Until I Get Married

Right now, the number three most emailed article from the New York Times is a piece entitled “Why Black Women Are Fat” (stay classy, New York Times), written by a woman named Alice Randall who is a writer-in-residence at Vanderbilt University.

That last tidbit of information shocked me if only because I know people who went to Vanderbilt, and a lot of them are smart; it’s reputation is why some people have called it the “Ivy League of the South.” And yet, Randall’s article is one of the flimsiest pieces I have read about the obesity issue amongst black women and the way it relates to men.

As recently as last week, I discussed this issue. WPIX Morning News brought me on their show to talk about it, and I wrote a post to support my appearance and flesh out my thoughts on dating women with curves. My goal was to somewhat dispel of the myth that because I like black women I like big women or, to flip it, because I like thick women, I like black women. It’s true I prefer my women tall, and have a deep appreciation for tall women with curves. I have gone crazy over a size 12 and I’m not ashamed to admit it.

But as I said in last week’s post, no matter what size a woman is, what matters most is the way she carries her size.

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If there is one thing I believe every woman wants in a man, it’s an ability to make her feel safe.

We don’t have to be the most towering or hulking figure, nor do we have to be the most decorated martial artist or a former Navy seal. I mean, those things would definitely work in our favor and make our woman feels like she lucked up on some 2-for-1 deal with a boyfriend and a bodyguard, but what’s more important is perception. She just wants us to make her feel safer when we’re around.

As I get older, I’ve become more and more hip to this idea.

No one is more aware of the large presence I don’t impose on others than I. Here’s what I’m coming with.

Height: 6’0
Weight: 175
Complexion: Light
Default face: Happy
Occupation: Writer
Hobbies: Watching Top Chef
Secret Talent: Knows how to play “Endless Love” on the piano

Now tell me, does any of that sound like a wrestler?

I have a 1-0 record in street fights, but I’m pretty sure records from middle school were exempt when I turned 18. I mean, I did go to a public middle school, so maybe I get points for street cred, but still, who am I kidding?

I’m not a fighter, but women continue to date me because not being a fighter is not the same as being willing to fight. I place a high value on making a woman feel safe. I’m like Kevin Costner in The Bodyguard. My woman knows before I let anything happen to her, I will let something happen to me.

Women appreciate men who have this attitude, but I always tell them don’t mistake a man’s willingness to make his woman feel safe for his ability to do so; and if she can ever stop her man from fighting in front of her, she should do so at all cost.

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I showed up at his door drunk, in heels, a trench coat, and underneath, a brand new piece of lingerie I bought. And can you believe this fool wanted to just talk? — true story from a female friend.

Dude, she had on some lingerie, but I told her she didn’t need all that, just get naked. — true story from another friend

I bought a new lingerie set, and you had the nerve to tell me you were too tired. — true story that happened to me in college

Fellas, enough is enough. The women are out there talking bad about us, putting less effort than ever in their nightwear and it’s our fault. We have no one else to blame but ourselves, because we have found some way to disrespect the lingerie.

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Let us all agree street harassment is unacceptable. When a woman is walking down the street, minding her business, and men start cat calling with unwelcome and sometimes rude remarks, giving her all this attention she did not intend to get when she stepped out to pick up a gallon of milk from the store, it is wrong.

And yet, according to this chart I dug up at StopStreetHarassment.com, men are still out here doing it like it’s a national pastime with no signs of stopping.

But I didn’t need to see a chart like this to be aware of the frequency of street harassment because as a man who has partaken in more than his fair share of approaching women on the street, I’ve developed a nose for such activity.

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Anytime there’s an article about a specific problem in relationships and women are to blame, the whole world is tuned out as I read and study every single line with the focus of a Rhodes Scholar.

Today, the Wall Street Journal published an article entitled “Meet The Marriage Killer: It’s More Common Than Adultery and Potentially As Toxic, So Why Is It So Hard to Stop Nagging?”

The article’s writer, Elizabeth Bernstein, attempts to unpack the nagging problem amongst married couples, quoting both real couples who have gone through a nagging phase as well as psychologists who study these types of human behavior issues. As far as some numbers to support her theory of nagging being to marriage what a meteor was to the prehistoric era, Bernstein cites a study done by Dr. Howard Markman, professor of psychology at the University of Denver and co-director of the Center for Marital and Family Studies.

Research that Dr. Markman published in 2010 in the Journal of Family Psychology indicates that couples who became unhappy five years into their marriage had a roughly 20% increase in negative communication patterns consistent with nagging, and a 12% decrease in positive communication. “Nagging is an enemy of love, if allowed to persist,” Dr. Markman says.

As far as who is at fault for all the nagging in a relationship, no concrete numbers are given, but Bernstein does posit a theory, which I found most interesting.

Men are to blame, too, because they don’t always give a clear answer. Sure, a husband might tune his wife out because he is annoyed; nagging can make him feel like a little boy being scolded by his mother. But many times he doesn’t respond because he doesn’t know the answer yet, or he knows the answer will disappoint her.

In a nutshell: Women be nagging.

As a man, it warms my heart to read things like these. I thought, More women should have a friend like Bernstein advising them to quit pestering me over certain things.

Then, I read the article again (remember, Rhodes Scholar like focus), and I started to notice some holes. (To be fair, it’s just an article to provoke discussion on a particular issue. I have to say this because some people tend to think articles are supposed to solve the very problems being discussed within them.)

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Chances are, nothing in today’s post is uniquely originally. I do not claim to have been the first person to write the contents you will read, and because it’s such a no brainer, I had to write this disclaimer first. Any likeness or similarity to another post you see here is strictly by coincidence. It also probably isn’t better than what you’re about to read. – JC

For years, baseball has been man’s sport of choice to use as metaphor when recapping what happened with a girl. The idea, predicated upon the bases on a baseball diamond, was simple: First base, second, base third, base, home plate all implied some sort of progress.

Over the years, the metaphor has understandably become flimsier, specifically the differences between what constitutes second and third base. People have written about this before; I’ve had many conversations with men and women, and none of us seem to agree what takes place on second base versus what takes place on third base. One person told me second base is oral sex, third base is traditional sex, and home plate is a particular kind of sex so inappropriate, I could not bear repeating it lest I want to throw up a little on my keyboard. And here I thought we unanimously agree home plate counted as traditional intercourse, but what do I know?

But last night, as I was watching more highlight’s from my brother’s favorite team the New York Giants win over the 40-whiners, I thought to myself, Why are we still using baseball as a metaphor for discussing what happened with a woman when football is obviously the better sport.

Gentlemen, presenting the glossary of American football terms as metaphor to describe what happened with the hot girl you went home with last night. Ladies, if any of this offends you, please refer to the sentence before this to remind yourself who exactly I am addressing here.

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Throughout grade school and high school, I wanted girls to like me.

They did.

Throughout college, I wanted girls to sleep with me.

They did.

Throughout my 20s when I realized girls like me and girls would sleep with me, I wanted them not to hate me.

They did both hate and not hate me, equally.

Throughout my relationships, I wanted the women who were my girlfriends to love me.

They did. Some of them, others just liked me, but you get the point.

Over six months ago, I turned 30.

Now I want women to respect me.

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Let’s resign ourselves to the idea all men care about is one thing. We know what that is, but we underestimate the extent to which it dominates a man’s thoughts.

Women get frustrated, not because they don’t think about the same thing. They most certainly do, usually when they are alone and bored. When with a man, especially a man they just met, they tap into a different part of their mind.

Even if she knows she wants to have sex with the guy, a woman controls her desire. She wants to talk about other things. The problem is these are things a man usually has no interest in talking about, like his five year plan or her five year plan.

No man wants to talk about that. Not on the first date. The first date may be too soon to talk about sex, but five year plans? Let us all do better and try harder.

Men and women are both guilty of having one track minds. Where we differ is the destination. Women want us to steer our minds in the direction they are going, but asking for such a thing is pointless because the whole reason we ask a woman out in the first place is because we want to have sex with her at some point.

Men don’t order meals they don’t want to eat, we don’t ask out women with whom we don’t want to have sex.

So this one track mind us men are guilty of having, we keep it under wraps, out of respect for the woman. The problem is waiting for her can feel like a daunting task if she does not do anything to hold our interest.

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“Sh*t [insert choice of girls here] Say” has officially jumped the shark, people. We’re amused enough by it to keep watching the various renditions, but we’re all tired of it at the same time. It’s been fun and has had a good run.

Can we move on?

I don’t want to hear about what any other group of girls has to say; not a black girl, not a white girl, not a Latina girl, not an Asian girl. I don’t want to hear what an Asian girl would say to a Latina girl in front of a group of black girls who usually hang out with white girls.

What I want to see is a spin on the meme, a video about things groups of people would never say. For instance: “Sh*t White People NEVER Say To Black People” Example: Yeah, I am a little racist.. or Our first black president, pretty overrated don’t you think?

I’m fully aware a video like this might exist somewhere in the world, but I haven’t seen it. Since I didn’t feel like calling my talented friend Zach to shoot a video for this, I wrote a blog post instead.

So here it is, because I couldn’t resist, a small list of context free phrases of “Sh*t Guys NEVER Say To Girls,” inspired but completely different from the hottest Internet trend on bandwidth.

Oh, and just remember, it’s fine if you don’t think this is funny, it’s unacceptable to take it seriously. Enjoy!

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When we talk about being careful who we sleep with, we’re not talking about being careful with whom we’re intimate. Last year, I learned just how different those conversations are from a woman I was sleeping with. Every time we slept together, we were careful, cautious, but I was careless to ever get intimate with her.

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