No Sex In The City # 14: Who Needs A Man Or The Islands When Reggae Music Feeds Your Spirit

Single In LA, Just Jammin To The Rythmns

By Cousin Kim

Most people ducked slightly as they walked in the front door because the band was set up right next to the entrance to the cafe. At Industry Jazz Cafe in Culver City, the newly-installed booths made the space seem to open up.

I like to sit with my legs crossed, but my outstretched leg got in the way of the staff as they passed my seat at the bar. So I gave up that privilege so that the waitresses could more easily pass by to deliver hot plates of Ethiopian food and soul food staples like greens and macaroni and cheese to hungry patrons.

There was no space for dancing, but who wanted to; especially when that reggae-infused jazz jam was playing. We settled for bobbing our heads in our seats as Farzeed Farhati killed that alto saxophone during his solo. The music sounded so spontaneous and improvisational that Sandra pointed to the music stands and commented, "I'm surprised to see sheet music up there."

Almost everyone there was a friend of a band member, a local, or a friend of the guitarist, Chip Moyer who was enjoying a belated birthday celebration. What we all had in common was that we had come out on a Saturday night to support the Center for the Jazz Arts. During a short break, Guy DeFazio described the work of the center to promote the music and culture of jazz. The center created a film project for which they interviewed World War II veterans who told stories about their memories of jazz music during that time period.

The show ended at eleven pm, but patrons stayed to congratulate their musician friends on a job well done. The owner of the establishment greeted us and welcomed us to stay and socialize as the sounds of Motown songs like "Ball of Confusion" played in the background.

At midnight we finished our meals and drinks and I left the spot with red wine warming my stomach and the sounds of jazz warming my heart.

No Sex In The City #8: Can You Be A Single Black Woman In Los Angeles And Not Be Bitter?

Why I Haven't Given Up On Love

By Cousin Kim

"Kissing my soul mate is like making love with your clothes on."

The people next to me completely stopped their conversation upon hearing my pronouncement. They laughed with me. I was in a workshop led by Kathryn Alice called "Calling in the One". Single men and women were gathered to learn important tools for attracting their soul mates.

The premise of the workshop was that everyone has a soul mate and everyone gets love. Love is God's desire for all of us. So the very desires in our hearts for love and partnership are proof that we have a soul mate. When I left the workshop, as reflected by my pronouncement, I truly understood this on a deep level.

"You need someone who adores you," my friend Bob said as we sat outdoors under an umbrella at the Howard Hughes Center in Los Angeles.

We'd just finished a hearty lunch at Kabuki and after taking a walk , we sat down for a heart to heart talk.

In response to one of his earlier statements, I'd asked him what kind of man he thought I should be with. He indicated that I needed a man who could lead, but didn't mind following; who was about six feet tall, smart, stylish and not as wild as he. According to Bob I couldn't handle a wild man and needed someone quieter. Then we talked about our visions of what our weddings would be like.

Bob is one of the reasons I haven't given up on love. He appreciates my talents, intellect, and sees my outer and inner beauty. We both also know each other well enough to know that we aren't a good fit romantically. Bob reflects some of the qualities that I ultimately desire in my soul mate.

Recently, on a lunch date, a new male acquaintance asked me if I was a scorned woman. I knew that this was his way of discerning whether I was a card-carrying member of the "Bitter Black Woman's Club." I felt a great deal of peace when I could honestly respond, "No, I'm not a scorned woman. I am a grateful woman."

I am grateful for all the men I've dated in my life because every one of them has demonstrated a quality that I desire in my soul mate. Each of them has shown me things about myself that I might not have seen on my own. Each of them has given me an opportunity to share the love in my heart.

According to the Law of Attraction, seeing the qualities that I desire in a mate demonstrated through these wonderful men is evidence that my desire for a soul mate is in the process of manifestation.

At forty I am single, I don't hate men, I'm not bitter, I've never married, and I have no children. My biological clock is not ticking, I am not afraid, and my eggs are not dried up. I have not given up on sharing my life with a soul mate who adores me. I know that the desires of my heart were placed there for a reason--to be fulfilled. Love is eternal, like God.

And I get love because I AM love.

And so it is.

COLLEGE, THE SINGLE MOM, AND WHY AM I SMELLING PEE AT MY BABY'S DAYCARE?

By Ms. Tricky

Why is it that when I start to really work my tail off, you know, tryin’ to get ahead in this dog-eat-dog world, all hell breaks loose?

I am taking a five-week doctoral level statistics class so I can get closer to completing my “Playah-Hatin’-Degree” (that’s Phd for those under 30yrs old). I have to drop off my twin daughters no earlier than 8:50am for camp, get my three-year-old son to daycare, and check email at my desk, before I walk across this large campus to my classroom. It is a tight, yet perfectly-timed, schedule. (Did you notice the exercise? I am walking! Environmentally conscious as well, I parked my big SUV in the parking lot.)

My son attends daycare near my job at a large public university. Lately, the teachers have been talking about how terrible the owner of the daycare is, and how the center is going to be “shut down.” One girl said the employer's payroll checks have bounced on several occasions.

Another girl said that there were a few days when there wasn't enough milk for all of the children. Still another rumor is that the owner hasn’t paid her taxes. Now that I think about it, there have been signs that something wasn’t quite right.

So here are the top-five that could have you rethinking your previous childcare choices:

#5… The daycare “misplaces” your monthly tuition (personal check) for a couple weeks.

#4…You have never, ever met the owner of the daycare even though this is NOT a large chain.

#3… On more than one occasion, a pungent urine smell hits you when you walk in the door.

#2… Your child doesn’t seem to reject the idea of going to a new school , especially after another child throws scissors at her and draws blood.

#1… Your motherly intuition tells you, “it’s time to move on!”

NO SEX IN THE CITY #4: SINGLE WEEKEND GIRL TAKES ON THE WEEKDAY IN LOS ANGELES

Ex-Chippendale Dancer And Bald, Salsa-Dancing

Business Owner Add Spice To Manic Monday

by Cousin Kim

"I have never seen three beautiful women at one table before". He told us that he was eighty years old and had been coming to Hal's Bar and Grill in Venice (yes the oceanside community known as Muscle Beach) for a long time. As he walked away, we clinked glasses and toasted the beautiful ones---us.

It was Monday night in LA and I'm usually a weekend girl, but Bobby Matos was playing at Hal's that night. The sounds of Latin rhythms infused with African beats truly brought out the motherland in all of us as we danced in our booth over chicken dishes and hot apple cobbler a la mode.

I could smell the testosterone in the air and it got good to me. A gentleman with a ruddy complexion approached the table. He wore shorts and sandals and was obviously a sailor. "I know you. I saw you on match.com", he said to my friend Brandi. She happened to be wearing the same necklace as she wore in one of the photos in her ad.

He went on to describe her other photos and where he'd seen her out on the town before. He said he liked to dance until he sweated and used to be a Chippendale's dancer. He sounded like a perfect match for my friend Brandi, who loves to dance and has an extremely youthful apprearance although she qualifies for the senior discount. After a few minutes of great conversation, however, he did not ask for her number and Brandi wasn't willing to give him her number unsolicited.

Our friend Cat, who was visiting from Florida, took the initiative. With help from the green post it notes I carried in my purse and a pen, she scribbled Brandi's number with her name and a happy face.

Sidling up to the bar, she handed the note to the sailor explaining that Brandi was really shy but she wanted him to have her number. He accepted the number gratefully, admitting that it was easier to call her directly rather than trying to go through the web site.

With Brandi all taken care of, now I was on the lookout for myself. I spotted a handsome man with a bald head wearing a Kangol cap and gold square framed glasses. I'd spotted him earlier, but when I looked at him he looked away. I leaned over to Brandi. "I saw him earlier and I smiled at him, but he looked away. I think he's probably shy." As I was looking to my left, whispering to Brandi, unbeknownst to me he was approaching on my right. Brandi replied, "He doesn't look shy to me." When I turned he was already crouching down next to me just a few inches away.

He complimented me on my sexy dancing earlier and the way my hair moved when I danced. He liked the long, chocolate brown halter top I wore. It had a low neckline and tied across my lower back leaving the rest of my back exposed. He was a professional, a business owner.

We danced together on the small dance floor right in front of the band. The saxophone blared as we danced basic salsa moves. I grabbed both his hands as we rocked side to side and then I taught him how to spin me. Meanwhile, his cousin sat at the booth, where they'd had dinner, yawning.

Once he returned to his table, my cell number programmed into his phone, my girls and I hit the dance floor again. We danced with abandon, like only girls can, me adding Cuban kicks to my salsa steps and Cat moving her arms gracefully as only a true dancer can. By twelve thirty, people filtered out and we were one of the few parties left. We danced until the band played its final song, took pictures, said a farewell to Cat and departed. "So this is what people do on Monday nights", I thought as I walked to my car.

Vacation Kim has got to come out more often.

NO SEX IN THE CITY #2: FRIDAY NIGHT, BLUE CHIFFON AND MARSHALLS

In Pursuit Of Being Single, Fabulous, And Happy In LA-LA Land

By Cousin Kim

"Brandi wanted me to call you. We're running about twenty minutes late". My heels clacked on the floor of Marshalls Department Store as I perused the designer racks.

I'd been less that five minutes from the restaurant, where we had 8:30 dinner reservations, when I'd gotten the call. Being fully aware that twenty minutes in girl speak is more like forty minutes, I decided to kill some time shopping.

So there I was at 8:30pm in my sea blue chiffon halter dress and silver purse clacking between ten dollar clearance racks and the shoe department while my stomach gurgled.

Another Friday night as a single gal in Los Angeles.

I arrived at Hotel Sofitel at nine pm, found Brandi at the bar, and ordered edamame with sea salt.

By the time our other friends arrived, our stomachs were sufficiently lined so that no one had their head bitten off due to hunger rage.

An inebriated lesbian named Mimi came over to tell us that she was celebrating her thirty first birthday. She told us she'd been dating the same woman for seven years and showed us the name Ashante tattooed on her arm.

As we wished her a happy birthday she insisted on a kiss from Steven, who half-heartedly obliged her with a peck on the cheek.

Mimi joyously exclaimed, "I got a kiss from Steven!", then told me that I was beautiful in my blue dress and returned to her celebration.

Rather than eating in the restaurant, which was rather devoid of atmosphere, we decided to remain in the lounge area. A DJ came in and started spinning several hip hop jams peppered with Prince tunes, for which I gave him major props. People trickled in forming large parties of birthday celebrants at reserved tables.

We ordered tiny, well-presented appetizers at nearly twenty dollars a piece. We danced in the slender spaces between the low cocktail tables and the red velvet chaise lounges and chairs. Waiters brought in huge mounds of pink cotton candy and trays of shots for the birthday parties. Men in buttoned-down shirts watched girls in short skirts as they jiggled against girls in high heels.

On the patio, people smoked cigarettes in cabanas under heat lamps, while the Beverly Center's Bloomindales sign towered overhead.

After several hours of lounge dancing and three teeny five dollar bottles of Pellegrino with lime, it was time to depart. I decided to drive home without the radio on.

After all, I needed to contemplate what ground my clacking heels might cover next...