Throwing Ass In Birkenstocks At 2am

Every time I sit down or stand up, my thighs hurt. The back of my leg, right under my butt, the whole side of my thigh, because I was throwing ass in Birkenstocks on Saturday night.

I’m 35 and I’ve just recently rediscovered my love of a good dance party. In my early 20s you would catch me at the club every weekend. Then club culture got weird. It went from “girls don’t pay cover” and a packed dance floor to 25 dudes standing behind the DJ not even dancing, just trying to flex for the male gaze while simultaneously being incredibly homophobic.

That was the last the club saw of me for a long while.

But over the past year back in DC I’ve remembered why I loved it. If you know where to look, there are spaces where people come to be social, to dance, to talk to each other, to cut up and be silly rather than to flex and be on their phones.

I have a love-hate relationship with Sost. I don’t love a club/restaurant where someone’s trying to dance right where I’m eating dinner and it’s too loud to talk. Sost can be that.

But it has three floors, each with its own vibe. And the basement is where I usually end up, where the music is bumping and hip hop, R&B, dancehall, and Afrobeats all mix together. To me it's a haven of Black joy in this city.

And that's how I ended up down there on a Saturday night, in my Birkenstocks because I definitely did not plan to be outside like that, bent over throwing ass at my man.

We left sweaty and hungry as shit. The plan was to hit Chicken & Whiskey for late night food, and then go directly to sleep.

As we crossed the street we saw a girl face down in the grass in front of a row house. Not moving. Next to her sat a young man

My friend Imani and I didn’t have it in us to walk by.

Next thing you know Imani is crouched down next to her, using that soothing voice that I associate with safety. Before anything else, she asked her: do you know him? Is he safe?

She told us: that’s my best friend.

The young man with her was probably 18 or 19. He didn’t know what to do but he was already doing the right thing, he had stayed with her. He told us she was too drunk to walk and he seemed overwhelmed, in that “I’ve never seen shit like this before” kind of way.

So we got to work.

Imani rolled her onto her side immediately - if you ever find someone that drunk roll them on their side, so they don’t choke if they get sick.

Spoiler: she got sick repeatedly over the next two hours.

And we made a plan together: he’d call his parents, they’d come get both of them, he’d move her car so his family could pick up her car too. And while he ran to get that done, we stood vigil. Sweaty, tired, sore, and hungry, in the wee hours of the morning, until his people arrived.

The National Guard walked by and checked on her. Then the police came - asked how old she was, if we knew her... EMS arrived, checked her, confirmed she was responsive. You may not agree with what we did next, but we closed ranks around her. We looked the cops in the eye and said: someone is on the way, she’s okay. When they tried to question her best friend, that young man said exactly what I think he should have said: I don’t know how old she is. I’m just helping her out.

What she needed in that moment was care, not a citation for minor consumption.

In the wee hours, his parents arrived. His mom rolled up cheerful, not frustrated, not dramatic, just with this attitude of “let’s get this girl home.” We strong-armed her into the car, wiped her mouth one more time, and off they went.

So many people stopped. Not just us. Young Black men repeatedly checking that she was good, in a city where it’s completely normal to put your head down and keep moving - where I have personally watched people pull down their pants and pee in the park and do drugs and deal drugs - stopped for this Black girl lying in the grass.

We’ve all been too fucked up. We’ve all made stupid choices. We still deserve to make it home safely.

That’s community. That’s DC. It has its problems. But that basement at Sost and that sidewalk at 2 am are both the city I love, full of Black joy and Black people looking out for each other.

Here’s what I’ve been loving lately that I haven’t had time to make videos about, because I cannot film everything and also sometimes I’m too outside to be filming…

Sost - if you want a night of dancing with your people, this is your spot. Go to the basement on a Friday or Saturday, and it’s going to be packed, but there’s usually empty space near the back by the bar. Somehow people don’t make it into the room that far. And that area is also directly in front of a very strong ceiling fan to cool you off when you’re throwing ass.

@Moya_AfroHouse - if Afro House is your thing, follow them on Instagram to see when and where they’re curating. The DJ is the destination, not the venue.

St. James just launched a lunch menu - Wednesday through Friday, noon to 4pm. There is a $20 oxtail bowl that I will be eating multiple times a month.

Qui Qui on Georgia Avenue in Parkview is the Puerto Rican spot that has gotten all the buzz for good reason. Reservations are hard to get. The big bar is walk-in only and it is fully worth it - the cocktails alone justify the trip. They also have brunch on the weekends.

La Shukran at Union Market is where you go when you want to feel genuinely sexy and eat some bomb ass food while your man rubs on your leg. Think fabulous cocktails and small plates from one of the best chefs in the country. Reservations are hard but use the Notify feature!

After hours on the sidewalk with those kids, everything was closed and I still had to get home. And since this city no longer has public bathrooms, I crouched between two cars and peed right there in the street on a dark block.

Sometimes you do what you have to do.