November 20th - Sanctuary

It's no secret. OutPast30 Lady loves dancing. I like to shake it. No doubt. I watch America's Best Dance Crew and I felt Fanny Pak was robbed during that one season. I watch So You Think Can Dance as well. I'm cheering for Russell Ferguson the krumper. He gets down. I refuse to watch Dancing With the Stars. I want to watch actual dancing, not desperation, on the dance floor. I'm not just a fan of the Hip Hop. I dig all kinds of expression. Thus last night's choice of salsa at The Sanctuary was hot and definitely a nod to my California roots.

We arrived at The Sanctuary at about 9:30pm just in time for the free dance lesson. There was a beginner's class upstairs and an intermediate class downstairs. Although I'm very comfortable with the basic steps and turns of salsa, we opted for the beginner's just to refresh ourselves. The class was being lead by Myron Abernathy. He was a very likable guy (not your usual dance nazi) and took the time to simplify each step in terms that were easy to understand by even the most rhythmically challenged novice. He even clapped it up every time we got the next step. Nothing like joyful positive reinforcement. There was about 30 of us students. Surprisingly, there were just as many guys as there were girls even though many were flying solo. I love Georgia for this. The atmosphere is so inviting that twenty-something year old guys do not mind embarrassing themselves during salsa lessons in pursuit of a good time and probably some tail. Fine with me. Students ranged from drinking age to much older and every one of us was having a ball.

About an hour later, everyone stayed for the party. Drinks were poured at the bar as ceiling fans were switched on and disco lights were revved up. There were no wallflowers. Either you were drinking at the bar or sweating on the dance floor. All shapes, sizes, colors and ages were twisting and turning while being careful not to swing into other couples. Honestly, I've never had a bad time at a salsa spot and that's going back about ten years to my days in New Orleans at House of Blues' Latin night to random spots in L.A. to Northern Cali to here. I don't know why I never did salsa in Las Vegas. I think the coolest thing is that the tables are turned at a salsa club. All the women can't wait to dance with the older men. The older men who know how to salsa can twirl your ass right around that dance floor with a style and finesse that the younger men typically don't possess. These gents have this ultra cool look on their faces, their legs moving, their hands firmly guiding their partners. It's something to see...but it's even better to participate.

I envied the ladies who had dared to come out half naked. I was sweating something terrible as my own partner moved me around the dance floor. We laughed it up as we would occasionally ditch the rules of salsa and break into some African movements. It felt like we had been in there for at least three hours. In reality it had only be an hour and a half. My feet were screaming and the santini that Babe had unexpectedly ordered for me was knocking me in the head. Thus we left for our usual at Checkers while reminiscing about all-nighters back in the day. Not tonight. We had a birthday party to go to the next day and dinner with friends on Sunday. After Checkers, he'd be playing Modern Warfare 2 on XBox360 and I'd be rewatching Lost on Netflix. I can't wait until the new season comes out.

November 13th - MJQ Concourse

While I am a staunch believer in party exploration, I do also believe that every partier should have a fallback location which guarantees happy times and nice surprises. For me, since moving to Atlanta, that place is MJQ. I've been there on about four different occasions and have always left smiling, perspiring, and hungry. Those things are always the mark of a bangin' club experience. Last night's experience delivered the same, identical results.

What is it about MJQ that pleases so thoroughly while other clubs are hit or miss? First and foremost, there is no pretense. There is no dress code, no need to floss, no need to impress and no need to be anyone other than yourself. The whole point is to dance. You put on your comfortable shoes, clothes you don't mind getting funky and you go. Of course both men and women will seek out dating opportunities. Let's not forget that it's a nightclub. However, at MJQ you come as you are. While listening to Kenna, Gnarls Barkley and Talib Kweli, I threw on some jeans, some boots and my favorite tee. I was comfy and I possessed the ability to stomp around the dance floor without pain or discomfort for a minimum of three hours.

Second, MJQ opens at 11:00pm. The party gets started at 11:00pm. The DJ doesn't start out spinning garbage. He rocks it nonstop. Last night was Face Off Friday featuring DJ Rasta Root & Jah Prince with the Face Off Crew. Now there are some folks that spin records and create obvious relationships between tracks. Then there are DJs that truly mix. These folks represented the latter. As the doors opened and people gathered at the bar, all heads were nodding, and all bodies were swaying. This kind of phenomenon is precisely why DJs save lives. A good DJ doesn't delay getting you in a mindset where you can dance off any crap keeping you from enjoying the gifts of life. A good DJ reminds you that your body has the ability to heal itself through movement. A good DJ inspires you to perform even if only for an audience of one. (This blog is dedicated to Mike Olds, by the way. Dude, can't wait for your next mixtape.)

Finally, the crowd at MJQ always, always appreciates those dancers who come to really work themselves out on the dance floor. Enough space is provided for these people to dance, contort, bend, dip, dive, curve, crawl, wiggle and groove. There is no judgement. There is only respect and encouragement. Hell, we all wish we could do that sort of thing with our own bodies! Needless, to say my constant partner and I moved around that dance floor something fierce for the better part of two and half hours. My baby fro was soaked and my boots were kicking! We took a break so I could visit MJQ's one weakness....the ladies' bathroom. Never once have I visited that bathroom without finding some disaster in one of the stalls. When are they going to fix that light? Why aren't there ever any paper towels? And then, if it wasn't for the line of girls standing outside of the restroom, there is no way any first-time visitor would be able to differentiate between it and the male facility.

Nevertheless, I waited my turn to relieve myself. While in line, some guy walks up to me and asks me "What was your name again?" I looked at him and replied, "I didn't tell you my name in the first place. What's this 'again' business?" His ego bruised, he backed away with a sheepish grin. I laughed and shook my head. Young men, let's work on creating solid pick-up lines, okay? Don't be afraid to consult with an older gentlemen and ask their advice on approaching women without looking or sounding like a damn fool. Each one teach one.

November 10th - NuPop Movement Launch @ Wish

If you think about it, celebrities are those individuals who are celebrated because they dared to act or rather dared to convert their dreams into reality. The rest of the things we applaud them for are actually those attributes that WE project upon them. For instance, while living in Los Angeles, the level of disappointment I experienced after encountering a celebrity in real life never ceased to amaze me. I always expected for that movie star, or TV star or rock star to radiate some sort of mysterious oozing "it" factor. Following so many disappointments, I realized that this was unfair of me. Alas, they are ordinary people who are shorter, fatter, funnier looking and far less charismatic than their on-camera or on-air persona portrays them to be. And...they always look extremely annoyed. In person, they can't actually be their real selves because they have to deal with the fame bi-product of whatever dream they dared to chase. That must suck. Imagine having to deal with constant critique and ignorance-based judgement. I believe VIP exists for celebrities primarily to protect them from the unreasonable assault on their character. I only recall meeting one celebrity unaffected by the fame. That's Warren G. That fool will dance in the smack dab of the middle of any party with his arms raised up all night. Maybe that was his dream.

Anyhow, the annoyance factor was in full effect after dragging my ass, in the rain, to Wish in Little Five Points for the launch of a new Hip Hop inspired wrist watch entitled NuPop Movement. (Thanks, Erica for the invitation. I regret that we didn't get a chance to meet in person.) Apparently the Hip Hop community has a thing for watches with huge faces. Them and my momma. For real. My mom loves big faced watches. She can see the numbers better. Evidently Jermaine Dupri partnered with jeweler Pascal Mouawad to create this big faced fashion statement for the masses ...and my mother.

I walked in to find J.D., Monica and Big Boi posing for pictures in front of the makeshift red carpet while everyone else pretty much lined the walls gawking at them. Of the three, Big Boi looked the most annoyed. Dupri appeared to be making the most of the situation while Monica smiled fiercely and avoided eye contact. I took a couple of pictures. Looked at the big faced watches and then bounced to go see The Men Who Stare at Goats with my boyfriend. The movie proved to be an interesting take on existentialism. We enjoyed it.

Jermaine, Monica, Big Boi, thank you for sharing your time to be gawked at by members of the pain-in-the-ass general public. J.D., I hope you sold and continue to sell many watches. Big Boi, I can't wait for your next Outkast and/or solo project. Monica, I can't say that I'll be watching your show but your makeup was impeccable and I wish you the best. Um....keep standing. (???) As for the launch party itself, C'MON! We can do better! Handlers, Wish, whoever, we are dream chasers who make things happen. Here are a few event planning tips for next time.

1. Have some got-damn security at the door! Any deranged stalker could have walked in unchecked with an AK-47 under his coat, a Glock in the small of his back and a knife on his ankle.

2. Make sure you have someone stationed at the door to officialy greet any representatives of the media who dared to come out. Media amplifies your brand and helps you continue to finance the pursuit of your dream. You want to make sure your publicists build those relationships on your behalf.

3. You are or represent stardom, so wear it with pride. There are several liquor companies that would have gladly donated some of their product for the purpose of reaching your audience. That liquor could have moistened your guests' throats and buying attitudes. Additionally, your handlers could've negotiated some butler passes with hors d'ouevres to really finesse the money out of party-goer pockets. Why the hell do you think that fish Paris Hilton leaves the house every day without a red cent on her?

4. It was bright as hell in there! Everyone could see everything and therefore had no real incentive to circulate throughout the party and discover. Illuminate the red carpet and the merchandise ONLY.

5. Partner with a charity and do a dollar coat check or something during cold or rainy seasons. In this way, you make your guests (aka prospective buyers of your big faced watch and other merchandise) comfortable AND you build good will. Plus you get additional publicity through whatever promotion the charitable cause does independently.

And I'm spent.

November 8th - Fox Brothers Bar-B-Q

Many may be under the impression that living in the south means that all of us live a stone's throw away from a church, a gun shop and a good barbeque spot. That's simply not true. The nearest church is just under a mile away. I can't throw a rock that far. The gun shop is within a five minute driving distance and closes early on Sundays. As for good barbeque spots..that's a bit more tricky. Many folks, including me, have family BBQ sauce recipes that have been passed down from generation to generation. You want BBQ? Fire up your own grill and grab a beer. It's on!


The only people I know down here without a respectable barbeque grill is us. I blame that on the fact that my boyfriend is an immigrant hailing from a culture where the men don't understand that their genetic coding means that they must grill. (!!!) I still love him. I've almost entirely convinced him that we need to invest in our own grill. He's tasted the sauce. He likes. I've even gotten him to hold my mighty grilling spatula. He smiled a little. Plus, a fellow Nigerian scored his own grill for his birthday a couple of weeks ago. (Thanks, George.) The seed has been planted. Until we roll that baby home, however, we've wondered where in the heck can we get some ribs?

Oddly enough, my grill resistant boyfriend has a rib addiction. Thus, it was he who launched his own investigation into a respectable BBQ emporium. This past Friday, he was informed by a coworker that he needed to stop by Fox Brothers Bar-B-Q in Decatur. He promptly texted me and advised me that we would not hesitate to dine there this weekend. Come Sunday morning, he put on his military pants and I wore my military boots and jacket in preparation for our battle with the beef! And it was a beautiful day for meat eating, I'll tell you what. The sun was shining. There was a slight breeze in the air. Though Fox Brothers was fairly busy, there was still a table for two with our names all over it.

We scanned the menu and carefully plotted out our course. The plan was to try as much of the meat as humanly possible. Sweet Love needed to have ribs but he couldn't decide between the half or whole rack. I wanted to try both the chicken and the brisket but I didn't want to be greedy. Additionally, we both wanted a taste of the Brunswick stew, tater tots, onion rings, fried okra and perhaps a green veggie like collard greens. The waitress (we called her Bennifer) saw the anxiety on our faces and gave us more time to consider. We decided that to fulfill our chicken wishes we would score an appetizer of six hickory smoked wings with ranch dressing. Sweet Love would get the whole rack of ribs with the Brunswick stew and onion rings, while I got the sliced beef brisket with tater tots and collard greens. Sadly, the fried okra would have to wait. We were so happy with our plan that we high-fived. We're such a great team.

The food came. Okay...it was good. I mean it was damn good ....and there was so much of it. Oh America! Sweet land of gluttony. There's no way we should have eaten as much as we did but the taste kept callin' us and callin' us and callin' us. The smoked wings were so tender and the sauce had just the right combo of brown sugar and vinegar. The hickory flavor in the ribs was undeniable. Again, the meat fell away from the bone like butter. The beef brisket was just the perfect consistency and refrained from getting stuck in the back molars. Oh the sandwich that it would make! They put Lawry's on the tater tots, God bless'em. The onion rings were the size of my fists and yummy. I wasn't too keen on the collards. No, Mom makes them better. Anywho, there was no room for dessert. I don't know why Bennifer fixed her mouth to even ask us that.

We packed up the lagniappe, left Bennifer a 20% tip and waddled to the car. The plan was to walk around Piedmont Park, holding hands, discussing how savory and sinful our meal had been. However, we couldn't find a parking spot and we started talking about...stuff. By the time we did find a parking spot, we were tired. We both agreed that a nap would be the best possible decision we could make at that juncture. We went home and watched Krush Groove pretty much willing the fat to accumulate on our respective bodies. Love will kill you. Two thumbs up, Fox Brothers.

November 7th - Compound

Since, my arrival in Atlanta earlier this year, folks keep mentioning all of these great clubs and hot spots which are no longer operating. They were shut down due to violence or changes made in management or the rotten economy or a combination. However, out of the blue, I receive an email from some place called Compound. They told me that all I had to do was RSVP to their email address and show up to the club before 1am this Saturday to receive free entrance on an ordinarily $20.00 cover charge. According to my Sweet Sexy Thang, this was one of THOSE spots that was all the rage not too long ago. I happily forwarded my RSVP. Why the hell not? It couldn't be any worse than that fiasco at Underground Atlanta.

We arrived at about 11:15pm. In all honesty, the location looked crazy. It's kind of tucked away in this area that looks rather industrial. There are no big ass signs denoting that there is a club inside. Just a number of men in red coats with flash lights trying to coax people into their parking lots for a fee of $5.00. We found free parking on the street. Cool. Cool. While walking up to the door, we noticed a very racially mixed crowd. Very cool. We were patted down and they didn't allow ink pens inside. Okay, maybe someone got stabbed in the eye with a pen a while back. Fine. Safety is good. Our names were checked on the guestlist. Good, the RSVP emailing works. The venue was understated and classy, clean... even a bit expensive looking. I liked.

We got through the doors and entered an enclosed patio. It was cold as hell outside. Okay, maybe it's not that cold to a transplant from New York or Chicago or Philly but I'm originally from mild Cali and more recently, hot Vegas. It was cold. Luckily there were plenty of bars available to experience the exquisite heat that can only be received from a libation. (I'm not an alcoholic.) We stepped up to the bar to order a Long Island and a Grand Marnier with pineapple but then our kind bartender informed us that open bar was in effect with any vodka beverage. Oh Bennett the Bartender, you were so lovely for giving us that information. You are a bright shining example of how excellent service is rewarded with fatty tippage. Cranberry and vodka all around! Might I add that Bennett was not stingy with the sauce. My man!

We stepped inside to the actual dance floor. Hella Asians. I was surprised. We know that there is a large and robust Asian community here in metro-ATL from going to a Asian-American cultural festival in Doraville last month. However, until last night, I was perplexed as to where anyone else not Black or African goes to party. But then again, I was specifically looking for a techno /mash-up/hip-hop party scenario and I should have known that there would be more of a mixed crowd when the music leans in that direction. Anyhow, I got inside, took off my coat, drank my drink and started to really enjoy Lloyd's Get It Shawty played over Pitbull's I Know You Want Me beat. From then on, we pretty much danced nonstop for a good forty five minutes. Admittedly, the dance floor never completely filled up. Bennett the Bartender made sure to tell us that the club was indeed under new management and had been reserving its Saturday nights for private events. However, the economy was forcing them to build up the buzz again and get bodies back in the doors starting this very night. It was a decent, fun-loving crowd and I had no complaints. I had plenty of room to throw my 'bows and that's what I like. We took a break to enjoy more free cocktail and visit the Ally Mcbealesque bathroom. That was strange. That's just asking for an STD-spreading scenario between dancing and tequila shots. Thank goodness for monogamy.

We returned to the dance floor, where I finished my own drink and my partners, and successfully attempted to sweep da floor (the dance). DJ Baby Yu (pictured left) played some awesome sets incorporating plenty of West Coast, East Coast and Dirty South on top of high energy grooves. I didn't mind the random ambiguously lesbian chicks dancing with each other. Nor did I mind the guy grinding his woman and requesting that we photograph said grinding. Everyone looked to be of age and they smiled so sweetly for the shot in the midst of all that thrusting and jiggling. We took a couple of less provocative snapshots of our own. By the time I got finished walking it out (the dance) and then directing all of the regions of the nation to do the same, I was both tired and a little more than tipsy. We left Compound completely satisfied save for our hunger for sweet, delicious Checkers. At Checkers, we scored a double decker fish sandwich and chicken fingers. It was fresh off of the grill and absolutely wonderful. You know we had the seasoned fries. I was in slightly inebriated heaven.

But let me just tell you why the night was so ridiculously fabulous. Including gas, cover, parking, drinks, tips and a late night snack, the whole evening cost us $27.00!!! I just love happy times at bargain basement prices.

October 31st - Halloween in ATL

We all know that Halloween definitely is not what it used to be. Personally, I don't know where the blame lies. Is it because we believe that all of our neighbors are axe-wielding child molesters? Have gates locked us out of the prime areas for the best candy? Could strange, unseasonable weather be the cause of low trick-or-treat turnout? We obviously still celebrate the spooky holiday otherwise there would be no Halloween aisle at the supermarket every year or a crowd of last minute costume shoppers at Party City. I don't know. I just don't know. While preparing for my adult festivities, our house only received three doorbell rings. The last kid that requested treats didn't even have on a costume and I had to give him a plastic bag to hold his candy. I hope Halloween doesn't die by the time my kids are old enough to participate.

In Atlanta, there were parties all over the place! After dressing up in our costumes, we decided to drive around downtown before heading over to The Calabash Lounge in Stone Mountain. There is currently a Gay Pride Festival going on and in my opinion wherever there is gaiety there are sure to be great costumes. Although, I really wanted to, we didn't join the happy revellers because I didn't want to put my boyfriend through another night of uncomfortable come-ons. We passed Ixtlan, a club I've got to get to in the near future, and saw a pretty long line of skimpy costumes accompanied by pimp suits. The reggae spots on Memorial Drive, once we got into Stone Mountain ,looked to be jumpin', jumpin' and we threatened to ditch The Calabash Lounge but having committed to our original plans we went ahead and hit the place up.

Calabash was dead. At 12:30am, it was dead. At 1:00am, it was still dead. At 2:00am, it was dead. When 2:00am repeated itself, it was dead. Why? The Calabash Lounge is an African spot. Africans, as I have learned, are the original source for the practice of operating on colored people's time. There is no such thing as early. There is no getting there on time. Instead, one can count on an African affair to actually begin about three to four hours after the supposed start of the event...no matter what type of event that happens to be. Having grown up in America where earliness and punctuality are typically rewarded with the proverbial worm, I will never get used to this practice. Never. Never, never. Never, never, never. Babe and I danced in the corner for as long as we could stand before heading to R. Thomas for organic breakfast. I don't know if the party ever got started at Calabash. For all I know, as I write this blog, it may be just now starting. (I love you, African People. But...come on!)

I love eating at R. Thomas. It was the first place that Sweets and I dined when we saw each other for the first time after six years. On this Halloween, it was packed with flappers, a male Snow White, sexy Dorothies, wounded knights and even Digital Underground's Humpty (who stopped to do the humpty dance for us as he left his table.) Here we go! This is why I love Halloween. It brings out the creative, little kids in us who can no longer get away with wearing a tutu or superhero cape to the store just because. Like hope, let's keep Halloween alive.