"When Do You Ever Enjoy Your Life"...he said

I've found that one of the most tiring efforts one can possibly ferret after is the approval of others. Aside from the fact that it's painfully pathetic, it's also virtually impossible to have EVERY ONE'S approval. Every one in their own individual complex lives, with their own stupid idiosyncrasies and imperfections has an ideal about life that is as diverse as a thumbprint. One person's mathematical equation is another's aesthete rhythmic prose.

So more and more, when people begin to paint their approval or disapproval onto my skin I immediately shutter. Like last night when a new acquaintance of mine asked if I wanted to get out with him and have a drink. "Nope" I said, "I have to work tonight and be up early tomorrow." Work, at that moment meant write. I was chasing after a 12000 word project for a publisher in Oregon and working on the details of a site Tia and I hope to have up in the next few months. Being "up early tomorrow" was so I could be at work-work on time. The work-work that pays my bills and will ultimately fund my escape form cowboy central and back to regular society where I belong. My new acquaintance scoffed at my tight-lipped response, "When do you ever enjoy life? I'm flying to NYC this weekend to see if the Yankees win..."

Blank stare.

Side eye.

His assumptions were suddenly suffocating me. The gull of someone who hardly knows me at all to first assume that I don't "enjoy" my life, and secondly assume that what I was doing at the moment wasn't bringing me any pleasure. Not that I orgasm with every sentence, but writing is like breathing for me, like therapy. 12000 words is definitely intimidating, but at that moment I wouldn't had preferred to be anywhere else but in front of my laptop letting my head pour into a Word doc. I wanted to tell him all of this, but realized there was no point. His idea of enjoying his life was simply and at this time in my life, different than my own. He wanted to go out on a Thursday night and get drunk. Doing that would have been pointless for me on at least three separate levels. As for his NYC comment.... part from not being a Yankee's fan (go A's!!) I'd much rather LIVE in New York than visit. But that's my ideal, not his.

I simply replied, that I do in fact enjoy my life and that I hope he has fun in NY. I went back to what I was doing and laughed to myself. True, it's slightly out of my MO to turn down drinks on any night of the week (flashback of nursing a horrible hang over on the subway to work after 30 minutes of sleep). But I'm too far gone, folks. I have a mission and it's in sight now. I don't want to waste a moment on anything that doesn't have to do with writing, or getting the fuck out of Houston.

(©2009 Lotus B.)

Uptown Hookering & Why I'm Glad I'm 25

My friend Ashley and I went out Friday night with two separate hopes in mind. One; that our respective basketball teams (she, the Rockets and I, the Lakers) would win game 3. And of course two; to have fun after the game.

After hitting up the Daily Grill at the Galleria, we went back to a spot we'd already established to be sufficiently chill, Uptown Hookah. Despite the fact that the name makes it sound like it's sponsored by Wal-Mart. Despite the fact that the inside has been virtually EMPTY both times we've gone. Despite the fact that the only place you can actually smoke is outside, where the sweltering humidity and heat practically take your breath away....where was I? Anyway, the hookah part was cool and so was our waiter, Jason, who was a thick mess of muscles, dread locks, tattoos and boyish grins.... Needless to say Uptown was deserving of a second trip.

After ordering two shots of Patron and a bubblegum & blueberry Rum hookah, Ash and I wandered into the back patio to find some seats. The only spot available was an unnecessarily large gazebo area with two couches and a few chairs placed around marble tables. Even though it was far too large for just the two of us, it was the only spot outside with it's own private fan, so I quickly scooped it up.

20 minutes or so after our hookah arrived, Ashley left to go to the restroom and a kid who looked no older than 18 came by and asked me who else we were waiting for. He said he had a whole party of people and no where to sit. I looked over his "party"....they all looked like a bunch of youngsters. But instead of being a grump about it, I told him my friend went to the restroom and I'd let her decide. When she came back they followed, so I assumed she'd said "yes".

At first it was cool. Even though they were all a bit rowdy. I found out the guy who had asked me if they could join was D. Lee, and even though I can't stand it when people introduce themselves with nicknames, I smiled and said nice to meet you. The only reason I remember his name, is because he was "from Oakland". Although I doubted whether of not he was actually from there. He claimed to have been in Houston for 8 years, but also claimed to have attended Skyline High. Unless he was my age (doubtful) or started high school at the age of 12, I highly doubted that could be true. He also "tested" my Oakland roots by saying, "Yahdiddahh"....which is something I was never in the habit of saying regardless of the fact that Oakland is my hometown. I assessed that he'd listened to way too much Mac Dre and Too Short and that he'd probably only spent a few years in the Bay and it rubbed off too much. The rest of his friend's names I don't recall.

Before two of them departed, a guy who claimed to be an actor but who I assumed was just behind on his Ritalin and his girlfriend, Jasmine stopped in the middle of the outside patio. The guy went down on one knee and mumbled inaudible things that caused the girl to blush. Suddenly I heard, "Will you marry me" and everyone outside cheered and clapped. I was wondering what kind of an asshole proposes to his girlfriend at Uptown Hookah, without a ring...?

I kept drinking...

Before the night was through I'd secured two numbers for future references, should I have a need for whatever Houston considers to be "fire". I left that night feeling like I'd definitely past the point of being in the rowdy group. I had fun. The kind of fun you don't expect but go along with because you need to relax and laugh. Maybe it was a little embarrassing to have the entire restaurant's attention be turned to our table while the kids whooped and hollered over- I forget what. I'm glad I'm past that age of needless attention grabbing, but it was fun to re-visit it. All in all, I'm a little done with the consistently empty Uptown Hookah spot, but at least I know there is more to do in Houston than cow-tip and watch the sorry ass Rockets scramble for a second win. *Ha ha*

I still miss NYC.

Things to Buy: 1) Camera

Cause if I had one, I could have taken my own pictures on New Years and that way I wouldn't have to wait till Mon got back from PA to see them..lol. Anyway, my New Years went something like this:

^The drunkness was kicking in close to count down

^D knows I make this face when other men try to touch me....lol

^Bartender and (special treat) my growing FRO.

Coming, Going and Things in Between...

The above photo was taken about a week before I left California for New York. I was getting a drink with my friend George, and in complete denial of what I was about to do. I nonchalantly told friends from work that it was simply a time for change and everyone was impressed with my casual demeanor. I was waiting for George to bring me a second (or third) martini, because as you all can see, I had just polished one off. I remember for that second when he left to walk across that large scape of that scroungy, trendy, over priced bar in San Francisco; I was alone and in silence for a moment. I took it all in and whispered to myself..."better get used to it, trooper."

...but I haven't really been alone.

BTW: My Thanksgiving Was Awesome

So aside from just the stretched out weekend, I got an excuse (as if I need one..) to eat like a total glutton. My room mate, Monica and I went to Sylvia's in Harlem for dinner.

When we got there it was so packed that a lady standing near us started complaining about the capacity. "You know she got to many people up in here..." She scoffed, referring to Ms. Sylvia herself as if she alone was responsible for the weight of the room. Although, Sylvia can often be found sitting near the bar in her famous restaurant greeting guests and chatting up the bartender, I doubted she was there that night. Monica and I humored the lady and started up a whole conversation that somehow led to me and D. The lady's unsolicited advice went something like this, " Well, if he ever puts his hands on you..." I shut off all hearing valves after that one. (For some reason that's the third person to give me advice about D beating me senseless....not only do they have the wrong guy, it's proof that not many people in my life know my history with men...) Eventually, the warrior against domestic violence and her husband were seated and all in all she was extremely nice to talk to...

Twenty minutes later we sat down, ordered and received:

Afterwards we took the train back downtown and went to West 4th to a lounge called The Fat Black Pussy Cat, which when referenced incorrectly can come out sounding pretty raunchy...

After stiff drinks and posing with the random antique furniture, we stopped at a sex store to browse for "holiday gifts" for our respective boyfriends. We got home in time to enjoy the caramel and marshmallow covered brownies I got from the cafe at work for us, and hit the sack with full tummies and a Long Island Ice Tea buzz dipped in chocolate...

My night was made complete by a goodnight chat with D, whom I know would never hit me unless I asked him to (wink wink...)

Halloweeeeeeeen 2008!

My first holiday in NYC, and it wasn't all bad.
But why blog when you can upload photos.....

More to come soon!

Why Does This Never Happen to Me???

Sara Jessica Parker volunteered at Barack Obama's NYC headquarters today calling undecided voters.... I would literally UN-VOTE just so SJP could call me.

We would, of course, become best friends.

Introducing FUX!!!

I've started a new blog with my good friend Roscoe, y'all!! Imagine Perez Hilton, now add Wendy Williams....throw in a dash of street fashion and NYC events reviews and you've got FUXfashion. FUX stands for Fashion Under Xamination. It's me and my girl Roscoe attending NYC events (concerts, museum openings, indie film premiers, sample sales...so on) and giving you the scene. And not just the "brought to you by" and "featuring" with cute little pictures accompanying well thought out and polite comentary. The REAL scene. The who, and why-the-hell-did-she-wear-that scene. That's right, celebrities aren't the only one's with interesting lives. We believe in a new kind of celebrity. The celebu-not! We've got our ear to the ground and we're snapping pics along the way. If you live in the NYC area and are prone to attend events in NYC, New Jersey and even Philly....you just might see your face (and ya bizzness) on our page!

To see our first post and subscribe click here!!

BINGO Night, A New Friend, and A Swedish Opera Singer Named Robin

I was IM'ing my (fabulous) friend Phil the other day, telling him how miserable I was because I have virtually no girlfriends (besides my room mate, Molly and my friend Gwen who lives in Jersey) now that I'm in New York City. He suggested I give Craig's List a try. Now, Craig's List is the website me and my friend Rachel used to look at late at night, drunk so we could laugh at all the weirdos who posted listings under "Casual Encounters". You know, "Female seeks Male Companion for Masked & Bound Ass Pounding" That sort of thing. So immediately I made a screwy face. But he sent me a link for a book club, and I realized that like me, there were loads of people just looking to meet new friends, especially in a city like New York where EVERYONE is from out of town.

So I looked.

I met a girl named Tia who lives in my neighborhood. A 23 year old clothing designer. We emailed back and forth a few times, but I could tell immediately by her casual sarcasm and blunt sense of humor that she was my kind of gal. We decided to meet up.

"This ain't your grandma's BINGO." She said, asking me to meet up on Monday night at the Bowery Pottery Club near Houston st (pronounced "House-Stun" in NY...don't ask). I got home from work and received some bad news from my mother (which I'm not emotionally capable of writing about yet) so I knew a night out with a new friend was just what I needed. I changed into my fave jeans, fave yellow top, sandals and my fave aqua-blue beaded hoop earrings. I wanted to feel....well....fave.

When I got to the Pottery Club the first thing I realized was how hip it was. Cafe tables in front near a coffee and snacks bar. Shelves speckeled with tons of books. Exposed brick, funky art. Further back there was a curtain separating the two entities and suddenly I was in a lounge. Fully stocked bar, stage in the far back, low lighting and tables everywhere. And most surprisingly...it was PACKED. And not with grandmas. Tons of colorfully dressed (as usual) New Yorkers, laughing, chatting and sipping on $4 beers. I called Tia's cell phone. "I'm here!" I shouted. "Ok, I'm going to stand on a chair and wave madly...ready?" Suddenly I saw a black girl in fabulous, vintage sequined shorts and a black top balancing herself on a bar stool and waving like a crazy person. My new friend.

"Hi!!" I said, as we shared a quick hug and check peck. She was just as I pictured. Petite, cheery, and dressed like she meant it. "This is Robin, I met him here a minute ago." I shook hands with the slender, guy who stood about 5'10" and had a mess of scruffy blond hair . "Hi!" I said, "I'm Ashley."

"Robin" he said, but it sounded more like "Ru'bein". I asked what he does, and he said he'd just graduated from school in Sweden and came to New York to sing in an opera choir. "Cool!" I said, genuinely amazed that he'd only been in the US two weeks and was already going off to BINGO night by himself. Balls, I thought, he's got balls.

BINGO night, to say the absolute least, was a BLAST. Hosted by two cross-dressers and a young lady who was their version of Vannah White, showing off the "fabylous prizes" and sporting a mean case of camel-toe, but still pleasantly amusing. The lesbian named Murry, was dressed like what I can only describe as a 40 year old, vacationing father of three from the 1950's. And Linda. In a word, was Jakie O-esque, in a fabulous brown layered wig, and a black off-one-shoulder dress that said "Goddess" across the front. She was calling out the bingo numbers in a way that reminded me of watching QVC..."Now were going to hop on over to the B row....B-14..."

I didn't win, but when we got to the bonus round, they said the first person to fill their entire BINGO card up wins the jackpot of $261 (the money from the BINGO card sales). I wast even close, and neither was Tia; but Robin managed to get down to one measly number standing in his way of taking home the cash. Instead some cocky guy with a thick Brooklyn accent won, prancing up to the stage to claim his prize. He boasted about how he knew he was going to win the cash and then just to be annoying (because he couldn't possibly be THAT idiotic) he cracked a joke about supporting Bush. Immediately the crowed began boo'ing him and chanting to the hosts to take back his prize. Linda, although looking a bit perturbed by the guy's Bush-comment, reminded everyone that people are all entitled to their opinions, but that he would absolutely have to dance for the money now. They blasted Beyonce's "Crazy in Love" (or whatever that over-played crap is called), and the guy shook his thing tossing his shirt out into the audience. The crowd went wild.

Afterwards, Tia and I exchanged info with Robin promising that we'd meet in the city soon to check out a karaoke bar that sits above a Japanese restraint at 32nd and 5th. Tia and I took the same train home (the F to the A and got off at Nostrand) chatting away about our adventures with hot-sweaty apartments and loud teenagers who think they know everything.

All in all it was a good day, a good night and very good company.

The Rest of the Weekend

As for Saturday and Sunday, it somehow felt like more than just two days. Saturday was it was supposed to rain, but it didn't- at least not in the day time. I spent it basking in the silence of my empty apartment (Molly was at school and Ralphy was out and about). I took a few cat naps, ate lunch, gabbed on the phone with my cousin Atya and took some weird camera phone pictures of my stomach. When Molly came home and announced that Marshall and Los were having yet another cook out, I was immediately up for it. I'd laid around quite enough, it was time for beer and hot dogs.

It was about 75 degrees outside and humid, so Molly put on a sun dress and I had on shorts and sandals. But as soon as we left the house we noticed the clouds canvased above us threatening rain. It was still hot outside, but it was sure to get wet. We hovered across the street deciding whether or not to go back inside and change and eventually decided to just ruff it. By the time we got to Los and Marshall's house on Madison, we were almost completely soaked. Los, Marshal, Ralphy and some guy I didn't know yet named El were all perched under the picnic table umbrella. An old school boom box sitting on top of the table surrounded by hamburger fixin's and a pitcher of Jungle Juice was the source of entertainment. I noticed behind us through a gate was another cook out. One with way more people and a few more uumbrellas. I didn't know people actually had cook outs in the rain, but the idea appealed to me. It was so random, so spontaneous. Once the rain stop, the jackets came off and I wiped down the bench to sit down. I introduced myself to El and complimented him on his tee shirt. It was a vintage-style faded brown tee with a black pick up truck slanted downward as if it were tossed in the air. The bed of the truck had all kinds of guns falling out of it. "I wonder if the artist was thinking of a pocket knife when they drew that," Molly said pointing at his tee-shirt, "Cause it definitely looks like one to me." El looked down at his tee shirt and squinted. "No. I wasn't thinking of a pocket knife, but I see why you'd think that." He said with a hint of a Spanish accent. We all shared an "Oh" moment and I finally realized who El was. He was the artist Marshall was always talking about, he did the artwork for all of Marshall's tee-shirt designs. Eventually our conversation went to another form of art; writing. He said he needed a writer to help him develop an illustrated story. So we exchanged info and decided to meet up the next day.

Sunday. The day started as any other. I lounged around with my room mates, took a few naps (perhaps a few too many) and contemplated doing laundry but opted not to. Around 6pm I got a text from El, "Lets go to Habana Outpost for drinks, around 8ish." Perfect, I thought. That was the place Molly had told me I absolutely HAD to go to, because it was so cool. 8ish turned into 9ish, but eventually I got on the C train and got off at Lafayette. There was a huge crowd of people outside the entrance and the monstrous patio behind the gate was even more crowded. I headed in and spotted El by the door to the patio. It was movie night and along with drinks and dinner, all the patrons were treated to a screening of "The Last Dragon", the old kung fu movie from the 80's. It was perfectly warm outside, I didn't even mind standing the whole time. El was there with his two friends, Mike and David. Mike was tall and looked a lot like John Favreau http://www.imdb.com/name/nm0269463/ : from the Iron Man), David was an even taller, thin white guy with huge funky nerd glasses and an old school baseball cap hiding a mess of curly hair. I greeted each one and received a "your-in-the-city-now" peck on the cheek/ handshake. After the movie was over and El and I had upgraded our Coronas to Mojitos (which was by far the absolute best Mojito I've had in my entire life), the four of us comizzed on where to go next. There was some discussion of getting a car, and then possibly going somewhere called The Belmont which David said "Is Jamaica" on Sundays.

After David parked (aided by me waving him into a tight park space as if I was guiding a plane on the runway), we went into Belmont and instantly it was as if we entered a different world. Everyone there was the milky complexion of mocha, every one's skin glistening from the humidity, people swaying in dark corners to island beats and grinding against each other on the dance floor. We walked all the way through and out to the back patio where the beats filtered through large speakers on the outside walls. We surveyed the scene mutually impressed with the huge turn out. "Hey," David said, tapping my shoulder, "There goes Ashy Larry..." We looked over at a man dressed in a red tee-shirt and black pants and it was in fact Donnell Rawlings from Chappelle's Show cutting through the crowed and heading back inside. We wandered back inside and found a spot near the bar, I couldn't help it, the music was intoxicating, I had to dance. I sandwiched myself between El and David and danced to the music closing my eyes in submission to it. Before we knew it, it was 4 am.

I woke up this morning at 8:20. Mind you I start work at 8:15. After a frantic call to Beth, my manager and some fake coughing I grabbed some cloths out of my closet and literally got dressed in the dark. I didn't realize I had a hang over until I was securely on the A train headed to work and started feeling the vile creeping up my throat. The only good thing I can say about throwing up in my mouth on the train is, thank GOD it was only water and very little at that. As for cook outs in the rain, throwback movies projected on the side of buildings and hot, sweaty Jamaican clubs....I guess I can say it's all worth it.

Public Drunkeness & Meeting ButterMilk Brown

It was the kind of Saturday night that I'd been itching for. I had been in New York for a complete week now. Aside from Rope, the $1 beer spot we hung out at on Monday, I hadn't really been anywhere yet. Molly and I left the house for Atlantic Plaza so I could make a return at Old Navy. Of course we stopped in Marshall's. How can any sane person pass up such reasonably priced designer clothing? We browsed around for thirty minutes or so, stopping by the fitting rooms to try on our finds. Molly's boyfriend, Ralphy called to let us know there was a party on Church street at his friend's friend's house. So I settled on a top and decided to change into it before we left since all I had on at the time was my favorite Hello Kitty top that D got for me in Houston. Fortunately I'd done my hair; my long shaggy bangs were obscurely falling into my eyes and my short asymmetrical bob was flat ironed and hair sprayed, so I felt secure knowing I was presentable enough to party. We shook it out of Marshall's and onto the train to get to Chris (the friend) house so everyone could meet up. Eventually Raphly, Marshall and Los (Carlos) showed up and we congregated. Molly and I had stopped to get food on the way and were munching on respectively on a sandwich and a vegetarian Jamaican plate. I was so impressed with my Jamaican plate that I took a picture and sent it to D. "Jamaican food made by real Jamaicans...." I text him.

After deciding on a taxi we pulled up to the front of the house and waited around for Chris to park and walk over. Of course we couldn't just go in. We had to wait for our "friend" to come in with us, otherwise we'd just look like a bunch of strangers wondering into a random house party.

It was a three bedroom walk up. The living room was almost empty when we got there. A small group of people were gathered around the keg in the kitchen and everyone else was sporadically placed in the living room. I noticed a bar in the corner, and used shot glasses lining the edge of it. The music was mild hip hop beats, just loud enough to compel you to bob your head.

I sauntered over to the kitchen and waited in line at the pump. I filled my cup conservatively and began sipping. I sunk into the couch in the living room next to Molly and Lori and talked to them for a little while . We all chatted for a second and sipped on our beers. I noticed someone had plopped down close by me on an ottoman and was talking to a girl with gorgeous crinkled dread locks. He was a tall, light skinned dude the color of sugar cane with a page-boy hat on. As he waved his hands in conversation, I noticed a Vietnamese symbol between his right wrist and index finger. As he spoke I realized that his eyes were greenish grey. "Cute" I thought to myself.

As the night progressed, everyone became more familiar as people tend to do at parties. I found out that the girl with the gorgeous dread locks was Jasmine, and she claimed she "absolutely loved" being able to get up and do nothing to her hair. I met a girl behind the bar who was thrilled to play bar tender and concocted a fruity, dangerous mix of dark rum, strawberries and orange juice. The mix wasn't quite dangerous enough so we tried adding Patron, making sure that no one saw us chug half the bottle into the blender. We passed the brew around and the guy with the hand tattoo came up and requested one. "Let me see what mess you two have made."

I pretended to be offended, "Ummm, I think by mess you mean geniusness.." I handed him a cup of our proud endeavour and he tasted it, smacking his full lips together and darting his eyes in search of the right words. "It's alright." He said. But as soon as I started laughing he joined me and poked my arm in jest. The drinks continued to flow.

Throughout the night I remember making my rounds. I went up to the attic and played my very first game of Beer Pong, a right of passage in New York. I ended up drinking two glasses of beer and me and my partner (a guy named Mario) got too drunk to play; our balls just bounced off the walls and everyone was rolling with laughter. I wandered downstairs and chatted with Chris in the hallway. He told me why he wants to be a cop and we discussed the violence in today's video games. I talked to Marshall about my first game of Beer Pong and he tried to contain himself as I'm sure my excitement was amusing to a Brooklyn native. I wondered over to the hand tattoo guy and finally introduced myself. His name was Craig and he formerly worked for Def Jam and was now a free spirit slash club promoter slash graffiti artist. I told him I was unemployed which somehow was hilarious to both of us. We indulged ourselves in another drink and continued talking. I stood by the door as he said goodbye to some guests that were leaving. I snapped a few pictures and eventually around 2 am our group decided to call a cab and head home.

Craig waited with me in the entry way of his building, while everyone else was just outside on the steps. I remember being very close to him, but not hugging or kissing; just speaking very closely. Maybe we thought we were talking too loud. Either way, before I left we'd made each other promise to call and go out soon. "Your FUN!" He kept saying to me with a wide, grey-eyed smile.

Ralphy, Molly, Marshall and I rode home buzzed from the drinks and the energy. We pulled up to our apartment in Bed-Stuy and walked in. I wasn't even thinking about sleeping arrangements. "Marshall's staying over." Ralphy said out of the corner of his mouth, then disappeared into the room with Molly. Marshall and I were left staring at each other. But I was in too good a mood to object. Too buzzed to even mind. I fell asleep fast and the four of us woke up to pancakes and Advil.