Return of the Vampire

Many of you know my tale of the vampire. For those of you who don’t, I’ll offer a brief recap:

I do enjoy a buffet.

Last summer I met a handsome young lad. He was black, and British, and went to Princeton, and I thought to myself You might be alright to marry. He asked me out on a date, and I was much obliged. Until the date, where we didn’t really do anything. He told me he doesn’t eat during the day (for weird, non-religious reasons), and I get the spins if I don’t eat every two hours, so that was a big red flag. We went on a walk (boring), and then to Whole Foods where he bought be cashews for me to eat, because I was very hungry and felt no shame in admitting that. He also needed to get some food for himself (you know, for when the sun went down and his fangs came out) to make for dinner. He casually informed me that he went shopping there every night, because how was he to know what he’d feel like eating that night in advance? He made himself a special gourmet dinner every night. This was ridiculous. I knew this wouldn’t work, what with me eating cashews while he drank power water, but he couldn’t take a hint. He texted me for the next few days, then things petered out. I have run into him a couple of times since, and each time he was armed with bags of groceries from Whole Foods. I kid you not.

Well, guess who I ran into today while having a coffee date with the dearest EmTay? That’s right…British vampire guy. I nearly died, and so did Emily, who had heard tale of this mysterious night creature, but had yet to see him in the flesh. We looked out the windows. It was indeed past sundown. He had a soccer ball in hand and had come to replenish his body and perhaps feast on the living.

I immediately panicked, sinking low into the booth. I couldn’t let him see me. He’d spark up a convo, and I’d had to let him know that I found him totally weird. Soon, he was out of eyesight, but this is when the fear sunk in. Emily and I continued our conversation, but my eyes were constantly roaming in fear. It was like being in a dream where you’re being chased or you find out you’re pregnant but you don’t know who the father is. You know the sort.

Our booth was posted behind a wall of potted plants, and we were able to peek through the plants to see the check out line. This, the peeking, felt very silly.

“This is like an episode of Sister Sister,” I said, lowering myself below one of the plants. It was like that episode where Tia and Tamera aren’t related and one of them has a European stalker. You remember the one.

My great fear was that we would stand to leave, he would spot me and run over. I was ready to sit in that seat until I saw him leave. I would have stayed in that Whole Foods all night. Luckily, Emily has the eyes of a cat (and he had on a neon green shirt) and spotted him in the checkout line.

“Should we make a run for it?” she asked.

No words were necessary. Both of us gathered our things and headed for the hills. I don’t think my heart has ever beat so fast. It was terrifying, and thrilling, and we made it out unscathed.

But it’s not over. Who knows when he’ll pop up again? I’ll have to sleep with one eye open, maybe for the rest of my life. And I’ll always have to be ready when I am in that most dangerous of places…Whole Foods.


“I Am Not a Toy, I’m Not a Play Thing”

These past few weeks have been rife with stress for me. First there was the earthquake that morphed into a hurricane (that’s how weather works, right?). I “had” to stay in Crown Heights to protect myself from a storm that caused no damage to my apartment, but DID cause a lot of damage for a number of people throughout the east coast. The following weekend, there was a Gun Fest throughout New York City (notably, many shots were fired in my past weekend’s sanctuary, Crown Heights, and two were tragically killed). And to top it all off, the weekend before the 10th anniversary of September 11th, Bloomberg got on TV and scared me with this revealing tidbit: they had uncovered evidence of a terrorist plot for that weekend. I live about 7 minutes (walking) from where the towers once stood, and well, I was pretty scared. Nothing happened, but still, I went to Crown Heights again, to be on the safe (?) side.

Fortunately, everyone I know made it through all of these events unscathed and remarkably groomed. Throughout all of these ordeals, I sought solace in one incredible piece of ’90’s sass, and that is the song and video for  “Show Me Love” by Robin S (1993). Don’t get it twisted, I’m not talking about Swedish pop darling Robyn. This is Robin S, American sistah gurl, just hanging out with her drag queens in the club. Breaking. It. Down.


This song can play any time of day or night, and I will drop whatever I am doing to just groove. However, the song came out when I was six, and for some reason I hadn’t seen the video until recently. I am here to introduce (or reintroduce) it to you, and highlight all of its beauty. This video features:

1. A thick black woman with pipes, a fierce hairdo, and a Renaissance inspired blouse.

2. A sexy, but lonely, lady in a red halter dress.

3. Drag queens.

4. House heads rocking out in front of patterned walls.

5. Drag queens mouthing the words to the song.

6. A man doing lots of high kicks.

7. Drag queens working a runway.

8. A man in a tigh-fitting exercise top who saves the sad sexy lady by buying her a red drink with CASH.

9. A man in a tank top and jeans, doing extreme chest popping.

10. Shadows.

On top of all of these elements, the lyrics are heavy (see blog title), and the beat is hot. I don’t know why I don’t listen to this song every day. It just pumps up the jam so hard.

So, if you’re having a bad day–you lost your keys, your kid just hit that awkward stage, you found out your boyfriend is gay–I recommend listening to this song and/or watching this video (watch it with your gay ex-bf, if that’s the case). It certainly won’t make your awful life any worse than it already is, and you might gain a little more respect for yourself.

Saying Sooth: A Beyonce Tale

On Saturday, August 28, I posted about everyone’s favorite icey planet, Diamond Planet, and how Beyonce would birth her child there. On Sunday, August 29, Beyonce announced that she was pregnant at the VMAs. People lost their minds (literally: a Nashville woman’s brain exploded upon hearing the news). There were riots and looting. No one quite knew how to react. It was like everyone’s wildest dreams were coming true.

I (get ready) didn’t really care. My cousin is having a baby, and no one got that excited for her. I bet her friends were more excited to hear about Beyonce’s baby than hers. Rude.

Anywho, that evening I checked my blog stats, as I do obsessively in hopes of seeing some outrageous spike. Prior to Sunday, my highest day (in June) was about 300 visits. On average, I get about 50 site visits per day. On Sunday, I got 679 visits. Oh, how confused I was.

My blog has really taken off! I said to myself in my “talking to myself” mirror. Everyone must have heard the big news about Diamond Planet. Hooray for space! The Final Frontier!

It was not until the next day, when I was on the elliptical at Lucille Roberts, the lady gym, that I found out about Beyonce’s pregnancy thanks to Good Morning America. I just kept ellipticalling and listening to 112 Pandora station. There was more news about the pregnancy in the daily paper I read on the way to work. And when I got to work, it was a popular topic. (Mind you, we had just been through a hurricane, or tropical storm, or something the day before)

I checked my site stats again that evening. They were about the same.

You’ve really done it this time, Lomo, I said to my self in my “talking to myself” mirror. You said Beyonce would have a baby (this is the third time you’ve made such claims, but whatevs), and now she is. Coincidence? I think not. Pat yourself on the back you Nubian queen. You just changed the world.

In conclusion, I would like to say “You’re welcome” to Beyonce, for not spilling the beans too soon before her formal announcement. I’d also like to remind everyone that there is a new planet made out of diamonds. Let’s wait and see what B does with that.

It is possible that the future of this blog may rest solely on my ability to predict Beyonce’s future. Honestly, I think I can handle it.