Now Listen… NFBPA Christmas Affair and Psyched Expectations

“Now listen, Mr. Pretty Tony, I mean you know the rules: I mean your bitch just chose me…” -Max Julien in The Mack.

Last night I attended the National Forum for Black Public Administrators Christmas party.  Even though it was another Black bourgeoisie affair, I had a good time at the Thurgood Marshall Center located at 12th and U Streets.  It is easy to forget that these soirées often produce eye candy of epic proportions, and last night I was pleasantly reminded.

As a general rule, while attending these functions you are supposed to network and introduce yourself to as many people as possible.  I arrived a little early, sans a date for the billionth year in a row, and busied myself by looking for my favorite legal social lubricant.  Imagine my surprise when I finally got access to the bar that they would not be serving the Glenlivet scotch that I could plainly see behind the counter.  I was truly devastated and needed consoling because I had recently purchased $20 worth of drink tickets in anticipation of the long evening of schmoozing ahead.

Disappointed and dejected, I shuffled off to the entrance to see all of the arrivals.  Not longer than twenty minutes later some friends of mine that work for the DC Parks & Recreation came over and started chatting small talk.  We were definitely the youngest folks in the room so I obliged them even though I was thinking that I would really like to leave the event all together.  Then, as if on cue, the beauties started rolling in wearing their too-tight for business suits and high-heeled finery.  Being old enough to read the writing on the wall, I ditched the boys and headed back to the bar for a Heineken prop to nurse for the rest of the evening.

After I exchanged my drink ticket for the beer I did a quick scan of the room and saw one young lady that got my attention.  This woman was completely gorgeous and impeccably dressed in an immaculate cream pantsuit that revealed a perfectly shaped, pleasantly plump ass.  Clearly she was the belle of this ball but I was a little hesitant to commit myself to making any viable play at conversation with her.  I don’t usually try to holler because that is just not my modus operandi.  Besides the music was way too loud where she was standing and she appeared to be escorted by a man that could have been my father.  Now that I think of it, the man could have been her father as well, only I knew it wasn’t because he was a high ranking DC government official with no children to speak of.

None of this information changed anything for me, but as I was processing it a coworker of mine stood directly next to the questionable couple.  Free from devious intentions I made my way over to bestow happy holiday wishes on my office mate and inadvertently stumbled into the pleasantries and conversation with those nearby.  I don’t remember what I said, and those that know me know that I couldn’t have said much, but I wound up dancing with the young lady while her older escort went off to mingle.  At this point the discrepancy must have entered my mind that the old man would be committing the classic faux pas of abandoning a diamond in a room full of thieves.  In my mind there was no way this guy was trying to keep this lady if he let her go so easily.

The woman looked like a super model, only with a better body, so any man in his right mind would not have stood by idly as she traipsed off with me into the parlor in order to escape the heat of the dance floor and a few prying eyes.  I know for a fact that he wasn’t waiting to ask for the next dance (which is what I would have done -if I were him) because we both stopped to pick up our drinks before retiring to talk some more.  I made the excuse of not being able to hear what she was saying over DJ Biz Markie’s scratching and cutting and checked all around for anyone that might be seeing this.  I have such a low success rate in the pick-up game that even a prospect is notable for me.  While walking through the hallway, I got the validation that I was seeking: an old friend from college, Sinclair Skinner, witnessed the young lady’s fitness and proceeded to yell “hey Danny, where are you going?”

Of course, because Sinclair is a Nupe [read: a member of Kappa Alpha Psi, fraternity of shameless pretty boys] I knew that his shouting was a rouse, even a compliment.  When the Nupes see you putting in good work you can expect them to behave in this way unless they feel that they can weasel their way in to your good fortune.  I continued past Sinclair and offered and over-the-shoulder sneer, being careful that the young lady walking behind me couldn’t see.  I was fortunate enough that she didn’t know my name well enough to know that the shouting was directed at our blatant escape and my improbable accomplishment. How improbable?  Let’s just say that ten years removed from The Yard and guys in rival fraternities still remember the fact that I don’t try to pick women up.  I have always been known to have the “fall-in-my-lap-or-forget-it” policy along with living the Notorious B.I.G. “I don’t chase them, I replace them” maxim.

As luck would have it, the stars must have been somewhat aligned for me last night because as the lady and I sat there and pretended to drink I discovered that she was new to the area, in need of a younger guide, and more interesting than what met the eye.  Over the course of about an hour we sat down nervously discussing our backgrounds and gauging each others interest.  Black college: check. Damn she has a widow’s peak like Lisa Ray! Why does she have perfectly shaped lips, a cute nose, and a honey-caramel complexion? She is highly educated. She holds two masters degrees: one in neuroscience from Wake Forest, and the other in public health from Duke. She has a great job: she works for the FDA. Okay, but why does she have a great sense of humor for a nerd? And why does she have to love football? I slowly started to realize that this sort of thing just doesn’t happen very often, and that if something appeared to be too good to be true, it probably was.

I started directing my questions to look for the cracks but there weren’t any. For the brief seconds that I got her to talk about an ex, she only blamed herself for not making it work and didn’t have any crazy animosity or vindictive tendencies.  Then I started looking for the hidden camera, but I couldn’t find it.  I really thought that I was on some television show like candid camera because there is no way in hell a woman this fine was interested in me.  But what can I say?  My life is a movie.  I’ve dated some real lookers, some famous and some not-so-famous, but at least I still believed that I would have shot because of background provided by a very loving sister that made it happen.  Here I was standing on my own merits and I was apparently winning.  I had to stop myself from raising my arms above my head and singing “We Are the Champions” as I ran around the coffee table.  Before I could make an ass of myself, my guy instinct kicked in and I began to close the deal.

After exchanging email addresses, because that is what nerds do, I suggested that we go back into the main dance hall to avoid any suspicion that we were lingering amorously.  I wasn’t so much concerned about the old man anymore, but I was thinking that I didn’t want to answer to the peanut gallery.  We both had perfect timing and got back to our respective parties an hour or so after we initially left.  We found each other for a dance or two when DJ Biz Markie was at his best, and I spent the rest of the time watching her from afar in a complete stupor.  My mother caught me staring and even though Mom is blind in one eye said, “She’s a very pretty one!”  She’s so super fine that I’m not even sure if the two of us could work.  She’s the kind of fine that makes your friends mad because they didn’t see her first or have the good sense to hold out until she came along.

She was dancing with the older, distinguished alderman and the thought popped into my head to send her posterior to my friends for posterity.  I almost blew the whole thing by trying to snap a picture of her fine ass with my camera phone… I know: I’m really immature.  I didn’t do it, but I still sort of wish that I did.  I don’t know what I would do today if I didn’t have proof that Kelis was my date to my thirtieth birthday party.  If you can’t brag about stuff like this to your boys, then what are you really doing with your life?  Besides, meeting is fleeting.  There is no telling if anything would ever even come of our making acquaintances.  You all should know by now that I am a notorious ball dropper.  And just when I was drifting off into the abyss of possibilities glancing furtively at the incredible orb that was her dancing ass, momma said, “She’s probably going to be his fifth wife…”

I promise, I’ll stop being a momma’s boy when momma stops being so right.

More gems from momma: “Old men have aspirations, too.” And let’s not forget, “Pretty girls are never lonely.”

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