Lifting Weights Uses Lots of Energy

I'm remaining strong as my heart continues to be pulled in a million different directions. Every little comment I hear I'm able to align with some struggle going on in my head. There's a new George Clooney movie coming out (no to Mr. Fox or ...Stare at Goats...).  It's a movie where he once again plays an isolated loner, doing some sort of job no one else wants to do, and ignoring the fact that he's painfully lonely and falling in love. Clooney made a comment in the preview, when accused of being too selfish to get emotionally attached to the with a woman with whom he decided to have a racy affair and was obviously growing extremely fond of, about how the things in life that we get emotionally attached to are just there to weigh us down. Spouses, mortgages, best friends, girlfriends, boyfriends, family; all nice to have but in the end limiting to one's potential.

It made me think what is limiting me right now. Family and friends, definitely not I need those more than ever. Mortgage, yes, I realize now the freedom that comes with either no mortgage or a very affordable mortgage in a great economy. I'm thankful that I don't have trouble paying the mortgage, but feel suffocated by the fact that I can't do anything or go anywhere because of it. Boyfriend, do I feel weighed down by my relationship? Why would I. Rick is supportive and willing to try anything. He's ready to make this work where ever we may end up. So then what else is left? Well, there's me.

I'm sure this is what the Clooney movie ends on: "you are your own worst enemy, you are the only one who can stop you from doing anything to better yourself or to make yourself happy". I'm zapping my own energy and poor Rick, being the closest person to me, is forced to (though unknowingly) bear the brunt of the blame. Aye yi yi, what will I do with myself.  I'm starting by listening to the "Addressing Relationship Energy Drainers" podcast on my new fav go-to website Two of Us.org. Hoping this will help me realize what about me and my relationship seems to sucking my energy.

Support is More than being Supportive

I've come to realize that supporting someone in a relationship takes so much more effort than the occasional "good job" or "hang in there".  Supporting is the proactive art of realizing when your significant other is in need of support and having the energy to provide it.  For example, if your significant other decides to go back to school support isn't just telling them good job, it's turning off the TV to give them quiet study time or taking time out to help them make flashcards. Living with someone makes it even harder. It's difficult to always be there for them.  Sometimes we want to be selfish, and gosh-darn-it sometimes we need to be!  But more often than not we have to sacrifice our own selfish needs and be there for the person that we love.  If we don't have the energy to do that then maybe we need to re-evaluate why we're in a relationship.  It has to be more give than take for each person in order to make it work.

On top of that we have to be willing to accept the support that is offered to us.  When Rick notices that I've stopped studying for the GMAT after having gotten a less than acceptable score on a practice test, I can't just ignore his gentle pushes in the right direction.  Support isn't simply getting back rub or a shoulder to cry on all the time.  At some point support has to be a little tough to get you moving and motivated.  Who would have thought getting support would be just as hard as giving it? Relationships tend to complicate things in that way.

Second Job-arama

Rick is finally thinking of getting a second job during the slow season at work. I'm not as excited as I thought I'd be.  The thought of him taking on a second job doesn't make me as content as I thought it would.  Here I go again, getting exactly what I thought I wanted and not really wanting it at all.  I should just stop wanting altogether!  I just can't imagine him working at the Gap or the mall for the holiday season rush.  For some reason I'd rather picture him driving a Fred Sanford truck moving parts back and forth for the neighborhood body shop.  This is the image I have for him and I'm not sure why.  Nothing about Rick makes him seem like the stereotypical Hispanic working-man; driving a delivery truck or landscaping a lawn. And why would I want to view him in this way? Have I become such a product of stereotypes that I'm losing the real-life image of the man that I love?

A Family or Bust

I sometimes think that I am ready to start a family. I see commercials on TV with kids running off to school, eating Toaster Strudel or carrying supplies fresh from Wal-Mart, and I think 'that could be me.' I could be that Mom, still attractive and smiling as her kids catch the bus. I've had these thoughts before. But they were more feelings than thoughts. They were the feelings that a woman gets when, for a split second, her maternal instinct makes its way from deep down inside her and into her brain. Only now they're not feelings, they are thoughts. Still, I have to evaluate where these thoughts are coming from. Do they come from the place inside me that wishes Rick and I could move beyond the place we are right now? That tug in my heart that says 'OK, it's been a slice, but what's next?' If that's the case then maybe I don't really want kids, maybe I just want to move to the next level and the marriage fantasy is so played out by now my subconscious has moved onto kids.

It's like I'm living out that path I wish our relationship would take in my mind. It started with the proposal, but he managed to take all the magic out of that - what almost two years ago? Then it was the wedding. I played that over and over again in my head so many times that I've actually begun to forget what I want it to be like. People ask me what my colors are or what it will be like because "we know you have it all planned out." And you know what? I can't answer them anymore. I know I had it all planned out at some point, but I'm pass that now. To me we've gone to Hawaii for our Honeymoon - or was it Puerto Vallarta? We've come home back to the condo, but within a year or so we've found a nice house in the area - either Berwyn or Forest Park. Once we get the house I can get pregnant. I could never imagine having a child in this place.

Now I'm stuck on the pregnancy. I imagine myself as my mother, in those pictures I see of her from when she was pregnant with me. I imagine it being warm, maybe summer. I'm sitting on the couch, arms and legs splayed across the cushions and since I'm the last one of the 'siblings' to have a baby everyone thinks I'm so cute. Then there are block parties and birthdays. Camping trips and graduations where for the first time in my life, it's not about me. Forget about it. By time Rick finally marries me I'll have taken us clear through retirement.

An Emotional Creature

Sometimes when something bothers me deep down inside and I can't get it off of my mind its my inner sanctum, or God, telling me that something isn't right. But only SOMEtimes. Therefore, my life becomes a daily struggle of trying to decide when to put my emotions in check or when listen to that little voice in my heart that says take action.

When it comes to a relationship this process is exhausting. Any relationship, but especially one of the domestic persuasion. Should I be mad when Rick goes to the Cubs game instead of spending time with me? Whether I should or not it does make me mad. It made me mad because we had a busy weekend in which we barely got to enjoy each others company, the night before we'd gone to the U2 concert (the tickets a birthday present from me), and I figured we could top it off with a Monday night spent together. Plus, I called in sick to work so I was home waiting for him. Is that selfish? Is it selfish for me to be mad about this. Shouldn't I just let him enjoy himself? But shouldn't, when in a serious relationship, I get some sort of notice that he's going to go have fun without me? I want to go to the Cubs game! I said that to him then I realized I was whining.

What is this feeling? This feeling of boredom and loneliness that I get when he's out and I'm stuck at home. When I'm not tired, not hungry, and have nothing else to do. Is that just it? That I have nothing else to do or is that I'm genuinely hurt that he's having fun and didn't give me proper notice that he would be? I was never able to answer that question so I did what I always do when I can't put my feelings into perspective: I ask him how he would feel.

He says he'd be mad if I did the same thing; called him only hours before the game to say I was going with friends while he was at home thinking we'd spend the evening together. It was then that I realized that I wasn't exactly mad. I was...disappointed. It disappointed me to know that we wouldn't be spending time together and that he didn't let me know that earlier (not that he could...his friend got tickets at the last minute). He says, "no I'd be mad". So I still don't have my answer. But at least now I know that it's not anger, it's disappointment. And disappointment doesn't have to be checked. It can heal on it's own.

I thought Mexicans didn't let their wives work?

If there's any one word that people who know me will use to describe me it's "judgemental". I totally disagree, but it's the sad truth. The people closest to me find me to be stuck up, harsh, and stereotyping. I do steretype sometimes, but only because most times it's true. I probably just put the nail in the coffin on tha tone. Ok so what I'm judgemental.

So there's two stereotypes most people have about Mexicans (man or woman): they're hard working, willing to do work that most spoiled Americans will not for wages that would cause our mouths to drop. Even the poorest of Americans would rather stand in line and collect a check (well they're cards now) than clean the crap out of a hotel's toilets or scrub dishes at minimum wage. The second stereotypical thing we think about Mexican men is that their women are at home, barefoot and pregnant busy raising a tribe full of kids. Does this sound bad to you? Well too bad because you know you've thought it before.

Never have I sought a man for the things or life that I thought he could give me. When I fell in love with Rick I was just out of college, starting a lucrative career in corporate America. I had high hopes of going far and even returning to school for my Masters within the year. Three years later I'm trudging into work everyday and in over my head in GMAT textbooks. To top it all off Rick and I have been together all 3 of these years and I am neither married, pregnant, nor barefoot. Three things I really wouldn't mind being right now. So how is it that I managed to get the most acculturated, self-absorbed Mexican man in Chicago. If you ask him, HE'D rather stay home and let me bring home the bacon!

That's not the stereotype I know at all!! The worse part is that he makes damn good money. If he would just pick up a side job, like all Mexicanos do we'd be set. I could stay home, sleep til noon, go to the gym, post these stupid blogs, cook a big dinner, and be completely content. A woman who says she needs a career to be happy needs to find a hobby and a man because I havea enough stuff to do in the day without adding work to the list.

Hey if I get bored maybe I'll start a business, do what I really like, but all the time not have to be worried about paying bills. Who knows maybe the business would take off. That tends to happen when you do something you enjoy, right? I would start bringing in money and then wah-lah I'd really be content. Isn't that all I really want though? The courage to stop worrying about the bills and actually follow my dreams. Do I really need Rick to get a second job and fulfill my Mexicano stereotype in order for me to be happy? Well, that gotta pretty deep, pretty quick now didn't it.

The Language Thing Again...

I have to take a Spanish class. It's getting really out of hand now. I am taking a lot of it in and even repeating most of what I hear, but how are my kids going to know Spanish if I can't even get the basics across to them. I just read an article about new study findings that say infants start to lose their natural ability to be bilingual by as early as 12 months. And that much of this ability (to learn multiple languages easily) detereorates after age seven and even more after puberty. Now if that isn't motivation to learn I don't know what is. Now don't get me wrong, I'm not pregnant or anything, though every time I go to the doctor everyone assumes that I am. I just want to be able to - in an educated way - teach my kids two languages. It's something I think everyone should do whether or not it's 'necessary'. Check out this study...you'll be with me on this I swear - http://www.google.com/hostednews/ap/article/ALeqM5j5-F8j-yYdLNUrlLhObAy0vbd4SgD99IBQS00.

And kids are great...you can make them hate the things that you hate. Don't like Spanish, teach 'em French. Can't stand Frenchies, then how about German. There are so many languages out there. Just pick one and go crazy. And don't forget the swears. You think kids unknowingly cursing in English is cute, try Japanese. It's hilarious.

And hey Obama says we should do it. Disagree with me now.

A cause, FINALLY!

So it's been a while since my last post. That's a lazy go-getter for ya. But really, I've been traveling a lot. It was on these travels that a Navy recruiter struck up a conversation with me. After realizing that I was spoken for the conversation diverted from "tell me about yourself" to "tell me about everything else" and we got to talking about the future of Black children in America. Without realizing the words that were coming out of my mouth I began raving about how teaching African-American history in schools alongside the history taught currently would do great things for Black youth. I got on my soapbox about how it would show Black youth that as a race we are capable of more than hitting a golf ball, shooting a basket, or performing on a stage; even as important as some of those things may be/have been for our culture.

African-American history would give Black youth something to strive for, show them that this didn't start with Obama, but in fact it started a long time ago so that Obama could be where he is today. Moreover, learning about the amazing things that Black people have dedicated themselves to and achieved would show our children that they have bigger shoes to fill. Bigger than fighting over drug turf or using violence to prove to someone that you're to be respected, bigger than all the nonsense that is leading our children down the wrong paths.

Just then it occurred to me, this is something that I really feel strongly about. Not only that but it's something I actually know how to act on. It's the school system! I can write my State Rep, I can lobby in Springfield, I can use connections Rick's sisters have (almost all work in the school system) to spread the word to people that can help. In other words, I can do this. I can bring African-American culture - which I sometimes feel entirely without - to the people that need it most: the Black youth of America. Have I finally found a focused purpose? Have I finally found a cause? Do I finally feel like I have a culture to uphold? Will you come with me?

So what did Rick say to me when I brought this up to him? "What about Hispanics? You guys get a whole month!" What about Hispanics?!?! Hello, Rick, I'm Black and I'm one person. I can only take up so many causes. And yes he was deadpan serious about the "whole month" thing. Wow, we really have a road to travel together now don't we.

Anything you can do...I can do

You know how when you're trying to prove a point and you end up getting yourself into something you can't handle, but you're so committed to getting the point across that none of that matters anymore? I have this thing about family. As you know ever since Rick and I got together I've been in awe of the tightness of his family. Considering that it's pretty much tradition in my family that once you move out of the house, you move out of the state and are rarely heard from again; I seriously envy the fact that all of Rick's family lives within about a 7 mile radius of each other and they gather at the drop of a hat. Same for all of his friends, only even closer, with several generations living on the same block or - even better - in the same 3-flat. I want to cry real tears (of joy) when my parents are able to make it in for Thanksgiving. How sad is that? It didn't use to be like that. We were all very close before my Grandfather passed away. Back then my parents still lived here and times were much richer - both figuratively and literally - so it was easy for people to fly in or to fly people in for holidays. With money tight our family ties have loosened. It shouldn't be that way. It should be the very opposite.

A Hispanic family of 6 could be living in a one-bedroom apartment and they would still gladly welcome a long-lost Aunt from Mexico with her three kids to move in for an indefinite amount of time. It would be nothing to them. To my family, we could be broke, damn near on the streets, and no one would come home. We would just keep struggling. I want that to change.

My niece is having trouble in school...well in general. I've tried to be there for her long-distance (she's about 400 miles away), but it's just not working. It's a loaded tale, but the simple fact is that she hasn't grown up in anywhere near the ideal environment for a child and now she's taken on the type of defensive, negative attitude that her environment demands. I want to show her a different life. I want to show her that this is not how things have to be. I want to bring her back to Chicago for the school year. She would have to live with me...and Rick in my 1 bed/1 bath condo. This isn't the Ritz...she'd be condemned to an air mattress for the time being. This would technically be punishment, so I'm not going to feel bad about that. But note, I said "the school year" this would require me taking custody of her to get her enrolled in classes. Obviously, this elicits strong pauses when I first run it by Rick, my mom, and friends. So I ask Rick, what would you do? Or better yet, would you do this? He has to admit that if he had to he would. It's in their blood. It's time my family valued real family values. Am I crazy? Is a 26-year-old taking guardianship of her 15-year-old niece completely insane?

The Anniversary and Love

Today is our 3-year anniversary. Which in and of itself is a shock to the dome because you realize that once you hit the anniversary you actually start the next year. So as of tomorrow Rick and I will be in the 4th year of our relationship. Ah-ha...bet you never thought of it that way did you? Well I did and now I do all the time. I was thinking yesterday that I was 23-years-old when Rick and I met. I was fresh and fancy free, just out of college and full of potential. And now I'm 26...not to say that I've lost any of that potential or that I've gone bad. It's just...it's just that it's been 3 YEARS! What is he waiting for???? Ooops did I say that out loud.

Anyway, I caught a glimpse of another interracial couple giving each other a kiss good-bye this morning in the in the tunnel Jackson (woo woo Blue Line!). It wasn't their interracial status that caught my attention (of course), it was that he was a very attractive (albeit short) guy and she was a dumpy, badly-dressed (though I'm sure sweet as pie) girl. That got me to thinking about love. When you fall in love it doesn't matter what love looks like, or what love says, or does because whatever it is, well you love it. Then the years go by and love puts on a few pounds, starts dressing in hippie-esque mu-mus and dingy sweaters, love stops styling its hair all nice. And there's nothing you can do about it because it's love and it got you a long time ago. Love rolls over on you in the morning and sometimes you wish it would just move over a little bit. Love is waiting at home for you and you want to spend time with it, but you need to go to the gym or everyone is going out for drinks after work. Then Love makes you feel bad and selfish, and then when Love wants to go out part of you wants them not to, but that only reminds you again of how selfish you can be. Love has a way of doing those things. Love never felt that way when it first came along. It never dressed that way, or smelled that way, or cooked dinner that way. But at least it's still Love, right? Right!

It Becomes an Event

I find myself encouraging Rick to get involved in Hispanic events in and around Chicago. I've taken him to plays that I couldn't understand half of, but that reminded him of his childhood. I just like being there. I like knowing that I brought a part of him back to him even if I had no idea what was going on. I don't give myself enough credit though. I a good reader of people and things. Even if I don't understand the words coming out of the actors or musicians mouths I can decipher what they're trying to tell me and what I should be feeling. If I should be laughing, looking at them thoughtfully or with disgust.

This weekend there's an event that I'll put Rick on to. The Hola Mexico Film Festival (http://www.holamexicoff.com/). I hope he'll want to go because as much as I love it as a culture I can't imagine how I'd look going on my own. I can only hope that my light skin and jet black hair would convince some onlookers that I have some sort of Hispanic blood in me. I bank on that more than you'd think.

The Cultural Fascination

I am both terribly intrigued and infatuated with the hispanic culture. The language, the music, the art, the entire state-of-mind. Most of my friends would taunt that I've only become so entirely enveloped with these feelings since my heart was enveloped by Rick. But that's not true. After I saw Mi Vida Loca back in 8th grade I took on a wardrobe of dego tees, baggy pants, and anything with an Adidas logo on it. I became known for my dark lipstick, though thank God I didn't shave off and redraw my eyebrows. Sad Girl was scrawled across every notebook I owned in high school. And it seems that the hispanic cultured was just as attracted to me. I managed to make good friends out of all of the Hispanic women that I worked with at the car dealership where I worked throughout some of high school and most of college. Maybe it was because they were the closest thing to another black female in the building, but I connected with them. Years later they're still my friends. In college this obsession was slated if only for a bit. By senior year I had reconnected with a few of my Mexicanas from the dealership and had started frequenting Mexican clubs. That's where I met Rick so I guess it was all for the best.

Here I am still, if not more, disgustingly consumed with a culture that is not my own. The more I learn, the more I discover, the more I am entrenched. It is not entirely unhealthy though because I don't fantasize about being a Latina. To them, I am the different one and I like that. I just wish I was the different one that spoke their language *smirk* or cooked their food or better understood their family dynamics. So I bought a Mexican cookbook the other day. Nothing too intimidating, as it boasts only 100 of the recipes core to the Mexican food culture. I've also convinced my friend to take Spanish classes with me because I don't care how many vocab words she can recite she doesn't remember any more than I do from high school Spanish class. It's a good start. That is, if a 10-year in the making fixation can be considered a "start".

Where is my culture?

Sometimes I get so jealous because of the culture that Rick has. I'm starting to realize that we are so opposite in every way. Rick's ancestors hail from two different Mexican states, both of which he knows and has visited. I don't know where in Africa my ancestors hail from. And by the color of my family's skin it's too far back in any of our pasts to know it for sure. As an African-American my family, of course, came from the south. And I could go around cooking southern food and speaking in a southern dialect, but that's not really me or my family.


So I'm bound to all of my American-ized ways. I make a better spaghetti sauce than I do a cast iron skillet corn bread. I make salsa like I was born and raised on it, but it takes me an hour to prep a couple of yams. The only other language I know besides English are bits and pieces of the Spanish I was taught in high school. I go to the Mexican grocery regularly. I've bought and cooked fresh cactus before. But I consider the African convenience store by my house a foreign land. Do I need to get immunizations before I try to purchase anything? It's really sad. Do I just not have a real culture? I embrace everything about being African-American. I mean I love it. I get to say what I want about who I want and don't have to put with the slack. People want to give me jobs and small business loans because hey my people were slaves for 200 years right...


So is that my culture, slavery? I don't want to wear that on my back, I don't want to go to the store to purchase that. But that's where all this came from. Our food, our history, our names, our family, it's all we have. This is why I sometimes envy the culture that Rick has. I want a language, I want a homeland, I want native food, I want a family tree that doesn't start in the states.

And so it starts...

I started this blog because I feel like no one is really REAL about interracial relationships. Everyone has their qualms, prejudices, or preconceived notions about the subject. Even if you are in an interracial relationship, everyone has different experiences. My feeling is: the more insight the better. Another thing is that everything in my relationship is a story. It really has nothing to do with us being interracial, it's just that we inadvertantly end up on adventures.

So here goes...

We've been together for almost 3 years. It will be 3 years on June 24th. We met at the let-out. If you're not black and on some sort of club scene you probably don't know what "the let-out" is. It's the crowd the congregates in the parking lot of the club after it closes. I've come to realize that no other culture calls this the let-out. It IS an entire culture. It's the time when all the people that were trying to impress each other in the club, try to impress each other in the parking lot. I have friends who don't actually go to the club, but instead have get togethers at home then go to the let-out as if it's an event. That's how much of a gathering it is. As a point of reference the last let-out I witnessed was by complete accident. I was led there unknowingly by my bestfriend after a bachlorette party. I saw the glitter painted Caprices, 20-inch rims, cop cars, and half-naked women and thought to myself 'thank God this was never my hobby'.

Anywho that's where me and him met. I thought he was a joke because he came out of nowhere asking if he could walk my friend and me to my car. He's a very fair-skinned Mexican and I was pretty drunk so I thought he was white. Plus he used to wear black-rimmed glasses that made him look like the Verizon wireless guy. So just looking at him I felt like he wasn't my type, therefore I couldn't have been his. I figured he was just another drunk guy at the let-out.

He stood outside my car chatting me up while his friends honked the horns of their cars across the street calling for him to vamos. If you've ever been to Studio 63 (http://www.studio63nightclub.com/) in Chicago you can get a visual of this scene. I told him 'if they're giving you a ride home you better go because I'm not taking you anywhere'. This was my response based on the type of guys that I was attracted to at the time...losers (for lack of a better word). Matter of fact, at this time I'd restricted myself from getting into any so-called 'relationships' based on the fact that I apparently was too immature to be attracted to a decent guy. Then he came along. I gave him my number and about 5 minutes after driving away from Studios (as it's called) he calls me. My girl and I were on our way to Huckfinn's, the 24-hour diner and doughnut shop and usual let-out after "party". Yes, I taken back by how quickly he called back, but in hindsight he was drunk so it kind of made sense. As my friend pleaded with me not to (because no guys would try to talk to her if he came with us) I ok'd his offer to join us.

At Huckfinn's he and I talked for hours. Later he would tell me that he knew I was special because I chose to share a Philly croissant with him (yes this is Chicago, we take the fattest of all sandwiches - a Philly - and put it on a croissant) instead of just ordering it for myself. Truth is back then I was skinny and it mattered so I didn't want to pig out. I guess everything happens for a reason because he accepted my - still drunken - invitation to Great America the next day. (I had a buy one get one free pass and whatever loser I was talking to at the time had bailed on me the day before.) Well by then it was maybe 6am, so I guess it wasn't the next day anymore, but more like a couple hours later. Although I'd only met him hours earlier he accompanied me, my best friend, her - at the time - boyfriend, and her nephew to Great America that morning. He was known throughout the day as "stranger-insert name here" since no one knew who the hell he was. It was just like me to bring some random guy I'd met the night before (at the let-out of all places) to Great America (of all places). The rest is history. A history that I've chosen to share with you.

Did I mention that the night of the let-0ut was his birthday? His drunken birthdays will come into play annually in this relationship...