“She Don’t Believe in Shooting Stars…”

I’ve been trying to arrange an outing with this guy for two months. We have the worst schedules ever. I work like a slave; he does too. Whereas I refuse to leave the house or wear heels on weekends and call that a vacation, he actually leaves the state.
We’ve sort of never met. I was in D.C. one weekend and attended a party my boy from college threw. When I got there, Roman was sitting at his table with a gentleman who had his back to me. I noticed he had etched stars in his hair. They were fabulous! All I could do was stare until my boy interrupted my fascination with an offer from his bottle.

I saw some more friends from school and left the booth to go chat. When I returned, Stars was gone. I ask my boy where he went and am told he left. “So how do I find him?” I demanded. “I need his barber’s number before I go back.” Who knew DC has such dope barbers?

Turns out they don’t. After getting Stars’ name, but not his number, it dawns on me that we’re MySpace friends. He asked to be added over a year ago and dropped a line about liking my style, my favorite compliment! I have a private page that I only allow friends on—but his style was too dope for me to deny his request.

I track down Stars on MySpace and hit him with the God’s honest truth: The stars are sick. I need them in my life. I live Up Top and go back Monday. Think I can get your barber’s number?”

Turns out Stars is from and lives in Queens and is only in DC for the weekend. He met my boy while they were both in law school. The barber lives in BK:-).

Back in NY, Stars offers to take me to his barber. We set a date, but a deadline from work keeps me from getting my cut. He goes alone, which is for the best since it turns out that his barber doesn’t cut women. Go figure. Stars announces the discrimination the next day and promises to avenge my fashion honor. He convinces the barber that an exception has to be made and emails me the next day to declare that as an advocate for the stylistically superior he has been successful. I can now have all the stars I want.

Stars and I tried to hook up again. Our mutual friend was coming to NYC for a party one weekend. I just knew Stars would be there. I text him on the way to the event to see what time he’s coming through. Turns out he’s at the airport headed to Miami.

We e-mail a few more times (I’m not a phone person. I don’t think he is either) but he sort of fades into the background caught up with his own obligations. I pack my schedule to the hilt with work, parties and sleep.

Monday, he hits me again. He’s had enough. He will see me this week.

“I’m busy,” I tell him. And it’s the truth, I would love to hang out with him finally, but I can’t. I have plans.

“Cancel,” he says flippantly. “I’m not trying to hear that. This is the week. Make it happen.”

LOL! I respect the balls on this dude. Me, cancel my party life just to accommodate him just because he half-asked, half-demanded that I do? My inner alpha wants to object! But I think she’s intrigued that this man has manned-up on her. Most can’t get away with that, much less try it. Hmmm.

I cancel Thursday’s events—much to the displeasure Daven who was looking for a roadie for a Remy event (the liquor, not the rapper.) We meet at Tillman’s. As soon as we sit at our table, a voice calls to me from across the room—a suitor who never made the cut (I know waaay to many people.) Suitor is with a chick, but makes a point of congratulating me on the new job (actually not so new). He makes it clear that he knows me well. F*cker.

Stars is unfazed and our date (we discussed if it was an outing or a date, he declared it a date) goes well. He’s the best, reminds me of my Dad who is my favorite roadie. But I’ve been on enough great first dates not to expect anything but a good time. That’s what dating is, no?

I excuse myself to ladies’ room at the end of the night for a fresh coat of lippie and blush and when I come back, I find Stars fiddling with his Blackberry. He looks a little guilty and puts it back in his pocket when I approach. I assume it’s work (he has workaholic tendencies too), then I wonder if it’s another chick (he’s fly too).

I shrug at either option, but make a mental note of it. Either/or, the night was good. What more can you really ask for? He walks me to the train and I promise to text him when I am home safe.

On the F train, I pull out my phone to blog about my evening and I find this message:

I will take the opportunity while you are in the ladies’ room to tell you that I had a great time tonite!!! The best part about first dates is the hope that is in the air… and I hope this is the first of many…

Hmmm. Maybe I should? (See blog title)


If you like Amelda’s blog, check out the rest of hers here.

Last 5 posts by Hillary Crosley