The Single Guy: Obama Mama!

Kev Clark is back this week with his recap of that fateful Election Night 2 weeks ago. Barack Obama is gettin' brothas play like never before. Who knew? Or maybe some people just know both how and when to capitalize on a sweet opportunity when it comes their way:

Obama Mama! By Kevin L. Clark

The hype for the 2008 presidential elections was unprecedented, understandable and undoubtedly the most powerful thing that we’ve seen in awhile. Once the votes were tallied and our 44th President of the United States was declared, Barack Obama did more to help out the dating game than most would give credit for – and I’ll tell you why!

Q-Tip manages to throw these pretty dope parties at NYC club Santos Party House, and with all the excitement building up to a fevered pitch, people took to the streets to get ready for the New York celebration. Yours truly was trapped at the plantation for a while, but I got my freedom papers in the form of being the guy known for partying. While the rest of my comrades finished our legendary (if not to be seen) video documenting the November 4th election, I headed over to check out what all the fuss was about up the block from the 9-to-5.

The line outside was packed and the electricity could be felt in the air. It was probably how people felt when Joe Louis was declared the heavyweight champion of the world… of the world, Craig! Ladies were coming out looking their Saturday night best on a Tuesday, and the smiles weren’t just relegated for the stars and industry insiders – the everyday man was getting love too!

Word broke out that Obama won, and the game was just beautiful. Black love – hell… universal love! – was on front page and with that, the game decidedly shifted back to the light-skin brothas’ lane. With everyone hi-fivin’, huggin’ and sharing their tears of happiness for the former Chicago senator, this cutie with some slightly chinky eyes was burning a hole through ya boy.

Clockin’ in at 5′3″, 135 lbs, this girl had that whole Cassie/Lauren London vibe and was rockin’ an ill Obama tee. She walks up to me and gives me a huge hug. Almost on cue, Diddy walks in and the pace picks up about five notches. Something about Sean Combs makes people feel giddy, and the girl who shall remain nameless planted a juicy kiss on my cheeks and says, “Obama-riffic!” Cheesy, I know… But hell, she’s cute; what can you say?

Check out the rest here.

The Single Guy @ Hello, Beautiful

Breaking News...

Starting today Write For Freedom will be syndicating a weekly blog via Hello, Beautiful. It's a bit of a departure from the usual content that I generate here, but when Kevin Clark asked me to cross post his writing I figured it'd be good to break up the monotony of all the music-related randomness that's kind of my thing in this here blog o' mine. Under the label "The Single Guy" he writes about his experiences as he navigates the dating scene in NYC, a far cry from his small-town upbringing in Kent, OH. Kevin and his way with words are a hot mess sometimes (in a good way of course), so his stories are pretty hilarious. It's worth a read - there's something everyone can relate to @ some point. So, without any further ado...

Black Magic Woman
By Kevin L. Clark October 27, 2008 4:51 pm

I believe that one of the most precious things on this Earth is a black woman. The way y’all walk, talk and even sass can light this Scorpio’s passionate flame and I can’t get enough of it. But, if I knew what type of spell this “black magic woman” would cast on me, then I would’ve never have went to Lotus that night…

Her name was Denay and she had to be the finest girl in the club that night. I called her “friend,” but everyone else had some more clever connotations for the Harlem dimepiece. “Ay, aye, aye, aaaayyyeee!” was cool for starters. “Shawty with the phat ass,” was another one. She never would answer to comments like that and on this particular night, she looked like she got dressed in sin with a dress that hugged her curves so right that I wanted to call her mama.

The fates must’ve been in the air because as they would have it, Denay thought that I looked pretty official myself. She stalked me through the crowd to ask about my shirt. I replied to let her know that it was just something to wear. She smiled… I did too… and a whole lot of drinks were consumed! We enjoyed the next few hours on the dance floor, navigating in our own personal world. But I must say, in trying not to offend any born-and-bred New Yawkers, this: “Y’all can’t dance…”

See. Told you he was a hot mess.

Read the rest here. Check out his other stories here.