"That must have been a great loss for you," The Benefactor said,
"losing your cousin."
"Actually, I don't feel one way or the other about losing Cuzzo," I told
her, because of something he said to me on his deathbed. The Benefactor said it
was a blessing I got to speak with him before he passed; many others don't have
that opportunity. She encouraged me to proceed.
When I was 11 years old, that whole side of my family was summoned to the
hospital by The Elders. Cuzzo was sick with what they told me was A Big Heart.
Having too big of a heart seemed like a small thing to take Cuzzo down. I
thought nothing could take him down.
Cuzzo had one of The Elders contact my grandma with a specific request to
see me. The day my mom and I stopped by, he spoke with both of us briefly, then
asked to speak to me alone.
I stood near the door wanting to escape, but Cuzzo gestured for me to come
closer. He was so thin and fragile-looking with tubes and wires poking out
everywhere, the complete opposite of how I remembered him.
"Don't be scared, now," he said. "You're never scared."
He gave a dry laugh that sounded more like a cough.
"Come closer so I can see that pretty face of yours."
As I sat bedside, Cuzzo told me he was going to die soon. I asked of what,
since it seemed to be a lot more than just A Big Heart.
"AIDS," Cuzzo said faintly. I didn't know what AIDS was but
assumed it was pretty serious to lay Cuzzo out like that.
"I don't have much time left, baby girl," he said, "but I
want you to know that even though I won't be here physically, I'll always be
with you. Remember what I taught you as a little girl. Don't miss me
when I'm gone."
“Huh?” I said, perplexed. I didn't know how not to miss him.
"In our family somebody's always dying or being born. There's always
somebody to take somebody else's place."
I wondered who would take his.
"What I'm about to tell you don't ever forget," Cuzzo said, his
voice barely above a whisper. "Keep beating the other side, just like me
and your grandma taught you."
He paused, inhaling deeply.
"Your cousins, teach them what you know. They might
not say much but they do look up to you."
"I'm only 11, though," I said. "I don't think people will
listen to me."
"F*ck other people, listen to your grandma, me, and yourself,"
Cuzzo said. "Remember, I've always been part of you, ever since that other
game. Listen to us.”
Cuzzo followed up by saying that if he had his way, he would have never had
me in that other game.
“It is what it is, though,” and I knew exactly what he meant: since Cuzzo
received those orders from someone who outranked him, his hands were tied in
the situation.
“Your grandma took over for me after that other game, and that's alright. Us
three, we're a lot alike. Listen to your grandma and me and soon you’ll take
over yourself."
"Take over what?" I asked.
"Take over The Game. You got their Money as a little girl. I
gave you Power. Now get their Respect. All of it."
"How?" I asked him, as usual.
"By any means necessary," Cuzzo said.
A few minutes passed and Cuzzo fell silent. I picked up his arm by the
wrist; it fell limply by his side. I buzzed the nurses, who came rushing into
the room. They ushered me out of the room and down the hallway where my mom was
waiting.
The next day I got a call from The Elder who put me in that other game,
asking what my cousin told me on his deathbed. With Granny listening in on a
separate line, I told her Cuzzo told me to come for the other side’s Money,
Power & Respect by any means necessary.
The Elder laughed.
“Your cousin’s gay,” she said. “It’s why you were able to spend so much time
with him growing up. It’s also how
he died of AIDS. Since he tells you so much, did he tell you that?”
The AIDS part, yes. But Cuzzo, gay? Considering the source, I was skeptical.
“He had new girlfriends every
week, though… how can he be gay?” I asked.
The Elder laughed again and said those women weren’t his girlfriends, they
were his employees. Granny took over the conversation at that point, rushing me
off the phone.
“This Elder added another piece to the puzzle, eh?” said The Benefactor.
“And Cuzzo’s a gay pimp, look at that.”
We chuckled.
“Bit by bit we’re finding out how that closet of stacks was built,” she
continued. “Gambling, extortion, prostitution… sounds like a true gangster
story to me,” she said.
“Now, when gangsters die, it’s usually quite the spectacle: an all-out affair. Tell me about
his funeral.”
10/15/12
Money, Power & Respect
6/6/12
The motivation for me was them telling me what I could not be... oh well
::Peeps out from behind the drop curtains bashfully::
How ya been dudes & dudettes? I know I've left you hanging since January (omg longest blog break evarrrr), but only for fantastic, magical, and fabulous, fabulous reasons.
This past April/May was a very transformative time for me: I got a new job, complete with title and pay upgrade (woop woop!), left some dusty b*tches in the dirt where they belong, hit up my five-year class reunion (a former dean asked me if I was famous after hearing about my blog taking off... lol. More on that below), moved into my very own, no roommate apartment in the city that birthed me... and much, much more. The changes have been magnificent and wonderfully overwhelming.
Throughout all of this change & excitement, one of the things keeping me going was all the people that told me it wasn't possible--a former college classmate had the balls to tell me to my face that because he doesn't read blogs, what is the point of creating and maintaining one and who reads blogs, anyway.*
The ones who questioned what I was doing and why, especially with a degree in Literatures & Cultures in English (with a focus on Expository Writing, heyyy).
The ones who did everything in their limited power to try & discourage me from this success.
Hi haters!
My own father didn't even see it for me; as a techie himself, he didn't
see the point in concentrating in English at an Ivy League school when,
according to him, "You could study that anywhere and for much cheaper."
Perhaps. But is IT something other than languages and codes and
communication? Because last time I checked, it wasn't. Going to a school
like Brown helped me see that, and an infinite number of other valuable things. Having graduated and proving even--no, especially--my Daddy wrong helped him see that, too.
Anyways, for those naysayers I have only a phrase and a song.
Phrase: "Getcha hustle up hoe, look like you doing bad."
Song:
To the lovers & friends, the supporters who saw it for me & this blog, the ones all over the world who buy & rock my Lego heart pins, the ones who helped prep and guide me along the way, I have a song, too:
I may not have as much time to update the blog as I'd like these days, but the payoff and recognition continues to astound me. Recently, the butcher at the grocery store recognized me. He called out from behind the counter, saying I looked familiar and asking if I had a blog. When I confirmed I do have a blog but haven't updated in a while--no name-giving, cuz I'm not tryna be stalked in these skreets--he yelled out "Lisa Bee!"
Though I have this very public blog--whose page hits are in the six figures now, after months of no updates... thank you, readers and curious haters!--in real life I'm an immensely private person and it kinda concerned me that some random at the grocery store identified me. Especially since I never hit up the meat counter, I buy my meat pre-packaged and -processed like a healthy person
My own family members check this site regularly looking for some insight into my personal life--I can't really blame them: hey, I'm an interesting person (so I hear). But what a strange dichotomy that I feel more comfortable sharing with complete strangers than my own fam, especially via the internetz. It is what it is I guess, but know that if you want the actual realness, face-to-face and not stalker-to-personal blog is it, baby. This blog offers but a small and carefully curated glimpse into the awesomeness & complexity that is the Real Lisa. Bet that.
In addition to the off-the-street recognition, every time a former professor of mine** travels around the world--France, the Netherlands, LA, NYC--I always, always get another heart pin order from some mystical, faraway place on the globe. This, too, in addition to the naysayers, lets me know I'm doing something right. It motivates me to keep going.
The response has been and continues to be overwhelming. I wish I could promise you a set date on which to expect my next post, but between being a bawse and stepping my money game all THE way up, it's tough to say. There's many exciting new developments on the horizon, and so very much to learn and share with you guys & gals.
It's going to be one hell of an experience and I want to take all of you along for the ride.
Be patient, my dears. I'm coming back for you.
* This from a guy who also works in IT. Cute, right? But just like "dude"--notice that's in quotation marks--had the cajones to tell me that to my face, I have bigger & heavier balls that drag when I walk. Slain people--"The pen is mightier than the sword"--& small ideas can't rise from the dead. Nice try, though. [back to paragraph]
** The one whose "Electronic Media" course--in which we had to basically build our own website through which to tell a creative non-fiction story by the end of the semester...yes, it was an English class--sparked my interest in doing all this web stuff as a career. [back to paragraph]
9/12/11
My September 11th Story
At 9:43 a.m. on September 11, 2001, I was in 11th grade History class preparing to get my learn on. This really annoying and overly dramatic girl--let's call her V--runs into class saying a plane has just crashed into the Pentagon. Our initial reactions were ones of disbelief (thanks to the source) and confusion: how does such a thing even happen? The fact that the crash occurred at the Pentagon immediately raised red flags... these things just don't happen in the US. Yes, DC is a huge target for political extremists; on the other hand, our guard is ALWAYS up to prevent such nonsense from happening. Right?
Oh, but it was true.
From the panel of windows in our classroom facing the street, a large plume of smoke was visible in the very far distance. The entire class congregated at the windows, stupefied. Our teacher told us to get away from the windows, closed the blinds, and turned on the TV, which verified our worst nightmare. The Pentagon had been attacked.
I remember feeling incredibly vulnerable at the time. There were so many unknowns then: who did this? Why? Are more attacks coming? Students and faculty were in a frenzy; the faculty less so, but anyone could see the fear in their eyes.
I called my parents from the girls bathroom. With their offices right off of Pennsylvania Avenue, I was seriously worried for my parents and desperate for them to have escaped the aftermath of the attack. Thankfully, my parents were fine. We discussed transportation; to avoid the other nightmare that was going to be taking the Metro home, my mother picked up my father and me.
In what seemed like a few short minutes--or maybe it was an hour? Time seemed to stop for a while--more parents swarmed into my school's tiny parking lot and wraparound driveway to pick up their students. At that point, no one knew if a similar attack was planned for WMATA; no one wants to be trapped underground* during a terrorist attack, that's for sure. Once we arrived home, all of us watched the news--perturbed, shaken, mournful--well into the night and the entire week thereafter.
Of all those who perished in the attack on the Pentagon, one in particular was close to my family: my father's childhood friend, C.G. The destruction to the wing of the Pentagon where C.G. worked was so severe that his remains could only be identified through dental records and hair samples.
It was a closed casket funeral, of course. Immediately afterward, C.G.'s wife moved away, never to return. Too many memories, she said. Before she left though, to thank my father for what amounted to decades of friendship with C.G., she invited him to accompany her to a memorial service held for those who lost their loved ones in the attack. My dad got front row seats and even shook former President Bill Clinton's hand. That made him pretty happy.
What I learned on September 11, 2001 was that, despite our efforts, very few things are fully within our control. People can either accept and embrace that fact, or live out their lives in fear. Living in fear isn't living at all, and part of me refuses to "let the terrorists win" (omg how many times did people say that in the months following 9/11?!) by doing that. I always try to be aware of my surroundings though, and don't trust easily--never did. "Cautiously fearless" is a good motto for how I felt post-9/11. I try to keep that feeling up today.
*From Inglourious Basterds:
Lt. Aldo Raine: You didn't say the g*ddamn rendezvous was in a
f*cking basement!
Lt. Archie Hicox: I didn't know.
Lt. Aldo Raine: You said it was in a tavern!
Lt. Archie Hicox: It is a tavern.
Lt. Aldo Raine: Yeah, in a basement. You know, fightin' in a basement offers a lot of difficulties. Number one being, you're fightin' in a basement!
3/23/11
R.I.P. Liz & Nate!
Dame Elizabeth Taylor (February 27, 1932 – March 23, 2011)Nate Dogg (August 19, 1969 – March 15, 2011)
I'm sure you've heard of the untimely passing of two entertainers this past week: Hollywood legend Dame Elizabeth Taylor and Nate Dogg, G-Funk rapper & Snoop Dogg's cousin. Call me superstitious, but I have a feeling we'll be hearing about another famous death soon... it comes in threes, as they say. Fingers crossed that it doesn't happen though, I like my entertainers alive and prolific, you smell me?
Anywhoevers, my ultimate memory of Liz Taylor--aside from my academic advisor at school sharing her name ("Where are you going, Lisa?" "To meet with Liz Taylor!")--has to come in the form of her perfume, White Diamonds. My grandma LOVES this fragrance. I'll forever associate it with old school Hollywood glamour and mature older ladies... but mostly with the latter ::Kanye shrug::
Aside from her perfume, Dame Taylor led quite the interesting life. She had eight husbands in her lifetime (when asked why, she replied "I don’t know, honey. It sure beats the hell out of me"), won two Academy Awards, was appointed Dame Commander of the Order of the British Empire, and perhaps most legendary, she founded The American Foundation for AIDS Research (amfAR). Taylor's influence has touched millions, and her legacy will live on through her many charitable endeavors. You will be missed Dame Taylor!
--------
I first became aware of Nate Dogg's music in elementary school, when Dr. Dre's epic album The Chronic was released. I didn't start really appreciating his flow until college, when a dormmate of mine from California would blast nothing but G-Funk from her room each day (thanks for that, girl! I got hip to mad Cali music from that
).Probably my favorite song of his was this collaboration with his cousin, Snoopy D-O-double Gizzle:
Nate's signature, soulful voice was honed in church. Once Dr. Dre heard Nate on a demo tape with Snoop Dogg and their friend, Warren G, he put the wheels in motion to have Nate make his debut on The Chronic. A year later, Nate was signed to the infamous Death Row Records.
Nate was plagued by a series of issues in his last years, including arrests for firearms and drug possession and suffering a stroke and heart attack in 2007. In September 2008, Nate suffered a second stroke that left his fans wondering if he'd ever return to crooning his G-Funk anthems. Ultimately, Nate succumbed to congestive heart failure complicated by his previous strokes.
R.I.P. Nate Dogg, keep the underworld G-Funky for us!
4/20/10
Happy 420 8-) and SOTD
*This is a repost from 4/20/09. The sentiment still applies.
Guru (left) and DJ Premier
1/27/10
R.I.P. Grandma Bee
I've been on a mini blogging hiatus since my grandma passed away on Sunday*. I had reservations about even sharing that info on Facebook and my blog, but those are the easiest ways to reach all of my friends at once (and spare me the agony of sharing that news with each... and every... person that asks how I've been or what I've been up to).
This excerpt from some other grieving person's blog post helped me with the decision of whether or not to share this news via the internet:
The issue I hadn't prepared myself for was how to address "what was on my mind" with my Facebook friends after my father's death. I love Facebook, and pride myself on being "good" at it. I post often but not incessantly, I try to keep things funny and interesting, and seldom use it for rants and complaints (though I may be one of those annoying people who post too often about their kids.) Facebook is the perfect way for an introvert like me, who is intensely private about the most important things in my life, to stay in touch with the people I enjoy -- but it felt like a really inappropriate place to announce my father's death.So there it is, folks: my grandma died, and as a result I may be a little sparse around these parts this week.
Like everybody, I have a collection of random Facebook friends: my sister-in-law's brother-in-law; the nice young woman who used to work at my favorite boutique; the friendly pilates-instructor-turned-diet-book-author that I met at a writers' conference; in short, fun people I like but don't know very well. At the same time, refusing to tell my network something so truly important felt strange and almost dishonest. I struggled to find the words, but I didn't know how to describe what had happened with the heart and depth it deserved in only 420 characters.
I realize that my preference for online discretion makes me hopelessly old-fashioned in a world where others offer live Twitter updates about a miscarriage or the accidental drowning of a child. I noted with awe the way my younger brother, who avoids Facebook most of the time, updated his status the day after Dad's death and was then showered with messages of concern. As the news continued to spread online and off, a smattering of condolences appeared on my Facebook wall. I truly appreciated the expressions of support, but they also increased the pressure I felt to formally announce the news.
I coped by trying to stay off FB as much as possible.
[via Silicon Valley Moms Blog]
*Also lost one of my uncles last Thursday
Jesus, when it rains it pours.
9/19/09
Who is Roc Raida?
As an aspiring DJ--with turntables--I felt it was mandatory to learn up about the legendary Roc Raida. Raida truly made turntablism an art form. R.I.P. Mr. DJ!
From HipHopDX:
New York-based DJ, turntablism pioneer and instructor Roc Raida has died this weekend. The DJ was most known for his years with the award-winning X-Men a.k.a. The X-Ecutioners.
Roc Raida won numerous ITF and DMC championships for his turntable skills. Raida was an innovator in cut-throat deejay battles, known for his agile spin-moves and acrobatic cuts on the turntable--through legs, over the shoulder, and using his mouth to cut the fader.
Through his AdiarCor imprint, Roc Raida released over half a dozen CDs and DVDs, that were both mixtapes, documentaries and instructionals for aspiring DJs. His mixtapes are also remembered for their comedic interludes, often making mock commercials for malt liquors, car services and Jamaican nightclubs.
On records, Raida was present for The X-Ecutioners' 2002 album Built From Scratch, released on Loud/Sony Records. Previously, the DJ crew was infamously recruited by Rick Rubin for his Def American imprint, but failed to reach an agreement.
With his scratching abilities, Roc Raida worked on dozens of classic albums. Highlights include O.C.'s Word...Life, Big Pun's Capital Punishment, Buckshot Lefonque's self-titled debut and Immortal Technique's two Revolutionary volumes. As a producer, Roc Raida worked with numerous members of D.I.T.C. and Smif N' Wessun.
9/15/09
8/30/09
My Kennedy Story
In the wake of Sen. Ted Kennedy's death, I've decided to share an all too brief encounter I had with a member of the prominent family.
Fall of my sophomore year, A Tribe Called Quest reunited for the Rock the Bells Tour. I LOVED ATCQ at this point in my life (still do, for real for real), so I desperately wanted to be at that concert. Unfortunately the closest the tour was coming to my school was this little town about an hour/hour and a half from campus. NO RIDE to get out there and of course, the bus and train did not stop there from Providence. I bought my ticket anyways and put a notice up on my school's online campus bulletin board looking for a ride.
In class a few hours later, I heard that some guy named Wendell* was going to the concert and driving himself and some friends there from my school. Sweet. "Wendell" of course turns out to be Wendell, RFK's grandson and JFK's nephew (I think that's right... eh, it's big family). We didn't run in the same circle of friends at school so I knew very little about Wendell other than his douche-tastic Facebook picture at the time, which was him, shirtless, with "THUG LIFE" written across his stomach Tupac-style. Not the best first impression.
Imagine this... on a pasty, rich white dude. Yeah.Anyways, I figured I wasn't in this to make a new friend or even like the guy on a basic level; I just needed a ride to that concert.
Game day comes around and about 5 of us pile into Wendell's weathered BMW headed for the Tribe concert. From the time we left Providence to the time we partied with people Wendell knew in the town where the concert was playing to the time we actually MADE it to the concert doors is mostly a blur, but I do remember the concert itself being pretty awesome. It's after the concert that things started going downhill.
So Wendell and maybe 3 people in the car decide they want to meet up with some more people they knew in the town the concert was being held. It was about 1 am at this point and me and this hippie girl we rode up there with were wondering when the eff we were all gonna leave, as some of us had class and ish in the morning.
Wendell and his 3 friends decide they are too wasted to get back to Providence that night and say they're all gonna crash at their other friend's place.
"SO HOW THE F*CK ARE WE SUPPOSED TO GET BACK TO SCHOOL?!" me and this other chick wonder out loud. Wendell basically says that's our problem and goes off to rejoin the party.
"THAT'S WHY YOUR DAD'S A DRUNK!" I screamed. I think it fell on deaf ears (most definitely drunk ears), but I thought it was a clever and appropriate comment at the time.
Me and the hippie chick looked at each other blankly for a few seconds before realizing we need to think quick to get out of this hicktown (OK, not really, more like a small city... but no buses or trains stopped there! That equals hicktown to me) and back to civilization.
There just happened to be some random guy from the concert who followed a group of us to Wendell's OTHER friend's house, the one where he stranded us, and who kept staring alluringly/creepily at the hippie chick I was with. We thought maybe he went to school with us or somewhere in the vicinity of the concert, but after chatting him up for a few minutes, turns out he was just some kid who lived in his grandma's basement. Chatting him up for a few more minutes, we found out he has a car (!), that his grandma's basement is in Providence (!!), and that he was trying to go home THAT NIGHT (!!!).
Then, and I kid you not folks, right after finding that out, the hippie chick I was with and this dude go to a nearby parking lot where "supposedly" his car is located (REMEMBER: We're stranded at this point, this guy could very well be a serial killer, yo... I know I wasn't going anywhere with him alone!). I asked the chick if she wanted me to come with her; I know I would want witnesses if a trial were to go down over this mess. She said "Nope, just chill here for a second" and her and the guy walked off into the moonlight.
Fifteen minutes of standing awkwardly outside the party later, Hippie Girl and Possible Serial Killer Guy drive up in his old white Nissan. To this day I don't know what that b*tch did to get both of us a ride back to Providence that night, but whatever it was, it worked and we're still alive.
Anyways, moral of the story is: Sorry your great-uncle or whatever died, but damn you Wendell Kennedy!
*Names have been changed to protect the douchey.
8/28/09
::wicky wicky:: Check 1...
My goal is to be like these dudes on the decks. Minus the disembodied heads.
Also, R.I.P. DJ AM! 2009 is turning out to be the YEAR OF DEATH in the entertainment biz
8/25/09
R.I.P. Aaliyah 1979-2001
I was so sad when Aaliyah died, though admittedly I didn't really get in to her music until shortly before she died and really heavily thereafter. She seemed like a nice person: smart, driven and talented. Especially after watching her MTV Diary, losing her was like losing a good friend.
I remember when her song off the Dr. Doolittle soundtrack came out, "Are You That Somebody." I heard that song literally everywhere that summer: on the radio, on TV, at camp (organized dance routines to this song--times infinity--for the win), blaring through car systems. My cousins and I used to wonder why she always wore those shades and the bang to the side covering her eye when she first came out (one theory was she had a lazy eye. lol). I dug her style though.
True fax: Some idiot stole my Aaliyah poster sophomore year of college while I was packing up for summer. I'm still mad about that mess
(OK, not really. I replaced it with one off eBay )
8/1/09
SOTD: Ghostface ft. Raheem DeVaughn - Baby
UPDATE: Just got word of the passing of a member of one of my favorite groups, Baatin from Slum Village. R.I.P. bruh
7/7/09
Redbone but a classy hoe
I have an unhealthy obsession with this chick and her music. "Make him eat it while my period on"? I STILL can't believe she came out her mouf wit dat. THE BADDEST. (P.S. This song is also my ringtone/current personal theme song)
Also spent the day happily oblivious to MJ's mass funeral service in LA. He just doesn't seem like the kind of person for whom a 700,000 person funeral (and however many millions via the internet) would be... I dunno, appropriate? He was a very private person. But then again, he loved the attention...
A complicated dude right there. RIP again, Mike.
6/25/09
R.I.P. Michael Jackson
I was like OMG when I first got news of this happening, but I was "over" it in the first hour since they reported his passing. I know deaths are sad and the King of Pop's death is no different, but really. MEDIA OVERSATURATION. I wish people would stop twittering/updating FB about it and just chill and mourn quietly, by jamming out to his best songs. Here are just two of the many MJ songs in my music library, tied for the highest number of play counts in iTunes.
1958 - 2009
6/23/09
A real life game of "Clue"
This story has had me hooked since yesterday, when I read the first installation in The Post. Creepy! I used to hang out a lot in Dupont Circle in late high school/early college. Even got a tat and a couple piercings done not too far from where the townhouse is located...
SEMI-SPOILER ALERT: I can't believe that, despite knowing that someone was MURDERED in that house, it still sold for more than a mil.
I'm not sure if it's their "generic white guy"-ness or what, but the suspects look hella familiar to me. Goes to show ya, you never know what people, even supposedly upstanding, well-educated and accomplished people, are into in their personal lives.This whole situation reminds me of American Psycho (the movie that convinced me that everyone, especially preppily-dressed folks, is probably a serial killer).
6/16/09
Did you know...
Tupac would have been 38 years old today? Wowzers. One of my cousins swears this man is still alive ::insert side-eye:: Anyways, R.I.P. Pac! He was one of the only dudes I know that could pull off a nose ring and still keep it gangsta. Thugnificence at its finest, y'all.
Words of wisdom: 2Pacalypse Now don't stop for hoes.
5/27/09
Speaking of boxers...
"He got the Big Bama game on lock." - Friend (on Mike Tyson... before finding out about his daughter)It's so sad about his daughter passing like that. I was reading the little bio they included @ the end on the article and daaaaaaaaamn Mike Tyson has lead quite the... interesting life
A little Wiki searching turned up this quote:
“I never saw my mother happy with me and proud of me for doing something. She only knew me as being a wild kid running the streets, coming home with new clothes that she knew I didn't pay for. I never got a chance to talk to her or know about her. Professionally, it has no effect, but it's crushing emotionally and personally.”Sad. Some ppl just never seem to get a break in life!
5/12/09
R.I.P. Busboys & Poets
BUSBOYS & POETS. I used to be really in love with this place, but over the past year or so it's gotten really popular (being featured in the paper, on the news, etc.) and more & more people keep coming. It's even a franchise now, with 2 other locations in the area (UGH). I guess that's "good for business" but it's def. not as chill a spot as it used to be. So long story short, I'm looking for a new chill "hot spot" in DC that everyone and their mom does NOT know about yet. And that would cater to a young lady of my ~*taste*~ and ~*sophistication*~, lol (this means something along the lines of what BB&P USED to be. Good music, decently priced food/drink, artsy atmosphere, diverse clientele, etc. etc.). Suggestions?
