard time moving on from my "jheri curl", from loving Charles Clingman and Maurcie Johnson--my Detroit childhood sweethearts who I never forgot--). The "moving on" to which I am referring is the letting go of memories of pain and hurt, not necessarily a person. While one may have the strength and clarity to realize that the one who they loved is better off estranged, he/she may still feel the deep pangs of loss and sorrow long after the relationship is over. And I'm not talking about bitterness, hatred and unforgiveness--not at all. I'm talking about being vulnerable to tears, heart ache, and cycles of depression and awareness of loss.
Some suggest the degree of post-break up trauma is gender determined. In his book "Men Don't Heal, We Ho--a Book About the Emotional Instability in Men", author Steven James Dixon argues that in order to avoid the pain of the loss of love, men turn to promiscuity--new lovers help to forget, they distract. I haven't read the book, but I've heard it's hilarious and eye opening as the author tells of how he was transformed from a man who used women to a faithful partner. Through escaping through using women sexually, he was always able to "move on" quickly--he thought he was, but a "mirror dropped down from heaven" (his words) to show that he was only masking a broken heart and soul.
While there may be some gender trends, I must say that I have met a few women (maybe a couple) who go through a myriad of relationships or partners, too, and seemingly, they're fine.
So, if you don't ascribe to the idea that men are able to just move on easier (and some people strongly argue that women are just more emotionally attached then men and are) simply because they are men, what determines how well and how easily one can "move on"?
I want to argue it's the degree to which one loves. I am more and more convinced that those who love deeply and who love well, are also hit much harder when that love abruptly comes to an end. Steven James Dixon wasn't loving women, he was using them for his own sexual gratification. Because he didn't allow his heart to open to a woman in sincere love, he was able to easily "move on".
My uncle says there are two categories of people: "givers" and "takers" (I do see these categories, but perhaps it's an oversimplification--I see people who are either horrible or healthy tensions of the two). Those who give deeply, love deeply, truly invest in another human being seem much more saddened when the object of their affection just walks away from that love. Those who date for fun, excitement, new experiences (all very self satisfying and selfish) are less "other centered". They, perhaps, aren't entering the relationship to give to the point of sarificial love.
Sometimes, a person feels weak and foolish when they don't "move on" emotionally from the loss of love. In recent days, however, I see those who allow themselves to linger in the loss (as long as it doesn't distract them from a general sense of joy and healthiness) as brave and strong. They face the storm. They weather it. They take the pain into their bosoms. They make themselves vulnerable, and love cannot begin unless sincere vulnerability is at the foundation.
So if you hurt deeply after each loss (and you don't run and hide behind more and more casual flings), bless God that your soul is healthy and alive enough to still LOVE! Blessed are those who hurt deeply after losing love...coulda been another Beatitude in Matthew 5.
These two words are easier for some of us to do than for others after a break up (whether it's the end of a casual dating relationship or divorce). Why is it that some people become obsessed with the "whys" of their breakups and seem to drown in despair, while others are able to quickly "move onto the next one"?
I regularly talk with friends who are having a hard time "moving on". I also have a hard time "moving on" (from anything or anyone because my loyalty is deep and fierce. I had a hard time moving on from my "jheri curl", from loving Charles Clingman and Maurcie Johnson--my Detroit childhood sweethearts who I never forgot--). The "moving on" to which I am referring is the letting go of memories of pain and hurt, not necessarily a person. While one may have the strength and clarity to realize that the one who they loved is better off estranged, he/she may still feel the deep pangs of loss and sorrow long after the relationship is over. And I'm not talking about bitterness, hatred and unforgiveness--not at all. I'm talking about being vulnerable to tears, heart ache, and cycles of depression and awareness of loss.
Some suggest the degree of post-break up trauma is gender determined. In his book "Men Don't Heal, We Ho--a Book About the Emotional Instability in Men", author Steven James Dixon argues that in order to avoid the pain of the loss of love, men turn to promiscuity--new lovers help to forget, they distract. I haven't read the book, but I've heard it's hilarious and eye opening as the author tells of how he was transformed from a man who used women to a faithful partner. Through escaping through using women sexually, he was always able to "move on" quickly--he thought he was, but a "mirror dropped down from heaven" (his words) to show that he was only masking a broken heart and soul.
While there may be some gender trends, I must say that I have met a few women (maybe a couple) who go through a myriad of relationships or partners, too, and seemingly, they're fine.
So, if you don't ascribe to the idea that men are able to just move on easier (and some people strongly argue that women are just more emotionally attached then men and are) simply because they are men, what determines how well and how easily one can "move on"?
I want to argue it's the degree to which one loves. I am more and more convinced that those who love deeply and who love well, are also hit much harder when that love abruptly comes to an end. Steven James Dixon wasn't loving women, he was using them for his own sexual gratification. Because he didn't allow his heart to open to a woman in sincere love, he was able to easily "move on".
My uncle says there are two categories of people: "givers" and "takers" (I do see these categories, but perhaps it's an oversimplification--I see people who are either horrible or healthy tensions of the two). Those who give deeply, love deeply, truly invest in another human being seem much more saddened when the object of their affection just walks away from that love. Those who date for fun, excitement, new experiences (all very self satisfying and selfish) are less "other centered". They, perhaps, aren't entering the relationship to give to the point of sarificial love.
Sometimes, a person feels weak and foolish when they don't "move on" emotionally from the loss of love. In recent days, however, I see those who allow themselves to linger in the loss (as long as it doesn't distract them from a general sense of joy and healthiness) as brave and strong. They face the storm. They weather it. They take the pain into their bosoms. They make themselves vulnerable, and love cannot begin unless sincere vulnerability is at the foundation.
So if you hurt deeply after each loss (and you don't run and hide behind more and more casual flings), bless God that your soul is healthy and alive enough to still LOVE! Blessed are those who hurt deeply after losing love...coulda been another Beatitude in Matthew 5.
Saturday, January 22, 2011
Back, Black and Bustin' Windows Out of Cars
I am disappointed--but not suprised--that I have not written in months; I blame it on my career. Most teachers are consumed by our work (which is why we only have other teacher friends; other people get tired of hearing about George* , the junior who won't get his act straight, and who becomes my default conversation after talk about love, life, and family), and most of us, find it hard to do much outside of the school day. Add community and church work, good friends, grocery shopping, meal prep, and running/working out, there's time for little else. But I am committing to picking back up the instruments, designing clothing and leather stuff...teaching will not be the END OF ME!
Recently, I've been inspired to pick the "pen" (bka, QWERTY and keyboard) back up as I field discussions about love, heartbreak, almost daily (mostly through texts and regularly over coffee). I recently posted something on Facebook about women not settling for less and I had about 100 responses--amazing women (and men) are wanting to talk about love, dating, heartbreak, the "field"--and wanting to make sense of it all.
Lots has happened in my personal life since my last entry. I have a new pug--Chico Childress. He's so ugly, he's cute, and my friends allow him to get away with a lot out of sympathy for his horrible sinus issues and bad teeth.
I also am in an exclusive dating relationship. People ask how the 30 dates ended, and I guess I just never provided error analysis and conclusions (I'm a science teacher) with that whole social experiment. What people really want to know is if I'm dating someone. I am, actually. A result of the 30datesin30days? Kinda. I've known him for years, but I think the experiment may have been the catalyst. Am I gonna talk about him now? Nope. I'm generally quite private about a relationship, so, sorry. Not now. I can say that he's an amazing human being. His parents did a really good job in raising a really solid man, and people tell me he's HOT and has a great voice. One male friend called him "eye candy"--now I'm looking at that male friend out the corner of my eye.
The goodness of this man and conversations with my many friends about chronic singleness, disappointment, heartbreak, and anger as the result of abandonment, cheating, dishonesty, disrespect, and general immaturity inspired today's post. I had a stream of thoughts under the shower head as I belted out Jazzmine Sullivan's 10 seconds.
I realized a couple of things: 1) I REALLY love and see myself as part of the community of "gritty", raspy voiced, REAL R & B songstresses like Lauryn Hill, Mary J. Blige, and Jazzmine Sullivan (I guess Alicia Keys too but I'm still kinda mad at her) and 2) Black women love hard. (caveat: I recognize that women from other racial and cultural groups can love "hard" too--shout out to my girl Nicki who definitely has an honorary "sistah" card and some strong Latinas and Asians--my girl who will remain nameless as she has violent tendencies because of her fierce love) I am, however, going to talk exclusively about Black women in this post because we're the subgroup with the REPUTATION FOR BEING CRAZY.
I have concluded that black women are a "NOBLE CRAZY"--the result of loving "HARD". We are loyal as ISH--I mean loyal to the point of going to jail for our men. Our craziness is the result of trauma after trauma after trauma--making it through poverty, immigration (shout out to those of us from the Caribbean and the Continent, South and Central American diaspora), watching our "should be" lovers and husbands lost to violence, the streets, mental illness, drug abuse, etc, being seen as "less than beautiful" (we're only pretty if we're light skinned and don't have kinky, short hair), "making it" with degrees only to "educate ourselves out" of partners/husbands (because they didn't make it as far) and to have to deal with the subtle racism of co-workers who wonder WHY and HOW we made it. The list of traumas can go on--I haven't even touched the emotional, physical and mental abuse and trauma that is the result of the racial trauma we've experienced as a group in America. So, yes, we love hard as a result of the trauma. Our strength in prayers, the "attitude", the "fight" in us has kept our families going. And because we give SO incredibly much (often being the one who keeps the family together because of our men's debilitation), we get P I S S E D and BEYOND P I S S E D when we feel our love is disrespected, devalued, underappreciated, taken advantage of.
People label us as "crazy"--crazy enough to do what Jazzmine Sullivan confesses: "I bust the windows out your car...and though it did not mend my broken heart....". They say we have attitudes, but this crazy, attitudinal, boldness is just the result and summation of our fierce loyalty and love. TOO MUCH IS ALWAYS AT STAKE FOR THE BLACK WOMAN, AND STUFF IS ALWAYS AT RISK, so we just don't play...and many of us are perpetually at the "breaking point"--especially if we are "successful" (due to the isolation). We don't like disingenous people (and will call you out in a public meeting if we have to), we don't like "talk behind our backs" (be a woman and talk to me "face to face"), we don't like being deceived. We've already been through too much.
What I realized this morning is that beneath this "crazy", "hard" love, is the softest, kindest, most compassionate tenderness and love. We are all nurses. We nurse the wounded in our communties. We may cut you with our tongues, but that's just because we so passionately care (and have been wounded so much). I thought about Carmen this morning. Carmen actually rolled her eyes at me and cut me with some sharp remark when we first met at Corkery Elementary in Little Village. She had the classic black woman crazy attitude. Over the years, though, Carmen has become a close sister. At 5:30 this morning (Saturday), we were up talking about our students. She told me about a student who is living in a house with no electricity or gas (and it's January in Chicago). The boy was crying in class, literally crying. "My hands are just so cold." She took him in her office and rubbed lotion and warmth in his hands, while she softly said, "Aw, baby, is this better, buddha duddha, suga'" (My granddaddy used to make up words like this too). How many professional people would be so personal? This is how we love, though. DEEPLY. Our love is life and death to us. When you trod upon it, you're asking for a fight...or maybe to have the windows bust out your car. (though none of my biological sisters, my close friends, or I would ever let a man get under our skin enough to lose our couth and self control at this level).
Black women love hard. We just do. (of course there are exceptions, especially for those of us who have lost our dignity and agree to share men, to live as "bust downs", hoes, "chicken heads", etc). While our irreverent hair, the curves in our lips and hips, and sassy come backs are very tempting and attractive, only the mature and respectful man should dare approach. So if you are on some macho B.S. (we do like swag and strength--very different from "macho" though), a player, disrespectful, dumb acting donkey, don't even consider it. You may get the right one on the wrong day and be going to Aaron's Glass Repair on Archer...
Recently, I've been inspired to pick the "pen" (bka, QWERTY and keyboard) back up as I field discussions about love, heartbreak, almost daily (mostly through texts and regularly over coffee). I recently posted something on Facebook about women not settling for less and I had about 100 responses--amazing women (and men) are wanting to talk about love, dating, heartbreak, the "field"--and wanting to make sense of it all.
Lots has happened in my personal life since my last entry. I have a new pug--Chico Childress. He's so ugly, he's cute, and my friends allow him to get away with a lot out of sympathy for his horrible sinus issues and bad teeth.
I also am in an exclusive dating relationship. People ask how the 30 dates ended, and I guess I just never provided error analysis and conclusions (I'm a science teacher) with that whole social experiment. What people really want to know is if I'm dating someone. I am, actually. A result of the 30datesin30days? Kinda. I've known him for years, but I think the experiment may have been the catalyst. Am I gonna talk about him now? Nope. I'm generally quite private about a relationship, so, sorry. Not now. I can say that he's an amazing human being. His parents did a really good job in raising a really solid man, and people tell me he's HOT and has a great voice. One male friend called him "eye candy"--now I'm looking at that male friend out the corner of my eye.
The goodness of this man and conversations with my many friends about chronic singleness, disappointment, heartbreak, and anger as the result of abandonment, cheating, dishonesty, disrespect, and general immaturity inspired today's post. I had a stream of thoughts under the shower head as I belted out Jazzmine Sullivan's 10 seconds.
I realized a couple of things: 1) I REALLY love and see myself as part of the community of "gritty", raspy voiced, REAL R & B songstresses like Lauryn Hill, Mary J. Blige, and Jazzmine Sullivan (I guess Alicia Keys too but I'm still kinda mad at her) and 2) Black women love hard. (caveat: I recognize that women from other racial and cultural groups can love "hard" too--shout out to my girl Nicki who definitely has an honorary "sistah" card and some strong Latinas and Asians--my girl who will remain nameless as she has violent tendencies because of her fierce love) I am, however, going to talk exclusively about Black women in this post because we're the subgroup with the REPUTATION FOR BEING CRAZY.
I have concluded that black women are a "NOBLE CRAZY"--the result of loving "HARD". We are loyal as ISH--I mean loyal to the point of going to jail for our men. Our craziness is the result of trauma after trauma after trauma--making it through poverty, immigration (shout out to those of us from the Caribbean and the Continent, South and Central American diaspora), watching our "should be" lovers and husbands lost to violence, the streets, mental illness, drug abuse, etc, being seen as "less than beautiful" (we're only pretty if we're light skinned and don't have kinky, short hair), "making it" with degrees only to "educate ourselves out" of partners/husbands (because they didn't make it as far) and to have to deal with the subtle racism of co-workers who wonder WHY and HOW we made it. The list of traumas can go on--I haven't even touched the emotional, physical and mental abuse and trauma that is the result of the racial trauma we've experienced as a group in America. So, yes, we love hard as a result of the trauma. Our strength in prayers, the "attitude", the "fight" in us has kept our families going. And because we give SO incredibly much (often being the one who keeps the family together because of our men's debilitation), we get P I S S E D and BEYOND P I S S E D when we feel our love is disrespected, devalued, underappreciated, taken advantage of.
People label us as "crazy"--crazy enough to do what Jazzmine Sullivan confesses: "I bust the windows out your car...and though it did not mend my broken heart....". They say we have attitudes, but this crazy, attitudinal, boldness is just the result and summation of our fierce loyalty and love. TOO MUCH IS ALWAYS AT STAKE FOR THE BLACK WOMAN, AND STUFF IS ALWAYS AT RISK, so we just don't play...and many of us are perpetually at the "breaking point"--especially if we are "successful" (due to the isolation). We don't like disingenous people (and will call you out in a public meeting if we have to), we don't like "talk behind our backs" (be a woman and talk to me "face to face"), we don't like being deceived. We've already been through too much.
What I realized this morning is that beneath this "crazy", "hard" love, is the softest, kindest, most compassionate tenderness and love. We are all nurses. We nurse the wounded in our communties. We may cut you with our tongues, but that's just because we so passionately care (and have been wounded so much). I thought about Carmen this morning. Carmen actually rolled her eyes at me and cut me with some sharp remark when we first met at Corkery Elementary in Little Village. She had the classic black woman crazy attitude. Over the years, though, Carmen has become a close sister. At 5:30 this morning (Saturday), we were up talking about our students. She told me about a student who is living in a house with no electricity or gas (and it's January in Chicago). The boy was crying in class, literally crying. "My hands are just so cold." She took him in her office and rubbed lotion and warmth in his hands, while she softly said, "Aw, baby, is this better, buddha duddha, suga'" (My granddaddy used to make up words like this too). How many professional people would be so personal? This is how we love, though. DEEPLY. Our love is life and death to us. When you trod upon it, you're asking for a fight...or maybe to have the windows bust out your car. (though none of my biological sisters, my close friends, or I would ever let a man get under our skin enough to lose our couth and self control at this level).
Black women love hard. We just do. (of course there are exceptions, especially for those of us who have lost our dignity and agree to share men, to live as "bust downs", hoes, "chicken heads", etc). While our irreverent hair, the curves in our lips and hips, and sassy come backs are very tempting and attractive, only the mature and respectful man should dare approach. So if you are on some macho B.S. (we do like swag and strength--very different from "macho" though), a player, disrespectful, dumb acting donkey, don't even consider it. You may get the right one on the wrong day and be going to Aaron's Glass Repair on Archer...
Wednesday, June 23, 2010
Hungry Damsel in Distress
So, I know I'm supposed to be talking about polygamy (one date's idea as a possible solution to the weakening of the African American family), but I'm going to start with tonight's date and work backward.
I was an hour late. He waited. Perhaps evidence that he is an amazing human being. If my dates could not get more bizarre, 10 minutes into leaving for Francesca's (an Italian joint I've wanted to check out for years), a storm like I've never seen before hit Chicagoland. Garbage cans, chairs, tree branches all down Ogden and Cermak and 19th (I kept trying to find streets not lined with trees--inclement weather an understatement). He OFFERED TO COME GET ME. WHAT A GENTLEMAN. To make matters worse [than having no visibility at one point], sirens went off--yes, the "There's a tornado in the area so get in a bathtub" siren. I was really confused for a minute; the only time I had heard one of these was in suburban Cincinnati, where my parents live, but also where deer have enough open space to frollic meters away from my parents' house.
So, I took cover in doors. My date, having received an email at work about the looming weather, took precautions and was right on time, while I was coaching my Bball on the Block team, hadn't seen tv or heard radio all day, and got blindsided--and finally arrived an hour late (rushing to get to my waiting date, I didn't feed the meter and ended a perfect evening with a FIFTY DOLLAR TICKET--I can't tell you the last time I got a parking ticket).
So, I really don't know why this gentleman and I haven't had dinner before. He says it's all about context. It's kind of forward at best, and maybe professionally or politically unsavvy at worst, to meet a woman at a fundraiser and ask her out. He and I share friend and colleague after friend and colleague--WE EVEN HUNG OUT WITH THE SAME MEXICAN ANTHROPOLOGIST IN MEXICO--BOTH STUDYING THE AFRICAN PRESENCE IN MEXICO AND HAVING ROLES IN THE EXHIBIT THAT CAME TO THE MEXICAN FINE ARTS MUSEUM. SMALL WORLD.
I'll spare you the details, but conversation was lively and insightful. He shared that we, generally, as Americans, have not recognized how the urgency of our lives and professions actually are not conducive to the long term matrimony that seemed to come to our grandparents so easily. The pressures of the economy, role changes, family demands, lack of communal support actually seems to work against easy and sustainable pairing--so he told me that my life as a "perpetual single" is actually a sign of the times and quite normal. I think we both still hold to the ideals of faithful, enduring partnerhips, but we recognize the many demands that pull at them. Very interesting conversation....and the fried calamari was only a bonus (I can't stop eating it since my sisters and I came back from Spain last April).
The pleasant company helped ease the pains of new home ownership and landlordship, as my tenant called during dinner to inform me that his basement had flooded with the storm.
I'm telling you ladies, there are some awesome men out here. Happy dating Chicago.
I was an hour late. He waited. Perhaps evidence that he is an amazing human being. If my dates could not get more bizarre, 10 minutes into leaving for Francesca's (an Italian joint I've wanted to check out for years), a storm like I've never seen before hit Chicagoland. Garbage cans, chairs, tree branches all down Ogden and Cermak and 19th (I kept trying to find streets not lined with trees--inclement weather an understatement). He OFFERED TO COME GET ME. WHAT A GENTLEMAN. To make matters worse [than having no visibility at one point], sirens went off--yes, the "There's a tornado in the area so get in a bathtub" siren. I was really confused for a minute; the only time I had heard one of these was in suburban Cincinnati, where my parents live, but also where deer have enough open space to frollic meters away from my parents' house.
So, I took cover in doors. My date, having received an email at work about the looming weather, took precautions and was right on time, while I was coaching my Bball on the Block team, hadn't seen tv or heard radio all day, and got blindsided--and finally arrived an hour late (rushing to get to my waiting date, I didn't feed the meter and ended a perfect evening with a FIFTY DOLLAR TICKET--I can't tell you the last time I got a parking ticket).
So, I really don't know why this gentleman and I haven't had dinner before. He says it's all about context. It's kind of forward at best, and maybe professionally or politically unsavvy at worst, to meet a woman at a fundraiser and ask her out. He and I share friend and colleague after friend and colleague--WE EVEN HUNG OUT WITH THE SAME MEXICAN ANTHROPOLOGIST IN MEXICO--BOTH STUDYING THE AFRICAN PRESENCE IN MEXICO AND HAVING ROLES IN THE EXHIBIT THAT CAME TO THE MEXICAN FINE ARTS MUSEUM. SMALL WORLD.
I'll spare you the details, but conversation was lively and insightful. He shared that we, generally, as Americans, have not recognized how the urgency of our lives and professions actually are not conducive to the long term matrimony that seemed to come to our grandparents so easily. The pressures of the economy, role changes, family demands, lack of communal support actually seems to work against easy and sustainable pairing--so he told me that my life as a "perpetual single" is actually a sign of the times and quite normal. I think we both still hold to the ideals of faithful, enduring partnerhips, but we recognize the many demands that pull at them. Very interesting conversation....and the fried calamari was only a bonus (I can't stop eating it since my sisters and I came back from Spain last April).
The pleasant company helped ease the pains of new home ownership and landlordship, as my tenant called during dinner to inform me that his basement had flooded with the storm.
I'm telling you ladies, there are some awesome men out here. Happy dating Chicago.
Wednesday, June 16, 2010
Polygamy
Tonight's conversation, at Simone's bar, was about polygamy...and how it may be an option? Intriguing right? Don't brush the brother off? Some good and interesting arguments, but by brain is too tired tonight to delve into...polygamy? Tomorrow.
A white lie
So, today, walking home from the gym at 7am, one of the biggest "D" (drug) boys in the neighborhood started following me...even cut through an alley to talk to my nasty, sweating, spandex clad self. I was highly annoyed. "Do I look like I'm the 'next one'"?
Temporarily forgetting about the 30 dates, I told him "I don't date"...and then rambled something equivalent to "I'm a nun for God". He responded, "I respect that" and drove off.
This is what I gotta deal with, America. If it weren't for my 30 dates, I'd still think that this was the only option for a woman like me. It ain't so.
Temporarily forgetting about the 30 dates, I told him "I don't date"...and then rambled something equivalent to "I'm a nun for God". He responded, "I respect that" and drove off.
This is what I gotta deal with, America. If it weren't for my 30 dates, I'd still think that this was the only option for a woman like me. It ain't so.
Monday, June 14, 2010
Chicago's Finest
Tonight's date was at Webster's Wine Bar--to see 2nd City actors perform monologues. After being at Menard's for hours and working on home repair, I was running late and thought, "Great. You don't have this man's phone number, not an idea of what he looks like, and you definitely won't be there at 6:55." However, what felt like a miracle of "parting the red sea" magnitude occurred. I breezed down the Eisenhower and Dan Ryan in NO traffic during RUSH HOUR, found FREE parking (in a city that has a private company grossing 1M/week due to our car addictions) IN FRONT of Webster's and walked up to my date at 6:55. That almost feels like the best part of the date. Almost...if it hadn't been such an interesting and creative experience.
As all of the previous dates, this was easy breezy, and I was feeling "beautiful Cover Girl"--again, the key--no pressure--just enjoying a new person. A bit into the date he confessed that he had just gotten into a relationship--shortly after he agreed to go on a date with me (he was the first volunteer a few weeks ago, and clearly Cupid had been working on his behalf during the last few weeks). His girlfriend was cool with it, so he was my delightful company for the evening.
We listened to amazingly hilarious monologues, one in particular took me to blissful nostalgia. The first story teller told a coming of age story through constant allusions to Prince's Purple Rain album, accented with actual tracks fron the album. It was HEELARIOUS. My date and I reminisced about the 80s and how great the music and movies were.
There is, more than likely, no chance of anything more than "platonic" developing, but we had the chance to talk about why we are both ecclectic and hard to pair romantically (he's an "airforce brat" and I have fantastical, creative parents who raised us in 3 different cities). We had an excuse to have strange conversation; I explained to him why I like interesting teeth (he laughed at this new category of "interesting"--neither good nor bad--"interesting"). We ended the date, and we probably at least have another Facebook friend out of this. I also received the epiphany of what color my dining room should be painted, and I have one more Chicago venue to share with my parents and friends.
This weekend's dates were equally interesting. Saturday morning's was challenging and invigorating. I played tennis with a spry, energetic, beautiful soul (he really is a beautiful soul), who reminded me of the excitement and joy of living in faith--not having everything figured out, and walking by the SUBSTANCE OF THINGS HOPED FOR. He, as I, intentionally lives in what others may call a "rough" community, and is looking to open a beautiful and creative space for neighbors to convivir. Our conversation, by far, has been the most sharpening and refocusing for me. I hope to be able to support his vision and endeavors.
I also spent time with a laidback, intellectually and artistically brilliant man who graciously allowed me to visit him while fighting a cold. I took him soup, he bought me wine and we hung out in his gallery space, which was filled by work that fills me with awe. We had a couple of visitors, the most interesting and comical being a 50 year old looking hipster with a dog named "BAY BAY"--I thought, "Is he for real? Dude, you're in the wrong neighborhood with a dog named "Bay Bay" .
Not one date has been a negative experience. In fact, I really feel like I'm meeting some of the more quality men that Chicago has to offer--each has been generous with me, kind, humble, funny, talented.
When I turned on my car to leave Webster's tonight, Luther Vandross was singing: " And I was hopin that one day there'd be a chance for me to get the Love that I've been missin',
sometimes Love takes a long time,
but wait for love and you're gonna get the change to love, Wait for Love, Wait for Love".
Amen.
As all of the previous dates, this was easy breezy, and I was feeling "beautiful Cover Girl"--again, the key--no pressure--just enjoying a new person. A bit into the date he confessed that he had just gotten into a relationship--shortly after he agreed to go on a date with me (he was the first volunteer a few weeks ago, and clearly Cupid had been working on his behalf during the last few weeks). His girlfriend was cool with it, so he was my delightful company for the evening.
We listened to amazingly hilarious monologues, one in particular took me to blissful nostalgia. The first story teller told a coming of age story through constant allusions to Prince's Purple Rain album, accented with actual tracks fron the album. It was HEELARIOUS. My date and I reminisced about the 80s and how great the music and movies were.
There is, more than likely, no chance of anything more than "platonic" developing, but we had the chance to talk about why we are both ecclectic and hard to pair romantically (he's an "airforce brat" and I have fantastical, creative parents who raised us in 3 different cities). We had an excuse to have strange conversation; I explained to him why I like interesting teeth (he laughed at this new category of "interesting"--neither good nor bad--"interesting"). We ended the date, and we probably at least have another Facebook friend out of this. I also received the epiphany of what color my dining room should be painted, and I have one more Chicago venue to share with my parents and friends.
This weekend's dates were equally interesting. Saturday morning's was challenging and invigorating. I played tennis with a spry, energetic, beautiful soul (he really is a beautiful soul), who reminded me of the excitement and joy of living in faith--not having everything figured out, and walking by the SUBSTANCE OF THINGS HOPED FOR. He, as I, intentionally lives in what others may call a "rough" community, and is looking to open a beautiful and creative space for neighbors to convivir. Our conversation, by far, has been the most sharpening and refocusing for me. I hope to be able to support his vision and endeavors.
I also spent time with a laidback, intellectually and artistically brilliant man who graciously allowed me to visit him while fighting a cold. I took him soup, he bought me wine and we hung out in his gallery space, which was filled by work that fills me with awe. We had a couple of visitors, the most interesting and comical being a 50 year old looking hipster with a dog named "BAY BAY"--I thought, "Is he for real? Dude, you're in the wrong neighborhood with a dog named "Bay Bay" .
Not one date has been a negative experience. In fact, I really feel like I'm meeting some of the more quality men that Chicago has to offer--each has been generous with me, kind, humble, funny, talented.
When I turned on my car to leave Webster's tonight, Luther Vandross was singing: " And I was hopin that one day there'd be a chance for me to get the Love that I've been missin',
sometimes Love takes a long time,
but wait for love and you're gonna get the change to love, Wait for Love, Wait for Love".
Amen.
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