Tag Archives: Madonna

A Distinguished Affair… Not so much!

The last time Hunang and James hosted a dinner affair, the conversation had degenerated to lows rarely attained in the annals of parties. Hunang claimed not to understand what had happened. He had laid the finest China on a delicate tablecloth . After all, one must hold oneself to certain standards when heirloom porcelain adorns a table.

This time around, things would be different. Breaking with tradition, Hunang and James decided to prepare dinner at Miss T. and Brandon’s house. Perhaps a change of venue would elevate the debate to finer subjects such as philosophy or literature.

The table was beautiful

The dog had been confined to the yard.

Hunang was cooking up a storm in the kitchen

Bill stole Dorin’s sweater but he did not mean to.

In the living room, the guests were discussing very mundanely former living arrangements. Bill explained that he had lived at the Ritz… The Oram Ritz that is, an 8 unit residence in a beat up Dallas neighborhood. Cory asked him if there was a doorman and Bill told us about the feral cat doorman which was not very effective as far as concierges go. We then proceeded to the table. It seemed things would be different this time.

The subject of the Olympics was brought up, how male and female swimmers looked exactly the same in their suits and huge Matrix goggles and how they would kick our asses all the same whatever they were. We wondered if the regular gymnasts were making fun of the trampoline folks. The consensus was that they undoubtedly were.

Miss T. explained that she was mind-boggled by the amount of tiny countries that participated to the Olympics and wished she could have crashed the opening ceremony parade by representing a bogus nation. The Oompa-Loompa Overseas Territories. She imagined herself marching proudly in her striped candy red and white sport uniform.

You could see that Brandon, Miss T.’s husband, was perhaps not 100% convinced that the evening was heading towards loftier horizons. He was scratching his head. Da wife was feelin’ pretty feisty…

Dorin and Angela broke into an impromptu rap.

Bill talked about Fergie from the Black-eyed Pees, how she always spelled something in every song and… how she had peed herself once during a concert.

Oh dear! Singers peeing themselves! The party had officially broken.

Cory knew it. 15 minutes into the dinner and a point of no return had already been reached.

Love me some Pucca

Meanwhile Miss T. has gone into a Pucca delirium… Joined by Bill.

Love me some Pucca too

Cory discovers that he shares a birthday with Angela on September 12th, and inexplicably breaks into a celebration dance.

Bill attempts a Madonna.

Bill’s Madonna sends Miss T. over the edge.

That’s when Angela decides to sing the entire “I Like Big Butts” song. Kudos sista’!

Miss T. is very amused. Brandon hangs in there.

Bill decidedly breaks the jovial mood to tell us about the father he never knew growing up. He tells us about the time he visited him in Waco in February 2003, the second time they had ever met. As Bill prepared to leave, his dad hugged him and whispered to his ear that he had put a little something in the trunk for him. How thoughtful!

Bill drove home feeling he was building a foundation with his old man and loving it. He was so emotional he was crying. It was raining. He suddenly remembered about his father’s gift and, curious, pulled off the road. He slowly opened the trunk. In the middle of the compartment: a VHS tape. A Girls Gone Wild tape. A previously viewed Girls Gone Wild Tape… Have I mentioned Bill plays for the other team?

And just like that, when we thought we were safe, we weren’t.

That’s when we notice Brandon’s absence.

Brandon is gone to the store to buy raspberries for the cheesecake. “I don’t know what happened. They are the same raspberries that have been on the list since 11 am this morning!” Miss T. explains with a tiny point of gentle exasperation in the voice. She further explains that there will be no cheesecake for anyone until Bryan does the Beyonce. I think that Bryan likes to be begged because it is always such a big ordeal of huge proportions to make him do it.

We must liquor him up. The tequila is brought to the table. Things are getting serious. We all want Miss T.’s made from scratch cheesecake and if we have to carry the man to the dance floor, we will.

The man drinks up but needs further assistance. We send in Angela to lure him to shake his booty.

“You’re a fine woman! Back that ass up! From the East side to the West side!”

Finally! “Come on Bryan! Drop it like it’s hot!”

Holla atcha boys!

Bill: “You will look back at this with affection.”

Bryan: ” Do you have a scrapbook of regrets too?”

Bill explains that Cory and Leon are his oldest friends… In terms of long he has known them AND how old they are. He said he would have been sad to leave them behind but that he almost had to when he was laid off years ago. He had briefly entertained moving to Asheville, North Carolina. Hearing the news, his mother had said: “Oh no, you don’t want to live there. It has been eaten up by the queers and the Wiccans!”

Bill’s mother seems pretty high maintenance. He had failed to call her for a week and she left him the following message on his phone: “I don’t know where you are. I don’t know what you’re doing or who you’re with. Don’t call me. I’ll call you.” I guess that showed him!

Brandon has come back with the precious raspberries. Beyonce out of the way, we are all waiting for the dessert.

Orgasm on a Plate

Bill: “Well, don’t these raspberries just MAKE the dessert?”

Cory: “Ooh they taste as if they had just been bought!”

On our end of the table things are going pretty well.

On the other side, things seems more China appropriate.

They are probably discussing philosophy or literature.

On our side of the table, Bill blows into Oscar’s nose.

Angela is singing “Big Butts” to Oscar.

Bill pretends Cory is Oscar

Bryan shows love to Angela

Cory is dancing

Miss T. is dancing AND singing

Dorin and Oscar are smooching on the couch

Angela is booty-dancing Leon in the kitchen

James and Hunang wonder where they went wrong once again.

After all, the evening has just started…

note: in the course of the evening, 7.5 bottles of wine, 1 bottle of champagne, 1/2 bottle of tequila, 1/2 bottle of scotch, 1/2 bottle of Crown, and and unknown amount of vodka were consumed (but not by me.)

note deux: you know you are pushing the blogging envelope when you show up at a party with a camera, paper and a pen.

note trois: some names have been changed to preserve the anonymity of above-referenced drunks.

note quatre: some comments have been censored.

note cinq: after this post, my next venture will be my “World through the Eyes of planetross” that emanated through a Single for a Reason challenge (I’m not quite through preparing for this because the man thinks not like a regular human being.) I will then switch to a one photograph a day format in order to cope with my workload and fight the blogging addiction which is totally eating my clock.

note six: I hope they’ll forgive me.

note sept: no animals were injured in the making of this blog.

Dallas, the New Paris

Dallas, Texas. They say everything here is bigger but I’m not convinced. I keep on checking for my growth spurt, but I remain diminutive.

Living here is ok… as long as you make extensive use of the international airport, but my dog Virus will draw his final breath before I pack another suitcase. I owe him for 15 years of devoted service and all the dead presents, so I stay put. But I ITCH!!!

The other day a sudden awareness struck me. I realized that, to many, Dallas would be considered different and exotic. Obviously not if you live around these parts, but what about if you lived in Rome or London? I bet you English folks still think Southfork Ranch lies right smack in the middle of town (which it totally does not! Ha!)

Dallas is my new Paris. Minus the croissants and the old buildings and art that no one bothered to replace over there because, you know, they are a bunch of socialists after all…

Bye bye Art!

Driving south on 35, after crossing the Trinity River, you arrive in a neighborhood called Oak Cliff. It knows no official bounds; anything south of the river is pretty much considered Oak Cliff. Many celebrities either lived there or attended its schools: Sergeant Garcia from Zorro certainly did, and so did Batgirl.

Then, there were some for whom Oak Cliff did not bring a lot of luck. It is said that Bonnie Parker and Clyde Barrow met there in 1930 and we all know what happened to them. Then, there is also Dennis Rodman. When he attended South Oak Cliff High School, he failed to make the football team. Freshman year, he quit basketball in the midst of the season for not having been given enough playing time. Truth be told, he was only 5 ft 6 at the time. We all know the rest of the story. He left Oak Cliff to attend college, grew to be 6 ft 7, dyed his hair funky crazy and dated Madonna. Sometimes a change of venue is all it takes.

Nowadays Oak Cliff has bits of parts for the well-off, and plenty of parts for the not so well-off and the not so white. Most places, it’s not so safe either. I decide to walk along the route of the former steam railroad on Jefferson Boulevard.

First impression? A lot of Spanish!

Second impression? If it’s not your first language, buy a dictionary. You just know that this little fellow will misspell the word “cigar” for the remainder of his life. In all fairness, 80 cents for a supreme cigar seems like a bargain to me.

This Tejano sells Cds on the street. His friend approaches me as I am walking along the Boulevard and asks me what I am doing. I never thought I looked anything like a threat, but indigenes plain don’t like outsiders in this part of town… that is until we start talking on the sidewalk and he tells me all about his former gang activities and the murders he witnessed. Pause. “But, er, we’re friends now, right?” He reassures me and tells me he is going to watch over me. Five minutes in the hood and I’ve got myself a spankin’ new guardian angel! Or a guardian evil…

I continue my walk and cross paths with this couple of lovebirds who maintain their very own red shopping cart.

This is Brenda. Brenda scares me. As I look through the window of the laundromat, she briskly opens the door and, with a bit of what could be easily described as a disapproving tone, questions my presence on the premise. She is smaller than I am but she could take me. With a finger. I stutter something about Sergeant Garcia and Dennis Rodman and my blog and Paris and she appears overwhelmed by a sense of great pity. Silly little blond is going to have a hard time going through life with that pea-size brain! She requests a photograph. We’re buds.

Ah kids! The little girl sits on the table, patiently waiting, and her smile is beaming. After taking Brenda’s portrait, I really need a more reassuring subject. I could definitely take her.

I catch this family in front of the bus depot. The boy in the yellow tee-shirt hams it up. The boy in the orange shirt just wants to die of embarrassment. A camera generally has this effect on teenagers, especially when the whole family is involved.

This is the Supermercado. In front, another seller of CDs. I try to convince him to have his portrait taken but when he learns I have already photographed the competition, he shuts down like a clam. His CD selection is not as good anyway.

At this point, I’m starting to feel as if I had traveled to Mexico. The colors, the people, the language: there is absolutely nothing Anglo about this place besides the street names. Add a beach and I’m moving there.

A muy cool Tejano plays pool. The rules are different. Instead of starting the game with all the balls in a triangle, he aligns them on both sides of the table.

At first, this young Tejano appears very reluctant and even a little stern. He “warmed up” eventually although you really can’t tell by looking at this photograph. I want boots like that too.

The cohort of Stern Tejano, all wife-beatered and pumaed. Tejano sell-out!

Diana. In the arms of her mami. Hating me. For delaying her supper. I look like that too when I’m hungry.

At the bus depot, this Mexican man provides drinks and food to the waiting passengers. He is incredibly sweet.

In front of the bus depot, two men in intense conversation. We mean serious business.

As I make my way back, this little thing catches my eyes. She is mesmerized by me. I steal her image. I generally always ask the parents, but I just could not resist the moment.

Waiting for a call? Waiting to make one? Does anyone still use public phones?

The hair salon. All this pinkness! You feel transported back to another era. If I managed a pink salon, I would ban bright yellow products.

I enter a check cashing joint and see this security guard. To obtain the permission to photograph him, I would have gone through extraordinary lengths, jumped through hoops, and sold my grand-mother. There is something incredibly touching about him beyond his droopy eyes and high-waisted pants: the man just exudes goodness and sense of duty.

You should always pay for your ticket. Ask Lee Harvey Oswald! If the dude had paid for his ticket at the Texas Theater, he might still be sipping cocktails on a beach somewhere in the Pacific. Sometimes small savings do not pay off in the end.

I walk on the now seemingly deserted boulevard. A big black dude in a big black car moves slowly along the sidewalk. He lowers the window on the passenger’s side and asks me to join him for a ride. He is holding some kind of baton that he rubs in upward and downward motions as he insists heavily. I kinda like my life and I really feel like I ought to go home right about that time. I see him park his car a little further down the street. Time to get the hell out of here!

Bye bye Oak Cliff!