A Salty Piece of Land

Still I sit in contemplation, and I just don't understand this mysterious attraction of this salty piece of land. 

I went out with a white guy.

...and this is shocking becaaaaaause....?

Because I don't go out with white guys. And if you don't actually know me, you now are probably entirely confused, especially if you have noticed on The Divine Ms. M page that I am white. In fact, I am very white, not only in skin tone, but in all the stereotypical ways, too. My full name is Margaret Catherine McGonigle. I grew up in a Boston suburb, which, in case my name didn't give it away, should tell you I'm Irish. I have lots of freckles, and unless I am red and burnt, my skin is blinding white in the sun. In fact, I generally dislike being outside during the day because I always need sunscreen. In further white fashion, I dance like a mom, despite being childless. I can't help it; I got it from my mama. (You can see videos of said mom-dancing on instagram if you want a laugh. Search for '#thedailydance'; you'll know it's me by my white girl moves.) It has always occurred to me that I'm white enough for one couple. I am about as racist as your average human being in that I do notice when someone is of a different ethnic background than I am, but I don't base my interactions with them on their race.

Well...

On second thought, I'm sort of a reverse racist, and bear with me here. In short, I'm drawn to anything and anyone not white in skin color or the cultural stereotypes we all love to joke about. I have a Master's degree in teaching English as a second language, as well as a BA in Spanish. Essentially, I wanted to make a career out of spending time with foreigners, mostly young students in their 20's who came to the States to learn English. The best part: they weren't a bunch of white Americans. On the contrary, they were exciting purely by virtue of being foreign, and I mean that in the literal sense of the word. I simply love learning from people of other cultures. I sort of dated a white guy in high school for a little while. I've kissed a few white guys. I get annoyed when I can't listen to music in Spanish because I'm around my white friends who don't also speak it, and when your average white person tries to speak said language, I usually roll my eyes because I'm snobby like that and embarrassed by my gringo acquaintances.

Basically, if you're not a typical white American, I'm curious to talk to you. When it comes to romantic relationships, I'm not into white guys, very much in the same way that I'm not into smokers. But hey, if you're brown, I'm probably at least minimally interested. Every guy I've ever slept with was brown. (Really, their skin was brown, and in various shades.) My sweet late husband, Mark, was Filipino, and he was always dark from spending time outside. When I first met my nieces and nephews from his family, I was overjoyed to not only have become an aunt, but to become 'Tita Maggie'. Being called 'aunt' in another language made that magical moment even more beautiful. My boyfriend before Mark was Mexican. My boyfriend in high school was Puerto Rican. The guys I hooked up with after Mark died were either Mexican or Filipino. In summary, I love brown men, especially if they speak another language. 

Until yesterday, when I went out with a white guy who shall whenceworth be known as Studmuffin.

Disclaimer: He chose that name, much as Redcorn chose his for when I blogged about our date.

And on that note, since I know that you, my fabulous fans, are curious for an update on Redcorn, here it is: We text regularly, and I really like it. We knew before we went out in November that neither of us was very interested in a serious relationship or had time (or money for gas) to drive the two hours between where we live. So we haven't (yet) gone out again, and I don't know that we will. I am, however, entirely open to it. He's a very sweet guy, and we had a great time. We keep each other posted on our running goals and mileage. It's fun. But back to Studmuffin for now.

As evidenced by him choosing "Studmuffin" for his blog code name, he's got a sense of humor about himself. He's a riot, actually, and very entertaining.

And did I mention white?

We've known each other for a few years, though not very well because we always saw each other with friends in a large group. I did, however, just read over all of our Facebook messages since Mark died, which were far more than I remembered. In fact, I only remembered that he messaged me once, but I also didn't remember to shower or eat most of those early days after Mark's suicide, so this amnesia isn't shocking. I wish I could say I had been nicer to him in those messages, but I can't. I wasn't what I'd call rude, but I was either too foggy or too bitchy to pick up on and acknowledge that he was really quite kind in offering to take me out 'to stuff our faces with food' if I needed a fun night in the wake of Mark's suicide. That's literally what he offered, and I recall almost taking him up on it. Of course, I never did, and if not for a few random encounters this year, he probably wouldn't even cross my mind again. But sometimes random encounters make for really fun experiences. We ran into each other at a race in October, and it was actually really nice to see him because he's so friendly and outgoing. But again, he's white, and I'm not into white guys, remember? Naturally, I related to him as an acquaintance and nothing more.

But when I ran into him on New Year's Eve, my first thought (after, 'Hey, I know him!) was, 'Damn, he's cute.' SUPER cute with his big smile and clean-cut beard. And from across the bar, as I walked in with my friend Anna, his face seemed to express the same sentiment about me. Much to my surprise, I was really happy to see him. Anna had to leave for a bit, and I decided to stay. By myself. At a bar. With a white guy. Voluntarily. 

Anna to me: Are you sure you're okay staying here until I get back?
Me: Yeah, I trust him.
Anna to Studmuffin: If you hurt my Maggie, I'll rip your balls off.
Studmuffin: Yes, ma'am. 

By the way, Studmuffin isn't just white; he's southern. Like, talks-with-a-funny-accent, redneck kind of southern. I can call him that because he can call me a yankee and neither of us gets offended, but he's definitely not at ALL what I would call 'my type'. Except for that he's so damn cute. And being southern, he's an absolute gentleman. The man asked permission before kissing me! He checked to see if it was okay for him to be affectionate with me in public, and all that entailed was his hand on my back or my leg. Mark might be dead, but apparently chivalry isn't. I was floored, and entirely charmed. 

Obviously, given I started this post with "I went out with a white guy", I accepted his request to take me out. And then I spent the next forty-eight hours in a mild panic. Here are actual texts I sent to one of my widdas, aka widsters (widow + sister = widster):

Tuesday
Me: Aaaaah, I can't go on a date with him. I think he likes me.
Sarah: LOL but you like him too. Just go on the freaking date Maggie!
Me: NOOOOOO. I'm so nervous. I'm used to just drinking and flirting and then being friends who drink and flirt and maybe hook up, but nothing in the realm of FEELINGS. 
Sarah: Go with that. Just let whatever happens happen.
Me: Okay. Ah. I'm going to text you 100 times. OMG. I don't know if I like him. He's too nice. He's like a gentleman. I need someone messed up like me. I'm good with messed up. I don't do well with nice and gentlemanly. I told him not to take me anywhere fancy. OMG I'M BOSSY!
Wednesday
Me: We're gonna see a movie. I haven't been out to a movie with a guy since Mark.
Sarah: Awwww.. Movies are easy. You don't have to talk. 
Me: I'm like, 'Sooooo, are you picking me up?' I don't even know how this works.
20 minutes later...
Me: I AM FREAKING OUT. I can't go out to see a movie with him. Mark and I used to do that. I can't. 
Sarah: Then ask him if you can do something else?
Me: I did. I told him lol I can't eveeeeeen. Fucking Mark. OMG
Sarah: Yeah, damn him.
Me: I'm not even close to ready. I'm so fucking pissed at Mark right now and want to cry. I have 25 minutes.
Sarah: Get a quick cry out. That mother fucker. If it weren't for him, you wouldn't have to be doing this dating bullshit.
Me: RIGHT? 
Sarah: Jerkface.
Me: My goodness, this will make for a great blog.
Sarah: Yes indeed. Just relax. And have fun.
Me: We're just gonna watch a movie at my place. I can handle that. This sounds like a glorified hookup lol why am I more okay with that???
Sarah: haha because it's not a date!
Me: It was until I freaked out. OMG He's on the way. If I hadn't given him my address, I could dodge this. 
Sarah: Maggie, breathe sister. You're going to be okay.
Me: I've never been so grateful for other widows lol I'm sorry we're both widowed.

I'm not sure how other people get ready for dates, but my prep included a sobbing cry mixed with cursing at my dead husband while sitting on the couch with half-dried hair and wearing nothing but a towel, followed by a last-minute change of plans due to my panicking over said dead husband and then more crying over how I probably scared Studmuffin off with my panic over dead husband. 

Have I mentioned my dead husband? If I'm not careful, he gets in the way of my life moving forward. We have a love-hate relationship.

The truth is, I didn't just curse at Mark, though I was very angry. I also kind of asked him for advice because more than anything, I felt entirely vulnerable. I felt naked, but that might have been because I actually was naked, aside from my towel. I didn't expect an answer, what with it not being an actual conversation between two living human beings, but I did have a strong desire to share the whole experience with Mark. Our marriage was a hot mess, but he was my best friend, and I could've used my best friend in the midst of my swirly panic. Fortunately, I had other friends to text, and the breakdown passed.

And thank goodness it did because I was then able to have a really awesome night. Studmuffin is a sweetheart, and he's fun to be with. He let me be me. And it was totally a date. It just happened to take place in my home. The conversation flowed the entire night, except for when it stopped for us to sip tea, watch a movie and do other things I'm not mentioning here. It was especially nice getting to spend time with just him, which he had apparently been wanting to do since we first met a few years ago. This whole experience has definitely been an adventure, and we are planning another one that involves us eating chicken wings. Because, chicken wings.