Staring Into The Sun

Have you ever met someone who was so FIIIIIINNNNNEEEE-uh that you felt like you were staring into the sun?

I've been reflecting on this lately. There are two basic categories of people who are this good looking: famous and not-famous. And neither is dateable long term unless you are also one of them. Really you can classify these genetic freaks any way you like but I tend to be of the mindset that if I were that good looking I would find a way to get famous and rich, and just be all fabulous all the time. Not that I'm materialistic or don't have values, because I am and I don't (ha!) ... seriously, not that I don't have substance, but who wouldn't want that? To be gorgeous and famous and rich? Sign me up. So if someone is that good looking and they aren't famous or haven't tried to be then they have an interesting thought process going on about themselves and their place in the world. Like, I want to pick that person's brain. "What are you thinking? Get some headshots and get moving!"

So I don't personally know any famous people in this category. I have met two. These people look like they've been airbrushed but they haven't because they're standing right there in front of you, live.

Met Tyson Beckford in front of Wet Willie's on Ocean Drive, SoBe

Met Boris Kodjoe at Tillman's

I also saw Halle Berry once and she didn't even look real, she was so pretty. No makeup, nothing. beee yatch.

I do know a few non famous people of this persuasion. I have a good girlfriend whom when I met her and found out she was an investment banker instead of a model, I thought she was off her rocker. What is wrong. with. you. ???? You're 5'10", 120 and like the prettiest girl in the world. Heck, I'll be your agent. All that gorgeousness just wasted to be enslaved to your blackberry 24/7. Hmph.

There is also this guy I met a few times a few years back, a casual acquaintance, who is borderline stare-into-the-sun fine and I think he has given it sort of a shot, I've seen his modeling pics here and there. Even if he doesn't ever get famous at least he has followed his calling of being fine and put himself out there. That, I can understand. Maybe one day he'll be famous and I can say - I'm totally friends on Facebook with that guy. He's sent me messages on there before. But no pokes.

Then there was this guy I used to sort of hang out with occasionally waaaayyy back in the day, like the 90s, who was ambiguously ethnic fine - you know the type? And I have a strict policy with myself over not swooning over light skinned smooth hair green eyed dudes because I know every one else does. But honestly this guy looked like a tan version of Brad Pitt in his heyday before he deserted his loving wife for that hussy and rubbed her nose it for all the world to see. This guy's extreme fineness was just too much for me. He got his wisdom teeth pulled and I showed up on his doorstep with a bowl of jello. With fruit in it (pears)! Yeah, it was like that. This guy never tried to get famous off his looks, he's like an intellectual or something these days and married to someone who is probably all Groove Theory chic or something.

I bet all my dough Jello-man's wifey looks like Amel Larrieux

More recently I met this guy at a work meeting - drinks at a spot that was totally too cool for school. There were four men and myself which is usually the case, and he walked in last. There I was in professional mode, in my suit and my heels etc and he walked in. Say 6'3", thick black hair, cufflinks, nice shoes, shoulders, lips, teeth. eyelashes a mile long. oh. my. oh. my. OH. MY! I thought I was watching a Bollywood movie...he was like Surya the Sun God.

He was so fine I lost all concentration and sat there reminding myself not to look at him too much, for like two hours. Do you have any idea how hard it is to stare into the Sun for two hours? I almost lost my mind. Even his fingernails were perfect. He was impeccably dressed and had a cool upperclass Indian accent revealing a British education. You know I love the Brits! A big brown Bollywood Brit is in a class alone. I hope he didn't notice the drool on my chin. I tried to keep cool. But I would be lying by omission if I didn't admit that when he replied to my follow up email within 1 minute, my heart skipped a beat. But seriously though, why isn't he famous? No really, why is he a finance nerd instead of being famous? Although, he could become a finance rock star given what he does so I take that back. He IS trying to be famous. Now I understand.

Lawd have Mercy. JAIHO!

Hidden Gem

You know what's the move? 

The Delta Shuttle to Chicago Midway airport. I have to go to Chi town relatively frequently for work, and it's the easiest on both ends. Quick check in at LaGuardia along with free newspapers and magazines. And not talking cheesy ones either. The free papers run the gamut from the Financial Times to USA Today. So something for everybody.

But would you believe they have EBONY MAGAZINE for free in the Delta Shuttle terminal at LaGuardia? How cool is that? I wonder if it was there before Obama got elected. I didn't start taking this flight until after then, my dumb behind was always schlepping it on American (which totally sux arse) to O'Hare (which is a torturous place). 

Anyway it is time for me to board my flight. But I'm sayin, if  you ever have to travel NYC to CHI definitely take the Delta Shuttle.  

Best. Date. Ever.

I know it has been a long time since my last post. I started this thing, and was all hyped about it, and then I had so many ideas that I got this overwhelming anxiety over what to post next because I had so many thoughts. Has that ever happened to you? So many things running through your head that you just clam up? Anyway, since so many adventures have occurred over the last two weeks and I'm still processing them to make them suitable for public consumption, today's post is from the vault. It's been sitting in the queue waiting to be posted so here goes...

Don't be jealous but I have had a couple of really spectacular first dates. This is the story of the one I can write about. The other involved a French Caribbean island and lasted five days, so I think I can't put that on here.

One of the great things about being single and not necessarily 25, is that people are always trying to set you up. That may sound annoying but it's actually quite fun. I'm always up for an adventure because at the very least, I'll make a new friend.

I sincerely believe that. Really.

So a friend of a friend, who is also sort of my friend, had this friend. Said friend lives far away in a warm foreign place but comes to NYC frequently for visits and business. He was coming to NY and my friend and her friend wanted to introduce us.

So we met and I liked him. Truly. Very very cute, an impressive athlete, tall, and a cool British accent. Now y'all know how I love the Brits. In fact I've recently taken to drinking my tea with milk! Anyway because he was so smooth, and British, let's call this one...James Bond.

On his next trip to NYC Mr. Bond and I arranged a date. It was to take place over the course of an afternoon/evening and it was my responsibility to plan a snack hour in the late afternoon between our 3pm and 7pm activities. I picked a cool tea house on the LES (Lower East Side) since he's British and all that. But I'm getting ahead of myself.

After much flirting on Bloomberg and texting, he knocked on my door for our date. He was soooo cute and eager I couldn't stand it! Just adorable. Waiting for us outside were a car with driver. If you don't live in NYC that may sound really extravagant...if you do it's simply a nice touch. New Yorkers (the Manhattan variety) hire cars with drivers all the time because most of the island doesn't even have a drivers license. So it was a nice touch to make sure we didn't have to throw elbows with the hoi polloi for a cab. Or worse, walk to the subway. It's not like there was no butler or champagne in there or anything. But...it was a Mercedes and not a Town Car. !!!!

So off the driver went driving us downtown. And don't you know he dropped us off at the heliport down there on South Street?!

Holy smokes Batman!

007 had arranged for a helicopter tour of the city for the two of us. While waiting I experienced some pretty severe hair situation anxiety because it was a damp day and I had a fresh Dominican roller set, and those don't hold up well under stress. I fretted privately that the force of the helicopter blades combined with the humidity would create some sort of tragic disaster from which I would be unable to recover. Remember when homeboy, Montgomery from Fame, got his arm chopped off by the trauma helicopter on ER? And he couldn't be a surgeon anymore even though they reattached it and they had to chop it off again and he basically died of heartache? Anyway it distracted me a bit from our conversation but eventually I eased into it and sat there just listening to his melodious voice tickle my ears with tales of a childhood in London. Or somewhere in England.

Then where was the moment of...what if we die? But I got over that.

So the tour was cool but like a bit awkward because we didn't have mics to talk to each other and we did a lot of pointing and grinning and thumbs upping. It lasted say 15-30 minutes and then we were back on the ground and my hair was safe. (sorta) But you know, I figured, he really doesn't know the difference about the hair so it was all good.

We cabbed it over to the tea place (http://www.teany.com/) where Bond ordered a beer. I thought that was hilarious. He was super nice and really awfully cute but had a tendency to ask me questions in the superlative or absolute like, "What's your one goal for this year?" or "If you could do one thing over, what would it be?" Kind of ironic because I'm the last person who thinks that way. You could ask me a question like that every day and get a different answer depending on my mood. Kind of an interview/date. But not like an audition date which is how I usually feel with a certain group of men. It certainly didn't give me that I-wanna-do-dirty-things-to-you-right-here feeling. But the lighting was soft and dim, making me look young and dewy, and he was enraptured, I'm sure. Really that's all you need for a good date - soft lighting and alcohol.

So the third leg of the date was also pretty awesome. But frankly I was getting tired. He took me to see "August: Osage County" which later won the Tony for best play. Our seats were something ridiculous, Row H Center or some fantastic up close ish like that. By that point, I put my hand on his knee. I had had a glass of chardonnay by then and was feeling bold. And impressed with the level of effort and thoughtfulness put into the endeavor. But that was as far as things got.

After the play he escorted me home. We had a chaste hug at the door and I bid him good night. Not even a kiss. Kisses are meaningful to me...if you get the kiss you get the caboodle eventually, unless you do something stupid. Really, swapping spit is quite intimate don't you think? But I digress...all that activity and I was worn out and needed to go to sleep. Poor Bond, his preparedness and generosity worked against him because I was tired from all the excitement. I think he was kinda pissed. Yeah. He was pissed. You know how I know? NO MORE HELICOPTERS. No more Tony Award winning plays. No plane tickets to see him down there where he lives in the warm place, stuffed into a bouquet of flowers. We were supposed to go to dinner a few weeks later but I guess I didn't give him enough encouragement or something because after a string of steamy texts to which I responded like a total prude, he fell off the face of the earth. You gotta put out or act super duper impressed if a guy goes all out like that. I was just trying to act like I wasn't all brand new...ya know? Like, obviously all my dates take me on helicopter rides and to hit plays then declare their passion for me via text. Oh well. He was geographically undesirable anyway.

What's the moral of the story? There is none. I just wanted to brag about the fact that somebody took me on a helicopter ride once, on our first date. Cool, huh?

Well, maybe this: even chauffeur driven Mercedes and plays and helicopters can't make your heart skip a beat. The idea of someone is nothing compared to the real thing. And that guy can take you to McDonald's. Right?

One New Yorker's Protest

March 2, 2009

The Honorable Michael R. Bloomberg

Mayor, New York City

City Hall

New York, NY 10007

Dear Mayor Bloomberg,

I am writing in reference to the poor wind and weather conditions New York has recently experienced. Even though it is March, the caustic cold, wailing winds and persistent precipitation continue. I would like your office to do more to cause this egregious weather pattern to cease and desist its assault on New Yorkers.

For example, this evening I was walking west on 50th street from Broadway towards 8th Avenue. The wind tunnel on this block is unacceptable. The wind behaved very aggressively, cutting my face with its force and bitterness, and causing me to lean forward to defend myself. I was brought to tears by its ferocity. While I did get some relief upon reaching the intersection, I was forced to pick my way through a horrid slushy mess at the curb, challenging even my trusty waterproof Timberland boots.

I slipped and slid the rest of the way home, all the way fearing for my teeth and my tailbone. Why? Because the slush left by this March snowfall mixed with the grime in the street created a vicious hazard placing both my coccyx and the lovely result of much painful and expensive orthodontry in danger. If I were to have fallen, surely I would have landed either on my bottom, cracking said coccyx; or on my face, knocking out my teeth. Both of which would have really sucked.

Until this issue is resolved I am withholding all further contributions to the revenue stream of this city. Please do not deduct any further taxes from my pay until you can assure me and my fellow citizens a reasonable weather pattern. We all expect four seasons, but any longer than three months in any one season (other than summer, of course) is unconscionable. Winter has far overstayed its welcome and I am sure, is contributing to the economic woes of our lovely burgh. 

I eagerly await your response, and more importantly, a solution.

Warm regards,

Black Swan

www.ablackswansong.com

This Is How It's Done

THIS is what I'm talkin 'bout. I ♥ her so so so very very much. 

Our First Lady's Official Portrait