The Swirl World

Celebrating and Elevating Black Women - mind, body, soul and spirit!


Easy, Breezy, Beautiful

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I was working on a paper the other day and channel-surfed to find the perfect background show. You know the kind I mean: The “mindless” program you leave running in the background while you do something that really uses your brain.

[Side note: I also listen to my favorite Pandora station at the same time. What can I say? I’m a multi-tasker to the nth degree.]

I landed on America’s Next Top Model (I have no idea what season) and decided to leave it there (that’s the only way I get to “see” it). I generally look up during the last 10 minutes or so of every program to give myself a break (and to watch the elimination – of course!).

Turns out I was on one of the final episodes where the remaining contestants had to do their Cover Girl commercials. They had a couple of scenarios to work with, but the bottom line was how well they could work the scenario and say, “Easy, breezy, beautiful, Cover Girl.”   

You have to ask yourself, How hard is that??? Surprisingly, it was very hard for some.

I sat there shaking my head and chuckling, when suddenly my mind wandered and I thought about SM. (I admit that my mind wanders in his direction most of the time – but I digress).

I thought about a trip we’d taken to Hilton Head to catch some beach and some sun. He had pounded on my door one morning at what seemed like the crack of dawn, Starbucks cup in hand.


[Side note: I have to digress here. This is a man who wherever we go, always locates the nearest Starbucks because he knows how much I love an extra hot caramel macchiato. I could go on and tell you that he also knows my exact recipe, but why bore you with those details? Suffice it to say that SM is a good man, and I know I’m blessed to have him in my life. I have a funny story about SM, me, and an empty Starbucks cup, but I’ll save it for another blog. *LOL* just thinking about it!]  

The sun was coming up, and SM wanted us to watch the sunrise together. It was nippy that time of morning, but he pulled the heavy comforter off my bed and wrapped us in it as we sat on the terrace facing the beach. Needless to say, it was a beautiful and glorious sight – and tears came to my eyes as I sat, months later, remembering that very special time.

It was warm enough a few hours later for us to walk along the edge of the beach and enjoy the feel of the sun on our faces and the sand between our toes. We laughed, talked, and held hands – an easy, breezy, beautiful summer morning.

I’m getting misty-eyed again recollecting that, because It occurs to me that just as we’d think it should be easy for a wanna-be model to say “Easy, breezy, beautiful” – it isn’t – and you know what? Relationships are the same way.

As I mature and grow in my relationship, I realize that every day is not easy, breezy, and beautiful. Life happens. Too much humidity? The “hair” of your relationship gets frizzy. The pressures of life can feel like sweltering heat – and all you want to do is escape. Sand gets in your eyes, and you cry. Cry hard enough, and you melt away your make up . . . and even if you cry just a little your mascara may run and you still wind up looking like a distant cousin to a raccoon.

We suffer setbacks and seeming reversals of fortune. We get the wind knocked out of us and we have to find a way to pick ourselves up. We misunderstand and get things wrong. We get hurt; we hurt others. We get offended; we offend each other.

I look at couples like my parents and others, married for 40, 50, and even 60-plus years, and ask them the secret of their longevity. They tell me traditional wedding vows they took covered those not so easy, not so breezy, and not so beautiful days. “Better . . . worse . . . Richer . . . poorer . . . sickness . . . health,” they said. On those not so beautiful days, and during those not so beautiful times, they determined that, in spite of it all, they would dig their heels in and remember their investment of time, and emotion. They chose to love him . . . love her. They let the fierce winds blow, and they allowed the rain to pummel them, but they didn’t let go.

Sitting here now, I think back on that episode of America’s Next Top Model and I celebrate. I celebrate relationships, and above all, I celebrate love.  

I muse on life, reminisce about that wonderful summer morning, and I smile.

“An investment in the emotional bank account,” is what SM called it.

I realize that the easy, breezy, beautiful days lay the foundation for the days and times ahead, and I smile. Easy, breezy, beautiful. It’s the stuff that my dreams now are made of.

Join in the fray:

How do you define “easy, breezy, and beautiful?”

Let the Good Times Roll! (2011 Festival International)

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This past weekend I had the pleasure of attending the 2011 Festival International in Lafayette, Louisiana. This was the 25th year for this annual event and I had a BLAST! So many sights, sounds, colors, food, and people!

Here’s a blurb from the website (emphasis mine):

 “Festival International de Louisiane is truly a community event drawing together approximately 1,500 volunteers from all segments of the community to work together to celebrate both our diversity and the common human experience that binds us together. Through the arts presented and the joint efforts to produce it, the festival contributes to the spirit of community that is so unique to the Acadiana region.

The annual 5-day festival is held during the last full week of April. Historic downtown Lafayette, Louisiana, is transformed into an entertainment complex featuring six music stages, food court areas, street musicians and animators, arts and crafts boutiques, art galleries, beverage stands, cultural workshops, international cooking demonstrations and a world music store.

All programming for the festival is designed to celebrate cultural expression in a variety of forms and to encourage understanding and appreciation for different cultures. Festival International events are free to the public and designed to encourage family participation from all sectors of the community.”

Think about it: Five days FILLED with experiencing and celebrating diversity, community, the arts, cultural workshops, and international cooking???

I think you get the picture.

The Southwest region of Louisiana, also affectionately known as “Acadiana,” hosts annual festivals based on a variety of different themes and local specialties. For instance, Crowley, LA, known as “The Rice Capital of the World,” annually hosts the “International Rice Festival.” Rayne, LA (shout out!) boasts that it is “The Frog Capital of the World,” and correspondingly hosts annually the “International Frog Festival.”

[Sidebar: Any excuse to throw a party is better than none . . . .]

There was a ton of things to see and do so I was able to capture only a mere smidgeon of what the Festival offered. I hope you enjoy the photos and videos.

Upcoming Festival line up:

Festival Acadiens et Créoles – October 14-16, 2011

http://www.festivalsacadiens.com/index1.html

International Rice Festival – October 20-22, 2011

http://www.ricefestival.com/

International Frog Festival – November 9-13, 2011

http://www.raynefrogfestival.com/site/

Acadiana Film Festival – November 17-20

http://www.acadianafilm.org/festival/11/

I love festivals and cultural events, but I must say my love for this genre has increased since meeting my SM. He is a master at finding these events, researching the high lights, and making sure we capture the best and most essential parts. I can hear the wheels turning in SM’s head even from here. I’m a native Louisianan, but I can guarantee you that when it’s all said and done he’ll know much more about these festivals than I do. 

Avec SM, je peux vraiment laisser les bons moments de rouleau! 

(With SM, I can really let the good times roll!)

These sculptures were SO lifelike . . . .

  


Join in the fray:

How do you “let the good times roll?”

So lifelike . . . so eerie!

They stalk the streets . . . .

What fun!A little Mardi Gras flavor . . .

A few brave souls joined in the Indian dance . . .

Jump Day

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I came apart inside a world
Made of angry people
I found a boy who had a dream
Making everyone smile
He was sunshine
I fell over
My feet like bricks under water
And how am I supposed to tell you how I feel?
I need oxygen

Oh baby, if I was your lady
I will make you happy
I’m never gonna leave, never gonna leave
Oh baby, I would be your lady
I am going crazy…for you

And so I found a state of mind
Where I could be speechless
I had to try it for a while
To figure out this feeling
This felt so right
Pull me upside
Down to a place where you’ve been waiting
And how am I supposed to tell you how I feel?
I need oxygen

Oh baby, if I was your lady
I will make you happy
I’m never gonna leave, never gonna leave
Oh baby, I would be your lady
I am going crazy…for you

~Partial lyrics to Oxygen by Colbie Caillat & Jason Reeves

 

It was starting to get a tad bit late; more so for SM than me because of our one-hour time zone difference. All the conversations, e-mails, instant messages, and texts had come to a head, and we both sensed it.

SM, in his characteristically logical and sensible way, cut to the chase.

Him: “I’m really enjoying our friendship and I want to take it to a more serious level. Do you feel the same way?”

I’m not one to play games, so I met him head on.

Me: “Yes, I do.”

Him: “I know you’ve never dated a White guy, and I’ve never dated a Black woman before. We’ve talked about it, but now we need to decide if we want to move forward and take that step. Are you ready?”

It was time to put up or shut up.

Me: “I sure am!”

SM: “Well, how bout we just take a leap of faith, jump into the unknown, and see where we land?”

Me: “On the count of three . . . .  “

SM & Me: “One . . . two . . . three . . . .”

JUMP!

We didn’t just jump: We dove in.

We dove in feet first; with the abandon of children.

We jumped into a pool of uncertainty, determined to swim instead of sink. We believed our diverse backgrounds and open minds gave us an edge; how hard could it be? Knowing what we wanted helped and we believed we had found the one. Differences in skin color, race, ethnicity, and culture notwithstanding, we know what really mattered was the person underneath. We shared similar principles and values – and loved each other’s quirky sense of humor. We believed that life isn’t about the destination, it’s more about the journey – and we knew we wanted to travel through life together. We didn’t plan to face life head on; instead, life was going to face us.

Yesterday we celebrated the two-year anniversary of that fateful conversation. Since then, we’ve laughed, we’ve cried, we’ve fought, negotiated, compromised, and made up. We’ve made each other almost as mad as we’ve ever been, and happier than we ever thought possible. We’ve navigated the dynamics associated with the meet and greets of family and friends, and braved (and returned) the stares whenever and wherever we encountered them. We’ve fielded questions (whether they made sense or not), and tried to be gracious when we received unsolicited advice (and believe you me, advice of the unsolicited variety abounds). We keep learning about ourselves, about life and people, and above all, each other.

He colors my world, and I color his. May our jump day never end!            


As time goes on
I realize
Just what you mean
To me
And now
Now that you’re near
Promise your love
That I’ve waited to share
And dreams
Of our moments together
Color my world with hope of loving you

~Lyrics to Color My World by Chicago, written by James Pankow

Join in the fray:

What pool have you “jumped” into?


Lovingly Submitted

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In the past couple of weeks I’ve been hearing news and  reading a lot of blogs about the anniversary of the Civil War.

 Of course I’m happy about the outcome. What Black person or person of color – particularly in the United States – wouldn’t be?

Black people have suffered a lot of drama and trauma since May 12-13, 1865, the date of the last reported battle of the War. On both sides soldiers shed a river of blood in that war which is quite a sobering thought, yet today in 2011 we have blowhards like Donald Trump believing he’s being broad-minded and a champion of the people when he makes really intelligent statements asserting that he “has a great relationship with the blacks.”

Sigh.

*_*

Sorry folks, I’m feeling some kinda way about that statement and just had to get that out.

On another note, what the talk of the Civil War anniversary really made me think about was the wonderfully compelling love story of Mildred Jeter and Richard Loving, who in June of 1958 decided to buck the tide of ignorance and racism and pursue their American dream, which was to spend their lives living and loving each other in holy (and legal) matrimony. They had to go to Washington, DC for the ceremony but were arrested in their own bedroom in the middle of the night by sheriff’s deputies for the “crime” of interracial marriage. 

Mildred Loving and her husband Richard P Loving are shown in this January 26, 1965 file photograph

The Lovings were prosecuted by the state and sentenced to a year in prison for their “crime” but allowed to leave Virginia in exile.  

They lived in exile, separated from their families and banished from the home state they loved, for five years and finally grew tired of the fact that they couldn’t live as a married couple in any state they wanted to live. They decided to fight back and in June of 1967, nine years to the month that they were married, in a landmark Supreme Court case they eventually won the right to live and live in marital bliss anywhere in the United States.     

Thankfully, I’m feeling some kinda way about that, too.

Richard and Mildred Loving - Love transcends race

Trump’s statement struck a nerve in me because it made me painfully aware of the fact that racism – whether inherent, overt or covert, real or imagined, never seems to be far from the surface. I’m grateful for the advances that have been made, yet I’m mindful of the fact that 1967 was only 44 years ago.

Yesterday (April 15, 2011) the world premiere of  The Loving Story, a documentary telling the story of Richard and Mildred, debuted at the 13th annual Full Frame Festival in Durham, NC.   

 Though the documentary tells the Lovings’ story of forbidden and what-was-then-illegal interracial love, it also explores the heavier themes of miscegenation and racism.

[Sidenote: Get ready for it (and go ahead and get over it): Those are themes we’ll discuss in upcoming blog posts. You have Donald Trump to thank for that – I had originally intended to keep this blog pretty light but his statement really made me feel some kinda way. Those posts will be lovingly submitted, of course.]

 The Loving’s story had a bittersweet ending. In 1975, 17 years after their marriage, Mildred Loving lost her husband Richard in a tragic car accident. Mildred died in 2008 but she never remarried, and in a statement issued on the 4oth anniversary of the historic Supreme Court decision (June 12, 2007 – the year before she died) she declared:

Richard and Mildred Loving - Reflecting a more perfect union

“ . . . not a day goes by that I don’t think of Richard and our love, our right to marry, and how much it meant to me to have that freedom to marry the person precious to me, even if others thought he was the ‘wrong kind of person’ for me to marry.”

Today I thank God for Richard and Mildred Loving, and for them having a love for one another that transcended the climate and laws of their day. I thank God I live in a country where, like Mildred, I can freely choose the person I believe is the right person for me to marry. And, like Mildred, not a day goes by that I don’t think of SM and our love, our right to marry, and how much it means to me to have the freedom to marry the person most precious to me.

I like to think that God lovingly submitted SM to me – and me to him.

Join in the fray:

What has been “lovingly submitted” to you?


The Hair Thing (Part 1)

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shareasimageBEARD

I know what you’re thinking, but you’re wrong.

This isn’t about my hair; it’s about his. More specifically, his facial hair – or, in his case, the lack thereof.

It all started very early on during our “getting to know you” phase. One of my friends had sent one of those chain-letter-like e-mails where you read the sender’s responses to a series of questions about his/her tastes and preferences.

After reading the responses you erase them, fill in your own, and then return to send and forward to another friend who, like you, gets a ton of these chain-letter-like e-mails and probably finds them as annoying as you do.

(These e-mails annoy me but I vacillate between deleting them without even reading, or getting an evil pleasure out of filling ‘em out and clicking “forward” to my friends . . . .

Anyway, I thought this would be a good time to click forward . . . directly to SM. I put a spin on it: We’d answer them individually and then go over the responses together.

[Sidebar to the men: Was this a dorky thing to subject a guy to, an e-mail that probably made SM think “Shoot me – NOW!” when it landed in his inbox? Of course! Lucky for me, SM is an easy-going guy and finds humor in almost anything – including humoring me. Am I equally as easy-going and do I humor him? Of course! Do I know how blessed and fortunate I am to have him? Of course! I. Know. That. Did you even have to ask???]

Back to my original point: One of the questions was:

Rank in order of preference: (1) Beard. (2) Mustache. (3) Neither! Ewww!

My response:

(1)    Beard. (2) Mustache. (3) Neither! Ewww!

When we got to this question, SM said, “Really???”

“Of course! I think beards are sexy” I said. “Have you ever worn one?”

“Yeah – when I was in college. I think a lot of guys went through that experimental mustache/beard/facial hair stage. I even let my hair grow long.”

I tried to imagine my squeaky-clean-close-shaven SM with a beard and a pony tail. Couldn’t do it.

Instead, I asked, “What do you think about it now? A beard, I mean.”

“Oh, Sure! I’ll grow one so you can see what I look like.”

I grinned at the prospect. SM is already a hunky piece of eye candy, and with a beard?

Somebody better call God – ‘cause He’s missing an angel.

If being gorgeous was a crime, SM would be guilty as charged.

If SM were words on a page, he would be what they call The Fine Print.

If SM . . . No need for E.L.M.O. You get the point. (cheezin)

“Of course, if I have to meet with a client, then the beard comes off.”

SCREECH!

“Huh? Wha?” I asked. “Why???”

“In my line of work it’s just not done. My clients are ultra-conservative so a beard is not a good look.”

I understood, but I was crushed.

I read an article that stated that well over 90% of African American and Hispanic men wear some form of facial hair, be it a mustache or beard. However, Caucasian men fall in the opposite end of the spectrum with less than 10% sporting facial hair – and Asian men even less.

I’m intrigued. Wearing facial hair (or not wearing it) is obviously a cultural thing – but why?

I had to look at the concept of culture a bit more closely.

Hallett states that culture is inclusive of “espoused beliefs, ideologies, stories, myths, rituals, ceremonies, and artifacts.” Nietzsche defines culture as “the unified artistic style in all of the life expressions of a people.”

Other aspects of the definition of culture may be applied to cultures such as those found in Africa. In his landmark book, Non-Western Educational Traditions: Indigenous Approaches to Educational Thought and Practice, Reagan states that culture is “an inextricable and essential component” of an individual’s identity, and the corresponding societal fabric.

So, if all these high-falutin’ definitions are accurate (and I believe they are – they definitely make sense) SM’s not wearing facial hair is just as integral to him as my two brothers’ mustaches are to them.

Realizing that something as small and innocuous as a beard or mustache made a huge statement about ethnic culture was revelatory to me, and I’m so glad it happened in the early stages of our relationship. It caused us to examine each other a bit more closely and not take even the most superficial things for granted, thus enabling us to appreciate each other so much more.

Yes, SM is uber-hawt in a beard (Is it hot in here, or is it just me looking at SM in his beard?). As a matter of fact, he’s uber-hawt with or without one – and I get to drown in all that hawtness either way.

And me? I just got another chain-letter-like e-mail, and I’m forwarding it to SM . . . .

 

Join in the fray:

(1) Beard. (2) Mustache. (3) Neither?

Copyright © 2011, © 2015 Michelle Matthews Calloway, ASwirlGirl™, The Swirl World™, The Swirl World Podcast™,  All rights reserved. Photo property of The Swirl World™.

Do You Believe in Magic?

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shareasimageCouple

If you believe in magic, come along with me
We’ll dance until morning ’til there’s just you and me
And maybe, if the music is right
I’ll meet you tomorrow, sort of late at night
And we’ll go dancing, baby, then you’ll see
How the magic’s in the music and the music’s in me . . . .

~John Sebastian of The Lovin’ Spoonful

This past weekend I had the occasion to participate in a girl’s weekend with a couple of good friends (I’ll call them *Shay and *Rochelle). We commiserated on life, love, and relationships all within the context of growing older and wiser.

Our discussion of relationships was a big part of the conversation.

“Do you believe in soul mates?” Rochelle asked.

She and Shay had already discussed the concept but she wanted my take on the matter.

“Define ‘soul mate’” I said cautiously. “I just want to be sure we’re on the same page.”

Rochelle went on to ask, “Do you believe that in this entire world, with all the people in it, that there is one person who is totally and completely right for you? Not that you and he would have never not have any problems if you got together, because some things are just a part of life – but do you believe that out of all the people in the world, you’re supposed to be with him and he’s supposed to be with you – and that’s what makes him your soul mate?”

This definition was pretty much what I’d expected. Of course I’ve had this conversation dozens of times over the course of my life, and I marveled at the difference in what I believed when I was a mere girl in high school and college, and what I believed now as a widow with some major life drama and trauma under her belt.

“I have to say , no, I don’t believe there’s only one person for you in the whole wide world, and that if you don’t marry him or her then you haven’t married your soul mate “ I said. “I believe, of course, that some people make better marriage partners than others. Even so, given enough time, mutual willingness, and desire, I believe that two people can become soul mates.

I thought some more. “Maybe I’m too pragmatic but I see relationship building as more practical than magical.”

Rochelle gave me great food for thought. She stated that her concept of soul mates is predicated on a principle of “good, better, best.” In other words, a certain man would be good for you; another one would be better, and yet another would be best – and that the best was more than likely your soul mate.

Shay, Rochelle and I kicked around a variety of scenarios, swapped stories regarding people we knew who appeared to be soul mates, and also discussed potential what ifs. When the conversation was all said and done we pretty much agreed that love rests on choices – whether you feel a sense of “magic” or not.

The choice begins with whom you elect to date, and why. I dare say a woman who is unhappy with her present state of circumstances and driven by desperation will make different relationship choices than one who is content with her life and prepared to wait until she finds what she deems suitable companionship.

“Suitable companionship” is subjective on a variety of levels; what is scorned by some is embraced by others. Some believe those who enter the realm of interracial dating fall into the “desperate” category while others classify swirlers as simply being people who are a bit more open-minded in the relationship department.

Whether desperate or content; open or closed-minded; idealistic or pessimistic, I believe that on some level we all believe in the magic of love. By “magic of love” I mean the belief that we will meet and find someone we will love and who will love us back; someone we will be true to and who will be true to us.

We keep hope alive that we will find the person we are willing to be there for in good times and bad, healthy or otherwise; and who will be there for us in the same way. Regardless of the exterior package he or she is wrapped in, that person will be someone with whom we can build a lasting relationship, and with whom we can live our best life.

Yes, I believe in magic.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=o89iKsKw19M

*Names changed to protect the guilty

Join in the fray:

Do you believe in magic?

Conversation 101

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Venus (very wistfully): “Don’t you miss me?”

Mars (very practically): “Oh, sure. But I’m going to see you in two weeks, so what’s the big deal? I don’t want to focus on missing you and then get all down in the dumps and depressed. And, you’ll be here in two weeks, so . . . “(verbal shrug)

Venus (a tad bit whiney; giving him a chance to redeem himself): “Well I know that, but . . . .  “

Mars (puzzled and clueless; totally not getting it): “Well, ok then? But what?”

Venus (very clipped, cold tone): “But nothing. Fine.”

Mars (recognizing that things are now not fine but wondering how and why): “Huh?”

[Sidebar: Why is Mars so totally clueless??? Why can’t he read between the lines? Why does Venus have to spell everything out to him???]

*_*

Deep breath.

Now, it goes without saying that here on planet Venus, Mars’ practical thought patterns and speech has at least 50 things wrong with it, but I’ll tickle-me-E.L.M.O. and spare you.

I know that some counselors and psychologists dispute or even reject the Men are from Mars – Women are from Venus philosophy, but I believe in it. Very strongly.

SM is from Mars.

My wonderful, darling, upbeat, positive, big-picture-seeing, positive-thinking, “I’m-ok-it’s-ok-yes-I-miss-you-but-I’m-not-sweating-it-because-I’ll-see-you-in-two-weeks-and-I’m-clueless-anyway-so-I-don’t-understand-your-need-to-hear-that-I-miss-you fiancé. Gotta love him.

I’m definitely from Venus.

His wonderful, darling, upbeat, positive, see-the-romance-in-everything, positive-thinking, “I-know-we’ll-see-each-other-in-two-weeks-you-big-jerk-I-just-want-you-to-tell-me-you-miss-me-and-whisper-sweet-nothings-in-my-ear-and-I’m-embarassed-because-I-want-that-from-you-and-disappointed-that-I’m-not-getting-it-and-wish-you-would-GET-A-CLUE fiancée. Gotta love me. (cheezin).

[Sidebar: How is it that when it comes to Mars’ and Venus’ conversations such disconnect exists between what Mars doesn’t hear even when Venus doesn’t say it? Is it that hard? Really??]

Though that particular conversation ended there, Mars and Venus kept talking. Many conversations and recriminations later, Mars and Venus both got a clue and arrived at a better understanding of each other’s thought processes.

Venus now understands that Mars isn’t a mind reader and can’t really know what she wants until/unless she articulates better, so she’s working on that. She’s learning that it’s ok to ask for what she wants, and that it’s really unfair to expect Mars to “just know” what she wants and needs. Venus is also learning that directness and practicalities have their place – even in conversation – and that she shouldn’t take it personally when Mars can’t see the romantic forest because he’s being practical and looking at the trees.

And Mars? He is now looking online for mind-reading classes and just picked up a book entitled How to Get a Clue: 10 Things Men Better Learn about Women. Gotta love him!

Join in the fray:

Are you Camp Mars – or Camp Venus?

Hitch Kiss

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My friend Zee (the one who asked about baby knuckles) recently changed her dating status to “in a relationship,” and both of us are pretty sure he just may be the one. I won’t go into to all the reasons why both of us (including her BFF) think this guy is a keeper. Suffice it to say that he’s a perfect gentleman and has shown such consistency in all the major areas that Zee is pretty sure he’s the genuine article.

What she found particularly endearing very early on is the fact that he never tried to “force” a kiss on her. Not that she’s averse to a first or second-date kiss, mind you, but she LOVED the fact that Mr. Gentleman wasn’t pushy.

“Did you and SM kiss on the first date?” Zee asked.

Her question gave me pause – and made me blush.

“Ahh . . . well . . . .no, not the first date . . . ” I stumbled.

“All right, spill it!” she said triumphantly.

“Well, what had happened was . . . .”

Sidebar: [Whenever anyone says, “What had happened was . . .” then just know you’re in for a doozy].

I was living in Dallas at the time. SM had surprised me with a Friday night cooking class at Central Market. The class was for Louisiana cuisine (I know; thoughtful, right?) and attendees ate the meal they cooked. Afterward he escorted me to a co-worker’s 70’s birthday party waaaaay across town. We’d had a wonderful evening with a lot of conversation and laughs, and we felt comfortably at ease with each other. He’d been divorced for five years and hadn’t dated much; I’d been widowed for even longer than that and hadn’t dated much either.

He saw me to my door at the end of the date. Inside, my Shih Tzu Nibbles was going berserk, barking up a storm and pretty much embarrassing me. I saw my roommate peeping thorough a crack in the curtain with a grin so wide I could see all 32. And me? I stood there and tried to remember the scene from the movie Hitch, where Hitch tries to school his hapless client on the art of kissing after a date.

I closed my eyes. Was I supposed to lean in to him??? Was he supposed to lean in to me??? If he leaned first, was I supposed to follow – or was I supposed to meet him halfway? Was he supposed to lean first??? Wasn’t he supposed to follow my lead???? Or was I supposed to follow his lead???? Doesn’t the girl set the pace for a gentleman??? Was I supposed to pucker first, or was he??? It was our first date – was I even supposed to be puckering???? Nibbles, SHUT UP!!! I can’t think!!!! What did Hitch say the woman was supposed to do???

I finally decided to pucker and lean in first . . . and  . . . felt nothing but air. When I opened my eyes, SM had already bounded down the steps and was on the sidewalk – almost to his car. He looked stricken.

“G’nite . . . “he waved shyly. “I’ll stand here till you go in the house. And, uh, I’ll call you.”

I was floored. And mortified beyond belief.

“Good night!” I choked.

And dropped my keys. Picked them up – then dropped my purse.

Needless to say, I couldn’t get into the house fast enough. I stood there, waiting and hoping that the floor swallowed me up or I died from shame – I didn’t care which one came first.

I stood numbly as Nibbles jumped up and down on my skirt and registered on some level that he was ripping my brand new hose . . . but I was too embarrassed to care.

My roommate was on the floor, howling with laughter.

Zee was, too.

“You were literally standing there thinking about that movie Hitch???!!! Are you kidding me???”

Thankfully, SM did call me the next day, and he even showed up (we had already planned in advance to go out on both Friday and Saturday night).

We had a wonderful dinner and marveled at how much we liked each other.

“Man, I was wondering if you really liked me – the way our date ended last night was very weird” he said.

(The best defense is a good offense, right?)

“I know!” I exclaimed. “What in the world was wrong with you????”

He said I acted weird – and of course I said it was him. I had to tell him about Hitch, and I think that was the hardest I’d seen him laugh since we’d met. We came away with a great story to tell our grandkids-and my friend Zee appreciates her new beau even more.

And thankfully, we had our last first kiss.

Join in the fray:

Do you have an embarrassing date story? Leave a comment and tell me about it!

When a Man Loves (or Likes) a Woman

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I recently experienced an “Aha!” moment with my Swirl Man. Not that I had any doubt, but I know he loves me.

See, when I was in college I had a wonderful friend-guy named *Harry. I’d graduated from high school at 16 and went to a university in Florida on a full scholarship. I didn’t know a soul, and I purposed that I would meet at least three people every day – even if I had to walk up to the person and introduce myself. I met Harry on my first day, and he was the first person I met. Harry had beautiful hazel eyes, a very high IQ, and a horrible potty mouth – and I liked him on sight. Harry hailed from the South Side of Chicago and introduced me to his male and female buds. I fell right in and we all became fast friends.

(What does this have to do with my Swirl Man, you ask? No need to call Elmo – I’m getting there; really I am).

Fast forward to the summer after freshman year. I had learned the ancient art of embroidery and grew fascinated with putting designs on denim button-down chambray shirts (remember those?). I decided to do a special shirt for Harry (if you hadn’t guessed it already, yes, I had a major crush on him for the longest. We never really moved past the “good friends” stage – he had a girl back home who had been his sweetheart since junior high; she was so nice and sweet I just couldn’t hate her – but that was all right with me. He was the first guy I’d ever met that I instantly liked, had the most beautiful eyes, was beyond smart, and he never ceased to fascinate me).

E.L.M.O. . . . . .

Anyway, I spent at least a month embroidering this shirt, and looked forward to returning to school in the fall just so I could give it to him. I decided to go with a Southwestern theme just so I could use a new embroidery pattern I had: sombreros, cacti, donkeys . . . it was colorful and SO beautiful! Sure, I thought about mailing it to him, but decided to keep it till August just so I could see his face when he opened it.

Sidebar: [To this day, I still like to give gifts in person so I can see facial expressions. My Swirl Man and I have a long-distance relationship, and we specialize in celebrating Valentine’s Day after the fact for this same reason].

Anyway, Harry seemed genuinely surprised and appreciative when I gave him the shirt, and he actually wore it even though it was a size too small. I beamed with pride – Harry wore the shirt that I embroidered for him, and he wore it often. One day after class we walked across the yard to join some of our other friends for lunch. As I was walking around greeting everyone, I happened to turn around in time to see *Jack (also from the South Side of Chicago) doubled over in laughter. His back was to me so he didn’t realize I was looking.

Jack (bursting with laughter): “What up, Dawg? I see you wore your (more laughter) . . . shirt.”

Harry (trying not to grin): “&*^% you, &^#$%^-*&^*@#!” (I did tell you he had a potty mouth, right??)

They both jumped guiltily when I walked up.

Me (confused): “Something wrong with the shirt?”

Jack (really laughing hard now): “Well, it does have two donkeys on the front . . .”

Harry (flushed and wanting Jack to shut up): “Be quiet, &^#$@%-&%+*&^! This is my &%$-*&+#@% shirt!”

Jack (snickering): “All right, Man . . . all right!”

I stood there, noticing that the other guys were also trying to not laugh. Comprehension slowly began to set in . . . . the shirt had two donkeys on the front.

[You know how you can think a shoe is really cute until your BFF says it’s hideous – and then once she says it, you notice that the buckles really are too big and the heel really is too clunky, and the shoe is . . . really not cute?]

We went in the cafeteria and not another word was said about the shirt, but I couldn’t wait to corner Harry.

Me (quietly): “Jack and ‘nem have been teasing you about the shirt, haven’t they?”

Harry (just as quietly): “Yeah. But don’t worry about those &^%#$*-&^%&#@*. You made me that shirt, and I appreciate it. I don’t care what they say; I’m going to wear it. &$%^ them.”

Me (BEYOND mortified): “Harry, thanks, but you don’t have to do that. Really, you don’t.”

Harry: “Naw, now . . . .”

Me: “No, REALLY. PLEASE don’t wear it anymore. It’s too small, anyway.”

Even though I was dying with shame on the inside, I burst out laughing so Harry would think I was ok.

Harry (somewhat relieved): “You sure?  &%$* those &^%#$*-&^%&#@*’s.”

Harry wore the shirt a couple more times after that just to show Jack that he wasn’t running anything, but put it away soon after.

When I went back to the dorm and thought about it, I realized that though I’d never be Harry’s girlfriend, he genuinely cared about me. That shirt was beyond hideous, and he wore it. At least once a week. To class.

I’ve since moved beyond embroidery (and beyond Harry), but this past Christmas I made my Swirl Man a Christmas stocking: Deep blue velvet, with light blue faux fur trim three inches wide around the rim (blue is his favorite color). I put his initials on the rim and then hand-sewed rhinestones in various colors, shapes, and sizes all over the stocking. That wasn’t enough: I hot glued faux gemstones and sparkly snowflakes to mix with the rhinestones, then filled it with lots of interesting goodies (did I mention that the stocking was . . . uh . . . fairly big?).

My Swirl Man oooed and aahed over it; flattered that I’d taken the time to sew it by hand for him. He proudly displayed it for everyone to see and kept telling me how amazing I was. I was inspired:

Me (excitedly): “This will be one of our Christmas traditions! I’ll make you a stocking every year!”

SM (slowly): “Um . . . great. Um  . . . . Darling?

Me: “Yes?”

SM (slowly): “The stocking is great, but . . . um . . . when you make it, don’t make it with all that  . . . um . . . bling on it, ok?”

Me (shocked): “Bling???!!!”

SM: “Yeah . . . bling.”

When he saw my shocked expression, he said, “Well, you had . . . glitter on it. And  . . . stones . . . and . . . stuff. Don’t get me wrong – I love it – but from now on, you don’t have to  . . . decorate it as much. I’m. .  Uh . . . conservative, you know?”

Needless to say, I experienced déjà vu in addition to my “Aha!” moment. My fiancé had displayed that stocking so everyone could see it – all the while inwardly cringing at the “bling” in pretty much the same way Harry had cringed at the donkeys. Never mind his personal taste (and my lack of it); the fact that it was made in love caused him to not care about who saw it or what anyone thought. When a man (Harry) likes a woman, and when a man (my fiancé) loves a woman, it’s amazing how many donkeys – and how much bling – he’ll endure.

Lucky me: I have the rest of my life to show him how very much I love him and appreciate him.

*Names have been changed to protect the guilty

Join in the fray:

What have you “endured” in the name of love? Leave a comment and tell me about it!

A Whole Lotta Lip

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zee2bluphi: Girl, I have a question

ASwirlGirl: Sure!

zee2bluphi: *and I’m almost dying laughing inside*

ASwirlGirl: ?

zee2bluphi: being that SM is white, I would think his lips are thinner than that of a Black man. Is it like *Bruce says???? Is it like kissing baby knuckles????

ASwirlGirl: F D L O L !

ASwirlGirl: ;-0

ASwirlGirl: Bruce is STEWPID

zee2bluphi: I’m freak’n cracking up over here, but now I want to know

zee2bluphi: ;-0

ASwirlGirl: no, it’s not that bad

ASwirlGirl: it’s different, true

ASwirlGirl: but not like “kissing baby knuckles” smh

zee2bluphi: LMBO

zee2bluphi: OH GOSH

ASwirlGirl: actually, my husband’s lips were like SM’s, pretty much

Sidebar: [my husband is deceased]

ASwirlGirl: I mean, a couple of Black guys I’ve dated had “thin” lips

ASwirlGirl: Trynna think if I’ve dated someone who had big, huge, puffy lips . . . . .

ASwirlGirl: Kevin and Martin [my brothers] don’t have thick lips . . . Kevin sure doesn’t

ASwirlGirl: hmmm . . . I’m thinking this thru . . . .

ASwirlGirl: lol

ASwirlGirl: hmmmmm . . . . . .

zee2bluphi: I see that 4 Kev

zee2bluphi: lol

zee2bluphi: baby knuckles. lmbo!

ASwirlGirl: that is HILARIOUS

zee2bluphi: i kissed one thin lipped man ever and i don’t remember what it was like

zee2bluphi: i mean, they don’t have lips my size either

ASwirlGirl: yeah . . . I think mine are medium

ASwirlGirl: lol

ASwirlGirl: of course SM loves them!

ASwirlGirl: CHEEZIN

zee2bluphi: of course he does. LOL!

ASwirlGirl: lol

zee2bluphi: but i think what’s important is that they kiss well and don’t leave me with a spit covered face

ASwirlGirl: RIGHT

zee2bluphi: smh

zee2bluphi: Bruce has jacked it up for me!

ASwirlGirl: FDLOL!

ASwirlGirl: Girl, for me too! I hope I don’t laugh next time SM kisses me . . . I’ll be trying to see if I feel baby knuckles!

zee2bluphi: LMBO!

zee2bluphi: aiight… gotta go. l8r

ASwirlGirl: toodles!

Baby knuckles??? Really??? Needless to say, those of us who swirl often get questions leading to “the things you people do” kind of conversations. Not to perpetuate stereotypes, but Black people have been known for their lips – and White people are known for not having them (can anybody say, “Collagen implants?” You don’t hear about Black people doing that, do you??? I’m just saying).

Physical attributes (or lack thereof) aside, I revel in the smorgasbord that is humanity. Regardless of our relationship – be it coworker, family member, friend – individually we each are “brave new worlds” to explore. Imagine how wonderful and engrossing life would be if instead of looking at each other askance, allowing ourselves to be distanced by prejudices, presuppositions, and stereotypes, we view each other and think, “What a wonderful world!”

Baby knuckles, indeed. Whether the lips are large or small, thick or thin, Black, White, Yellow, or Brown, I think every woman would agree:

When you give me some lip, just kiss me real good and don’t leave spit all over my face!

*Names changed to protect the guilty


Join in the fray:

What “presuppositions” do you hold concerning other races? Leave a comment and tell me about them!