The Old School Party was tonight. Remember I mentioned it would be at the Venetian Cafe - the place my liquor buddy and I stumbled on, with the friendly Egyptian owner.
You know, I'm not sure what I was thinking when I decided to go to this. I expected to find an expat community of folks sipping coffee or umbrella drinks, listening to the sounds of the 70's. The music was there, but my other descriptors didn't come close to the reality.
Let me begin with my neighbor, who I had offered a ride to. She's knocking hard on 50's door, but she looks older. Even though she's Black, and we age well usually, she looks like she had some hard years. She's my complexion and wears a golden weave that falls way down her back. When she knocked on my door, she had on stiletto boots, and what looked like riding pants and a zoot suit jacket. My first thought was - clearly she doesn't own a full length mirror. As my dear friend Deb would say, "Lord, I apologize (for those thoughts)."
For some reason I missed the signs at our previous brief encounters, but tonight it was crystal clear, she was ghetto fabulous and proud of it. Nothing wrong with that, but there wasn't much common ground. We're both Black women. The similarities end there.
Anyway, we drive to the cafe, and there are a few folks hanging out in the patio area. We sit and immediately my neighbor stops a waitress to order drinks. When she discovered there were no alcoholic drinks, she was ready to go. Really? What rock does she live under? This is a dry country. Sign number two. We're probably not going to be bosom buddies.
I mentioned that the only place I know of that serves liquor is the Hilton Hotel. She jumped at that suggestion to go there, even though I mentioned that I don't drink. Didn't matter. She did and she wanted one. Or two. Or three.
The bar we were in was not much bigger than my living room. There was a live band playing LOUDLY. Ridiculously so. Loud does not equal good. Maybe I would have enjoyed it more if my ears weren't hurting.
We had a conversation - actually screamed a conversation because it so hard to hear - talking about relationships. We're both divorced, but clearly she's looking for a man, and couldn't grasp why I wasn't. She has been proposed to three times in the five months she's been here. How do you spell Green Card? V-i-c-t-o-r-i-a. I changed her real name to protect the innocent. Sign number three.
She wants to go back to the cafe. We get there and the place is hopping. We walk in. She gets lost in the crowd. I spend a few minutes looking for her, but when I can't find her, I leave. I had already told her I'd drop her off because I'm not a night owl, which I mentioned when we set this travel arrangement up. She said if she didn't spot a friend, she would leave with me. Since I couldn't find her, I'm assuming she found her friend and got home OK.
This experience reminded me of K-Mart. Every time I walked in that store, I kicked myself because I hated it. But sometimes I didn't remember I hated until I walked in.
Those of you who know me, know that a party person I am not, and I make no apologies for it. I saw going to this event as another new experience. That's just it though, it wasn't new. The last time I went to something like this, I was in college. A hundred years ago. Tonight reminded me of why I don't go to these kinds of things. Time is precious. Why waste it on something you don't enjoy?
It's 12:30 in the morning. Time for all good little girls to go to bed. And me, too.
Goodnight.
You know, I'm not sure what I was thinking when I decided to go to this. I expected to find an expat community of folks sipping coffee or umbrella drinks, listening to the sounds of the 70's. The music was there, but my other descriptors didn't come close to the reality.
Let me begin with my neighbor, who I had offered a ride to. She's knocking hard on 50's door, but she looks older. Even though she's Black, and we age well usually, she looks like she had some hard years. She's my complexion and wears a golden weave that falls way down her back. When she knocked on my door, she had on stiletto boots, and what looked like riding pants and a zoot suit jacket. My first thought was - clearly she doesn't own a full length mirror. As my dear friend Deb would say, "Lord, I apologize (for those thoughts)."
For some reason I missed the signs at our previous brief encounters, but tonight it was crystal clear, she was ghetto fabulous and proud of it. Nothing wrong with that, but there wasn't much common ground. We're both Black women. The similarities end there.
Anyway, we drive to the cafe, and there are a few folks hanging out in the patio area. We sit and immediately my neighbor stops a waitress to order drinks. When she discovered there were no alcoholic drinks, she was ready to go. Really? What rock does she live under? This is a dry country. Sign number two. We're probably not going to be bosom buddies.
I mentioned that the only place I know of that serves liquor is the Hilton Hotel. She jumped at that suggestion to go there, even though I mentioned that I don't drink. Didn't matter. She did and she wanted one. Or two. Or three.
The bar we were in was not much bigger than my living room. There was a live band playing LOUDLY. Ridiculously so. Loud does not equal good. Maybe I would have enjoyed it more if my ears weren't hurting.
We had a conversation - actually screamed a conversation because it so hard to hear - talking about relationships. We're both divorced, but clearly she's looking for a man, and couldn't grasp why I wasn't. She has been proposed to three times in the five months she's been here. How do you spell Green Card? V-i-c-t-o-r-i-a. I changed her real name to protect the innocent. Sign number three.
She wants to go back to the cafe. We get there and the place is hopping. We walk in. She gets lost in the crowd. I spend a few minutes looking for her, but when I can't find her, I leave. I had already told her I'd drop her off because I'm not a night owl, which I mentioned when we set this travel arrangement up. She said if she didn't spot a friend, she would leave with me. Since I couldn't find her, I'm assuming she found her friend and got home OK.
This experience reminded me of K-Mart. Every time I walked in that store, I kicked myself because I hated it. But sometimes I didn't remember I hated until I walked in.
Those of you who know me, know that a party person I am not, and I make no apologies for it. I saw going to this event as another new experience. That's just it though, it wasn't new. The last time I went to something like this, I was in college. A hundred years ago. Tonight reminded me of why I don't go to these kinds of things. Time is precious. Why waste it on something you don't enjoy?
It's 12:30 in the morning. Time for all good little girls to go to bed. And me, too.
Goodnight.
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