Dating Dimes* on a Dime in DC

*slang noun in relation to physical beauty in place of a "perfect ten"

19. Too Much of a Good Thang: AKA Gluttony

By Howard Westmoreland

Full disclosure: I like energy drinks. I do. And I had one in the fridge. I bought it at CVS, where I buy all of my groceries. I peeled it open on the way to Posh, this place three blocks from my building. And in the time it took to walk down the street, and show my ID at the door, the stimulant from the energy drink had bubbled its way through my veins and into my heart.

I walked through the door, and the dinner club was throttled with the ambassadors of Alpha Kappa Alpha, Sorority incorporated -- as well as the (lame) dudes who will commute from all corners of the Metro to buy their drinks. There was no clear path to the bar.

I may be charming and fun at parties, but I am also a touch autististic (or maybe sociopathic). Whichever the case, I hate crowds. And I don���t want to be touched. But I do love to see a Black woman at ease. There were already too many people in Posh. I mean, like, a fire hazard. Most of the people were AKAs throwing their pretty heads back in laughter, dancing in high heels, making an effort to look effortless, posing, lip-synching the blaring hip-hop and basically enjoying my nightlife scene.

Like a ninja, I cautiously approached a crease in the sheet of gorgeous women who had spread out over every inch of the bar���s granite top. They were a soft bronze wall, impeding my Saturday night procedure. I couldn���t get a drink, and I couldn���t look cool waiting to get a drink. I stood there like a bitten off cheese sandwich. Waiting to get a male bartender���s attention in a crowd of women wearing tube tops and low-cut dresses. And the energy drink began to work against me. I was developing a strong case of the jitters.

There was one young woman who pitied me to the point that she flagged the bartender on my behalf. I thanked her for her sympathy, waited another 20 minutes, and found a place to drink my sad little shot in peace. But there was no peace to be had. In the 30 minutes that it took to get a cocktail, about a hundred women had streamed into that same small space. I was (softly) bumped from every angle. I have never been crowded by lovely women who smelled so good. And they kept bumping me. But what was I going to do? Get mad? I wanted to relax. But I was gripped by the fear of cold green apple martinis tumbling down my back. The stimulant from the energy drink was running my nerves raggedy. I needed another shot ��� to calm down.

Yet, in they came. In groups of ten and twenty. Even my lechery was undermined. I couldn���t even get a good gawking going. There were too many and they were plainly too pretty to enjoy. It was frustrating. Just anonymous beauty crowding me further away from the bar. Bumping me from every direction. Pitying my inability to buy a drink. Oh. It was horrible. It was the opposite of fun. I had ���nuf.

I love Praline Pecan Ice cream. And here I was. Drowning in it. Cold sober and with the shakes to boot. It was a nightmare.

I walked to the Men���s Room to get it together. I didn���t even look at the beautiful women crowding the path. I just walked the gauntlet of pink Cosmopolitans on the way to the restroom. I was frazzled. I knew that this was what Hell had in store for me if I could not get settled down. So, I paid my bill and walked out. There were women everywhere on the street. I just couldn���t look. If someone had told me that there is such a thing as too many fine women, I would have laughed. I wasn���t laughing. I was sweating, and I was going home.