House of IG

And male strippers are totally ghey (NTTAWWT)

Oh, Ignant Ones. I want to first apologize for my absence. I have missed you.

It's been a busy 2009. I ended 2008 with a month long trip to Portugal, Kenya and Amsterdam and spent three weeks of 2009 in New Orleans. I've been working nonstop on projects that will bring me worldwide acclaim and finally get me the recognition I deserve for my creative brilliance (ok...maybe the last sentence is a wee bit exaggerated and full of delusion, but ya fell me, yes?).

None of this, however, is an excuse for my absence. Please, have mercy on me.

Do know that ignance has reigned in my life. A quick overview of some of the ridiculous, ignant and ridiculously ignant things that could only happen to moi (yes, I speak french):

• A very cute Angolan boy, living in Portugal, asking me to do something very obscene. I think it was the first time I have ever gasped out loud.
• A Kenyan visa Nazi taking my passport, calling me a saucy American and leading me to an empty room and leaving me for 20 minutes to think about my life.
• Me soul training down the line at a mardi gras party in New Orleans only to get pushed out of the way by my parade duke so he could WALK down the line.
• Me forgetting to pack shoes to go with my post-parade mardi gras day outfit and having to wear my cousin's dirty flip-flops, which were two sizes too big.
  
• My 12-year old nephew announcing to the family that he will probably have a wet dream when he's 13, only to be met with a chorus of "shut ups" and "go downstairs". Those sex ed classes are a mutha, I tell you.

Most recently, ignance held court at my friend's bachelorette party. The hilarity that was the entertainment - i.e. skripper - is just too much to keep within our circle of friends. I was set on fire - literally - and two women were tossed around like rag dolls. It was gross and amusing at the same time. But the most ignant of it all has yet to be told.

First, brotha man, Dark Secret, was 40 minutes late (CPTime ruled; the pleasure party lady was also 40 minutes late. Folks who work on tips should be prompt. I'm just saying).

Dark Secret, DS for short, arrives and is much shorter than I expected. I was 5'9" in my heels (a nude peep toe platform pump, thank you very much) and had about an inch on him. He was accompanied by what I clearly and immediately recognized as a homo-thug in disguise: baggy jeans, baggy jersey, vest, long sleeve tees (the gheys like to layer) hat, lots o gold chains. His name was Sincere. He was not a skripper; rather, he was introduced as DS's 'brother'.

Now, good people, DS is quite chocolate, full of melanin. Sincere was the color of burnt sugar. DS had an accent. Sincere sounded like he was from the South Side of Chicago. Now, I am not saying they couldn't be brothers. But I wasn't buying it.

DS and Sincere are shown to the changing room. Much to my surprise, Sincere stayed in the room when DS changed into his skripper costume. Hmmm. Close family. I knocked on the door several times cuz time was of the essence (we had a limo coming - yeah, that's how we roll - to take us on a bar crawl) and, each time, Sincere opened it a crack and gave me an irritated expression.

Fast forward to show time. The music is cued and DS comes out...this is where it got really ignant. And ghey.

His costume: a straw, coolie hat (aka a 'china man' hat) that sat atop a red doo-rag. Red knee length suede boots (like a bad version of the much-hated Uggs) with satin straps that laced up his thighs. A sheer, gold mesh thongy-skirt thing. Some plastic gold spray painted chains. Sheer, gold mesh, fingerless, elbow-length gloves with red trim. It screamed: ghey.

The costume caused many of us to let out a few loud guffaws. We didn't get it. Was he a Chinese slave? I need him to research his costumes. DS was also covered in oil; methinks Sincere oiled his back.

During the show, as DS worked for tips, Sincere would hover over the woman he was near, giving side-eyes that would make Luvvie jealous. He also snapped at a few of us when we commented that DS's schlong wasn't real.

Well alrighty then. (it was, btw. Our bad.)

DS worked for his money, and was worth every penny. He worked it.

Besides, what's not to love about a pseudo-buff, possibly DL brotha, setting his member aflame, letting women pour hot wax on him, popping his bubble booty and writhing around on the floor? And who couldn't derive pleasure from watching Sincere smile in admiration as he watched the performance?

After the show, we hopped in the limo and hit the streets. We spent a great deal of the car time - 60 percent of it - inspecting pics and dissecting both the costume and Sincere's relationship with Dark Secret.

Good times for all.

Well, that's all for now folks. More ignance to come. Promise!

*I want to be clear that I am not judging Sincere or Dark Secret. I *heart* the gheys. I just wasn't buying their story.


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