So, I was feeling some kinda way last night and decided at the last minute that I wanted to go out and start my birthday celebration early. I called up a few people made last minute plans, put on my new come fuck me jeans, the classic come fuck me boots and hit it to West Hollywood.
In Los Angeles, the club that most black boys flock to is none other than Metro Wednesday's at Ultra Suede. A club promoted by a friend of mine, Ivan Daniel. It's no secret that I have a strong antipathy towards gay clubs. And who can blame me? Why would i put myself in positions to be continually irritated or let down at the caliber of people that I encounter? After hearing my stories about the people I've met and after you read my new book, you'll have a clear understanding on why I stay the fuck away. But when the mood hit's me, I have to follow my intuition and go with it.
I walked in and saw a few familiar, pleasant faces and a few pieces of sewer litter doing the same thing they were doing when they were trying to game me up and shake me down for the kill. No eye contact is necessary for people like that. If a muthafucka does it once, he'll do it twice and like Beyonce told us in 99, "I am not the one to sit around and be played."
10 minutes in, I found a spot. Ivan saw me and greeted me with a big hello, since it had been a minute since anyone has seen me. Then all of a sudden he took the stage and introduced Chrisette Michelle!!! I had no idea she was going to be there performing, and it's crazy because earlier that day I went hard on myself because I missed her last show here in L.A.
She is phenomenal. The truth. I will always support her. It's artists like her, Lalah and Rahsaan that get little to no recognition for their phenomenal gifts. Not only that, I had the opportunity to briefly chat it up with her. She's a humble girl and I enjoy her thoroughly.
After her brief 3 song set, I was more than feeling the effects of my 3.5 Patron Margaritas...
I tipped off to the bathroom only to discover there was a line! I mean, the last time I checked I didn't have a vagina and I don't cross dress. So again, why was there a line in the mens room?
So I stood there for a second and blurted out, "Not a line." And the guy behind me started laughing and then he hit me with the hee...
"I know you." He said as he looked me dead in the eye and smiled.
"Do you really now?" I responded, wide-eyed, bushy-tailed and drunk.
"Yes! You're Trent Jackson! I listen to your shows and I've read your books, were friends on myspace." He said while laughing and smiling.
"What? Are we? What's your name?" I asked curiously.
"Insert Name here."
"Yes! I know you! You look different from your pictures! You're taller!!"
"Everyone says that."
He smiled. I gave him a hug and told him not to tell anyone he ran into me in the restroom....
...to be continued...