Friday, September 08, 2006
Gentlemen Prefer Blondes?
Let’s test that theory – Work it baby, work it!
I’ve had some bad experiences with bad boys, lately. Maybe I should change my blonde hair to brunette! Afterall “Gentlemen prefer blondes” but “Gentlemen marry brunettes.” This blonde hair of mine catches the attention of all sorts of men take J-P and Henry for example.
For several weeks, J-P has been calling me and asking me to go dancing with him. I’ve known him for two years, well let’s qualify that. I’ve danced with him for 2 years and he recently asked me for my number and I gave it to him. Why not? Nice man from French Africa, we talked about the salsa scene and the various horrible experiences we’ve had with people and I thought he might be someone I’d like to get to know better. “Keep an open mind, you never know who you might meet.” That’s what all my books say. He said he’d pick me up to guarantee that I’d be there. I should have thought about that one a little more instead of being flattered that finally a guy will go out of his way to pick me up instead of meeting me at the location. After a day of work, I napped, showered and started to prepare my look. I was ready to dance the night away. I was going to wear a dress knowing I’d be warm in the car and not riding the subway. 9:30 I received a call, “I’ll meet you there at 10:15 or 10:30, wait for me I might be a bit late.” All right, I’m flexible. After all he’s not my boyfriend… Change of outfit… something more casual, jeans, shirt, nice accessories, great hair, makeup. Out the door I went, I looked goooood. The bus driver wanted to know where I was going, could he have my number. (Maybe I looked cheap… oh well… it was a look that’s what mattered. I arrived around 10:40. I’m late … but I had to take a bus, subway and finally a taxi for the last stint. Walked in, didn’t stop to check myself out in the bathroom. Who cares, the bus driver thought I was hot. I must be… right.
There’s Pat a longtime salsa friend and Mark someone I met in another salsa club. Always good when you have a couple of partners… bonus. But no sign of J-P. Several dances later I check my cell and sure enough “Message rec’d.” Sorry, I’m really sorry. Something came up and I couldn’t join you for dancing … Sorry, I’m really sorry. I hope you accept my apology. And I do hope we’ll be able to meet soon and I’ll buy you a drink and we’ll have a dance.” Thank goodness I had some friends there, and TG I’m haven’t invested my emotions in this friendship. Stood up! Wow… can’t believe it. Oh well, I danced for an hour or so and returned home. Taxi fare…. 25$, $2 entry on Thursdays. Oh well.
Saturday: It was pouring rain… probably Ernesto raining down on us. Yessenia my girlfriend from El Salvador and I decided to go to El Rancho our favorite haunt. This time I decided after being away from the scene I had to make an entrance. This is where I dig into the history of blondes and use my research ability to dip in the reservoir of images of blondes from Hollywood cinema. Having a mother who sang “Diamonds are a girls best friend” dressed in her little cotton house dress as a child inspired me to take courses in film history, art history and study the creation of identity. (Are your eyes glazeing over yet?) God bless and rest my dear mother’s theatrical musical soul! And thanks to my gay brother, I knew how to draw from Marilyn Monroe’s imagery to make a statement. If Madonna, Gwen Stephanie, Nicole Kidman, Anna Nicole Smith could work “the Marilyn”, so could I … and so can all DR Blondes!
The Marilyn Look: Innocent, sensuous, little girl in a big girl’s body! I decided to wear a low cut dress, something I usually reserve for a date. This one is black with white flowers. Could easily fly up standing over a subway vent! Very flattering, spaghetti strap lingerie cut (you have to tape the dress to your strapless bra) so you don’t expose those bad (little) boys (puppies) to the world). It’s really a very striking dress but cheap $80 Chateau only looks good in the dark and you can throw it in the washing machine. I usually reserve it for special guys…. ALLLLL guys who dance with me are special. As Yessenia always say: “… the problem with you, you like everybody.”
Shoes: Heels, cute black one for the entrance with little bows on top (they cover my hammer toe); black salsa shoes for the dancing, they make me a little shorter for all the tiny construction workers I dance with. Girls, Cinderella never had the shoes that we have at our disposal! Since I wrecked one of the heels dancing on asphalt to tipicos in the DR I had to tape the sucker with…. DUCT tape! Men may not know how to ask for directions, but damn they know how to fix everything with duct tape. (One of the reasons we can’t live out them.) I touched it up with permanent marker and no one would ever know my little secret.
Makeup: See Pamela Anderson’s look http://www.maccosmetics.com/
Seriously, if it works for other blondes, it can work for us! Why reinvent the wheel? Study other blondes and rip off their looks… Work it baby, worrrrk it, work it! Hair in rollers to get it lift and messed up to give that just rolled out of bed look that men melt over for.
I had to take a taxi, something this revealing can’t be worn mincing through the subway on a rainy evening. $20 later, $10 entrance, I’m in and I change right into salsa shoes and strut my way through the club to the other side where I like to stand at the bar sipping my 110 calorie vodka and soda with lime (yuck) and making eye contact with potential partners as I wait for Yessenia who arrives on Central American time around midnight. By that time, I look like a sweaty whore that’s worked her way through the vacationing rugby team at Punta Cana. She struts in looking like a brunette diva… the kind guys marry. Well not really Yessy knows how to work it also. By day she works at a mindless job, 6 days a week, afternoon shifts usually and sends remittances to her sister. I really wish she’s go to school but she’s looking for a sugar daddy instead. (She joked once that she wanted me to adopt her…Hmmm maybe she’s a sankiette.) Whatever, she’s fun to hang out with and she’s brings another perspective to everything.
So I danced the night away, mainly with my regulars (Miguel, Jason and a couple of new guys) I had to escape the intoxicated pursuit of one guy from Costa Rica “single in the country for 5 years, working in construction” by that I understand that he’s illegal, has no papers and could be deported at any time. He’s looking for a wife…. Run, girl, run. Sankies are everywhere.
At 2:00 am, Yessy and I headed over to Plaza another club with a younger clientele. Yessy is afterall only 28 years old. We get in for nothing since both clubs are owned by the same man. We dance a bit, my feet are klling me. I head to the restaurant bar downstairs for a cup of tea. Something we often do at the end of a night, while we brush off guys or flirt with them depending on our moods. Along comes one of my Dominican dance partners! “Hi Henry, how are you, haven’t seen you in ages.” He’s been giving me the cold shoulder for months. I danced 6 or 7 songs with him one night (without the knowledge of Dancing Blonde that: “Rule #1: You can’t dance with the same partner for more than one song. It marks you and sends a signal to them that they own you.” Yessy also informed me that “if you let a Latin guy buy you a drink, you’re his… Don’t let them buy you a drink.” Well I let Henry buy me a drink once along time ago… It was after dancing some crazy fast salsa, merengue, bachata at an insanely fast tempo. (Really with a gay brother, I have this incredible gaydar (we use to spot them on Yonge Street and we went through the entire history of Western civilization looking at all the gay guys) Henry will all his “estilo” was coming up as a major dancing queen on my equipment. But he’s very charming and fun to dance with and I could be wrong. He bought the drink. I said “Go dance with your friends Henry, you can’t neglect them” as one woman said “Hi” to him. He said, “No, I’m your man.” (If I knew what I know now about Sankies, a red flag would have gone up.) Along came my friend from Guatemala an older, short, sweaty guy that loves to dance cheek to cheek with me forcing me to wash after dancing with him. I can’t neglect my regulars, so I had to dance with Edgar escaping from Henry. Henry must have been devastated because he left and gave me a sad soulful look as I exited from the bar at the end of the evening.
Well I tried to repair that relationship the following week, never piss off your dance partners or violate their Code of Honour. Things were never the same between Henry and me. So after my trip to the DR I thought I’d chat him up and make him all nostalgic about his patria. He came up to me and mumbled something about being gay and needing a pen to write his phone number down for someone. Then he laughed and said “I’m yoking…” I said, “Henry I don’t care if you’re gay. My brother’s gay… he taught me to dance, how to do my hair, be a girl.” He looked at me hard and studied my eyes and said, “really that’s funny because I have a gay friend and I asked him to help this woman I know, She goes through a new pair of shoes every 2 weeks because she walks like this.” He hunched over and stiffened his arms and legs and did a really good heavy-footed imitation of my highschool Phys Ed teacher “Miss Flagg.” We laughed and I think he might have come out of the closet a little bit for me. But then he said, “so you went to my country… but you don’t like Dominicans!” “Whatttt, who said that?!” He swore that I told him that… remember last winter?! (Dear Reader: you know it’s not true, you’ve seen the list… I’ve been working my way through the Continents.) You had a date… with a guy… you waited for him… you had black pants on…. Then he arrived and a week later you came into El Rancho….phew… the eye makeup you had on… wow it was perfect…Man, you looked amazing… and you met him downstairs in the other club.” That was his proof that I didn’t like Dominicans! And that’s why he gave me a cold shoulder all this time! But damn… I wanted to ask him about the makeup… I wondered if it was the smoky eyes… or part of the Pamela Anderson look I working.
Next time I see him, I’ll buy a drink (if he’s a Sankie he’ll take it) I’ll have to ask him if he worked in Animation… and see if he can recall the exact colour palette because for him to remark on it months later, it had to be effective or he’s really… he should be working at the MAC counter. I’ll let you know if I find out, because like all the great drag queens who love Marilyn, we blondes love to work it.
Besos,
Dr. Blonde
Let’s test that theory – Work it baby, work it!
I’ve had some bad experiences with bad boys, lately. Maybe I should change my blonde hair to brunette! Afterall “Gentlemen prefer blondes” but “Gentlemen marry brunettes.” This blonde hair of mine catches the attention of all sorts of men take J-P and Henry for example.
For several weeks, J-P has been calling me and asking me to go dancing with him. I’ve known him for two years, well let’s qualify that. I’ve danced with him for 2 years and he recently asked me for my number and I gave it to him. Why not? Nice man from French Africa, we talked about the salsa scene and the various horrible experiences we’ve had with people and I thought he might be someone I’d like to get to know better. “Keep an open mind, you never know who you might meet.” That’s what all my books say. He said he’d pick me up to guarantee that I’d be there. I should have thought about that one a little more instead of being flattered that finally a guy will go out of his way to pick me up instead of meeting me at the location. After a day of work, I napped, showered and started to prepare my look. I was ready to dance the night away. I was going to wear a dress knowing I’d be warm in the car and not riding the subway. 9:30 I received a call, “I’ll meet you there at 10:15 or 10:30, wait for me I might be a bit late.” All right, I’m flexible. After all he’s not my boyfriend… Change of outfit… something more casual, jeans, shirt, nice accessories, great hair, makeup. Out the door I went, I looked goooood. The bus driver wanted to know where I was going, could he have my number. (Maybe I looked cheap… oh well… it was a look that’s what mattered. I arrived around 10:40. I’m late … but I had to take a bus, subway and finally a taxi for the last stint. Walked in, didn’t stop to check myself out in the bathroom. Who cares, the bus driver thought I was hot. I must be… right.
There’s Pat a longtime salsa friend and Mark someone I met in another salsa club. Always good when you have a couple of partners… bonus. But no sign of J-P. Several dances later I check my cell and sure enough “Message rec’d.” Sorry, I’m really sorry. Something came up and I couldn’t join you for dancing … Sorry, I’m really sorry. I hope you accept my apology. And I do hope we’ll be able to meet soon and I’ll buy you a drink and we’ll have a dance.” Thank goodness I had some friends there, and TG I’m haven’t invested my emotions in this friendship. Stood up! Wow… can’t believe it. Oh well, I danced for an hour or so and returned home. Taxi fare…. 25$, $2 entry on Thursdays. Oh well.
Saturday: It was pouring rain… probably Ernesto raining down on us. Yessenia my girlfriend from El Salvador and I decided to go to El Rancho our favorite haunt. This time I decided after being away from the scene I had to make an entrance. This is where I dig into the history of blondes and use my research ability to dip in the reservoir of images of blondes from Hollywood cinema. Having a mother who sang “Diamonds are a girls best friend” dressed in her little cotton house dress as a child inspired me to take courses in film history, art history and study the creation of identity. (Are your eyes glazeing over yet?) God bless and rest my dear mother’s theatrical musical soul! And thanks to my gay brother, I knew how to draw from Marilyn Monroe’s imagery to make a statement. If Madonna, Gwen Stephanie, Nicole Kidman, Anna Nicole Smith could work “the Marilyn”, so could I … and so can all DR Blondes!
The Marilyn Look: Innocent, sensuous, little girl in a big girl’s body! I decided to wear a low cut dress, something I usually reserve for a date. This one is black with white flowers. Could easily fly up standing over a subway vent! Very flattering, spaghetti strap lingerie cut (you have to tape the dress to your strapless bra) so you don’t expose those bad (little) boys (puppies) to the world). It’s really a very striking dress but cheap $80 Chateau only looks good in the dark and you can throw it in the washing machine. I usually reserve it for special guys…. ALLLLL guys who dance with me are special. As Yessenia always say: “… the problem with you, you like everybody.”
Shoes: Heels, cute black one for the entrance with little bows on top (they cover my hammer toe); black salsa shoes for the dancing, they make me a little shorter for all the tiny construction workers I dance with. Girls, Cinderella never had the shoes that we have at our disposal! Since I wrecked one of the heels dancing on asphalt to tipicos in the DR I had to tape the sucker with…. DUCT tape! Men may not know how to ask for directions, but damn they know how to fix everything with duct tape. (One of the reasons we can’t live out them.) I touched it up with permanent marker and no one would ever know my little secret.
Makeup: See Pamela Anderson’s look http://www.maccosmetics.com/
Seriously, if it works for other blondes, it can work for us! Why reinvent the wheel? Study other blondes and rip off their looks… Work it baby, worrrrk it, work it! Hair in rollers to get it lift and messed up to give that just rolled out of bed look that men melt over for.
I had to take a taxi, something this revealing can’t be worn mincing through the subway on a rainy evening. $20 later, $10 entrance, I’m in and I change right into salsa shoes and strut my way through the club to the other side where I like to stand at the bar sipping my 110 calorie vodka and soda with lime (yuck) and making eye contact with potential partners as I wait for Yessenia who arrives on Central American time around midnight. By that time, I look like a sweaty whore that’s worked her way through the vacationing rugby team at Punta Cana. She struts in looking like a brunette diva… the kind guys marry. Well not really Yessy knows how to work it also. By day she works at a mindless job, 6 days a week, afternoon shifts usually and sends remittances to her sister. I really wish she’s go to school but she’s looking for a sugar daddy instead. (She joked once that she wanted me to adopt her…Hmmm maybe she’s a sankiette.) Whatever, she’s fun to hang out with and she’s brings another perspective to everything.
So I danced the night away, mainly with my regulars (Miguel, Jason and a couple of new guys) I had to escape the intoxicated pursuit of one guy from Costa Rica “single in the country for 5 years, working in construction” by that I understand that he’s illegal, has no papers and could be deported at any time. He’s looking for a wife…. Run, girl, run. Sankies are everywhere.
At 2:00 am, Yessy and I headed over to Plaza another club with a younger clientele. Yessy is afterall only 28 years old. We get in for nothing since both clubs are owned by the same man. We dance a bit, my feet are klling me. I head to the restaurant bar downstairs for a cup of tea. Something we often do at the end of a night, while we brush off guys or flirt with them depending on our moods. Along comes one of my Dominican dance partners! “Hi Henry, how are you, haven’t seen you in ages.” He’s been giving me the cold shoulder for months. I danced 6 or 7 songs with him one night (without the knowledge of Dancing Blonde that: “Rule #1: You can’t dance with the same partner for more than one song. It marks you and sends a signal to them that they own you.” Yessy also informed me that “if you let a Latin guy buy you a drink, you’re his… Don’t let them buy you a drink.” Well I let Henry buy me a drink once along time ago… It was after dancing some crazy fast salsa, merengue, bachata at an insanely fast tempo. (Really with a gay brother, I have this incredible gaydar (we use to spot them on Yonge Street and we went through the entire history of Western civilization looking at all the gay guys) Henry will all his “estilo” was coming up as a major dancing queen on my equipment. But he’s very charming and fun to dance with and I could be wrong. He bought the drink. I said “Go dance with your friends Henry, you can’t neglect them” as one woman said “Hi” to him. He said, “No, I’m your man.” (If I knew what I know now about Sankies, a red flag would have gone up.) Along came my friend from Guatemala an older, short, sweaty guy that loves to dance cheek to cheek with me forcing me to wash after dancing with him. I can’t neglect my regulars, so I had to dance with Edgar escaping from Henry. Henry must have been devastated because he left and gave me a sad soulful look as I exited from the bar at the end of the evening.
Well I tried to repair that relationship the following week, never piss off your dance partners or violate their Code of Honour. Things were never the same between Henry and me. So after my trip to the DR I thought I’d chat him up and make him all nostalgic about his patria. He came up to me and mumbled something about being gay and needing a pen to write his phone number down for someone. Then he laughed and said “I’m yoking…” I said, “Henry I don’t care if you’re gay. My brother’s gay… he taught me to dance, how to do my hair, be a girl.” He looked at me hard and studied my eyes and said, “really that’s funny because I have a gay friend and I asked him to help this woman I know, She goes through a new pair of shoes every 2 weeks because she walks like this.” He hunched over and stiffened his arms and legs and did a really good heavy-footed imitation of my highschool Phys Ed teacher “Miss Flagg.” We laughed and I think he might have come out of the closet a little bit for me. But then he said, “so you went to my country… but you don’t like Dominicans!” “Whatttt, who said that?!” He swore that I told him that… remember last winter?! (Dear Reader: you know it’s not true, you’ve seen the list… I’ve been working my way through the Continents.) You had a date… with a guy… you waited for him… you had black pants on…. Then he arrived and a week later you came into El Rancho….phew… the eye makeup you had on… wow it was perfect…Man, you looked amazing… and you met him downstairs in the other club.” That was his proof that I didn’t like Dominicans! And that’s why he gave me a cold shoulder all this time! But damn… I wanted to ask him about the makeup… I wondered if it was the smoky eyes… or part of the Pamela Anderson look I working.
Next time I see him, I’ll buy a drink (if he’s a Sankie he’ll take it) I’ll have to ask him if he worked in Animation… and see if he can recall the exact colour palette because for him to remark on it months later, it had to be effective or he’s really… he should be working at the MAC counter. I’ll let you know if I find out, because like all the great drag queens who love Marilyn, we blondes love to work it.
Besos,
Dr. Blonde
