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For Danielle

Image courtesy of Splash News Online

Back in my art fag days, while living in Pittsburgh, I spent a great deal of my free time at the Beehive on the South Side of the city. One particularly lazy afternoon, after one too many cups of whatever was the strongest java available that day, I headed to the restroom. Perusing the graffiti-clad walls, I spied this little gem which has never left the back of my mind:
    "Why do all gay men want to be black women?"
Stereotypes be damned; Danielle is the black woman I have always not so secretly hoped to one day become. At the very least, I hoped for bits of her charm, grace, style and wit to migrate my way.

Danielle and I worked together during my stint at Ruby Tuesday. Truth be told, I fell in love with her the minute we met. One thing we had in common: our undying love for all things "Sex and the City". Danielle was, and still is, my Carrie.

I raise my glass to you, DeeDee. And here's hoping I can make it back home later this month so that you, me and Lady Miss T can paint the town every shade of red.

Bust out your best pair of Blahniks, tell T to dust off her Birkin bag, and I'll bring vintage Versace out of storage for a long, extremely overdue romp in our own little city.

I promise.

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