So, us girls decided toward the end of October, on the heels of our self-imposed, ridiculously difficult and mildly successful man sabbatical, that what needed to follow was something nearly opposite. No, not a free-for-all-orgy, but a commitment to one date a week.I wasted no time. On November 1st, while walking back to my hotel in New Orleans after enjoying free mixed drinks and some really amazing artwork at the P1 opening night, a random dude started a conversation with me on the street. Since I was drunk on happiness and rum, I agreed to let him take me out to dinner, even though he was white.
He walked me through the French Quarter to the Marigney District. We ate Lebanese food. He talked about composing music for NPR. He talked about his ex-girlfriend who used to be Madonna's hair dresser and now designs clothing for Chihuahuas. Whether or not he was telling the truth is questionable, but his stories were entertaining. Ibegan to suspect that he was high on cocaine, but everyone around seemed to know his name and, goddamnit it, I was in New Orleans and not about to go back to my hotel room to watch TV if I didn't have to.
We went to a bar where a band was playing music that reminded me of Triplets of Belleville. I was so enchanted by yummy beer and fond cartoon memories that I let him kiss me. We started walking to another bar. He told me another story about rescuing a man from a young hustler who'd been beating the shit out of him. I took a picture of three black kittens on a New Orleans porch. When we arrived at the bar, he excused himself to the restroom.
Just then, a gorgeous young woman caught my attention and told me to be careful. I asked her why. "I know him," she said. "Once, he held me down and threatened to stab me."
At which point I hailed a cab and returned to my hotel room. Strike one for the month-long-date-a-thon.
Incidentally, this is precisely the reason I don't date white men. They're mildly attractive at best, and I only seem to attract the crazy ones.
SOMETIMES IT TAKES A WHILE TO REALIZE THAT YOU'VE LEARNED A LESSON
I'll admit, I came out of the Man Sabbatical thinking that none of us had learned anything (with the exception, possibly, of W, who learned that she should keep her sheets sand-free.) It took me a few days to realize that, perhaps, we really have learned some valuable lessons after all. Evidence:
1) Since the beginning of the month, I have had several conversations with P, in which 50% or more of the conversation is non-boy related.
2) P finally stood up to The Boy and told him exactly what she thought.
3) Tonight, on my list of things to-do, is cleaning up the phone numbers in my cell. On the list to remove: random club boys, former hook-ups and exes.
4) Last night, when I should have been writing my blog, I was on the phone with W, who told me that she's beginning to lose interest in one night stands.
5) S, W and myself are becoming more serious about non-boy related culture. Earlier this week, we purchased season tickets to the ballet.
6) All of us have expressed the sentiment that this whole "one date a week" thing sounds like it would take entirely too much effort, and would in fact, take away from more fun things we could be doing (like beer at SFMOMA, ladies' night at the shooting range, or retail therapy).
7) When I was at Disneyland, a celebrity kissed me and I didn't even give him my number, since I knew he had a girlfriend already. (What up, Minnie?)
*MJ*
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