Minnesota Part One: Isn't It Romantic?

So a lot of life has happened since last I wrote. Iran had an election, and, in keeping with recent U.S. tradition, we still don’t know which candidate is president. The New York State Senate is still in a deadlock with a locked chamber and a bunch of lunk heads screaming at each other on NPR. Obama caved on the Defense of Marriage Act but signed an executive order extending benefits to the domestic partners of federal employees, and Chastity Bono is a big old tranny named Chaz (I called that one ages ago).

As The World Turns…

Last week, David and I began a whirlwind tour through the great state of Minnesota. Speaking of not knowing election outcomes, Al Franken has not yet been declared the winner of my home state’s Senate seat, but Norm Coleman has been ordered to pay roughly $100,000 in Franken’s court fees since Coleman lost several appeals already. Teeeheee.

David and I hit the tarmac running…shortly after arriving, we found ourselves surrounded by bright sunshine and a rental car. We cruised down 35E to St. Paul, with a quick stop for some Taco Hell. And by Hell I mean that once that grade D beef hit my lower intestines, the gates to Hell opened in my anus and let forth a stench like the Devil’s breath after rimmin’ a dirty hole with a yeast infection. It was just that nasty.

We got to downtown St. Paul, and we met up with my old friend Aaron Keith. A big old delicious hunk of a mocha man with vocal chords that could melt butter. AK was a dear heart and volunteered to loan us his condo while we were in town. He went off to stay with his boyfriend Jerry (we’ll talk about her in a minute), and he gave us the keys to the condo. It was spectacular. After a quick shower and change, David and I headed off to have dinner.

We shot down 35W and headed to Powderhorn Park. The best damn neighborhood in Minneapolis. There, tucked onto a street just across from the park, is the Purple House…home of Susan and Rocki and Luca and Flo and Kelly Brazil. At any given time, I have known Susan and Rocki to have anywhere from two to six roommates in addition to their daughter Luca, cat Patzo, and a couple different canine inhabitants. Also a gecko…we can’t forget the gecko. We were met on the sidewalk by a jump ropin’ Luca Peluca head. I scooped her up and gave her a bear hug. She jumped down and darted into the house…and out came Mrs. Raffo-Simoes…who gave me one of those love hugs that reaches right inside of you and makes everything absolutely ok. I introduced her to David, and it was love at first site between him and her. That made me happier than a clam in the ocean with plenty-o-plankton to eat.

Susan made up a lesbo-licious batch of goodness…some roots and berries and the like. Rocki came home, and I about did a high kick….and we all sat and visited and caught up. Just being near Susan and Rocki changes my whole outlook on life…I can be the saddest most forlorn creature…a spittin’ image of Gollum and those two, without coddling or condescending, turn me right back into a jolly furry footed hobbit. And I got the hairy toes to prove it.
We left Susan and Rocki’s well fed and wishing Susan well as she was leaving on the MS 150 bike ride from Minneapolis to Duluth the next afternoon. After some sidewalk chalk time with Luca and a surprise visit from Nicole and Alejandra, we headed back to St. Paul.

Aaron Keith is an amazing jazz singer, and it just so happened that he had a gig directly across the street from the condo. Now, by the time we arrived, David and I were about to fall over from exhaustion. Jet lag between the East Coast and the Midwest is a bitch

The bar where AK was performing looked like a cross between a Hooters and an old Prohibition speak easy. I was waiting for Dillinger and a go go dancer to walk in at any moment. Instead we walked in to find Aaron Keith croonin’ and Jerry, his boyfriend, channelin’ his inner Negro.

About seven or eight years ago, I was dating a guy named Rich. On Valentine’s Day, Rich and I went to see Aaron Keith perform at Jazzmine’s in downtown Minneapolis. At the time, AK sang “Isn’t It Romantic,” to us. I have been hooked ever since. I love that song, and I love his arrangement of the song. Moments after walking in, AK said to the audience that he had a friend in from New York City (doing his best Pace Picante Sauce voice)…and then broke into the song. At the end he looked out and said that I must have an old soul to love that song. Later that night, while having dinner at Mickey’s Diner, I was singing another old song from the juke box, and an elder woman came over and asked me how I knew the words to that song…saying, “That song is from when I was a girl.” I may have been born in the 70’s but my soul was manufactured around 1935.

But back to Aaron Keith…or more specifically…his boyfriend Jerry. Jerry was a trip. The man is one of those white guys that loves black men and, after a couple of drinks, turns as black on the outside as they feel on the inside. Jerry tried to get really ghetto on me, and I had to ignite my inner negro and shut him down. Which I did. Rather quickly. You may feel black on the inside. And lord knows you have had enough black inside of you…but I am black…step biyotch. Jerry was fun. A little over the top (which is about the only thing about him that is a top)…but he was fun. And…I can see why AK tears that booty up.

After returning to the apartment and discovering that somehow in the preceding hour our key had ceased to function, we returned to the bar, got AK, and got our asses into the apartment and into sweet oblivion. I am exhausted just remembering it, and that was just day one of our Minnesota super tour. Rah rah for Ski-u-Mah!