Mami took a bus trip. Now she got her bust out. Everybody ride her, just like a bus route.
Here’s the only thing that sucks about moving to New York: Lack of same-sex friends. Now, I know how to meet men, but how do I meet women? Where do I go to find girls who I have things in common with? Who I’d like to party with. Some people would say “At work,” but seeing how I’m the youngest one in my office and one of three four Black females in the department, you can see where the struggle lies. Not that I won’t go out with older people, I will. And I can enjoy myself thoroughly while there… but when hanging with people from work, you have to present yourself in a certain way –I need to keep this job. And sometimes, I don’t want to watch myself so much.
Then again, I ain’t no wild thang anymore. AND, I met a girl at the bank. I lost my ATM card (Actually, I know exactly where it is: inside Crystal’s car door, it just so happened to fall in the crack where the window comes up. What a pair we are, huh?) so I went to the bank, last minute, to get a temp card. The girl ended up helping me even though the bank was about the close. Naturally, we got to talking. Seemed we had a lot in common. She was a college grad who had just gotten a place in Harlem. I’m a (new) college grad who was looking for a place in Harlem. & We’re both sistas. She gave me her number & we decided we’d get together eventually. After a couple of weeks, Friday was that “eventually”. I showed up to her place & she had a friend there with her. From the jump, I knew the friend was a swimming in the ghetto end of the pool, but to each her own, right? The friend went on and on about how she was a designer — to the point to where when she disappeared in the club, she called it networking. Riiiight. (Small confession, I love fashion but I hate fashionistas.) But it was before we even left the house that I started to feel like I didn’t fit in. If you read “I Hate Fashionistas”, I’ll go into the superficial: How you can tell the difference between yourself and your friends by the way you all dress. How you dress is a direct expression of who you are. You choose your outfit. It says something about you, something that resonates throughout the rest of your being. Later that night, I realized how right I was.
When we pulled up to the club, come to find out, no one wanted to pay. We were supposed to go to Highbar. Here I was on Facebook, bragging about partying on a NYC rooftop and these… bitches didn’t want to go in? Look. I was ready to pay. They gave their excuse about how “I ain’t partyin no where I don’t get in free or I go to wait in lines.” I understand that mode of thought. I lived that in college. I’ve been there. But.. I was willing to see what kind of “pull” these girls had. We ended up at some B- spot where they played nothing but house music all night long. Yes, we got a bottle, that was the perk. The only perk. Here’s my thing though. I have money. I’d have rather paid $20 to get in and $20 for my drink so that I could party with prettier people and better music. It just wasn’t my crowd. All the men were small and it was a predominantly white club/bar. Granted, I see nothing wrong with that, and I can enjoy myself there. But as for my visual stimulation? I need something more. I didn’t party at “bars” until my senior year in college. Until I had seen what was out there. Until I had my fill of Baltimore. I haven’t had my fill of New York yet and I felt like I was missing out. I thought that since I was going out with “sistas”, maybe I’d run into some brothas. NOPE. Here I was, in this club full of drunk white girls with two broke black girls leeching off liquor they didn’t pay for. But you know me. I poured myself a cup anyway.
I ended up kicking a guy dead in the chest with my closed toe pump. Like… hard. See I was going up the stairs and someone smacked my on my ass, so my reflex said kick. So I cocked my leg back… and kicked. Take note I wear heels 5 days a week (minimum) so my calves are strong as hell. As I turned around to see him grabbing his side, I noticed it was one of the girls I came with who had smacked me. Oops. I apologized as they pushed me up the stairs. We sat on the bench near the bathrooms laughing our asses off when the guys came up stairs. I guess they thought that was their in. The reason I had kicked (for the most part) is cuz these guys weren’t attractive. But Bank Girl was all into the friend, ol’ boy. The guy I kicked sat next to me and tried to play his cards. He pretended not to hear me when I said, “Our drinks are all empty,” so I pretended not to hear him when he asked if I had Facebook. He pulled out his phone and navigated to his search screen. I turned to look the other way as he asked me how to spell my name and he got upset. I mean, I’d rather ignore him there and then, rather than to have to ignore him online. Or at any other future point in my life, for that matter. “You can leave now if you want,” he said to me. “I was sitting here fist,” laughed. “But, thank you, I guess.” I nudged Bank Girl and her response to me was, “We should get drinks.” No. We should not, I thought.
When we all got up, I smooth made my way back to our table and ended up (regrettably) texting “Him” since I was so bored. As Bank Girl closed off the night pretending to be in love with ol’ boy, we made our way out the club & she stopped to talk to a guy yelling for us to go to his after party. In the midst of avoiding him, Bank Girl comes out and says, “Our limo is waiting on us.” When I heard that, I walked away. Really though? Where? Where the fuck is the limo at? He knows you’re lying. So I crossed the street and made my way to the car. By myself. Taking pictures at 4am like a cold, happy tourist (like the pretty pic you see above). See I’m the type of girl who goes to the club alone and leaves alone (except for my ladies of course). I don’t want to go home to or with anyone. It felt good to curl up in my Ralph Lauren duvet. Fabulously Drunk & Free. The girls who go home with guys or go to these after parties are a certain kind of girl. I’m not saying its wrong, I’ve been to an after -party or two… but you grow out of that eventually –you should at least. My partying started at 15 and ended before I was 21. I went to my first club at 15 and was there every week. I spent my junior and senior years of high school dancing the night away at house parties (sober) and my sophomore and junior years of college in and out of nightclubs (inebriated). I’m only 22, but believe I’ve lived a full youth. I didn’t miss a thing. At least not any parties. So, I no longer have energy to party all night, drinking and chasing boys. Especially not if the club ends at 4am. I’m taking my ass home.
You see, when I go out, it’s because I want to go out. I want people to see my outift & I want to see there. The night scene is like a walking magazine. Good or bad. But when I leave the club, I’m ready to go home. If we’re not hitting a breakfast spot, it’s cuz I’m hitting the sheets. When we got in the car, we took on the conversation of where to go eat. Bank Girl wanted to go to ol’ boy’s house. She called him and put him on speaker phone. “Are we gonnna get something to eat?” she asked and of course he responded yes. “I’ll cook for you,” he said. And that satisfied her. Since I had a weak vote in a car full of friends, we made our way there despite my comments. “He’s not gonna have any food for you,” I said. “If I have anything to do with it, there’s gonna be food there,” she responded, “and he’s paying for it all.” I suggested she just invite him to the diner down the street. If he’s gonna pay, he’s gonna pay, right? She wasn’t having it and we finally showed up at the spot. & guess what? That hole in the wall packed with ugly men standing around smoking cigarettes. Fun. When Bank Girl said “Let’s go,” I said, “That’s what you get.” That’s what happens when you chase men. You get nothing.
Moral of the story is, finding new friends is hard. You think you fit in with a certain type until you find out what that type actually is. And you’re always, without doubt, associated with the girls you go out with. They say “birds of a feather fly together,” but luckily, the eagle soars alone. I called my mom the next day and told her the story. “You’ll find better people,” she said. And I’m sure I will, it just sucks I have to go through this trial and fail before I find them…if I find them. This girl was cool and all, but I’m not trying to be no groupie out here messing with promoters to cut a line. Pretending to love myself but throwing myself any which way. Showing skin for a glass of Riesling. Like I said, I have my own money & I’m glad to spend on myself. “You know what I want, Ma?” I asked her, “I want to make enough money to go to the club by myself and buy tables & send the men at other tables drinks.” Just cuz I can. As my college friends and I try to settle on a place to go for New Year’s Eve, the deal is, we’re paying for VIP, cuz I haven’t made it but… I just can’t fake it.
I’m reading Jean Paul Satre’s Existentialism and Human Emotions right now and he explains that every person defines his or her self by making concious choices. When you make a choice you have to think, “How would the world be if every person acted just like me?” With that thought, you’re being then not only affects the outcome of your life, but all of humanity as well because you then live as a human example of what humanity should be. Derived from this, I’m starting think that I have to make the decision regarding the people around me as well. Like… how would my world be if everyone in it were just like this person? This just helps me decide what type of people I should be surrounding myself with.
And really, I can’t get with a lot of people. I’ve begun to willingly let people go and slide away because they don’t add to me and have the tendency to bring me down. You’ve got to watch the company you keep. & it is better to be in a room alone with yourself than in a room of enemies. You’ll never really get to know your enemies, but at least you’ll gain a deeper understanding of yourself. (I’ll get into that more on my detailing of “The Freakin Weekend Part 3: Sufficient in Solitude”.
And this was only Friday… on Saturday it got worse. Check “The Freakin Weekend Part 2: One Night Stand” for the second day of the Freakin Weekend. & It all ends on Sunday with “The Freakin Weekend Part 3: Sufficient in Solitude“.
After writing this, I might need to drink to that… yea yeeaaa. =/