Awkward Interracial Dating?

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Just caught the latest episode of my new favorite online show Awkward Black Girl. In this month’s episode, our main character goes on her first interracial date and it is indeed awkward. Her friend, an Indian girl, prepares her for the date, including the outfit (a t-shirt and shorts because, per her friend, white guys are more casual). The white guy takes her to a soul food restaurant and spoken word, neither sit right with our girl. The mini episode was cute and humorous but did make me reflect on my own interracial experiences. I am an equal opportunity dater so I’ve dated just about every race and mix in between. And I have to say…there isn’t a great difference. By my late twenties I find that all guys dress pretty well (well, nice for their abilities) for dates (the older the more spiffy!).

Although my first time eating fried chicken and waffles was to a place a white guy took me, it was an upscale joint and diverse place, so no music stopping when we entered the place like on this show (even the black men with white women made faces and her ex said if he’d known she’d date white he wouldn’t have broken up with her- I found that sad but not a totally unrealistic occurrence). And although we went to Busboys and Poets after, it wasn’t spoken word night but… you know what, maybe this show was right! No, DC, is pretty diverse and we just went there for coffee because it was down the street.

Anyway, I’ve also done casual outdoor dates with black guys. There simply is no stereotype across the racial lines. Guys are guys, wear some heels and your hair out in some manner (curly or straight) and you’re good! As the episode showed, if the pair had just been themselves and taken race out of the equation, they would have had a better time.

Here’s the episode if you care to watch…

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Watch What You Eat- A Short Story

Been a while since I posted a short story, poem, or snippet. Here’s something I’m entering for a submission! Enjoy!

Watch What You Eat
Hunger makes you do dumb things.
I headed to my kitchen and opened the refrigerator door. Nothing. I closed the door in disgust. I frowned and opened my cupboard. It was equally bare. My stomach growled angrily but my eyes suddenly widened as I spotted a can of tuna fish. I grabbed it, opened the lid and dug in with a fork.
I chomped away at the salty fish. It might give me high blood pressure but I quickly gobbled it anyway.
Naturally I choked.
I dropped the tuna can to the floor and coughed repeatedly. I caught a glimpse of a cat trotting into the kitchen. Since when did I have a cat?
Who cares I was dying?!
I laced my hands together and rammed them into my stomach then chest but still no success. Why didn’t I study the Heimlich maneuver?
I dropped to my knees, grabbing at my neck as I saw the cat come closer to me, this time followed by two cats. I fell back to the floor, withering in horror as I choked on the food in my air passage.
I glanced in horror at the cats- five now- descending upon me and then looked over at the offending food. My last thought was that I hadn’t actually eaten tuna fish, at least not the one made for humans, for the image on the can was of a cat’s head; its tongue licking its whiskers.
As the cats walked closer to me, meowing in unison, eyes glowing with hunger; I closed my eyes and died.

*

Denise held her fork midway to her mouth, a frozen look on her face. “Wow; that’s a seriously sad story, Shiela. Ooh, say that three times fast!”

“Ha-ha. You are not a friend.”“Hey, maybe those dreams mean you need a cat.”

“So she can chow down on my body because I died eating all her cat food?! I hate cats.”
 
“Maybe the dream was about you feeling unsafe living by yourself. Get a roommate who can account for you so your dead body isn’t stinking up the apartment building.”
 
“Thanks, Denise, that’s what was bothering me so much. I’ll be dead, screw my neighbors breathing comfort!” I cut into my salmon and realized it smelled like tuna. I put my fork down. “Maybe it means I should stop watching that Animal Hoarders show before bed.”
 
“Or that.”

Real Love?

I’m a big fan of Millionare Matchmaker and it always gets my head spinning about relationships and the foolishness that these wealthy clients have about love, I assume simply because they are rich and no one (except Patty) dared question them before.

I wonder:

What does real romance/loving relationship look like and if we had to put it in a movie would we still watch it? And if we wouldn’t, how do we manage our expectations about what a good relationship is? And if we were able to manage them would divorce rates go down? Do we, men and women, make poor choices based on a fairy tale notion that no longer exist?

If you are rich or “ridiculously good looking” is the likelihood that you have an unrealistic look on love stronger? Meaning, you often get away with foolishness that leads you to have expectations when entering relationships that the “common” folk just don’t have. Does this mean they’ll have a harder time finding a lasting relationship or would you think these people will easily find someone hung up on looks or money who will do whatever they want?

I’m often told that as a woman of the new age, especially a black woman, I have to compromise more to get a relationship. However, if we women have to compromise so much will there still be love there? At what point do we compromise too much (on looks, job/goals/education, number of kids the guy already has, whether he has a car/house, is cultured)? Would lowered expectations lead to lowered interest/dependence/standards/lifestyle/treatment?

Just thinking….