Now I’m stuck…what the hell can I do until its time to eat? Then I remembered…on a whime when I was waiting for Myra at Union Station, I purchased a comic book. Not just any comic book, I went grown-up and bought a “graphic novel” and damn if the word “novel” is not used loosely in that term.

But it worked. Kicked back, put my feet up, and enjoyed “The Legend of the Immortal Iron Fist” right until sunset. With all of the technology we are offered, we have forgotten how enjoyable it is to do something as mindless as looking at the cool pictures and actually turning pages instead of scrolling. Not sure about making it a habit, but I’m looking forward to my next simple pleasure; maybe  a paddle and ball.

Which brings up to our subject.  For those who don’t know, Ed Norris is a talk show host for a Baltimore radio station.  But he hasn’t always been a talk show host.  Norris used to be a Baltimore City Police Commissioner.  He was later indicted for illegal personal expenditures and some other stuff for which he had to serve time for.

Initially, I wasn’t a fan.  I didn’t respect the fact that the then mayor brought in an outsider in a city that has never been forthcoming to outsiders; Norris is a white man from New York.  Baltimore is 60% white 30% black, and 10% everybody else.  The City Council had only a handful of white members and the city had not had a white commissioner for a decade or two.  So instantly, Norris was stirring the pot before he even got here.

His strategy to reduce crime worked.  Police had the ability to pretty much threaten the masses at will for info as well what they considered preventive measures.  The murder rate reduced as did other crimes, but the tension between the citizens and the police intensified as Norris was given carte blanch to reduce crime.  As a Black man, this didn’t fair too well for me.  It seemed more so than not I “fit the description”.  Strike One.

Strike Two should be the cumulation of  shitty things he said, but I can’t remember too many specifics.  Evidently, Governor  O’Malley wasn’t feeling what he was saying either because out of the blue, here come the criminal charges.  3 years in the poke.

Enter year 2008.  Me and the boys were at the good ol’ Owl Bar in the Mt Vernon area of Bmore.  As the other dudes are laughing about something, I noticed a goatee-bearing, barrel-shaped man walking near our table.  I recognize the individual immediately as Norris and gave him a nod of acknowledgement.  He cuts me a  firey grimace as he continues to storm away. Total diss.  Strike Two.

Norris’s radio gig; he had  no experience in talk radio except his view on how fucked up crime is in Bmore now that he’s no longer the commish.  To his credit, he talked about crime as well  as other popular and political items of the day for his radio show.  I was intrigued.  He had similar view to mine about a good many things so I became a fan.

Until……

Obama began his campaign.  Obama wasn’t Norris’s 1st pick, but he did appreciate Obama’s dynamism.  However, after Obama won the presidency, one of Norris’s issues was how Blacks began embracing him; a man who Norris considered not really Black.  Why?  Because Obama was raised by White women; his mother and his grandmother.  He was raised in predominantly White neighborhoods.  He went to U of Chicago and Harvard Law.  It is true that his Black Experience is different than most, but at the same time, if both he and I walk into a bar in the sticks of Georgia, we BOTH would hear “what you niggers doing in here?” not “what are y0u doing in here with the biracial who was raised by Whites, nigger?”  Check this out, Norris, all of African descents go thru dumb shit all the time.  In society, there are no dilenations of 1/2 white, 1/8 white or whatever.  Those designations exist because Whites created a caste system among the slaves in order for them to designate who is better than whoever else even though they all were slaves.

But I digress.  The point of Norris pointing this out is one of the goals of all closet racists; if you can’t keep ‘em down, let ‘em know they still haven’t achieved anything as a group of people.  That goes from refuting the race of Ancient Egypt as Black to instances like the persecution of Maxine Waters.  (not much of a comparision, but at least its goes from ancient times to the present!  Get off my back!)  His point was to show that the achievement of Barack Obama as the 1st Black president is minute given that he’s not a REAL Black man with respect to ancestry.  Strike Three

Three strikes and you’re out, right?  Well, I am an all-star shortstop for the Short Bus Little League so I need an extra strike.  I would still listen to the show because there is a lot of Ravens talk in the morning and I’m a fan to say it lightly.  A couple days ago, they were not talking football, but talking about the Community Center/mosque that is being built near the Trade Center.  Everyone is entitled to their opinion, and I respect some of the views of those who do not want the building built there but somewhere else.  Norris is one of those folks, but has taken it a step further by using his radio show as an agent of propaganda.  To the point where he even did a so-called interview with a man who was spewing all these facts of what could happen if this community center is built.

Norris has truly disappointed me to no end.  I agreed with most of his concepts and ideals which are usually moderate, and I took the issue of him not relating to Obama’s election as ignorance.  However, when examining what I know of his record and what I’ve heard during some of his broadcast, its painfully obvious that I’ve been metaphorically hoodwinked into observing a false god who ain’t nothing but a 2-bit butch league knuckleballer.

The 1st episode was fine.  I’d recommend it just to watch the super-sized version of Gary Coleman squirm under the pressure of Omarosa and Rev Bryant.  The next episode there was some ridiculous physical challenge.  Speed walking, high jump, shot-put.  The challenge began with the men walking towards the camera in slow motion; shirts for the fatties, skins for the jocks.  CORNY.  The winners of the challenge were blessed with having a 3 way date with Omarrosa.  What?  Unless its lights, camera, porn action, there ain’t too much interesting or provocative about 3 dudes and chic being in a hot tub with one woman and all of the 3 dudes swooning over her.  Again, CORNY.

I’m not going to go thru all of  episodes, but the long and short of it is, TVOne’s attempt at prime time television sucks.  Maybe I’m biased because I don’t really like “reality” tv in the 1st place, but to watch articulate men swoon over a woman who is truly using this platform to market and brand herself and her future products is almost torture.  Would I watch this alone?  HECK NO!  Thanks a lot, Myra!

However, there are some interesting parallels to the Bachelor and the Ultimate Merger that are pretty damn funny.

1. The star kisses everybody all the time.  And I don’t mean pecks, I mean lip locks.  Omarrosa will go out on these “dates” and just about every date, she’s kissing a dude.  Now, I’ve never been a fan of sloppy seconds, so there is no way I could hang around to wait and get my goodies.  I’m getting it in first!  Damn that!
2. adding participants that they know aren’t compatible.  The Super Sized Gary Coleman, Mousy Mike (watchers know who I’m talking about), and the Pretty Boy Gospel Rapper (hell, he didn’t have a chance just on that principle), none of these dudes had a chance and I’m sure the producers knew it, or planted them there in the 1st place.
3. The one token participant.  Yeah, when you saw any of the Bachelor series and saw the sista with the weave trying to shine, you knew she was ghost.  It was more like WHEN she’d be booted; 1st, 2nd, or 3rd episode.  If she made it longer than 3 episodes, dude probably had jungle fever.  On the Ultimate Merger, there was one white dude.  What made it really whack was the stupid questions she would ask him.  ”Stan (or whatever his name was), I understand that you have lots of experience with women of color.  Is that true?” Who the fuck cares?  Was it you?  3rd episode.  Bye Bye.
4. Creating turmoil.  Both shows create turmoil between the contestants, but in the Ultimate Merger, its blatantly created by Omarrosa.  Her next show can be a game show called the Instigator.  LAME.

What TVOne and the Black audience needs are more predominantly Black casts a la Cosby Show, Living Single, The Brothers (with good writers), and City of Angels.  In the real world, Blacks are in all roles of society from crackheads to the president.  That needs to be shown in more ways than sitcoms or reality tv.

Tyler Perry, exit stage left.  Your brand of television is that of buffoonery.  We’re trying to move forward past that.  Move on, homey.

TVOne get credit for not being BET.  What they should not get credit for is their low-end programming; re-runs of  good shows from long ago, and absolutely no decent new programming.  I think they can get there.  But for now, they ain’t.

So that’s my life since the last time I blogged. I also have been trying to think of what to blog about; some theme. My fraternity brother suggested that I just do me and my random thoughts. That’s entertaining enough. So here we go!

Today I heard the dumbest question thus far this week.  At a 7-11, this dude asked if there was a restroom.  At the 7-11?  Not even the ones with the gas pumps either.  Regular, run of the mill 7-11.  What a ding dong.

Here on the East Coast, its hot.  Not Africa hot because Africa hot means women will roam the streets with their titties out.  We are, however, maybe 15 degrees from that glorious mark.  Cross your fingers!!

I’ve been feeling he World Cup lately…until they got to the final 4.  At first I was all about the US and a select few countries for different reasons.

1. The US- I”m American
2. Ghana- African lineage
3. Costa Rica- potential retirement country
4. Honduras- see #3
5. all other African countries
6. all countries that Puma sponsors  (my favorite athletic brand)

There is so much to talk about the World Cup but since none of my 6 reasons to watch exist anymore.  Back to LaBron Watch.

I’m also back in workout mode.  Because I hate what’s happened to my body, I’m going all in.  4 workouts a week with 2 of them being doubles (endurance run and weights).  So far so good. I have to do a better job of watching what I eat.  I do that, I’ll be KILLING ‘em!  (The ladies that is….I don’t sword fight)

But I promise to do some thought provoking posts as well as some “wtf” posts that I’ve done before.

Pizzat!

The Dredded One

(2 hours later)

This chick just came over and said she doesn’t know how to use Visio*. How you gonna do wireframes in Visio if you don’t know how to use Visio? Who doesn’t know how to use Visio????? (besides her)

Me: Oh that’s bad…even I know how to use Visio. Who’s supposed to be doing the wireframes*, you or her?

Gorgeous: Both of us. She has her sections and I have mine. We had the option of doing them in HTML or Visio. We both opted for Visio. I don’t know why she chose Visio, but I chose it because it’s quicker for me to do in here than re-learn using Dreamweaver or coding it from scratch because I can’t figure out how to use the program. She said, well, how are we going to use Visio to do this because it doesn’t have Web templates and you can’t do things like dropdowns. I said why not, and did one right quick on the fly for her. Then she said she would have to go to the Help menu.

Good grief. You remember that scene in The Lion King when Scar said he was surrounded by idiots? Le Sigh….

Me: Mmmm. And it gets worse. Damn man.

Gorgeous: I’m gonna make it through. I dealt with the know-it-all and I can deal with a numnut as well.

I’ve been extremely busy and I apologize to my 4 fans.  For some reason, I am at a lose for time and material lately so I don’t have much to put here.  Besides that, I want this site to have a true theme that is only somewhat related to me as an individual.

But here’s what to come!  I’m feeling it!

• why I’m giving up on baseball as a true fan
• Smarty Pants
• the Holiday Party

Stay tuned!

The year was 2006 in New York City at the annual NFL Draft.  Commissioner Paul Tagliabue stepped to the podium and announced “With the 6th pick in the 2006  NFL Draft, The San Francisco 49′ers pick….Vernon Davis, Tight End from the University of Maryland.”

I was siced.  As a Maryland resident, I want to always give props to atheletes from the schools who move on to the pros.  At Maryland, VD was a beast; 78 receptions, 1,312 yards, and 9 touchdowns.  That is sickening for a Tight End (TE) AND that was only in 2 years.

It got better.  At the NFL Combine (I can write a WHOLE other piece on that one) , he ran the 40-yard dash in 4.38 secs, did the 225 bench press with  33 reps, and the vertical jump at 42″.  His physical specs?  6-3, 250 of dredlocked fury.  RI-DICULOUS.

I like many others felt he was going to be one of the new breed of TE’s that can line up in the slot (between the furthest receiver and the offensive line) and catch a pass 40 yards down field and still fulfill his blocking duties.  I looked forward to seeing him play, on the field and on my fantasy football team roster.  When draft day came, I scoped up VD with my 7th overall pick.  I did draft another TE in a later round, but we’ll get back to that.

So I was set.  I got my proverbial popcorn and waited simultaneously and with anticipation as I was geared with the 1st game of the season with my laptop directed to yahoo’s fantasy sports page and the tv on ESPN.

My team did well;  I believe I won that week and VD came thru with 5 receptions, and a TD (even though he DID lose me a point for the fumble).  YES!  I was about to dom-min-nate my fantasy league.  The next game I won, but something was different.  I scrolled down my stats sheet, nice….nice….Hmm! Very nice…good…..what?  Goose egg?

VD- no receptions, no TD’s.  In the 2nd damn game, a rampant case of Butterfingers. ALREADY.

Next week, same thing.  But he was pulled early due to a hairline facture in his fibia.  He ended up missing 6 games.  6.

This was supposed to be my sleeper weapon for fantasy. I figured I’d draft the potential phenom and win the TE category every week.

Not even close.  VD was out 6 weeks with the injury.  I decided to put him back in the lineup over a TRUE sleeper stud, Heath Miller.  What happened?

I decided to stick to my guns.  No problem, a slow start never hurt nobody as long as he can get back on the horse.  I started him the next 2 weeks which garnered me a whopping 2 receptions for 31 yards.  2.  In fantasy speak, that’s 2.3 points over a 2 week period. Pathetic (like this piece, but I’m leading up to something, bare with me).  That was it.  My man-crush for VD was over and I benched his ass.  Of course, the next 2 weeks he caught a TD a week; and that my friends, is called Murphy’s Law.

Anyway, I wrote all of that mostly to vent because I was #1 going into the playoffs and because of VD and the Cardinals bye week I didnt even make the playoffs.  The other reason is to set up the why; why is it that this phenom who had carte blanche to be a playmaker couldn’t perform?  Besides the injuries (he missed 2 weeks in the 2007 season), was he intimidated?  Over confident?

The answer may surprise you.  Outside of an incident that occurred on the field yeilding him an ejection from the game by Coach Mike Singletary last year, Mr Davis has a LOT of divo tendencies.

Case in point, his vanity.  There was a rumor floating around the league that before a game in San Fran, as everyone else was trotting out towards the tunnel, VDwas staring at a mirror gazing and admiring his shirtless body.  It took one of the coaches screaming at him to get his ass on the field.  Dude loves his body; he has no shame in showing it off in Ron Artest’s “Get Low” video, Under Armour commercials or the many, many, MANY photo shoots like this one for Status magazine.

Then there is the image-damaging article in Honey magazine.  In it he talks about interior design, fashion, and **gulp** murses.  I SHIT YOU NOT.

That’s the icing on the cake there.  Kinda hard concentrating on your plays when you’re worried about getting your uniform dirty or getting the right arm sleeve to match that risky scarlet color  **3 snaps in a circle**

Why does San Francisco always get these oddball personalities?  First there was Terrell Owens (again, another post in of itself) along with the quarterback Jeff Garcia who headed up a dog grooming fund-raiser, and now this.  I mean, is there a common….wait.  Nevermind.

Another case in point, his temper.  VD has a tendency to get edgy on the practice and game field.  We already talked about the VD vs Singletary incident, and this year he’s already off to a smashing start by beefing with another teammate which lead to the entire team having to perform a running drill.  Frank Gore (The Man as I call him) was pissed.   “I wasn’t mad about having to run gassers,” Gore said.  “I just feel it’s his fourth year now, and I told him it shouldn’t be him now.  Everybody makes mistakes but it shouldn’t be him.  OK, a rookie?  I accept that.”  And of course, Mr. Davis is no rookie.  Wow, full blast, huh?

So what is VD gonna do this year?  Kick some ass or kick it to Kanye? Schedule a day to review plays with the QB and QB coach or intern for GQ?  Photo shoots or shotgun formation?  The man is an enigma and quite unpredicable.  My guess is he’ll start the season out strong with about 3 TDs in the first 2 weeks, but then bust his ass in the locker room because he decided instead of cleats to wear a pair of scarlet Ferragamo driving shoes with gold trim to match his uniform and be out for 3-4 weeks with a strained high ass muscle pull.

But what’s oddly atypical for me is how I personally feel about the loss.  I, evidently, was a bigger King of Pop (KOP) fan than I thought.  There are so many things about Michael’s music that uniquely etched memories in my heart.

1st memory: Cartoon Saturday

We all loved Saturday morning cartoons.  I was no different.  I didn’t have video games or cable that had the 24 hour cartoons, so whatever came on, that was it.

I don’t remember if the “Jackson 5″ cartoon came on really early or relatively late for cartoons, but I damn sure remember getting tired of it rather quickly.  The cartoon was too novel. Even a 4 year old could tell it sucked; laugh tracks (same one for the whole cartoon?), the voices of the other characters were 1 or 2 different people, and most of the scenes were the same just some different background.  It was one of the few cartoons that I wasn’t upset if I missed it.

2nd memory: Cruising

I can’t remember what car my uncle had back in the day, but at some point, he had a ’77 Plymouth Duster.  Somewhere in that time period, the Jackson 5 was in their transition period from Motown and was slowly getting out of the bubble gum songs.  As a 5 year old, I liked bubble gum songs.  Around that same time, the Sylvers were out with “Dancing at the High School Dance”.  I LOVED that song.  It was like “the Jackson 5, who?”  My mom and her brother disagreed.  According to them, the Jackson 5 was still the shit.  I remember this argument was the children vs the parents going across the Patapsco River Bridge in Baltimore.  I guess I remember that because the bridge has this huge rise to be such a short bridge.  All while listening to and singing “High School Dance” in the Duster.

3rd memory: “Can You Feel It” video

It was 1981, and video technology was skyrocketing in popularity.  MTV was in its infancy, and NBC thought it could go toe to toe with the creative network cable network using its late night show “Friday Night Videos”.  One Friday night, my cousins and I, with the help of blunt toothpick to hold our eyelids open,  decided to stay up and watch the world premiere of  ”Can You Feel It” by the Jacksons (coincidently, I’m listening to it now…hmm, imagine that).  And of course, the video is the last of an hour’s worth of videos and 2 hours worth of commercials.  The toothpicks were bending, but they never broke.  One cool thing about the video is the freaky outro; then again, the video itself was freaky even back then.  But one thing I remember for sure after watching it, was all of us looking at each other, mouths gaping, and none of us needed the toothpicks to stay awake.  The excitement of the all encompassing song seemed to do the trick.

4th memory: The Billie Jean video

I have no idea who was behind all of it, but the marketing giant behind Michael Jackson’s new “Thriller” was steamrolling the country as well as the world.  Again, I was forced to stay up with my cousins to watch the new world premiere of “Billie Jean”.  What was different this time was that Friday Night Videos was making its own funeral arrangements as MTV was slowly but surely kicking Friday Night Videos’ ass.

So we, with heavy eyelids, sat and attentively watched as Michael synchronously illuminated the pavement with his steps, spins, and kicks.  TIIIIGHT.  There were some weird things about the video that in essence would be symbolic to Michael’s future, but overall it was a great video for its time.  What do I mean?  The transformations.  Michael transforming into a leopard and something else but I can’t recall.  This was a regular practice in MJ’s life as he went from a medium complexioned teenager with regular lips and full nose to a waif, notebook paper white, tattooed lipped, no-cartilage-in-the-nose-having  scarecrow with a bankroll.

5th memory: Motown 25

My mom was out of town for a conference (yeah right) and I had to stay with my psuedo aunt and uncle.  They were older than my mom, and they were adamant about seeing Motown 25.  I for one, was not siced.  The Four Tops?  The Temptations?  Come on man!  Who cares?

What made it even worse was the fact that after every performance during the commercials, they just HAD to talk about the good ol’ ancient days of doo wopping on the corner and all that.  Again, who cares??

Then, during the 3rd or 4th segment, the Jacksons got on stage.  Surprisingly (to me at least),  they start singing ALL of the songs; Michael still the lead vocals.  ”A job well done, fellas” I thought.  But I couldn’t help but want Michael to do one of his songs with him.  I was hoping it wasn’t gonna be “Beat It” because how can he and his brothers do it together.  Mike grabs a microphone off of a stand and says “You know, I love all of those songs, gave us a lot of memories.  But now, ” he continued as  all of the  sudden the rest of the Jacksons walk off of the stage. “…I can’t help but love the new ones.”
And the famous baseline started (Steely Dan is STILL pissed) and the women in the audience started to scream.  I hate that, but I couldn’t help but smile because I knew what was coming. Sike!  No I didn’t!  Mike must have gone down to the Duke Ellington School for the Arts in Brooklyn or something to tap one of the coolest pretty boy moves at that time.  I don’t care what anyone says, I’ve seen better, I’ve seen worse.  But I never expected to see it on a stage so big.  MJ took the streets primetime.  The reaction the next day at school was total amazement and adoration.  From the stodgy vice principal to the bad boy of the student body. EVERYONE, was talking about the moonwalk.  Afterwards, I’ve always wondered how that whole thing played out in other areas of the country where they may have thought that that was Mike’s very own creation.

6th memory:  The “Thriller” video

Here is where the DreddedOne’s sketchy past comes out. I had some serious punk-ass tendencies.  I refused (and still do) refuse to watch horror.  To me, life is horrifying enough.   I missed the world premiere of the video, but I heard about it from a bunch of folks.  The zombies and all that, no.  Not the kid.  I avoided watching the video for at least a month until my friend Steven coerced me into watching it.  He promised to warn me of all the gruesome parts before they happened.  Taking him at his word, we watched the video in his grandparents’ basement.  He turned off all of the lights, closed the curtains, and said as seriously as a 12 year old could “you need this.  This is the only way to watch this video.”  And so it was.  Steven popped in the tape, and we watched the entire video; a couple of times.  He held up to his word; he did warn me about all of the freaky parts in the video.  Except for in the end when Michael turns his head back to the camera in the end with the wolfen eyes.  ”I forgot about that part,” Steven laughed.

7th Memory:  All Them Damn Grammys !!

13 Grammys in one night.  This one is self-explanatory.

8th Memory: You Sick, sick, fuck.

After the “Thriller” album cooled off, Michael’s next album, “Bad” was for the undying fan.  I think he thought he could catch magic in the bottle again because to me, most of the songs made me scratch my head “Bad”, “Black or White”.  All quite lame; to me at least. My fandom quelled.  Now, between those albums, there was some weird shit brewing.  It started with taking Webster‘s Emmanuel Lewis to the Grammy’s and carrying the 12 year old around like a baby. **shudder**  Then there it was him and Michaly Colkin.  Then there was the Elephant Man’s bones.  Then Bubbles; a fucken monkey in your backyard!  Then the multiple nose jobs.  Then the hyperbolic chamber.  I began to think “THIS mutha fucka is crazy.”  He became a nuisance if anything.  Then, in 2003.  The child molestation charges popped up.  I was incredulous.  ”He’s an idiot, but he ain’t gross.”  I’m still not sure about that whole thing, but if the reports are right about the little boy knowing exactly where one of Mike’s birth marks is near his dizzak, then Michael Jackson is…was a sick sick fuck.  Child molestation is just one of the most despicable acts by an adult.  Period.  Let’s hope it was a nasty set up (which is what its looking to be.)

9th Memory: The Shock of  Mortality

I was on the way home on a hot June day.  It was one of the rare days that I implemented my drive/ride Metro combo.  I had a meeting that night (not unusual for those who know me) and I was going to meet the Boss.  On the subway, my girlfriend texts me “people are pissed at me that I said that MJ was dead”.  “People are saying that he’s not dead, he’s in a coma.”  I sighed, turned on my news source on the radio, and found out that at 3:43 PM EST, the Medical Examiner’s office released a statement confirming Michael Jackson’s death.

Then it hit me.  Michael Jackson morphed into one of the weirdest beings on the face of the earth.  And yet, through all of that, was one of the most memorable performers of all time.  From the family days of performing James Brown covers to the odd black outfits singing “Dirty Diana” on stage in front of thousands in Europe.  He will be missed in more ways than one.  He’ll be missed for the music that expanded across multiple generations, for his unequivocal outrageousness (albeit involuntary), the one glove, and least we not forget the humanitarianism.

Michael, you painted a picture of the world through your eyes and shared it with all.  Yes, it was an eccentric, Van Gogh-esque portrait; but we all continuously observed it and took it in, all the while with our heads cocked and tapping our feet.

Thanks, Michael.  Peaceful journey.

but other than that everything is cool.”

That’s an old lyric from Doug E. Fresh’s “Keep Risin’ to the Top”. I can’t remember who he was referring to as old school and who was new school, but it comes into play in my next story. Have a sit down, kitties….

I was determined to have a grown folks weekend. Although Memorial Day weekend is supposed to be the celebration of those who gave their lives fighting for our country, I decided to preempt the holiday with tons of festivities and sitting on my ass all day Monday.

I’m sure the veterans understood.

But I digress. I partied grown and sexy style; off the chain house party where I don’t even remember when I got home. Saturday I went to my cousin’s college graduation party. That was good, but there was a lot of tension in the air because an impending divorce between his mom and dad. It happens.

But then there came Saturday night.

So I got an invite from a VezLibre friend (we don’t do no free advertising here….figure out what Vez Libre means) to a party down the street from my house. Cool. I tell 2 other friends about it. They too, say cool. I get there fashionably late and arrive to a relatively sparse crowd. No biggie, it’s early and worst case scenario, its $10; I could always bounce.

I decide to further relax myself with an Elixir of Inebriation. First mistake, I decided to get something that I had at Friday’s house party. I thought it was a typical drink but…..nope! Second mistake, I Sonjan’t pay attention to the intricate details of the woman who got a drink before me. She got an Ameretto Sour. Cost? $10 for about the equivalent of 3 shot glasses in the Wild Wild West.

$10??? Not even top shelf. I thought “Ain’t no WAY mine is gonna cost $10. All I want is Absolutely.”

And you know how much mine costed? That’s right….absolutely $10. I was blown. AND it tasted like hooker piss. Which really ain’t that bad….BUT THAT’S BESIDE THE POINT! $10. First Friend came in; let’s call her Nikki. Now, I’m not a drinking type kat, so I wanted to see if her reaction was worse than mine. Mmmm.

“Oh my fucking God, are you serious? $10 for a punk ass gin and tonic? That shit wasn’t even top shelf! And look at this little sippy glass, D.O.!  I coulda got a French Martini for that. Let’s roll, but let’s call Sonja first.”

So we called Sonja….wait. Let me fix that. I called Sonja because Nikki would call her and just babble. “Girl, these drinks are ridiculous. We can’t get our swerve on in here. Me and D.O. are thinking about going some place else. Where do we meet you? There? Here? Inner Harbor? Pulaski Highway…..?”

That shit went on for like 5 minutes until I said “hey. Let me talk to her and we’ll just meet her outside, ok? She already on her way.”
You see, that’s another blogpost in of itself. How men communicate and how women communicate. Do you see how that was almost a useless conference call? How 5 or 6 options were put out there by Nikki and I put out 1 that was the most feasible, cohesive and efficient one?

Anyway, Sonja gets there. Tight whip by the way. Must be nice not to have no damn kids (hehehehe). I suggest we all go to the joint down the street, they suggest I drive. I agree and we pile up in the Blueberry. We arrive very shortly since its right down the street and head towards the doors.  Even though it was less of a mile drive, I think I told Nikki ‘shut the fuck up’ at least 3 times.  Too much co-signed to predetermined facts; or something to that effect.  

After that was situated, all heads turn to the band, I was busy running my mouth so I don’t remember what they were playing. What I do remember it was an 80’s hit in which their rendition was acceptable with the help of the Great Elixirs; preferably not hooker piss…BUT THAT’S A DIFFERENT STORY!! (stop asking me ’bout that!). Because of the debacle at the previous party, I went safe and got a Ling-Ling beer. Just as I finished my 2^nd sip, Sonja lets out a cutesy girl cackle “awww soooky sooky. Look at your girl!” On the floor was a woman in probably her late 40′s who was gettin’ it. Not sure what she was gettin’, but she was dancing nonetheless. Nearby in observance was a brother in a pale blue suit and white shoes.

White.

Shoes.

Sitting across from him was the Scotty reject look-a-like from the Whispers. Nasty nappy handlebar mustache and all. Gross.

Then the white chic jumped up. I thought “Oh shit. This is gonna be good. Fortunately, I was wrong. She had decent rhythm and even Sonja a little stank move on the floor with Blue Suit.

Then, SHE jumped up.

She being….let’s call her Wonda for the disturbingly similar expression she had on her face to one “I’m reat ta go” Wonda ala Jamie Foxx. Even the outfit was Wonda-ish: tank top that was 1 size to big (we’ll come back to that), a beaded tank over top of that, white pants (my party was really disturbed by the pantie line thing), and a pair…wait for or it….wait for IT…..

Polka dot heels. Not stilettos. Regular heels. I was so blown.

Wonda jumps up there with Blue Suit and Stank Move and proceeds to do her thing. Blue Suits does the typical 1 ½ step (apparently his 2 step days were over) while wiping his brow. Stank Move, does her signature move all of the sudden; wraps one leg around Blue Suits waist, and grinds on him. I was impressed. When she dropped her leg, Blue Suit turns around and freaks on Wonda, who, really wants to show out by bending over and touching the floor (you will later be even MORE impressed by this move). What made this even funnier was Blue Suit holding Wonda down with one hand by the back of the neck. The ladies found this wildly entertaining. Nikki giggled while Sonja imitated moves from her chair. I, on the other hand, quickly took the beer to the head and called for another….

I give the band a fair rating until they played Maxwell’s “Don’t Ever Wonder” with the solo instrument being the trumpet. Le ouch. They totally murdered that song. Wonda, on the other hand, seemed to enjoy that and every other song they played. Here’s where we come to the real controversy about how she was dressed.

Sonja: She is just gettin’ it , ain’t she.

Me: (not looking) Mmm

Sonja: (laughs) This is just too…oh, OH, OHHHH!! Oh my God, look. Her breast is about to fall out of her top.

Nikki: Damn, SON! Look, D.O., look!

Me: Mmm MMMM!! (suddenly the neck of my beer becomes truly fascinating)

Sonja: up, up, up, UP! You see? (smacking hands on her lap laughing) There it goes. (leans closer with fingers in the Italian pinch) the breast…the breast MUST be kept secure. I mean…how does she not know that her breast is coming out?

I glanced over my shoulder to take a look. I regretted it. A lot. I won’t be scarred for life but I damn lost any capacity to be horny. I hit the Ling-Ling hard and call for another one….

As quickly as it seemed to have started, the band played an R Kelly song that I recognized but don’t know the name of and called it a night. All was calmer; laughs, pats on the back, winding up of speaker wire….Wonda sat down at a side table with one of the band members who we couldn’t distinguish whether he was blind, drunk, or clumsy. I guess if he wasn’t blind it would have been a hell of a lot easier to navigate around the stage sans sunglasses at night.

The two of them sat down and calmly talked. And just as calmly, Wonda….

Wait for it.

Wait for it…….

Umm…..Wonda….

Wonda took her wig off AT the mutha fucken table. Mid sentence!! Plop! Right on the table like a scary ass spider.

Hair on the table.

Yeah.

Neither of my grandmothers graduated high school, and outside of some of their more uncanny words of advice, they both were quite wise.

What I would like to know is, what is it like to have a grandmother who is book educated? Is it the same worldly and sometimes questionable advice? Is the love any different?

If I don’t find out from you all, I’ll have to Facebook it to get some results. After that, I will, dutifully, report back to you monkeys.