Interracial Dating Rant #5 – How I Feel About Jealous Black Men

Being in an interracial relationship, in a way, is almost like being a celebrity: all eyes – Black, White, Asian, or Brown – are on you. Curious eyeballs are whispering salty nothings into each other’s ears as they speculate the big question that is on their minds: “why is SHE with HIM?”

If you’re strong, you’ll toss that bullshit out the window faster than a cocaine dealer flushing down hisstash when the cops come knockin’. You block out the gossip and remember that, when the lights are low and it’s time to hit the sack, you aren’t sharing a bed with your girlfriend and the chatty baristas at Starbucks. Only your opinion, and the opinion of your mate is what counts. If you’re not strong enough to do this, if you care too much about what he says or she said when you, a 28 year-old Latin woman walked by with your Malaysian boyfriend, then maybe interracial dating isn’t for you.

Luckily for me, I’ve become a pro at blocking out “observers” from my field of vision. Even for me, when random guys eyeball me and Livi, or they actually say something to us (one guy asked Livi if she was with me for the “Guap” – aka, money) I find myself chuckling all the way home. Although, it must be noted that although guys have said many things, one group of guys says it the most: Black Men.

Jeebus! Ranier, you must hate Black Men for being such haters, right?!”

In all honesty, despite the many things that random Black guys have said to us – including but not limited to: “Does he pay you a nickel for every time you say ‘I love you’?” and “REALLY?! (in front of our faces)” – I seriously don’t. The fact of the matter is that no matter what ethnicity you’re dealing with, there are always men in that group who feel like they own all of the women from their race. Men who act as if their women are betraying them, even though they themselves are in a relationship.

Men will be men and for as long as a piece of floppy skin dangles between their hairy legs, they will always be overly possessive, and utterly illogical. Furthermore, it’s not like all Black Men have a problem with Black Women dating outside their race. The guys that do tend to think this way are often times, in my experience, ghetto men. Not even ghetto black men, but ghetto guys altogether. I’ve had a couple random Latin guys make annoying comments about us too.

So to answer that question stated above, no, I don’t hate Black Men. Even before I found an interest in AMBW dating, I was always an advocate for the empowerment of Black Men and Women, and minorities in general. If for some reason you do hate the men/women of your girlfriend’s race, then good luck to you when you have to meet their parents…

Goodbye 21, Hello 22: Looking Back At The Best Year Of My Life

There’s something about Birthdays that makes me feel incredibly… clean. It’s as if this past year was a spread of cookie crumbs sprawled onto the kitchen counter, ready to be swiped down at the strike of midnight. Now, as I sit in my boxers and a furry-like robe watching Anthony Bourdain’s No Reservations, I cycle through the mental photo album of this past year.

From the standpoint of a 21 year old, I actually drank very little alcohol this year. I could easily count the number of drinks I had with two, maybe even one hand. To me, drinking has never been an interest of mine nor do I plan on cultivating my “taste” for it anytime soon. I guess I was right: the first drink I had on my twenty-first birthday really did dictate the pacing of the coming year. The year of the sangria – sweet, a little bitter, and full of fresh fruit.

A notable accomplishment this past year was my transfer from De Anza Community College to the ever so hippy, San Francisco State University. It was a fun and lovely three years at De Anza but to be in State feels good – real good. The opportunities are as present as the smell of a dirty bum on the sidewalk.

The next milestone was my new job at Tory Burch. After almost two years of unemployed goodness (minus the fashion related work I did) I finally mustered up the wits to get off my ass and land a job. The surprising thing for me however was the speed in which it happened. One day, I literally said “I’m getting a new job” and by the next week I had already been hired. Call me narcissistic, but that impressed the hell out of me. That job came to me almost as fast as a virgin school boy comes during his first experience with oral sex.

Now, there were many other plateaus that were scaled during this past year (moving into a new apartment, getting a new car, etc etc) but none can ever compare to the one that matters most.

Olivia.

I may not be a believer of miracles or gods, but when I contemplate over the perfectly timed meeting between my lovely girlfriend and I, I really have to defog my glasses and ask myself “was this destiny?” Now, before you call the cheese police let me just say that I am honestly, and passionately in love with Livi. This isn’t your run-of-the-mill “love” that most twenty-somethings feel like they’re a part of after they have drunk sex and decide to actually call the damn person. No, what Livi and I have is laser etched in pure gold. I’ve tried, but I cannot think of a single thing that I actually dislike about Livi – neither can she.

So to go from six years of single-dom – mixed in with a tyrant of bad “dates”- to this GODDESS of a woman is absolutely unfathomable. That’s like taking a child from Ethiopia who has eaten mashed corn and dirty water all his life, adopting him, then feeding him Kobe beef steaks and champagne every night. It’s a shift from loneliness to rich, lavish love. I talk about it like it’s some sort of infomercial product that you MUST BUY NOW but in all honesty, actually thinking about it just baffles my mind over, and over again. She is perfect, and our relationship completely exceeds every expectation I had.

Our trip to Christmas in the park 🙂

I‘ll spare you the extra cheesey goodness but let me just end on this note: way too often, I hear coworkers, relatives, and classmates who whine and complain about getting older, as if it were a bad thing. To me, getting older is getting better. It’s about reaching that next level in your life where things change, mutate, and enhance. Maybe that glass of Sangria I had on April 13th, 2011 dictated more than just my year of 21, but rather, my life. Maybe my life is a bottle of wine that I must cherish and appreciate for the time it took to get this good. I should savor the sweetness of my life, learn to understand the bitter moments, and I should chew slowly and enjoy the chunks of fruit that my life has produced.

Life is amazing, aging is fantastic, every year is a miracle, and I sound like a fucking goober right now – which is why I’m going to stop.

So if you’ll excuse me, I have a gorgeous woman sleeping in my bed who needs to be snuggled and kissed.

YAY! Happy Birthday to me!