Hit It

I can’t really remember the last three weeks. Oddly enough, it’s not from the usual overabundance of alcohol and partying. Most of it, gasp, is work related. Just to get y’all up to speed, here are portions of my To Do List from the past three weeks:

• Lunch, Shopping and Photo shoot with DJ Phil B (f*ckin’ HOT and that Australian accent just works me to the carpet)


• Daytrip to Tallahassee with Genre (realized I don’t miss college towns one bit, kids are cute but expect to baby-sit -- discuss.)


• Finalize Drag Idol 3 Contestants (I established the frontrunners in my head.)


• Eddie Baez and Peter Rauhofer remixes of “Sexy Back” (the shelf life is about up for the original, but the remixes keep getting better)


• Providing some professional advice to loved ones, may be a conflict of interest – more on this later


• Quit Buzz Magazine (ain’t no one’s writer monkey no mo’)


• Opinions, share them, no matter the outcome – must take ownership of thoughts


• Make plans to visit family (miss them much, but not moving back to Florida – too many hurricanes)


• Loving new Basement Jaxx and Janet Jackson LPs (BJ-“Hey U” / JJ – “Get It Out Me” are quickly rising among my Most Played MP3’s and for good reason – they’re both dance floor stompers)

Word, Bitches

The other night, my dear friend Biz-won-ra and I decided to take in a movie. We’re good for improvising at the last possible second, so we didn’t have any idea of what we were going to see, let alone which movie theatre. So, we decided on the Atlantic Station Regal because of its H. T. P. (High Trade Potential). We surveyed the movie selection and finally decided on Step Up, not because either of us was particularly interested in it, but because of the flock of queers rushing to see Channing Tatum. (pictured in all of his hotness as he was intended -- wearing next to nothing)

As far as the movie goes, they should have just called it Save the Last Dance Pt. 2, considering it was nearly identical in storyline comparison. Posh dancer girl meets ghetto dancer boy, ghetto boy influences posh girl’s biggest recital ever with his street cred, boy and girl get together and cue hot soundtrack.

My biggest issue with the movie is Channing’s single shirtless scene is robbed of its sexuality when his younger foster sister barges into his bedroom. WTF? I want my eight dollars back, immediately.

And, why was Channing channeling Sylvester Stallone circa Rocky?

“Does it look like I own tights?”

I was half-expecting him to yell out “Yo, Adrianne!”

But, I digress, who did we happen to luck into on our way out of the theatre? We ran into WETbar’s head honcho hottie, James and then not even two minutes later, we ran into the hottie bartender from Einstein’s who needs to consider a new job doing either a) porn or b) soap operas.

For the rest of the night, Biz-won-ra and I adopted the Channing personae (complete with Rocky monotone voice) and his crew of mischievous dawgs. We (as in he, cause y'all know I don't do that kind of ig'nant shit) hit the panic button on the escalator, nearly launching James and his friend into the parking lot, ran over several orange cones, which we felt was a public service considering they were obstructing the path to the nearest exit and laughed the entire time – like homies.

We ended up in East Atlanta for an overdue visit to Mary’s (see: H. T. P. OTP). While there, we ran into cutie owner Mike. We love Mike because he’s just so f’n cool. Is it the demeanor? Is it the smile? It’s gotta be the shoes. All we know is the man has got charisma. Word, it’s the charisma.

Unfortunately, we had to hit one of Mary’s signature karaoke nights. And, to be honest, their singers are pretty damn good as compared to other karaoke joints. But, it’s still karaoke. So, Biz-won-ra and me threw up some peace signs and yelled out “hollah” to all of our homies on the east s-i-i-de.

Cue hot soundtrack. We was hittin' it.

No Place Like Home

In the past few months, a few of the nearest and dearest have packed up their lives and hit it right on out of town.

While Arizona, Alabama and Atlanta are pretty similar in that they begin and end with the same letter, these locations are different from each other…very different.

In Atlanta, it’s the norm to see various men leaving random apartments and houses holding onto stray clothing and rocking bedhead sans hair product and ten minutes of tszujing. This kind of wild behavior and free spirit is fun to watch on the way to Sunday brunch.

In Alabama, the wild behavior and free spirit comes in the form of Lolly -- a stray cat -- my friend Shawn watches and admires -- in his yard. Yeah, it’s very different.

I also learned both Scene and Chris are fans of Battlestar Galactica. Huh, what?

“It’s got lasers,” says Chris over an instant message. Sorry kids, the only lasers I want part of my night time entertainment better be audio synched to a massive sound system a la Jungle or WETbar. But, I can’t fault him for his past times; it’s very different out there.

In a recent survey, Shaun admitted to slim pickings and lack of sex in the past 24 hours. In Atlanta, there are places open 24 hours where people go for just sex. Or, you can just order in. Instead of answering questions that ask whether thunderstorms are cool or scary; you’re answering questions like “host or travel” or “top or bottom.” Like I said, it’s very different.

I digress; Chris moved to be with his husband, Shon left for his career and to be closer to his folks. They’re good boys, those two. Soon, they’ll find their niches and they’ll find their own Atlantas in Arizona and Alabama.

But, come on now it’s an f’n cat and you two are watching Sci-Fi! W-T-F?

Ok, sorry, I apologize. I know it’s a little different out there. All right, fine, very different.

Relatively Speaking

You know how relatives always tell you that you look like one of your parents? Well, yeah, I get that ALL the time. I didn’t really put much thought into it though and never understood how anyone could think I look similar to my mom or dad. My dad passed away when I was very young (like when I was three) and all I’ve ever seen of him were pictures from the wedding and him playing with me or my brothers. Honestly, I didn’t think I looked anything like him. Sure, some of the features were similar; but nothing to gawk at me for.

When my grandmother passed away, my mother located some pictures of my dad taken when he was around my age (give or take a few years). When I saw the picture, I couldn’t believe my own eyes. I look just like him. It was kind of eerie. Imagine looking at yourself in black and white, not to mention in an outfit or haircut that you couldn't identify. Then, I find out that my dad was a bit of a troublemaker, “mischievous” as my mom put it. I found all of these things fascinating and oddly reassuring. It made me feel better that I inherited my penchant for disregarding rules and wasn’t cursed by some gypsy I had pissed off.

At any rate, here’s his picture. Those that know me will understand my disbelief at this image, for those that don’t know me – I’ve got a pretty good looking dad, yes? Discuss.

Overtime

So, here’s the deal. The reason why I haven’t been on here lately is because I’ve just taken on some rather overwhelming challenges. In short, work has been whooping my ass. Those that know me know that I thrive in that type of multi-tasking environment – especially one in which I get to work closely with the nearest and dearest.

More on this development later.

All right, time to make the donuts.