October 29th - Skin Party: The Glow Edition @ Frequency Night Club

Hmmm. Last night - while being a strong example of places not to be attended by someone like me - served as a pleasant reminder of the both the joys and misgivings of the penniless,young 20-something days of yore. I probably should have heeded the obvious warning signs which I will list as follows:

1. The party was held at Underground ATL. Every city has a mall or shopping area which is sketchy during the day and best left undisturbed at night. Underground ATL is that one ghetto mall without any anchor chain stores and tons of cart displays. It's excellent for finding things sold on informercials or t-shirts featuring phrases that contain words like "ain't," "fo' sho," or "nahmsayin.' "'

2. There was no dress code on the invitation. It was assumed that the dress code was casual. It should have also been assumed that those likely to attend would be very young, strangely attired and most likely without the cash to purchase attire conducive to a peaceful and presumably upscale party scene.

3. Ladies were free all night long. It was a Thursday night, and though by tradition ladies night does tend to be on Thursdays, exclusive venues usually have a cut-off time for free admission.

Nevertheless, I and my perpetual date ventured out of the house listening to Mos Def's Auditorium. When we arrived downtown, I personally witnessed a block being "held down" and a couple of working girls on the track. Pulling into the Underground ATL parking garage, we were overcome by a rather ominous feeling. My boyfriend reminded me of how this place was the location of some shooting not too long ago by a rapist equipped with a cooler. I just noticed the lack of cars, a girl in need of pants and her cheerful date, and an inappropriately large number of young males loitering about the parking garage elevators. Outside of Frequency Night Club, there was a line of 80's fashion stricken, 21 year old fresh-faced girls and comically aggressive boys waiting to get in to what looked like a fairly empty venue.

Nostalgia washed over me. I thought back to my college days in New Orleans. My girl Sanita and I, on a budget of $20 each, would secure a suitable outfit and shoes, put money aside for drinks, go to Bible study and then get to the House of Blues before 12am to gain free entrance to hip-hop night. I looked at the crowd around me. Had I been this tacky? Had I been so obviously self-conscious? Had we tried to skip other people in line? Had the dudes always travelled in these crazy-looking packs? Early on, I had feared being stabbed without provocation. However, as I stopped and contemplated my past, I realized that none of these young people were going to engage in that activity. In my 20's, I had dared to go to such places because I knew other people my age would be there. Young people are frightening only because they possess a minimal amounts of reason and a maximum amount of energy. When I checked this one overly eager line-cutter, he cowered as if I was that one aunt who likes to use the belt. I relaxed. These were babies.

One of the few good things about being at a club with young bucks is that there is never a line at the bar. They don't have enough money to buy drinks. (Sadly, no wine was being served.) I immediately went to the reggae room and tied on a Tyku. We sat at the bar and watched the photographer set up while a few youth tried to dance so that no one else could actually see them dance. We laughed. There was one young guy who'd managed to secure a nice spot on a wall while a girl grinded her rump against him. I hope they knew each other. Every now and then, a half-naked chick with a weave and body paint would walk through the reggae room and into the hip-hop room. I guess these were the models who were supposed to set the theme of the party by wearing the glow-in-the dark-body paint. I was embarassed for them...partly because they were so young and partly because it was just so wrong. There was nothing artistic about the paint. It was kind of like an after-thought. One model had this "shit" walk which made me laugh as much as it made me want to protect her. Anyhow, another good thing about these types of situations is that one's old ass learns new dances. Last night, we learned how to do the "Sweep da Floor", which you can see in the video below. (My apologies for the darkness of the video. Remember how dark the clubs used to be at that age?) We both decided that we would visit a reggae spot in the near future after getting in some more cardio.

We went across to the hip-hop room where the majority of the youth were milling around. We noticed the slightly older youth making their entrances. These were mostly females who had sense enough to wear party-gear but did not yet possess the confidence to do anything more than stand in a circle with their equally shy friends waiting for some guy to buy them a drink. Sanita and I were definitely beyond our years in our day. We would triumphantly walk into the club in unison humming our theme song (Bug-a-boo) in our heads. Proudly flaunting our slim figures, we would find the center of the dance floor and generally act like we owned the club. As songs like Snoop Dogg's "Down 4 My N-words" and Crime Mob's "Knuck If You Buck" came on, our fellow partiers seemed to look around for permission before they showed any sign of individuality. Still, there were some, like this cute girl to the left, who donned their Halloween costumes with pride. You were hot, Honey. Enjoy the picture...but please be careful out there.

No, I'll never go to Frequency again. However, I was glad to have experienced what I did last night. It just made me appreciate maturity more. Until Halloween.....

October 17th - Professional Relaxation @ Aja

Sweet Jesus, it is cold out here. Winter has unofficially arrived in Northern Georgia on much earlier terms than expected...or so it seems. Perhaps, I'm late. All I know is that last night when I ventured out after what seems like a migthy long reprieve from Atlanta nightlife, I was wearing a trench coat, military boots, a scarf and fingerless armwarmers. I should have had on some ear muffs as well.

Despite the chilly weather, it was good to be invited to another Professional Relaxation shindig being held at Aja just around the corner from the absolutely fabulous Lenox Square mall in Buckhead. The feeling seemed to be shared by many. Doors opened at 11:00pm. Upon arrival at 11:30pm, the place was packed. The last time I ventured out to one of these events, I had arrived way to late and the party was pretty much wrapping up. I guess the key to enjoying these events is early arrival, realistic expectations and extremely casual attire. In comparison, the experience was like night and day. Last night's draw was the swanky Asian themed bistro, $5.00 cocktails courtesy of Smirnoff and the MC stylings of Biz Markie. Additional perks included the fact that I did not have to wait in a long line outside and free coat checking. OutPast30 Lady loves the little things.

Upon entering, I checked out the scene. It was so nice and toasty, which is probably why some of those typical young women decided to take a chance of wearing little get-ups that consisted of a scant yard's worth of material. I'm getting old. What happened to the days of understated sexy dresses baring a little cleavage and calves instead of navels and snatches? I digress. There was a sinfully large amount of people waiting to get a drink at the bar. So many people were crowded at the second bar, that I didn't even know a bar was there. I was hoping that there was another bar available upstairs, but that was reserved for a private party who was just sitting in there watching a stupid football game. I guess the game wasn't stupid. I just hate waiting for drinks or anything else for that matter. I figured I should check my makeup in the bathroom before shouldering my way to the front of the line at the bar downstairs but I changed plans after someone had apparently dropped "the bomb" in the bathroom. TOXIC.

I don't think Aja was expecting such a large turnout. I have to give it to the folks that promoted the party. It was jumpin'! There was barely elbow room on the dance floor and I do believe those actually dining at the restaurant had to be in a state of shock. The wait was terribly long at the main bar because there were only three bartenders taking orders. One of those bartenders was also handling VIP requests. The would-be lushes waiting for service lacked patience and were downright nasty at times, but I had to laugh at the guy next to me trying to get the bartender's attention. He did so by rattling off a string of random names in a pleading tone. Joe, Bob, Sammy, Nick, Brad, Chet, Steve. I've never felt so empathetically toward a barkeep, that is, until he served me that wack ass Long Island. I ordered two drinks so I wouldn't have to come back. I must have looked crazy standing there sipping off of two different drinks at the same time. However, I had to get my hands free to take pictures and throw my hands in the air once Biz Markie got on the wheels.

Biz was all the way live, spinning a very sweet mix of 90's and current crowd pleasers such as Mos Def's Ms. Fat Booty, Beyonce's Diva, Jamie Foxx's Blame It, The Fugees' Killing Me Softly and Beanie Sigel's Rock the Mic. I could have worked up a pretty good sweat, twirling around like a mad woman on the dance floor but it just didn't feel right to stay that long. I was, afterall, without the delicious company of my Sweet Sticky Thing and the whole goal was to dance off some stress before returning to his side. While he has been recuperating from an illness, I've been worrying the hell out of him by worrying so much about him. Since we both believe in the healing properties of hip gyration, he sent me to dance for both of us. I spent half my time on the dance floor furiously texting him like a crack-addicted teen with hydraulic digits. Keep us both in your prayers.

Yep, I'll go to another one of these things. Many thanks to Emecka and Professional Relaxation.

October 8th - Flu Shooting

It's not glamorous. It's not a good look. The cocktails consist of ibuprofen, orange juice and bed rest. Ain't gon be no club hoppin' if the flu's got my tail. Plus, I'm personally witnessing the flu turn my strong, vibrant boyfriend into a feverish, shivering mess. It's all over the news. It's all over the net. Hell, it's all over the world. Influenza. H1N1. Sickness. Death. Mercy!

October has always been one of my favorite months of the year. The weather transitions to a moderate mixture of warm sunlight and cool breeze. There are activities going on all over town that welcome summer vacationers back home. There's the hint of Christmas just around the corner. Costuming ideas and Halloween at the end of the month. Leaves turning to the colors of their hearts. After a month of flood waters and self-imposed early hibernation, I'm ready to revisit my new city. There's a beer festival coming up and Badu is coming to town. But when I think about the viruses that abound as I get my boyfriend to drink his kajillionth bottle of water, I dread the prospect of going out and rubbing elbows with (gasp) the infected! Therefore, for the first time in life, I headed to Walgreens today and received my flu shot.

It's the responsible thing to do as a thirty-something, all season trouble seeker. It's every bit as necessary as dental check-ups and STD (or STI) screenings. (Hello People! AIDS still exists in this country and it still kills.) I'll be the first to say that I hate shots. Having had three major surgeries over the course of my life and enough syringe pokes to last a lifetime, I'd much rather have a Coke. Alas, I don't want to get sick. So I went to get the shot and when the H1N1 vaccine is made available to me, I will get that too. We all pay tax money to support the studies and recommendations of the Center for Disease Control and Prevention and to not follow their well-educated, scientifically proven directives is more than a bit silly. I'm not a doctor, nor do I portray one on television.

Walgreens is...Walgreens. I don't know what it is about pharmacies. They always seem to be packed with people who don't look like they have any good reason to be there. Sure, there are the snotty-nosed kids and the stooping elderly but there also tends to be a great deal of able-bodied, well-dressed men. Are they there for Viagra? I also always manage to hear yet another reason why our healthcare system needs an overhaul. It seems that the Walker family was also there to get their flu shots. One Walker gentlemen had Medicare, therefore his preventative flu shot was covered. His gainfully employed niece, however, had very good health coverage from her job...but the shot wasn't covered. She didn't mind paying the $25.00 to get the shot. The lady behind the counter explained how most insurance won't cover the vaccine. Doesn't make a lick of sense. Hmmm, something that will most likely prevent the ERs from being packed and people from losing days at work and insurance won't cover it. Dumb! The whole process took about twenty minutes. I filled out some paperwork. Watched the pharmacist prep my shot. Got my shoulder cleaned with some isopropyl. Felt a slight prick. Got a bandage slapped on me and then left.

Since my boyfriend is currently stricken, our doctor friends also recommended that I take Tamiflu. I asked what that would cost me and they replied that it would be about $100.00. That's when I lost it. That's comparable to charging $50 for a loaf of bread or $87 for a bottle of water or $72 for a gallon of milk. Again, this is something that will most likely cut costs, time and heartache in so many ways but the powers that be are going to GD charge an arm and a leg for it because of the law of supply of demand. Ugh. All I want to do is party out in public without fear of catching the heebies. In the words of Biggie..."Damn, why they tryin' to stick for my paper?"