Monday, March 16, 2009

Stay Home, Raggedy Andy


It’s been a year since my last truly good date. What made it such a good date was he was a gentleman and treated me like a lady. He took into account what I liked (food), what he liked (alcohol and live music), my willingness to try new things and my appreciation for the finer things in life. Since then, I’ve been out with other dudes, but not sure I’d call them "dates" in the true sense of the word.



Friday night, I was in Williamsburg at Sea. I swear I was in the Meatpacking district – the patrons, the d├ęcor, the menu, the waiters. The restaurant was packed and there was definite out-to-have-a-good-time vibes all around. As I was done with dinner, I was angered beyond belief. A couple was waiting for our table. I didn’t even notice the woman first but I noticed the guy in a workout vest over a t-shirt with track pants and sneakers. They shouldn’t have let him in the door of the establishment, but I’m not management. Then I see the woman he’s with – wearing a dress, hair and makeup all done up looking very classy. She was dressed for a date on a Friday night. He looked like he just came from the gym or something.



Fellas (this goes to my friends, brothers, future dates), don’t ever show up dressed like that, ever. And if it’s a Friday or Saturday night (an obvious date night) you should know better. I consider it a slap in the face and lack of pride in yourself. I went on a blind date (hold your comments please), on a Wednesday night and this dude did the same t-shirt and track pants look. He was coming from home! And told me he didn’t work that day! Then had to nerve to try to hold my hand as we headed to the restaurant! On top of that, he was short. I’m 5’2”. He was shorter than me.



My experience that was similar to that poor woman at Sea took place in the summer 2007 (yes, it’s still fresh in my memory). Saturday night, reservations were made at Rosa Mexicano in Union Square. I don’t wear dresses, but to a wedding, graduation etc, I’ll suck it up and show off my legs. That night, I wore my green and black polka dot camisole top. No bra. My perky girls were doing their thing. Black boot cut jeans and sandals. At the time, I had my two-strand twist extensions, so my hair was looking
right, and I had on great earrings. I didn’t go into this date expecting a love connection or hookup. It was an introduction to New York City for this guy and he was eager to go out on Saturday in the “cool part of town”. We met at the restaurant. He was at the bar. Every woman gives a man the once over in a split second when they meet. I had seen him two times before this. We hung out, had dinner after work at a more casual restaurant, walked through SoHo, across the Brooklyn Bridge (I was in full tour guide mode) then had ice cream at Brooklyn Ice Cream Factory. He was always dressed appropriately; after all, he was in his work clothes. Lawd Jesus mi shoulda deh deh wen im put on im cloze. He wore a grey long sleeve t-shirt, jeans and white sneakers (definitely older than a year).



I’m gonna stop there. What more is there to say? All I’m saying is please dress the part. You don’t have to be a GQ man or have your clothes fitted at Brooks Brothers for a date but please put in some effort or someone else may be blogging about your raggedy ass.


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