It’ s official.  New York has kicked my ass for the last time and I give up. How soon can I get back to Atlanta, and how much will it cost to have all of my clothes shipped?  How much am I getting back from my security deposit on my place?  I wonder if my sister will let me live with her for a while.  These were all of my thoughts from last week.  It all started when I got the heads up from my friend in my old  department to apply for a full-time role that had just opened up.  I jumped at the chance to get out of my temporary role in HR to move to something full time that would mean I can really establish some roots in New York.  This didn’t go over well with my then manager, because when I got to my desk the next day I received an email that my assignment was prematurely ended.  Putting a positive spin on it, I figured hey no biggie I should be a shoe in for the new position since they know me and specifically requested that I apply.

I woke up really early on the day of the interview to review my notes and get my head together.  I even allowed myself to indulge in an iced coffee to get myself hyped up.  After two hours of group exercises, icebreakers, and an assessment, I was pulled to the side to get the news that I hadn’t gotten the job.  So here I am jobless with no prospects, and I get home to learn that my roommates/landlords are raising my rent.  What a great day this turned out to be.

I lost it, and just instantly felt like, ok this is it.  This is the sign that I’ve done everything I can do here.  I gave it my best and my dreams have died here on this day.  I called my friend Lauren from the hallway of the building only for her to get me smooth together and let me know that I’m not allowed to quit yet.  She referred me to the temp service that got her placed at a great company making great money.  I met with them, and was promptly told to give up on fashion and move to another industry.  They got me an interview at an investment company the following week for a role that had a competitive salary and full benefits.

The interview went well enough that they requested I come in to temp for a few days so they could get a feel for me.  On the second day of my trial period at the investment company I got a call saying there was an opening for a temporary role at Christian Dior as a PR Assistant.  My excitement went to disappointment the instant I learned the compensation was trash.  Who the hell can afford to live off of $14 an hour with no benefits in New York? Who?!  

I went to the Dior interview anyway, which only made me want the job even more.  Here I was in the LVMH Tower interviewing for a dream job with a top fashion house that I can’t even afford to take.  Why would the Lord dangle this in front of me like this?  Is it a test to see which I’m more dedicated to, the dream or the money?  I finished my week long assignment at the investment company hoping I made a good impression and headed to Le Bain that Friday for drinks with Lauren.  I gave her the rundown as we looked out over the Hudson and the Meatpacking District from the rooftop of the Standard and asked what she would do.  “Jessica, do you want to wear Dior or work at Dior?  At this point you need to be able to take care of yourself and Dior isn’t gonna do that for you.”  

The harsh reality is that she spoke nothing but the truth.  I’ve been struggling here as a starving artist for two years.  Living check to check down to the last penny, unable to do much of anything but work and this isn’t the life for me.  I live in what is arguably the greatest city in the world and I can’t even fully enjoy it, because I’m trying to stay in an industry that won’t even pay me what I’m worth.  The thing about fashion is that entry level jobs pay nothing, because there are so many people lined up to snatch those jobs and they are able to take whatever they can get salary wise.  But for someone like me who struggles to pay her own rent every month and falls behind on bills because of it, I can’t.  I can’t be fashion’s bitch and take pennies when I know I deserve more.  I have to find another way in, because that’s not it.  All I want to do is write and talk about fashion and life.  This isn’t what I thought my life would be at 28, and I just need things to get better, because I’m dangerously close to giving up.  And I’m wondering if I’m just not one of the people who can make it here.  How do you know when it’s time to give up and when it’s time to fight harder?

A good day in New York is better than a good day anywhere else in the world.  I say that blindly, because well I haven’t been everywhere else in the world.  However, based on my limited experience I stand by my statement.  I had a pretty amazing Sunday a couple of weeks ago.

I had some extra coins in my pocket (a rarity) and decided that since my edges were perfectly laid, and my brows were evenly filled I would treat myself to a buttermilk biscuit from this cute cafe near my house.  Cafe Madeline is typically overrun with hipster families that reassure me I’m not ready for motherhood albeit in a gentrified neighborhood in Brooklyn.  As soon as I stepped in the door to place my order, my theme song Spottieottiedopalicious blared out of the speakers and I just knew it was going to be a good day.  I headed to church and was actually able to sit in the front which is odd because my church stays packed for all services at every location.  Again, this is shaping up to be an amazing day.

Following church I had some time to kill before meeting up with some friends for bruch.  Their brunch, not mine.  I  was just tagging along for decoration and for the music.  I heard a lot of commotion and being the nosey inquisitive girl that I am I followed it and stumbled upon the Pride parade.  It was such an amazing sight.  All of these families and people of different races gathered together to celebrate not only being out and proud, but that they can now legally be married.  I danced with some strangers to Whitney Houston’s I Wanna Dance With Somebody and collected a souvenir of anal lubricant (it was the only thing I could catch in the crowd so relax) until I got the call from my friends to head to the brunch spot.

I arrived at the brunch spot first as usual, and next thing I know there were bottomless mimosas and bellini’s, lots of dancing, and plans were made to hit the next spot.  We made our way to the rooftop of a hotel that I don’t recall the name of and partied more while looking out over the skyline.  The night was warm but breezy and the air was light and fun, filled with laughter, friends, and celebration.  After getting more food to soak up the abundance of champagne, I parted ways with my friends and headed back to Brooklyn on the Q train.  For some reason I started to feel sad.  It was like coming down from a high.  I thought about the fact that I had to go home to an empty studio apartment with no one to drunk text.  Then I remembered that it was Sunday and I had to go back to a job that I didn’t even know if I would still have in a week’s time, and I started to sink.  The reality of my stage in life hit me like a ton of bricks and suddenly the day didn’t feel that great anymore.  I count myself lucky that I have a lot of friends.  I mean truly I do.  I have at least two people that I can call for any kind of situation I may find myself in, yet I often find myself alone with my thoughts.  Despite their numbers, those people cannot be with me 24/7 and after all of the distractions are gone, we are often left to face ourselves.  The true us.  The us we may inadvertently hide from everyone else.

I turned my music off because in my impending sadness there was nothing I wanted to hear really.  All of a sudden the man sitting next to me started to whistle the most beautiful tune. I found myself rocking to it and as we crossed the Manhattan Bridge, I asked him what song it was.  “Oh this is a very old German love song,” he said with a heavy accent and a kind smile.  “What are the words?  It’s so pretty?” I asked.  His boyfriend encouraged him to sing it for me, so he did.  His voice was surprisingly like Frank Sinatra’s.  I would’ve been a bit embarrassed had it not been for the overindulgence of champagne from earlier.  He told me what the song meant and I was overwhelmed by the sentiment of the lyrics.  We exchanged pleasantries of where are you from, are you guys visiting, how do you like the city?  “New York is really something.  Everything is here.”  His boyfriend wrote the lyrics in German on a receipt and handed them to me.  “It’s been a very long time since someone has said anything like this to me,” I said letting out a nervous laugh which probably revealed the truth in my statement.  Just as the train slowed down for their stop, he put his hand on mine and said,”you’re a beautiful girl, someone will feel this way about you soon.  When you meet him teach him this song and he will sing it to you.”  We waved goodbye.  I rushed home to google the song and the words are still so captivating to me even in my sober mind.  Maybe that was God’s way of saying “chin up girl.”

“You are my heart’s delight,
And where you are, I long to be
You make my darkness bright,
When like a star you shine on me
Shine, then, my whole life through
Your life divine bids me hope anew
That dreams of mine may at last come true
And I shall hear you whisper,
“I love you.”

So I kind of left you hanging a bit with regard to that fine ass dude I met.  You may be wondering what became of that whole thing.  Well I’ll tell you.

My whole point in leaving the VIP section that night was to go to the restroom when I was approached by the finest man I’ve ever seen in real life.  We’ll call hime Baby Drake.  I was literally taken aback by his presence.  He was so tall (not something I typically care about) and personable, and confident, without being cocky.  To be fair, I had participated in some heavy shot taking and over indulged in quite a few flutes of champagne prior to this encounter, but that man was fine.  Anyway, after we exchanged numbers, I never made it to the bathroom because my friends were famished and ready to go.

After making a mad dash on foot through traffic in Times Square to use the bathroom at a hotel, I had some tasty ass Thai food from one of my favorite places here called Qi, and then I made the homage back to Brooklyn.  Pro tip: if you are ever in the city of New York, and need to use the restroom, go to a hotel.  No one is ever going to stop you as there are lots of people in hotels, and there’s never anyone in the lobby restroom because most people have a room.  Back to the story.  As I was wrapping my hair after a long day of partying, I got a text from Baby Drake saying he hoped that I made it home safely and to give him a call the next day.

We chatted via text for the next two weeks.  Through these chats he gained my sincere interest in a few ways.  I will list them here:

1. He asked for my Instagram name instead of asking me to send him a pic.
2. His Instagram pics were captioned with some of my favorite Drake lyrics.  The kind that only a real fan would know, and if you can’t tell by now, I freaking love Drake.
3. He asked if he could come to church with me.
4. He wasn’t able to make our church date but let me know in advance with sincere apologies.
5. I got a call around 9:00 PM a few days later (yes an actual phone call) asking if he could come over.  “I don’t need to come in or anything, I just want to see you because we haven’t had a chance to hang out since we met,” he said.

I do not allow anyone into my house.  Not because I’m a prude but because my place is not cute and visitor friendly.  I would liken it to Holly Golightly’s apartment in Breakfast at Tiffany’s but that would be too generous of a comparison.  There’s random furniture and nowhere to really store my clothes so there wasn’t a chance in hell that Baby Drake would see the inside of my house on this day or any day in the foreseeable future.

He asked for my address and I sent it via text.  He called and said, “Wow you’re like an hour and a half away.”  My heart instantly sank before he followed up with, “Nah I’m joking you’re literally like five minutes away see you soon.”  I took the flexi rods out of my weave, and groomed my brows quicker than anyone ever has.

I’m a bit of a creep so I actually have chill outfits that I find flattering.  Not lingerie.  Let me explain.  I think that I look really good in all white but I don’t like to look like I’m trying too hard when chilling.  So I threw on some white sweat pants, and my new favorite white t-shirt from Banana Republic.  (I have an obscene amount of white shirts).  So, I emerged from my driveway looking leisurely chic as far as I’m concerned, and there he was.  I shit you not, the man somehow got better looking from the time we first met.  He was wearing my version of male lingerie: Nike Tach gear and dope sneakers…plus a fresh haircut.  Let’s also take a moment to reflect and thirst over his body.  He was built like a running back.  You know, slim but just muscular enough in the right places (arms, chest, and back).  Quick, someone come change this chair cushion.  I swooned in my head, but kept my cool.

We stood outside of my house and talked for like two hours.  It reminded me of high school or college, when you’d sit in someone’s car talking about any and everything, and time doesn’t even exist.  You’re just thriving off of each other’s vibes.  A warm breeze came through every now and again to give my weave that Beyoncé effect.  We talked about his mom’s passing, his absentee father and how that made him want to be a better father to his son, where he went to college, and why he dropped out, his many, many tattoos (I love tattoos), and everything that came to mind.  He didn’t compliment me too much, because I said how I hate that.  He was genuinely curious about me and my life, where I grew up, and what brought me here.  His touches were light and flirtatious, a little inviting even, but never aggressive.  It was a perfect Summer night.  The kind you long for when you don’t even know you’re longing.

“When can I see you again?” he asked while holding my hands.  I encouraged him to plan something fun, since he seems to know where the fun is.

“You know we go together now, right?” he asked before giving me a hug and leaving.  I giggled like a child, and blushed profusely, and floated back to my thrift shop of a basement apartment.

About half an hour later he text me kissing emojis.  I typically hate that kind of thing but he’s so fine that I let it slide.

“Thank for stopping by,” I replied.

“Thanks for letting me.”

And I never heard from him again.

I hate flying.  My mother has worked for Delta Airlines almost as long as I’ve been alive; hence, I’ve been flying almost as long as I’ve been alive.  Yet, every time I do it, it never feels right to me.  I cannot from my limited understanding of physics as it relates to air travel conceptualize why we are able to fly in airplanes.  I’m sure there’s a book, a blog, an article somewhere that could break it down into Layman’s terms for me, but I remain in my willing ignorance about it. Last Friday I flew home for my monthly visit (there’s a joke in there somewhere) using my flight privileges which means standby.  Standby is trash and never let anyone tell you different.  I somehow made a 5:30 PM flight home when I had been number 72 on the standby list on the previous flights.  “There’s no way I’m getting out of here today,” I thought to myself.  I started mentally sending texts to friends to let them know I wouldn’t be able to make it this weekend, and I looked up and saw that I had been assigned a seat.  I now know that I inexplicably made that flight because God wanted me to meet the woman I sat next to.

I inched my way toward my seat in the very back of the plane still tired from the work day and the commute to LaGuardia.  Finally I made it to my row of three and there was Mindy and her son.  We exchanged the usual pleasantries of “hello, can I squeeze by?  Sure, let me just.”  My desperate attempt to sleep failed miserably and of course we hit “some rough air” and there was turbulence.  Anxiety level now at 10.  Mindy and I shot each other a look “I hate flying,” she said to me with a nervous smile.  I forced a quick head nod and awkward smile back.  And there was the beginning of our hour and a half friendship.  Mindy told me all about how she’s a stay at home soccer mom and that she and her family lived in London for four years.  “It was such a tough decision to move back to the states because we really loved it over there,” she said with her eyes welling up with tears.  “We prayed on it profusely and asked God to lead us.  I felt in my spirit we should head back to the states and a month later I found out I had breast cancer,” she confessed with tears rolling down her face.  I listened intently to her story, wondering if there is a voice in my head that I’m ignoring.  We talked the remainder of the flight and she introduced me to the rest of her family who were seated elsewhere once we landed.  “Isn’t she beautiful?” she asked her young son.  “She’s too old for me mom,” he quipped back in that super honest adorable way that children do.  She asked if she could hug me and we did and went our separate ways.

Mindy’s words about trusting that voice really stuck with me, because I wonder so often if I’m doing the right thing by staying in New York.  I expected to struggle and to be challenged, but for how long?  How do we know when it’s time to fight harder, or to pull out?  I’m scooting in closer to myself so that I can hear that voice that will tell me.  I believe that at this moment I am exactly where I should be, but I wonder how long I’m supposed to go without and struggle in the name of a dream that sometimes feels like a nightmare because of the burden of money.  Odd isn’t it that I can trust a pilot whom I don’t know at all to fly me to and from home, but I struggle to trust God who I know intimately to lead me to my purpose?  Fear of flying.

Rihanna signed on to be the first black woman to represent famed fashion house Christian Dior, and today we saw the Secret Garden IV campaign in its entirety.  The short film features a couture clad Rihanna wandering through the opulent Palace of Versailles while snippets of her new song ‘Only If For A Night’ play in the background.

I’ve said it once and I’ll say it again, Rihanna is my hero when it comes to being a single girl with an insane work ethic.

Peep the short film shot by Steven Klein below.

Today was a great day for black women as Nicki Minaj and Beyonce released the visual for their song ‘Feeling Myself,’ and it is everything we hoped and prayed it would be.  The video features Nicki and Beyonce in what we can only hope was an actual bestie day at Coachella, and not just a fictional one.  We were all still living in the aftershock of Taylor Swift’s girl power video which debuted during the Billboard Music Awards last night.  Her video for ‘Bad Blood’ features a gang of cool white chicks (and Tiana Brown from Empire) in some kick ass futuristic fight scenes, and here come our faves with this monster of a hit video today.

Of course the highly anticipated video was offered exclusively on Tidal, and of course someone found a way around that and posted it elsewhere.  It was pretty unanimous on my timeline that this video is inspiring bestie goals everywhere and encouraging us all to get our lives together.  At any rate, here are some scenes from the visual that stopped the world along with style tips.

1. One piece swimsuits are the shiz.

Photo: Cash Money Records/Tidal

2.    Athletic inspired gear is still popping, but it’s always a good idea to pair the look with feminine accents and a good beat.

Photo: Cash Money Records/Tidal

Photo: Cash Money Records/Tidal

There is a bit of controversy over this Givenchy jersey.  Some people reached and said this was shade towards Tyga because it says ‘Pervert’ with the number 17 (Kylie Jenner’s current age).  I find it hard to believe Nicki cares that much about that whole situation.  She really doesn’t have a dog in that fight.  Also, I doubt that Givenchy creative director Riccardo Tisci, who works closely with the Kardashian clan would do anything to damage that relationship.

3.  Mind your waistline

Photo: Cash Money Records/Tidal

4. Great skin is the foundation for a daytime beat that slays.

Photo: Cash Money Records/Tidal

5.  If you and your bestie wear the same size, you can totes swap pieces, but don’t make this a perpetual habit.

This, for some reason, was my favorite part of the video.

A video posted by Nicki Minaj (@nickiminaj) on May 18, 2015 at 2:34pm PDT

Shirt: I wish I could identify the brand by the tag, but alas I cannot.
Pants: Forever 21
Shoes: Guess

Why do I keep coming to this place alone?  I asked myself as I sat at the bar of my favorite Vietnamese restaurant in Greenwhich Village.  I have a weird addiction to pho and this was the first place in New York that I tried it so I call it my favorite.  Which I suppose isn’t fair since I haven’t tried any others.  But anyway.  I come here at least once a week because a tasty bowl of pho is only $8 and that’s a steal here.  There is no wifi, cell strength is hella weak, and it is always crowded.  I should also mention that I truly hate eating by myself, but I love the food so I come alone anyway.  In this weird solitude where I am ironically surrounded by other people, I have a lot of time to think.  A couple of weeks ago during my lonely ass lunch as my podcast was going off, I had this epiphany about my life.  And every week since then, I kept getting these little signs reinforcing that message.

I don’t know what’s up with this waiting for you at the door pose.

Is the suspense killing you?  Ok here it is.  I realized that I focus so much on getting to the next level in my career and in my life that I treat the space I’m in with total disregard.  We are taught to always aim high, the best is yet to come, your greater is ahead, but we never acknowledge the place we’re actually in.  We go through all of these tiny storms that are pretty much called your 20’s and we trudge through them reluctantly without paying attention to the lessons that come from these seemingly horrible experiences.

The first sign I received that I was on to something here was from a podcast.  If you can’t tell, I love podcasts.  You don’t need cell service or wifi to listen to them once they’re downloaded.  They’re free and you can learn a lot while being entertained.  The latest one I tried out was called The Psychology of Eating.  This therapist was helping a 20 something year old girl with her life issues (which I will spare you) but what he said resonated with me so much.  He told her that “our 20’s are rough waters but you still have to honor whatever stage of life you’re in.”  My face lit up as I listened to him speak my life while I crossed the Manhattan bridge on the Q train.  Of course the person across from me noticed my enthusiasm and gave me a puzzled look.

Shirt: Banana Republic
Skirt: BCBG
Shoes: Guess
Glasses: Celine

Sign number two came from the pastor of the church I attend here.  I am so in love with this church, but that’s another post for another day.  In the midst of his emotional sermon, he said that when you are well with your soul, no matter where you are in life you are content.  Once again I was filled with enthusiasm that my epiphany was real.

The third and final sign came from my daddy.  My dad and I have had a strained relationship the past couple of years, but he’s been communicating a lot with me lately.  He is the smartest person I know and I am so thankful for him.  My daddy isn’t just well read or “book smart” he has the ability to think critically in the most interesting way about concepts that most people are unable to grasp.  It’s hard for me to even put into words the level of intelligence my dad has but maybe this will help.  Today he sent me an email of food for thought.  At the end he said: take it easy, don’t judge yourself, be patient with yourself for in your patience you possess your soul.  Normally I would say ‘wow dad heavy much?’  But given the context of my life recently, this made perfect sense to me.

I say all of that to say that you may be struggling right now.  You may be broke, unemployed, alone, afraid, anxious, etc.  But you are in that place for a reason and you have to honor it before you can move ahead.  By honor it I mean seek understanding for why you’re there, try to learn something about yourself from the experience, and stop kicking your own ass for not being where you feel you should be.  Don’t let the storm defeat you.  Our 20’s are the time for us to make mistakes, to be confused, to figure things out, and to grow to the next phase.  So relax.  You’re doing fine.  You are exactly where you should be right now.  And while you should always be striving for more, you have to honor what you have.  Being patient during this confusing time is where you find peace and how you quiet the storm that’s raging inside of you.  Consider this, the work you put in is nothing compared to the work you’ll have to do once you reach your goal.  Do you really want to be there unprepared for what comes with it?

Last night the best of the best in fashion and entertainment came together to celebrate the opening of the latest exhibition at the Metropolitan Museum of Art’s Anna Wintour Costume Institute.  The new exhibit is called China: Through the Looking Glass and features high end designer fashions juxtaposed with the Chinese art that influenced their creation.  Hence, guests were expected to were the best chinoiserie in keeping with the theme.  Some of our faves showed up and fully committed to the theme of the evening and some just showed up.  The red carpet was lacking with actual Chinese designers, but that’s not surprising at all.

The Ones Who Committed and Killed It

These are the attendees who executed the theme in a fashionable way, and gave us what we came for: a red carpet moment.

Fan Bingbing

Photo: Vogue

BEST DRESSED

Karen Elson in Dolce and Gabanna

Photo: Vogue

Zhang Ziyi in Carolina Herrera

Photo: Vogue

Sarah Jessica Parker in H&M

Photo: Vogue

BEST DRESSED

Tabitha Simmons and Coco Brandolini in Dolce and Gabanna

Photo: Vogue

Lady Gaga in Balenciaga

Photo: US Magazine

Rihanna in Guo Pei

BEST DRESSED

Photo: Hollywood Reporter

Jennifer Lopez in Versace

Photo: Vogue

Michael B. Jordan in Dolce and Gabanna

BEST DRESSED

Who Was Pretty

These are the attendees that looked great but the actual theme was vague if at all present in their look.

Beyonce and Jay-Z in Givenchy Haute Couture

Photo: NY Daily News

NOTE: You guys need to chill with the whole “she’s a mom” narrative.  It’s old and invalid.  Becoming a mother doesn’t mean you forfeit your sexuality.  How do you think these babies get here?  Furthermore, she’s at a costume party so there’s leniency with what’s deemed appropriate.  You can’t see nipple, booty, or vagina so let’s relax people.

Rosie Huntington-Whiteley in Versace

Photo: EOnline

Kim Kardashian-West and Kanye West in Roberto Cavalli

Photo: US Magazine

NOTE: Are there definite similarities between Kim’s dress this year and Beyonce’s 2012 dress?  Yes.  However, I see the distinct difference in the images on the detailing.  You would be hard pressed to do anything original in fashion.  For everything you see that you love, if you look back far enough you’ll see that someone else has done it before.  Before Beyonce there was Cher, and before her there was someone else.  At the end of the day, Kim looked great and that’s all that matters.

Gigi Hadid, Bella Hadid, Kendall Jenner, and Hailey Baldwin

Photo: US Magazine

Naomi Campbell in Burberry

Keri Russel in Altuzarra Studio

Photo: US MagazinePhoto: US Weekly

Worst Dressed

Gabrielle Union and Dwyane Wade

Dwyane Wade made a little effort with his look but Gabrielle Union really let me down.  Save for this tiny fan purse, she left the theme out.  You have the money and the resources to put together something great yet you gave us a boring red carpet look.  Not only is it off theme, but it’s a real snooze.

Following my sit com blind date, I headed home to do a new look for my bestie’s birthday party.  Of course she changed the time we were meeting up as she always does, so I took a little nap.  Before I do almost anything provided that there’s enough time, I will nap or eat.  Terrible I know, but I love both of those things passionately.

I headed out to the DL (again I know that’s a dreadful name for a venue but I promise it’s fun).  We went to the section and the turn up began.  My really good friend, we’ll call her Lindsay, came to partake in the fun as well.  As we danced to Trap Queen Lindsay spotted a guy from way across the room.  “I just spotted bae,” she said.  That’s our code for there’s a really cute guy that I’m choosing on who I hope chooses on me.  I looked briefly and agreed that he was definitely bae material and we agreed to do a lap around the party to see if he was interested.  However, we were having so much fun in the section that we never took that lap.  It wasn’t until the end of the night that we spotted her potential bae talking with some friends by the bar.  We did our usual huddle trying to decide what she should say to him.  A stroke of drunk genius came and I walked up to the group of guys and asked if they knew what time the party ends.  Let me just say this.  I am horrible at flirting especially if it’s a guy I’m interested in.  It is literally the only time I am socially awkward.  But I didn’t have a dog in this fight so there was no anxiety.  Lindsay then pulled me to the side to tell me that her potential bae was actually choosing on me and being the great friend she is she demanded that I talk to him.

Once I actually looked at him I realized this dude is fine.  Like strikingly fine.  Tall, handsome, charming with tattoos and nice shoes.  I was taken aback.  I gave hime my number, but had to quickly go tend to my drunk bestie as she was ready to go and blowing up my phone.  We left and headed to get post club food.  Lindsay and I have an unnatural addiction to Thai food so we headed to Qi and then home.  As I washed off my makeup and put in my flexi rods, I got a text from the guy asking if I made it home safely.  I blushed through our brief text convo and it ended with him telling me to call him the next day.

Sometimes life is fair and just as the universe gives you a weird blind date with Puck from the Real World, hours later you meet a really hot guy that you want to get to know.

A few weeks ago my bestie and I went to a day party that included bottomless champagne for $20.  The boozy brunch/day party as it is known is one of the greatest things the city of New York has to offer once the weather become less than tragic.  After drinking a ridiculous amount of cheap champagne we were naturally starving and went for sushi where we met up with an old work associate of mine who we will call Christian.  Apparently at the end of this booze-filled sushi outing I agreed to be set up with Christian’s friend.  Imagine my surprise when Monday came and he text me saying that his friend wanted to take me out that weekend.  Further imagine my disdain when Christian sent a very unflattering picture of this guy.  However, following the advice of my friends I agreed to go on this blind date.  I didn’t even know people went on blind dates in real life, but here I was in a typical 90’s sitcom plot.

I was really looking forward to that Saturday because my bestie’s fiancé was getting her a section at another day party in the Lower East Side being held at the DL.  I know it’s a very unfortunate name for a venue but it is a great time.  I thought to myself all I have to do is get through the date and then the rest of the day will be  great.  I always have a great time partying with my bestie and her fiancé.  They’re like my own personal Jay and Bey because they’re doing much better at adult life than I.

So Saturday came and I told the guy to meet me at Coffee Shop.  That is the actual name of one of my favorite restaurants in Union Square.  It is written out on a huge neon sign right in the middle of Union Square, but guess where the guy went anyway.  He went to a Starbucks.  After texting back and forth trying to explain to him that I wasn’t saying “a coffee shop” but that, that is the name of the place, we finally met up.  He came sauntering across the street looking like he just rolled out of the bed from an intense hangover.  Shirt wrinkled, hair and beard unkempt, bad posture, pale, and all around unappealing he smiled a gap toothed smile as he greeted me.

I may be a tad shallow, but I’m not a monster so I went ahead with the date anyway.  We sat down as the live band played loudly and shared bland pleasantries.  The only way that I can explain the conversation is to equate it to the type of small talk you would have with a stranger at a bar after you’ve both had one too many drinks.  The really weird thing is that I kept randomly catching him staring at me.  To add even more awkwardness to this date, black families kept looking at me with glaring eyes judging me for having brunch with a white man.  I looked at them with an expression that said “no it’s not what you think.  This isn’t the kind of guy I would switch teams for.”  I ordered a drink and then learned that he doesn’t drink.  The waitress asked if we would be ordering food and I almost yelled no before she completed the question.  He then proposed that we go somewhere more quiet and I wondered why in the world he would want to do that.  I told him that I had to make my way back to Brooklyn to get ready for a friend’s party so we could just walk around for a bit.  I thought I was home free until I realized he had to ride the train with me too, where he stared at me the whole time.  “You look like you’re in really deep thought.  What are you thinking about?” he asked.  “Oh I’m just trying to remember some Drake lyrics I heard earlier,” I replied.  I cannot explain to you the relief I felt when he got off at the second stop and it was finally over.

I put in my earphones and blasted some PND to relax me, and hoped that the second part of my day would be much better.