James Morrison Rocks!

Went to see James Morrison perform at The Loft on Monday night.

It completely surpassed my expectations. I know about 4 of his songs, own two on iTunes. But I just thought he has a cool sounding voice, better than cool, exceptionally unique coarse voice that sounds nothing like him, so he would be a cool person to see live.

On the day of I was exhausted from the weekend, I wanted to get out of it. But I knew no one would pay me back full price for what I got for the ticket so I just packed up my energetic self and took the plunge. I arrived particularly late so I would avoid the smokiness of the venue. Yes, The Loft is a disheveled venue, where you are all left to stand and watch the artists while people weave in and out of your personal space, smoking, drinking, cursing, bopping their heads and at times dancing. It's a pity I still have to see Gavin DeGraw at this venue on Cinco De Mayo. Sad. For the love of Gavin. Some artists you prefer to see sitting down, listening to them intently. Like Smiths Olde Bar where I saw Toby Lightman. But what can you do?

So back to James. He surpassed my expectations. From the first note, I exclaimed at the thought that his voice sounds exactly the same live as on the CD. It's unfucking believable. Every note was on key. And it was awesome. And he looked surprisingly good, no more of that scruffy nerdy look. He had a neat haircut and stage swagger that I didn't expect. I didn't even imagine it.

There was a crowd which also surprised me, and they actually knew the songs too, I know, even more shocking. They knew the songs better than I did. Then, most importantly, he was funny, chatty (even though we couldn't understand a word of what he was saying in between that thick British accent) and very excited to be there. That's the odd thing about these foreign artists when they come to the US, they actually pour their hearts and souls into their performances, want to impress, and they do everything live, play the instruments live, sing live and there's no cockiness at all. The whole show is devoid of it and their performance is entirely sincere. I just think that's the way it should be. Raw and sincere.

There's also a difference when you hear someone sing a song they actually wrote, as opposed to someone just singing. There's more emotion involved, like they bring you with them with every note. He also did some covers of some songs I didn't expect him to sing and actually got the stiff but drunk crowd moving. It was also fucking hot at the venue which I think was intended so everyone would be forced to get an overpriced drink and in between the 3rd song he couldn't handle the heat. He said, he was pouring down sweat and no shit, so were we?

I enjoyed myself thoroughly.

This was slightly better than Adele. But only just.

James Morrison Rocks!

Went to see James Morrison perform at The Loft on Monday night.

It completely surpassed my expectations. I know about 4 of his songs, own two on iTunes. But I just thought he has a cool sounding voice, better than cool, exceptionally unique coarse voice that sounds nothing like him, so he would be a cool person to see live.

On the day of I was exhausted from the weekend, I wanted to get out of it. But I knew no one would pay me back full price for what I got for the ticket so I just packed up my energetic self and took the plunge. I arrived particularly late so I would avoid the smokiness of the venue. Yes, The Loft is a disheveled venue, where you are all left to stand and watch the artists while people weave in and out of your personal space, smoking, drinking, cursing, bopping their heads and at times dancing. It's a pity I still have to see Gavin DeGraw at this venue on Cinco De Mayo. Sad. For the love of Gavin. Some artists you prefer to see sitting down, listening to them intently. Like Smiths Olde Bar where I saw Toby Lightman. But what can you do?

So back to James. He surpassed my expectations. From the first note, I exclaimed at the thought that his voice sounds exactly the same live as on the CD. It's unfucking believable. Every note was on key. And it was awesome. And he looked surprisingly good, no more of that scruffy nerdy look. He had a neat haircut and stage swagger that I didn't expect. I didn't even imagine it.

There was a crowd which also surprised me, and they actually knew the songs too, I know, even more shocking. They knew the songs better than I did. Then, most importantly, he was funny, chatty (even though we couldn't understand a word of what he was saying in between that thick British accent) and very excited to be there. That's the odd thing about these foreign artists when they come to the US, they actually pour their hearts and souls into their performances, want to impress, and they do everything live, play the instruments live, sing live and there's no cockiness at all. The whole show is devoid of it and their performance is entirely sincere. I just think that's the way it should be. Raw and sincere.

There's also a difference when you hear someone sing a song they actually wrote, as opposed to someone just singing. There's more emotion involved, like they bring you with them with every note. He also did some covers of some songs I didn't expect him to sing and actually got the stiff but drunk crowd moving. It was also fucking hot at the venue which I think was intended so everyone would be forced to get an overpriced drink and in between the 3rd song he couldn't handle the heat. He said, he was pouring down sweat and no shit, so were we?

I enjoyed myself thoroughly.

This was slightly better than Adele. But only just.

Shit for nothing weekend

So I had a shit for brains weekend.

Case in point, nothing spectacular, spent too much money, achieved very little. I should have known it was going to be that way from the moment on Friday morning I called the matchmaker ladt at Traditional Matchmakers that I had signed up with a few days earlier to discuss their "matchmaking process." Her first response was..."I don't have any African American clients."

Your point?

Her point was simply, and she found a way to say it so it's not coated with such prejudice: she doesn't have black male clients to date the newly signed up black female client. Like she is trying to make sure the waters don't touch. In my mind, I thought matchmaking went a lot deeper than color, like to personal interests, hobbies, backgrounds, etc. Not necessarily, I don't have black male clients, simple. Trust me, if you had black clients, they may not want to date me. Don't you think I've tried dating them and found out that rarely do we have anything in common. I don't speak ghetto, hence I am not always a match for them.

At that point I was disappointed. I wasn't pissed. Just disappointed. I cannot date outside my race because I don't fit what they are looking for and I cannot date within my race because they don't necessarily sign up with matchmaker services. After going through the craziness of the weekend, and regretfully bumping into this weekend affair filled with black people (it was promoted by a black lady so she kept the theme the same)I just started to think about it, and now I am pissed.

I keep wondering what category do I fit into, because surely I don't fit in well with my people. I just stood there thinking, I cannot do this. I can't even strike up a conversation with one of them. The one person I tried to talk to had to skip out on me to go to the restroom. He apparently came there to "network" for work not socialize. This is an event on a Sunday evening. Who the fuck is thinking about work?

Every event in Atlanta has a theme. Either the waters don't mix, genderwise and racewise. The men stand to one side and admire the ladies who all look so desperate and intrinsically pissed and then, there's Anita. Anita is wondering, why the fuck won't the men talk to the women? And the women are all so nicely dressed, like ladies in waiting for the men to talk to them. But they don't. Then, racewise. It's either filled with one race or the other. Sometimes there's a little sprinkle, a dash here and there. But nothing major. How can that be? Like someone purposely arranged this?

bad girl, naughty girl

What do you do when you've been a bad girl?

When you do unorthodox things, acts that are out of character for you? How do you recover from it? Asides from the usual, I will try not to do it again, how do you wipe that shame and guilt from your eyes? It is so hard. I feel like a child that needs to be rebuked, but instead I should be rebuking myself, because I am my own person now, so I should know better.

I've been living the past year and half as if it's my last. Ever since my 33rd actually. I've been caught up in this, what if this is the last year, and if it is, wouldn't you like to do this, or that? Go out in an awesome way. So far it's been amazing. I've had the time of my life these past months, it's a little irresponsibility with a dose of reality and many doses of fun, adrenalin, spontaneous fun. It's been awesome. Doing things that I have always pushed off to another day, doing them now, getting them out of the way. Accomplished. I feel like a child, looking at things with a refreshed sensibility, suddenly aware that it may not be my last year, but I have chosen to live it like it is...and if it is, what type of story do I want to tell...truly awesome stories, of course. Until...it really is.

I know I may not be making much sense. Life on the edge of fun and irresponsiblity never is. I went to some spring fling party on Saturday, free booze and I got a little carried away. I didn't exercise reasonable judgment by mixing my allergy meds with that much alcohol. Let's just say this is the 2nd time in my entire life I've been wasted. I am an accomplished alcohol enthusiast so I know my way around what works, and what doesn't. And I usually go into all these bright eyed. But this time, I was not. Let's just say I woke up ashamed. Famished. Thirsty. Confused. Meat-hungry. Groggy. Pissed.

But on the bright side, if this was the last year, how do I want to remember it, with something so memorable, though partially shameful that I may one day recount to my children, or do I want to be that boring person who never has stories to tell. Certainly not I? So to compensate and make me forget, I went and got some more ink. Yes...this time it turned out great. So a shameful regretful night out ended with a nice piece of ink that I will not regret. All's well, aye?!

Spring Fling Buckhead Bash

What can I say?

The pictures speak for themselves. Another awesome event from Blackout Productions. The Spring Fling Buckhead Bash sponsored by our friends at Three Olives Vodka. This was my 2nd open bar event sponsored by Three Olives Vodka. The first one was at Xmas. Couldn't enjoy that one because of my achy feet brought upon by some very uncomfortable Stuart Weitzman's, but this one, I went with flats, followed the advice of the RSVP note, which said, "dress for a spring day." And that I did.

There was food. A latecomer to this even would never believe there was food but indeed there was. Copious amounts of it. But for only those of us who arrived early. In less than an hour it was as they say, all gone. Not even a trace of the waiters. So we were left to our dismay to tackle the alcohol without any food, with the spring breeze as our guide, and some promised live music that showed up way too late as our muse. I remember bits and pieces of it because...

1) I got there so started a little earlier than the rest of the crowd;

2) I ate but it was still all a blur after so many vodka drinks;

3) It was a rather short event, 3 hours to consume all that alcohol. Like some sort of test.

This is what I remember:

1) I remember we all had to get shuttled over to this mansion. We weren't given the addresses because of privacy, we parked at this church and got shuttled over to this mansion that had this terrific backyard, great for entertaining.

2)  I remember the guys were just okay. No offense. They were a bit young and the cute ones had lady friends. Usually there's always that one that you can sink your teeth into and shadow him all night eventually getting him to at least say hi, or something. I tried and tried as I may but I didn't find that one worth shadowing.

3) I remember that the ladies loosened up a lot and became really fun, crazy pictures all around. I bet if you Facebook this event there are loads of crazy pictures of me floating on the web.

4) Someone (or people) fell into the pool. They had this beautiful pool lined with bottles of vodka that we all admired all afternoon. As the night wore on they ran out of booze and had to retrieve the decorated bottles and serve them to us thirsty folks, but that was not the sad part. The thirsty folks got tipsy and before you know it, they were falling into the pool. Very interesting. Hopefully, they didn't have to do any driving.

5) I remember taking these pictures.

Jacques Brel

In other news, went to see Jacques Brel is Alive and Well and Living in Paris. Not Very Good. Yes, Jacques Brel, I, aspiring writer said that. I hate musicals. That is musicals without one single piece of dialogue. I found myself drifting in and out of my thoughts unable to listen to the songs to read through the story, because the story is in the songs but if you find yourself not listening, you've lost the story, or if you find that yourself faced with an inaudible word, then you're screwed. Like I was. So, it was worth the $30 it cost me. Hopefully, I can save someone else from making that mistake.

isn't that something

Whenever I meet people I know in real life that happen to read my journal, it icks me out. I know there is a risk with putting your business out there, but I hate to connect the dots of my innermost thoughts with the people I know in real life. I feel like they have questions they would like to ask me but can't. Maybe they are afraid to have me aware they they can connect those dots but they don't ask me. And you can almost read the question in their thoughts, the way they look at you says it all. And I am just sitting there wondering, "What part of me bums them out? What part would I have rather not said online?"

I wonder how people who write memoirs feel. I've often thought of that, writing a memoir. But with a memoir there has to be some kind of resolution, until a resolution comes, it's a just a story of one person's life that continues and continues.

In other news, went to see Jacques Brel is Alive and Well and Living in Paris. Not Very Good. Yes, Jacques Brel, I, aspiring writer said that. I hate musicals. That is musicals without one single piece of dialogue. I found myself drifting in and out of my thoughts unable to listen to the songs to read through the story, because the story is in the songs but if you find yourself not listening, you've lost the story, or if you find that yourself faced with an inaudible word, then you're screwed. Like I was. So, it was worth the $30 it cost me. Hopefully, I can save someone else from making that mistake.

Tale of the Tattoo addict

I got another tattoo on Saturday. This one was not so good. It was not good at all. I don't know what it is about things that happen to me, they never turn out right. I bet you some other person would pick the same design, use the same tattooist and their design would turn out great, But me, not at all.

On Thursday I was in a shitty mood. Very shitty. I needed something to make my mood better so I tried to get the day off on Good Friday but I was too late. My shitty mood was brought about by so many things, I miss life when it's fun, I miss the sun, since it rarely shows up. I miss life without rules. I miss spontaneous life, where you can just get up and do something, I miss life without routune. I needed something exciting. So my mind went back to that one day last month when I got the tattoo. How good it felt, mostly because it turned out great and just the sheer elation from having it turn out awesome. That's what I missed. So in an effort to recapture that I bumped into this tattoo parlor that had just opened and I thought it would be a good idea. Not so much.

First thing on Saturday right after the allergy headache, I got dressed, took my sample design and wham, went to the tattoo parlor. Let's spend a Saturday afternoon at the tattoo parlor, isn't that fun? You can see how easy it is to get used to this. It's like going to buy a piece of art, and I love art.

So I sat through another tattoo session that didn't turn out well, that will cause me to have to sit through another one just to fix it. And after my tattoo escapades, what can I report? Most tattooists don't use their imagination. If I tell you this is what I want, you expand upon that, build on it and make it the best fucking image, star, bird, cross, angel, whatever, this side of the world. Do not literally follow my design and just give me the blueprint version, give me the awesome blueprint version, use your imagination...that's where the artist bit comes in. Doesn't it?

Oh, I am just so pissed.

This is literally what I get when I try to add some excitement into my Easter. In the span of 40 days I have gotten 3 tattoos, visited at least a dozen artists, and still only have one awesome tattoo done by an artist I may never see again. Coupled with the fact that it is not the cheapest of hobbies. So when they do it once they need to get it right that one time.

So I am going to back away from the needle and the constant search for relief through a needle. Today I spent 2 hours at the gym, let's work on getting the endorphins another way.

Maybe this would work or maybe the next time you meet me I may be covered in tattoos.

slight recap

Slight recap in the obsession filled craziness called my life.

Last week was no alcohol week in commemoration of Holy Week and in an effort to rid myself of some ills. I noticed that I was craving alcohol a lot more. I never used to drink during the week, only during the weekend. I would literally go from Monday to Friday with not a sip of alcohol and then Friday night, yeah, I'll drink, but that was it. But then, I noticed that I was upping the dosage, so to speak. Moving towards all sorts of unconventional drinks, like shots, Jaeger shots, Manhattan (my new personal favorite) and of course, beer. It was not right, so I had to quit for the sake of our Lord Jesus Christ, and all things Lent.

True to type that the one week I give up alcohol and there come so many chances to partake in alcohol at no cost. So many opportunities for free booze. That rarely happens, all through the week, on Monday, went to a networking event, no food, but loads of free booze. Friday, went to a beauty event, loads of pastries and what do you know, red or white wine at your service. It was just too tempting. But I made it through to Saturday. It was hard but I did it. I guess I didn't factor in the fact that it was also the week leading up to Easter and there would be so many events, reasons to get together with people, sit, chat and sip fine wine and others. Who knew? But I made it.

You never know how addicted you are to certain ills until you decide to rid yourself of them. I would see people drinking and then, think, "Oh ye, the fortunate one, I bet that tastes good." It was sad and pathetic. I wish I could say I lost at least 2 pounds from the lack of alcohol but no such luck. I just feel different, not so much drawn to it like I used to be. I don't feel that it has that strength over me. I can do without it and happily too. I used to go through moments of wanting it, waking up and wanting to sit outside and enjoy tons of beers. Now, not so much, That doesn't mean I haven't moved to other obsessions though.

I'll talk about those later.

what to do...internationally?

Years ago, oh so many years ago, when I was studying International Law in undergrad, not by choice, mind you. It was a choice between International Law and Conflict Resolution, and the Conflicts professor used to give out the highest grade as a B I had to jump to International Law not by choice. So I wasn't so into it. I was not a studious student, half there, half giggly in class, not interested in buying the International law texts that cost a bundle, just not into it. So my professor called me after class and asked ever so softly,

"What's your name?"

And I replied. Then, he began,

"Why are you not interested in this class?"

He had noticed. I responded, in that I am young, hopeful and snarky tone,

"I am not really interested in what happens in other countries."

Yes, I was once young and nonchalant about my career.

Hmmm...that statement has come back to haunt me, what, 11 years later. Now, I would kill to have a career in International Law. The things you say in your youth, I don't know what type of career I was expecting for myself, but I suppose it was not a career in International Law. And as I have grown, tried and tested so many careers, and studied it indepth through the areas of Employment law, International Arbitration and International Tax Law, I cannot imagine a legal career without it, without it being my central area of focus.

I just don't know what I was thinking. Every time I, in hope, apply for a position in the international spectrum, and I get rejected, I wonder, that statement has come back to bite me in the ass.

So, if you're still around Dr. Okere, I sincerely apologize. I am interested in what happens in other countries. Trust me, I am.

what have I been up to?

Believe it or not, I have attended quite a few events here and there since my last update. Though none of substance. And I have met no one of substance. I think my life is one of those things that's filled with colorful events that are not noteworthy but form the shades of my life. Maybe life is helping me to write my book filled with colorful characters and experiences but nothing noteworthy, a mish-mash of sorts. It's like there's pool of people around me, pool of experiences and noises and chaos and then, there's me right in the middle of it, still alone.

And then, people say, it's great that you have all these experiences, amusing and uncharacteristic and they cause me to snicker in my quiet time, but what's the reward? Like Forrest Gump or Benjamin Button, filled with sordid encounters but still..still.

We'll talk again soon, I promise.