Oh boy. Even given the partying I've done in Las Vegas, it's been a minute since I slept in past 10:00am the next morning. I blame the heat. The hot, sticky, unforgiving heat of the south. I think I'm waterlogged from all the humidity. Last night found me at a Sol-Fusion promoted event. They called it The Block Party and it was being put on at The View Specialty Events Facility at King Plow Arts Center. All of my Atlanta connections advised me that the party would be well attended. It was. They said there would be a lot of dancing. There was. Still I managed to misinterpret a few key details.
I'm not sure why I was thinking that there would be some sort of VIP access. When my date and I arrived, we were forced to stand in line with the general public. I know that sounds terribly snooty but it was a humid 85 degrees outside at 9:45pm. The doors were supposed to have opened at 9:30pm. Yet another misunderstanding. Apparently nothing starts on time here. They didn't start letting people in until 10:00pm. "In" is figurative. The event was touted as having both indoor and outdoor accommodations. We waited in line outside to be ushered into a red-carpeted holding area...also located outside. We cooked there, in the heat, until 11:30pm at which time the indoor area was opened. I'm pretty sure I lost about 8 pounds. The balcony didn't open until maybe another hour later but by that time it mattered not. I was also under the impression that since it was a Coors Light sponsored event, there would be an abundance of complimentary Coors beer. There was not. I instead had to drink the worst $8 dirty martini ever. I came to the sad realization at that point that I have been spoiled by Las Vegas. Spoiled. Spoiled indeed.
I'll stop bitching now. There were so many beautiful people. Not beautiful in that contrived Los Angeles, fake breasted, million hours at the gym way, but beautiful in that "he/she reminds me of my cousin at the family reunion back in 89" kind of way. For the first time, I didn't mind how the 80s are creeping back into our fashion decisions. I was digging the fro-hawks, the wide belts, the camouflaged pants. I just had to take a picture of this girl. (See picture to the left.) That dark halo around her head was one bad-ass afro. Maya, you looked gorgeous last night. Keep rockin.' I also took a shot of a couple of cats posing and clowning for the Sol-Fusion camera man. So many locs. So many locs. I've got half a mind to shave this relaxer right out of my head.
The music had me feeling like I was in the Barn at Xavier. (XU! XXXXXX U!) As I sipped my "View" martini, I danced and sang along with All I Need, I Get Around, Ain't No Fun, Vivrant Thing, Hoes in This House and Hay. (Admittedly not the most positive music one could dance to but what the hell.) All of the careful hot curling I had done to my hair was totally pointless. Now, I see why so many chicks had on wigs. My skillfully selected dancing shoes had the balls of feet screaming. At about 1:15am, I'd felt as if I had run a marathon on my tippy toes. My life was pain. Sweaty, hip-hopped, yet still exceptionally attractive pain. My next clubbing outfit will require sensible flats because last night's choice ended my activities rather abruptly. Much to the chagrin of my dance partner, I lead his high energy tail out to the car and requested that I be taken home. Instead he took my tipsy ass to eat. I think he knows me better than I know myself. Sol-Fusion, you do know how to promote a party. I'll be at the next one as long as it's not outside.
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