Token

July 14, 2008 at 3:28 PM | Posted in Journal | Leave a comment
  Went to party last Saturday night
  Didn’t get laid but I got in a fight
  Oh yeah, it ain’t no big thing…

  Well, I didn’t get in a fight.  Someone from where Detroit works had a birthday party, a pool party at an apartment complex.  I wasn’t thrilled at the prospect.
  First of all, it’s July.  And then, it’s no one I know, and hardly anyone she knows, just a few that she works with.  And then, there was going to be this whole cultural thing going on…
  But as it turned out, it rained earlier, so it cooled off.  I took a nap and my headache went away.  I made a conscious decision that I was going to go and have a good time–or at least pretend to–because I remember…
  Going anywhere with The Storm was a chore in the first place, but if it was somewhere she didn’t want to go, it was like pulling teeth–and she didn’t have many left.  The ideal situation was a family function on *her* side of the family.  If it was on my side, it didn’t count.  But even then, she was going to end up being some kind of bitch (I could write a book called, "Varieties of Human Experience:  The Myriad Ways To Be A Bitch," based on what I have observed from my ex) and it would somehow be my fault.
  And she had no couth or manners, so if she didn’t want to be there, like a fucking child she made it known she didn’t want to be there.  Fuck. 

  You know, as a side note, I’d just like to say that this Thursday is the one year anniversary of my divorce being final.

  So I’m going to go, and I’m going to have a good time.  Drink a little.  Well, we get there, and Detroit and I are the only white people.  It could have been awkward, but we did okay.  Her friends from work were nice and introduced us to other people, and I was willing to talk to about anyone.
  So, if you’re white–
  Ever been in a group of people, mostly white, and then there is the one black guy?  He’s kind of outgoing, gregarious, and has something funny to say to everyone? 
  Well, that was me.  I figured, the roles were reversed, they were looking to me to be "that guy," so I went ahead and did it.  I just said shit, inserting myself into other people’s conversations, made jokes, threatened to take off my shirt for a picture.  I had a good time, and enjoyed the …. music.
  It was funny to hear the adults listening to their music–old school rap–and yelling at the younger people for the crap they listen to.  I should have put on some country for them.
  Older, younger–
  It was Andre’s birthday.  Andre’s a woman.  She turned just turned 58.  She looks like she’s my age, or younger.  That’s the thing about black people–most of them, it seems, just don’t age.  They look the same from age 14 to age 60.  And then…one day they wake up, and they’re old.  I don’t know if that’s better than growing old gradually from the day you turn 20.
  Drank some Margueritas, ate some fried chicken.  Something about black people–they seem to like fried chicken almost as much as I do.
  Almost.
  There was music, and some of the younger ones were dancing, and there was a little dance-off contest just like in the movies.  Some of the younger (under 30) chicks walking around in bikinis, not caring how much belly rolled out.  But they did have back.  Yo.
  Someone came in from the clubhouse and said a black Mercedes needed to be moved or it would get towed.  Well, I parked my Mercedes behind a black one, So I went to check it out.  Actually, I parked behind a maroon one, so I was okay.  But when I said that–well, I fit in, I was accepted.  There were several Mercedes at the party, and mine was one of them.  Of course, I don’t have spinners on mine.
  I didn’t catch alot of the names.  The ones I did catch I think I got wrong.  They either spelled them funny, or pronounced them funny.  Or both, mostly.  One young man had the oddest name.  I heard his mother calling to him, "Mike!  Michael!  Come here."
  Weird.

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