This past weekend Bestie and I took a long overdue trip to the City to visit Jenna. We had an absolutely fab time! A good friend invited us to a white party on Saturday night, and even though I think white parties are lame (nobody has any business throwing a white party unless you’re name is Diddy and your venue is the Hamptons), I made a good effort to find a cute white dress and I recruited Bestie and Jenna to come along with.
Before I left Jenna’s apartment, I threw on a pair of gold flip flops and wrapped my heels in a plastic bag, which I tucked neatly in Bestie’s oversized handbag. I adore fashion just as much as the next chick, but I’m well aware that my feet have an expiration date and I can only rock out in heels for so long before I have to make the switch to a more comfortable pair of shoes.
We pre-gamed at this Moroccan restaurant that Jenna’s current boy-toy owns, and he kept our glasses filled (and didn’t charge us!). So, needless to say, by the time we made it downtown to the white party, we were a bit tipsy. It honestly never even occurred to me to change my shoes, and once I saw the early-birds at the party, I wasn’t impressed by anyone enough to be concerned about my footwear. I didn’t get any cell service in the venue, so I walked away from where Jenna, Bestie, and I had posted up near the bar and towards the hallway. Out of the corner of my eye, I spotted two men checking me out, but I didn’t see anything particularly interesting about them so I continued on in my attempt to find a signal for my Crackberry. Just as I pass the duo, one of them leans down and says, “I hope your heels are in your bag, baby. I don’t know what’s wrong with all these women wearing flats. Y’all don’t believe in heels these days?”
This stopped me in my tracks. I turned and looked him up and down. He was wearing a white and turquoise Western style (think Cowboy) shirt, and a matching hat.
“You’re wearing a cowboy costume and you’re worried about me wearing FLATS?!,” I snapped. “You’re kidding me, right?”
He chuckled and I kept walking, but he got in my head. When I returned from checking my messages, I asked Bestie to hand over my heels and I slipped them on. By the end of the night, my feet were numb, but I endured the pain because I figured if that fool from earlier had a problem with women in flats, a lot of men probably did. And not that I was at the party to attract or pick up men, but... let’s face it - everybody wants to be attractive to someone and apparently this heel thing is a big deal!
When my book club read the Steve Harvey “Act Like a Lady, Think Like a Man” book, I got to the chapter of frequently asked questions and someone asked Steve whether men prefer women in flats or heels. His very enthusiastic answer basically said that men will choose heels every time and, in fact, he’d never even MET a man who would say that he preferred to see a woman in flats. He said that if men had their way, they’d even put heels on gym shoes. That’s how much it matters. My heart sank... I was really hoping that he’d say that it doesn’t matter. I’d like to think that Steve Harvey doesn’t speak for all men, but my gut says that he does.
I had a friend in law school who told me that she didn’t feel like she was dressed unless she had on a pair of heels, which I thought was ridiculous at the time, but she actually meant what she said. By the time we graduated from law school, I’d never seen her in anything less than a 2-inch heel. She took her shoe game very seriously, and I couldn’t be mad. In her heels, she looked like a grown-up, and I looked like her kid sister in my flats and sneakers.
I’m definitely the shortest chick in my crew and also the one most likely to wear flats. I have what some would call “bad feet”. They’re cute... I keep a pedicure (even in the winter... I hear some women slack in the winter time...) and my shoes are always cute, they just might not be HIGH. That’s because, for me, comfort is the top priority. When I go out, I like to be social, carefree, and I party hard. How can I do that when my feet hurt?! Impossible!
So, I’ll tell you my secret: I tend to carry large bags because I always have a change of shoes handy, and I have a cute pair of flats that are appropriate for every occasion! I love putting them on after I’ve been suffering in heels at some event and walking comfortably to my car while I watch other women hobbling along with pinched feet after a long night in stilettos. Don’t get me wrong, I feel bad for those women, but I’m proud of my foresight.
For instance, about a week ago, I’d been wearing a cute pair of heels at work, but when it was time to head out for lunch, I knew I wanted to try a new place that was a couple blocks away. I reached into the box of shoes I keep under my desk and slipped on a pair of flats to match my outfit. I walked past Starbucks and there was a young lady standing outside in a chic outfit and a haute pair of stilettos. She was propped against the wall in a pigeon-toed stance... you know that position you take when the balls of your feet hurt so bad, you’re trying to keep from toppling over?! Yeah... that stance. I looked at her and threw her a sympathetic smile as I skipped past in my ballet flats. Sure, she looked great in her heels, but I felt a whole lot better than she looked!
And then there was the time a few weeks ago when one of my girls ended our night early because her feet hurt too badly to carry on. We started at one end of the city and then got the invite to go downtown to check out the rooftop of the new W Hotel. My girl Pam was wearing a pair of streetwalking stilettos, which looked fierce, but also looked a bit masochistic. You could take one look and know that she wasn’t going to last long in them. Now, the W’s rooftop is arguably the sexiest spot in the city and we’d even been told that without a reservation we could NOT get in. Well, we didn’t have a reservation, but thanks to a friend of a friend we got in with no problems. When we got upstairs to the roof, we took in the beautiful view of the city, got a few overpriced drinks and commenced to people watching. There was a lot going on, the vibe was cool, the drinks were good (although overpriced) and everyone was having a great time. All of a sudden in the middle of things, Pam announces that her feet are hurting and she’d like to leave. Ordinarily, we’d blow air-kisses and send her on her way. Tonight, we’d all driven over to the W together, so we had to leave with Pam in order to get to our cars. Thanks, hooker heels, for ending our night before we’d even begun!
So, is this what it comes down to? Women must suffer in an attempt to try to attract the opposite sex? I rebuke that! But, sadly, I think it’s the truth. Men like women in heels. And they particularly like women in the most complicated, highest of high, most uncomfortable heels they can find. I’d like to tell you that if a man really likes you, he’ll like you regardless of the shoes on your feet, and I think that’s partially true. I know that even me - Miss Anti-Heels herself - will put on a pair of heels if I’m going out with a man because I feel like it formalizes the outing if I wear heels, like maybe he’ll notice that I put some effort into my appearance just because of what I’m wearing on my feet.
And one of the things that I hate to see more than anything is a woman hobbling along in heels, obviously uncomfortable, walking alongside her significant other who’s rocking sneakers. You like heels so much, but yet you’re wearing comfort footwear while I’m suffering next to you all to in an effort to appeal to you? Fck you, dude. Seriously. YOU put on some stilettos and traipse around in them all night and see how you feel. It’s just not fair! It just seems so shallow. But, then again, LIFE is not fair. *sigh*
An acquaintance of mine used to always say that stilettos were certainly created by a man. And not just ANY man, but a man who doesn’t like women. I’m going to have to agree. But I also have to admit that, despite the fact that I fight wearing heels tooth and nail, I recently bought my first pair of stilettos. I’m 30 now... it’s about time. They’re fantastic and REALLY high. But, hey, I hear “stripper-chic” is the new trend. And with these heels, I’ll fit right in. They’ll for sure make Cowboy (and other guys like him) proud.
Showing posts with label Countdown to the big 3-Oh. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Countdown to the big 3-Oh. Show all posts
Wednesday, August 19, 2009
Tuesday, June 02, 2009
The People You Meet at the Club (Guest Blogger!)
I believe I mentioned this in my previous post, but... in just a few days, I'm headed to the Caribbean with some of my best friends to celebrate my 30th birthday! Unfortunately, this is also a really busy time for me at work, so between working late everyday this week and preparing for my trip, I'm not going to have much of a chance to write. But for your entertainment, I've invited a guest blogger to fill in the gaps. I've never used guest bloggers before, although I have lifted posts (verbatim!) from other sites when I was too lazy to write something original. Lol! Relax, I've given credit to the authors! I'd never try to pass off anyone else's writing as my own.
For our first guest blogger, I've enlisted my friend James Davermann. James is a twentysomething professional, smart, funny (hilarious, in fact), extremely observant, and majorly insightful guy. He also asked me to mention that he's SINGLE and looking for a little summer romance. LOL! Anyway, I've never been disappointed with James's writing and I'm excited to share it with you. If you've got questions for James (or want to set up a blind date), you can contact him directly at jdavermann@yahoo.com.
So... this is my last post as a twentysomething. That shit is surreal! And when I return to the blog for my next post, I'll be lovelier (hopefully!), BROWNER, and (Dear God!) one year older...
Toodles,
LBG
Nightclubs are peculiar places. Where else will you find dudes paying 20-30 dollars just to get in while dropping another 50 -100 on watered down drinks for the privilege of dancing w/ females in a cramped, crowded spot to really loud, horrible music?
Personally, i hate those places and stay as far away as i can, but i have a number of friends who insist on dragging me to after work events, parties, birthday parties, etc...all at nightclubs. I'm more likely to just play the wall and observe, and I've seen a pretty interesting cast of characters. Here are a few:
The Usher Wannabee:
You know the outfit. dress shirt. jeans. white air force ones. Topped off With a Blazer and a fitted (baseball cap). Walk into any club on any given day and there will be at least 25 dudes with that exact same outfit on. It's one thing to want to be like Usher so you can bag chicks...but Usher circa 2005?? can we get an update?
The Dude Who's Too Old To Be At The Club:
These are the dudes that just refuse to let go of their glory days. They're not super old, but definitely closer to their 40s than their 20s. Fairly easy to spot. sometimes they'll have one thing on them that gives away their age. It might be a pink suit. A jheri curl. Some orange gators. A perm. Maybe they're carrying a pimp cane. Receding hairline a given. Might have the top buttons on their shirt unbuttoned with plenty of chest hair visible. NO BUENO. Sometimes they'll say stuff that gives them away. like calling girls "sugah". or ordering a "Colt .45" at the bar. Oftentimes they just look like that uncle you see at your family reunion feeling up on all your cousins. They should realize that kicking it to 18 yr olds makes them look even older, like grandpa old.
The Ugly Blocker:
Every group of pretty girls you meet has that ONE ugly chick whose sole purpose is to hate on you. They may not be nearly as attractive as the rest so they make it their mission to c-ck block any man who dares approach a pretty one. Their job is to keep you from bagging any of their friends at all costs...and they do it well. I swear every time i see a group of dimes come in they have one of these with them. The minute you approach the girl you're into her DESIGNATED U.B. springs into action. She'll start rolling her eyes at everything you say, will interrupt you nonstop, and will keep saying slick shyt in her girl's ear. Her body language and constant interference will make it impossible for you to get a rapport going. Here's a sample convo:
dude: excuse me, I...
UGLY BLOCKER (rudely interrupting): AIN'T NOBODY ASK YOU FOR YOUR EXCUSE!
dude: I wasn't talking to you.
UGLY BLOCKER: and you WON'T be talking to my homegirl either! go try to run your game on the next chick cuz she ain't the one!
dude: you don't even know me and you're jumping to conclusions. I'm a good guy and...
UGLY BLOCKER: N---AZ AIN'T SHYT! Come on, girl let's get out of here.
Worse, the pretty girls will look to her to determine whether to give you a shot or not! so if you end up telling the UGLY BLOCKER off, you may as well kiss the friend goodbye. Unless you have a good wingman willing to "take one for the team", your chances of success are slim at best.
The Professional Dancer:
ever start dancing with a girl and she treats it like a Ciara video shoot? She'll start doing backflips, pirouettes, spin moves poplocks...damn! they don't know anything about regular one on one dancing. Same with dudes. instead of grinding on a chick like a normal male, these dudes are out there looking like chris brown's little brother, spinning on their heads and shyt. This ain't Step Up 2! Is anyone really impressed with these displays at a nightclub?
The Fake Lesbians:
Ever been to a club and spotted that group of pretty girls who ONLY want to dance with each other? These ladies will turn down every request to dance-from a male. they will instead dance all over each other, feel each other up, get up on a bar and start doing it, and basically spend the night acting like lesbians. The kicker is they're really straight. Oftentimes they're having a "Girls Night Out" or are just on some man hating shyt (bad breakup, found out they were a jumpoff, etc) and this is the routine they use to keep the thirsty dudes away.
The Real Lesbians:
They do everything the Fake Lesbians do, except that they'll be making out in a corner before the night is over. Most of them go to regular clubs because they don't like clubs with labels (gay, straight, black crowd, white crowd, etc.). It's also probably annoying fighting over girls with the manly butch ones.
Jailbait:
Every club is littered with these 15 and 16 yr. olds trying to act grown. Nowadays you can't even really tell by looks alone. My advice to you: if she giggles alot, thinks you're smarter then you really are, can't accurately describe specifics about her career, wont let you call after 11, always has to meet you or get dropped off at random locations, and seems to be REALLY into you even though you have no prior history of being a ladies' man, you might be looking at 10-20 w/ the possibility of parole in 8.
L.L. COOL J:
This is the dude who is DIESEL AS HELL, but has on a medium shirt and walks around flexing. What a tool. You want nothing more than to pull him aside and say "dude, i can see your heartbeat-please go get a 3XL". But that would be suicide. So you let it rock.
The Pretty Bartender:
You can never tell if they're really flirting with you or just want a better tip. considering i've never managed to successfully date any, but probably handed over hundreds in tips over the years even though i don't drink, i'm inclined to believe the latter.
The Strobelight Honey:
Depending on the lighting in a club, sometimes you'll find yourself grinding on the girl w/ the sexy silhouette. Until the strobelight hits and you catch a glimpse of the face. Yuck. yup, it's the ugly blocker. You then proceed to do the running man.
The Big Girls:
If you're ever bored at the club do yourself a favor and find that group of Big Girls. Guaranteed they're the people having the most fun there. They just don't give a damn. You gotta chill w/ them...if anything just to see what happens when that song "Watchout for the Big Girls" comes on. you won't regret it. Time of your life.
The Thugs:
These dudes are somehow able to make it in despite the dress code. They walk around mean muggin' EVERYONE in the joint...even chicks. They roll deep and have enough drug money in their pockets to buy out the bar. They have more tattoos than the Denver Nuggets. if the song "Ante Up" comes on, hit the deck. The women there will all be strangely drawn to them. Tread lightly, don't make any eye contact, and apologize to them even if they're the ones who bump into you or step on your white kicks. They're the number one reason why clubs in the hood get shot up and your mans still has that champagne bottle stuck in his frontal lobe.
The Antisocial Dime:
Dresses very provocatively, holds on to her drink tightly, and looks like the 2nd coming of Rosalyn Sanchez. Simply put, a very aesthetically beautiful woman. But that's where it ends. Will stand smack dab in the middle of the place by herself....and proceed to turn down EVERY SINGLE MAN who approaches. She won't want to chat, talk, or dance. She will turn her head or roll her eyes if you even try to greet her. I'm still trying to figure out what they're doing in the club in the first place.
The Guy Who Cant Dance:
This dude is a pretty good catch. well dressed, educated, women think he's cute, etc...then some lucky girl will slowly creep up on him after T-Pain comes on, and she'll find herself witnessing a grown man doing the robot. This guy has spent so much time going to school and going to work, he never actually picked up dancing. he's stiff, never seems to get into a rhythm, goes in all the wrong directions, and looks very uncomfortable when a woman puts her a$$ in his crotch. DAMN SHAME.
The Dude Who Can Salsa:
you could be the best looking dude in the room. you can be the richest. you can be the tallest. You can be all three. BUT YOU WON'T STAND A CHANCE AGAINST THE DUDE WHO CAN SALSA. When he comes through, clear the floor. makes the biggest Alpha Male look average in comparison. he will have chicks swooning with his moves. He'll be dipping them, spinning them, and doing things that completely take their breath away. doesn't even matter what he looks like; the chicks will be lining up for this guy. Even if you're there with your wifey she'll be tempted to jump ship. This guy probably has the best chance of pulling a one night stand out of all the dudes in there.
The Single Girl With The Boyfriend:
This girl is actually pretty receptive to your advances initially. maybe you dance a couple of times-VERY closely. go to the bar and chit chat, or just hang out. FOR HOURS. You'll start feeling like you bagged yourself a good one. Not so fast... time and again, and i mean this never fails, she will find the most RANDOM time to tell you she has a BOYFRIEND. It's like clockwork! Never fails to amaze me, the creative way she manages to randomly insert mention of a BOYFRIEND into the conversation right when you've hit it off. you feel even stupider if you've bought her drinks by that point.
sample convo:
YOU: wow, we've danced all night; even to merengue. that's crazy cuz those songs run about 20 minutes
Her: I know, right! I didn't think you'd be able to keep up with me
YOU: Normally I wouldn't. but I was really having a good time
Her: me too. I had fun
You: Glad to hear it. Maybe we should do it again? well, anything else besides dancing, i mean
Her: Definitely! I'd like that.
You: great. so what do you do for fun?
Her: I like to go skiing. What about you?
YOU: Oh, that's cool. I pretty much do anything that keeps the adrenaline going. Skydiving, for example. And i like to race my bike
Her: oh, my BOYFRIEND just got a motorcycle. Those things are scary. He tries to get me to ride with him but I always turn him down. I'm worried he'll hurt himself one day.
YOU: umm...I beg your pardon?
For our first guest blogger, I've enlisted my friend James Davermann. James is a twentysomething professional, smart, funny (hilarious, in fact), extremely observant, and majorly insightful guy. He also asked me to mention that he's SINGLE and looking for a little summer romance. LOL! Anyway, I've never been disappointed with James's writing and I'm excited to share it with you. If you've got questions for James (or want to set up a blind date), you can contact him directly at jdavermann@yahoo.com.
So... this is my last post as a twentysomething. That shit is surreal! And when I return to the blog for my next post, I'll be lovelier (hopefully!), BROWNER, and (Dear God!) one year older...
Toodles,
LBG
Nightclubs are peculiar places. Where else will you find dudes paying 20-30 dollars just to get in while dropping another 50 -100 on watered down drinks for the privilege of dancing w/ females in a cramped, crowded spot to really loud, horrible music?
Personally, i hate those places and stay as far away as i can, but i have a number of friends who insist on dragging me to after work events, parties, birthday parties, etc...all at nightclubs. I'm more likely to just play the wall and observe, and I've seen a pretty interesting cast of characters. Here are a few:
The Usher Wannabee:
You know the outfit. dress shirt. jeans. white air force ones. Topped off With a Blazer and a fitted (baseball cap). Walk into any club on any given day and there will be at least 25 dudes with that exact same outfit on. It's one thing to want to be like Usher so you can bag chicks...but Usher circa 2005?? can we get an update?
The Dude Who's Too Old To Be At The Club:
These are the dudes that just refuse to let go of their glory days. They're not super old, but definitely closer to their 40s than their 20s. Fairly easy to spot. sometimes they'll have one thing on them that gives away their age. It might be a pink suit. A jheri curl. Some orange gators. A perm. Maybe they're carrying a pimp cane. Receding hairline a given. Might have the top buttons on their shirt unbuttoned with plenty of chest hair visible. NO BUENO. Sometimes they'll say stuff that gives them away. like calling girls "sugah". or ordering a "Colt .45" at the bar. Oftentimes they just look like that uncle you see at your family reunion feeling up on all your cousins. They should realize that kicking it to 18 yr olds makes them look even older, like grandpa old.
The Ugly Blocker:
Every group of pretty girls you meet has that ONE ugly chick whose sole purpose is to hate on you. They may not be nearly as attractive as the rest so they make it their mission to c-ck block any man who dares approach a pretty one. Their job is to keep you from bagging any of their friends at all costs...and they do it well. I swear every time i see a group of dimes come in they have one of these with them. The minute you approach the girl you're into her DESIGNATED U.B. springs into action. She'll start rolling her eyes at everything you say, will interrupt you nonstop, and will keep saying slick shyt in her girl's ear. Her body language and constant interference will make it impossible for you to get a rapport going. Here's a sample convo:
dude: excuse me, I...
UGLY BLOCKER (rudely interrupting): AIN'T NOBODY ASK YOU FOR YOUR EXCUSE!
dude: I wasn't talking to you.
UGLY BLOCKER: and you WON'T be talking to my homegirl either! go try to run your game on the next chick cuz she ain't the one!
dude: you don't even know me and you're jumping to conclusions. I'm a good guy and...
UGLY BLOCKER: N---AZ AIN'T SHYT! Come on, girl let's get out of here.
Worse, the pretty girls will look to her to determine whether to give you a shot or not! so if you end up telling the UGLY BLOCKER off, you may as well kiss the friend goodbye. Unless you have a good wingman willing to "take one for the team", your chances of success are slim at best.
The Professional Dancer:
ever start dancing with a girl and she treats it like a Ciara video shoot? She'll start doing backflips, pirouettes, spin moves poplocks...damn! they don't know anything about regular one on one dancing. Same with dudes. instead of grinding on a chick like a normal male, these dudes are out there looking like chris brown's little brother, spinning on their heads and shyt. This ain't Step Up 2! Is anyone really impressed with these displays at a nightclub?
The Fake Lesbians:
Ever been to a club and spotted that group of pretty girls who ONLY want to dance with each other? These ladies will turn down every request to dance-from a male. they will instead dance all over each other, feel each other up, get up on a bar and start doing it, and basically spend the night acting like lesbians. The kicker is they're really straight. Oftentimes they're having a "Girls Night Out" or are just on some man hating shyt (bad breakup, found out they were a jumpoff, etc) and this is the routine they use to keep the thirsty dudes away.
The Real Lesbians:
They do everything the Fake Lesbians do, except that they'll be making out in a corner before the night is over. Most of them go to regular clubs because they don't like clubs with labels (gay, straight, black crowd, white crowd, etc.). It's also probably annoying fighting over girls with the manly butch ones.
Jailbait:
Every club is littered with these 15 and 16 yr. olds trying to act grown. Nowadays you can't even really tell by looks alone. My advice to you: if she giggles alot, thinks you're smarter then you really are, can't accurately describe specifics about her career, wont let you call after 11, always has to meet you or get dropped off at random locations, and seems to be REALLY into you even though you have no prior history of being a ladies' man, you might be looking at 10-20 w/ the possibility of parole in 8.
L.L. COOL J:
This is the dude who is DIESEL AS HELL, but has on a medium shirt and walks around flexing. What a tool. You want nothing more than to pull him aside and say "dude, i can see your heartbeat-please go get a 3XL". But that would be suicide. So you let it rock.
The Pretty Bartender:
You can never tell if they're really flirting with you or just want a better tip. considering i've never managed to successfully date any, but probably handed over hundreds in tips over the years even though i don't drink, i'm inclined to believe the latter.
The Strobelight Honey:
Depending on the lighting in a club, sometimes you'll find yourself grinding on the girl w/ the sexy silhouette. Until the strobelight hits and you catch a glimpse of the face. Yuck. yup, it's the ugly blocker. You then proceed to do the running man.
The Big Girls:
If you're ever bored at the club do yourself a favor and find that group of Big Girls. Guaranteed they're the people having the most fun there. They just don't give a damn. You gotta chill w/ them...if anything just to see what happens when that song "Watchout for the Big Girls" comes on. you won't regret it. Time of your life.
The Thugs:
These dudes are somehow able to make it in despite the dress code. They walk around mean muggin' EVERYONE in the joint...even chicks. They roll deep and have enough drug money in their pockets to buy out the bar. They have more tattoos than the Denver Nuggets. if the song "Ante Up" comes on, hit the deck. The women there will all be strangely drawn to them. Tread lightly, don't make any eye contact, and apologize to them even if they're the ones who bump into you or step on your white kicks. They're the number one reason why clubs in the hood get shot up and your mans still has that champagne bottle stuck in his frontal lobe.
The Antisocial Dime:
Dresses very provocatively, holds on to her drink tightly, and looks like the 2nd coming of Rosalyn Sanchez. Simply put, a very aesthetically beautiful woman. But that's where it ends. Will stand smack dab in the middle of the place by herself....and proceed to turn down EVERY SINGLE MAN who approaches. She won't want to chat, talk, or dance. She will turn her head or roll her eyes if you even try to greet her. I'm still trying to figure out what they're doing in the club in the first place.
The Guy Who Cant Dance:
This dude is a pretty good catch. well dressed, educated, women think he's cute, etc...then some lucky girl will slowly creep up on him after T-Pain comes on, and she'll find herself witnessing a grown man doing the robot. This guy has spent so much time going to school and going to work, he never actually picked up dancing. he's stiff, never seems to get into a rhythm, goes in all the wrong directions, and looks very uncomfortable when a woman puts her a$$ in his crotch. DAMN SHAME.
The Dude Who Can Salsa:
you could be the best looking dude in the room. you can be the richest. you can be the tallest. You can be all three. BUT YOU WON'T STAND A CHANCE AGAINST THE DUDE WHO CAN SALSA. When he comes through, clear the floor. makes the biggest Alpha Male look average in comparison. he will have chicks swooning with his moves. He'll be dipping them, spinning them, and doing things that completely take their breath away. doesn't even matter what he looks like; the chicks will be lining up for this guy. Even if you're there with your wifey she'll be tempted to jump ship. This guy probably has the best chance of pulling a one night stand out of all the dudes in there.
The Single Girl With The Boyfriend:
This girl is actually pretty receptive to your advances initially. maybe you dance a couple of times-VERY closely. go to the bar and chit chat, or just hang out. FOR HOURS. You'll start feeling like you bagged yourself a good one. Not so fast... time and again, and i mean this never fails, she will find the most RANDOM time to tell you she has a BOYFRIEND. It's like clockwork! Never fails to amaze me, the creative way she manages to randomly insert mention of a BOYFRIEND into the conversation right when you've hit it off. you feel even stupider if you've bought her drinks by that point.
sample convo:
YOU: wow, we've danced all night; even to merengue. that's crazy cuz those songs run about 20 minutes
Her: I know, right! I didn't think you'd be able to keep up with me
YOU: Normally I wouldn't. but I was really having a good time
Her: me too. I had fun
You: Glad to hear it. Maybe we should do it again? well, anything else besides dancing, i mean
Her: Definitely! I'd like that.
You: great. so what do you do for fun?
Her: I like to go skiing. What about you?
YOU: Oh, that's cool. I pretty much do anything that keeps the adrenaline going. Skydiving, for example. And i like to race my bike
Her: oh, my BOYFRIEND just got a motorcycle. Those things are scary. He tries to get me to ride with him but I always turn him down. I'm worried he'll hurt himself one day.
YOU: umm...I beg your pardon?
Thursday, February 12, 2009
Things to Do Before 30
A very significant birthday is approaching. In June, I’ll be 30.
Let that sink in...
Man, I don’t know why 30 freaks me out so much. I just remember when my brother turned 30… I thought “Wow… he’s so old. That’s so sad. He’ll never have fun anymore!” How funny! Now, here I sit, staring down the barrel of the 30 year old gun.
My cousin and I are six months apart and he turned 30 on January 2. My aunt had a party for him and I was at that shin-dig when it hit me – in half a year, I’ll have reached my “scary” age. Why is 30 so scary, though? I mean, my cousin wasn’t afraid to turn 30. But he’s a guy... and no matter what anyone says, I’ll always defend my position that men and women feel differently about aging.
As I told the Mystery Man: Men age like a fine wine… they get better with time. Women age like… bananas. There is nothing good about an old banana.
I firmly believe this. As men age, they become “distinguished”. As their faces wrinkle, they are told that the wrinkles build “character”. Now, give me a synonym for “distinguished” as it relates to women. No such word exists. All words used about older women possess some sort of negative connotation. And, Lord knows that if wrinkles cause a face to develop “character”, then “character” is a woman’s worst nightmare – as evidenced by the myriad ads for Botox and wrinkle cream that litter the media.
Women have been taught that they should not embrace the aging process, but rather that they should fight it tooth and nail, every step of the way. And even though I think that phenomenon is really unfortunate and it makes me sad, the fact remains that I still look like I’m 12, so I’m not really worried about the physical effects of the aging process… yet. So, why exactly does 30 freak me out so much?!
I took some "me" time to reflect on a number of things this past weekend. Since my 30th birthday is never far from my mind these days, it was definitely on the agenda. What I realized is that - to me - 30 signifies adulthood. I still TO THIS DAY, feel like a kid sometimes. Sure, I have my days when I feel mature and independent, but for the most part (aside from a hefty dose of additional wisdom gained from just living) I still feel the same way I did when I was 21.
And you know, I always thought of myself as having “older” parents (when compared to the parents of my peers) and I was born when my mother was 29 years old. She was the same age that I am now when she brought me into this world. And, I’ll be honest… I cannot even imagine what I would do with a child if I popped one out right now. I am not financially or professionally or emotionally ready to handle a child. And I feel like I should be ready by now. I'm 30-friggin-years-old!!!
At 30, people stop calling you "young", and you damn sure aren’t classified as a “kid” anymore. Because I look so young, I am often carded at bars and restaurants. But, as soon as the server looks at my birthday, they are embarrassed to have asked. I am SUPER of-age… I've had the right to consume alcohol for almost 10 years!
I guess I feel weird because none of the things I thought I’d have accomplished by now have been accomplished. There are no children on the horizon… I’m not where I want to be in my career… my significant other is extremely INsignificant a.k.a. non-existent. Maybe if I had those things in place, 30 wouldn’t be so scary. Besides, now I look at my brother and I realize that his life didn’t really begin to take off until around 30. That’s when he really started becoming successful. And he didn't get married until he was 35. Of course, he’s also a man and I’ve already explained why that makes him different. I also think about the fact that my sister didn’t get married until she was 30 and my fist niece wasn’t born until my sister was about 34. That gives me some time to get my shit together... I guess...
I’m still trying to get used to this “growing up” thing. It happened so damn fast. Just yesterday, I remember wearing my hair in two pigtails to school and running through the sprinklers in my swimsuit. Now, I wear slacks and severe buns to work and the only time I get remotely close to being sprinkled with water is when I shower before heading out of the house.
Times, they are a-changing.
I’m afraid of getting “old” I guess (although even I will admit that 30 is not “old” per se). I’m not sure I’m ready for this transition into bona fide adulthood, but as my father always says – you either get old or die young. I’d say that, if I'm given a choice of those two options, I’m picking the getting old option every time. Hands down.
I didn’t post my new year’s resolutions this year, but I do feel like it’s important to document the goals you set out to achieve… mostly for the purposes of accountability. If I tell you all what I wish to accomplish I’ll work harder to meet those goals because I hope you’ll hold me to what I've set out to do. And, if I fail, I’ll feel like an ass. And I don’t like feeling ass-ish.
So, anyway, although I didn’t post resolutions, I did come up with this “Things to do Before 30” list. I created it about a year ago and have pretty much done nothing with it except pull it out and look at it every now and again and then kick myself for not taking any steps to accomplish anything on the list. I don’t think I’ve posted this before, so here’s the list:
1. Get out of debt
2. Travel to Europe (specifically Rome and Paris)
3. Become fluent in Spanish (Which now that I think about it will not actually be helpful to me during my travels to Italy & France. Whoops!)
4. Lose 20 lbs!
5. Learn to play the flute
6. Get published (in a magazine, book, whatever)
7. Learn to swim (I can swim, just not well)
8. Run a 5k
Boy, this list is ambitious! It wasn't ambitious when I wrote it... back then, it was definitely doable cause when I sat down and came up with the things I'd like to accomplish before I hit 30, I had plenty of time to achieve everything on this list. Unfortunately, I did what I've always done, which is procrastinate like it's my JOB and wait until the last minute to get started on anything.
So, let's review this list piece by piece:
1. This is the one thing I've pretty much accomplished. Mind you, here, I am only referring to personal debt, which is just my credit card debt and a few small personal loans that I took out for school. I am almost finished with all my credit card debt... and I owed a lot, so I am really proud of myself for that. The rest still needs some work.
2. I probably will not be able to travel to Europe before June because, well... because it's already February and I haven't asked for the time off from work, bought a plane ticket, made a hotel reservation, or renewed my passport. So... I'm pretty certain that Europe isn't happening by June. Scratch that one off the list.
3. My mother bought me Rosetta Stone Spanish CDs for my birthday last June because I told her I wanted to try to become fluent in the language. I maybe used them twice. They're currently in the drawer of my bedside table... and they're basically brand new. I should be ashamed of myself.
4. Losing 20 lbs. A coworker once said that she quantified her weight by comparing it to those one-pound packages of ground beef at the grocery store. If you tried to think about what a pound consists of in your head, it's hard to picture and it doesn't seem like much, but when you think about the fact that for every pound you've shed you've gotten rid of something comparable to a package of ground beef, that's pretty impressive! So, 20 packages of ground beef? That's a lot of frigging meat! Now I'm intimidated. Forget 20! At the rate I'm going, I'll be happy if I lose two. 'nuff said.
5. I've wanted to play the flute since I was a kid, but my parents thought the clarinet was more "practical". (I'm not really sure what their reasoning was, but back then I didn't ask questions... I just did what I was told!) Anyway, I promised myself that someday I'd learn to play. And, I set up some private lessons and everything, but I never went. I'm not sure why. By the time June rolls around, if I really try hard, I might be able to play "Mary Had a Little Lamb". If I learn one basic song, that still counts as "playing the flute", right?
6. It occurs to me that I've already been published... sorta. My friend has a blog and I wrote for her a couple times and I guess that counts. Then, there's this blog right here. I guess that sorta counts, too. But I meant it would be cool to see my name in print. I'd like to be published in a magazine or a newspaper or an official news website... not just a blog. I'm still working on that and I hope to have that nailed down by June for sure.
7. Okay, so I can swim enough to save my life, but I can't swim-swim. Like, you'll never catch me just doing leisurely laps in the pool. I want to get to that point. Can I get there by June? I'm not sure. Maybe if I start tomorrow... like, literally TOMORROW, I could get to that point by June. But I just got my hair done yesterday, so I probably won't start tomorrow cause that would be wasting the money I spent in the salon. Damn... I'm already making excuses. So, I guess we'll wait and see how this goal goes, but let's face it - it's not looking good.
8. I have always wanted to be a runner. I have so much admiration for people who go for a run and then feel GOOD afterward. I run (okay... let's be honest, I don't run. I wog.) and feel like I want to pass out, or run/wog and feel like I want to throw up. But I NEVER run/wog and feel good after. So, first of all, I'd like to run, NOT wog. And second, I'd like to run and feel good about it at the end! So, I've started this running program. And now, instead of wogging, I am trotting (not yet jogging). I'm hoping that in the next four months, I'll be able to RUN. Pray for me.
Well, after a quick review, it turns out that I'm not doing so hot with my list. I was probably better off not publishing it here, but now you know what I hope to accomplish and now you can scold me if I don't... or, if you're nice, you can just encourage me along the way as I attempt to at least make a little bit of progress on this list. I'll be back with regular updates, but I really need to get a handle on this if I hope to accomplish any of this stuff by June! Damn me and my lofty goals!
Let that sink in...
Man, I don’t know why 30 freaks me out so much. I just remember when my brother turned 30… I thought “Wow… he’s so old. That’s so sad. He’ll never have fun anymore!” How funny! Now, here I sit, staring down the barrel of the 30 year old gun.
My cousin and I are six months apart and he turned 30 on January 2. My aunt had a party for him and I was at that shin-dig when it hit me – in half a year, I’ll have reached my “scary” age. Why is 30 so scary, though? I mean, my cousin wasn’t afraid to turn 30. But he’s a guy... and no matter what anyone says, I’ll always defend my position that men and women feel differently about aging.
As I told the Mystery Man: Men age like a fine wine… they get better with time. Women age like… bananas. There is nothing good about an old banana.
I firmly believe this. As men age, they become “distinguished”. As their faces wrinkle, they are told that the wrinkles build “character”. Now, give me a synonym for “distinguished” as it relates to women. No such word exists. All words used about older women possess some sort of negative connotation. And, Lord knows that if wrinkles cause a face to develop “character”, then “character” is a woman’s worst nightmare – as evidenced by the myriad ads for Botox and wrinkle cream that litter the media.
Women have been taught that they should not embrace the aging process, but rather that they should fight it tooth and nail, every step of the way. And even though I think that phenomenon is really unfortunate and it makes me sad, the fact remains that I still look like I’m 12, so I’m not really worried about the physical effects of the aging process… yet. So, why exactly does 30 freak me out so much?!
I took some "me" time to reflect on a number of things this past weekend. Since my 30th birthday is never far from my mind these days, it was definitely on the agenda. What I realized is that - to me - 30 signifies adulthood. I still TO THIS DAY, feel like a kid sometimes. Sure, I have my days when I feel mature and independent, but for the most part (aside from a hefty dose of additional wisdom gained from just living) I still feel the same way I did when I was 21.
And you know, I always thought of myself as having “older” parents (when compared to the parents of my peers) and I was born when my mother was 29 years old. She was the same age that I am now when she brought me into this world. And, I’ll be honest… I cannot even imagine what I would do with a child if I popped one out right now. I am not financially or professionally or emotionally ready to handle a child. And I feel like I should be ready by now. I'm 30-friggin-years-old!!!
At 30, people stop calling you "young", and you damn sure aren’t classified as a “kid” anymore. Because I look so young, I am often carded at bars and restaurants. But, as soon as the server looks at my birthday, they are embarrassed to have asked. I am SUPER of-age… I've had the right to consume alcohol for almost 10 years!
I guess I feel weird because none of the things I thought I’d have accomplished by now have been accomplished. There are no children on the horizon… I’m not where I want to be in my career… my significant other is extremely INsignificant a.k.a. non-existent. Maybe if I had those things in place, 30 wouldn’t be so scary. Besides, now I look at my brother and I realize that his life didn’t really begin to take off until around 30. That’s when he really started becoming successful. And he didn't get married until he was 35. Of course, he’s also a man and I’ve already explained why that makes him different. I also think about the fact that my sister didn’t get married until she was 30 and my fist niece wasn’t born until my sister was about 34. That gives me some time to get my shit together... I guess...
I’m still trying to get used to this “growing up” thing. It happened so damn fast. Just yesterday, I remember wearing my hair in two pigtails to school and running through the sprinklers in my swimsuit. Now, I wear slacks and severe buns to work and the only time I get remotely close to being sprinkled with water is when I shower before heading out of the house.
Times, they are a-changing.
I’m afraid of getting “old” I guess (although even I will admit that 30 is not “old” per se). I’m not sure I’m ready for this transition into bona fide adulthood, but as my father always says – you either get old or die young. I’d say that, if I'm given a choice of those two options, I’m picking the getting old option every time. Hands down.
I didn’t post my new year’s resolutions this year, but I do feel like it’s important to document the goals you set out to achieve… mostly for the purposes of accountability. If I tell you all what I wish to accomplish I’ll work harder to meet those goals because I hope you’ll hold me to what I've set out to do. And, if I fail, I’ll feel like an ass. And I don’t like feeling ass-ish.
So, anyway, although I didn’t post resolutions, I did come up with this “Things to do Before 30” list. I created it about a year ago and have pretty much done nothing with it except pull it out and look at it every now and again and then kick myself for not taking any steps to accomplish anything on the list. I don’t think I’ve posted this before, so here’s the list:
1. Get out of debt
2. Travel to Europe (specifically Rome and Paris)
3. Become fluent in Spanish (Which now that I think about it will not actually be helpful to me during my travels to Italy & France. Whoops!)
4. Lose 20 lbs!
5. Learn to play the flute
6. Get published (in a magazine, book, whatever)
7. Learn to swim (I can swim, just not well)
8. Run a 5k
Boy, this list is ambitious! It wasn't ambitious when I wrote it... back then, it was definitely doable cause when I sat down and came up with the things I'd like to accomplish before I hit 30, I had plenty of time to achieve everything on this list. Unfortunately, I did what I've always done, which is procrastinate like it's my JOB and wait until the last minute to get started on anything.
So, let's review this list piece by piece:
1. This is the one thing I've pretty much accomplished. Mind you, here, I am only referring to personal debt, which is just my credit card debt and a few small personal loans that I took out for school. I am almost finished with all my credit card debt... and I owed a lot, so I am really proud of myself for that. The rest still needs some work.
2. I probably will not be able to travel to Europe before June because, well... because it's already February and I haven't asked for the time off from work, bought a plane ticket, made a hotel reservation, or renewed my passport. So... I'm pretty certain that Europe isn't happening by June. Scratch that one off the list.
3. My mother bought me Rosetta Stone Spanish CDs for my birthday last June because I told her I wanted to try to become fluent in the language. I maybe used them twice. They're currently in the drawer of my bedside table... and they're basically brand new. I should be ashamed of myself.
4. Losing 20 lbs. A coworker once said that she quantified her weight by comparing it to those one-pound packages of ground beef at the grocery store. If you tried to think about what a pound consists of in your head, it's hard to picture and it doesn't seem like much, but when you think about the fact that for every pound you've shed you've gotten rid of something comparable to a package of ground beef, that's pretty impressive! So, 20 packages of ground beef? That's a lot of frigging meat! Now I'm intimidated. Forget 20! At the rate I'm going, I'll be happy if I lose two. 'nuff said.
5. I've wanted to play the flute since I was a kid, but my parents thought the clarinet was more "practical". (I'm not really sure what their reasoning was, but back then I didn't ask questions... I just did what I was told!) Anyway, I promised myself that someday I'd learn to play. And, I set up some private lessons and everything, but I never went. I'm not sure why. By the time June rolls around, if I really try hard, I might be able to play "Mary Had a Little Lamb". If I learn one basic song, that still counts as "playing the flute", right?
6. It occurs to me that I've already been published... sorta. My friend has a blog and I wrote for her a couple times and I guess that counts. Then, there's this blog right here. I guess that sorta counts, too. But I meant it would be cool to see my name in print. I'd like to be published in a magazine or a newspaper or an official news website... not just a blog. I'm still working on that and I hope to have that nailed down by June for sure.
7. Okay, so I can swim enough to save my life, but I can't swim-swim. Like, you'll never catch me just doing leisurely laps in the pool. I want to get to that point. Can I get there by June? I'm not sure. Maybe if I start tomorrow... like, literally TOMORROW, I could get to that point by June. But I just got my hair done yesterday, so I probably won't start tomorrow cause that would be wasting the money I spent in the salon. Damn... I'm already making excuses. So, I guess we'll wait and see how this goal goes, but let's face it - it's not looking good.
8. I have always wanted to be a runner. I have so much admiration for people who go for a run and then feel GOOD afterward. I run (okay... let's be honest, I don't run. I wog.) and feel like I want to pass out, or run/wog and feel like I want to throw up. But I NEVER run/wog and feel good after. So, first of all, I'd like to run, NOT wog. And second, I'd like to run and feel good about it at the end! So, I've started this running program. And now, instead of wogging, I am trotting (not yet jogging). I'm hoping that in the next four months, I'll be able to RUN. Pray for me.
Well, after a quick review, it turns out that I'm not doing so hot with my list. I was probably better off not publishing it here, but now you know what I hope to accomplish and now you can scold me if I don't... or, if you're nice, you can just encourage me along the way as I attempt to at least make a little bit of progress on this list. I'll be back with regular updates, but I really need to get a handle on this if I hope to accomplish any of this stuff by June! Damn me and my lofty goals!
Monday, August 11, 2008
Naptime: it ain't just for kids anymore...
We've had a lot of loss this week. First Bernie Mac, then Isaac Hayes... they say that death comes in threes and I hope to God that "they" are wrong about that. No more dying! (I know this is a unrealistic request, but this is really stressing me out!). There may be additional blog posts because of these losses, but I'm not making any promises. Even though it's only Monday and the week JUST started, it's turning out to be hellish thanks to someone at work (NOT my boss, thank God) who happens to be the devil incarnate. I guess the honeymoon is officially over... Anyhoo, inkeeping with the promise I made to you and to myself, here's this week's post. If I can keep this up consistently (looks like I might succeed!), then maybe we'll move up to two posts a week, and then three, and then... well, you get my drift.
Totally random thought.
The question that begs to be answered is – when did it become imperative for me to take a nap in order to be fully prepared for a night out with the girls? When I was a kid, you couldn’t pay me to take a nap. I remember when I was in pre-school, all the other kids would pull out their cots and their pillows and blankets and hit the sack for at least an hour during the school day. But not this little Brown Girl. I’d be helping my teachers put toys back in their places, or assist with decorating our classroom, or simply sit and listen to my teachers gossip or discuss the intimacies of their home lives. I’d do a lot of things during that nap hour, but the one thing I wouldn’t do was sleep.
When I got to be a little older, every night around the same time, I’d complain to my mom that I didn’t feel well. To which she would roll her eyes and respond, “You feel fine, baby. You’re just sleepy.” Today, it strikes me as odd that I wouldn’t know the difference between feeling sleepy and feeling tired since the feeling of fatigue is so familiar to me at this point in my life.
I never took naps in high school because during the week I’d come straight home from school and rush through my homework in order to be able to socialize or watch television. And, why waste time sleeping when I could be talking to my boyfriend on the phone or watching a good movie on cable? On the weekends, when I actually had time to sleep, my goal was always to go out with my friends late at night. My father, a champion napper, understood a nap for nap’s sake, but didn’t understand the logic behind sleeping during the day to go out with your friends at night. And, in fact, if he caught me sleeping during the day and then I asked permission to go out at night, he’d use my nap as evidence that what I really needed to be doing was going to bed early (because obviously I was tired – why else would I need a nap?) instead of hanging out with my friends. So, of course, my solution for that was to pretend that I was upbeat, chipper, bright-eyed, and bushytailed ALL DAY – even if I was exhausted – in order for me to pass his test. It usually worked and he’d let me go out and stay out late. And rarely did I need a nap the next day. But, of course, this was when I was young and had energy.
I didn’t, in fact, become a fan of naps until college. I took them not because I needed them, but because they seemed like a luxury. After my first semester, I arranged my classes around two things: Jerry Springer and naptime. In between classes, I would leisurely make my way back to my dorm room, kick off my shoes, wrap my hair and tie on a scarf, and lie down for at least an hour, during which I’d fall into a deep and peaceful sleep. And, best of all, there was no one there to judge me. My roommate understood the value of naps just as much as I did, if not more, and therefore respected my quiet time. Come to think of it, she and I had a beautiful roommate relationship built on mutual respect and understanding and a common love of naps.
But back then, napping was something I wanted to do, not something I needed to do. Imagine my surprise a few years ago when I first uttered the words, “Whooo girl. If we’re gonna go out tonight, I need to take a nap.” The words didn’t even sound right coming out of my mouth. “Need” to take a nap? But why? I’d never needed a nap before. And then, it hit me. My youth – those reckless days of staying out til 5am, only to awaken at noon and do it all over again – were in the rearview mirror. Never again would I be able to survive for a week on no more than 10 hours of sleep. Gone are the days of me partying six nights a week and “catching up” on that sleep with a 2 hour nap on Sunday afternoon that would leave me good for the rest of the week. Those days are behind me now. Now, I NEED sleep. It’s a bit disconcerting to know that most weekends, I am unable to function like a normal person if I stay out past 3am two nights in a row. That means that I have to decide whether I’ll go out on Friday or Saturday night because my near-30-year-old body, it turns out, is not cut out for sleep deprivation.
Right now, it’s nearly 1am on a Friday night. The original plan was to go out with the girls to a party that some people from college invited me to. But, when I got home from work, I felt that familiar blanket of exhaustion wrap itself around me and I knew that I would be no good to my friends (or to myself for that matter) if I didn’t get a nap in before the night began. The plan was to lay down around 7pm and wake up around 8:30 to start making myself presentable. I had a bunch of things to do after work and so I didn’t actually stretch out until 7:45 or so. I slept right through my cell phone alarm at 8:30 and didn’t actually crack my eyes open until 9:35. When I woke up, I felt terrible! I’d missed four phone calls and six text messages from my girls, trying to determine the plan for the night. I was embarrassed. Had I really slept that long? How could I have ignored my alarm? Why was it that I needed the nap in the first place? What kept me from being able to come home from work, eat a nice dinner, make myself presentable, and go out and have a good time with my friends – without the need for a nap?
As soon as I’d had a glass of water, I picked up the phone and started reading my text messages. I had received a text from Bestie at around 8:45 saying she had a headache and was bowing out of our plans (she has been doing that a lot lately – BORING), I rolled my eyes and then returned calls to Shawn and Soleil. Shawn answered the phone, her voice thick with sleep. She had fallen asleep, too. So we agreed that we’d hang out another day. Soleil had actually left a text message saying she was going to bed and that she would call me later. I sent her a text apologizing for being inaccessible and told her that we’d kick it another time.
And then it hit me. I am not alone in my need for beauty sleep. All my girls were asleep, too, and it wasn’t even 10pm. While I took some comfort in a “misery loves company” sort of way, I was also sort of sad for us. We were no longer the nocturnal party girls that we used to be. That energy eludes us now. But I guess these sorts of things will come to pass and, eventually, more and more signs like this will remind me of the fact that I am not the person I used to be.
In some ways, I grieve the person that I was. I liked her. She was fun. She took a few risks and didn’t care about the consequences. But, only a FEW risks. In fact, I often wish that I had taken advantage of my youth more. When you are young, you can make mistakes and nobody says, “Wow, look at that pathetic woman who has seen so much and, as a result of her experiences, should really not be making immature decisions like that. Shameful!” No. In fact, when you are young, people laugh and say, “Look at that crazy kid, taking a chance to see what life has to offer. She messed up now, but she has many more chances to make it right.” It’s sort of depressing to realize that youth will not always be on your side. No more will you have a defense for your naïveté or your gullibility. You should know better. And because you know better, you should act better. You should BE better than what you once were.
I don’t know if I’m better than what I was back in my college days when I partied til the sun came up and thought that it was passé to go to bed before 10pm. What I do know is that now, I need a nap before I socialize at night and, sometimes, I need to stay home on Friday nights. Somehow this change in my routine has made me aware of the fact that whether or not I’m “better” than who I used to be, I’m certainly “different” than what I used to be. And, actually I’m ok with that. I think…
Totally random thought.
The question that begs to be answered is – when did it become imperative for me to take a nap in order to be fully prepared for a night out with the girls? When I was a kid, you couldn’t pay me to take a nap. I remember when I was in pre-school, all the other kids would pull out their cots and their pillows and blankets and hit the sack for at least an hour during the school day. But not this little Brown Girl. I’d be helping my teachers put toys back in their places, or assist with decorating our classroom, or simply sit and listen to my teachers gossip or discuss the intimacies of their home lives. I’d do a lot of things during that nap hour, but the one thing I wouldn’t do was sleep.
When I got to be a little older, every night around the same time, I’d complain to my mom that I didn’t feel well. To which she would roll her eyes and respond, “You feel fine, baby. You’re just sleepy.” Today, it strikes me as odd that I wouldn’t know the difference between feeling sleepy and feeling tired since the feeling of fatigue is so familiar to me at this point in my life.
I never took naps in high school because during the week I’d come straight home from school and rush through my homework in order to be able to socialize or watch television. And, why waste time sleeping when I could be talking to my boyfriend on the phone or watching a good movie on cable? On the weekends, when I actually had time to sleep, my goal was always to go out with my friends late at night. My father, a champion napper, understood a nap for nap’s sake, but didn’t understand the logic behind sleeping during the day to go out with your friends at night. And, in fact, if he caught me sleeping during the day and then I asked permission to go out at night, he’d use my nap as evidence that what I really needed to be doing was going to bed early (because obviously I was tired – why else would I need a nap?) instead of hanging out with my friends. So, of course, my solution for that was to pretend that I was upbeat, chipper, bright-eyed, and bushytailed ALL DAY – even if I was exhausted – in order for me to pass his test. It usually worked and he’d let me go out and stay out late. And rarely did I need a nap the next day. But, of course, this was when I was young and had energy.
I didn’t, in fact, become a fan of naps until college. I took them not because I needed them, but because they seemed like a luxury. After my first semester, I arranged my classes around two things: Jerry Springer and naptime. In between classes, I would leisurely make my way back to my dorm room, kick off my shoes, wrap my hair and tie on a scarf, and lie down for at least an hour, during which I’d fall into a deep and peaceful sleep. And, best of all, there was no one there to judge me. My roommate understood the value of naps just as much as I did, if not more, and therefore respected my quiet time. Come to think of it, she and I had a beautiful roommate relationship built on mutual respect and understanding and a common love of naps.
But back then, napping was something I wanted to do, not something I needed to do. Imagine my surprise a few years ago when I first uttered the words, “Whooo girl. If we’re gonna go out tonight, I need to take a nap.” The words didn’t even sound right coming out of my mouth. “Need” to take a nap? But why? I’d never needed a nap before. And then, it hit me. My youth – those reckless days of staying out til 5am, only to awaken at noon and do it all over again – were in the rearview mirror. Never again would I be able to survive for a week on no more than 10 hours of sleep. Gone are the days of me partying six nights a week and “catching up” on that sleep with a 2 hour nap on Sunday afternoon that would leave me good for the rest of the week. Those days are behind me now. Now, I NEED sleep. It’s a bit disconcerting to know that most weekends, I am unable to function like a normal person if I stay out past 3am two nights in a row. That means that I have to decide whether I’ll go out on Friday or Saturday night because my near-30-year-old body, it turns out, is not cut out for sleep deprivation.
Right now, it’s nearly 1am on a Friday night. The original plan was to go out with the girls to a party that some people from college invited me to. But, when I got home from work, I felt that familiar blanket of exhaustion wrap itself around me and I knew that I would be no good to my friends (or to myself for that matter) if I didn’t get a nap in before the night began. The plan was to lay down around 7pm and wake up around 8:30 to start making myself presentable. I had a bunch of things to do after work and so I didn’t actually stretch out until 7:45 or so. I slept right through my cell phone alarm at 8:30 and didn’t actually crack my eyes open until 9:35. When I woke up, I felt terrible! I’d missed four phone calls and six text messages from my girls, trying to determine the plan for the night. I was embarrassed. Had I really slept that long? How could I have ignored my alarm? Why was it that I needed the nap in the first place? What kept me from being able to come home from work, eat a nice dinner, make myself presentable, and go out and have a good time with my friends – without the need for a nap?
As soon as I’d had a glass of water, I picked up the phone and started reading my text messages. I had received a text from Bestie at around 8:45 saying she had a headache and was bowing out of our plans (she has been doing that a lot lately – BORING), I rolled my eyes and then returned calls to Shawn and Soleil. Shawn answered the phone, her voice thick with sleep. She had fallen asleep, too. So we agreed that we’d hang out another day. Soleil had actually left a text message saying she was going to bed and that she would call me later. I sent her a text apologizing for being inaccessible and told her that we’d kick it another time.
And then it hit me. I am not alone in my need for beauty sleep. All my girls were asleep, too, and it wasn’t even 10pm. While I took some comfort in a “misery loves company” sort of way, I was also sort of sad for us. We were no longer the nocturnal party girls that we used to be. That energy eludes us now. But I guess these sorts of things will come to pass and, eventually, more and more signs like this will remind me of the fact that I am not the person I used to be.
In some ways, I grieve the person that I was. I liked her. She was fun. She took a few risks and didn’t care about the consequences. But, only a FEW risks. In fact, I often wish that I had taken advantage of my youth more. When you are young, you can make mistakes and nobody says, “Wow, look at that pathetic woman who has seen so much and, as a result of her experiences, should really not be making immature decisions like that. Shameful!” No. In fact, when you are young, people laugh and say, “Look at that crazy kid, taking a chance to see what life has to offer. She messed up now, but she has many more chances to make it right.” It’s sort of depressing to realize that youth will not always be on your side. No more will you have a defense for your naïveté or your gullibility. You should know better. And because you know better, you should act better. You should BE better than what you once were.
I don’t know if I’m better than what I was back in my college days when I partied til the sun came up and thought that it was passé to go to bed before 10pm. What I do know is that now, I need a nap before I socialize at night and, sometimes, I need to stay home on Friday nights. Somehow this change in my routine has made me aware of the fact that whether or not I’m “better” than who I used to be, I’m certainly “different” than what I used to be. And, actually I’m ok with that. I think…
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