I need a man who knows how the story goes

Posted on by Carla Jean Whitley

Some girls make lists of what they’re looking for in a man, ranging from the serious (a godly leader) to the physical (blond hair, blue eyes, killer grin). I shredded my list years ago because I realized I was dwelling too much on finding a man. (Well, that and I kept liking guys with all sorts of hair color/eye color combinations. Kidding! I’m kidding…)

I think it’s time for a new one.

I present to you CJ’s ridiculous list of what she wants in a man:

  • He should like the same kind of coffee as me. Mind you, he doesn’t need to take it the same way (though living with Alisa proved how convenient that is). He just needs to enjoy the same roast. I hate seeing a perfectly good bag of Starbucks go bad because I couldn’t drink it quickly enough.
  • He must understand the importance of college football. There will be Saturdays where I don’t spend a minute watching the game(s) in favor of doing something more important. Even so, he has to be O.K. with me checking the scores of my teams, the top 25, the SEC and the ACC when we return home.
  • He can’t differ from me too greatly on what beverages merit our refrigerator space. Right now, for example, I have a gallon of milk, a bottle of grape juice and a pitcher of iced Tazo Passion tea in the fridge. I’d add a bottle of V8 Splash, but I figure my grandmother deserves some space, since she pays the bills and all!
  • Last, and perhaps most importantly: he should know when not to put up with my crap. Sometimes I’ll push the boundaries just to see if he’ll cave. I don’t want a doormat. I need a man who will bend when it’s important and put me in my place when I’m ridiculous, modeling Christ’s love all the while.

    • I don’t think that’s too much to ask, do you? 😉 Leave all applications in the comment field.  Requests will be answered in two weeks to four years. Bonus points for good dancers.

    It’s a great day to be alive

    Posted on by Carla Jean Whitley

    I think I’ll fall in love on a Tuesday.

    Okay, it may not be such an instantaneous process. Maybe I’ll just realize I’m in love on a Tuesday. Or Tuesdays could be otherwise significant in a future relationship.

    Whatever.

    I’ve noticed a tendency to spend my Tuesday evenings in a mushy, wistful state of mind. This has been happening (on and off) for about a year. I’ll admit that, at the time it began, much of my giggling was incited by e-mails from a certain man. For whatever reason, I found the things he’d say particularly charming on Tuesdays.

    Strange, I know.

    Maybe it was because my Tuesday evening class was fairly basic and therefore allowed time for girlish daydreams. (When will I see him next? How should I respond to this comment? I can’t wait to tell him about…) By the time I left class, the University seemed aways with a rosy glow.

    In fact, I think I finally decided I liked that guy on a Tuesday.

    But it’s not necessarily linked to flirting with someone. I can recall the occassional Tuesday mood cropping up this summer. That was our women’s Bible study night – and we did not sit around talking about marriage and what we wanted in a man.

    (Well, maybe one night. But I think I kept my mouth shut.)

    The past couple of Tuesdays have involved long drives across town. It’s hard for me not to get pensive about something when I drive past the towering buildings downtown. It may not be “mushy love stuff” on my mind, but something will be stirring in me.

    I dunno. I think Tuesdays are a nice night.

    Disclaimer: No, I’m not dating someone. I have not brought out the hoops. I know some people say they can tell when something is going on based on my away messages and blog entries. Not so this time! If you spent three hours stuffing envelopes for bridal advertisements, you’d be contemplating mushy things, too.

    Protected: It’s one of those days to take a walk outside

    Posted on by Carla Jean Whitley

    I get in these moods where I’m convinced the weather is perfect for falling in love. It tends to happen most in the fall. (I think it has something to do with football. How many women do you think will say that?) But, like many boy-related things, these moods get me in trouble.

    I think it’s hormonal.

    We all know our feelings get a little crazy during “that time of the month,” and I’m no exception! I tend to be little miss “I don’t need a boyfriend,” but only for 24 days each month. There’s always a week when I’m convinced I need a good cuddle.

    When that happens, my mind immediately reverts to the object of my most recent crush. It doesn’t matter if that was a month ago (as is the current situation) or if he’s someone in my life right now.

    That bugs me. I don’t need this man who isn’t in my life dancing through my mind.

    Why can’t I make it through my period without daydreams of something (someone) I don’t need?

    Blah!

    I do my little turn on the catwalk

    Posted on by Carla Jean Whitley

    I’m not the most athletic or the most spontaneous woman in the world, but I’m generally up for an adventure. A few weeks ago, that meant a four mile hike on a Virginia mountain. Adventure this weekend translated into a night out on the town.

    While I drove from my side of town to meet Alicia for a movie, she changed our minds for me. Instead of bumming it in a movie theater, we were dolling up and going out for a little dance music.

    I wasn’t dressed appropriately (though don’t worry, I was wearing a trusty heels-with-jeans get up), so I played dress up in Alicia’s clothes. A new outfit and shaved legs later, I was dressed and we were off to the 22nd Street Jazz Café.

    Here’s the thing about Alabama: every day is a fashion show. Going to class? Pair your jeans with a sassy top and your favorite heels. Sunday morning demands attire almost as formal as the average business wardrobe. If you look at the south end zone of Bryant Denny on game day, you’ll see the dress required of our cultural events.

    The unusual thing about this evening at the jazz café was the range of dress. Everything from jeans to denim skirts to pink skirts with tanks were represented. Alicia and I took our places on the dance floor and lightened the club’s atmosphere.

    We were later joined by some friends of her boyfriend and his roommate. The guys obviously knew Alicia was off-limits, so one of them turned his attention to me. I carefully, politely indicated that I wasn’t interested in him or any of the other men who tried to join us on the dance floor. Within moments, they would turn up with other girls.

    I tell this story to make two points:

    In this atypical atmosphere, no one cared that I was clutching at my lime green pants as I danced. They were a bit baggy in the waist, and my hair and makeup were nothing to brag about. I was as laidback as I could be in capri pants and heels, but the boys came anyway. The lesson? People aren’t always as obsessed with appearances as I’m afraid they are.

    The next morning, Alicia and I “debriefed” from the night. She pointed out that I could have walked away with the digits of any of a number of guys, then proceeded to share her philosophy on my dating life. “You’re single,” she reminded me. “You can go on dates with whoever you want, and if you don’t like him, just don’t call him back. Enjoy it!”

    But I don’t want to, I said. What’s the point in meeting guys at a bar? They might be perfectly nice guys; after all, I’m a nice gal and I was there. 😉 But you don’t get to know someone by chatting about why you’re in Birmingham and whether or not you want a drink from the bar.

    I may not be obsessed with knowing that someone is the “man of my dreams” before I accept a date, but I like to know that he at least has that potential. I know I’m picky, I know I’m less than perfect myself. Regardless of what I’m wearing, my standards are still a bit higher than that… and I think they’ll stay that way. 🙂

    Commitment, and everything that goes with it

    Posted on by Carla Jean Whitley

    Subtitle: For Alisa (because she’s wrong) and Megan (because her imagination failed)

    When it’s right, it’s right.

    It’s no secret that I’m picky, and therefore no surprise that the search has lasted this long. I struggle with grace; where is it appropriate to extend mercy instead of demanding perfection? Are my expectations too high? But everyone says when it’s a match, you’ll know.

    I made a command decision today. I walked down the aisle with confidence, and the decorum demanded of the occasion. I stepped toward the official, a smile on my face. My head was held high.

    I bought a pair of shoes.

    Aren't they cute? AND they were on SALE!

    (So I prefer a stiletto to a stacked heel, and I still love the pointy-toed trend. But I think these are slightly off-beat and way more practical. Besides, they’re Brazilian, and we all know that Brazil produces quality.)

    Hey Rebels – we’re gonna beat the hell outta you!

    Posted on by Carla Jean Whitley

    “I grew up in Alabama – possibly the worst place on earth to acquire a healthy perspective on the importance of spectator sports.” –Warren St. John

    St. John could understand my plight. The Mountain Brook native is the author of my latest read, Rammer Jammer Yellow Hammer: A Journey into the Heart of Fan Mania. This crazy journalist joined a group of RVin’ ‘Bama fans and trailed the team across the country during the 1999 season. (All I can say is, I wish I’d had the idea first. And 1999 was a beautiful year for college football.)

    Many of my friends, however, don’t relate. At least, that’s the only logical conclusion when you consider the important games I’ve had to miss because of their inconsideration.

    I gave away my Tennessee ticket last year in order to attend a wedding that ended up being postponed. Let me offer some perspective for those of you outside the ‘Bama nation. We all know that the Alabama-Auburn rivalry is the biggest in the nation. Florida-Florida State isn’t too far behind. Florida State also bears a venomous hatred for our enemies to the south, Miami. Just as Florida State abhors those schools almost equally, Alabama despises Auburn and Tennessee.

    In fact, let’s turn to St. John again for an illustrative anecdote. Here, he recounts a trip through Tennessee en route to Alabama’s season opener against Vanderbilt. These aren’t Vandy fans giving them trouble; it’s the other state team (who Alabama doesn’t play until much later in the season).

    “A bit farther down the road, passing motorists begin to flip us off. In a sea of orange, our Alabama bumper stickers and that TIDE license plate are the equivalent of KICK ME signs taped to our backs.”

    A week ago, I passed on Alabama’s season opener in favor of a 500 mile drive to Virginia. Okay, so we played Utah State, but it was still the first game of the year! Instead of sitting in a stadium of sweaty football fans, I spent my weekend with friends from far-off lands and dancing at a wedding.

    Tonight offers another challenge. Florida State will open their season against the aforementioned Miami Hurricanes. I’ll be dining on sushi and Thai noodles at Surin West.

    I suppose I could fault Hurricane Frances instead of the friend whose birthday I’ll be celebrating. After all, this game would have taken place on Monday if it wasn’t for Miami’s namesake wreaking havoc on Florida. (But would we have wanted to play on a flooded field? You saw last year’s match up, didn’t you? I don’t trust Chris Rix in puddles.)

    Pray for me: Maybe I’ll make it home in time to catch the fourth quarter.

    [Disclaimer: I’m mostly kidding. Yeah, it stinks to miss big games, but friends are more important… so if you’re one of the people who caused these incidents, realize I don’t hold a grudge and that you’re worth the sacrifice. 😉 Even though I wouldn’t have minded watching the game…]

    On shoes and commitment

    Posted on by Carla Jean Whitley

    I ran into another pair of beautiful brown heels in Nashville this week. Like the others I’ve considered, they featured a low heel and a pointy toe. But these babies would look good with pants and skirts – and they had a fun steel-heel look that I was diggin’.

    I didn’t get them.

    I suppose that supports Alisa’s hypothesis that I’m a commitment-phobe. I maintain that my hesitation to buy shoes is out of wisdom, not fear. (The problem here? Will these shoes still be worth their money after I wear them three or four times? The leather was already starting to crease, and I was afraid it would destroy their appeal.)

    Alisa’s not completely off, though. When I began to consider what I would look for in a church, I had to face a hard truth about myself.

    You see, I tend to think that commitment will be fairly simple within the context of marriage. I know I’m never going to find Mr. Perfect, but I believe love is a choice. I will choose to love even when there are hard days, even when Mr. Right-for-Me is showing his bad side(s). Maybe I’m a little idealistic, but these ideas led me to an important comparison.

    Husbands are supposed to love their wives as Christ loved the church. Wives are to submit to their husbands as though they’re submitting to Jesus. I think that’s one of the coolest things ever. But I never stop to look at the other side; what does this say about my relationship with the church?

    I don’t have the best church background. I’ve attended countless churches since becoming a Christian five years ago, none of them for much longer than a year. Daydreaming little CJ thinks she can accept the faults of a man, but how can she expect that when she can’t accept imperfections in the church?

    Granted, I don’t want to attend a church with faulty theology or unfriendly demeanor. There are certain “non-negotiables” in a searching for a church home – just as there are in looking for a mate. The difference is I rarely recognize the difference between non-negotiables and deal breakers when it comes to the body of Christ.

    I think the fault lies with me.

    That’s why it’s been so important to me to pray about what I must have in a church and what I prefer. I’m only “guaranteed” four months in Birmingham (well, three months and 9 days, at this point), but I want to maximize that time. I don’t want to dilly dally between congregations forever.

    So I might settle on a church before I pick up a pair of brown heels.

    I’m okay with that. I think it means I’m growing.