Friday, September 30, 2011
Crack...I mean...Katt Williams
The Lacys have some adventures in this world. Let me tell you. When God was handing out "Crazy Ass Life Experiences" juju at the beginning of time, some primordial Lacy took two hand fulls and then put some in a fanny pack for the road. And whenever two or more Lacys get together, there is bound to be a surprise cosmic event, a freak storm, or sighting of a celebrity making a crack purchase.
I swear to God.
Currently, I am in the Atlanta for the impending nuptials of one Paulina Hernandez, old school organizing buddy and partner in crime of mine who also happens to be one half of the fierce femme duo that runs Southerners on New Ground (SONG). I am staying with my fierce little sister Jasmine who moved to the ATL last year with another sister of mine who is off in Kuwait making out with camels and stuff. Last night, I went out with Jas and her crew of mega-fine Atlanta black women (with a couple of half-Koreans in the group to keep it kimchee spicy), to this bourgie black club called Opera, so called because it was, once upon a time, a gorgeous Opera house.
Now, sis and I got to the club around 12:30am, and we had to wait for the rest of her crew. There is a whole etiquette in the straight, hip, fierce black girl world of which I was unaware. For example, you never want to be seen waiting on the street. In fact, we tried to wait in the parking ramp, but the ATL police are REAL serious at night, and we were told to get back in the car or go down to the club. So, we moseyed down to the club but we stayed well back from the line and were actually behind a gyro truck and some scrub brush. The girls were done up to Jesus and I stood there giggling and observing that one side of the street was a club called FlipFlops and it was ALL white folks and directly across the street was us, the coloreds. Tell me that story again about how segregation is over.
While waiting for the folks that had reserved a couple of VIP lounges for this cadre of the fierce, a group of women rolled up about 15 deep along with two mountainous black dudes. Sis leans over to me and says, "There's Katt Williams."
I look around and I don't see him at first. Largely because he was shorter than all the girls around him. That man is a Negro Midget. He lived on the non-Technicolor side of the railroad tracks back in Munchkinland. I spotted him and gave him a shout out.
A minute later, this tall black dude with really ashy elbows comes up and asks me if it was, indeed, Katt Williams. Since we were standing all of 20 feet from the man, I said yes, and I nodded. Ashy Elbows makes a bee line for Katt, and I take that opportunity to snap a picture with my handy dandy iPhone camera, which I have posted here for your enjoyment.
Now, Kat was already lit up and feeling good. We could all see that from where I was standing. Then Ashy Elbows leans over and whispers, loud enough that we could hear, "Mr. Katt Williams, walk over here, I want to talk to you about something." He and Katt walk about ten feet away...I see the hand shuffle happen (if you have ever bought drugs on the street....you know what I am talking about), and then Kat took his entourage towards the club.
Next thing you know, Ashy Elbows pops up screaming at me, "I should give you $100, since you pointed Kat out to me...man he gave me $400 dollars! THANKS KAT! THAT MAN RIGHT THERE IS JESUS CHRIST! THANKS KATT! THAT'S THE MAN!"
Ashy Elbows was so cracked out I think he actually believed that Kat WAS Jesus Christ come back to Earth to score a hit.
The ladies and I had a giggle, said a quiet prayer that Cracky Ashy Elbows got home safely, and we went into the club.
Yes, the Lacys love to have some adventures.