When I opened my purse this morning, it smelled like a distillery. Evidence of happy times and nice surprises last night. This time last year, I was partying like a rock star in Las Vegas and perhaps that was to fill the void of not being able to be with family on Christmas. However, this year I had the opportunity to go home to the Bay Area (WEST SIDE!!!) and be with those who know me best, hang with my niece and nephews....and then party a little like a rock star.
It was a bit of a Class of '96 reunion as six of us agreed to meet at
Hotsy Totsy in Albany. Despite the rain forming rivers along the sidewalk, the place was packed wall to wall. They weren't giving anything away in the material sense. But now that I think about it, there was much to receive in the cozy confines of that dive bar. Alas, it was a meeting place of the dread locked and albeit odd adults of the world who needed to be free of the blissfully juvenile capitalistic craze that is the American holiday season. Yes, there was a tree in the corner but there were no children, no fruitcake, and no long lines at the department store. Just a drink in everyone's hand and feeling of relief that the new year is almost upon us. Whenever in the Bay again, I will probably swing by this place. I think I've developed a romance for dive bars. They're like a perpetual collegiate living room with a full stock of liquor. There's no pretense, just high boys, shuffle boards, pool tables and lots of tattoos. I guess I'll always be a Bay Area weirdo at heart.
We scooted on down the highway to
New Parish in Oakland where a party was being hosted by
The People. Now one of my friends had warned me that this place tended to attract hippies of the Santa Cruz persuasion who seem to delight in the natural fragrances of the unshaven and undeodorized arm pit. While funk of this nature is unpleasant, you can always count on such people to have a good time. I had mixed emotions but I felt better after using the bathroom. It was well-lit, fully stocked and operational and didn't smell like beer urine. To me, that was a good sign. We went upstairs to have a better view of the dance floor where I purchased a holiday punch with a dollop of rum which I believe is responsible for the headache I'm experiencing right now. In one corner, someone was selling Filipino/African/American earrings for five dollars. In another corner, two ladies were passing a joint back and forth while painting green circles on a canvas.
From top to bottom, the place was packed with exotically dressed male and female women lovers. According to my friends, since I was the chick with the short afro then it was a given that I was going to be hit on by myriad lesbians. I decided to take that as a compliment and just dance. And dance I did. I loved what the DJ was spinning. It was a mash-up of instrumental African, salsa, jazz, hip-hop and funk. I wish I would have recorded some of it but I was so busy dancing to it with this guy in a jacket with elbow pads and then a guy from South Carolina. Regrettably, I missed the voguers and the b-boy dancers on the other side of the dance floor. Such is life. I think we cut a rug for about an hour and there really wasn't THAT much funk in the air. Merry Christmas, Happy Kwanzaa and Happy New Year Northern Cali!
When I opened my purse this morning, it smelled like a distillery. Evidence of happy times and nice surprises last night. This time last year, I was partying like a rock star in Las Vegas and perhaps that was to fill the void of not being able to be with family on Christmas. However, this year I had the opportunity to go home to the Bay Area (WEST SIDE!!!) and be with those who know me best, hang with my niece and nephews....and then party a little like a rock star.
It was a bit of a Class of '96 reunion as six of us agreed to meet at Hotsy Totsy in Albany. Despite the rain forming rivers along the sidewalk, the place was packed wall to wall. They weren't giving anything away in the material sense. But now that I think about it, there was much to receive in the cozy confines of that dive bar. Alas, it was a meeting place of the dread locked and albeit odd adults of the world who needed to be free of the blissfully juvenile capitalistic craze that is the American holiday season. Yes, there was a tree in the corner but there were no children, no fruitcake, and no long lines at the department store. Just a drink in everyone's hand and feeling of relief that the new year is almost upon us. Whenever in the Bay again, I will probably swing by this place. I think I've developed a romance for dive bars. They're like a perpetual collegiate living room with a full stock of liquor. There's no pretense, just high boys, shuffle boards, pool tables and lots of tattoos. I guess I'll always be a Bay Area weirdo at heart. 
We scooted on down the highway to New Parish in Oakland where a party was being hosted by The People. Now one of my friends had warned me that this place tended to attract hippies of the Santa Cruz persuasion who seem to delight in the natural fragrances of the unshaven and undeodorized arm pit. While funk of this nature is unpleasant, you can always count on such people to have a good time. I had mixed emotions but I felt better after using the bathroom. It was well-lit, fully stocked and operational and didn't smell like beer urine. To me, that was a good sign. We went upstairs to have a better view of the dance floor where I purchased a holiday punch with a dollop of rum which I believe is responsible for the headache I'm experiencing right now. In one corner, someone was selling Filipino/African/American earrings for five dollars. In another corner, two ladies were passing a joint back and forth while painting green circles on a canvas. 
From top to bottom, the place was packed with exotically dressed male and female women lovers. According to my friends, since I was the chick with the short afro then it was a given that I was going to be hit on by myriad lesbians. I decided to take that as a compliment and just dance. And dance I did. I loved what the DJ was spinning. It was a mash-up of instrumental African, salsa, jazz, hip-hop and funk. I wish I would have recorded some of it but I was so busy dancing to it with this guy in a jacket with elbow pads and then a guy from South Carolina. Regrettably, I missed the voguers and the b-boy dancers on the other side of the dance floor. Such is life. I think we cut a rug for about an hour and there really wasn't THAT much funk in the air. Merry Christmas, Happy Kwanzaa and Happy New Year Northern Cali!
Wow! I am loving your blog. You are a great writer. I was truly engaged. Keep it up author! Can't wait to see you on Oprah or at least the Tyra show:)
ReplyDeleteLavena