Fly Like An Eagle

So it was my birthday last week, right? And being new in town I thought it would be a quiet one. If you have a man or something close to it, they probably at least buy you dinner on your birthday and maybe even an old school gold name plate chain as a gift. Probably not a good trade considering the other ridiculous drama they put you through about which they take absolutely no ownership or have any overstanding, but a girl's gotta eat. And rock the fly gold jewelry.

personally i draw the line at mouth jewelry 

I digress...my girlfriends and gays came through and took me to an adorable spot here in Miami with the Best. Name. Ever: Dolores but you can call me Lolita. Add this place to the list of reasons I love being back along with the fact that there were no heat lamps necessary for our meal on the terrace. There were 8 of us total, part of an eclectic collection of friends that I'm busily curating with gusto and gratitude. Note: post Art Basel I now use the verb "curate" when I'm not talking about art necessarily...perhaps it's pretentious but it really works for me right now, please don't judge.

such a seksie spot

For a while lately I've had a bit of writer's block thinking to myself that I had run out of amusing dating stories for which I will not get sued. After all, I don't get that much play and I'm not a loose woman. But this dinner reminded me of a story I had forgotten to tell because it happened before I moved to New York! Unlike my other stories, this one takes place at the end of my BJ period.

Get your mind out of the gutter. BJ = Before I became Jaded.

You see, Dolores but you can call me Lolita used to be a gastropub (whatever that is) called Firehouse IV. The last time I was in the building was in spring 2002, very very soon after a break up with a fella we'll call Batman, because I discovered he had a bat phone which he used to curate with gusto, his own very special collection of friends.

my batman had abs and arms like this too, a redeeming quality

So this evening a decade ago at Firehouse IV I was with my good girlfriend previously referred to on this blog as JLo. She along with the entire universe wanted me to meet a nice guy ASAP, probably because at that point my eggs were still fresh enough to make a nice fluffy omelet. I however, was not concerned about my eggs per se at that particular moment in time.

this looks delicious

We spotted a tall mandingo across the floor. He was 6'4" of chiseled chocolate, bald head, smooth skin, amazing teeth. A physical specimen to die for. The buns on this dude, omGAWD LAWD A MERCY! However, he was also a paper bagger. Not in the light skinned/dark skinned sense - that's not an issue in this particular story - but because his face was so busted. The kind of face you'd put a bag over to hump. You know the kind of busted that at first sight you know the guy can never ever be your man because what if your kids turn out looking like that, and even worse, what if you have a little girl that looks like him? Because the world ain't a safe place for an ugly woman. And I'm cute enough most days I guess, depending on the lighting, hair and makeup...but certainly not cute enough to pull a poor innocent child through all that ugly.

Anyway, I really needed to get back on the bike after my 3 1/2 year tour as Batman's butler, chef, personal valet, rent free landlord and occasional ATM. Therefore when the Eagle approached I gave up the digits because why not?

see how its talons are just ready to take its prey? i shiver

So this cat worked for UPS. In fact, he was a pilot for UPS (hence the name Eagle). Um...hello? Maybe he wasn't so ugly after all. I think flying planes is pretty cool and he got to travel all throughout South America doing it. And it occurred to me that this man might even pay his own damn rent, or even own a place perhaps. He also had a boat and a yellow Corvette. I foolishly decided to overlook this yellow Corvette situation. And the fact that he invited me on his boat like day one, but fortunately that never happened.

btw can you believe that Deb killed LaGuerta last night? omg

For a week or so we chatted each other up. Blah blah blah where are you from, this and that, what kind of food do you like. We had one date which won me over almost all the way because for like the first time ever, I didn't pay a dime. And it wasn't at Pollo Tropical either, which was Batman's version of fine dining. I still couldn't kiss the Eagle because there was something weird about his lips that turned me off, but I was getting there. I was ready to be wooed by someone with good credit. He must have smelled this on me or peeped my Baker's shoes.

the Pollo Tropical diabetes express special value meal. it's delicious as i recall

But the story ends here! Our relationship wilted as quickly as it started when he invited me to hump in the back of the SUV I was driving that week while my car was in the shop. Hump after only one date!? HELL NAW. The southern belle in me was horrified. I hadn't even cursed in front of this guy. Insulted and disgusted, I lost his phone number and I'm sure he moved on to some girl who was pretty enough not to worry about the kids.

no caption necessary

This is the precise moment when the BJ period ended. No, it did not end when I found the Bat Phone. Can you believe that? Maybe that is the real trippy part of this story.

It was actually the Eagle who ushered me into the DS (=Don't be Stupid) era, which was a couple of phases ago. Now I'm in the EJ (=Extremely Jaded) era. But 10 1/2 years ago I was only as far along as DS.

It's what they call a flashbulb memory. It was a sunny spring day and I was on my cell phone with him, warming up to him, forgetting he was ugly. I was driving that rented red Mitsubishi SUV south on Biscayne Boulevard in North Miami past US1 Fitness (my former home away from home) and Publix. I was wearing a black mini skirt suit from the Limited and a light blue tank top underneath. The jacket was lying on the passenger seat because it was at least 90 degrees outside.

if this car isn't the epitome of overcompensation i don't know what is 

The moment he made that lewd comment (with an appalling lack of game and grace may I add) after I had been the vision of virtue and class, I realized that ALL straight men - young and old, pretty and ugly, fat and skinny, broke and wealthy - only ever care about getting into your knickers. And they'll do or say or buy almost anything to make it happen.

This revelation really took the fun out of things.

Another Eagle epiphany: never wear cheap shoes. They attract the wrong kind of man.