I went out with some friends of mine, this Saturday. *smh* I was forcibly reminded that liking to dance and being able to dance are not necessarily synchronous notions. The folks dancing to this blues band's music wore these looks of fierce intent...as they appeared to randomly seize and spasmodically shudder to the music. The beat was irrelevant to their mode of expression. They were DANCING, man! Ugh! That shit was awful. I had to close my eyes to enjoy the music.
The other thing that I've noticed quite a bit, lately, is the sense of entitlement that White Folks have. Once they appropriate or assimilate some art form, fuck you for objecting to their adulteration of it. The blues? I mean, really:
- You have two houses.
- Your children by your second wife have finished college and you've nearly finished paying on it.
- You're driving two vehicles and have three or four recreational vehicles.
- Your 401K has taken a slight hit due to this economy, so you might have to put off doing some things at retirement.
The fuck you got to be blue about, dawg?
Well, I just like to dance.
Then take some lessons, muhfukkah! You can afford it. Plus, you're offending my sense of rhythm with them fucking convulsions.
Things We Lost In The Flood...
*snork* These muhfukkaz REFUSE to believe that I used to play the alto saxophone. What's funny is that my SON had my same music teacher, Mr. Alsteadt, just before we moved South.
I still can't stand that Billy Joel song "We Didn't Start The Fire".
My children maintain their guerilla campaign to kill me. *psy* I tell them to do things and they act like I'm not even talking. Then, they're shocked (Shocked, I tell you...) when I get pissed. They're always surprised when I call them on the BS that they didn't think that I knew they were trying to pull. I flipped the love seat over last night and made them get up all the stuff they pushed under there.
Just do what I tell you when I tell you and I won't have to…punish…you.
Before we went to the blues bar, we met up with my friend and her boyfriend. That li'l woman is hilarious to me. She's one of the people that kept me from going off the deep end during my divorce. She made me leave the house to do things like: eat at Waffle House, or go to Savage's pizza or hang with her and her friends.
Saturday, she had us walk into this bar to meet up with her & her friends. After we were standing in there, we were notified: This is a gay bar. I looked around and shrugged. They wondered why I could be so prosaic about that. I told her: I don't care who a man is sleeping with male OR female. Why would I? I like women…and I only like SOME of them. So, whatever…
My date tried to clown me later, tombout, "They looked at me first to see if I was a tranny. After they saw that I was a woman, they were looking at YOU!"
I just said, "*psh* Whatever…I ain't stuntin' them dudes!"
Then, we left at the pace that I set, and went to a nearby restaurant and had some of the best food that I've had yet in Atlanta.
So, all-in-all, I had a pretty good weekend.
