I went out last week to celebrate a girlfriend’s birthday. We were supposed to grab dinner and bar-hop around the city I bartend in. Usually allowing for other service industry employees to “take care” of a drink or two… possibly even three.
I popped over a bit late, all for the purposes of looking absolutely fly, of course. Every moment out has been an opportunity to dress up with the hopes of meeting another potential mate, if nothing else, at least a time killer. Walking up to the restaurant, I was relieved to see my other girlfriends were arriving just as late as I. Usual greets of hugs and kisses on the cheek commence.
My girlfriends and I all are unique creatures. One with dreadlocks (with an insane amount of positivity and woman’s strength); one we call EasyBreezy (for her ridiculous CoverGirl face); The Russian (who of course was a Ballerina); and me, a pink mo-hawked-loudmouthed.. Me. All completely different, but share a love for Hip-Hop, delicious cocktails and a gift for gab. Being a group of single girls, it’s almost the nature of the beast to get attention. Doesn’t even need to be a good-looking group of girls, it’s purely the fact of: it’s a group of girls. We end up at the corner bar to which we find our favorite bartender is working. Notorious for his wizardry of creating the most cleaver cocktails and perfect use of every bitter known to man. He begins his 5-minute journey to handcraft a cocktail each for us, when the musician of the evening speaks out on the microphone, “All those drinks are on me.”
EasyBreezy has an attraction for redheaded-freckled-pale-skinned-boys. And for whatever reason, they always appear out of the woodwork every night we are out. I possibly never notice them any other night because they aren’t my flavor, and they stand amongst all the other wallflowers. Sitting next to her, I listen into her playful banter and ridiculous cheese puns. Of which the RedHead has no idea how to necessarily reply to her, which eggs her on even more to spew random words out. Eventually they get onto the same playing field, and the flirtation is finally matched up. I spin around on my barstool to give them some privacy.
I notice that Dreads is speaking to MochaLatte. A gorgeous bartender I’ve had a little crush on since I started bartending in this city. I first met him when I was with my last boyfriend, so I never pursued much more conversation than the usual greetings. I join in on their conversation until it’s time for me to head home. My departure seems to bring all the other girls to realize the time, and everyone begins their good-byes. MochaLatte is the first to come over and give me a hug goodnight. Even in my heels, I realize how tall he is, barely reaching his chest as I lean my body close to his.
“I love your hair, I don’t know if I’ve told you this yet, “ MochaLatte tells me.
“So why haven’t you been by to see me?”
I start to stumble on my words at this moment, not really knowing how to respond. Is MochaLatte flirting with me?
“I’ve just been busy, haven’t really had the chance to break away lately.” Of course I butcher every word as it comes out of my mouth. Sounding like a garbled mess of stuttering and misplaced letters, to which I cannot blame on alcohol.
“Well, I bartend here tomorrow night. Come by and have a drink with me.”
I smile and tell him I will drop in for a nightcap, and begin my walk home. Of course the entire time I’m speaking with him, I can feel the blood rushing to my face as nervousness develops on my tongue. What is wrong with me? I clearly have no game at all. EasyBreezy can keep a volley of the use cheeses in her conversation (of which I assuming she also landed a phone number), and I can’t even manage to hold a regular conversation with this gorgeous man without stumbling on my words. I even ended the conversation quickly and abruptly to get my nerves under control.
People have told me that I’m a beautiful woman. Sexy is something I’ve heard many times as well. I, on the other hand, believe that I’m a normal girl who loves to laugh and is silly more than I am sexy. Sexy is when all eyes are on you when you enter the room, and every word is hung on when you speak. That is not me. Maybe it’s my confidence that needs to be cultivated during this single series of my life. I’ve been broken down and mended through all the other bullshit relationships I’ve had. Maybe the one missing piece is my confidence. I realize that I have used my looks as a tool, but when it comes to using them… I have no idea what I’m doing. I’d like to say that I am The Sexy Maureen people speak of… but when it boils down to it, I’m just this silly regular girl. I think I may need to take lessons from EasyBreezy how to ease these butterflies in flight to just be comfortable in my own skin.