The Texas Tiger Chronicles

Sunday, December 18, 2005

Saturday Night Fever, and feeling filthy/gorgeous

Mood: Hung Up...and over. Singing Madonna to myself but at a really low decible.
Mode: Giving you emotions from last night. I was rocking the Seven jeans and a multi-colored vertical striped shirt (black, grey, blue and white). The stripes were very thin...just enough to give you the hint of a pattern. The shirt was tricked out with ruffles. Yea, ruffles. Giving you very tuxedo after 5, but it was really after dawn. The shoes were some vintage square-toed wingtips in a color I would describe as coffee with cream. The mood was Hot Tamale.
Munchies: I had a liquid dinner. Apple Smirnoff, Watermelon Smirnoff, a dash of Remy Red and some ginger ale (I made this up all by myself). I don't know what you call it but it was fruity and strong. Like me. It was my take on the Texas iced tea.
Motif/Question of the evening: How long are all these passive-aggressive types gonna stare at me before they try to get my number?

HELL UP IN HARLEM (x2)

I was a man about town yesterday. Doing things. Seeing people. Changing outfits. Giving attitude and stuff. My friend Daniel called me and invited me to a late night gathering (we are talking after 12:30am and three glasses of Shiraz) in Harlem. Because I am a part of the new Harlem, one of the brothers who is helping usher in the new Renaissance, I quickly took Daniel up on his offer as I never miss an opportunity to put on my dancing shoes/sandles/boots/sneakers/beach tongs when the option is presented.

Let me pause for a moment and introduce you to Daniel who is a fabulous 20-something artist in Harlem.


This is a mere sample of some of the fabulously abstract works you can find in his well-appointed gallery (http://www.df13.com/). You know, meeting Daniel was so very New York for me. Coming here from Texas, I imagined myself with friends who were artsy and bold and outspoken and who would break out in song whenever inspired by mother earth and her blessings. Just like Leroy on Fame.

Just all different and artistic. Individuals with wonderful spirits who live in work/lofts amongst their creations. Who wore clothes from thrift stores and pumped around town with well-appointed man bags and things from Gucci and Prada.

So very "Rent" minus the drugs, poverty and power ballads.

It has inspired me to be artsy myself. In fact, next week I am going to distress my walls, paint the bathroom, add surround sound that plays some abstract world beats from Europe and attempt to restyle my closet ala HGTV. Daniel can live in his work/loft but I want to live in the Banana Republic flagship showroom.

SO anyway......Daniel hit me on the cell, told me where the spot was, so I threw on the wool trench and hit the front door. As I walked down the long hallway from my apartment the Hot Tamale kicked in and my walk turned to a strut which segued into a full TexASS swagger that simultaneously worked legs, waist, backfield and chest. I like to give you visual from both angles.

I said wassup to my concierge and he said, "You always on the go," as he looked at his watch. I looked over my shoulder as I headed towards the door and said, "I didn't move to New York to sleep, I moved here to live."

And with that, I hit 118th street with a bottle of wine in my right hand and my cell phone in my left, feeling like the male counterpart to Mary Tyler Moore (I have to use her cause she was a writer.) And like Bobby Brown Jr. says, I was Cory Bradshaw, Sarah Jessica's illegitimate Black brother.

We get to the spot in a newly renovated brownstone with exposed brick (loving it), hardwood floors and gorgeous guests. And I should also mention Daniel's friends were all hot boys and we were giving you southern flavor with a dash of the Midwest and some East Coast swing (like Boyz II Men on Motownphilly) our collective hot boy steelo was the harmony. I was giving you mezzo-alto in B flat. Actually my B is far from flat but you get what I am saying.

The music was great...some new jack swing, some rap, some soul, some beats that made me hit the dance floor.

I met a gal from Ohio. At some point the DJ played some reggae. And the gal, we will call her Bethany, looked me in my eyes and started moving my way. I immediately knew how it was about to go down. Bethany was about to try to work me. She got thisclose to me and proceeded to dance. First she was very slow, very gentle. She made me feel safe and secure. Then she got just a lil bit aggressive. She stopped dancing in first position and put her legs shoulder width apart and then she dropped it like it was hot. I looked at Bethany with the eye of the Tiger....cause she knew not what she had done.

I put my drink down.

Then I put my legs shoulder width apart. And dropped it like it was scorching. Then Bethany got closer and I got closer and then we were in the midst of a dirty tango fit for BET Uncut on a Wednesday morning at 3:13am. She went to the ground not thinking I would come after her. Bethany - sweetie - I AM FROM TEXAS. I can sweep the floor with a martini in my hand and not spill a drop. She gave it to me good and she could keep up. I lost my breath AND my innocence in the eyes of those who were watching. But I didn't care. I dance with reckless abandon on the dance floor. Just like Madonna in a pink leotard with the Farrah Fawcett flip in "Hung Up."

There was a lot of flirting going on. A lot. And I was loving it! Everytime I would get involved in a conversation with one cutie ANOTHER cutie would jump in and then we would all be flirting. It was like with each new introduction I was working on a threesome. Or orgy. It was so Hot Tamale.

And as always amogst us, there was a lot of male posturing, some subliminal challenges as well as some lite-hating. But ain't that always the case? You gotta get that dirt off your shoulders.

I had a very weird conversation with some very unique individuals in the "smoke" room. Now, if you can't tell, I was such a goody-goody in high school and college. I was never one to be in the smoke room with the "cool" kids. Ok, who am I kidding. The parties I went to were so lame we weren't even cool enough to have a smoke room. But I was getting love from the weed-heads in the smoke room last night.

So I got into this conversation with them about mushrooms. Of course I have never done them so they immediately started making fun of me for being naive. But it was all in love. So many tastes, so many flavors. You can have your mushrooms, your weed, and your coke, just give me a chocolate martini and a chocolate dance partner and 80s soul song and I will be as "lifted" as I need to be.

But I had to dash off to another event further uptown. I winked at a few people, said my good-byes, got the trench and left. So very New York. So very New York.

Tell you about the other party later...it's not a story I feel comfortable sharing on a Sunday cause it was far from holy......


Posted by Texas Tiger in NYC :: 6:48 AM :: 1 Comments:

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