chelseablack

Chelsea Black is a writer. Romantically seeking her Fubo (future boyfriend) she often gets distracted by misadventures. She is currently working on her second book, first baby (sperm to be confirmed) and first real career. Chocolate and cocktails are food groups

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The Jill Scott moment

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As I get ready for Oxjam this Sunday I am reminded of another concert in Brixton some years ago.

Let me start from the beginning. I met him on Facebook. The problem with this method of dating is that people read what you write and see the photos of vibrators that you post and they think they have you all figured out. I’m more than a photo of a pink rabbit my precious.  I read his and he was a gym loving African guy who liked taking pictures with his top off. PERFCT!!!

But this guy seemed genuine. He was a promoter…..ok so not that genuine but it was a slow week.  We started to speak and it turns out that we had lots in common professionally and socially. He liked organising events in bars and I liked drinking.  We were both going to the Jill Scott concert the following week and assuming we had similar music tastes we arranged to meet there. We figured between the opening act and the main meal. I pictured myself as the perfect palette cleanser and decided that mint green was the way to go. To the shops I went and bought a mint green polka dot dress! This was my African prince. I could feel it!

Now, confession time. I’m not a Jill Scott fan. I missed that whole Neo Soul era and went straight into British rock pop instead. Sorry my precious, I know it’s hard for you to hear. But sometimes I just buy tickets because I figure it’s a good night out. I realised that he was expecting a fan so I rushed out and bought all the albums and crammed them into 2 days. As I looked longingly at my Skunk Anansie collection I told myself it would be worth it for the icebreaker alone.

Me and my friends arrived at the concert and I realised that the only way to get through a whole night of Neo Soul was …drunk. By the time I went to meet my promoter guy  I was slightly squiffy but even I was surprised to discover that ….he was Asian? Turns out that the photos on his profile picture were taken on a holiday where he had gotten a really good tanning and he was born in Africa.  That was a while ago. He was equally  surprised to discover that I wasn’t a Jill Scott fan. The alcohol had made me loose lipped. We mumbled our way through a few minutes of conversation before I suddenly remembered that I had to get in the next round.

Dejected we went to plan B and I met a guy who was decidedly tastier. I know, I tasted him.  So the night wasn’t a complete waste and I was glad that I got those tickets. So hence I tell you to go support Oxjam  this weekend. You never know who you are going to meet there or afterwards. Don’t forget to thank me if you find yourself a hottie.

Enjoy!

© Chelsea Black

For more information on the playvybz meets oxjam event this Sunday go to https://www.facebook.com/playvybz

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The grill guy

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I was out one night with friends celebrating my cousin’s birthday. For some strange reason I was having a Mary Quant week had and had turned up in a 60s psychedelic chick dress, boots and a cropped red wig.

I stood out. The thing with birthday parties on a Friday is that some people feel the need to invite the dry people from work. This was one of those parties.  I soon started making noises about having to leave as the full effect of my ensemble wasn’t being appreciated. As we left the barman gave me a look and ….I told my friends surely we could stay for one more drink?  I went to talk to the barman who wasn’t the best barman I’d ever met but 2 minutes later he had my number and we were leaving. I’m nothing if not efficient my precious. I gave up on coy a long time ago.

Later that night I was heading home alone when I got a text from the barman. He was getting on his motorbike and wanted to pass by. At nearly 3am in the morning? What kind of girl did he think I was? I needed at least 30 minutes to clean that flat. So I told him 3.30 and texted him my address.

Quickly I did the single girl clean. Throw everything in wardrobes, drawers and the spare room and shut the door on that mess. I brushed my teeth, threw on my visitor negligee and walked casually into a spray of perfume. You know how you do.

The knock came and as I opened the door smiling he smiled back. Was that a gold grill in his mouth! Oh dear god. How could I extricate myself from this horror show at 3.30am?

He came in, took out the grill and told me that when he wasn’t being an inefficient barman he was an American wannabe rapper. This wasn’t looking good. He was older than me and still wanting to make it as a rapper. He gave me his rap name and a sample of his lyrical tongue. I told him I could think of much better things he could use that tongue for and we got down to making music.

There comes a time when the post coital conversation turns to work and he told me about his rap exploits. I didn’t know all of the artists he mentioned but I knew that I was meant to be impressed. So weeks later I decided that my only option was to investigate this hip hop thing myself online. I typed in his rap name and nothing came up. Maybe he wasn’t that successful. So I typed in his real name.

When the only thing that came up mentioned him being found guilty for 3rd degree larceny you begin to worry. He wasn’t even American as the report said he was being deported.  I had to look up larceny. This was turning into a research project . the bar and grill guy's smile!Who was this guy?

So I did what any self-respecting woman would do. I shagged him one last time, gave him a proper grilling and kicked him to the curb. What can I say, his tongue had some use.

© Chelsea Black

 

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The Waiter

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As a pivotal birthday was looming I realised that my life plan had gone remarkably wrong. I was in the middle of an amicable divorce, wasn’t making any money and was heavier than anyone my height should be without booking two seats on the train. Ok I was never that big but to me it felt it.

So what’s a girl with no money or honey to do? Simple, I was going to blow the last few hundred that I had on a credit card my soon to be ex didn’t know I still had on a holiday. Yes I was taking this emotional train wreck on a road trip.

The thing is I really hate travelling at the best of times so after my initial excitement I soon decided that staying at home would be the better option. I could finally get to watch all of the programmes I had been taping religiously whilst I slept in until Loose Women.  I need did finish watching that Homes Under The Hammer from 4 months prior. Did they get the old B&B with slight damp in Bournemouth? Nope, I had too much to do.

But my soon to ex, spotting an opportunity to have his home to himself for a few days wasn’t having it. He searched for destinations which involved me getting on planes and bought me a Jasper Conrad Suitcase. It was black and pink. I couldn’t resist.

This was during my lame attempt at learning Portuguese. It lasted longer than my gym memberships but shorter than the average hairstyle. I finally decided on the island of Porto Santo. Cape Verde was too expensive and too far for this chick and I’d heard that Madeira was full of old people.

So, I arrived and promptly went to bed. The island is lovely but I’m really not one for sight-seeing and it was colder than I’d packed for. But, lap top in bag I decided this was the holiday I was going to start writing. So many ideas, so little motivation but, it was time to pull out that literary masterpiece that every English Lit major feels is in them. Fuck it there was a mini bar. I’d start tomorrow.

That night I went down to dinner and as I sat there I noticed a waiter noticing me. I dismissed it. A single woman going on holiday and getting with a bar man or waiter is so done. He came over and introduced himself. He was from Mozambique and his accent was just too cute. Lifting trays all day had also been very kind to his biceps. I fought the temptation.  I have a weakness for men that look like they could lift me effortlessly.  But, I was not a cliché soon to be divorced woman.

Turns out I was. He was lovely. He invited me out after dinner and said he would show me the island. Recognising that I may have to leave my room I finally accepted. I don’t think I saw more than two bars and some rickety steps on the beach where me and the waiter got better acquainted.  I still think sex on the beach is over rated but sex on the rickety steps on the beach was truly delicious.

For 4 whole days that man spoiled me. I didn’t pay for a thing and he treated me like a queen. But having seen my fair share of day time TV I was waiting for the downside. Would he wait until I got back to the UK before begging me for money? Would he steal my passport on the last day leaving me stranded on an island without a Nandos? I had visions of me on Richard and Judy explaining why I had accepted a pink purse as a gift which had been secretly stuffed with cocaine. I wasn’t going down like that my precious.  Prison jumpsuits just make my butt look enormous.

But no instead he woke me up with breakfast in bed every morning, took me out to local secret restaurants and kept me up all night with the best sex I’d had in years. I truly needed this.

Alas I know the rules of holiday dalliances. He was happy on the island and I was going back to the realities of London life. I just checked on facebook and those arms are still looking good.

The waiter restored my faith in romance and men. I came back to the UK determined to throw myself into the dating game with the same openness and honesty he had shown me. The only cliché I had to avoid was the bitter divorced woman who didn’t trust men. Besides, it was time to move on.  My ex wanted his house back.  My dating adventure had truly begun.

© Chelsea Black

 

 

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