Meeting The Crew...

(Okay Ladies, Here's an Old, Unpublished Post :-) - Circa December 2010)

The absolute worst activity you can do in a DC lounge is dance. 

Two-step - Sure. 
Slight sway - Yes.
If noone is looking - a slight grind 4.5 inches away from the nearest person of the opposite sex - Absolutely.

You don't - however - dance! 

What DC lounges are made for is finding out if you can see well enough to determine if the cute guy wearing a diamond earring has a penis....OR, if he's a really nice looking woman with a great fade!  In other words, folks go to lounges to look at everyone looking at everyone looking at everyone else!

This past weekend, I was hanging at a club named Eden...despite it's lack of vegetation, animals and naked people.  And, though I was excited that my eyesight was still good enough to tell a Wet 'N Wavy weave from a Indian Premy ponytail, I was nervous about meeting Boss's Crew for the very first time.

"I like you," Boss had told me a few days before Eden.  "I want my friends to like you, too, because if they don't..."

I had waited for a "we will work on it," or a "we will brainwash them."

But instead he had repeated, "if they don't..."

And left me wondering what came next...

Over the past few weeks, Boss and I had slowly started creeping out of our duo bubble, and began making our interest more public! 

I would post his initials in a gchat message with a smile, and he would poke me and ask me how it felt on my Facebook wall.  Naughty!

We had not however told our friends about the "other" we had been significantly seeing for some time...preferring to keep our semi-pseudo-not-really-a-relationship-just-yet...between just us...


And I was cool with that until Boss had decided our party of two was too small, and the logical next step was to include a few friends.  I was happy (kinda) but didn't know if meeting his friends meant I should start leaving my sexy yellow toothbrush on his bathroom sink OR if I would get a letter in the mail asking me to check YES or NO to be his girlfriend?

So, days later with a toothbrush and writing pen tucked secretly in my Coach Bag (just in case)...I finally met his friends (dubbed the Crew) at Eden...and I was thrilled...

...well, kinda...

Until...Jay Z's rendition of "New York" started pumping and his entire Crew ran over to some chick wearing red and started hyping her.  This was followed by a Drake song, where the entire crew swarmed around a light-skinned Black dude with gray eyes and started shouting Drizzy.  Clearly he was Drake's DC twin, and... 

Clearly, I was out of the loop....


So, I stood there trying to look sexy in a pair of one hour heels (2 hours in), and attempting to figure out why I never got the memo that Boss's friends danced.  Here I was fully prepared to test my night vision, and there was the crew fully prepared to do Glee-like group rendition of "Teach Me How to Dougie." 

I was loving the impromptu hype sessions(really, I was), but I was pissed it required me to move more than two centimeters away from my new bff - the mirrored wall.

Clearly, the Crew had no love for lounging!

And clearly my one hour heels had no love for me.  But just when I was about to curse my big toe for lacking proper motivation.  Boss came over....grabbed my hand....and softly kissed my cheek before turning me around and pushing my hips into his....um....into his waist forcing me (but not really ;-) to slow grind to a funky reggae beat.

All hips, no foot movement, just me and him and the beat. 



Though he didn't say this, what I knew in this one action was that I didn't have to worry about which way to cupid shuffle next and that no matter where I was standing (aching big toe and all)....Boss would stand there too.

"I'm still not sure if my friends like you!  I think they do."  Boss said.  "But tonight, Bree, I realized that my feelings for you don't require a confirmation."

And just like that (before falling into the nearest lounge seat to rest my feet)....I fell for Boss all over again....

Going Number Two - (New York - Part 1)

"Dude, but I mean, we'll be in the same room for two days with only one bathroom."

"And?"  that was Flowerchild.

"Well I mean, like, it'll just be one toilet." I said.

I was trying to be discrete but Flowerchild was impatiently peering at me while licking the straw in her Wendy's Frosty.

"So?" challenged Flowerchild.

"So, it will be one toilet, in one room, for at least two days, which means..." Southern Charm was trying to help me.

"Oh." Flowerchild said. "Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh......" it had finally clicked.  "You want to know if Boss will still like you after you funk up the bathroom."

She and Southern Charm started laughing so hard our food almost dumped (no pun intended) on the floor.  Clearly, even though I needed real advice about using el bano around Boss, my girlfriends couldn't focus long enough to stop seeing who could make the best farting noise without getting spit on their french fries.

Boss and I had recently become semi-pseudo comfortable with one another...

Well....
Kinda... 

I mean I had stopped yelling stalker if he called me twice in the span of two hours and started looking forward to his calls every day.  And he had learned to control his gag reflex whenever I flipped to the Oxygen channel.  In other words, we had gotten past the "getting-to-know-you" phase, and were now toeing the line to establishing a foundation for something....else....until he opened his mouth one lazy Saturday afternoon....

"I want you to go to New York with me next weekend."

Clearly homeboy was joking, I mean I hadn't even introduced him to my hot pink granny panties...yet. 

"Bree, I'm serious."  Damn.

"Oh. well, okay then." and then flashed the type of pageant smile that made him believe my enamel held the secret to world peace...or, something like that.  At the very least, he believed I was excited...

And, I was excited...well, kinda...

Until I started thinking about all the stupid firsts that people have to get past before they can say they really like you.  For example, could I really like him if he was a thumb-sucking, blankie-addicted, keep-the-light-on type of dude. Or, even worse - could I like him if he was the type of man who forced me to pillow talk with him despite having morning breath that kicked in every night around 11:59pm.

Maybe!  But...

What I was really nervous about was accidentally doing one of those horribly disgusting type of human activities that men pretend woman don't do...like: scratch, burp, fart...and...

"Use the bathroom, Bree!" Flower Child had stopped making gross noises long enough dish out a reality check. "Geez, you act like he doesn't do it everyday!"

 "Yea," said Southern Charm.  "There are plenty of things you can do to lessen the smell."

They burst out laughing again.

"Like turn the flush right after the plop." That was Flowerchild.
"Or turn the shower on extra hot, and steam it out."  said Southern Charm.
"Or use the hotel lobby's bathroom."
"Yea, or just bring your elastic pants and hold the ish in."

They both started laughing at that one; and. though their comments were indeed funny, Flowerchild had said something that stood out.  "He does it every day."  Or at least for his colon's sake - I hoped he did.

So I chilled for a bit, and told myself that every dating interaction has those moments when the romance pauses for a second and allows real life situations play in.  I wasn't the only woman trying to cross this bridge, and most definitely wouldn't be the last.  Right?

"So, Bree" Southern Charm said, interrupting my thoughts. "Maybe you should get Boss a meal to go."

And just when I was about to perk up, Flowerchild said:

"Do you think he'd prefer the number 1 or the number 2?"

And I watched as they burst out laughing out all over again!

My Girl Has a Girlfriend...

Every woman regardless of age should have a girlfriend.  Unless, of course, she's a lesbian...

Last night my girlfriend called me three times after 11pm, left five voice mails (don't ask how), and showed up at my door before the sun had a chance to say "Saturday."

"Bree!"  She yelled, waking me up from a sleep that was so sexy, I had my pillow squeezed in between my knees.

"Bree, open up!"

Shutting my eyes further, I willed the high-pitched voice penetrating the walls of my front door to be that of Idris Elba or at least Jake Gyllenhal with his shirt off...

Unfortunately for me, the person standing on the other end of my eye crust and my front door, did not have Gyllenhal's chest or his man parts.

Womp.

"Girl, I called you." my girlfriend said bursting in with bagels in hot coffee.
"Ok."
"You didn't answer."
"Ok..."
"I said. You did not answer your phone."
"I said. Oh - kay...."
"Yea, well, what were you doing?"
"Dude!!  What the...!" 
"You STILL didn't answer my question."

Clearly, she was paying attention...

For a millisecond we glared at each other from across the room, with her contemplating  all the ways she could lecture me about calling folks back and me thinking about which was worst:

The fact that she had brought blueberry bagels (despite my allergy to fruit). Or, the fact that I had just noticed it was 6:15 in the morning...on...a....Saturday!

Girlfriends!

You can't live with them...and well, you can't find a boyfriend to replace them. So, as we sat there, squaring off over a open container of cold butter and coffee, I asked myself...

In DC, why is it so much easier to find a girlfriend than it is to lock down a boyfriend?

For all intents and purposes, Southern Charm was not-  in the truest sense of the word - my girlfriend.  I mean I hadn't done anything awkward like touch her tongue with mine, or sneak up on her in the shower!  But, she was my non-lesbian partner, who I loved deeply despite being in a serious but sometimes uncomfortable long-term relationship that started 5 years ago!    

I still remember how she and I had connected over a margaritas and man talk!  And, we had remained close throughout the years mainly because we shared a common interest that involved NOT being afraid to commit to simple things like...

keeping an appointment
going to see a chick-flick....

OR
....other people! 

...you know, all those things that men get anxiety issues over!

So I had pardoned Southern Charm for her lack of a penis, and applauded her for being the boyfriend I never had (in other words, a man who was in touch with his inner Oprah Winfrey)...

This was until....

My life changed. And, with those changes had come a slight shift in our interactions.  My Fridays were spent having a Netflix Night (R.I.P Blockbuster) without her, Saturdays were suddenly packed up with impromptu dinner dates without her, and Sundays were used to test out this thing I just realized existed in my kitchen: my oven!  Without Her!

In other words, something or someone was taking my girlfriend time away from Southern Charm.

As a result, I had gradually started receiving "where r u" texts from her at all hours of the day, 10 day advanced notices to schedule time with me, and now early morning visits with bagels I could not eat.

Clearly, while she was paying attention to me, I was not paying attention to her.

And being the good girlfriend that Southern Charm was, she had not yet called me out on acting like the bad boyfriend that she and I had pinky swore we would never ever date...

"Who is it?"  Southern Charm said, sounding a lot like she was expecting a "it's not me, it's you conversation."

But before I could answer her...I had to pause and think how this had happened:

How had a guy jockeying for the position of boyfriend, almost succeeded in trying to take my girlfriend's place?

Good Men Do Exist...

There are very few situations that will cause me to get down on two hands and knees in the middle of my apartment after 8pm on a Saturday night:

Money,

Moscato and...

Marc (Jacobs ;-) - but only because my ironing board is broken.

This past Saturday, however, two out of three rang true because somewhere between my trip to Bank of America and watching a boring episode of Football Wives on my couch, I lost a paycheck worth more than the one bedroom apartment I was paying to rent.  Now, generally, I do not get upset about losing something...because...well, I live in a 565 square feet of space...and nothing is never lost forever.

This time - however - the "lost something" was valued at about 20 Forever 21 shopping bags.  So, needless to say, I was in doggy position, flipping over couch cushions and heavy lifting bookcase with one hand WHILE bottle-palming Moscato white wine in the other...

I was angry...upset...irritated...

ashamed...and any other negative emotion that one can think of that begins with a vowel!

I really hate to lose something.


Correction!  I really hate to lose something that I know beyond a shadow of a doubt holds value. 
my job, my packcheck, my Seven for All Mankind high heel shoe...

As a single women, however, that previous list grows slightly.

In addition to fearing the loss of a job and a designer shoe...I also fear finding a GOOD MAN

Yes, finding (not losing) a good man....

Why? Because by finding him, there is always the threat that he may be lost  to some hoochie with a long weave, an ambitious lady with a big bum, or to a person wth higher stillettos than you named Chris(tina)...

Shortly after I lost my paycheck, I was drowning my sorrow in a glass full of grapefruit juice (read: no paycheck) at a DC networking event.  Not feeling up to doing the usual bait and switch to snatch a boyfriend with a business card...I had opted to do the unthinkable (as a single woman in DC)...which was NET-WORK (with NO INTENTIONS)...

It was during this time that I met some dude - whose face I didn't remember...but whose business card was quite impressive, and his handshake was grown man firm.  So. I emailed the next day thinking this guy is nice, employed in a sector that interests me, and "dang, it would be nice to buy me some catfish for lunch." 

I was hungry.

What I couldn't know - however - was that our first "business" email would transition step to finding out his zodiac sign, catapult into a digit exchange, land with me licking my lips at the sound of his voice on the phone, ...all before our "official" first date!

Who was this guy? I thought, who had Southern gentleman tendencies, big city boy aspirations, a sweet-tea smile and a sincerity that made me think good men do exist....

"Our Fri-date," he said "would answer all those lingering questions."

I waited a week in deep anticipation and intense premature nervousness, before our Fri-date arrived and he picked me up in a Hugo Boss suit, smelling faintly of Yves Saint Laurent...

What followed was the antithesis of an expectation...

Reservations at the Renaissance, flowers waiting on the table, a dinner discussion about all the uninteresting things old friends no longer care about, and an intimate moonlight stroll in a flower garden near the Gaylord.

It was during this time, he explained what my flowers meant...

Yellow for friendship, the foundation he hoped to build.
Red for romance, a promise of what was to come....and a....
Pastel Green vase, a nod to my favorite color.

"Are you spoiled?" he asked as he tickled my fingers and raised my ring finger to his lips.
"Nope." I said trying to keep it cool.
"After dating me, you will be.  I want to set the bar so high, no man will ever reach it."

Then he slid his arm in mine, and we slowly walked back to my Geo.

Jokingly I asked "Where'd you come from?  Do men like you even exist?"

He smiled.  "Sometimes..."

Our first date, our Fri-date, I felt was something I had never experienced...but it was an experience I had been unknowingly looking for in the climaxes of romance books and at the start of every fairytale...a man...no, a GOOD MAN who wasn't afraid to start with a "once upon a time..."

And after the shitty-key experience with Big Chocolate, the almost-never-counts experience with A Long Walk, and the failed pledging experience with My Crush...

I had stopped looking...for friendship, for love, for romance...until I stumbled into something that I had not been searching for...

A man who wanted to take charge of a situation and show me that two could possibly be better than one! 

A Boss...my Boss Boo...

I was happy...kinda...before that single woman doubt began to creep in....before I started asking myself ridiculously silly questions after an incredibly unbelievable first date...the first of which was:

In finding something so unbelievably good, how would I manage the fear of possibly losing it? 

When I got home, I placed my flowers on my coffee table and got down on my hands and knees to pick up a petal that had dropped to the carpet...

It was then that I found it....that which I had not been searching for...

Or rather, the piece of paper that had been playing hide-and-seek with me for two weeks now...my paycheck...and snatching it up I told myself that from this day forward:  I would never take for granted that which I deemed as valuable....again... 

Jezebel vs. Jessica Rabbit

A few weekends back (prior to meeting Lo (for loquacious)), I was forced to check my drivers license to make sure "Jezebel" didn't appear in front of my first name, Breanne.  You remember Jezebel, right?  The Biblical chick who misled and seduced the men of God to do horrible things, like have "sex."  I am so not her.  Partly, because my name begins with a "B" but mostly because I can't keep a straight face long enough to seduce any man, ever. 

I am that girl that giggles during a slow and slightly dirty dance and kills the mood.   I am the lady who walks a bit too fast in sexy stiletto heels.  I am the woman who covers up my "get 'em girl dress" with a trenchcoat in 80 degree weather in the middle of July. 

I am NOT a temptress, a seductress, a Marilyn Monroe, a Jessica Rabbit, and I am not a Jezebel.

So, on this night, I was wondering why my date was calling on Jesus for the fifth time even though he and I were seated on separate sides of his loveseat.  My guess was that he thought my toes - which were propped up on his lap - were getting dangerously close to his....um....bellybutton. 

Jesus had become the constant companion in our time together over the past five weeks of dating.  If a hug got too close, homie would yell "Praise the Lord."  If my bum brushed across the edge of his thigh, he would begin a rendition of Amazing Grace.  And if my goodbye kiss touched the edge of his lip, he would whisper "God is good."

All.
The..
Time...


Problem was.  I'm not a heathen-happy sinner!  I'm a 100% certified, Grade A, good girl, that doesn't have to subtract 10 and divide by 2 whenever a guy asks: "so how many men have you been with?" 

So...

I was confused when my date started treating me like I had a bad case of leprosy...and had to wonder had my good girl swagg gone stale? 

A phone call at 9pm that he took in the next "room," give me some much needed info....

I didn't catch all of the conversation, but I did hear him say "baby," "sweet angel" and "nothing."  Assuming I was the "nothing" he referred to in the latter part of his list, I waited until his whisper session was done and asked very loudly through the door....

"Was that Jesus on your main line?" before grabbing my Chloe bag and heading for the door.

My gut had told me that the game of church he was playing with me, coincided with the game of house he was playing with Virgin Mary': which apparently didn't include lounging on his love seat after the streetlights came on.

On the way back to my Geo, I  couldn't help asking myself was it possible to still be a 100% certified, Grade A, good girl in your 20's or was it smart to just "play" one on tv (hey Beyonce!).  I mean presumably, by the age of 24, a woman has swapped spit after midnight,  packed an overnight bag, and gotten a few miles out of her Victoria's secret stash.

Or...maybe Virgin Mary's still existed...

and Jezebel's were so 2001....

 

Better Than a $20 Hair Weave...

In the 8th grade, my mom conned me into thinking that a jheri curl was the next best hairstyle. 

Problem was. 

It was the late 90's, the film - Coming to America - was already ol' school, and the style required a 1/2 gallon of activator juice - daily! For one full year, I heard every Soul Glow joke EVER created, so you can imagine my excitement when my mom finally ordered my hair on a weave time out (which is the corner bad hair hairstyles go to get a better attitude)!

I still remember the 2 pounds of hair my mom bought, and how cute I felt after I swung 100% "glued-in" human hair over my shoulder.  It was like hair cuticle crack - and the only thing that could top this addiction was the fact that I found a woman to put it all in for $20.00!  

Since then, I've quit my weave-wearing addiction cold turkey...BUT.....I still have memories of how my $20 hair weave - RIP  - made me feel comfortable, confident, powerful and pretty!

No other experience compared to it....UNTIL...I met a guy who took 45 minutes to take me on a trip that should have only taken two (minutes, that is).  What this dude had, besides not enough money to get a GPS, was good conversation....and I liked it, which consequently made me like him....

Well...

Kinda.

I barely knew him.

I was - however - completely enamored by his words...

During our ride, he expressed himself to me in poetic form, challenging me to follow his flow as he encompassed me via a haze of non-sexual seductive adverbs, adjectives, nouns, and ACTION verbs....tempting the "good girl" in me to think very bad thoughts...about him!

And yet...none of his communications were of the post-coital (read: rated X) variety!

And he didn't just speak to me, because any loquacious (google it!) man can make silence look golden!  Just like any man can sign you up as a standby to a lone game of 20 questions (all about him), AND attempt to make his life seem more interesting than the Idris Elba's underoos scene in Takers (keyword: attempt).

This guy - however - was of a different variety.  He used his words as a deliberate, dialogue-inducing form of communication!

He couldn't have known this, but...ladies...his conversation was better than my ol' school $20 hair weave!

Well kinda...

At the very least, his conversation made me feel comfortable, confident, powerful and pretty. At the very most, I didn't have to drop two tens and cover my head every time a strong wind blew!

When we finally reached our destination, Sir Lo (for loquacious - google it!) leaned over - the soft, masculine scent of Armani Black permeating the small space between us - and said:

"I'm gonna make you like me." 

And maybe he was right...

Well...

Kinda...

I barely knew him.

But he could have had a point.  

If bad conversation could make one strongly dislike an individual, what were the possible side effects of a good conversation?  Was good conversation the starting point of something....well, something good? 

I didn't know for sure, but that was okay....because life is not a Facebook Status Update, I can't just like someone every 13 seconds...


His words - though - I was mesmerized by every 12 seconds into a 45 minute ride that should have taken only two (minutes, that is!)

Good Men In Short Supply

Even though I relocated to DC five years ago, I still ask myself why a tall woman like myself chose to live in a city where every man aspires to be an entrepreneur, an executive, and one inch taller than 5'4...

If I had to guess, I'd say I moved here because I dreamed of finding my intellectual soul mate in a city full of smart men.

What I didnt' expect to encounter were a city full of men with an angry case of Napoleon Complex, all of whom had an unquenchable desire to climb everything from the corporate ladder to a bar stool...the unofficial short man's high chair!

It's not that I don't love short guys!  Because I do (I mean I really do!) It's just that I was raised under the assumption that I should look up to my man!  My friends say it's the inner "height snob" in me that can't appreciate the fact that big things come in small packages.  But I know that it's really because I enjoy having dialogue in vertical positions without feeling the urge to rest my elbows on the top of my lover's head in rare moments of fatigue (or convenience).

If a good man is hard to find in DC, finding a tall man is even harder!!!


So what's a woman supposed to do in a city where you only have to be two inches past toddler height to get on the DC ride...

"You got to give them a chance!"  was my friend, Southern Charm's, answer.

Apparently, a few weeks ago Southern Charm had lucked up and found that rare man who had TOTALLY forgotten the ratio of women to men in DC is....

1 male to every 12,034 desperate and fashionably dressed women looking for any man that is...straight? (kinda)

Not only had she found this man, but he was also single (no kids), employed (legally), funny (not in a "heeeey boo" type of way) and Ivy-League!  If she and I hadn't been cool since before Palin copyrighted "you betcha," I would have hated her with the type of stank reserved for women who have been celibate for 2...long...

But I was happy for her....

Really I was...

(well kinda)

Until she started bragging about how he gifted her with Spanish love notes (and revealed their English meanings if she promised kisses), signed them up for joint Salsa classes (and practiced with her in private ;-), and synched their Google calendars (in order to make sure he made time to take time...just for her).

I was happy for her...

Really I was....

(well kinda)

"How tall is he?" I asked, while admiring the 4-inch pair of Jimmy Choos I had purchased for the purpose of casting "I Dare You" looks at the sea of microsized men at the event we were attending

Southern Charm smiled and responded, "Tall enough to ride this ride!"