Meet Up...Beat Up

I am writing this to complain.

As usual, the story is complicated, convoluted, and weird so go get a glass of wine and find your favorite cushion...

I joined a meet up group (like on meetup.com) after a conversation with my marketing manager and the lack of black girlfriends that I have.  We'd decided to have my booksigning at an Irish pub where there is a significant lack of color and I thought that since my book is about a woman of color, there should be women of color at my booksigning.  After a few reasonable solutions that were offered by my manager, I decided on the cockamamy solution I came up with on my own.  I would go to a meet up group that catered to black women who wanted to attract white men, befriend the women, and invite them to my book signing.  It seemed like a perfect plan.  Just like the many perfect plans you might see on Scooby Doo or the Flintstones.  But this is real life (though the outcome is kind of the same as on those cartoons)...

So I joined the most exclusive one I could find (they had a trial period, a questionnaire, and an approval process) and went to my first event tonight.

First of all, if you've read any of my posts, you will know that I'm a certified cougar now.  I got my cougar wings last year when I had 20 year olds hitting on me.  So, for this event, I was not on the prowl and I dressed for the occasion. I was going bowling, for goodness sake.  I dressed comfortable and looked like a cross between sitting at a tennis match and going grocery shopping - nothing fancy.  But lo and behold! When I walked in the bowling alley with my equally Charlie's Angel gal pal next to me, the place turned into a meat locker before my eyes.  Being childishly friendly, I greeted everyone with a smile and a handshake but the women in the group looked me over and then gave me their back.  The men looked afraid to take in my voluptousness and one dude nearly lost an eye when he snuck a peek.

I tried again.  They were playing a word game and I asked what it was about.  No answer, no one looked up, I heard them praying I would go away.  I asked if it was something that I could understand or if someone could show me how it worked.  One evil dated cougar mumbled "Figure it out."

I was aghast.  I glanced at my friend who'd come with me, a former mean girl, and she gave me the eye.  It was time to go. I, a former geek chick (still am!), said "no, let's see if we can work with this."  After the five minutes it took to win the game, we got a gift card and the ice brigade moved to the bowling lane.  We went and sat with them.

One of the friendlier women asked how long we'd dated interacially.  Who asks that question? In life?  My friend made up an answer and I looked like someone had asked me how long I'd known my kidney.  My stupid yet friendly answer was: "I have many kinds of friends."  Even I don't know what that means...

After ten more minutes, I decided I'd had enough.  Those that know me, know deep down inside, I am the Incredible Hulk - She-Hulk does not suffice.  Even I'm afraid of when I get bored or decide I don't want to be somewhere.  It's not anger that sets it off, it's boredom. 

In those ten minutes, I became dangerously bored.  The people weren't friendly to us.  A new white guy showed up and everyone introduced themselves like he brought doughnuts.  I looked at my friend and nodded.  She made herself scarce as I found the one chick that was friendly, told her that we'd stop by to check them out and now we were going, and handed her the giftcard we'd won.  "Give it to the second runner-up." I said, and left.  My BFF was giggling as we got in the car and I was livid from being iced by vintage cougars.

There is no happy ending to this story except now I know I really look as good as I feel and apparently don't look my age at all.  Other than that...those chicks can keep their little meetup group...I can find some black girlfriends on my own.