Monday, February 26, 2007

Just some stuff

So after all the pre-hype, preparation, planning, conference calling and obsessing, All Star Weekend happened.

And it totally lived up to the hype.

We had an absolute fabulous time. Our days were spent doing all the things that I LOVE to do...drinking, meeting strangers, engaging in conversations with said strangers, people watching, asking inappropriately personal questions of strange men, reducing men to their parts ("girl look at that back", "did you see his arms", "What was his name?" "I don't know but did you see the pecs and shoulders on that nice young chap??".

Speaking of men's body parts-I am most happy to be a woman when I walk up to a man's body that I find attractive and proceed to touch it as if it were a melon that I was inspecting for tenderness. Men's ego's being what they are, I have never known a man to complain about this sort of attention or request that I and my friends (who I inevitably call over to cop a feel as well) stop touching him. Men are so easy.

Anyhow, this wasn't a weekend wherein life long relationships were created, but I think that the relationship of me and my girls was definitely strengthened. I now know that normally picky eater J will eat almost an entire cow for breakfast after a long night of hanging out. I now know that the other J is a great hair stylist, and that we as a group will the use the attention that men lavish on J to our advantage whenever need be!

The downside of all star weekend was, as it always is, the behavior of my people. I know its Vegas, where you can drink, buy a prostitute legally, see naked women, party and/or chill for each of the 24 hours of every single day and so people tend to get besides themselves. But to lose all home training or regard for that which is socially acceptable public behavior...And what really gets me are the comments that women/girls are willing to respond to.

"Ay girl". Usually followed by the subsequent and seemingly compulsory "Ay, Ay, Ay". Unless that phrase is followed up with words like: fire, gun, car, run for your life...I refuse to even acknowledge that those comments may be directed at me. I assume that surely no one is trying to get my attention by yelling at me like a dog, "Ay girl"; surely they are talking to an animal, child, or some other "girl" in the vicinity. And yet I saw many women responding to this as if it was the customary address to a queen. Why? They don't recognize their value. They are unaware that they are worth, at the very least, that man getting off his lazy behind walking over to her and properly introducing himself as an adult man should. They either forgot or are just unaware that they are God's gift to men and don't have to settle for such tomfoolery.
Clearly "Ay girl" was not the most heinous example of dudes tryna holla, but it was certainly the most prevalent.
The fights, the shootings, the necessity of busloads of police officers...these saddened me most. It was if all the worst stereotypes about black people were on display for these combat ready police officers that were posted on every 15 feet of the strip. Frankly they made me feel safer. I just wonder would an event that drew 400,000 Japanese people require this kind of police presence, what about Puerto Ricans, Mexicans, Chinese, whites, southern whites? What makes some groups need this sort of supervision to prevent anarchy while others would likely be able to conduct themselves without incident....

Tuesday, February 13, 2007

Like Forreal, Forreal

I am too excited about this weekend.

No grown adult person should be this amped about going out of town. I'm like a 5 year old that knows she's going to disneyland tomorrow.

Except the theme park i'm going to involves alcohol, hoe-couture (as J likes to call it), and what i can only hope is a sea of big backs as far as the eye can see. Which is SOOOOO much better then disneyland, 5 year olds are idiots!

Mostly I hope its a fun trip that reaps lots of great stories...stories that I may need to take with me to my grave, but stories nonetheless.