why i fux with lux

—I fuck with that; I fucks with that; I fux wit’ dat—euphem. Eng. Derivative of 1970s, “I can dig it.” I like that very much. That’s awesome beyond all recognition. I can certainly appreciate that.—-

Educated black people, in large quantities, enlightened by their life’s experience and matriculation through the upper echelons of The Man’s world—— fucking suck.

That’s right. I said it. Y’all suck.

I don’t want to see your fucking business card. I don’t give a damn about your Ivy education. Your fancy foreign car can suck meat. Y’all suck.

Unduly harsh? I’ll take a step back, for a moment.

I’ve always wanted to live in DC.

Ever since I was a child.

For me, DC represented this sleek city life, teeming forth with urbane sophistication. A Tidewater native, DC was the polar opposite of my staid, suburban upbringing. And while some of the outlier contingents of Tidewater’s “seven cities” provided a slight deviation from the quiet, nuclear family mold my parents and neighbors tirelessly worked to cultivate for myself and my peers, the mean streets of South Norfolk (pronounced naw-fuk) and Newport News (affectionately nicknamed, “Bad News”) wasn’t exactly what I was shooting for. Mind you, I wasn’t naïve. I knew that DC had its less than desirable elements (I cannot even tell you what my mother calls it, and my father outright refuses to visit). But, if there was a place where blacks could thrive, DC was it.

When I went to college, this DC fantasy flourished. I met a group of people who I knew would be my lifelong friends, and they all had similar aspirations of DC living. By the time I reached law school, this fantasy, now epic in stature, was the only thing that kept me from shooting myself in the face. But, by this point, the dream had matured. My college friends had already preceded me and set up shop in the District. And I just knew that someday, soon, we’d sit around drinking glasses of red wine, engaging in deep discussions that were both esoteric and “down,” laughing in that self-congratulatory way that one does when she’s “made it,” our backs to the White House, and our eyes to the heavens.

And it all happened. With some minor tweaks, of course. We’ve grown and fused our networks, met new people and friends, but, the original concept is still there. And when we go out, we go to lounges or bars. Because, apparently, that’s what urban sophisticates do. They lounge. Even when I hang out with my newer friends, a decidedly more blipster (black hipster) set, we go to artsy lounges. Or rooftops set up like lounges. I imagine, like myself, everyone had grown long tired of the “club thing” in our late teens, early twenties.

Here’s the thing I didn’t bank on-

Educated black people, in large quantities, fucking suck. (I know I said it before, but trust me, it bears repeating.)

Everywhere I go, there’s some new mixer for “young, black professionals.” And everyone does the same thing. Everyone is a lawyer, or a doctor, or works on the Hill, or is a consultant. And everyone is so excited that he/she is a lawyer, or a doctor, or works on the Hill, or is a consultant. And it’s gotten to the point where those are the only people we seem to want to be around. Like your drink doesn’t even taste right if the girl next to you does hair for a living.

And then, one day, it was there…like a mirage in the desert. Lux Lounge.

Now, don’t be fooled by the “Lounge” part.

That shit is a club.

Through and through.

And it doesn’t seem like one at first. And by “at first,” I mean, from the outside.

Situated on New York Avenue (mmmhmm), Lux is a beautiful four storey building with elaborate molding, and a velvet rope. But once you get through security and step beyond those wood paneled doors– thug motherfucking life.

And this is the thing about growing up. Sometimes, you never know what you’ll miss until you happen upon it again.

And what I didn’t know that I missed, was that shady, hood element to be found in South Nawfuk and Bad News.

I didn’t know that what I really need, once in a while, is to put on the shortest, tightest, nakedest bitch dress I can find, with my doorknocker earrings, and get gully with DC’s finest.

At Lux, dudes come up to you, grab you by your waist, and hold you close. They whisper in your ear and call you “ma.”

At Lux, the wifebeater is an actual part of the outfit. The shirt is technically a jacket, meant to ultimately come off.

At Lux, bitches wear wigs. And not like, day-to-day, my hair is a mess wigs, either. Like, they’re on some, “Girl-it’s-about-to-be-on-tonight-and-I’m-wearing-my-good-wig-too” shit. You didn’t even know there was such a thing as a “good” wig, did you? Like, a wig that’s gonna help you get ass quicker than the wig you wear to work.

Know how many times I’ve been to Lux? A lot.

Know how many times a man has asked me for my card? Not a damned once.

And while there are plenty of good looking people at Lux, there is always a strong ugliestmotherfuckerinthewholewideworld element.

And they re-pre-sent.

Do you think that they care that their face game isn’t the tightest?

Hell no.


Cause even the ugliestmotherfuckerinthewholewideworld gets ass at Lux.

Let me tell you something. The other night, my linesister (who had treated me to Lux because she knows I love it so) was near the bar, and this troll-looking dude, this Chem lab project, rolled up on her (cause that’s how they do—they roll up on you), did the Lux-appropriate waist-grab-pull-close maneuver, and started grinding on her. Even though she’d thrown a few back, she had the presence of mind to incline her head to see the manner of man thoroughly assailing her hip bones with thrust after pelvic thrust. When she again, turned her head forward, I saw the panic gripping her face. Calling to mind the oath I’d taken, so many years ago, I immediately interjected myself between soror and orangutan, and started dancing with her, myself.

Now, at a typical DC lounge, said facemonster would have mentally relegated me to haterassbitch status, and moved on, perhaps even defeatedly walking away, tail dragging between his cloven, hoofed feet.

Not at Lux, baby.

What did horriblestgrillintheworld do?

That’s right.

Effectuate the Lux-appropriate waist-grab-pull-close maneuver on me, and start grinding on me.

Cause he didn’t give a fuck.

Cause dudes don’t give a fuck at Lux.

Know what I did?

That’s right.

I thrusted back.

Cause I don’t give a fuck when I’m at Lux either.

At Lux, I once saw this little, bite-sized man dancing with this extremely large woman.

Not such a big deal, right?


He was eye level with her gargantuan breasts (at Lux, we call these “titties”), and with his left hand, took her left breast and swung it into the right breast, and watched them swing at each other, knocking each other back and forth like measured balls, all the while keeping his head rhythmically in time with the music.

He did this several times.


Cause he was at Lux, and he didn’t give a fuck.

And the girl let him. She didn’t feel violated, or objectified, or maligned, or aggrieved, or any of those fancy words we like to toss around at our young, black professional mixers.


Cause she was at Lux. And she didn’t give a fuck, either.

Now, trust me. I’m sure there are people who do big things, and go to Lux. I’m sure there are mortgage brokers, and nuclear physicists, and philosophy professors who all, from fair to fair, enjoy passing time there.

The point is, you’d never know. Because it’s not about who you are or what you do. It’s about having a good time; about stripping yourself of your titles and modifiers and losing yourself in the anonymity of a booty clap.

At Lux, the vice president of a bank can be found in the middle of the dance floor next to a nail tech, each of them bending over and touching their toes in perfect, cohesive harmony.

And THAT is why, I fucks with Lux.


17 Responses to “why i fux with lux”

  1. 1 Kam
    February 23, 2010 at 4:08 pm

    Apparently I will fux with lux when I come up in April!!

  2. 2 Sham
    February 23, 2010 at 4:34 pm

    U have captured why I love DC so. Souf-east!

  3. 3 TeeTos
    February 26, 2010 at 3:50 pm

    you forgot to add that lux is also where cute boys dance with you and call you sexy and don’t even press you for your number. you know why? cuz what happens at lux…stays at lux. that’s why.

  4. March 25, 2010 at 7:01 pm

    This post had be DYING!!!!!!! LOVE it! Now I kinda wanna go to LUX next time I come back to DC!

  5. 5 anonymous
    April 5, 2010 at 8:01 pm

    Another excellent post Fooler and you can bet your “shortest, tightest, nakedest bitch dress” that I’ll be at Lux this weekend, lol. For me it’s the perfect cure for this gradual push towards insanity that working 60hr weeks with “Sophisticated YTs” tends to bring. Wow I haven’t used the “waist-grab-pull-close” maneuver in way too long LMAO

  6. 7 Grizzy
    April 6, 2010 at 6:31 pm

    Im going against the grain, I am from Hampton, and I am a doctor, and I do like the social scene in DC. I do enjoy going out and not worrying if dude has a knife or is a fight gonna break out. OK 757, u know the deal? I been to Alley, etc, and I dont miss it or that mentality at all, Ive grown away from it, but there’s nothing wrong with that. Its growth. You can find all types of people at all types of venues. I will give it to you that the DC scene can be a little stand-off-fish, but considering my roots, wouldnt trade. And I most certainly DO NOT fucking suck…with my business card (that I dont pass out…lame)

    • April 6, 2010 at 9:50 pm

      one question and one question only: have you ever had/seen/heard of “yok?”

      • 9 DCGal
        April 7, 2010 at 9:00 pm

        OMG, do you mean those nasty greasy chinese noodles they eat down there? That brings back memories as well as Smitty’s Drive in.

    • 10 anonymous
      April 7, 2010 at 4:44 am

      your blog is killing me Fooler… ROTFL @Grizzy, “I do enjoy going out and not worrying if dude has a knife or is a fight gonna break out”. I can’t stop laughing…. Is he serious? I want to say more but I got noting…. noting

  7. 11 G
    April 7, 2010 at 3:17 pm

    I’ve been to LUX once. But I guess I missed out on the “shortest, tightest, nakedest bitch dresses”and booty claps. Your attention to detail and descriptions are unmatched. You make me want to go to LUX right now just to see this whole scene take place over the course of one night….lol…good work.

  8. 12 Dickie
    June 10, 2010 at 7:23 pm

    I lived in the DC area before I went back home for grad school… Me and boys used to get it in @ Lux/Avenue… I am in DC for the summer and I can not wait to go to Lux this weekend…i even copped a fresh pack of wifebeaters for the occasion lol… awesome post

  9. 13 N. Elaine
    July 9, 2010 at 5:25 pm

    Loved this!!! Thank you for admitting its ok to throw off the bourgie attitudes and just have a good time!!

  10. July 6, 2012 at 6:22 pm

    I really don’t like them educated bougie niggas in DC at all. Don’t hand me your fucking card when you haven’t even introduced yourself nigga. You don’t even have a reason to hand me a fucking card. I got a law degree, I don’t need any check ups, and the only thing you need to be doing consultation on is the yellow pages to find somewhere else to buy clothes since you have on that cheap ass suit you punk ass short motherfucker.

    With that said, I’ve never been to Lux. And now, I will make sure I go.

  11. 15 Anonymous
    July 6, 2012 at 6:32 pm

    Red Lounge is the only lounge you need to be fuckin’ with. Oh and, Black. Mansion.

  12. 16 The Suburban Thug
    July 9, 2012 at 5:02 pm

    Up until reading this here post, I never had a desire to go to Lux; though I have seen the wondrous dresses on wonderful bodies that you described. It just might hafta be someplace I visit at least once.

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