My name is not “Mami”. April 19, 2005 ~ 11:12 am
Posted by Julie in : Daily Grind , trackback
More icy beauty - Woodstock, NY.
I had a great dinner with Jordana in the East Village last night. I think the waitress thought we were nuts when we asked her “How big is your pitcher of sangria?”, but what the hell, we’ve been gypped in the past. Last night we were not gypped. There were 10 glasses of sangria in that damn thing. After our third glass, we were referring to it as “The Bottomless Pitcher of Sangria,” after four glasses we did something we never do. We left alcohol behind, because we were just that drunk and after all, Monday is a school night.
We had a great time, what I remember of it, and talked about tips for saving money (we’re both back to bringing our lunches to work again, and I’m bringing ramen or Dinty Moore beef stew to make at rehearsal all this week), how I need to get back to going to ritual every month because I feel so great after I do, and why does Othello believe what Iago is telling him in Othello anyway - I mean hello, he’s a dick. It was a good night, and as I finally got out of the subway station at 10:30 to walk to my house, I saw three young black guys walking the same direction.
I walked intrepidly onward, admiring the blacktop that had finally gotten poured on our playground after only 6 months of work, when I hear one of them walking beside me. “Hey!” he said. “Hey! What’s your name?” I ignored him. “Psst! Hey! What’s your name?” More ignoring from my direction. “Psst! Mami!” Okay, that does it, my name is not “Mami,” not by any stretch of the imagination. Still walking, we have the following conversation:
Me:”Why do you want to know?”
Guy: “I just do. They call me Jason.”
Me: “Nice to meet you, Jason. Have a good night.”
Jason: “So you’re not going to tell me your name?”
Me: “No. You don’t need to know it. Only my boyfriend does.”
Jason: “Oh, you got a boyfriend? Where’s he live?”
Me: “Manhattan.”
Jason: “See? That’s on the other side of the Bridge.”
Me: “I’m a one guy type of girl.”
Jason: “How old are you?”
Me: “27.”
Jason: “You don’t look that old.”
Me: “I am. How old are you?”
Jason: “22.”
Me: “You’re too young for me. I like older men. My boyfriend is 50.”
Jason: “So you’re not going to let me walk you home?”
Me: “Not so much. Thanks, though. Night.”
Jason left to go back to his friends at this point - I checked before I headed home. I also checked that he was nowhere nearby and couldn’t see which house I went into. I tried to keep the conversation light, and he seemed like a guy who was just out hitting on the ladies that came past, but still, my mama didn’t raise no fools. I made damn sure that all windows and doors were locked before I went to bed last night, just in case - again, no fools here. I’ll be glad when I’m not on the ground floor anymore, though.
And seriously, do I even look like a “Mami”? No. I don’t. Thank you.
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