Banter on Tulips and a Tribe Called Quest, Jay-Z and John Coltrane, Outkast and Othello.


The (Pseudo) Glamorous Life

Now playing: "What Cha Gonna Do with my Lovin", Stephanie Mills

So last Friday, I skiddadled from work early to doll up for my chapter's anniversary celebration in PA. I pulled out a dress I had only worn once before for a New Year's Eve fete in the District. Luckily my recent amped up visits to the gym counteracted all the Au Bon Pain Asiago cheese bagels I had been getting in as of late. The dress, a deep red, fit magically. I liked to think I was au courant in current. Get it?!!! Lol...

I rolled out with a few soror friends of mine (shout out to La and her linesister, M). What awaited us was a nice spread in a locale plush with chandeliers and a spiraling staircase inside. Outside, a great gray fountain heralded our entrances. The hors d'oeuvres were grand (scallops, bruschetta... some caviar that I merely admired from afar (ahem, I've not yet arrived at that stop. Lol)

We all chatted and giggled, everyone cheery because we got a chance to dress up and be cute. And I don't know what y'all heard bout them AKAs, but we do know how to do the dang thang if I so say so myself *smile*. After mingling, it was on to the next room for dinner and music. And this, my friends, is where the affair took a turn for the worse. To illustrate, let us, beloved, pretend we are, alas in the Sunday mawnin' get-happy service. I'm the preacher.

Me: "One"' (let the church say "one"),
Me: "Man" (let the church say "man")
Me: "Band" (the church is now silent)

Yes, I said it... our gala performer was a one. man. band. (*Holding head in hands*)

I cannot illustrate the atrocity that was this man without demostrating some of the selections that he thought befit our event. Exhibit A: "What a Wonderful World" by Mr. Louis Armstrong. Mind you, this man had neither trumpet nor Ole Satchmo. What he had was a keyboard with sound effects. What he had was the unnerving tendency was to try to imitate the people whose songs he was attempting to sing. *Our keyboarder... I'll call him Mr. Bojangles... sings in a voice that suggests he gargles with marbles* "And I sayyyy to myselffff, what a wonderful wwwworld." Simply put: the worst.

Was this all you ask? Ha, ha. Silly you. Surely you jest. For the man would not let us leave until we heard his version of "I Believe in You and Me" by the Four Tops (note to all wedding type singers out there, please let Levi Stubbs and the brothas handle this one. For the love of all...), Montell Jordan's "This is How We Do it" (this one is actually too painful to recount in detail. I am not a fan of Montell Jordan. At all. But I would give him permission to kick Bojangles' tail if he saw him in the street. Really, it was that bad.) The kicker was *drumroll please* "America, the Beautiful" by the late Ray Charles. We joked that instead of mingling and chatting, we should have been standing at attention ready to salute the flag. I would have preferred to offer my 21 gun salute at Mr. Bojangles' feet if only to see how fast he could dance. Lol.

Just kidding.



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