On to the Next One...

Admittedly, I still lose focus on what (or who) exactly has true value.

Two days after my bad date with the Energizer Old Spice Guy and a few weeks after my attempt to seduce my Crush had failed, I found out that A Long Walk, the gentleman in whom I had shared a string of beautiful dates with, was: "in..a...relationship" on Facebook as of 72+ hours ago!

Now...usually, I am happy when people get "in a relationship" and make it all public!  And, it only becomes an issue when the name following "with"  is one that I hadn't expected.

In this instance, the name I expected to see was mine.  Well - not really - but still I didn't expect to see "hers." 

I felt shocked, upset, hoodwinked, bamboozled and led astray!

A Long Walk had a GIRLFRIEND!

Every fiber in my being wanted to be upset.  I mean, who was he to move...on...

I mean what happened to that in-between incubator space that kept "potentials" in layaway....

Who had broken into my personal Potential Man store and cashed in!

I suddenly had an ill case of nostalgia, carefully recalling how A Long Walk and I had gone to dinner and to late night movies. How A Long Walk had given me a piggy back ride at midnight while we leisurely strolled a college campus, hugged me with less than 2 inches in between, and massaged the invisible corn on my pinky toe while we watched a Jesus movie...

Didn't that make me a girlfriend-in-waiting...or at least loyal layaway option?

That was a rhetorical question, btw! Because of course, that did NOT make me anything but the girl a day late and a dollar short.  Or, the girl who had joined the losing team, and got T-K-Od by some other chick in the title fight.

So I grabbed my Blackberry - my Ride or Die - and dialed my girlfriend, Flowerchild.

"A Long Walk has a girlfriend," I shouted. "And it's not me!"

"Okay, sweetie," she said.

Did she really just say: Okay. OK. Oh-kay!

She, a woman born and raised in Long Beach - the hometown of Snoop Doggy Dogg, Mr. I'll Pop a Cap in You - was supposed to say something more gutter than that. Like:

"Fu*** His Frienship"

"Fu*** His Girlfriend"

"Fu*** Dating in DC"

Flowerchild quite obviously was in that East Coast "I-Have-a-Reputation-to-Protect-Right-Now" mode. So, I hung up and called Southern Charm.

And tried again...

"A Long Walk...is...gay!"

"Oh my gosh, sweetie. Forget him. You can do so much better."

I lied.  Obviously. But only for five minutes before I told her that a Long Walk wasn't gay, he was just taken.

I mean geez ladies, the romantic in me couldn't let go of how A Long Walk had slow danced with me in his room and fed me fruit roll-ups. Similarly, the realist had to get...well..."real."  A Long Walk had kicked me out minutes after I asked him to cuddle me for a night. What reality told me was that "said girlfriend" had to have been the reason for the expulsion, OR maybe (just maybe) I had been "just (another guy's) friend."

I was two seconds away from grabbing a cigarette and a lighter and burning my dresses in a Waiting to Exhale Fashion, embracing a new "one of the guys" persona and re-stocking my wardrobe with sports jerseys and cargo-cut jeans.

BUT

Then I remembered...in dating, nothing is official until you get that title.

Until he calls you his girlfriend, his wife, his jumpoff, or his best friend (almost like a sister!)...you are in that in-between space where he coulda, shoulda, woulda but doesn't really have to choose you.

So, while Southern Charm substituted every curse word with "dang" "shoot" and "butt," I politely excused myself...found Jay-Z's new hit and turnt (yes turn with a "t") it all the way up, represented for all my East Coast Single Ladies that didn't get the title...

On To the Next One...

...and decided to pay my layway and value what I have a little bit sooner next time...

Facebook Pimping & Sexy Status Updates

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I first employed the skill of "deception" the moment I grew tired of running down my 5th grade crush, jumping on his back, and getting mushed in my face as I attempted to give him a kiss.

I couldn't understand why my little boy crush was more amused with kicking rocks than kissing me! 

So, I abandoned back jumping in favor of a new approach.  If the boy was afraid of cooties, I would tell him that the answer to a cootie-free life was printed on the inside of my bottom lip. Eager to be cootie-less, the boy-in-question, would dive in to take a look and....VOILA...my first kiss would occur!

And, it did - in fact - happen that way.  He leaned in to take a look and I took my first kiss, and though the boy walked away with more cooties than he had before, I - all kissed up and happy - learned that persuasion yielded more results than force. 

Deception, I thought - or "the art of making false information seem real" - was the answer to never being mushed in my dainty, little, 5th grade face again.

I have since put the playground games to rest, opting instead to tackle another virtual realm of opportunity.  Enter: Facebook Status Update!  The method whereby women are able to convince unsuspecting boys (over 21) that they do things they actually do NOT...such as:  wash their cars and shave their armpits every other day.

My girls and I called it Facebook Pimping, the new playground ploy to get a kiss. 

For example, a woman didn't have to know the difference between a field goal and a three-point shot, as long as she updated her status every time "the game was on" (discreetly copying updates from her little brother's status).

SCORE!

Likewise, if she talked about boiling collards and frying chicken (even while she ordered Kung Fu chicken for delivery)...she could obtain instant comments and dating options in a matter of nanoseconds!  

Facebook Pimping - we dubbed it - the new, online equivalent of getting a man's attention WITHOUT hooker heels and a get 'em girl dress but via 180 characters in a small, white window.

On this particular day, I was bursting a few brain cells trying to figure out how I would pimp my Facebook status.... My current status had generated a measly 2 "likes" and 1 comment:

Bree is just getting home from work.
To which...
Flowerchild commented: But it's Friday, you're lame....

I was momentarily ashamed that my Friday's were never as interesting or acrobatic as Flowerchild's...

I scrolled through a few status updates and found Longwalk's....

Longwalk is home listening to old school Justin Timberlake and OD'ing on a few bag of skittles.
He was probably scratching his balls, texting and watching Family Gay.
I left a comment, anyway....Save me a skittle :-)

Next was...

Big Chocolate...ya'll boys just left with a car full of boys, but me I left the party with a dime. you know how Big Chocolate get's down...

Starfish69 Jones Commented: thanks for gettin' it right last night, boo

Big Chocolate Replied: anytime "mama."

I guess Big Chocolate had found a place to shove his "pretty, shitty key" after all.

It seemed like everyone had a facebook gimmick but me...so I tried a few...

Bree is looking for a good reception to attend.

No Likes, No Comments

Bree is dowloading Janet Jackson's "I Get Lonely"

No Likes, No Comments

Bree wants at least 1 of her 400 friends to comment on her status

To Which...
Flowerchild Commented: WTF, Bree. It's Friday! Get out of the house!

Bree at this point was wondering if Flowerchild was having so much fun, why the heck was she all up on (yes allupon <-- one word) my Facebook page...I posted again....

Bree is putting on the mini dress and stiletto heels. 

(Then I changed my profile pic to me wearing a dress from BeBe that was 14 inches above my knee and had a neckline that was on a serious quest to meet my bellybutton)
22 Likes, 17 Comments (and counting)

I felt momentarily triumphant, as my tata's stared back at me from my Facebook picture.  Then I had a "WTF am I doing?" moment and realized I had officially become the newest DC Madame and pimped myself.  I quickly took down the picture and deleted the update. 

If I had to get a man by utilizing the art of deception, than what type of "pimps up, ho's down" game would I have to employ to keep him?

I went for a safer status update instead....

Bree is learning to be 100% myself.   I am me.  Take it or leave it.

I got 1 like and 1 comment, surprisingly from the guy in the 5th grade who had me eating concrete until I convinced him to look inside my bottom lip.  But now, one degree and 15 years later, he was smarter than the little boy of yesterday.  He had moved past kicking rocks to reading books like the one he had listed: Think and Grow Rich!

I sent him a message....

hey you, it's the former cootie queen! i just finished reading Think & Grow Rich!! hit me back if you're interested in chatting about it.

If Facebook Pimping could be defined as attracting attention in 180 characters or less.  I had successfully accomplished this goal MINUS the hook 'em girl heels and get 'em girl dress and still managed to keep it all the way 100% me!

...........

Become a Fan of Dating in DC on Facebook by joining the site here!

Let's Talk About Text

Cinco de Mayo marks the day when Mexicans unexpectedly defeated the French in a battle over territory and a misunderstanding.  This victory was of particular note, partly because the French had more troops, more technology, and more training.  The Mexicans - however - had conviction...and they used this to pursue a unexpected victory, surprising everyone but themselves...

On this holiday, I was fighting a small war of my own. 

A Long Walk and I had been texting almost daily, and I do mean "just" texting. 

I would wake up to a cute little message from him:  "GOOD MORNIN' BREE-BREE."  Then spend a full 8 hours communicating with him in a series of LOLs, LMBOs, OMGs, and BRBs at work.  After quitting time - without fail - Long Walk would text a WADDUP BREE-BREE, in which I would reply later via gchat.  This would ultimately lead to another few hours long conversation littered with SMHs, J/Ks and a series of emoticons :-) :-( :-? :-/

No matter how many times I called to hear his voice, and to experience the pleasant enjoyment of actually hearing the sound behind a LOL, he would not answer....

Instead I would get his voicemail...

WTF?

Who did Long Walk think he was, anyway? 

A walking version of the Motorola Qwerty Board!

Against my better judgment,  I called him and I left a long, acronym free message demanding he call me back, as in (use the phone), as in (channel Alexander Graham Bell), as in (open your God-given mouth) and put away his fingers and talk to me...

Minutes later I received a text....WADDUP BREE BREE!

SMH!

Chat-induced, text-crazed, electronically-challenged bad, bad, bad words exploded out of my mouth...I couldn't understand why A Long Walk preferred to communicate in person or via a computer...

I wondered...

In the age of tweeting, Facebook updates, Myspace pages, Gchat, MSN messenger, BBM Chatting and Texting, had the simple art of verbal communication been lost?

I decided to unwind over a margarita on the rocks at Alero - a local Mexican restaurant in DC - with my girl, Flower Child.

Hundreds of young, inebriated (read: drunk), young professionals had descended into the venue that night, eager to be one of the lucky few to get a free taco or two.  Because of the festive spirit and the complimentary food, it's wasn't uncommon to see 250lb. dudes in a Gucci Suits wearing Movado watches, elbowing petite blondes out of the way in order to get a few 4 inch chicken tacos.

Add 1/2 price margaritas...and

Es un Partido! (It was a party)

When I arrived, Flower Child was at the bar chatting it up with several guys, hustling them for a free drink. Flower Child never pays for anything.  She greeted me with an air kiss on both cheeks while casually winking at two men that were checking us out.

"What about Baldy (her current love interest)?" I whispered.

"Baldy who?"  She shoved me behind her, beckoning the two gentleman to come over.

While she jointly entertained them, I stepped away to get a few tacos (thank God there seemed to be a few left)...and checked my phone...

Long Walk: R U MAD @ ME BREE BREE

To which I replied: Y CAN'T U CALL?

I elbowed a few eager and starved looking young professionals out of the way, and returned to where Flower Child was, having successfully secured 6 tacos on a plate. 

It wasn't even 12 seconds before the short, round, dimple-cheeked guy that Flower Child was not cooing to approached.  He reminded me of the Pillsbury Doughboy.

We exchanged introductions, before I felt my phone vibrate:

Long Walk: DONT B MAD BREE, U KNO I'M NOT A FONE PERSON. BUT I LIKE U. DONT ACT LIKE WE DONT TLK. WE DO!

Frustrated, I turned my attention back to Pillsbury.  He was talking about his long day, how he had worked hard, how he had missed lunch, while casting desperate eyes at my taco plate.  I shoved one in my mouth to let him know the plate was still there.  My phone vibrated again:

Long Walk:  I TLK TO U MORE THAN N E ONE ELSE. DONT BE MAD. WRK WITH ME BREE!

I shoved the phone deeper into my pocket, and looked at Pillsbury.  He wasn't that bad looking.  He had all his teeth, pretty skin, and hungry-looking little eyes.  I decided to push the taco plate between us.  Want One? I asked... Pillsbury's little pudgy fingers dived into the plate scooping up two tacos in a single grasp.

Impressive.  At least, I thought so?  As I watched him attempt a flirtatious smile, with a large amount of lettuce and taco sauce dripping down his cheek, I felt my phone vibrate again...

Long Walk: I TLK 2 U 8HRS @ WORK, 2HRS @ HOME, 1HR B/T WORK & HOME. THATS 11HRS A DAY.  I TLK 2 U MORE N E ONE ELSE.  LETS COMPROMISE.

So, Long Walk could add whole numbers.  I was proud of him, but wasn't convinced.

I told Pillsbury, I would give him another taco, if he gave me advice about my "friend" who was having a texting issue with a guy she kinda liked.  I could almost see the the Taco Bell dog materialize out of nowhere barking "Si, Si"...."Yes, Yes."  Shoving the plate at him once more, I quickly told my story while he bit, chewed and swallowed.  His advice was simple: tell him what I like, and agree to compromise.  He said eleven hours was a long time to be talking to one chick each day.

I grabbed my phone and typed:  I LIKE THE PHONE.  YOU LIKE TO TEXT.  LETS COMPROMISE 2NITE.  CALL ME!

The phone buzzed back immediately.

It was Long Walk: CALL YOU 2NITE.  9PM.

Victory!  I turned around to hug Pillsburry and poke him in his cute, little round stomach.  But Doughboy was gone, along with my taco plate!

SMH

I looked over at Flower Child, who being drinkLESS, had resorted to sharing the margarita of the gentleman she was pressed up against, casually taking long, leisurely sips each time he turned around to look for Pillsbury. 

It was getting late, closer to 9PM.  I wanted to be home to get this call.

My phone buzzed...


A Long Walk:  CANT WAIT 2 TALK @ 9 :-) MISS YOU, BREE, BREE! THINKING ABOUT U, 2!

I smiled, totally recognizing the odds had been against me.  A Long Walk had been right, he had exhausted all forms of electronic communication to talk to me daily: Facebook, GChat, Text Message, etc.  Logically, his argument made sense;  there were more non-verbal ways to communicate than verbal.  But I knew what I wanted, a man who would appreciate hearing the sound of my voice every day....

Technically, I had won this battle...

But I was still willing to offer a peace treaty...

I texted him back:  THX 4 THINKING ABOUT ME, TLK TO U SOON :-)

Busboys and Bad Dates?

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Washington, DC is filled with achievers.  For every entrepreneur, there is a corporate player.  For every socialite, there is a social blogger.  In other words, for every interest there is person that is interested.  Given this fact, locating a good networking event is simple, but finding a good date is bit more complex.  It requires more than the exchange of a business card, or the follow-up of a Facebook Friend request.

So, when good dates finally occur, it's like finding a Four Leaf Clover...the participants can't believe their luck...and they don't want the good date to end...BUT...the ending is exactly what they anticipate, for it generally determines how good that particular date actually was.

For example...

If the date concludes with the guy sweetly kissing your forehead...walking you back to your door....but he does NOT ask to come inside...you can bet that he will rush home and count down the minutes when his free minutes kick in and he can call you after 9pm...

On the other hand...

If he begins with a church hug (leaving space for Jesus), closes the gap with a bear squeeze, and slowly begins massaging his fingertips in your fresh hair weave...he'll call you...but probably 30 minutes after he dropped you off...to ask you if it's alright to "come back over and upstairs for coffee."

The elusive first date, and the even more elusive "good ending"...is hard to find, but when it's found...it's like finding the gold-filled pot at end of a rainbow...

Somewhere Near the Waterfront...

I met A Long Walk at his place. Generally, I am not a fan of the "come over my house so we can chill" date, but he had coerced me by promising an abundant supply of fruit roll-ups and bottomless bag of potato chips (both of which are my guilty junk food pleasures).  When I arrived, his smile was just as bright as I remembered and he was holding a great big bag of UTZ Salt N Vinegar...mmmmm....
Ripping the bag open and plopping down on one lone chair at his dining room table, I watched as A Long Walk eyed me, beckoning me to join him on the couch...but...A Long Walk was SOL, because  I know what happens when two, grown, hormone-affected, young people start eating potato chips on comfy couches.  I was perfectly happy with sitting alone with my potato chip bag.

Or, was I?

A Long Walk looked so dang satisfied on that couch, with his long, muscular legs spread out, leaving plenty of room to for me to fit in between....


Meanwhile....at Busboys and Poets on the other side of town....

Flower Child was applying bright ruby red lipstick to her full lips, and preparing to return to the dinner table with Baldy.  Flower Child had met Baldy several years ago while working as a receptionist. Baldy had been the youngest director at the firm, exceptionally brilliant, tirelessly ambitious, and engaged...to a woman with all the characteristics of Betty Crocker and Aunt Jemima combined.

Not one to sweat the competition, Flower Child - who hated anything remotely domestic - began making herself  "available."  If  Baldy needed someone to proof an email, Flower Child would  be "available" to read the message while lightly brushing her breasts across his knuckles on the keyboard.  If Baldy was headed to a meeting, she would be "available" to adjust his necktie - casually running her finger up and down his chest.

For her, it was only logical that she had played a tremendous role in the news that Baldy revealed two weeks before his resignation: he was breaking off his engagement.

Tonight, as she was headed back to the dinner table, in a skin tight leopard-print dress and 5 inch, black leather heels, she knew just what to do make herself "available" one last time...

Near the waterfront....

The Jackson 5 movie was blaring, and I had been coerced out of my seat to dance to "I Want You Back."  The sound was on high, and A Long Walk was doing the moonwalk around me as I giggled moving my hips to the rhythm.  He took my hand twirled me around, hip bumped me, then dipped me low before we both fell on the couch laughing hilariously at how silly we had just looked.

"You're really light on your feet, Bree."

I had to admit, I liked the way he said my name.

I smiled, trying to catch my breath. Then he got up, turned off the television and clicked on Michael Jackson's "You Are Not Alone."

"Can I have this dance?" he said.

At Busboys...

Flower Child was listening intently...nodding, smiling and laughing at appropriate intervals as Baldy talked about his career, meeting appointments, and networking events.  Then, the conversation moved to why his engagement had ended. While he talked about his ex-fiance's need to spend more time, total disregard for his hectic schedule, and her need for more intimacy, Flower Child softly interjected with...

"that bitch" ...
"unbelievable" ...and...
"shame on her"   

When the check came, Flower Child got up and stood behind Baldy, slowly rubbing his head, massaging the sides of his neck and squeezing his shoulders in slow, circular motions.

"You're a good man Baldy,"  her hands slid down to his chest. "You deserve to have a woman who really understands you."

Back on the Waterfront...

A Long Walk's hand moved up and down the small of my back, as we rocked slowly back and forth to the music, methodically, and in tune with the beat.  The streetlights around his place were few and far between, so his apartment was dark except for the lights on his stereo and a lone table lamp.

When the music ended, we settled on the couch as another song began to play.

I rested underneath the crease of his arm and we sat there sharing blueberry fruit roll-up and talking about our funniest memories associated with Michael Jackson songs...then the clock chimed MIDNIGHT...

Knowing my empty apartment held nothing but time and opportunity to remember the broken relationship with my ex. I turned to A Long Walk and said:

"Can I stay over here tonight?"

At Busboys....

Flower Child and Baldy strolled out the restaurant, her hand was resting softly on his forearm and his hand was boldly rubbing her backside.

She smiled up at him as they approached his car.

"I guess this is good bye," she said.

"It doesn't have to be; what are you doing tonight?" he pulled her close pressing her tightly against his body...

Flower Child suddenly felt a strong urge to sip and share a Starbucks Chai Latte...and following him back to his car, she was happy that she had done her kegels and packed a toothbrush.

Near the Watefront...

A Long Walk rose from the couch and pulled me close to him, kissing me lightly on the top of my forehead before reaching for his shoes.

 "What are you doing?" I asked.

"I'm about to walk you to your car, Bree. I can't trust myself around you, so I'll have to respectfully decline your offer to spend the night."

...
...


Wow!  Just Wow!....

....
....

Two different dates.
....
....
....
Two different endings.
....
....

Flower child was putting her kegel practice to good use, and I was humming "You Are Not Alone" on my drive back to my apartment complex.

Had my date with A Long Walk really been that "good?"

Or, would I be one of those single women in DC who thought she had just experienced a "good date," only to find out that her four-cleaf clover was missing a petal? 

Time could only tell...

Happy Endings

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America...land of the free, home of the brave...land of happy endings, and home of the happily ever afters. I may have spent my teens being a tomboy, but as a little girl, I was raised on the stories of Cinderella, Snow White, Sleeping Beauty, and Rapunzel.

These fictional but incredible women were always beautiful, impeccably dressed, effortlessly successful, and without a doubt always got their Price Charming at the end. Throw a few vertically challenged men with outrageous personalities, animals that speak like humans, and little people with wings and magic wands...and you have yourself a good story.

Twenty-something years later, I have put my childhood story books away, but I sometimes still wonder if fairy tales are folklore meant for children, or if as an adult you can really have a happily-ever-after ending?

I saw my ex for the first time in almost a month when he stopped by to return my things. He walked in carrying my belongings in a white, trash bag. Four years of constant sleepovers, weekend visits, and casual Sundays sharing our thoughts about politics and prose were being returned in a bag used to dispose of waste. We talked a bit about why we weren't a good fit for one another, and about the love that we still shared. We both knew it was over, but when it was time for him to leave, I had this overwhelming urge to ask him to stay.

He kissed my forehead, kissed me on the lips, and held me while I cried.

How does one say good-bye to an individual that had been a friend (and an enemy), a lover (and a fighter), a confidante (and a pain in the neck), and a fixture in my life for so long?

I couldn't find the strength to physically let him go. I wanted him to hold me forever and promise me that we, us, our love didn't have to end.

I was holding on to him, because physically, emotionally and metaphorically, I just could not let him go...

So, he let me go...and left me standing the doorway of my apartment tears gently falling on a small trash bag containing evidence of our past together.

There wouldn't be a happy ending for our story.

My phone rang...and stopped.

My phone rang again...and stopped again.

My phone rang yet again...and I saw it was a A Long Walk calling...

And though I probably shouldn't have picked up, I didn't want to be alone in that moment.

We chatted about the trivial things like "how was my day," "how was life," "how was the weather," but avoided the obvious question, "why he hadn't called after our first date."

Then, he mentioned he detected a hint of sadness in my voice.

Knowing I wouldn't risk alienating his interest since his interest was nonexistent, I told him about my ex, giving him details about my life with him.

He listened, and offered encouraging words. He was non-judgmental, patient, and sounded sincere when he said if I needed someone to talk to as I healed that he would want to be there. Then, he told me he would  take off his penis, if I needed him too...

...

...

...

...


After a moment of uncomfortable silence, and after taking a few seconds to figure out if that was biologically possible, I simply replied, "Thank You."

He chuckled and said, "do you want to know what that means?"

I didn't.  I mean, I really didn't.

Unfortunately for me, he continued. "By telling you that I would take my penis off," I held my breath, terrified to hear what was next, he continued, "I meant that you could call me and male bash your ex and all the other sorry men that did you wrong and I wouldn't say a word!"

Relief.

Sweet, sweet, sweet relief.

I was glad to know that A Long Walk didn't put his penis in a box every night before he went to sleep. At the same time, I was even more elated that he was willing to try and understand the foreign language that was girl talk.

Though still hurting from my ex's departure, I hung up with a smile on my face.

My second phone call with A Long Walk didn't involve casting him in the role of Prince Charming,  but A Long Walk had inadvertently played an integral part as a very important character, a character that I needed during the difficult process of stepping out of the past and into an uncertain future. This character was: A Potential Friend.

Maybe fairy tales do exist. Maybe this phone call was a Happy Ending in disguise.

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....

Fireworks and Freedom

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The first connection with an individual after a prolonged disconnect is like a fireworks display on the Fourth of July.  It brightens a dark place, in a wonderfully spectacular way.  It captures your attention and beckons you to concentrate, because you just might miss that next big burst of fabulousness...

I recently ended a long term relationship with someone I care about deeply. He was my best friend, my confidante, my lover, and my hang buddy!  The sudden disconnect that occurred shortly after the break, was comparable to being handed a million dollars after living on minimum wage for years.  What does one do with it?  How does one spend it?  How can one become responsible with this newly established financial freedom.

Freedom. 

FREEdom!

FREEDOM!!

Freedom sounds extremely sexy in a bad relationship, enticingly grand in a horrible marriage, and tantalizing simple to the single woman or man looking to have "fun."

Towards the end of my relationship, I thought having freedom would be a seductive force that drove me to experience that which I had been missing.  I conjured up images of going to nightclubs in my freakum dress, sipping apple martinis at the hottest lounge, testing my Washington Post IQ at DC networking events, and enjoying peace and quiet at home on my couch with pint of pineapple sorbet.

After the break-up, however, I found myself with a heightened awareness of self.  I had all this time, all this silence, all these thoughts, and every thing, every instance, every circumstance reminded me of the ex. 

I had loved him for four years, but he was ready to walk away.

So, I had to let him go....or take the Jasmine Sullivan approach and bust some windows out his car!!!

Lucky for my ex I have a reputation to protect....


My experience with A Long Walk - for me - was like a Fourth of July fireworks display.   Our outing at Lauriol Plaza was a peep into what could be; it was a beautiful connection that eliminated the depressing thoughts of being disconnected from my ex.

So as I watched A Long Walk's number flash on my caller ID, afraid to look eager by answering, but anxious to hear why he had not called,  I realized I had high expectations for a man that I had just met but didn't really know.

I had allowed A Long Walk to enter into a space of intimacy that should have been reserved for someone that made it beyond just a first date.

He should have called if he had an interest....

...BUT his not calling should not have made a difference in the daily function of my life.

Like a fireworks show, he was a beautiful and transient experience.  Fabulous for a space in time, but not meant to last forever. 

I let the phone ring to voicemail.

Dating in DC continues with Basketball and Baldheaded Men...make sure to leave your mark and post a comment!


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

How to Date in Tennis Shoes and Stiletto Pumps

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There are many ways to have a first date after being in a long term relationship: nervously, apprehensively, fabulously, and in such a way that it makes your toes curl, heart flutter, breath stop and eyes close slowly…in simple…and…undeniable bliss! I had that type of first date with a gentleman I met at “networking” happy hour in the District.

Our meeting was nothing special. We exchanged names, cities of birth, why we moved to DC, our current occupations and volunteer projects.

Then, he made a joke and though I can’t remember it, I remember the way his laugh made his whole face brighten. When at first I saw a potential Facebook Friend…after seeing his smile….I imagined a probable dinner buddy with the perfect row of bright white teeth.

We conversed a bit more and exchanged business cards, the equivalent of getting a “phone number” written on a torn piece of paper back in the early 90’s.

He emailed. We coordinated Google calendars. We met on the roof deck of Lauriol Plaza!

Sharing chips, guacamole, soft tacos and pica de gallo, we enjoyed the warm but muggy breeze! I didn’t even think about the ruining my fresh press and curl!

It was like those lyrics in a Jill Scott’s song, A Long Walk….where she swoons about conversation, verbal elation, stimulation, relaxation, and elevation….

Over a glass of swirl we connected, and left our representatives behind as we delved deep into each other backgrounds and interests. And after he paid the check, we strolled to the nearest metro arm in arm, slightly tipsy from our marguerites.

Then…

We took it step further and exchanged cell phone numbers ….

I was elated!

No, I was ecstatic....until....

Seven days passed without a phone call! I tried not to sweat it. Tried to play it cool, tried to act like it didn’t matter. Tried to pretend like maybe we didn’t have THAT much of a good time. Tried a few superstitious stunts to “make the phone ring” like…put the phone on silent and focus on “other things”…delete his phone number so as not to be tempted to call him…and hide the cell phone under my bed at night...out of sight, out of mind!

The phone still didn’t ring!

I had spent less than four consecutive hours with the guy in question, but yet he had dominated over 168 hours of my head space – more or less.  

Had I thought I could pick up with A Long Walk, where I had left off with my ex?

Was I expecting to fill the the space of time spent with my ex over the course of years, with an individual I had only just met.

I didn't even know dude's middle name, who his kinfolk were, if  he preferred paper or plastic, if he scratched his balls in order to relax, or if he secretly wore superman pajamas to bed at night....which might be a deal breaker since I am a self-proclaimed Batman fan.

During our hypothetical long walk, we had yet to start the race to coupledom and as a result were no where near the finish line.  In fact, our date was similar to a warm-up.  We had gone through the stretches, calisthenics, and deep breathing exercises in order to decide if the race was worth running.

I had showed up to participate, he hadn't.

So, I took my cute little Nine West encased foot off the starting line and left the track….and just when I had resolved to find a new running buddy...

A Long Walk Called….

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

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