I gave up freak night to attend Leon’s Black & White Affair. I don’t like swapping out freak night for a hip hop event, but I always support my friends when I can. I don’t usually have a good time at hip hop parties, but since I knew most of the people, I decided it would be okay. It was fun, in the repsect that I was meeting up with people I only see at events. It wasn’t fun in the respect of a party. You already know my reasons for disliking hip hop parties. I get tired of ugly (or even cute) guys trying to holla at me. Hip hop music gives me a headache after 15 minutes. I just generally don’t like the atmosphere. But anyway…
I like to observe things, which is probably why I like to take pictures. I like to remember things as they happen, which is why I take impromptu pictures. Posed pictures are nice, but they don’t capture the essence of a moment. I notice things like snotty ass bitches who think they are all that, but really aren’t. I noticed a group of frumps with their noses so far in the air they could probably breathe the ozone. This group here has always perplexed me. They hang out in what I call the collective, and generally only one of them has a brain. She controls the rest of the group. None of them has any reason to find themselves above anybody else. They all have a varying mix of bad bodies, bad attitudes, and nothing going for them but drama-filled marriages, failed relationships, bratty ass children and a dead-end job. Please get over yourself.
I also like to pay attention to fashions, and the fashion of the hip hop set is deplorable, particularly the Baltimore scene. Sorry, if this hurts your feelings but it may not even apply to you. Since I was born, I was taught to dress for events. By dress, I mean “putting on clothes,” not just coming out the house looking like anything. I know, I know, some people are like, “What about the environment (inside joke) or I’m trying to be comfortable,” but you can be comfortable without looking like you just got out of bed. I hate it more so of the guys than of the women. Women know how to dress up their casual clothes. I sometimes wonder why any guy of the hip hop persuasion would think I would be interested if he doesn’t take the time to look like something. Men want us to dress up and look cute but I’m supposed to forget about the fact that you showed up in a woogie ass t-shirt and jeans?
Urban clothes are lazy to me. A white tee is not acceptable but a white tee (or a black tee) with words on it is? What is the difference? You still look sloopy. The entire hop hop urban look is sloppy and lazy. You can throw on a pair of baggy pants, a gi-normous t-shirt, a stupid hat to hide your bed head, and a pair of sneakers and this is considered “cool.” Who thought of this? I don’t want you to come out in a tuxedo and cummberbund, but please have a little class. I guess for some, a button-up is too complex. You know, all those buttons. Hard to figure out what to do with it.
Anyway, all I did was take pictures and talk to a few people. I didn’t really dance because I hate dancing to hip hop music. A girl cannot simply enjoy the music and dance. Some guy will always try to get up on her ass. So I have to spend the night looking extra bitchy to make guys stay away from me. It’s not like I’m super hot (which I am) but even if I looked like pot roast, all guys require is an ass.
Later that night, I spent 4 hours with Jack McCoy and a chocolate brownie. Maybe next time I will ask Leon to play “Soylent Green,” just so I can feel represented.
I slept my life away on Saturday, accomplishing absolutely nothing. Like a misbehaving little girl, I skipped drill. I worked out a little bit and then went to my part-time job. After that, I went to Midnight to fulfill my freak needs. My clubbing needs ebb and flow sometimes. For awhile I wasn’t partying at all, and then sometimes I feel the need to hit the club 2 or 3 nights a week. Right now, I feel like if I miss a goth night somewhere my week just won’t be right. If I had gone to Ascension Friday night, I might have skipped Midnight.
They were having a band, and I don’t do bands. I felt bereft and Liebchen was spinning. She always has such a great set that her hour is enough to sustain me until the next week. I try not miss her nights.
The band, The Opposite Sex, typifies every reason why I hate band nights. Band music always sounds “local” to me. I have been to concerts, and I consider that quite different than bands playing at my local bar. I just dislike the whole scene of 15-20 people standing in front of the band, screaming their heads off like they are at the Palladium to see N’SYNC. Then I find the 2 or 3 weirdos in the back thrashing around in their own personal mosh pit to be annoying. I don’t mean anyone in particular, but this is something I have seen at various band nights around the country.
The only good thing about the whole fiasco was the fact that the guitarist was HOT AS HELL. Nicely muscled, Mohawk, nice brown skin tone. Yeah, I can work with that. It’s not very often that I find attractive males of the freak persuasion, so when I do see one I have to give all due appreciation. The sad part is he’s probably gay or a coke fiend. It’s always something.
The music was so loud I had to stuff tissue in my ears. I plan on club hopping until I’m 80, and I would like to be able to hear the music. Several times I almost fell asleep. I dozed off a little bit only to find some guy staring me in my face. Maybe I had started to drool. Of course, the band plays not one, but two encore songs. Luckily, Liebchen was up next and she played for about an hour, and I danced most of the time. Does Midnight publish play lists? There are a couple of songs I don’t know the names to.
It seemed to be kind of a weird night. It was very warm and I thought it was going to be crowded downtown but it wasn’t. The traffick was very light on “K” street, almost to the point where I had this weird moment that it wasn’t Saturday. I found parking very easy and that was even more disturbing. I don’t like when things are simple when they are usually a nightmare.
Anyway, Cheetah Dave even got me dancing but I couldn’t stay out too late. I already skipped drill on Satruday. Can’t skip Sunday too. I left around 130. Sadly, there wasn’t anything to make fun of. So this is surprisingly short.
The only bizarre thing I noted at all was later on as I was driving down New York Avenue, I smelt burning rubber, a very strong smell. As I approached 395, I noticed an old ass egg-mobile with sparks flying out the back. The driver had a blow out, but instead of stopping to change the tyre like a normal person, he continued to drive and was grinding down ont he rim which was very badly bent. The rim was sparking, which is dangerous. If you catch a spark on fumes, well, you could have a very bad day. Then the driver was going about 10 miles an hour and he was gripping the steering wheel like death, with a very determined look on his face.
Either he was on his way to kill somebody or he was pressed about getting some place. Interesting.
Sunday I went to drill late. Yeah, I was totally misbehaving. I showed up around 9 and got reprimanded twice. The first had to do with my make up. An attractive woman can expect a war on two fronts in the army. First, she has to worry about all the ugly female haters, and then she has to worry about the old sexist white men.
The first reprimand came from the ugly female hater. This sergeant who looks like she crawled out of a broken sewage tank like some alien swamp thing pulled me aside to tell me about my makeup. She said, “Are you wearing eye shadow?” I said yes. She tells me that I’m not allowed to wear eyeshadow, which is wrong. According to the AR 670-1 I am allowed to wear make up as long as it does not detract from my uniform and is complimentary to my skin tone. Being brown, it’s perfectly acceptable that I wears browns and golds and other flesh tones. She made a big deal out of it and told me to wipe it off. I tried to as much as possible but my make up doesn’t come off without remover. Oh well, you’ll get over it.
The second reprimand came in the form of the outmoded male chauvinist. The army regulations on standard of dress were written back in 1897 when women still wore hoop skirts and bonnets. No, it really wans’t. It was actually written in the 1930s and you can tell by the language that it was written by some man who didn’t relaise that women had gained suffrage.
I wore my hair short and spiky. Initially, I was worried about the hairstyle because it might be considered too trendy. The army forbids anything that could be perceived as “modern.” God forbid I should look better than my Aunt Marmalade. But instead of being told my hair was too fashioanble, I was told that my hair presented an “unkempt and bedraggled appearance.” May I quote, “Your hair looks like you just got out of bed.” The sergeant who spoke to me said “someone” saw me and nearly had a heart attack. She was talking about the sergeant major of course. This old ass white man who totally embodies every stereotype of the hard ass sergeant that you find in movies.
First she tried to PC it by saying my bangs were too long. Okay, no problem. I can trim them. Then she said my hair touched my collar just a little bit. No problem, I can trim that too. Then she said, “it looks bedgraggled.” Okay, please get off my nuts.
You know I am always pushing the envelope. I don’t liketo feel like my artistic sensibilities are being repressed. I also don’t like to feel oppressed. The army is so outdated on a lot of things concerning women. It’s really a sexist institution. I can’t fight the entire army. I can only try to win little battles as they come along.
Anway, after drill, I gorged myself on egg foo young, fell asleep and then got up to to go my other job.
This time next week I’ll just be getting back from Chicago, so hopefully My Weekend No. 110 will be a lot more interesting.
10 more days until my birthday!!!