Confessions of A Naughty Girl

I Got Jungle Fever

Last night. Officially First Night Out on the Town. My awesome friend Amy, who lives here, was kind enough to suggest dinner and barhopping as part of my socialization process, and really, twist my arm. I am always up for a nice cocktail and some good eye candy.

After an excellent gourmet pizza dinner, where I managed to mercilessly hit on the waiter in the hopes that he would reverse right into heterosexuality (no luck), we hit up Loca Luna, a flavorful, yet fun bar that reminded me of "Cocktail" and had a big, sweaty dance floor with a lot of greasy boys on it, who were making poor attempts to gyrate against women in any way possible. These pathetic attempts always make me sad, as they remind me of the shower scene in "Porky's" and the dopey guys I knew in high school and college who didn't realize that a good way to get girls was to start by saying "Hi" and making eye contact with anything other than her breasts. Anyway, a couple of rum drinks later, I was approached by Joe, a leering, disgusting bastard who seemed hellbent on looking down my shirt. In a futile attempt to get him to go away, I (mistakenly) told him that I was here with my ex-girlfriend, Amy, and that I was more than a little heartbroken, because I moved here to be with her and she dumped me for a guy. I figured that the story had a little disinterest, a little drama, and just enough "leave me alone, I'm occupied" to make him go away. Okay, not so. Note to self: Self, never tell a leering bastard, much less any bastard, that you are bisexual, because a) it's not true, and b) it will backfire on you. The guy refused to leave me alone for the next twenty minutes until finally, Amy had to pull me away to the dance floor. Sick.

And yet a couple of drinks later, we headed to a bar called MJQ, which I think is short for "the bar they take the white girl to in 'Save the Last Dance'". Ahh yes, no joke. This is an infamous "underground bar", and it is literally under the ground. I felt a little out of my element, particularly when we walked into the room where the crowd was lined up with a circle cleared in the middle and there were guys that were breakdancing and doing all sorts of things with their bodies that I didn't think possible, which raised some possible inadequacy questions as to whether or not I am bendy enough when need be.

It was then that I spotted my G. Now, don't get me wrong, I have nothing against black men whatsoever. Never say never, right? But traditionally, I haven't been attracted to black men, so this is a new thing for me. I was dancing with Amy and her friend, and suddenly I felt a flash of light that could only come from a gold medallion on a chain, hanging around Hot G's neck. I whipped my head around to see one very good-looking black man sporting an MJ Chicago Bulls jersey, a bald head, and one very strategically placed gold tooth. Hmm...Chicago Bulls. I moved from Chicago. Fate? Possibly. He was hot.

So we started dancing, and he was nice and quite gentlemanly, which was great, considering I am not all about playing grab-ass with strangers on the dance floors of underground clubs. I found out he had just moved to Decatur from Chicago about five months ago, and that he was originally from the South Side. When he asked where in Chicago I was from and I responded "Lincoln Park", he threw his head back, laughed, and twirled me around. Hmm, I think he was impressed. (Sarcasm.) I really wanted to lie and say something "cool" like "Humboldt Park" or "Ravenswood" -- anything that was a little less yuppy, but I had to stay true to my roots.

The whole encounter was very innocent, as there was nothing beyond dancing going on, but there was something about this guy that was extraordinarily seductive. I don't know if it was the jersey, his sweet nunchuck skills, his dancing, or the Hershey's Pot O Gold in his mouth, but it was then and there that I developed my very first bona-fide crush on a black man. Yum.

After about an hour, his beeper went off (yes, his beeper went off) and he had to go. Which was fine, considering that fate had better things in mind for me, like saving Amy from some sketchy guy who kept asking her if she did coke. But he kissed my hand, twirled me around, and I was left to get my sorry, drunk ass home at 3 am.

How's that for a Spike Lee film?

posted by KA @ 1:51 AM