Remember when saying something was "interesting" really used to mean, " holding the attention : arousing interest"?(a) It actually was something that was nice, cool, or just plain ol' good. After slaving over cubed steak & gravy, mashed potatoes, sweet peas, and homemade biscuits to set dinner time off right, the family would gather around the dinner table with the nightly news playing on the kitchen TV. Then, Mama or Daddy would ask, "What did you do in class that was interesting today?" Then, like a good son or daughter, you sit and think for a hot second while still tearing up the potatoes, peas, and gravy that you mixed together to your Mama's chagrin, and you state matter of factly, "I got a 100 on my spelling test," or, "Miss White let me lead the class to the cafeteria for lunch."
Mama says for the umpteenth, "Don't speak with your mouth full."
You finish chewing and tell Mama, "Sorry."
Mama wants to launch into, "That's another reason we don't take you nowhere. You act like I didn't raise you better than to talk with a mouth full of food." But your story aroused her interest, so you see Mama's face soften as she asks, with interest, "So tell me what happened." Then, with your chest all swollen with pride, you excitedly launch into the good details of how that event went down and ended on a positive note.
Even as recently as 10 years ago, let's say one of your male friends asks you about your homegirl that lives on your floor of the dormitory. Your answer might sound like, "Oh, Stacy? She's a really interesting girl." That stirs intrigue in your homeboy, and you go into further good details: "Yeah, she's in SGA and an African Dance troupe. She's always into something, but there's no drama because everybody likes her. Stacy even does community service at a homeless shelter on the weekends, and she's not even trying to go Greek." So, homegirl Stacy is interesting in a legitimately good way because those details really did hold homeboy's attention, and arouse interest.
Fast forward to 2007. "Interesting" is never mistaken as anything good these days. Don't remember exactly when that changed, but I know my love life is definitely "interesting". The sad thing is that my current state of affairs can definitely hold someone's attention because of its silliness, and it may arouse interest because everyone deserves entertainment. Who am I to deny anyone entertainment? First of all, I had a teary but reflective Friday and Saturday because I normally would try to spend some time with Bones on Saturday and/or Sunday. This was the first weekend where that didn't go down because we're not an item anymore. Today, I just recognize it for what it is: "It bes that way sometimes." Like SupaChica told me on the phone, "Girl, he did you a favor. He wasted 3 months of your time instead of 3 years of your life. Learn the lesson and move on."
So, in my attempt to move on, I have some prospects. I'm trying hard to be like one of my sorors, and keep a stable of men that all know their friends until further notice. If I find a top prospect that eventually becomes #1, then all others would go to the wayside. I'm too old to use my energies to try to be a hardcore playerette but still too old to be silly enough to date one guy at a time.
After being teary on Saturday, I decided to get busy on the errands I neglected and get them taken care on a stifling hot Sunday afternoon. That "buy one, get one free" coupon for an oil change at a local oil change franchise was calling me, so I jumped in the Honda and got it cracking. The dark denim capris, sleeveless cleavage-showing top enhanced with yellow glittery beads, and white low-heeled flip flops were looking niiice after the fresh pedicure. As soon as I pull up, there's flirting. Too bad it's with a older gentleman. Really nice with a fresh mouth and about 40 years on him. Not feeling Mr. Goodwrench before the middle age crisis goes full swing.
I'm in the lobby listening to my MP3 and jamming off my white people: Queen and George Michael. Then I take it old school with Newcleus and Prince. I'm called up to the counter by this young tender. Yes he is tendaaaah. Tall, red, kinda slim and toned. I see the biceps popping under his polo shirt. Looks so familiar but I can't place it. He happens to be the store manager, and he calls me to the desk to settle the bill. I'm straight jammin' to my 80s moment, and Mr. Manager can't help taking notice.
"Where's your man?"
I quickly respond, "Dumped!"
Manager's interest is piqued. "Why'd you dump him?"
"He punked out on a very important matter, and I don't date punks."
After this exchange, one of the other employees leaves the lobby and leaves me and the manager alone to flirt. The manager has this swagger...that looks familiar. As he sits down, he spreads his long legs wiiide open. Then, I notice his right hand covered with a powder blue rubber glove go immediately to the crotch area. I think, "This is kind of a garage, and it's man space. That's just how some guys roll without thinking." Just like me to give the benefit of the doubt.
"DJ," he answers with a beautiful white smile. "Those are my real initials so I'm a real DJ." He tells me his real name, and I nod with a smile. "Well, alright then, Red." Dude is a serious redbone, lighter than me. Usually not my type, but if I'm working on my flirting skills, I might as well play along with DJ.
Then, without looking too hard, I notice without staring that his right hand is moving in an up and down motion in his crotch area. "A lot of people call me Red Mandingo," he says with this lustful look on his face.
Yeah, that's Donald Rumsfeld, our former Secretary of Defense, and he's aptly communicating the disbelief of that statement. Just a dead stare was on my face, but I was internally rubbing my eyes and cleaning my ears because I just knew that I had hallucinated that whole scene. The staring into Mr. Mandingo's face continued, but no words followed. Mr. Mandingo obviously expected applause and a cartwheel with his announcement. However, my silence always speaks volumes, and that was my response. Miraculously, the powder blue was removed from his crotch, but I couldn't take the rest of his convo seriously. That interaction leaves me pondering because that's not the first time someone has tried me like that. That was definitely the first time a young, dumb guy of 27 tried to stimulate me visually, but I still have to wonder. Am I getting approached like that just because I'm a big girl, and these guys really think that I'm a desperate fat girl just waiting for the opportunity for my vagina to meet any penis offered to me? I know some guys will try anything with breasts and a continuous breathing pattern. Unfortunately, I just find too many of these guys hitting on me.
I know I'm worth more than that because I have had some real relationships in my past (that I must delve into later). It just seems to elude me at this critical 30s juncture. It makes me look at myself and think what's wrong. And damn it, if this stuff doesn't send me back into a reflective mode when I'd be much happier moving forward. I'm really not hurting about Bones anymore, but now, I'm wondering if guys just think they can try me in any way just because. As if I as a woman don't deserve the best but should settle for whatever bullisht they think they should offer with minimum effort. *sigh* "Tryin' to make a sista feel low/You know all of that has to go". Thanks, Queen.
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