The Big City Superwoman

I didn’t truly believe in superheroes until I moved to DC six years ago. 

Don’t get me wrong!  I could enjoy a Superman or Batman movie with the most dedicated of comic book fans…oooh-ing as Batman overpowered six men with a gadget he pulled from the his uber-trendy batbelt….

However, I couldn’t really believe these guys actually existed until I moved to the District and was introduced to an elite group of ruthlessly ambitious, sharply educated, unrelentingly aggressive, and fabulously dressed…superwomen.

These women were unique brand of bio woman who had fearlessly gone to war with the old boys network (and won), busted a big wide hole in the glass ceiling (without breaking a nail), and overcome a system that favors neckties (over Nine West).   

And Ms. Diva – the shortest friend in my network of homegirls but the one designated as having the largest ambition – was a part of this exclusive sorority. 

She was deputy director over a government agency, managed a staff of 75 people, sat on a Fortune 500 Board, traveled every other month to broker deals internationally, and was under the age of 30…

She was what most young boys wants to be, and what  most old men had never been….a woman equal to a man, and relentlessly aggressive....

Dating in DC had been an interesting rollercoaster ride for Ms Diva who was constantly meeting gentleman who thought they wanted a Bonnie to their Clyde…

Cue Jay-Z and Beyonce.... "all I need in this life of sin, is me and my girlfriend...down to ride to the very end, is me and my...”

What these men really wanted, though, was a Stewart…as in Martha Stewart…or a stay-at-home,  raise-my-kids, support-my-endeavors, but don’t-get-a-job type of woman…

Ms. Diva was about her business, and bake sale didn't make her short list…

So she settled on spending intimate nights with her Macbook, stroking the keyboard lightly with her fingertips, and gazing longingly at the screen wishing  - like Geppetto did Pinnochio - that her computer was a "real boy!"

Her computer - unlike most DC men - was unimpressed with her ambition and unaffected by her drive.  So she decided to take her relationship to a deeper level, decided to use her Macbook to assist her with stripping herself of her identity, undressing any title association with her name, and connecting herself with a profile on a hook-up website that only asked two questions, what's your screen name and how do you look?

In which she responded...

Username: PintSizedPrincess69

And then she had posted nude pictures and sat back as the responses rolled in.  Initially, she enjoyed meeting  nameless men who were outside of her DC network, and who were able to introduce her to the most discrete locations around DC until....

....I got a midday phone call...

"I'm late." she hissed into the phone. 

"To what?"

"My funeral." she shouted sarcastically.  "What the heck do you think, Bree! This hook-up shit has got me caught up."

An hour later, I tried to be patient as she snatched the paper bag out my hand containing two pregnancy tests…tried to be calm as she sat on her toilet smoking cigarettes and sipping a Corona as we watched carefully for one pink line or two….AND tried to ignore the desperation in her voice as she recounted how after about 25 sexual experiences the condom had broken on the 26th time....

The test  results came back 10 minutes later...

...and Diva pulled up her pants, adjusted her tailor-made Gucci suit, and pitched her cigarette in the toilet and flushed…

“So, what are you gonna do?” I asked…

“Bree, I can’t think about this shit right now.  It’s already 5:00, and I got a 5:30 dinner meeting.”

As I watched Diva walk out of her bathroom, I couldn’t help but wonder why none of the SHEROES – Superwoman, Wonderwoman, or Catwoman - ever had a man…

In wanting to succeed at the highest level, and in pursuing that which the average man wasn’t able to achieve, would Ms. Diva be forced to make a decision no man would ever be forced to make?

Could Diva still be a heroine with a baby in tow?

Basketball and Bald Headed Men

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People always guess incorrectly when attempting to identify the sport I loved most as a little girl. Inevitably, they say something girly like: "combing my barbie doll's hair," "playing dress-up" or "skipping."  All of which are cute, but none of which are the sport I loved most: basketball.  As a girl, I loved to put on a dirty pair of sneakers, long nylon shorts, a Chicago Bulls jersey and play street ball with the neighborhood boys.  The guys would never take it easy on me, often throwing their weight at me while going up for a rebound, passing the ball with extra force, or shoving me out of the way to dive for a stray ball.  I learned a lot during these games, the most important of which was, basketball is generally a team sport.  Though I could perform at the highest level, my greatest plays could only be achieved with the help of the other four players on the court.

Some of the basic fundamentals one learns in team sports, can totally be applied to the dating world!  

You can play the game one-on-one, BUT it's best to have a team of people who understand exactly what - in this case, "the who" -  you're trying to win.

So when I decided to leave A Long Walk alone,  I called up some of the players on my home team:

My Girls - Melinda (a.k.a - Ms. Diva); Anne (a.k.a - Southern Charm); and Tiffany (a.k.a - Flower Child)

My Boys - Bob and Chris

More specifically, I texted my boys and told them I was back on the market and asked if they had any single friends.  Ten minutes later they replied: Happy Hour at DC Bar - 7pm - Let's Play Hitch.

Bet!

I suited up (but this time in stilettos and a tight black dress) and arrived ready for:


The Game Plan - which involved Bob and Chris picking a guy at the bar, lingering in the background as I introduced myself, and then providing pointers on how to improve my game (if i needed to improve my game).

Sipping the last of my strawberry mojito, I spotted a 6'4, copper-colored, bald-headed, young professional man in a black business suit and cautiously approached him, carefully surveying the court for other female players....And as I got closer, I realized Baldy and I had previously met.

Score!

But wait....time out....upon further revaluation...I realized that homeboy looked a little too familiar.   Matter of fact, I had met him at a cookout a few months ago when my girl, Flower Child, mentioned that they had connected.


He was still cute, though, and I figured if I could determine the type of "connection" he shared with my friend than he and I could proceed.

So, I was back in the game....

I decided to mention her name in the middle of asking about his day and watch for signs of recognition (i.e. "So how's your day been (dramatic pause)...seen a Flower, lately?)...nothing.

Then, I dropped her name a second time, while talking about the weather (i.e. Gee, it's really nice outside (extra dramatic pause, just for effect)....perfect weather to...perhaps...see a Flower?)...nothing.

As a last resort, I just got direct with him.  "Hey Baldy, do...you...know...Flower?"

He gazed at me with a blank stare and with zero recognition.  Slightly annoyed with him, I  began spewing out her hair color, defining her skin tone, and describing her physical build.

He looked down for a second, and vaguely acknowledged they "may" have met.

SCORE!

But then there was silence...awkward, uncomfortable, "grab your cosmetic mirror check from your purse and check for lipstick stains on your teeth" silence.


I heard myself say:  "She's my friend." (Silence) "I work with her on a project." (Silence) "She still lives in the area." (Silence)


Pulling out my business card, I told him I might need a man like him to assist with the project involving Flower Child and myself...then slowly walked away...and...NOT because I was trying to show him my "get 'em" girl walk but because Bob and Chris were glaring at me from the sidelines with the stank eye.

You mentioned Flower's name entirely too much, Bob, who's a teacher, lectured!


"But!" 

More than 90% of the conversation involved describing another woman, said Chris, the wannabe accountant (hence the percentage). 

"But I was trying to..."

If the conversation is about business, make it about business, I could almost swear a lectern materialized out of nowhere as Bob continued.  If the conversation is personal, keep it personal.  Who the heck cares about a work project, if ya'll are just talking weather?

"Damn."

I called a time out. Ordered another strawberry mojito.  He might email, I thought.  Maybe. Especially since it was obvious he hadn't "connected" to Flower in an intimate manner. 

Either way, there are no tears in contact sports!  I picked myself up, reviewed the failed play in my head, suggested to Bob and Chris that we try again at another bar, and shouted to the waiter....

CHECK PLEASE!

You can't win, if you don't play.

I was determined to get back in the game.

Dating in DC continues with Dating vs. Drowning...make sure to leave your mark and post a comment!


And...watch for a new post every Wednesday....