I was there...

600am: The alarm on my cellphone goes off, just as Joe calls to drop off his tux for tonight's festivities. I question myself: Why the hell am I about to go stand out in sub-freezing weather for several hours? I could watch that shit on my brand new 47-inch LCD (LuCinDa the Younger) and be happy. Plus it's not like I was going to get anywhere close. I would most likely end up watching the whole thing on a jumbotron, which was in effect a giant TV. But I promised Joe and Paul I would go so I got out of bed.

700am: We leave the house and decide we might as well walk to the Mall. Joe informs us that the buses are running every 10 minutes so we walk to the Metro and catch the bus. We go about 7 blocks and then have to get out because traffic is at a standstill. We join the sea of humanity and walk slowly toward the Mall.

805am: Despite warnings about long lines for security and what not to bring, we walk right onto the Mall and manuever our way toward the closest jumbotron. We claim a spot by peeing on the perimeter and begin the long wait.

810am: Now, you know I don't really care for people, but I decided I would put my best face forward and go with the flow today. Luckily there was room to breather where we were.  My happy mood is spoiled by this woman from NYC who starts going on and on about how she prayed in this moment and God put on her heart to be here and something about  being "slain in the spirit." It all sounded like crazy talk to me so I was only half listening. She gave me a flyer and told me to come to her church next time I was in NYC. I wanted to tell her thtat I was too busy fuckin' and drinkin' whenever I was in Manhattan to go to church, but then I remembered my promise to be nice so I smiled a her and pocketed the flyer. Her name was Dr. Jacquelyn Sawyer

845am: We met a lovely family from Minnesota who came for the Inauguration and we became fast friends

930am: Bye Bye Miss American Pie!

1045am: Feed me Seymore!

What the hell was she thinking with that hat? Plus her voice sounded terrible.

1100am: The ceremony begins with introductions of various congressmen and senators and other dignitaries. Then they introduced the living former Presidents. The Carters were dignified and courtly as always. Does Rosalind Carter ever age? Happy, enthusiastic applause. I think she is the Evil Un-Dead. When did Bush Senior become a doddering old man? Remember when we thought this man was the worst thing this country had ever seen? Little did we know. Polite applause for the elderly. Oh! My! Gawd! Its THE CLINTONS!!!!!!! THUNDEROUS APPLAUSE! PS, I love the fact that Hillary now has to work for the man she campaigned so ferociousl against less than a year ago.

1115am: Everyone starts singing Darth Vader's theme when Dick Cheney is introduced.

1120am: A chorus of boos hails the introduction of Dubya.

1145: The Vice President is sworn in

1155: Some musical interlude with Yoyoma. They need to hurry this shit up, it's cold as hell out here. Wait a minute, that clarinet player is cute!

1210pm: We have a new President!!!!!

Remembered Pleasure II

My house burned down on Valentine's day, 2000. The effects of that night still linger with me to this day, but that is the subject of another post.

Valentine's Day 2000 was a Monday, so that Tuesday, a good friend of mine took me to a club called Wet. Those of you familiar with DC from back in the day know all about Wet, but for the newbies: Wet was a gay strip club that consisted of a u-shaped bar with showers at the back. At the time, strippers could be COMPLETELY naked (good times...). Tuesday was black night, so it was full of wannabe thugs, butch queens and not-so-butch queens, DL brothas and gurls who called themselves DL, but were betrayed by arched eyebrows and clear lacquered nails and of course, regular, upstanding citizens like me. The place screamed with sexual energy and many a frustrated brotha made the short journey from the Wet, down a few blocks to Glorious Health and Amusements (affectionately known as The Glory Hole) for relief. Of course, as a Christian woman, I never made that journey more than once or twice a month.

Sadly, all of that is gone now, replaced by a baseball stadium and office buildings. In fact the building I work in sits on top of what used to be Tracks. Anyhoo...

It was into this warm, dark and moist space, full of sexual possibilities, that I was dragged the day after Valentine's Day. I could still smell the smoke and when I closed my eyes, I could hear my father's screams (He survived and is fine now). I posted up in the corner with a cocktail, paying the whole situation DUST. Gradually I became aware of a brotha giving me the eye, so I gave as good as I got.

He was short, about 5'-6" (Me likey!), clear dark chocolate brown skin, beautiful lips and eyelashes so long they almost looked fake. His approach was at once submissive and aggressive and I was instantly turned on. We chatted for the rest of the night as he told me his life story. He had just gotten out of the Army and was here in DC trying to decide what to do next. He had a habit of standing inside my personal space which I found intoxicating.

Since I was staying in a hotel with my sister, we arranged to meet the next night. We had dinner and some really good convo. He was sympathetic to my situation without making me feel pitied. He was submissive to my wants and desires, but aggressive in keeping the objective of where we would end up clearly on the table. As we drove back to the hotel, he stroked my hand and believe me, a brotha was feeling it.

We couldn't go back to my room, so he got another room in the hotel and wouldn't you know it, we ended up right next door. My sister was asleep on the other side of the wall. That did not stop us from working that room out.

Out of his clothes, he was muscular tank of a man, just hairy enough to run your fingers through. He was a great kisser, hell he was good with his mouth everywhere, and I do mean EVERYWHERE. Everything about him turned me on, especially the way he reacted whenever I touched his ass. I would stroke his hairy asscheeks with my fingers and he would moan in pleasure, so you can only imagine what happened when I fingered him. When I was eating him out, I had to make him bury his face in the pillow to keep from making too much noise (lest we forget my sleeping sister in the next room).

At some point, I had licked and fingered him until he couldn't stand it anymore. He looked back at me over his shoulder and said, "I wanna feel you inside of me." Baby, I almost came right then and there. I fucked that boy all over that hotel room; on the bed, on the dresser, in the shower, on the floor. We went through 8 condoms over the next day. And once again, we broke the headboard. That's how you know you are doing it right!

As I left him the next morning, I was floating on air despite my situation. Despite the death of my mother, my house burning down and my father ending up in the burn unit, all I could think about was that I had met someone who could be THE ONE.

Well, gentle readers, as Anita Baker once sang...

My story ends, as stories do,
Reality steps into view.
No longer living life in paradise,
Or fairy tales

I came back to the hotel room that night, to find THE ONE in bed with 3 other dudes and he wanted me to join in. The man, this beautiful man, whom I thought was THE ONE, turned out not be so exceptional after all. He was a beautiful, but common, whore. I won't lie, I was crushed for almost six months a hot minute, but I got over it.

After feeling what I was feeling, I couldn't participate in that 5-way, but time allowed me to see that I was in a very vulnerable space when I met him, so I let it go and we became good friends. That didn't stop me from feeling a little smug satisfaction when I found out several years later that he got fired from his job and Ben and Jerry's for whoring.

It seems he had a habit of picking up trade from the bar and bringing them back to the shop where he worked for a little cream-making of his own. One of the queens who worked in the shop tried to hit on him and when he was rejected, reported him to management. He was caught, in flagrante delicto, and fired on the spot.

Speaking of 7-figure settlements...

Sheree Whitfield, our favorite looka-lika-man, got gooped by her ex-husband in her divorce settlement. Per the Atlanta Journal Constitution:

Bob and Sheree Whitfield separated after three years of marriage in 2003 and divorced after seven in 2007. … The trial court awarded her custody of the children and $2,142.87 a month in child support. It also awarded her a division of the marital property totaling more than $1.1 million and including a lump sum payment of $775,000. It gave her half of the maritalportion of three NFL retirement plans. But the court did not award alimony.

The court awarded him nearly all the real estate, including four homes, and the recording studio, Patchwerks, which he founded. Her lawyers moved for a new trial over the denial of alimony. The lower court deniedthe motion, and she now appeals to the Supreme Court.

In filings, her lawyers have portrayed her as a high school graduate with limited skills and income potential. Shocker!

When you look at it, she didn't get shit. $2142.87 a month for 2 kids? That's only a little more than a grand a month. I am sure whatever private school she has them costs way more than that. Plus she only got a million dollar settlement. That is certainly not the seven figure sum she wanted. Looks like She by Sheree is sh-done.

I will take IRRELEVANT for $1000, Alex

The answer is..

"This awards show is the nation's premier event celebrating the outstanding achievements and performances of people of color in the arts (motion picture, television, recording,and literature), as well as those individuals or groups who promote social justice through their creative endeavors. "

What is "The NAACP Image Award," Alex?

That's correct!

You know this award really doesn't reward excellence when "House of Payne" is up for multiple awards.

Next Category at the Ball...

Reality Star Face!

Get into Ms. NeNe serving glamour! 

I think she deserves a washer-dryer set!

Somewhere Sheree is beating one of her assistants.

A New Paradigm

Listen up! We have a Black president now, and while that doesn't mean that racism is dead, it DOES mean that we can stop assuming racism as a motivating factor for every action. We should definitely be prepared to confront it when it rears its ugly head, but it's not under every rock, around every corner or at the base of every conflict.

In the latest grasp at racist straws, supporters of Roland Burris have intimated that racism motivates those who would deny Mr. Burris the opportunity to be appointed as a U.S. Senator, the only BLACK U.S. Senator, they hasten to point out. Really?

So the problem is that he is Black? Not that he was appointed by someone who is under cloud of indictment for trying to profit from such an appointment? Those who are opposed to Roland Burris are no more racist than those who are opposed to Carolyn Kennedy are sexist.

We, as a people, are really going to have to let go of the past and realize that sometimes, you just don't get what you want in life and that doesn't mean that those who deny you are (necessarily) racist or prejudiced against you because of your race/religion/sex/sexual orientation.