interracial relationships

#FBF – Black Girl in a Big Dress

#FBF to a year ago when we wrapped production on the first season of Black Girl in a Big Dress. It’s been an amazing ride! Thanks to everyone who’s watched, shared, liked, commented and pointed out that correct, those are in fact, not bourbon cremes. Here’s to getting the right biscuits in Season Two!

If you haven’t seen the show, check out all 8 episodes of Season One below!!


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Truth or Dare

Remember the game Truth or Dare? That game we played as kids with the goal to embarrass each other as much as possible in the name of pre-pubescent bonding?  I was thinking about that game during the last few days (no, nothing weird happened over the weekend, why?) and I realized something very important: This game is wasted on the young.

When you’re a kid and you play Truth or Dare, you get questions like:

“Truth… do you like Ben?” or “Truth…have you gotten your period?” or “Dare: I dare you to show us your bra!”

These questions are worthless. Doesn’t matter how you feel about Ben. Dollars to donuts he is not into the girl who looooooves turquoise and who’s 12-year-old teeth are just not where they should be. And in a few years, to make up for the fact that Ben never gave you the time of day, you’ll be showing everyone your bra.

We all go through dark times.

Ben, I never blamed you.

But if we could re-purpose this set up and harness the power of probing questions and suggestions for ridiculous action items for 30-somethings, lives would change, my friends. Lives would change.

Think about it. You’re hanging with your friends. Enjoying a glass 3.4 bottles of wine, someone finally puts down the Cards Against Humanity and suggests Truth or Dare.

“Truth: Do you really need to have Bradley Murphy’s number in your phone anymore?”

“Truth: Be honest. If a friend talked to you….the way you talk to you… would you consider that person a friend? No, no you would not.”

Or “Dare: …I dare you to revamp your resume. You don’t have to send it out, let’s just open up that Word doc and see what we’re working with.”

Maybe, “Dare you to just put your gym bag in the car. Don’t have sign up anywhere. Just pack it, put it in the backseat and when you’re ready, it will be, too.”

We could change the world you guys. The whole world.

What would you Truth or Dare yourself to do?

Let us know in the comments. Then let us know how it goes! #TheRevolutionBeginsHere #ButNotA”Revolution”Revolution,CIA.Don’tGetItTwistedJustSomeSelfImprovement


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Vacation Rules

Just got some pictures and daguerreotypes back from a week away I spent with the fella’s family.

To be fair, there is a lighthouse in all of my vacation photos from where ever I go.

To be fair, I can’t take a vacation photo that doesn’t include a lighthouse. No matter where I am.

This is a branch of the family he doesn’t talk to or see all that often, so it was a great chance to reconnect. Even better, unlike visiting the distant arms of my RBP family where we literally had KFC for dinner (don’t worry, eating fried chicken on someone else’s dime is one of the exceptions that makes it okay to consume. Still, I didn’t like it), his extended family are the waspiest. They pronounce their “r” as “ah”s, they went to boarding schools, they start drinking at 4 p.m and don’t stop until after midnight. Hashtag heaven.

Of course, I did learn some things on my visit and will share them here. Feel free to use these tips on your next trip to New England. And please feel free to add any of your own.

Do try to date someone who’s family owns a house from the early 1900s. It will go nicely with your chalet.

Don’t continue to date them unless said house is at a cape or in the St. Lawrence River. Easy, land-locked vacations are for the weak.

Do remember to pack Dramamine. You don’t want to look like you’ve never been in an antique Chris Craft before.

Don’t get into the water! Even if the boat capsizes, do not go in! You’re bright. Figure it out. You may float on it, hydroplane over it, or drink next to it. But one drop of natural river water without a tonne of conditioner at the ready and your freshly pressed hair will kink right up and leave you looking like a q-tip. No one can unsee that. Especially wasps.

I don't care how many floaties you have to stuff in that hull. Do not let yourself get wet! (source)

I don’t care how many floaties you have to stuff in that hull. Do not let yourself get wet!

Do laugh at their jokes about how you are the only person of non-European descent who has ever visited the house. It is pretty funny when you think about it.

Don’t be surprised when even though your boyfriend has slept in the main, appointed quarters of the house his entire 4-decade life, he suddenly finds himself relegated to the servants quarters because he’s with you. It’s not personal, they’ve just instituted some new rules….this year. House virgins have to sleep in the servants’ quarters with the peeling paint and mold on the walls. That way they “appreciate it more” next time. You’d do the same with your chalet.

Do use the time to catch up on your reading. Proof is still excellent…or maybe it’s Doubt. I get those confused. You know what, bring both. Also, Faust.

Don’t be surprised when the patriarch of the family hands you a book and says he thinks you’ll love it. Spoiler alert, he’s going to give you a spoiler alert and it will sound like this: “It’s really interesting. It’s about sailors who were shipwrecked and became slaves. But here’s the thing. They were white slaves. White. Slaves.”

Do agree that white slavery is definitely the weirder slavery.

Don’t be surprised that two more days pass before the master and mistress of the house talk to you directly and that it only happens after they find out you ride horses.

Do be prepared to show photos of show ribbons or the conversation will be brief.

Don’t take offense to the hundreds of questions everyone has about your hair when you curl it that one time.

Do not let them touch it. No one needs that can of worms.

Don’t forget to drop words like “Main line,” “Colby College,” and “made pony.”

Do go ahead and answer when your boyfriend’s mom continually calls you by the name of his first black girlfriend.

Don’t correct her. Once it happens five times in a row, it’s just going to be awkward to change the pattern.

Do not hug and kiss goodbye at the end of the trip. That kind of showiness is for Southerners.

Don’t forget about to start planning next year’s trip early! And just wait, you might get moved up to the nice rooms.

What was it like the last time you visited your in-law types? Let us know about it in the comments! 


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The Black Guys I Know

One of the most popular questions I get as an Oreo is;

“You’ve never dated a black guy?”

And then when I ask them if they want to see my piccolo or otherwise try to change the conversation, the next question usually is:

“Piccolo? Is that a euphemism for something?”

And when I say no and smile inside because I think I’ve distracted them, they say:

“But wait. Really? Reallllly? You’ve…never…dated a black guy?”

That’s when I usually try to direct their attention to photos of me at a Renaissance Faire and ask them to help me pick out bodice patterns for next year.

“How is that possible…?”

First of all, I haven’t dated tons of guys who share individual traits with me. I’ve never dated someone from my hometown.

Maybe because I looked like this when I lived there.

Maybe because I looked like this when I lived there.

I’ve never dated another Journalism Major from The University of Texas at Austin. I’ve never dated a guy who was 5’5” who wore a small in women’s blouses. I’ve never dated someone with a birthmark on his shoulder, a bellybutton ring or a hatred for the Oxford comma that rivals mine. I’ve never dated someone who’s the offspring of an engineer and an accountant and I’ve never been in a relationship with an only child.

Second, it’s not like there are all these hordes of black guys who I’m denying access from the top of my ivory tower.

Though if we do build an Ivory tower, can we use this pattern? (source)

Though if we do build an Ivory tower, can we use this pattern?

Though if you know an ivory tower for sale, hook an Oreo up!

Honestly, apart from my own family members, I don’t even know that many black guys. And the ones I do wouldn’t be viable options even if they could sunburn.

If I were to try date a black guy (#spoileralert, never will, it’s against the rules) these are the only options I could choose from:

  • That quiet kid at work who sat down the hall from me last year – Much too young. I’m not opposed to dating someone my junior, but there’s maybe a 10-12 year age gap here, which—as you can tell by looking at me today—makes him like 12 years old.
  • That one guy at the office I see coming into the same entrance to my building – I think he’s gay.
  • That older guy at work who wears the fun t-shirts – Married
  • That guy who works one floor down from me – Moving to the northwest in a few months. I’m much too needy for that.
  • That guy with the round face and beard – I think he is also gay
  • That guy at swing dancing – We don’t even talk. He Balboas, I don’t Balboa. When we tried to dance once, he was so annoyed that I don’t Balboa that we nearly stopped dancing halfway through the song
  • My hairdresser’s son – He really is 12
  • That priest – He’s already pledged his life to someone else. Way to c-block, JC!

So unless I want to be a homewrecker, a Mrs. Robinson or an RBP, there’s no market for me.

Even when I was dating online, I was never approached by guys of color. All of my friends regularly got pinged by a Jamaal or a Kendrick or a Michael. But not me. It’s like they knew, nay, respected who I was.

…Could have also been the fact that I put that picture of tweenage me on my profile and that I talked a LOT about Renn Fests.


Who are the black guys you know? Do you want to date them? Let us know in the comments!

Remember that time Dr. Drew couldn’t get over my dating habits? Click here to reminisce.


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Cheerios Girl and The Art of the Awkward Interview

Once upon a couple of weeks ago, Cheerios released an adorable commercial where an adorable little girl uses adorable kid logic and adorably pours Cheerios all over her sleeping father to help him stay healthy.

Cute, right?  Haha! Wrong! At least to a good chunk of the online community, anyway.

Cheerios had to close the comments section under this video due to racism. And this week, the little girl at the center of the blended family controversy spoke out…ish.

While young Grace is not an Oreo Oreo (she’s mixed race, not in denial), she’s made of enough cutes to get an honorary mention. Plus, during her interview with NBC, she shows us some great ways to handle the awkwardness that comes when people see that you’re the one thing that’s not like the others.

So the next time you find yourself at the wrong end of an inquiry, remember what Grace would do and try the following:

Wear a jaunty cardigan. No one wants to trouble someone in a delicate sweater. So not only do the long sleeves hide the evidence of your melanin, you get bonus points because the warm fuzzy fabric makes everyone around feel warmer and fuzzier themselves.

Smile and stare in lieu of answering. Making someone ask the same question more than 2 times in a row usually draws attention to the how weird/unnecessary/obvious/rude the question in the first place. So instead of answering, allow yourself a little time delay. You’ll find you won’t have to say very much and maybe not even answer the question at all. If

Look as cute as possible. Delivering a blank stare instead of a canned answer might come across as rude in some circles. But not if you’re super adorbs about it! So rose up those cheeks (yes, guys, you can do this, too), dig in those dimples, shine up that twinkle in your eye and get ready to deflect.

Bring back up. When possible, surround yourself with at least two other people with more patience than you have. It helps if they’re taller and if maybe one of them is white. (What am I saying, Oreos? Haha ‘maybe one of them.’ Obvi, both will be!) You can always use a head-tossing giggle to throw the question to them, ask them to translate or just stand a bit behind them and blend into the background.

Start talking to yourself. When all else fails, just start having a conversation with yourself instead of whoever bugging you. They’ll leave you alone.

Watch the interview here and see these tips in action!


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Who’s the Creamiest of Them All? Oreo Showdown Me vs. Frank

I was incredibly proud of the heights of Oreodom to which I ascended this weekend. I was at a financier’s wedding in Wine Country that was totally hipstered out (bride and groom walked down the aisle to Bon Iver or some such, food trucks sported locally sourced, organic quinoa kale pizzas and for every tux trouser, there was a pair of Tom’s poking out of the bottom).

The attendants basically looked like this

At one moment, I took my glass of Northern California Shiraz in one hand, my Starbucks in the other and went for a stroll through the adjoining vineyard. I looked back at the scene and reveled in a couple’s lovely commitment to love and at my pulling off being the only black person in attendance.

It’s the little things.

Then something caught my eye. A black guy. Surely, I thought, he’s here to hand me the keys to my car or take away this biodegradable wine glass. But no… he was a guest like me. When I figured that out, the competition was on! I was not going to let this handlebar mustachioed, Steampunk suit sporting dude out Oreo me.

Naturally, I couldn’t talk to him directly lest people think we were extras from Real Housewives of Atlanta, so I ran my reconnaissance and found out that he was doing an excellent job at Oreoing.

He was an accomplished equestrian, a fine artist photographer, had clearly trained in ballroom dancing…and did I mention the handlebar mustache. I imagined him twirling it like an old timey villain if and when he found out he had bested me. He spoke French, made a delicious tapenade, had been a vegan since he was 12 and was from Connecticut!

Even I have a hard time matching those stats.

Damn you, home state! Why couldn’t you have been a Dakota?

I was about to tip my french veiled hat in concession when I saw his date… She was White! A black guy dating a white women. That is SUCH an RBP thing to do!! I win.

So instead of stopping, I grabbed another glass for a victory lap around the wine bar safe in the knowledge that I finally made up for the other wedding party that, despite my best bestest efforts, went terribly. An unfortunate loss for him, but it was a game well played, sir. Well played indeed.

And yes, I get the Catch-22 that Oreo guys are in. Date a black girl and people start thinking you’re just escorting her to her next john. Date a white girl and you look like an RBP. Oh well, we all have our crosses to bear. Anyone have any suggestions?

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A Smattering of Things I Should or Should Not Have Been Thinking During My First Couple’s Massage

The first time someone said to me: “Hey, have you tried one of those Chinese foot massage places,” my first response was “of course not because I don’t hire prostitutes.”

For some reason, when you put a culture name in front of a verb, it takes on a whole new meaning.

“Dancing” = okay, sure that sounds fine.
“Latin Dancing” = now I’m hot and bothered. And there’s a rose in my mouth.

But Chinese Foot Massage is about a billion times better than any prostitute could ever be. Unless that prosti threw in a CFM during whatever else s/he’s doing.

Here’s how it works: You sit in a room full of a dozen or so very large, very comfy recliners. Your pants legs are rolled up and your feet are dropped into a bucket of scalding hot water. You kind of want to scream, but you don’t want to look like a pussy about it. I mean, if that 80-lb Mandarin octogenarian next to you can handle it, so can you.

And you can.

After a few seconds, the herbs or magic or chlorine or whatever is in that water takes over and it just feels goooood.

While your toes are soaking, the nice masseuse starts the rub down. They rub your head, your face, your neck, your arms and your shoulders before pulling your feet out and starting up. They spend a lot of time down there and they must be doing something right because you start feeling like you really need to fart, but you don’t want to be a jerk about it.

Then you realize if that 80-lb Mandarin octogenarian next to you can let one slip, then you can too. So you wait for them to leave to get a towel and you do.

They come back, dry off your legs, turn you over and rub you down top to bottom again. And if you’re me, when they get to your bottom, there’s a tittering of Sino-Tibetan language and then some laughter. And that’s okay because it just feels so dang amazing.

The whole thing lasts just over and hour and costs $15.

Yes. $15. Let’s hear it for folks having been indoctrinated in factories.

I took my Lovely to my favorite local CFM place this weekend and noticed for the first time that among the recliners, there was also this curtained room.

“What happens in there?” I asked the host.

“Prostitutes,” I kinda wanted him to say for good measure. But he didn’t. Not even to humor me. Instead he said “oh, we focus more on your back and neck than the feet.”

I’d never gotten a massage behind a curtain and I had just finished a couple Irish Mules, so I thought this was a great idea. Lovely didn’t argue. So behind the curtain we went.

“Okay, take off your clothes,” the host said. “We’ll be back in a minute.”

Mind you, just on the other side of this thin sheet of linen were people. Strangers. Regular folk who were just there to get their feet rubbed and who had no idea that nude little me was going to be running around 2 feet from them.

You never know what’s behind the screen. It could be me.
Or Pauly D.
Either way, my apologies.

But I had just had a couple of Irish Mules, so I thought that was fine.

We disrobed, in walked a dude and a girl and they went to work. And so did my brain. I know that you’re supposed to “relax” during a massage or at some point in your life. But that’s just not how I do. Instead, I do like this:

  • Not sure how I feel about the heart-shaped face hole on this table. What if I had come here with a girlfriend?
  • Oh, good, I get a girl masseur and he gets a guy one.
  • Not that I’d be upset if he got a girl one. I’m not the jealous type.
  • Am I the jealous type?
  • Oh wow, she just climbed right on my back. That’s fine.
  • I wonder if that guy is standing on Lovely’s back?
  • Is it wrong that I don’t get jealous?
  • How much am I going to tip?
  • Why can’t I get the timer on my AC to work?
  • Maybe my cats will be fine if I don’t leave the AC on.
  • Why am I trying to kill my cats??
  • I wonder if my cats and his dog will get along.
  • I should really write something about the election.
  • Probably just gonna blog about this massage instead.
  • Is she still kneeling on my hamstrings?
  • And oh, is she stretching my Achilles’s tendon with her toes??
  • She has really dextrous toes.
  • Is he stretching Lovely’s Achilles’s tendon with his toes?
  • Does that make me jealous?
  • No really, I should write about the election. It’s nuts out there. “Legitimate rape, wtf?!”
  • Eh, a list piece’ll be fine.
  • Should I have booked a hotel in London by now?
  • I’m sure I’ll find something.
  • If I don’t find something, will I have to stay at a hostel?
  • If I stay at a hostel will I be robbed?
  • Oddly enough, Hostel 2 had a decent plot and really beautiful set design.
  • Why the eff did I watch Hostel 2??
  • I think I know someone who watched The Human Centipede. I’m at least doing better than whoever that was.
  • He and I are both nudey on these tables. Should I be feeling sexy right now?
  • Because wanting to fart is not sexy.
  • I think if I felt sexy right now, this would be come prostitutey.
  • Kinda wish I couldn’t feel her breathing on my face. Really like having my face touched though.
  • I love living by the Oreo code, but seriously, why are there never any ethnics here?
  • …I mean apart from all the Chinese people who work here.
  • Do other ethnic people just hate luxurious comfort?
  • Awww, Is he snoring?
  • Holy shit, I just thought snoring was cute. I’m in trouble!
  • I wish there was a way to sleep and also make out at the same time.
  • They could totally hack off my arms and legs right now and thanks to this warm towel on my face I’d have no idea it was coming.
  • I wonder if that would make it hurt less or more.
  • Pretty sure you’re not supposed to be thinking about getting hacked to bits during a massage.
  • …Or speaking to yourself in the third person.
  • No, c’mon, I can totally use this time to come up with some really cool, pithy piece about this ridiculous election.
  • Or just come up with a coupla jokes about prostitutes and call it a day.
  • Is it problematic that a couple of the songs I most like to belt were sung by prostitutes?
  • Probably no less problematic that the role I most want to play is a man’s role.
  • I wonder what else she does with her toes.

Spoiler alert: I was the only one of us who got climbed up on and toe’d.

I hope he’s jealous.


Is there CFM where you live? How do you not spend 100% of your time there if there is? If there’s not, how do you relax?

Let us know in the comments!

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