it's teatime somewhere

Sunday, July 15, 2007

?

Last night as the lights went on a little before 2am at an overpriced Hollywood club on Ivar Ave., a nice, though unattractive black man took my hand, asked for my name and told me that he's been watching me dance all night and that I dance like a black woman.
"Uhm... thanks?"
Why does race always have to come into it? Why couldn't he just give me a straight compliment? I don't understand.

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