True love fact or myth

One of the first things people learn about me after they realize that I am vertically challenged black woman is that I am married, happily married 98% of the time, which is good considering I've been married for all of my adult life. I married my husband when I was twenty years old and he was twenty three, which for all practical purposes is extremely young and although I consider my marriage successful I wouldn't go out of my way to encourage marriage at that age to anyone.

We were in college at the time, and having a serious relationship of any kind, was a huge challenge. College is the one time in your life when you actually get a voucher to be irresponsible and selfish. As conservative as I can be at times when I run into a college student I always end up giving them a knowing smile and encouraging them to enjoy this time as it can be the best time of their life. Best time of their life usually constitutes getting to know the opposite sex and finding out what it is they want when choosing a mate. I've heard mothers tell their sons to get everything out of their systems in college, and although we don't quite instruct our daughters to do the same, we don't encourage them to get bogged down in serious relationships.

My husband was your average fraternity guy, drinking all the time and popular with the ladies much to my fustration and dismay, but for all his negative points his smile made me blush and my palms sweat and caused me to forget his numerous admirers and bad boy ways. While I always prided myself on being smart and avoiding bad situations, when it came to my husband I was a total airhead.

Beyonce's Crazy in Love was my favorite song for all of 2003 and much of 2004 as it was the summation of that feeling every girl experiences early in life of being unequivocably and irrationally sprung. From the heart palpitating beat to the lyrics

Got me looking so crazy, my baby, I'm not myself lately, I'm foolish, I don't do this. I been playing myself, baby I don't care. Cause your love's got the best of me and baby you're making a fool of me, you got me sprung and I don't care who sees, cause baby you got me.
You're love's got me looking so crazy right now, you're touch's got me looking crazy right now,

the song is a perfect explanation of the kismet that is "first love". I remember listening to the song the first time and thinking to myself, that girl is in love. (Just for the record, I think her and Jay are going to make it, but I digress.)

So I'm nineteen years old and sprung "Crazy in Love" on this twenty-two year old junior that I think resembles my eternal flame Denzel Washington. He shows some interest and the next thing I know, we're talking on the phone six hours at a time,I'm giggling at his corny jokes, we're holding hands in the movie theatre, kissing for hours at a time, and eventually after much drama and heartache end up getting married. I can remember thinking to myself during the rehearsal dinner, "Christal what are you doing?" but quickly shrugging the thought off in anticipation of wearing this gorgeous gown and seeing the man I was in love with at the end of that ceremonious isle.

Eleven years later and I am still in love with this man, but the dynamics have totally changed. When he smiles at me, I no longer blush, in fact I'm not even sure if I have the ability to do that anymore. When we hold hands while watching TV at night, my palms aren't sweaty, and I'll admit most of his jokes aren't really all that funny. We haven't spent six hours doing anything together except sleeping and if there was a camera in our bedroom you'd probably discover we don't do that together for all of six hours. I don't know when the last time the two of us went to a movie together was and when we do, we don't hold hands as there is usually at least one child between us. And yet I can tell you that I love this man just as much if not more than I did all those many years ago when I was sneaking him into my dorm room.

I was prompted to write this entry after reading an article that talked about "true love" and how most couples experience this "in love" feeling for one year and then its back to business as usual. I then had a conversation with a friend where the question was posed "Does familiarity breed boredom?" I answered honestly yes which raised several eyebrows. But I quickly followed up with the idea that love is not the stomach flutters and sweaty palms that most of us equate with the word. Loving someone goes so much further than just enjoying physical chemistry although that is a part. My personal opinion is that its very important to really marry what you like, physically, mentally and spiritually so you have the best possible odds of being happy or at least content in your marriage. If I did like a lot of my people I've met and settled for someone I wasn't that physically attracted to....and then years later the fireworks died down...I'd be extremely disappointed right about now. The fact that he was my choice initially, helps me deal with the fact that everyday life doesn't in the least resemble the romance novel I'd made it out to be. Is it boring sometimes yes, but it's boring because I know that when I wake up, things will be the same as they were when I went to bed, consistent. We love each other and yes, that can at times be boring.

As a writer I have always been a melodramatic romantic. Twelve years ago, the word marriage had me conjuring up images of being "taken on the kitchen table" night after night while I wore beautiful lingerie and made sure my hair fanned out around me just so. I entertained thoughts of coming home to roses and jewelry and other special surprises just for the sake of "love". Never once did I envision my husband holding my hand while my son had surgery and I could barely stand because it was so hard to leave my baby on an operating table alone at six years old. Never once did I envision him just rocking me in his arms quietly after I learned that my father passed away. I didn't have the wherewithal to envision his face after coming home with his first real job, eager to surprise me with the results. Or the warm feeling I got when watching our daughter asleep on his chest when she was barely a month old. Or even the look on his face today as he plays soccer with our son in the backyard.

Those experiences don't result in sweaty palms, or even butterflies in the stomach but to me they are the measure of love. After being married for almost eleven years I know that those are the things that tell me that my husband loves me and in turn tell him the same. The sweaty palms and nervous admissions were good while they lasted but these things are what a lifetime is made of.

Smooches,
Christal

PZI-A celebration

This morning as I pulled on my PZI jeans, I felt like celebrating
Celebrating the skin I live in, the curves I’ve been blessed with,
As the denim hugs my rounded hips, circles my waist, and clings to my thighs,
I envision myself a Nubian goddess rising proudly to show off a heaven-sent body,
As my custom made jeans stand up and testify to my womanhood.



This afternoon as I walked to lunch in my PZI jeans, I felt like celebrating,
Celebrating the fact that I am woman, strong and beautiful,
My jeans fit me like a second skin, accentuating every aspect of my feminine wiles;
While society may place boundaries on beauty, I am proof their boundaries are illogical;
My ample curves lead me as I boldly place one stiletto clad foot in front of the other.



This evening as I stepped out in my PZI jeans, I felt like celebrating,
Celebrating the euphoria on the dance floor, grooving in my dark denim;
Smiling to myself, I watch the brothas stare, hypnotized by my Perazzi clad assets,
With an extra bit of sass in my step, I stroll by, acknowledging their appreciation,
But undeterred, I keep moving ahead, knowing my true value lies within.



This night as I step out of my PZI jeans, I feel like celebrating;
Celebrating the secret the my ancestors passed down to me;
Leaving me and sistahs everywhere a legacy of strength, grace and internal beauty, that far outweighs our curvaceous figures;
A legacy that fills me with pride and challenges me daily to reach for the stars
I close my eyes knowing PZI is celebrating right along with me.

by Christal Jordan-Mims

The Candy Shop

I'm sure many of you have heard Fifty cent's song entitled "The Candy Shop". While the lyrics to the song are overtly sexual, the video concept shows a very muscled (and phoine)Fifty Cent walking through a mansion with dozens of beautiful girls lounging in various nooks and crannies of the home waiting to cater to him. The Candy Shop being the house or place where one can find many different types of sweets or candy (i.e. beautiful women) to satisfy one's cravings.

When I saw the video for the first time, after salivating over my guilty pleasure Fifty (and yes I know he represents the definitive bad boy/thug that conscientious self-respecting AA sistahs like myself should be riling against....but all that aside..the man is phione), I recalled a conversation I had with some single girlfriends of mine lamenting over the fact that they could not find a good man. As black women we have been told for ages that there is a "good black man shortage" and that we are lucky to happen upon a decent man these days. On the flip side there is a overflux of beautiful, professional African American women aggressively battling over these handful of good brothers, or so we are lead to believe. In any case my single friends and I discussed how there were always an endless supply of beautiful, beautifuller and beautifullest girls on hand whenever we went out to mingle, and that's not to say that we didn't place ourselves in one of those three categories, but the "competition" is often overwhelming. I shared with them my belief that women were created to be pleasing to the eye, while men were built to protect and provide. (Not to take anything away from the beauty of Mr. Denzel Washington, Tyson Beckford or my man Fifty, but compared to the female overall physique, men are built to protect. Women on the other hand were created to please men, who we all know are visual creatures.

Our conversation continued and we debated over what it was about a woman that attracted a man when there were so many at minimum equally attractive opportunities in an environment like a nightclub or college party. It occurred to me that for a man, a club, especially a club in a city like Atlanta, must be much like going into a candy shop chockful of sweet, colorful treats. While I am not certain what prompts a man to choose one piece of candy over the next, I do know that candy, while pleasing to the eye, lacks substance after devouring one piece of candy....it's not uncommon to want another, and another and another. As a sweets addict I also understand that while I enjoy a piece of caramel, on any given day I could also go for a piece of laffy taffy or a pack of Sugar Babies. They are all sweet, and all three types regardless of their differences, satisfy a temporary craving. Once the craving is satisfied the relationship with the candy is over, until I happen to get another craving or some candy is placed infront of my face.

When I uttered the last staple of my theory, my girlfriends looked at me with wide eyes and opened mouths. That is deep, one of them said in awe, and after I took a moment to process what I said, my eyes widened along with hers and a chill ran down my spine. Could it be that I had just uncovered every woman's dilemma about why a man they enjoyed a romantic experience with once hadn't called the next day, or any days thereafter? We pulled the theory apart and found more correlations between the two such as the way candy is attractively packaged, etc. etc. Later on I shared the theory with my husband/then fiance who laughed at the fact that females spend so much time creating and proving theories about men, but then reluctantly agreed there was some truth to our findings.

I thought about my Candy Shop theory last night while out at a popular nightclub in Atlanta, trying to talk business with a very distracted club promoter. Several model troupes paraded by as I tried to engage him in conversation about an upcoming event. Beautiful girls in all shades under the rainbow switched past him and his eyes hungrily took in each one. I smiled to myself as I watched him equally appreciate every girl, just like I would in a candy store with caramel, chocolate covered cherries and banana laffy taffy. Just as one of his friends would exclaim over one girl the next would get an equal to or even greater reaction. So with all that said, where does that leave us as women?

First of all we have to know that we are much more than pieces of temporary enjoyment, candy. If we realize this, then we understand that our true value lies not in our beauty which is surface and temporary at best, but in those character traits within us that define who we are. Many of us draw confidence from our outward appearance or the fact that we are able to draw compliments from the opposite sex. I would say to those women that compliments on your physical appearance are one-dimensional and are not exclusive. If you ask any man how many women he finds beautiful, I guarantee you he will not be able to give you a rational number. Men find beauty everywhere as God created women to be visually pleasing. While beauty cannot be yours exclusively the inner talents that God has blessed you with belong to you and you alone. In the end those are the attributes that will attract people to you for life. A God-fearing woman, with a caring heart, warm personality and strong sense of self is a woman a man will value long-term and will win his heart as opposed to the beauty that offers a sweet moment on his lips that will no doubt soon be forgotten.

Smooches,
Christal