Having not achieved my goal of attracting eligible, single black men to seriously date, I decided to loosen up my race/ethnicity criterion. I’ve already written about how I didn’t find anything new or refreshing or overwhelmingly intriguing when I looked to the left. Well, here’s what I found when I looked to the right–Latino men.
I’ve got two righthand stories for you…
First up…Mr. Puerto Rican Annoyance
Exactly one week before my birthday, I received an early morning email, and I quote…
SUBJECT: What are we doing for your birthday?
What are we doing for your BIRTHDAY? It’s been a while and Lord knows I need a lil break, so if ur in the market for traveling, I welcome you with open arms. We can make it a special one, 😉Miss Ya,Hope all is well!
Surprisingly, it was from a man who I haven’t spoken to in several months. I’ve received a few one-word, surface-level and one-line text messages, emails, and facebook posts from him in that time, but we’ve had no conversations. So, why would “we” be doing anything for my birthday? Given the history of this man in my life, everything in my spirit said no thank you to his offer. This didn’t change when he sent me a very nice email on my actual birthday.
Here’s why he gets no play: In addition to the fact that the nature of his first message falsely implied that we are in regular contact, I severely dislike cowardly people. He and I used to run in the same circle of friends at some point in life. Sometime after the group grew apart, he expressed an interest in us dating. I half-heartedly entertained those advances at the prodding of a few people, but that ended in an agreement that time and circumstances (amongst other things) prevent us from being a good pairing. I understand why he’s shy of conversation with me given how our interactions ended several months ago. However, the man who will be successful in pursuing me will be confident and brave and bold. Enough so that he can pick up the phone and give me a proper invitation to a weekend hoe stroll.
Next up…The Dominican Dancer (DD)
To kick the birthday blues, I took a FABULOUS trip to the Caribbean with my bestie, Summer, and my sister, Imani. We spent a night out on the town at a karaoke bar. When karaoke ended, the dance floor opened. This cutie (who wasn’t from the island we were visiting, but grew up there after he and his mom moved from the Dominican Republic in his early teens) pulled me onto the dance floor and kept me there–bachata, merengue, salsa, repeat! As we danced, he sang along to the Spanish lyrics in my ear. On our breaks from dancing there were drinks and getting to know each other chitchat. The only issue was that I really only speak un poquito de Español and his English is definitely the same. Luckily for us, he was there with his black (American, I presumed) co-worker/friend (who was booed up with some Caribbean woman) and could help him translate his thoughts before telling them to me. As we semi-conversed as best as possible, I wondered what it would be like to date someone with whom it was so difficult to communicate on a basic level. Even if the two of us could figure each other out, could we ever merge the other people in our lives into one circle? Understanding that these thoughts were far too advanced for a random night out in a different country, I decided to just go with the flow and enjoy his company.
When it was time to leave the bar and head back to our hotel, he offered to give us a ride. We accepted it, because it was much easier than attempting to find a taxi (the way we got to the bar) and ten times better than jumping in the car with the 60-year-old self-proclaimed crack addict who was latched on to Summer. To make a long story short…after a snippet of a private rendezvous with the DD in the parking lot (which scared me, Imani, and Summer half to death), he decided to walk me into the hotel lobby. I had no intention of taking this man to my room and Summer was in a similar situation (not with the 60-year-old, but with her other island boo who was quite stalker-ish-ly waiting for her at the hotel when we returned). Summer and I quite craftily pawned our two bugaboos off on each other and escaped to our respective rooms. My evening with the Dominican Dancer started off as fun, exciting, and somewhat whimsical….but it ended in a slightly uncomfortable, concerned for my safety sort of way. Needless to say, I never used his contact information…and if I ever run across it again, never will.
Lesson learned: All men are capable of playing petty little foolish games, so I may as well stick with the ones to whom I’m uncontrollably attracted…right? Right.
NEXT POST: Coming back to the middle