As a realist, I am willing to admit that I am very awkward when it comes to dating.  By dating, I do actually mean going on dates with men I hardly know; I get really weird about it (I realize how strange that is considering the life I lead).  While being recently forced back into the dating scene, I started reminiscing on the last time I “got back out there.”  When I remembered this Hell Date, I could do nothing but laugh to myself, so of course I have to post it!

Ok, so the story begins the same night when I met Honest Abe, ran into Dufus for the first time outside of school (in night time gear), and had the falling out with Siren.  Before any of that happened, Siren spent that Friday afternoon trying to convince me to go to the club with her and this guy she spent the night with.  At the time, I was a shell of a person and had not been going out much socially.  Siren had a little pep-chat with me, that actually worked, and I decided, what the hell, I was in.  While we were pre-gaming with a bottle of Belve like we normally did, I came up with the personal plan to see how many numbers I could get.  With a plan in motion, I put on the slinkiest dress I owned, let my hair down, and drank my last cup of confidence (the Belve).

SN:I will leave most of the nights events withn the other 3 posts that are related, Honest Abe, Class Act, and Womance.

We all arrived at the club, and I proceed to execute my plan.  Well, I kept the confidence a-flowing, and I got pretty full of myself that night; in short, I was wasted.  The next morning, I looked at my phone, and I had a slew of new numbers, new contacts, and TOO many messages! I weeded through the potentials, and discarded what I wasn’t interested in.  That left roughly 3-5 men that I was in the “getting to know you” talks with.  I got two of them confused, I realized that when I showed up at the date.  I had the right names for the wrong people, I was not that disappointed, but I was left wondering what it would be like if I was on the same date with who I thought it would actually be.  I am getting a bit ahead of myself now because this next subject is of major importance-my shoes.

On the night of the date with Sgt. (Sergeant), I was absolutely unmotivated to go.  I had partied all night the night before, and I was still hurt by 6:00 the night after.  I eventually got my shit together around 7:00, as I was to meet him for dinner at 9:00.  I chose to wear a teal snakeskin cardigan, a black pencil skirt with lace insets up the thighs, and a pair of black patent leather black wedge ankle booties.  I love this pair of shoes so much, that I also have a pair of blue snakeskin wedge booties just like them by the same designer.   However, the shoes don’t come without consequence, I have to walk VERY carefully, in fact, I cannot walk in them at all, they require a meticulous strut.  I am the first to admit that I am clumsy, I am the most accident person I know! I fall A LOT, and when I am wearing either pair of those shoes, I feel as though a fall or trip is inevitable-that would probably stop most for wearing the shoes, but let’s not pretend I’m not crazy.  I let him choose the restaurant, and I had totally forgotten that Premo works there, Awkward!  I decided not to think about that, and hope that I don’t run into him.  I call Sgt. to let him know I was walking in, and he met me at the door.  Ok, I was wearing 5 inch heels which makes me 6’1, but Sgt. came up to my upper ribcage!!!!!!!!!! He did have a cute face though, and I was already there, thus we continued with the date.  When we sat down, he asked how tall I am, to which I replied.  Then he commented on my shoes, and asked how I walk in them, to which in my reply I told him that I was born in heels; but that I fall all the time in the ones I had on.  He then continued to tell me that I looked too pretty to be falling down, and that he would catch me (yeah, right).  During the date, I learned that he was a “US Marine, from Chicago byway of Mississippi.”  He was VERY much into his career, and EXTREMELY straight edge-which I have the UTMOST respect for, but I am just not their type, nor are they mine.

SN: I was SUPER high when I got there.

SN:I laugh hysterically when I get nervous.

Upon finding this information out, I was even more disappointed; but he was nice and charming, so I just rode with it and tried to make the best out of it.  Then, Premo walked out of the kitchen (our table was next to the door to the kitchen), and he saw me.  I smiled and laughed uncontrollably as I introduced him and my date.  My date started looking at me weird, and asked me if I was drunk in an accusatory fashion.  I told him that I wasn’t, but I could tell that he didn’t believe me.  I really didn’t want to tell him that I was high as fuck because he seemed to be judgmental, or like he may have a problem with it.  Premo went back into the kitchen, and proceeds to send us out a free appetizer of fried green tomatoes, knowing that I HATE tomato everything. 

The date continued, and we decided to go to a local bar for a drink.  We sit in his car an talk for a second, then he asked why I was laughing like that in the other restaurant.  I got nervous again and started to laugh, AGAIN.  Then, he asked me if I was drunk, again.  I assured him that I wasn’t, and then he came around to open my door.  As we were walking up to the door of the bar, his hand brushed with mine, and I freaked! I don’t even know if he was trying to hold my hand, but I lost my balance when I jerked my had away…then I fell. He did not catch me.  Luckily, I didn’t fuck my shoes up though!  He seemed angry, and told me that he knew I was too drunk!  I was pissed ooff, not so much because I fell, moreso because he kept accusing me of being drunk!  I snapped on him, and I just told him that I smoke all of the time and I smoked on the way there, and my shoes are what made me fall! He shook his head at me and walked to the door to open it-both of our cars were in the parking lot, so I told him I thought the date should be over then because we just don’t have the chemistry.

I will say, one thing I can take form that date to any future ones is, don’t wear either one  of those pairs of booties!  Better I find that out with him than with someone that I would actually be mortified in front of.#trialrun

It has been proven time and time again that history repeats itself. Although many may disagree, fashion is also included in history; trends reappear every few decades. Unfortunately, Americans are known for lacking in the fashion department, and we are stereotyped as “dressing for comfort.”  I will never forget when my native French teacher once explained the difference between American and French women to the class. Her notion was that American women are more concerned with quantity as opposed to French women who have the main concern of quality over quantity.  She also went on to say that while American businesswomen change into sneakers on their lunch breaks, one would never find a European woman doing such.

SN: As a legit fashionista, I was COMPLETELY offended; therefore, I made it a POINT to show up to class fresh everyday!

I have no clue when this unfortunate stereotype of Americans happened; the Italians have their shoes, the Spanish have their leather, the French, well the French are the ORIGINATORS of everything fashion, and us Americans, we have…frump!  While the fashion industry has proven to be pretty brutal in regards to American get-ups in the women’s department, today’s post will highlight menswear, more specifically, the Dandy.

Merriam-Webster defines the term “Dandy” as: a man who gives exaggerated attention to personal appearance, andor something excellent in its class.  Back to our HIStory lesson in fashion.  A little known fact about the now uber American tune, “Yankee Doodle Dandy,” is that it was originally a British tune that mocked American fashion!  During the American Revolution, the British “Red Coats,” had cohesive uniforms that were actually, impeccable.

The American soldiers (mainly landowners and famers), dressed in rags and whatever their standard(s) of living could afford to them (not much). The British tune was used to describe the ill-dressed Americans.  In the chant, the verse “[Yankee Doodle] stuck a feather in his head and called it Macaroni,” notes the British ridicule of Americans.  You see, the term “Macaroni,” was a “dandy” Italian style of dress, very popular in England at the time. The song alludes to the notion that the unintelligent, tattered American, simply stuck a feather in his hat and thought himself to be of equal caliber. The manner in which the British used the term “Yankee,” is similar to the modern-day idea of  a “country bumpkin.”

Fast forward to modern times, and the term “dandy’ is still in use.  As highlighted in the CBS segment entitled, I Am Dandy: The Return of the Elegant Gentleman,” by Nathaniel Adams and Rose Callahan, “exquisite gentleman,” or men with the dandy lifestyle exude “personal elegance.”   The segment further explains “dandyism” by noting it’s originator.  The Godfather of men’s fashion himself, British socialite Beau Brummell, established men’s fashion-his signature creation was the suit, worn with a necktie at all times, of course.  Dandy men understand and often practice Brummell’s idea of spending at least five hours getting ready, striving for a refined appearance. As a firm believer that chivalry has basically diminished in general, I appreciate the dandy men, as chivalry is a way of life for these eccentrics.  Gentlemen, dandy or not, are always a nice find, something like a rare gem.

As for the anthem, “Yankee Doodle Dandy,” eventually Americans came to appropriate the jingle; making it theirs, resulting in it actually being an insult to the British creators.  It is my belief that this appropriation inevitably led to Americans being comfortable with being known for comfort (smh).

I am writing this post as a shout out to those dandy men; keep on stuntin because what is style without self expression anyways?  In the words of Steve Madden, “Sidewalks are my runways;” I love a man that practices the notion, and uses everyday life as a fashion opportunity! Everyone knows I’m a sucker for style; you would never catch me in sneakers on my break, and I have to give MAJOR props to men that appreciate personal style.  While Americans may be known for comfort, it is absolutely refreshing to witness those escaping the shackles of the awful stereotype. This is my thank you for being “different.”

 References

“Dandy.”  Merriam-Webster Dictionary Collegiate Dictionary, Edition. 2000. http://www.merriam-webster.com. 3 June 2014.

“The Dandy: Celebrating the Exquisite Gentleman.”  CBS Sunday Morning. CBS Interactive Inc., New York. 15 June 2014.

The song, Desperation Won’t Do, is by the band, “The Prisoners.” One night, back when my “Obeseesive About One Man in Particular Disease” was focused upon Premo, Roabanga and I went out for drinks at the bar behind my house where I frequented. At the time, Gump had just left me for the final time; due to the fact that I could NOT leave his cousin alone (sick/twisted, I know), and the night before, my “side piece” called me while I was asleep; and Gump answered my phone, resulting in a candid conversation between them. During this particular time in my life, I had a faux engagement with Gump (whom I lived with), was banging his cousin on the side, had a pretend boyfriend (pretend on MY part that is), and was focusing ALL of my remaining efforts on bagging Premo.
You see, the thing is, Premo and I had started building a close friendship. He, a married man on the heels of his legal separation, was deeply depressed about the state of his marriage. He was rightfully disappointed regarding his failed marriage; and as an even bigger blow to his male ego, his wife was leaving him for a woman. I’m not saying I took advantage of him, I tried to maintain some boundaries, though my motives impure, they were genuine. But hey, what can I say, I’m a good friend and confidant. As my interest in him increased, so did the time we spent together. We went from smoking blunts at work, to having drinks after, to frequent sleepovers (all which to my disapproval, EXCLUDED sex). By the time this night took place, I had not slept in my bed, next to my fiance in over 2 weeks; and when I was getting home between 5-6 A.M., he was usually on his way to work.
Back to the night of this life lesson I entitle, “Desperation Won’t Do.” While at the bar with Robanga, we did not know that one of our soundtrack songs would debut that night. The band: The Prisoners; the song: “Desperation Won’t Do;” the scene: That one bar; The scenario: gathering liquid courage. On this particular night, I had decided to make my move on Premo. It was no secret how bad I wanted him, and each sleepover was torturous yet glorious at the same time. I had had enough; enough of the tip toeing around, enough of the wearing his basketball gear to sleep, pretending that I don’t feel his morning wood…Tonight was THE night…or so I thought…
After ungodly amounts of alcohol, combined with a pre-scheduled sleepover at Premo’s I was ON ONE. The song had us in our own would, with outsiders looking in while Robanga and myself took over the dance floor; better yet, the building. All eyes were on us jigging to the tunes. After this weirdo couple propositioned me for a threesome; we decided to end the night, though in my head, my night was about to begin. Oh, how incredibly wrong I was….
When I got to Premo’s house, he was not there. I was told to wait for him in his room, not an unusual request by this time. I did as I was told, except I did this FULLY nude. I positioned myself in what I drunkenly thought to be a flattering/sexy pose; and waited for him, ready to pounce on him upon his entrance. Well, after practicing my lines in my head once more, I decided to relax, to not appear so rehearsed. Relax I did, when he came home WITH HIS BFF; they barged in his room ready to play Guitar Hero, only to find me naked and spread eagle, ON TOP of his bed sheets, with drool coming out of my mouth running down the side of my face.
I think it goes without saying that not only did I loose dignity, I lost my chances with him, and one of my favorite earrings UGH!. We remained friends after that; but if I remember correctly, I believe that was our very LAST sleepover….and we have NEVER had sex, to this day. We have pretty much pretended that didn’t happen ever since I woke up the next, afternoon. Not my finest moments!

A few years back, I was coolin with some friends when we made an impromptu stop at a stranger’s house.  That stranger happened to be the best friend of Momma’s Boy.  Upon meeting Momma’s Boy, I was immediately attracted to him.  He was well dressed, he had manners, and he charmed me.  My friends and I ended up staying at the gathering for quite some time.  We were there long enough for the flirtations between the two of us to commence.  Our chemistry was undeniable; and for that reason, I agreed to exchange digits. After that night, we linked up a few times, and I always enjoyed myself.  Eventually, things began to get more serious, and by that I mean that they turned physical.  If you are fortunate, every now and then, someone will enter your life and touch you; your connection is indisputable, and your core is shaken….Momma’s Boy didn’t do that for me; but he was damn sexy! Every time we shared our skin with one another, it was like running barefoot through a flower garden among unicorns under a rainbowed sky; it was beautiful.  Being rarely able to connect emotions and sex to  a fault as well as past and future downfall(s), I was pleasantly surprised that every encounter we had also made me emotionally in reawakened.  This was an untapped feeling of mine, yet it did not scare me. It was such a shame the way that it ended….

On this particular night, I indirectly and horrifically met Momma’s Boy’s mother.  I was aware that he still lived with his parents; a fact that I did not enjoy, but was willing to look past due to his age (around 19), and the state of the economy at the time.  I had already been inside his house, seen his room, etc.  However, I was under the impression that he was not sneaking me in every time; I thought he was allowed to have female company, being that he was an adult and all.  Well, how wrong I was.  So, on this night; as we were hot and heavy, I met his mother under this circumstance: I was reverse cowgirl on top of his bed, facing the door, when it opened, and enters his MOTHER!!!! Ummmmmm……MORTIFIED, I immediately hop off and grab for my clothes.  (Oh and it behooves me to mention that he was my ride). As soon as she barges in, she screams:”What the Fuck did I tell you about dem hussies; I told you not to bring no hoes up in my damn house!” At that moment, my eyes began burning as I tried my hardest to fight back tears and focus on my exit strategy.  I put my clothes halfway on and finished as I ran and maneuvered past her, mumbled a brief and highly awkward apology, and ran down his street all the way through the neighborhood to the nearest gas station.  One of my friends came to pick me up from there.  I never answered his calls after that; but a mutual friend told me he asked about me a few years after. Ouch.