Little known fact – I get nervous. This occurs occasionally, and only when I put myself in situations that involve me stepping outside of my usual atmosphere. I think this is healthy because it reminds me that I’m an actual individual and I’m not as invincible as I portray to be.
No more accents. In the midst of being a real New Yorker and priding myself in being open-minded I date anyone I find interesting. I guess that’s what gets me into trouble, well, half stalked and text message bombed. Readers who are up-to-date understand exactly what I mean. Last week, out of true boredom I went on two dates. The first was a lunch date with a European white guy in his 30’s and the second a dinner date with a Haitian who’s my age. May I say no thank you two times in a row? Now both guys were fine as individuals, each had there own goals and clear paths to reach them. Of course Euro guy had surpassed the Haitian by bounds because of his age. I’m just admitting that I see a clear disconnect in cultures. A disconnect in cultures and life style. I believe in two open-minded people from different backgrounds getting together and making it work in different situations but that isn’t the case for me in either of these. A great sign is when both parties both have different opinions of how the date went.
So being adventurous while trying to rekindle my 2008 New Years resolution list, I hung out this past Saturday. I will admit when I got the email for a professionals networking party at an uptown club it excited me. The event was prepaid, so once I got the invite I honestly pondered it for awhile. It wasn’t much money but paying for a ticket and then chickening out isn’t my style at all. Finally on Friday, with prodding from a friend or two I bought the ticket knowing I would be hanging out alone. Nonetheless I was very interested in getting fly and once again donning one of my favorite versions of Roberta I refer to as “Lola.” Lola Devine to be specific, a sultry alter ego whom is prideful and quite satisfied with the way she looks.
Saturday ended up being a dreadfully gloomy day but I chanted that I had to go, out loud as to convince myself of the fact that I live in
The rain stopped just as I found a fantastic parking spot, I noted this as a good sign. Once I stepped into the club called Nikki Beach I felt comfortable. Although I was all alone, I felt calmness when I realized there were two parties, the one I rsvp’d for was on the second floor. So I grabbed a vodka tonic and found a seat on one of the white couches to calm any hidden fears I’d had. Downstairs was a birthday party and mostly white people, guys with spiked hair and dark colored sport jackets and women in fitted barely there solid bright colored dresses paired with stilettos not so different from the GUESS ones I wore. Once I finished my drink, Lola arrived, I stood up adjusting my dress and pulled my gold tinged shawl around my shoulders and made my way up the wooden circle staircase. I was able to slither to the bar fairly unnoticed, to my advantage, because a girl can’t feel comfy at a club without a drink in her hand. I opened a tab and commenced to vodka tonics, then Pinot Gregio. I had engaged in a few conversations and had taken a card or two but none that should be appropriately noted here. Enjoying my drinks, like a true lush I stayed close to the bar. Which is where I met a tall dark and chocolate (yeah I said it, chocolate) Mr.
I was standing with my back to the bar, drink in hand when I casually turned back to the bar because the guy to my right was getting a little too close, I noticed he wasn’t bad looking but over his shoulder I saw just what it seemed I was unknowingly searching for. I glanced at him and finished turning to face the bar. I smiled in spite of myself thinking that if the first guy happened to say something to me (like I knew he would) I’d politely brush him off, not even engaging in light conversation which I usually find is harmless. Before I finished the thought the chocolate Mr. grazed my shoulder and leaned in to speak. He asked me something about my tattoos, because by now I had gotten bold and removed my shawl, exposing almost the entire masterpiece I had created on my back. I answered politely while I stared directly into his eyes. I smiled, and then turned back around. He was still there … trying to get a drink I suppose. When he was closer, I asked if he had any tattoos, He held one finger up and I rolled my eyes and smiled again. We began chatting, as he was now standing beside me. After I told him my name he informed me that I didn’t look like a Roberta, to that I replied “what, I look like a shaniqua?” he gave me a laugh and instead said Lola, I almost doubled over at this. How’d he know right?
He, sipping cognac and I just finishing my wine, Mr. asked if I wanted another and I declined. I was enthused; he was tall, accent free, wore a tailored jacket and had a beautiful smile. I was caught, this almost never happens to me … well not since the early days of “him” so when he asked me to take his number, I offered him my personal card. He offered me a drink again and this time I accepted, I held words like “make sure you call” and “don’t loose the card” in my mouth. Though I was struck, I showed no signs of the lightening he had sent my way. He was distinguished and well spoken, in the moment he seemed perfect. I bid him adieu after forever and he parted, then so did I.