Sugar in My Grits

Last night I went to Tykeisha’s block party.  I haven’t been to one of those in a minute.  I had a choice of going to her party or going on a cruise around the Baltimore Harbour with my company.  I opted for the block party because it’s always better to hang out with friends than it is to hang out with co-workers, especially stuffy, older white co-workers.  We really don’t have too much in common, and people sit around talking about work.  They planned on having an award ceremony and some other stuff, and it just sounded like I wouldn’t have a good time.

At any rate, I took the kid along since she said there would be plenty of kids there.  He had the time of his life because finally he has able to play with children that are his age, and his colour, instead of my white and “white-acting” friends, or whatever that is supposed to mean.  Plus he has been dying to ride on a bike.  The other kids were nice enough to let him ride the bike for a little while, and for that I was quite grateful so he can get off my nuts about a bike.  I told him since day one that I wasn’t buying him a bike, but he kept saying, “I wish I had a bike.”  Look, kid, Santa don’t live here.

It’s always nice to see old faces, especially old faces of people I actually like.  Kay was there, and we sat around shooting the breeze, talking about various things of interest.  I also saw Tanyel, always like talking to her.  She’s always so happy and smiling.  People like me, who are generally pessimistic and downtrodden, should spend more time in the company of people who are upbeat and cheerful, like Tanyel. 

It was unfortunate that I had to run into the Jackass.  It was amazing that he actually came out of his house.  God forbid that someone actually see him in public and make a comment on it.  He spoke to me, but I ignored him.  I don’t want anyone to see us giving each other a casual “Hi” and automatically assume that we are having an affair.  I think he might implode on himself is someone were to speculate on something that actually isn’t at all happening.  The way he carried on you might have guessed him to be Britney Spears or someone with some actual importance, instead of just some guy that we all used to work with. 

Leon once told me that I was a cold-hearted bitch, and I suppose in a lot of ways I am.  Once I’ve stricken you from my mind, you no longer exist to me and you might as well be a piece of gum stuck under my shoe.  Just scrub my shoe on the ground and keep on walking like the day before I met you, because nowadays you don’t mean dick to me.  What kind of fuckery is he anyway to automatically assume that I would have anything to say to him after the abominable way he treated me?  I guess some people think that treating another like garbage on Tuesday is one thing, but turn around and say “Hey, how you doing?” on Wednesday is perfectly acceptable.  Can’t believe you played me out like that.

At any rate, I would have stayed longer had my stomach not been in such private turmoil.  Halfway through the ride from P.G. County into the city, my stomach started up, but I didn’t want to turn back around because the kid was just dying to be somewhere.  I figured since I wasn’t about to give birth or otherwise shit myself, I could sit it out, but as the night wore on, I thought perhaps it was best I leave before I humiliated myself. 

I always thought there was nothing like a good ole’fashioned block party.  Tykeisha should have been born southern because she does some truly country southern things that I enjoy.  Block up the whole street, have some loud ass music and good food.  Dancing in the street to those horrid Maryland line dances, but it was still fun and sitting there until after dark watching children play.  Mr. Hatchett half-drunkenly two-stepping and Tykeisha’s sisters and cousins laughing it up. 

Despite my self-absorbed worldliness, I am a southern girl at heart.  Country,  yes.  Ghetto, never.  And there’s always a difference.  I like sugar in my grits and sometimes eat grit sandwiches with strawberry jam and a fried egg.  People look at me weird, but it tastes good at that’s all that matters.

Kay and I got into a discussion about the DJ and we both secretly declared a love for this new DJ.  We love you, Leon, but you play too much up north music for us.  Up north music is for girls in too tight dresses and too high heels, chair-dancing, too cute to dance, and for flashy boys in pointy-toed elf shoes two-stepping by themselves because the girls are all chair-bound.  Southern music was for real dancing.  Even gay Maryland line dancing is better than some of the boppy music that comes out of the north.  We had a good laugh about music tastes and how we liked old skool music, especially when we heard jams you would hear at the skating rink, and I ain’t skated in years.  I doubt I could even stand up.  Even though I didn’t “shut it down” like I normally do, I was glad I went.  Erique tired himself out famously.  He was dead to the world 10 minutes after we got home. 

Sometimes a late summer block party is exactly what a person needs.

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