International Black Girl Politics: No Hetero

So this is going to be short and nasty because I'm on a pay-to-play internet USB.

1. I headed up to Toulouse with my new buddy for a huge Caribbean party. We shall call him Marcel.

Marcel is probably my second close but comfortably platonic male friend. (Close as in I talk to the dude on an almost daily basis where my other guy friends I talk to once a year) And I'm actually kind of excited about this because I was just discussing with IC how I seem to attract stalker-type-call-you-8-times-in-one-night-find-you-on-Facebook-through-your-email-address types (did I tell you about that? yeah, the kid blocked him). But I had a feeling I was good when it turned out that he has almost all close female friends and has a typical black man hankering for those the lighter, leaner, longer haired persuasion.

(For reference, the BBGs can keep in mind a certain male neighbor named J.M. whom we all love and adore.)

Anyway, it is fun to hang out with a guy who isn't secretly eyeing your bootie.

2. So I'm looking forward to hanging out with him and his homegirl, who we will call Elen. Elen I met through the same Caribbean circles as Marcel, she's from St. Martin. She was super cool, offered the floor of their hotel room free of charge, speaks English patiently with me, etc. Her other two homegirls are also very cool--either that or there is a francophone way of Zen that I would never find in the States. Super laidback. So I'm like, all relaxed, feeling cool, did some work in the hotel room and then we headed to the amphitheatre Zenith Toulouse and had been dancing all night at the party when the inevitable occurs...

3. A type of song called zouk comes on, which is Haitian, according to Elen, and is kind of like a grinding, fast-turning salsa. I LOVE it, precisely because it is so similar to salsa. But I'm not trying to grind on any of these dudes here (see #1) so I don't bother to try to dance. But Elen is like you have to try it and that one of her guy friends (who is actually her ex-something, we shall call him Ole Dude) was checking me out and seemed like he liked me and said he would come back to dance with me....

yeah.

(Okay, so you think you know what's going to happen here? Yeah, I did too. Not so much.)

Anyway, I'm kinda like, I'm cool because 1) duh, that's your ex and 2) you already told me earlier tonight that you broke it off with him because he was one of those stalker-type-call-you-8-times-in-one-night-etc., etc., etc. So why would I be interested? 3) I have a boyfriend and I don't want to send any mixed signals.

Well, she doesn't know me. So she doesn't know that I, too, do not want to be pursued (sorry boogie, I forgot to respond to that post but I feel you). But since she doesn't know me you would think that she wouldn't start trying to put me in awkward situations, right?

(Still think you know what is going to happen? If you do, you are better than me....)

5. Time passes, I dance, sit down, nap a bit (it's like 4 am at this point, we've been dancing, eating, hanging out since 1 pm). I wake up from my nap when Marcel comes by where me and one of the hotelmates is sitting. He's like, get up, Zouk is on and you should try it--

Pause: This is Marcel's mantra. Marcel is probably the only reason that I have not been a total archive head the last week and the only reason I even know any black people here. In ten days I went to Marseille, I went to my first Caribbean party, I hung out with a whole bunch of West Indians all week eating colombo chicken, tagiatelle (don't know if that word is right), researching Guadeloupe families and Martinique "coolie" trade, met some black girls who are down as hell, am even IN Toulouse because I was determined to stay home for Easter vacation to catch up and Marcel told me don't be a dumb ass. All the time forced to speak French because he is fluent in English but refuses to play that game. This is a long pause but important to say because I know that if he is offering to dance he is really just trying to show me not because he wants to grind on me.

Pause #2: He and all his homegirls are two years younger than me or more. Take that as you will.

--so I'm like, ok let's go.

So we start dancing. Marcel happens to take salsa class every Thursday so I know he knows his way around the dance floor and he knows I'm P.R. so he knows I know my way around a swinging two step. So we are spinning around the dance floor (spinning dude, it is hilarious, I really need to find somewhere to dance zouk when I come back stateside, maybe NYC?) and then we come up next to Elem. Who is dancing with Ole Dude (the ex-cum-stalker). And she gasps and slaps Marcel on the shoulder and says something in French about that not being Zouk that being something else. He does a shrug or something but then we are spinning again. Total fun, I am having a blast...

...and then I feel a hand on my arm and all of sudden, Elem is pushing me into Ole Dude's arms and she is partnering with Marcel. The old switcheroo.

?

Okay.

So.

Huh????

I play it cool--yes, I know. Rare. But I did. I'm like, ha ha ha with Ole Dude, and we dance two songs and then I disappear back into the crowd.

But I am PISSED!

First of all, wtf?!? I do not want to dance with random dudes! I know you don't know me, but dude--you Don't Know Me! How the hell do you just push me on someone randomly like that.

Second of all, wtf?!? No hetero dude! If you want Marcel, then do Marcel. There's nothing like that going on with us. It is a zouk so you have to grind a little, but come to find out, it isn't grinding really. It is hips, like salsa. And the closeness isn't the grinding, at least it doesn't have to be. It's the spinning. You whirl so fast that if you don't stay close to the man who is leading you, you are going to lose your feet and spin and fall or something--

I'm sorry. Let me step back. I'm a grown ass woman. I don't need to justify sh*t to her or anyone, especially not here in the Common Room. So I say again--if you want Marcel, then do Marcel. I don't want him. But dammit, say something like that, drop a hint. Maybe that's not the custom in black France, but it is in the states dude.

Well...let me stop. It should be.

*sigh.

International Black Girl Politics. IBGP.

That bullshit.

So after that, I'm totally irritated and still trying to be cool about it. I dance a little more with the other homegirl, but end up finishing my nap (it IS about 6am at this point).

6. So I get woken up to head out (6:30, 6:45 ish, still going strong). And my nap has refreshed me so I'm like its whatever. All chill. Elem seems to have forgotten the whole thing, at least in the English world me and Elem live in.

And then the French begins.

Apparently--and this conversation begins in the amphitheatre and continues all the way to the hotel room as though I don't understand a lick of French when in actuality I understand at least 50% of it and I get better the more it is spoken, so you can put me at about 70% of comprehension in this convo which is still perfectly ripe for misunderstandings so this post may have an addendum soon--

Apparently, Elem was telling the homies about what happened and that she went up to Marcel afterwards and was like what is going on and he was like dude, we were just dancing and apparently this is what happens in casual relationships and is casual casual and if it never really is and that he shouldn't have danced with me like that because then I might not have known the difference between just dancing and trying to get some and....

dude.

Now I know I did say I'm at 50-70% but I can't have gotten ALL of that wrong. Whatever the deal was, the zouk with Marcel had her all hot and bothered and swinging back and forth between "protecting" me and being mad at his apparent indiscretion.

Whatever.

Did I say already that I am a grown ass woman? I would like to choose to dance with whomever I want, whenever I want...oh, never mind. I head back to Aix on Monday so it isn't even that serious. Zen, cherie, Zen.

I should also say that in none of this did I get the impression that she was "vexed" with me, so at least there was that. You don't get chicks in the states who know to be mad at in the same situation. And I don't even know how I would have navigated that cultural and linguistic minefield if she had been.

Still, wow.

IBGP.

Can't live with em. Can't live without em.