Vanilla Is The New Black
(or Le Boom)

This is not the, “Why I Have Jungle Fever” remix or “I Hate Brothers” kick a lot of sisters ride every so often. This right here is, my true shit. Henceforth and forevermore, I am dating white men exclusively. Not my first choice by any stretch of the imagination—for real, but white men want me. And they have told me so repeatedly.

Not an easy decision and I’ve been on the fence about this for over a year now. Since early 2010, there’ve been articles in the Wall Street Journal, blogs, etc., advising black women to, “give it up, turn it loose” and start looking to white men because black men ain’t got what it takes and it appears they never will.

Shit, even one of my sheroes, actress Regina King declared recently that black women need to expand and diversify our choices in men. Damn. Now, I took grand offense at Regina’s statements because, well, she got a man. A brother: Malcolm Jamal Warner—you know, Theodore Aloysius Huxtable. So, she advises other sisters to date white men while she has one of the finest brothers on the planet? Um, ‘cuse me, while I remove my earrings because Ms. Thang just slapped me in the face. Feels like she is saying, “I got a good brother and you’ll never have what I have, so, you need to look elsewhere…” But what it boils down to, is she is probably tired of weak and lonely sisters gawking, hawking and stalking her man—all while disrespecting her. Plus, she might feel that while she is checking us lonely bitches, mine as well try to help us out. I can dig it.

Still, I was not convinced I should give up on Black men. For about 11 years now, I have been waiting for them to stop living with their mothers, get a car (any car), get & keep a damn drivers’ license, “get their paper right,” learn to trust me, stop using their kids as an excuse, quit being assholes or simply cease breaking my heart. I’m tired; completely worn the hell out. And as I catch my breath, I realize that in that time, I have had almost twice as many white men approach me as black men. Here of late, quite a few have made serious effort to get to know me and I have met those offers with straight up racism—why on earth would I want to date the descendent of the men who brutalized, raped, traumatized and oh, yes, enslaved my maternal ancestors? Besides, we all know when it comes to the bedroom white men have the minimal required equipment…

But wait, not having a man—black or white, that means I am dealing with no equipment at all… Hmmm…

Here is what I know: Black men struggle and are met with unfair challenges that no one on this planet could ever understand unless you walk a mile in their shoes. And that truly breaks my heart. But guess what? Black women fight the good fight, too. We are stereotyped as well, and in some instances even worse than our counterparts (white women or black men, depending on the situation). I will not wait for a black man to decide he is ready to deem me his queen, especially since most just don’t seem to give a shit right now about black women. For example, they continuously allow and produce videos that demean sisters (when’s the last time you saw a half-naked woman in an Eminem, Garth Brooks or Green Day video?).

My final decision on this was yesterday. For the fourth day in a row, I was approached by a white man—just general conversation, but it was the way he spoke to me; he was interested. It was at the gym and he made more than an effort to talk to me about, “nothing.” I had been at the gym for over an hour. I came in close contact with several black men. None of them said as much as boo. ‘Nuff said.

And just a public service announcement for potential vanilla beaus—don’t get it twisted. Black women are not going to alter the rules because we change the color of our dance partner. We are still going to be quite outspoken, looking for a little bling (I, myself, require one trinket a year), expect that a man does NOT live with his mother, grandmother, etc., require that you open doors & pull out chairs, ask that you pay for dinner at least 3 out of the 4 times we go out without commanding or petitioning for sex afterwards, insist that while you may not have a new car, it has to be clean inside & out, stipulate that if you have any children, you are a good father to them and demand that you do not, I repeat, do not talk shit about your children’s mother.

Black women are revising their players and the music, and choosing vanilla cones instead of chocolate, as it were, but the standards are still the same…

Currently Listening To: Le Boom Suite by Jill Scott

ENGINE ENGINE # 9
(or The Choice Is Yours)

Though generally meek and humble, I am stuck up about certain things. I refuse to take the bus. Rode it once back in ’08; made me sick to my stomach and simply disgusted at the amount of ignorant, ghetto, back woods people living in this country. But that is another blog, for another day. Howsonever, flying, for the past decade has become ridiculously high—we really need to protest about that shit, as well as lack of health care and gas prices. Again—another blog, for another day.

So as I planned I twice postponed trip from Georgia’s coast to DC, I had few options. Flying out of Savannah was crazy. Every single, solitary flight involved a layover someplace—mainly Atlanta. Even the flights out of Augusta, two hours away, had layovers or only went straight to Baltimore. Shit, we could drive to Atlanta and fly from there. But that would add stress to our vacation, thus defeating the purpose. Additionally, it would add miles to my vehicle, which has been feeling funky of late. Plus the fares got more ridiculous with each passing day. How about renting a car and driving to DC—only 10 hours; only. Not an option.

What about the train? Hmmm. Hadn’t been on the train since late ’91. Can’t recall much about the experience except my daughter was about 3 months old and we both slept a lot. Times have drastically changed and I had doubts this would work for me. See although I am super cheap, I also like getting where I am going in a “timely manner.” Twelve hours on a train seems slightly cruel when the actual drive is only 10 hours. Added to this, I am a germaphobic; with cutbacks, I know that Amtrak ain’t busting a move to keep shit sparkly clean throughout a trip—not gonna happen.

Still, gotta say for the money, it was worth it. The Pros and Cons were about equal, but go a little something like this:

CONS
Cleanliness: The seats do not get cleaned after each passenger leaves. You have no idea what kind of funk, etc. you will be sitting in afterward. If someone left crumbs behind, you gotta brush that shit off yourself. The bathrooms—oh my God! All I can say is, pee frequently before going, “all aboard” and be careful where you step when visiting the “loo” while riding the rails.

Food: Costs are outrageous; who wants to pay almost $10 for a meal that is really the equivalent to a snack? Nevertheless, at least one has an option (see PROS on baggage).

Other Passengers Getting On Your Last Damn Nerve: Okay, this can happen on a bus or a plane. But the difference with those two forms of transportation, things can get tense a lot quicker. First, tight ass fucking quarters—especially on a plane; plus on a plane prior to boarding, you have been frisked, patted down, warned against behaving badly, probably delayed, denied to bring your own drinks and just made to feel like shit while paying a grip. Not cool. Now you got somebody sitting beside, behind or in front of you pissing you off. Damn. And ain’t nothing you can do about it ‘til you land. On a bus, it’s the same feeling without all the security measures—which can be a bad thing. The only time I rode a bus was from New York City to Columbus, OH. A guy was thrown off said bus halfway through my trip after revealing a knife; that gentleman had been cutting a fool two hours before being ousted. While nothing indicated he had a weapon, I was not surprised when he was tossed for whipping one out to show another passenger during one of the stops. On a train, however, it is more likely someone will yak too much or too loudly on their cell, the volume on someone’s DVD player will be too high (you are supposed to use headphones, but…), a child will run up & down the aisle too much (happened on our trip, but enough people murmured loudly enough that the brat quickly stopped), passengers might disagree over an aisle or window seat, or folk may simply get “too close for comfort.” The latter is almost impossible since there is plenty of room on board. Still, there are some people who if you give them an inch…

Jump Around: For coach travelers, there are no assigned seats on Amtrak. None. But you are asked to sit in the car assigned to where you will be disembarking. When traveling from south to north, those journeying to Maryland, Delaware, New Jersey and New York, generally sit in the same car, usually up front. Sometimes, the conductors aren’t paying attention; when they finally stumble upon the fact that you are sitting in the wrong car, you gotta move—shit! Not a big deal, as long as you don’t have a lot of bags with you. And what if, by chance, you have gotten to know your neighbor already and actually like them? What if you don’t like your new neighbor?

Here, There, But Not Everywhere: Difficult to believe, but the train does not go everywhere. For example, Columbus, the capital of Ohio, does not have train service. Wilmington, NC, a popular coastal city and of late, home to a few movie production companies, does not have train service. And believe it or not to get from Savannah, GA to Atlanta, GA—one side of the state to the other, one would have to travel through two other states to get there. From Savannah, to Raleigh, NC, then from Raleigh to Charlotte, NC, then from Charlotte to Atlanta; that’s just ludicrous!


PROS
Somebody Else Is Driving: Hello! This was the deal closer for me right here. For about an hour while planning this trip, I seriously, earnestly tried to convince myself that I could make the drive to DC by myself. When I was younger, say 25, 30 and did not work 12-hour days riding around in 95˚ heat all day, sure, no problem. But at 40 plus, juggling two physically taxing jobs, I know I’m not up to long distance driving any more. Moreover, I needed to relax. This was in fact supposed to be a vacation.

Space—The Final Frontier: Don’t know where to start here, because, damn, riding on a train is almost like having your living room on wheels. For real, for real. The seats recline waaaaaay back. There is even a little leg lift under your seat. Furthermore, the aisles are just slightly wider than that of an airplane or a bus. Did I say space? Plus, you can walk up to the dining car, order food, sit down at an actual table, eat, drink, play cards, talk shit, etc., with a nice view of the countryside.

Bag Lady: You can check up to 3 pieces of luggage that weight less than 50 lbs. each for no charge. Let me say that last part again, “no charge.” Say what? Furthermore, you can bring 3 small carry-on items; coolers, purses and laptop bags do not count. Say werd. So, you can pack as much fried chicken, smoked link sausage, catfish, chips, brown liquor (shit, you ain’t driving, why not drink?), and snacks as you like.

Plug Me Up: Not only are there two outlets next to every seat, nobody is telling you to turn off your electronic devices all the damn time.

I Might Need Security—Or Not…: So Amtrak does require a valid, proper ID to board. But that’s it. Nobody patting you down, feeling on your goods, putting their grimy hands on your ass—none of that! Still after almost a combined 24 hours (about 9 of that, though, was honestly in & out of serious much needed sleep), I have every confidence that the Amtrak conductors would not hesitate to kick some ass even if Buddha himself were to start some mess on the train. So bring your nail clippers, tweezers, etc. so you can groom a little bit while en route. Pack your mouthwash—any size bottle will do, to freshen your breath as you ease on down the road.


Currently Listening To: (what else?) The Choice Is Yours By Black Sheep