About The Funk...

Observational Spittle from the mind of a man of color in his 40s, without the color added (most times). Come in, laugh, and you may learn something...

90 Things That Irritate The Sh** Out Of Me Trailer

Sunday, June 19, 2011


I married this white chick some 11 years and change ago, and you know, 99.4% of the time, I am glad that I said "sure, I have nothing to do for the rest of my life,so why not?"

Now I know for the .0001 (oh yeah, I've lost readers; I raised the price from nothing to less than giving a shit; didn't work out well).

Anywho, I am not going to hash out the story about how we've met, our first date, the weekend of filthy McNastiness (hey, this is a family blog!), and the eventual (OK, not eventually, took me a minutes....about 2,023,200 minutes, give or take a second) marriage and children to follow. The main thing is that I have never regretted turning around after walking by her and offering a weak "hi" before almost making the all time dumbest mistake of my life...

...beyond when I accidentally gave a girl my phone number on the back of a $10 K lottery ticket. That sort of qualifies...and she didn't call me back, either.

(OK, that isn't true...no girl has ever asked me for my number....ha!)

But, as I was enjoying Father's Day with the fruit of my loins (or was it the pits of my loins, as that at the moment they are giving me ass itch with their behavior), I sort of looked at them as they played (destroyed), and I started to stare at their skin. They have this wonderful tone; a fantastic mixture of hair and eyes and smiles; of two people who decided to bring 2 living beings onto this mind-numbingly fucked planet of ours.

Beyond the last 15 minutes or so, no regrets there, either.

Then I began to think back to a time where my mother once said "don't bring a white woman into my house", and the first time I actually, well, brought one in. She wasn't horribly amused, and she warned me that things may not work out well with the woman. She was right, of course, but that had nothing to do with her skin color; she just had a bad feeling about her.

I go back a little further into my college days, and as that no black females gave me the time of day (I think they actually hid the watches from me if I asked), so I started paying attention to those ladies who I heard were supposedly "easier" and more sexually liberated in bed. A silly stereotype, but at the time, I was a kid and dumber than Jim Carrey in that movie of his back in the day. At that point, I still believed in love and all that jazz; I was a true romantic back then, and thought that love shouldn't see a color.

Not to say that I've changed, BTW. I was just more of an idealist then; I grew up in a church that was predominately Caucasian, and well, white females always fascinated me, even though my first and only preference at the time where Latin females (yeah! That's a story that didn't ever end well) and my fellow African Americans (didn't qualify for the "Are you black enough" category, either).

Well, needless to say that I struck out more than Reggie Jackson on the college non-melanin front, beyond my senior year and that great love b4 my wife that I have allowed to semi-wreck me ever since (also not worth rehashing; go see earlier blogs on that bullshit). But, bringing back my spotty love life sort of made me realize something about myself...

...did I have any idea if people truly see love? Including myself back then?

What I mean is, can love conquer differences in social, racial, and economic backgrounds? My wife and I grew up in a similar financial level, and we can relate to a lot of things (especially as kids of the 1980s). But, she did, well, "white things", and I did, well...OK, well, I did a lot of I am not sure things. Not too many black kids listened to Bon Jovi as I did, even though I had tons of hip hop and R&B in my plate on those 45's we had b4 MP3's showed up. I have been called a "sell out" more times than I can count the amount of fried chicken black folks supposedly ate like once a day or something. I was truly a mutt, so to speak, based on not having too many black friends (and zero black friends to this day; not to say I don't have associates from afar, but no buddy like buddies. Social networking simply doesn't count).

So I sort of look around in my travels, and I see a lot more of interracial couples floating around, including some that some 10 years ago I would of never pegged of getting together. I also noticed the white high school girls swooning over the black guys, as if it is some sort of cool thing to do. Now, I am not going to try to figure out the teenage mind, since it is too much of a jumbled mess to cipher through; but for those adults who are together despite what society may say (and despite those who wish to deny that society still gets sickened when we "mix") are in love cuz, well, they found the right one for them.

Even if the bathroom sink has hairspray and some Soul Glo (did that shit ever exist from "Coming to America"?) siting on the bathroom counter at home.

So, is love blind? I don't know, really. Sometimes I wonder why my mind gallops off to the kooky places it goes sometimes. I guess I never accept things as they are, and am always trying to figure this flotsam called life out.

My white wife is gonna b home in about 90 minutes, and she'll ask me how my father's day was. Now, when she walks in the door, I won't see a woman who happens to be more susceptible to sunlight than I am. I see my friend, the woman who I butt heads with way too often, yet makes me laugh even more. And someone who, despite the time I want to lock them up in cages in the garage, gave me the only 2 things I've ever done (mostly) right.

I'll conclude to say that love is blind sometimes. I just wish that it was permanently disabled in that fashion all the time.

It'll give seeing eye dogs more jobs.

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