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The Nappy Diatribe

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A Few Awkward White Chicks that I'm Crushing On

Posted 03/09/2007 at 8:25 PM | 1 comment/s

Come on, I skateboard and I like Woody Allen movies. You knew white women were next...

Not counting Shelly, a childhood neighbor of mine whose legs I could be found inappropriately rubbing back-and-forth while exhibiting the youngest erection ever, or my 6th grade crush named Kirsten who I'd think about while singing Wham's "Careless Whisper" and grasping my pillow, the first time that interracial love penetrated my little feeble world was through my sister Monica. I remember it like it was yesterday: my sister inviting the man who one would one day become her husband to my family's home, and them acting as if he had just taken a healthy shit in the middle of our living room. Seriously, I've seen chillier receptions after Eskimo weddings. My father is dead, and my mother and brother will probably deny this while exhibiting a Dick Cheney "This war is going great" poker face, but I remember being the only one that attempted to make the melanin-challenged young man feel comfortable. I mean, why should I care who she falls in love with? My only thoughts were that if he hurt my sister I'd hunt him down, torture him for a few days with physical abuse and "The Secret Diary of Desmond Pfeiffer" reruns, then wear his skin post-mortum like a light winter jacket. (Granted, I'd want to punish any man who harmed my sister, regardless the shade.) But based on me feeling that my future brother-in-law had "white people superpowers" - you know, the Michelle Pfeiffer "I am here to save a sea of clueless black souls" type (see Dangerous Minds), I felt that he might be useful if I ever needed him to speak to the police on my behalf.

This might sound weird coming from a black man, but I've pretty much stayed away from interracial relationships. Shocking, I know. Whenever I've said that in the past, any white women within earshot read me the riot act, acting as if I had just cheerfully quoted a passage off some Nazi propaganda, and openly wondering why their skin pigment prohibits them from laying in post coital bliss with your favorite pre-ejaculator. Nevermind the fact that white women who tend to like me look like they grew up next to a nuclear reactor - I just have a thing for black women. When in the fuck did stating a preference make you a card-carrying racist? I mean, I opened myself up to the possibility of skipping through a wheatfield as me and my lover sang "Ebony and Ivory," scaring the crap out of her parents as I tell them that I'm naming our first born child "El-Hajj Malik El-Shabazz," and maybe even playfully blaming my partner for enslaving my people for 400 years between pelvic thrusts. I never totally closed the door on dating a chick with a stellar credit rating. I just prefer black women, that's all, and I know that I wouldn't want to spend my life telling inquisitive onlookers "What in the fuck are you looking at??!!" all day, yelling at disapproving black women with my arms above my head "Hey, you didn't want me!!", and carrying a high-powered pistol in my belt like it's the Old West - everytime me and my lady friend travel through some Podunk town like it's 1963 and shit.

That being said, there are a few white women that I've had in my chubby crosshairs as of late - chicks that I'd proudly bring to the Essence Awards and Nation of Islam meetings like it wasn't a motherfucking thing. True, some of these women are rather awkward - but then again, so am I.

Janeane Garofalo: I always said that if I ever dated a white chick it wouldn't be one of those broads who acted "black," getting their mannerisms and colloquialisms from watching a shitload of "Cops" episodes and Tyler Perry plays. If her ass can quote a DMX lyric or pop-lock better than me, her mangy ass has got to go without receiving a lovely parting gift. I would never hit a woman, but nothing makes me want to kick a white broad directly in her sternum like her trying to "out-black" me, making me feel like Bryant Gumbel because I had to stop her mid-sentence a few times and ask her what a particular slang term meant. The only prerequisite I have for any white women I might date is that she has to be liberal - very liberal - so liberal she makes Che' Guevara seem like Strom Thurmond. Janeane Garofalo fits that mold pretty accurately, pissing off right-wing conservatives when she made public her feeling that we were being lied to about Iraq even before our first soldier set foot in Baghdad. That's what I'm talking about: a true lefty, a white woman who wouldn't ask "What did you do??" after I told her that the cops pulled me over for some bullshit. She knows more black history than your average black chick, she's an actress so she could act like she's having the time of her life as my chubby frame humped on top of her like a drugged test bunny, and she's the only white woman that I don't feel weird about calling a black man a "House Negro." (Hello Larry Elder!) Granted, she's a recovering alcoholic so my binge drinking wouldn't go over too well, and she seems to loathe the frat boy humor which I've based my entire writing career on - but if she can see past my those faults (along with my love for dancers with glitter embedded in their skin), then I think we'll be fine.

Tina Fey: Like I just said, if I was to date a white chick she'd have to be as liberal as humanly possible - so liberal, in fact, that at times I'd even find myself saying, "Ok, you're just playing the race card now!!" Even though I feel conflicted about laughing at another example of a black man being portrayed as "crazy" (Tracy Morgan), I love 30 Rock so much that when I see Tina Fey's character lecture someone on racial profiling or the need for affirmative action, my heart gets all aflutter inside. Based on the history of black men putting white women on pedestals in this country, I have a sneaking suspicion that my mother has reservations against my ever loving a Caucasian woman in holy matrimony. But I'm sure that if my mother talked to Tina, swapped stories, learned more about her, and realized that they both feel that George Bush is a drooling incompetent, not only would my mother endorse our marriage but I'm sure that she'd even consider a lesbian relationship with the S&L alum. (OK, let me get that image out of my head.)

Samantha Brown: Sometimes when I don't have anything to do, or I've exhausted all of my porn options and my hand is numb from the chronic masturbating, I can be found watching the travel channel with the intensity of a fat man ordering off a menu. There's this chick named Samantha Brown who hosts "Great Hotels" and "Passport to Europe With Samantha Brown," who is absolutely adorable. Again, another chick who's secure in her whiteness, she exhibits a wry sense of humor that reminds you of Ellen DeGeneres, only prettier and one who who doesn't need phallic attachments to have a good time. She's a great host, showing you breathtaking locales, breaking down historic landmarks with the pinpoint accuracy of Dustin Hoffman in "Rain Man" - but it becomes abundantly clear after watching just a few minutes that this girl likes to drink. In Germany, she's having a few beers with some of the locals; in France, she's imbibing alcohol like there's no tomorrow; I even remember her asking a stranger where a bar was even though she was in an area not famous for any particular alcoholic beverage. That's what I'm talking about: a chick I could get sloppy drunk with overseas, one who uses her vast knowledge of international affairs to make it easier for me to transport some "grade A" Hashish across foreign waters.

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