No Sex In The City: The Reality TV Audition, Part II

Over 40 And Ready For My Close-up

By Cousin Kim

"Is that what you're wearing?" The production assistant sporting low-rise jeans and a walkie talkie asked our group as we stood in line in the hot sun waiting for the call back auditions to begin.

"Yes", we replied confidently.

Then Angela, Sheila, and I shrugged our shoulders at one another in confusion. The previous day at the first audition, we were told to return for the call back wearing the same outfits.
As parents dropped off singing groups in mini vans, we stood in line surrounded by boy and girl bands wearing retro 80's gear. I smirked when I noted the boy band in front of us had vertical lines shaved into their eyebrows and were wearing graffiti t-shirts. I was actually around the first time this look was fashionable.

The Filipino boy band behind us harmonized to a Boys to Men tune for their warm-up. They were from Oakland, drinking designer coffee, and sounding good. Angela opened her umbrella to protect her fair skin from the sun, while Sheila and I ducked underneath to escape the heat.

Representatives from the cable network emerged from the studio toting cameras, a boom microphone, and an electronic bull horn. We were all instructed to sing the chorus of "Killing Me Softly" as one large group. One of the members of the shaved eyebrows boy band was asked to start us off on a key that would be suitable for all.

On cue, all the groups competing for a spot on the reality show sang in unison as the camera panned down the line. After the first take, we were told that our energy level was not quite as high as those auditioning in New York or Chicago, but we'd done okay.

We were allowed to do two more takes. Our singing was to be spliced together with the New York and Chicago groups. Then we were told to yell with excitement and brag about our musical groups as the camera came down the line once more. Some of the boy bands took the opportunity to show off their dance moves. I even heard a few people yell, "Obama for your mama." I chose not to yell too much because we hadn't even had the singing audition yet.

Once inside, each group was photographed. In the lobby area, hip hop groups started to battle with their freestyle rhymes. The adrenaline was flowing. I tried to keep up the playfulness I'd felt the day before. I kept repeating the mantra that I was only there to help Angela with HER audition. But this was a call back and I felt some pressure to "step up."

Although we were told to be prepared to be there all day, we ended up being one of the first groups called. As we sat just outside the audition studio, Sheila, Angela, and I speculated as to whether being called early on was a good thing. We decided that it was. We said a prayer and did a last minute rehearsal. A production assistant came out and told us that when we went inside we were to pretend that we had never met the judges before. We weren't to refer to the previous day at all while we were on camera.

We walked into the audition studio in our line up order. The judges were once again friendly- no Simon Cowell in the bunch. They asked us how long we'd been a group and what we were going to sing. We answered as if they hadn't asked us those same questions the day before. We sang, "No One", by Alicia Keys. I remembered the judges' advice from the day before and I really "went for it". At the end of our song, the judges told us that we had the best energy of any of the groups, but unfortunately that was as far as we'd be going in the audition process. We thanked them and exited the studio. Surprisingly, part of me was relieved.

In the hallway, we were met by a camera. We were asked how we felt about not being selected. Off camera, the interviewer tried to egg us on and get us to say something negative, but we didn't play into his hands. We talked about how kind and complimentary the judges were and how much we enjoyed ourselves. Further down the hall, someone else who was auditioning asked us how we did and in spite of the fact that we didn't make it any further, we said in unison, "we did great!" And we meant it.

Part of me wondered briefly if the reality show people took one look at our identification cards and decided that we were too old. After all, not one member of our group had been dropped off in a mini van by our parents. Yet, another part of me was extremely proud. I measured my success by my willingness to do something risky and out of the ordinary. By my own definition, I was successful that day. Long live Innovation!

No Sex In The City #21 - Confessions of A Wannabee Reality TV Star!

Black Girls Rule!

by Cousin Kim

"Kim. What part do you sing in the choir?"

It was a simple question asked in the women's locker room of the gym on a Monday morning. Yet, somehow my intuition could feel an adventure brewing by the tone of Angela's voice when she said my name. A few seconds later, I had agreed to help her with a singing audition on Friday.

Wednesday, Angela, Sheila and I rehearsed for the audition. As we ended the rehearsal with string cheese and fruit as a snack, Sheila and I asked Angela to tell us more about the audition. That's when things took an interesting turn.

We weren't just helping Angela with her audition, we were auditioning for a cable network reality show! And we were doing this after forming a trio two days before the audition and with only two hours of rehearsal. As we had no time, we decided to adopt the k.i.s.s. system--keep it simple sweetie. We planned to wear black bottoms and colorful tops on Friday.

When we arrived for the audition on Friday at Smashbox Studios, I held it in my mind that I was there to help Angela with her audition. Any other thought would have lead to "freak out" mode. Angela decided on the name Innovation for our group given the way we came together.

As we moved through each stage of the audition, we began to enjoy the fact that none of the production assistants were getting the name right. We laughed as we imagined ourselves as an punk band when one production assistant asked, "so you guys are No Nation, right?"

After waiting, rehearsing, and having photos taken of our group, we were finally called in to see the judges. The judges asked how long we'd been a group. Angela responded by looking at her watch as I chimed in "three days." The judges looked incredulous, but we later found out that there was at least one other group who'd given the same response. Then we were asked if we had any choreography. That would be a no. But we swayed side to side in unison like a well-rehearsed gospel choir dressed in hot pink tops and black stretch pants.

The first song we sang was written by Angela. We got through one verse and one chorus before they stopped us. The we sang our second song, No One by Alicia Keys. The judges asked that we sing individually and since Angela had already sung lead, they wanted to hear Sheila and I sing. Sheila sang the chorus to No One, so I followed up by singing the chorus my way. I noted that the judges' eyes widened. We were told that they wanted us back the next day. We were advised to really go for it at the call back.

We left the audition room all smiles. We'd formed a group in a few days, put in a few hours of rehearsal, and got a call back for a reality show. Stepping out of the box was fun, yet I wondered if I could maintain a carefree attitude at the call back the next day. Would the reality of what I was doing set it? If I got a yes, how would it change my life?

More to come. Stay tuned!

No Sex In The City #28 - I Remember

By Cousin Kim

I remember singing lead on
"Walkin In The Rain With The One I Love"
On stage with my friends
When I was four
I remember I only knew the chorus

I remember being five years old
and telling Mrs. Waters
That I was going to marry her son
I was only in kindergarten
But hey,
I thought she should know.

I remember wanting to love someone
Like Marcia loved Davy Jones.

I remember meeting my very first
Boyfriend
At a pajama party
The night I had my first car accident

I remember I was eighteen
and college bound.
He was dyslexic
And two grades behind me
And I loved him
More than Marcia loved
Davy Jones.

I remember seeing Prince in concert
For the very first time.
I remember a girl
Screaming uncontrollably
And realizing with Horror
That the sound was coming
From me.
I remember that I'd just turned eighteen
and had seen Purple Rain
About thirteen times.

I remember dancing to Prince tunes
at college parties in the suites
Until the walls sweated
And blue jean prints stained the paint.
I remember.

Kimestry

No Sex In The City #213 - The Spinners Performed In LA, Leaving Me Lost & Turned Out... Not!

By Cousin Kim

"I'll think about it."

For some people this means maybe, but for my cousin this means no. That is what she said when I invited her to go see the Spinners in concert. I asked a few more friends, but even my mother was not interested. Mom did however, give me a good lead on a potential concert companion--her older sister, my aunt.

I found out where my aunt's seats were and secured a seat right behind her. It seemed that as soon as I decided to see the concert, songs I rarely hear by the Spinners kept popping up on the radio all the time.




"Could It Be I'm Falling in Love" and "Working My Way Back To You" took me back to summertime in the 70's when I was just a child enjoying a play date in my cousin's garage.

On concert night, I stood in the admittance line at El Camino College and spotted my Auntie B three parties ahead of me wearing an all-white jean outfit. Once inside, she spotted her ex-husband and his wife while I cruised down to row P to find my seat.

The lights dimmed as I chatted with the woman fortunate enough to be seated next to me while I was in full chatterbox mode. She was sixty eight and we agreed that we were fortunate to be seated near the aisle so we could get up and dance if the spirit moved us. After being "taken to church" during a moving rendition of "Sadie", when the Spinners sang "We're Having a Party", I got up into the aisle to dance. As I swayed in the aisle, Charles, the lead singer, came down from the stage into the audience and danced with women along the opposite aisle.

I left the concert dancing through the parking lot and singing the doo wops that accompanied the song "Rubber Band Man". I felt happy, light and full of positive energy. This is the soundtrack of my youth, in the movie that is my life and I am grateful!

No Sex In The City #9 - Black Women Are Like A Football, Just Waiting To Be Caught

Locks of Love

By Cousin Kim

I was jazzed when I walked in because I could see him out of the corner of my eye; six feet tall, captivating megawatt smile, body like a NFL wide receiver, chocolate brown skin, and long locks.

Instead of looking at him directly, I signed in and greeted those nearest the table. It was Monday night and I was at my salsa class lesson at the church I attend.

So much to do when you're a single girl in L.A. -- so little time.

Speaking to those I recognized along the way, I walked the row of grey padded folding chairs searching for an empty seat that didn't have people on either side of it. I'm big on personal space. It's something I demand.

Luckily, there weren't any seats that met my space requirement except the ones down on the end where he was sitting. Cool.

"Oh hey, you made it," I said casually as if I'd just seen him in that moment. The previous day we'd run into one another at the African Marketplace held in the heart of Black Los Angeles.

His sister was visiting from Ohio and he wasn't sure he'd make it to class that night, but there he was. We had seen each other at service that morning as well. We seemed destined to cross paths.

"My sister decided to take my niece to Disneyland", he revealed. I liked his sister already. I decided then that he was my dance partner for the night, whether he knew it or not.

"Let's pray in", our instructor announced. Our classes always began with prayer. Usually the gist of the prayer was that we were acknowledging and celebrating spirit through dance. Of course, as everyone moved into a circle to join hands I strategically positioned myself next to him. When the prayer was done, we secured floor space next to one another in the rear of the room for warm up.

The warm up always involved some type of hip gyration; a perfect opportunity for me to show off the wealth that God gave me. As he danced on my right, I hoped he noticed my exaggerated movements; after all, they were punctuated for him. The previous week he had complimented me on how I move. I wanted to give him a reason to compliment me again. That was to come later.

"Let's all partner up" our instructor announced. How convenient to have a male partner standing right next to me. Beautiful. I couldn't wait to see his locks sway flirtatiously when he moved with me on the dance floor.

He expertly steered me by pressing his left hand against my right hand and his right hand against the lower part of my waist.

Our instructor said that leading at the top of the body was like throwing a football, so I guess that made me his pigskin for the night!

'Locks man' picked up new steps by watching other men in class and incorporating some of their moves into his spontaneous routine. We glided, we swayed, and we rolled to the music; sometimes with our bodies pressed together with just the right amount of tension and sometimes with our bodies apart as we showed off for one another. That's when I got that compliment I was waiting for. "Damn. Go ahead, girl."

After an hour of separating and coming together we were both gleaming with sweat, but we had smiles on our faces. Finally at the end of the "game", he asked me if I'd like to go dancing outside of class and practice some of what we'd learned. Of course I said yes.

I like my space, but I also like the coming together part. Sometimes being a football isn't so bad.

FAITH: WHAT BLACK FOLKS HAVE ALWAYS RELIED ON WHEN THAT WAS ALL WE HAD

Loved Ones Questioning Your Instincts? Get In Line

By Cousin Kim

I thought I'd call the community college assistant dean at 8am and leave a voice message. Murphy's law would dictate that she would answer the phone and answer she did.

It made absolutely no sense whatsoever; definitely not financially. But something deep inside told me not to take the teaching position even though I am only currently contracted for part time work elsewhere. When I thought about each of the multiple jobs offered, none of them "lit me up" or filled me with enthusiasm.

It all started this spring. My current boss notified me that my current position at UCLA would not be funded next year. I was given the option of interviewing for another full time position or work part-time with full medical benefits. I picked the part time spot.

There was no part of me that even wanted the full time job. I knew that God abhors a vacuum and that leaving space in your life allows for more blessings. So I released the full time position and made space in my life for more.

When summer started, I contemplated how to fill in the other half of my salary. Once I released to the universe my full time job, I was hired by a friend to do independent contractor work for another school and have been offered other opportunities on a project- by- project basis.

None of these positions could I have imagined or generated myself.

Of course at the time I made these decisions, my loved ones really questioned my logic. "You gave up a full time job for a part time job? How are you going to pay your bills?" I have learned that when people love you, they unknowingly project their fears unto you. They want to see you avoid any pitfalls and if they see you making illogical choices, they see a red flag.

The difficulty is that faith makes no logical sense.

Faith seems completely unreasonable when we see no future beyond what is directly in our line of sight. But faith involves seeing what has yet to manifest. It is the vision of Martin Luther King Jr. and Mahatma Gandhi.

Faith becomes much easier to understand, however, when we consider that we are the dreams of our ancestors fulfilled. As I sat on the podium at the UCLA graduation ceremonies in June as a faculty member, I reflected on the fact that there was a time when my people, people of African descent, did not attend White institutions of learning and were certainly not faculty members. They did not sit on podiums wearing cap and gown with hoods representing advanced degrees, nor did they have the opportunity to confer degrees on others.

When we release our attachment to "running things" and we allow our higher consciousness to dictate our decisions, we tap into that all-knowing source of God that is who we are. We move into the flow of ease and grace that accompanies surrender to a Higher Power.

God sees a larger picture of our lives than we could ever imagine alone. When we trust in this divine wisdom, we are demonstrating faith.

Thus, I have learned that there are times when not making sense is a really wonderful thing. And for that, I am eternally grateful.

No Sex In The City #6: Co-signing On Faith, Arrested Development & Tiger Balm

God Clearly Spends His Summers In Los Angeles

By Cousin Kim

Most people have favorite songs, favorite foods, or favorite television shows. I have favorite words. "Ambiance" is one of them. I like to pronounce it with a french accent lingering over the 'm' and 'n' sounds. Yet, there is one word that trumps ambiance every time. Free! Say it with me now, freeeeeeeeee!

Thursday night the Twilight Dance Series at Southern California's Santa Monica Pier featured some amazing performances for freeeeee.

Amidst the smells of kettle corn and pretzels, the Agape International Choir dressed in rainbow colors opened the show. During the choir's set, people around us complained that we were standing and they could not see from their seats in their lawn chairs.

Well, as Lisa said, "sometimes you've got to stand for the Lord." And stand we did as the choir let their light shine and the crowd praised Spirit with dance.

After a quick set change, Arrested Development took the stage. They flew in from Atlanta to perform hits from their 1992 release, 3 Years 5 Months and 2 Days in the Life Of... In only one hour Arrested Development "Fished for Religion", "Taught a man to fish", and took the crowd to "Tennessee."

They also played songs from their forthcoming album; their first release in about fourteen years. As DJ Machete X did a scratching interlude on the turntables, Deb exclaimed, "This summer has been a blast!"

After two hours of jumping on the pier's wood planks, I knew I'd have to break out that expired jar of Tiger Balm and rub some ointment on my knee when I got home. That, however, would have to wait as the unofficial, not to be missed afterparty was taking place.

The afterparty at Zanzibar was about to begin and I was hungry. With single girls in L.A. being the resouceful creatures we are, I found a fortune cookie in the glove box of my car and munched on it on the drive over. My fortune read, "Romance moves you in a new direction." I barely resisted the temptation to add the words "between the sheets" to the end of my fortune.

The Agape Choir were again in full force as were concert goers from the pier. The DJ spun world music from Africa, Brazil, and Latin America. As I danced to Latin music with a group of friends, everyone seemed to pair off until I was left to dance alone.

After a few moments, a tall willowy Latino man emerged from the crowd and began to lead me in a steamy salsa dance. He moved like a matador and I was temporarily his cape.

We danced for quite some time and I noticed that he knew all the words to the Spanish songs, while I knew all the words to Eric B and Rakim's Paid in Full.

Throughout my time at Zanzibar that night, I never stopped moving. After all, everyone knows that your feet don't hurt when you're dancing.

Two hours later, in addition to the two hours we'd already put in at the pier, the group consensus was that it was time to depart. C'mon, it was Thursday night and someone had to be up early for work the next day; not me, but someone.

So we said goodbye to our friends, formed a spontaneous conga line, and snaked through the crowd.

Pausing only to speak to our friend Vince who'd just arrived at midnight, I sealed the night with a kiss and partied out the front door toward that expired jar of Tiger Balm.

Ahhhh, to God be the glory!

NO SEX IN THE CITY #5: YOU CAN ALWAYS TELL A MOREHOUSE MAN, BUT YOU CAN'T TELL 'EM MUCH... ABOUT LOVE!

Fine Paintings

by Cousin Kim

Ah, summertime in L.A.! Free concerts. Spending time outdoors. Catching up with good people. Running into ex-boyfriends.

It's inevitable that with more free time on my hands, I was bound to run into Morehouse Man.

Morehouse Man is a well-educated, handsome, Afro-Centric, tall, muscular, delicious specimen of manhood I met seven years ago. We were drawn to each other like moth to flame. For me it was his intellect as well as his physical appearance. For him, it was my spirituality, intellect, and the fact that I have "hips like the horn of Africa."

For those who know absolutely nothing about Morehouse College in Atlanta, it is the only Black, all male college in the country. And the men, well...

Anyway, I knew I would see Morehouse Man that day. It was a Jill Scott concert and he was the one who'd introduced me to her music years ago. How did I know that I would see him? I have learned that sometimes we have spiritual connections with people even though we are not meant to be with them.

I know that because of this, I can be at a concert with thousands of people in attendance and if he is there I will see him. Once I had a friend visiting from out of town and we were at the Los Angeles African Marketplace. I told her that I felt Morehouse Man's presence and that he was somewhere near. Less than two minutes later, there he was.

At the Jill Scott concert, I was pleasant when I saw him. We spoke briefly and I saw no reason to be rude. That night, however, at about 11 p.m. he gave me a reason. He called my land line, then my cell phone, then my land line again. I didn't answer. After all, calls after 10 p.m. are suspect; that's got booty call written all over it.

A few days later I emailed him to see what he wanted. He responded that he missed our deep, philosophical and intellectual conversations and wanted to know if we could be the kind of friends that talk on the phone sometimes. This man is not stupid. He knew that our long talks were like foreplay when we dated. Expertly massage the spirit and the mind, then loving the body relentlessly.

As I told him last summer, six years of a heartbreaking on-again, off-again romance, which felt like a taxiing plane that never took off, was enough. So I politely responded, "no, we cannot be the kind of friends that talk on the phone sometimes." Then I wished him his highest and greatest good.

My momma told me me that some men are like fine paintings.

They are meant to be hung on the wall and admired from AFAR. Morehouse Man is a fine painting never to be taken off the wall again.

NO SEX IN THE CITY #4: SINGLE WEEKEND GIRL TAKES ON THE WEEKDAY IN LOS ANGELES

Ex-Chippendale Dancer And Bald, Salsa-Dancing

Business Owner Add Spice To Manic Monday

by Cousin Kim

"I have never seen three beautiful women at one table before". He told us that he was eighty years old and had been coming to Hal's Bar and Grill in Venice (yes the oceanside community known as Muscle Beach) for a long time. As he walked away, we clinked glasses and toasted the beautiful ones---us.

It was Monday night in LA and I'm usually a weekend girl, but Bobby Matos was playing at Hal's that night. The sounds of Latin rhythms infused with African beats truly brought out the motherland in all of us as we danced in our booth over chicken dishes and hot apple cobbler a la mode.

I could smell the testosterone in the air and it got good to me. A gentleman with a ruddy complexion approached the table. He wore shorts and sandals and was obviously a sailor. "I know you. I saw you on match.com", he said to my friend Brandi. She happened to be wearing the same necklace as she wore in one of the photos in her ad.

He went on to describe her other photos and where he'd seen her out on the town before. He said he liked to dance until he sweated and used to be a Chippendale's dancer. He sounded like a perfect match for my friend Brandi, who loves to dance and has an extremely youthful apprearance although she qualifies for the senior discount. After a few minutes of great conversation, however, he did not ask for her number and Brandi wasn't willing to give him her number unsolicited.

Our friend Cat, who was visiting from Florida, took the initiative. With help from the green post it notes I carried in my purse and a pen, she scribbled Brandi's number with her name and a happy face.

Sidling up to the bar, she handed the note to the sailor explaining that Brandi was really shy but she wanted him to have her number. He accepted the number gratefully, admitting that it was easier to call her directly rather than trying to go through the web site.

With Brandi all taken care of, now I was on the lookout for myself. I spotted a handsome man with a bald head wearing a Kangol cap and gold square framed glasses. I'd spotted him earlier, but when I looked at him he looked away. I leaned over to Brandi. "I saw him earlier and I smiled at him, but he looked away. I think he's probably shy." As I was looking to my left, whispering to Brandi, unbeknownst to me he was approaching on my right. Brandi replied, "He doesn't look shy to me." When I turned he was already crouching down next to me just a few inches away.

He complimented me on my sexy dancing earlier and the way my hair moved when I danced. He liked the long, chocolate brown halter top I wore. It had a low neckline and tied across my lower back leaving the rest of my back exposed. He was a professional, a business owner.

We danced together on the small dance floor right in front of the band. The saxophone blared as we danced basic salsa moves. I grabbed both his hands as we rocked side to side and then I taught him how to spin me. Meanwhile, his cousin sat at the booth, where they'd had dinner, yawning.

Once he returned to his table, my cell number programmed into his phone, my girls and I hit the dance floor again. We danced with abandon, like only girls can, me adding Cuban kicks to my salsa steps and Cat moving her arms gracefully as only a true dancer can. By twelve thirty, people filtered out and we were one of the few parties left. We danced until the band played its final song, took pictures, said a farewell to Cat and departed. "So this is what people do on Monday nights", I thought as I walked to my car.

Vacation Kim has got to come out more often.

NO SEX IN THE CITY #3: EVERYONE IN LA WANTS TO BE IN THE BIZ, BUT SOMETIMES, JUST LET IT FLOW

Girl in Pink Goes Hollywood

by Cousin Kim

"Get the F$@K out of this business!" Drew's punchline to his story about the advice he'd received from a mentor in the audio visual industry was met with whoops and hollers by the rest of the crew.

That is until a seven year old blonde girl at the next table scowled in his direction causing Drew to respond, "I'm so sorry!"

There I was eating Mongolian barbecue with the crew. There were eight audio visual guys wearing black and me in a pink t-shirt, pink chandelier earrings, and a hot pink flowered purse to match.

Apparently I didn't get the memo about the required attire. We joked about pretending to film a television reality show in the Hollywood area entertainment complex where we dined. All I needed were dark sunglasses and a crew in black following me around and I too could be transformed into a movie star.

My cousin, who was the stage manager, brought us in to work on a show at a large theatre in Hollywood. I would be calling cameras. That meant that while the show was being recorded by multiple cameras, I would call out which camera would be recorded onto the master at what time. I hadn't called cameras since film school, but I have learned that when opportunity falls into your lap, you take advantage of it.

As the audience filtered in, I could hear the four camera guys through the headsets talking about audience members and announcing the arrival of celebrities. On the monitors in front of me I saw images of beautiful women with large breasts in close up. I wanted equal consideration, so I asked the camera guys to find me an "Afro-Latino Macho Sumpin" in the audience. They failed miserably. In fact, I think they picked the least attractive guys they could find just to be difficult.

After three false alarms and a half hour after the scheduled start time, the show finally began. As the lead actor took the audience on a hilarious tour of different characters in her world, I previewed shots on the television monitors and called out the number of the camera that I wanted to record. We had not seen the show from beginning to end , so the technical director supported me by putting images on the preview monitor that I might not have noticed immediately.

I gyrated in my seat as the dancers turned up the heat onstage. The more I got into the music, the easier it was to call the cameras to the beat. I was in the flow like when you drive to a familiar destination and don't remember making any of the turns when you arrive.

As the talented actors, musicians, and dancers took their bows at the curtain call, I reflected on one of the deeper conversations the crew had before show time. The goal in life is to be like water. Water is persistent. It flows over, around, or through obstacles.

Sometimes it simply continues to flow into an obstacle until that obstacle is broken down. Water is flexible. When I create, when I listen to intuition, when I dance, when I work with others harmoniously, when I feel connected, and when I laugh I am like water.

I am the flow... in my flow, working that pink!

NO SEX IN THE CITY #2: FRIDAY NIGHT, BLUE CHIFFON AND MARSHALLS

In Pursuit Of Being Single, Fabulous, And Happy In LA-LA Land

By Cousin Kim

"Brandi wanted me to call you. We're running about twenty minutes late". My heels clacked on the floor of Marshalls Department Store as I perused the designer racks.

I'd been less that five minutes from the restaurant, where we had 8:30 dinner reservations, when I'd gotten the call. Being fully aware that twenty minutes in girl speak is more like forty minutes, I decided to kill some time shopping.

So there I was at 8:30pm in my sea blue chiffon halter dress and silver purse clacking between ten dollar clearance racks and the shoe department while my stomach gurgled.

Another Friday night as a single gal in Los Angeles.

I arrived at Hotel Sofitel at nine pm, found Brandi at the bar, and ordered edamame with sea salt.

By the time our other friends arrived, our stomachs were sufficiently lined so that no one had their head bitten off due to hunger rage.

An inebriated lesbian named Mimi came over to tell us that she was celebrating her thirty first birthday. She told us she'd been dating the same woman for seven years and showed us the name Ashante tattooed on her arm.

As we wished her a happy birthday she insisted on a kiss from Steven, who half-heartedly obliged her with a peck on the cheek.

Mimi joyously exclaimed, "I got a kiss from Steven!", then told me that I was beautiful in my blue dress and returned to her celebration.

Rather than eating in the restaurant, which was rather devoid of atmosphere, we decided to remain in the lounge area. A DJ came in and started spinning several hip hop jams peppered with Prince tunes, for which I gave him major props. People trickled in forming large parties of birthday celebrants at reserved tables.

We ordered tiny, well-presented appetizers at nearly twenty dollars a piece. We danced in the slender spaces between the low cocktail tables and the red velvet chaise lounges and chairs. Waiters brought in huge mounds of pink cotton candy and trays of shots for the birthday parties. Men in buttoned-down shirts watched girls in short skirts as they jiggled against girls in high heels.

On the patio, people smoked cigarettes in cabanas under heat lamps, while the Beverly Center's Bloomindales sign towered overhead.

After several hours of lounge dancing and three teeny five dollar bottles of Pellegrino with lime, it was time to depart. I decided to drive home without the radio on.

After all, I needed to contemplate what ground my clacking heels might cover next...

DO GROWN, STRAIGHT BLACK WOMEN RIDE ON THE BACKS OF MOTORCYCLES???

My First And Probably Only Motorcycle Diary

by Cousin Kim

As the wind whipped water from my eyes and snot ran from my nose, I wondered if at forty I was too old for this impromptu motorcycle adventure.

I hadn't been on the back of a motorcycle since I was nine years old, but when Joe, my ex-boyfriend from college, invited me out for coffee I decided to do something different.

As I held on for dear life praying that he wouldn't go too fast and that my ancestors were protecting me, I wondered if I'd waited too long to go through a rebellious phase. What he didn't mention was that we'd be sharing time with a few friends.

When we arrived at Starbucks, the first thing I noticed was the DJ booth set up in front, orange extension cord snaking through the front door.

As the female DJ spun hip hop tunes bikers steadily roared into the strip mall parking lot, parked with their club members, and stood in line to order venti iced cinnamon dolce lates with extra carmel.

Many wore jackets representing their car clubs and emblazoned with their names and titles, if they were club officers.

Standing in the lot drinking green tea, Mr. Curve, a man with a goatee tied with a rubber band, asked Joe if I'd ridden with him on his bike.

As I listened to the two men discuss me without addressing me, I felt as if I were a teenager whose coolness factor was being measured. With a nod from Mr. Curve, I was in.

A single black and white police car rolled up and warned the bikers, via loudspeaker, that they had to keep the noise level down. The DJ temporarily turned down the music, only to increase the volume once the officer left the lot.

As the 80's tunes commenced, one of the bikers on the makeshift dance floor started bringing back 80's dances such as the wop, the fluke, and the skate. Joe started feeling the groove as well and as he got fully into his new jack swing, I offered to retrieve his karate kicks for him. Mr. Curve leaned over and whispered, "Stop him before he hurts himself."

A young Latina, fluent in African American dialect, invited me to stroll the lot with her. When a man approached asking for her phone number, she told him that she no longer dated men.

As he walked away resigned to the fact that he wasn't going to get her number, she confided in me that she'd recently begun telling men this bit of misinformation so they'd leave her alone.

By 11pm Joe and I had seen enough. He strapped on my helmet for me and we eased out of the parking lot slowly so as not to attract the attention of the police officers posted at every stop light.

This time I closed my eyes, held on tight, and let the wind caress my face. It was more Joe's world than mine, but at least at forty I was willing to do something outside of my normal box.

Next time, Joe wants to see Swan Lake at the ballet.

TALK ABOUT A CONSCIOUS BROTHER: FOR THIS ARTIST, IT'S ALL ABOUT FINDING COMMON GROUND

Common Just Made My Day

by Cousin Kim

Some days serendipity smiles on you and yesterday was one of those days. I arrived at the Santa Monica Third Street Promenade at 10:30am hoping to kill some time and join a friend for a movie while my car was being repaired. For those who don't know, the Third Street Promenade is a Los Angeles tourist attraction combining beach community, movie theaters, shopping and live street performances.

As I walked the Promenade, I noted a makeshift stage and a sound check in progress. A few twenty- somethings wearing orange wristbands sat on the ground in front of the stage and on the nearby curb drinking Starbuck's coffee and eating pastries. A large poster onstage announced "Common Performing Live" at noon sponsored by Starbucks Hear Music. Serendipity smiled big time.

After some crowd warm up by the camera crew and the street team, musicians and back up singers, including Bilal, took the stage followed by the man himself wearing his signature cap and a big smile. The crowd responded by waving their recent purchases of Common's new CD "Finding Forever" which was executive produced by Kanye West.

After thanking God for the beautiful day, Common launched into songs from the CD which was released yesterday. He high-fived the fans who were lucky enough to secure spots at the foot of the stage. Surprising all onlookers, he didn't stop there, but actually walked off the stage and bestowed high fives upon other members of the crowd. Bystanders were heard exclaiming with enthusiasm, "He's in the crowd!"

Between songs, Common gave a shout out to Starbucks, the concert sponsor, and spoke about some of the ideologies behind his lyrics. The beauty and diversity of the crowd did not escape Common's notice as he commented on hip hop's ability to provide social commentary as well as bring together people of all nationalities, sexual preferences, and genders. He also gave a shout out to conscious artists that he admires including Marvin Gaye, Stevie Wonder, Nas, Talib Kweli, and Erykah Badu.

The highlight of the show, however, was when Common let the beat continue and did a freestyle using observations about the crowd. He even hugged a woman who carried a sign that read, "Common, can I have a hug?" while he continued to freestyle about the sign she carried. Common closed the forty five minute set with a crowd favorite "The Light" from his 2000 album release Like Water for Chocolate. The gathered crowd willingly provided the vocals for the chorus.

As the stage and equipment were struck, fans sporting orange wrist bands raced to Starbucks to stand in line for the CD signing. My concert companion, age twenty nine, remarked that he was too old to stand in line. With that, we walked in the opposite direction of the sea of orange wrist bands, each toward our own vision of serendipity.