Driving on the Freeway

LUSH? Nah… not enough willpower to be an alcoholic.

©2012 Heidi Rodney-Nakanishi and ChocolateGeisha Spills the Sake!™

She ‘n 3

It was 9:44pm when she rushed through the double-doors, hoping to get a chat with the guy behind the bar, near closing time. The hostess was gracious and showed no urgency to her last-minute guest who had become a regular at the establishment; They both knew her reasons for being there had nothing to do with the fare.

The disgruntled waiter passed by, pushing a spare wooden chair back to its designated area near the podium to the entrance. The pressed patron had thought 20120809-004720.jpgthat he’d seat her, but no effort was made to encourage such a stay.

The couple who had just arrived, minutes before her, cozied up to the counter, all smiles with wonderment towards the novelty who stood before them.

The late-comer took a seat at the bench near the exit and waited for the right time to make her appearance. She had suddenly turned into a reluctant spy as the planter, above her head, camouflaged her existence to the one of her desire.

She watched as chairs were flipped on to table tops and end-of-night tips were divided amongst the servers who were free to leave.

The only ones left were the three at the heart of the room, illuminated by the bulb above them, like a spotlight, in the dark space surrounded by warm, brick-red tile.

Laughter erupted from the group as the witty foreigner sported his charm, in hopes of a generous gratuity and speedy parting by satisfied customers.

“What brings you here?” was one of the questions asked by the vegetarian, 20-something duo made up of a waif-like girl with dark-rimmed glasses and hipster boyfriend who sported a Greek moniker, skinny jeans and tousled, curly, brown hair. The first-timers to the spot were referring to More


Spotted on the Fourth Floor

“I love you.” he said. “Why were you mean to me?” he asked. “Are you going to punch me?” he feared. “Let’s sign a paper and be friends.” he offered.

She sighed, shrugged, whimpered, became weak and bewildered then, opened the door to go.

©2012 Heidi Rodney-Nakanishi and ChocolateGeisha Spills the Sake!™

How to Date a Homeless Guy

… with tender, loving care and lots of Febreze®, but we’ll get to “fragrance management” later.

This is not a dig to people living on the streets. This really happened to me… NO LIE.

It’s not as pathetic, on my part, as it sounds (Okay -maybe- it was.)

He was a young, Eastern European from the country of Georgia, and hot— a scruffy cross between Johnny Depp and Colin Farrell, not to mention–


(Ohhhh, yes… it’s all coming clear and a lot more palatable for you, huh? Don’t answer that.)

The swarthy percussionist, 16 years my junior, claimed to be working on an online degree in international law or something like that, through a program from his homeland. I believed him… he was smart as a whip and a true hustler. The former was because both of his parents were professors, back on his native soil… the latter, from trying to survive the streets of New York.

No matter where he was, he’d have his portable drum kit and some sort of classic literature to read. He actually introduced me to the beautiful work of


Dudley Do-Wrong and the Yankee in London

Piccadilly Circus, 2004 -- I made it in one piece!

Yaaaaay! I arrived safely into Heathrow Airport! My plane ride, smooth and most of my fears about flying quieted by my faithful companion, Jack Daniel’s®. 🙂 If only going through customs had been equally as pleasant; Instead of the “Where are you going?” inquiry that I received with suspicion from airport security in New York,  I was now getting from the “unwelcome wagon”, also known as a disgruntled, female immigration officer, “Why are you here, in the United Kingdom?” I responded, “To find a date” (I really was going to say that my search was for a “husband”, but thought, she might consider that some sort of illegal ploy to stay in her country.) She then gave me the “stink-eye of death” and let me pass (the WRETCH).

(So, anyway…)

Trafalgar Square

I happily hopped into a humongous cab that could’ve probably held my old studio apartment in Spanish Harlem and jetted off to my hotel, located of off “The Strand“, a historical street in the borough of Westminster.

In the lobby of the hotel, waiting to greet me, was an amorous, Italian concierge, with the temperament of “Pepe Le Pew“, who would keep offering his “personal assistance” by way of my hotel room… undoubtedly wanting more than a tip. More

London– Project: “Get a Date, Mate!”

Rogue on the prowl, 2003! One of my attempted “sexy cool” poses that would later get posted on dating websites.

“Okay, that’s it, I’m moving to London!” is what went through my head after Seal and Paulo Coehlo had spoken to me.

I’d go to this foreign land– with solely dog and cat in hand– but would not see the sights alone– Surely, there’d be a nice man to call my own!

(Gosh, I love myself! 😉 )

UK.Match.com, the Brits’ solution to online dating, would be my new hunting ground for romance… I’ve always said that I prefer my men imported, not domestic— Now, I’d be the exotic dish to be served .

It was my right to cross the “International Date Line” (pun intended) as when I was 16, a high school chum – Sujatha Rajiram – of Indian decent (bindi, and all), read my palm with a perplexed look on her face that made her eyebrows furrow and told me that my husband would NOT be American (Back then, I equivocated that to mean, my spouse would be Puerto Rican {Hey, that’s all I knew before I left Toms River, New Jersey at the age of 12.}) “Boricuas” were the most unusual ethnic group, besides my own Trinidadian heritage, to exist in a small town like Port Charlotte, Florida– the place where my mother had later move our family for another career advancement.

The fates seemed to agree with my clairvoyant classmate’s prediction because even though my dating experiences were limited, I’d come to encounter a plethora of opportunities from gentlemen (and not-so-gentlemanly) callers whose homelands were speckled around the globe (They dig me.) It was still a surprise, however, that I’d marry my “Hot Sake” man from Japan as the majority of offers made to me were from fellas who originated in Eastern and Western Europe, as well as Israel…

(but anyway…)

During this round of searching for love, I’d work on getting an Englishman (or anyone in the vicinity of London).

My efforts were working!

I had attracted the attention of other members on the dating site and found a good prospect (or so I thought), a Londoner who had “bitten on my fishing line of communication”. I became, even more, determined to cross continents!

Most everyone was hung-up on my sudden (in their heads) decision to move abroad and thought it crazy of me to just show up in a foreign country, where I had never been,  and “hit the ground running”.

I couldn’t think of a better idea.

The more people nagged, the more determined I was to show them how “bravery” was done… EXCEPT it was no longer about rebellion, but intrigue; I needed to meet my cyber-sweetheart, with whom I had shared expensive More

My Near-Death, NY Post Blind Date with the Professor!


With an unsuccessful record in the love department and a dubious future with a “man~child”, *Eastern-European drummer from the country of Georgia… 16 years my junior (*more to come in another post), my friend suggested that  I submit an “application for romance”  (haha) to be a contestant in the New York Post’s “Meet Market Dating Game“. Surprisingly, I was called in for an interview, given a photo-session and became one of three “bachelorettes” to be on stand-by for a possible rendezvous with one of the paper’s featured, eligible males intended to pluck one of we ladies, fresh for the pickin’. Well, I stayed planted in the field garden of media-dating for a few months and was about to ~finally~ have the tables turned in my favor so that I, the unchosen, could do the choosing myself when “Paul, the Professor”, with obvious EXCELLENT taste, selected me.

There’s nothing like free food and having a newspaper volunteerily flip the bill to stalk me on a date with a nice guy. Too bad, this flower was nearly wilted and put six-feet under by a poisonous fertilizer called, “nuts”!

Here’s the cute, edited version that made the press on February 1, 2009:  Nut So Good

Here’s my side of what really happened, as explained in the follow-up:


E-mail to Jennifer Tis of the New York Post:

January 25, 2009, 4:47 PM

Things got a little nutty with the professor!

I should’ve taken heed to the foreshadowing of our date when More

hEiDi’s Words of Wisdom (from Personal Experience)…

“Never wear a bootleg weave on a windy day.”

Flashback e-mail to friends, March 30, 2000… 41 days after leaving South Florida to begin my adventures in New York City (no, I am NOT a native Floridian):

I’ve had the most traumatic experience, trying to conceal my “RENT-a-HAIR” during a virtual typhoon that I’ve been forced to go back to my natural beauty. I figured that I would try being incognito with a new hairstyle to see if my groupies 🙂 would recognize me, and of course, they did.

Anyway, I’m either going to stick with the whole Macy Gray, wind-blown hair look (how appropriate) or rock a completely different “do” and cut it all off, and do something funky with it. We’ll see…

Ta, ta!!


It took three more years for me to learn my lesson…

© 2010-2011 Heidi Rodney-Nakanishi and ChocolateGeisha Spills the Sake!          All images are copyrighted by their respective authors.

© 2010-2020 Heidi Rodney-Nakanishi and ChocolateGeisha Spills the Sake!™ All images are copyrighted by their respective authors.

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