Flashback - Couples' Night Gone Wrong

This weekend, the hubby and I plan on visiting with another couple that just had twins. I'm pretty confident the visit will be very chill and wholesome with no drama or foolishness. What a relief. Back in the day, when I first moved to Las Vegas I remember a couples' night that was anything but normal. 

I used to be heavily involved with a guy to whom I never should have given my number, my attention or my time. Let's call him "Sam". Nevertheless, I began a relationship with Sam and tried my best to cultivate it by engaging in various "team-building" exercises such as eating dinner at his uncle's house or going with him to score pot from a little one-armed guy with an eye patch in the hood behind Stratosphere. One night, we visited with a married couple on the other side of town. They were friends somehow of Sam's uncle and we thought it prudent to hang out with other couples who were close in age to us. We'll call this couple "Von" and "Betty". The idea was to have dinner with them, have a couple of brews and play cards or dominoes. You know, just an old fashioned hang session, despite the fact that we were living in one of the most exciting cities on earth.

Von greeted us at the door when we arrived. As any proper host would, he invited us in, made us comfortable and prepared us a drink.  We asked after Betty. She wasn't home yet because she was just finishing getting her hair done at the salon. She would be back shortly. In the meantime, we would just enjoy each other's company. An hour went by before Betty arrived. She came in, barely spoke to us, gave Von a look and then immediately went to the master bedroom.  We suggested a three-handed game of spades. Von excused himself to the bedroom. Sam and I looked at each other and then looked at the front door. There was going to be trouble.

Von emerged from the bedroom, all smiles, letting us know that Betty was just changing her clothes and would be out to join us in no time. We shrugged and grabbed more beer from the fridge. It's no problem. We'd wait for her before starting a game. I think Von managed one swig of his drink before going back into the bedroom. At this point, I'm pretty sure that an argument had ensued between them but I could not be sure. Either the walls of the apartment were well insulated or they were not the yelling types. A few more moments passed and Betty emerged wearing this slinky little dress that was way too cute to just sit at home in. Betty was going out and evidently without Von, Sam or me. Von followed her to the front door and asked her where she was going. Out, she replied. While putting on her shoes and grabbing a shawl, she neglected to put her cell phone in her purse. The cell phone sat on the kitchen counter. Von noticed the slip and surreptitiously covered the phone with his hand before sneaking it into his pocket. Betty left.

Sam and I stood up from the kitchen table and attempted to make a cordial exit but Von wasn't having it. He was determined to have all of us sitting around the table, Betty included, drinking beer and playing cards. We froze in our tracks while Von perused the history in his wife's cell phone. Then suddenly Von flew out of the front door, presumably in pursuit of his wife. I turned to Sam and exclaimed, "Oh shit! We gotta bounce!"  Careful to leave the door unlocked, we made our way down the stairs and away from the building where we witnessed Von snatching Betty out of the driver's seat of her car before sitting in it himself.

"Where are you going, Betty? You going out? Who with? This fool that keeps calling your phone? Who is this fool calling your phone?", Von hurled at Betty.

"I don't have to tell you shit, Von. I'm going out. Don't worry about who's on my phone. Get out of my car!" Betty spat back.

Sam and I decided not to wave or say goodbye. We backed away from the scene toward our own car but kept an eye out to make sure no fisticuffs took place. A couple more statements were thrown back and forth between the couple before Von pushed Betty away from the car, closed the car door and started the engine. Meanwhile, Betty scampered back toward the car, clutched the door frame and decided to hold onto the car even as it backed out of the slanted parking spot, stopped and continued forward down the street. Those had to be at least four inch heels she was wearing but I have to admit she was keeping up pretty well running along side that car. I can just see her little legs pumping even now when I close my eyes and remember.

There was nothing else for us to do but go home at that point. We ended up not calling or visiting with Von or Betty again. We thought it would be best not do so to so for the sake of our own relationship and to spare them any embarrassment. Today, all I can do is laugh at the ridiculousness of it all. I think that night foreshadowed the things to come between Sam and I. Thank God, we're not together anymore.

April 20 - High Museum of Art

Last night, my first outing was to Atlanta's High Museum of Art. Yes, I know. It's quite humorous to go to a place known as the "High" on April 20th. It just happened to be a cute little coincidence.  My good friend Kristin was kind enough to let me tag along on her two-for-one ticket deal to see the Picasso to Warhol: Fourteen Modern Masters exhibit. I was game to see more work from Picasso and I was curious to learn the reasons behind the hype for Warhol. The  other 12 artists would be much appreciated lagniappe. Additionally, Jazz at the High,  which takes place every third Friday, was also happening. Kenneth Whalum and Joe Gransden would be performing. I have no idea who either of those artists are but it matters not.  We went, we ate a little dinner there and drank cocktails before heading on up to the exhibit first. Both the dinner and the cocktails were delightful. A wonderfully flavorful pasta and my signature dirty martini. Yum.

The first picture we saw was Pablo Picasso's Girl Before A Mirror. I think any woman would be able to recognize the power of the statement in that piece. We all look in the mirror and seem to see the worst of ourselves no matter what reality or the mirror actually reflects. I was moved. Then I went on to the other works when Kristin and I were all but accosted by one of Kristin's college classmates. Let's call him "Steven". Tall and pale with closely cropped hair and a goatee, I assumed that Steven was into men. However, literally five minutes after we shook hands he revealed that he hadn't sex in two years. Furthermore, he wasn't into drinking or drugs so he felt that his social life was suffering on account. Born and raised in Atlanta, he had been "whupped" regularly by both parents and grandparents. He didn't really care for the portrait of his grandmother which hung above his parents sofa because it looked as if it was watching his every move. He planned on making an entrepreneurial move to Lagos, Nigeria in the next year and had recently cried while attending a Nneka concert. Steven seemed to suffer a disconnect with white women because he was under the impression that they all wanted to go to Paris, eat cheese and fart. Again, Steven wasn't into drinking so he had only actually been drunk once. He had been horrified by that particular experience. So much so, that he woke up sweating from a nightmare about being intoxicated. Steven managed to reveal all this information to me while gazing upon works by Jackson Pollock, Romare Bearden and finally Andy Warhol.

My impression of Andy Warhol was that he managed to do for art what many CEOs had done in commerce. Take an existing idea, reproduce in multiples, brand and sell to the masses. An artistic wonder? Eh. A shrewd businessperson? Sure. As for Steven, he might as well have been one of the exhibits. I was as much intrigued with him as I was with Bearden's collages. He'd offered so much about himself in just that short window of time that I'd hoped he had at least been under the influence of some hardcore prescription drug. I guess some people are open like that. So what, I reveal all sorts of stuff on a blog. As if anyone reads. Alas, I think we Americans tend to tax our freedom of speech. We can't help expressing what we feel, think and know even when we might run the risk of revealing too much. Maybe both Steven and I should both pick up a brush and be a little less literal.  But, then again, where's the fun in that?

Kristin and I ended up not sticking around for the jazz. The acoustics really sucked although I'm sure the artists were quite nice. We had other plans for the evening. But that's another blog post.

For now, I really do encourage everyone who has a chance to check out the High for this exhibit or any other exhibit coming up. Art, in all of its forms, is such a wonderfully reflective and fulfilling approach to communicating the true nature of the human spirit. Truly something to behold.

April 14 - The Sound Table

During last year's tumultuous task of wedding planning, the hubby and I made a valiant effort to put the cares of the event aside and attend a few social events here and there. One such event included clubbing at this spot on Buford Highway in the name of a friend's birthday. We hadn't been out dancing in Providence knows how long. I hadn't been going to my Latin dance classes at Dance 101, so it was an understatement to say that I needed this. The biggest issue that night was what to wear. 


When I first turned 30, I was still into stilettos and tight little dresses. And every now and then, that is still my uniform of choice. But these days I can't stand a screaming foot. I want to dance with wild abandon whenever I have the opportunity. Some hot-in-the-ass dress does not properly afford that. I wore jeans, a top and some sensible platforms. Hubby wore jeans with a shirt and breathable boots. When we showed up at the club, we were dressed for the wrong event. Rather, I was dressed for the wrong event. I saw women my age of all shapes and sizes stuffed down in dresses more appropriate for the 20 year old wanton. Initially, I felt stupid but then I realized that thinking I was stupid  was what was really stupid. I'll explain.


I am no longer 20 something and I no longer believe in sporting the glory of my uncovered ass for the hell of it. My femininity is not defined by my neckline or hemline. I don't think self-mummification via a lycra dress is necessary to accentuate my assets. Nor do I delight in planting a crop of corns on my feet for the sake of fashion. And finally, I'm not a featured product in the never-ending meat market scenario that seems to be today's nightlife. I don't mean to put down those ladies who like to do all of the aforementioned things. Hey, more power to you! You look sexy and all that. But c'mon. Most of the men were still dressed like they took a break from playing XBOX to get their rocks off. I damn well knew that they were my age and had a dress shirt somewhere in their closet. Ladies, why are we putting ourselves on display for men who think a graphic tee with a comedic message is dressing up?


Sigh. After that particular occasion, I really didn't miss clubbing all that much. I got back to  wedding planning and coveted my nights indoors away from the fray. 

But today's a new day. Dancing is still a necessity in my book. After being hipped to the scene at The Sound Table, I can breathe a mature sigh of relief. The second Saturday of each month features the wheels-of-steel stylings of DJ Kemit Kickin' Up Dust. The cover is $5. The scene is come as you are. The crowd is pleasantly 20, 30 and 40 something, wine-loving, no-nonsense and representative of the rainbow that is our American population. Instead of the focus being the potential hook-up, the star of the night is the music. What was so delightful about my experience this past Saturday was the fact that the DJ played most of every song instead of just snippets like that ass clown of a DJ at the above-referenced Club Ass Hat.  (I'm not bitter.) And when I say song, I mean good old-fashioned soul music where the lyrics are actually poetic and sublime. The melody is more than just a looped guitar riff and a contrived bass line. I'm talking actual instrumentation, People.

Some of the song highlights for me included  Love You Inside Out  by The Bee Gees, Wikka Wrap by The Evasions, The Big Payback by James Brown and Black Betty by Ram Jam. What really cracked me up was when everyone was singing the lyrics to What A Fool Believes by The Doobie Brothers.  I only know one person that actually knows the real lyrics to that song and that is Alex Raffi of Imagine Communications. Whatever Doobie brother that is singing sounds like he has a mouthful of bad tasting jello but he's still trying to sing around it. LOL Good times.


Anyway, I left The Sound Table just as hyped as all get up. I was talking a mile a minute and feeling amorous. A great time was had by me. Of course the two cocktails I had could have been a contributing factor but who's really paying attention. Kudos to you DJ Kemit!

April 7 - Fat Matt's Rib Shack

As we get on in age we tend to get so caught up in planning and saving and using wisdom to direct our paths. That's all well and good, but oh, the blessed spontaneity of our youth is not something that should be packed away á la high school yearbooks and lettermen jackets. Sometimes, it's okay to be inappropriately dressed and unarmed with any real sense of a direction on a Saturday night in Atlanta. Unlike college days, we have a bit more disposable cash, a well-maintained car and health insurance. Hence, after not being able to find a parking spot at Midtown Landmark to go see the 8:00pm show of The Raid:Redemption, we found ourselves driving through Virginia Highland looking for some sort of dive bar with live entertainment, Yuengling and palatable appetizers until the 10:20pm show of The Raid: Redemption. We happened upon Fat Matt's Rib Shack.

 According to my betrothed, Fat Matt's is considered to be one of Atlanta's longtime, top destinations for heart-attack inducing grub. There's no pretense about this place. No gimmicks or ritzy restaurant design. It's quite literally a glorified shack with a kitchen and a patio. All the tables and chairs rock and not on purpose. The menu is painted on the wall. The stage is on the opposite side of the restaurant with the bathrooms right next to said stage. It was perfect.  We parked and stood in the line which was extended outside of the door. Great sign.

This being my third year living in Atlanta, I've learned patience and have given up the notion of Las Vegas type VIP consideration when trying to access any night time entertainment. At Fat Matt's we were going to have to stand in line whether we planned on dining in or taking out. While Hubby grabbed a table and ordered a couple of beers, I stood in line and weighed the options of splitting a whole rack of ribs for $20 or a half rack of ribs for $10 with a side of potato salad. I decided on the half rack. We were determined to see that damn movie AND get popcorn. Once, our order was placed I rejoined Hubby at the table and began sucking down my Yuengling. Turns out we were seated next to a group of musicians and entertainers who were trying to sit in with The Jump'n Jukes who were scheduled to perform tonight. Somebody knew the bass guitarist and played in another band with him or something and she sang and he rapped and they played big band jazz standards. Hell if I knew. Nevertheless, they were all quite pleasant.

I was reminded again of college days in New Orleans. All the guys in Jazz Studies at UNO just a giggin' about town at places like The Funky Butt, The Red Room, Cafe Brasil and Snug Harbor. We made the world better by enjoying each other's company with good music and good food instead of worrying about why the recalcitrant neighbor down the street wouldn't pay his HOA dues and was operating a business out of his garage.

The food arrived quickly. Compared to Fox Bro.s Bar-B-Q, the rib meat wasn't seasoned quite as well. However, the actual barbecue sauce and the potato salad was slammin. I'd go back. As for the entertainment, The Jumpin' Jukes were on point and the lady that sat in absolutely killed Route 66. I kind of felt badly for staying home on Monday nights to make fun of Christina Aguilera's stylist on The Voice while this real talent was floating about my new-found hometown. We left Fat Matt's feeling both satisfied and nostalgic. We vowed that we would make our first summer as married friends a dedication to our fun-loving, fancy free youth. And yes, we did see The Raid: Redemption at 10:20pm.

April 7 - Pillow Fight @ Freedom Park

Goodness, has it really been two years? Where has the time gone? Friends, readers, followers please forgive me. Instead of being out partying and recording all of the sordid details, I was busy finding loving, planning a wedding and getting married. I promise it won't happen again.

In this year of rumored apocalypse, Armageddon and generally the end of the world as we know it, Atlanta's weather has been awfully strange. Winter came and went in less than two months. Spring perhaps lasted for about a week. As of the past couple of weeks, we've been experiencing 80 + degree weather. I ain't complainin'. Atlanta's special brand of my favorite season radiates in shades of green that outdazzle any emerald. And like all of the trees and flowering plants and outside critters, something inside me comes ALIVE and I've got to be outdoors soaking it in. I awoke with the mission to go to the park. Any park. After developing a proposal for the day's activities, which my husband could not refuse, I prepared a picnic basket, chairs and my other half for an afternoon at Freedom Park.

Upon arrival, the park was relatively empty with the exception of some ne'erdowells under a tree, a few pet owners with their dogs and four sanguine shirtless Frisbee tossers. To describe the scene as pleasant would have been a criminal understatement. The park was gorgeous. The air and sun were perfection. The world could have its bad economy, celebrity scandals and racially charged tales of woe. Here we were in the park with our toes in the grass and all was indeed well.

As the time passed, we noticed an uptick in fellow parkers. They all looked of the neo-hippie persuasion and which came as no real shock to us. What seemed odd is that they all had pillows. Not blankets or chairs. Just pillows. After a few moments of shameless staring and ear-hustling (a phrased coined by my husband which is another fancy way of saying eavesdropping) we deduced that there was going to be a park pillow fight. Oh joy! What fun! Why had we not been made aware? Where could we go buy pillows? It's happened every year on the first Saturday in April for three years? Oh poo! Well, we'll definitely bring a pillow next year. For now, we'd watch.

We positioned ourselves on a hill in clear view of the activities and let the energy of the moment wash over us. Men and women, girls and boys, young and old and even a few dogs were having the time of their lives laughing and swinging pillows at each other. All you could hear were thwaps and giggles. Some fighters had one or two targets in mind while others just ran around wacking anyone who had a pillow. Even the guy selling popsicles from one of those little pushcarts was knockin' heads. Hubby and I stood pointing, laughing and discussing what strategies we would use if only we had brought our pillows. Again, why had we not heard about this? The opportunity to be a kid again out in public while beating someone senseless with a pillow? No duh. That's me 1000%. Well, next year it would be on. We made a mental note and then headed on to to the grocery store to try our best to pick up healthy foods and avoid purchasing Ben and Jerry's Pistachio Pistachio.