I Walk Alone: The YannTheRunTour Goes to Mexico City!

“I’m known to walk alone, but I’m alone for a reason” - Beyonce “Upgrade U”




So I’m sitting on the plane and ready to go to Mexico City! Do I speak Spanish? Not really. Do I know anyone there? Hell no! So how did I end up here? Well, it’s a long story… Ok, that’s not true. It’s actually pretty simple: I got invited to go on a trip with a friend a few months back. I requested the week off from work and finally got it approved. (Harry Pottery magic may or may not have been involved) I was about to book the flight to meet up with the friend only to find out that I would no longer be going. Funny enough (not really) this was the second time this year this exact situation had occurred and I was vexed to say the least.

I didn’t want to waste my precious paid time off by sitting in Orlando watching Netflix and reality TV for a week. My friend offered for me to meet up with her in Italy, but that trip was far outside of what I had planned on spending. Rather than being salty as hell, my friend Avalon recommended I go to Mexico CIty. Random right? Not really. Avalon and I booked a trip there last October. I believe that I was supposed to leave on a Wednesday, but my mum was hospitalised days before, forcing me to cancel. I was able to get a portion of my ticket in voucher form and it was about to expire this October. Avalon went to Mexico City as planned and had a blast, so I thought that I should go. All caught up? Ok good.

So like I was saying earlier, I’m on a plane, bitches! This vacation is MUCH needed and I am ready to get away for a bit. The flight was pleasant enough and I’m glad I woke up in time to see the fireworks going off in Mexico City to celebrate Mexican independence as we land. The line for immigration is long and hellacious, but I’m not stressing. I worked earlier today and I’m tired, BUT I’M IN MEXICO, LAND OF UMM MEXICAN THINGS!!! I finally make it through and I’m hit with the reality that I’m in a foreign place alone. I had trouble with my phone getting on the network there. I was starting to freak out. Do cabs take credit cards here? Would my cabbie murder me or sell me into sex slavery? Is Wendy’s open this late? Do they have Wendy’s here? SO. Many. Questions.

I finally got my phone situation sorted out and got an Uber to my AirBnb. It was about 1:30a at this point and I was just ready to hit the bed. I couldn’t figure out how to get inside. I also wasn’t 100% sure I was in the right place. Once again, I started to freak out. (seeing a theme here?) I figured out the lock box and got my keys and made it inside. It was actually super simple, but cute.

Friday I slept in because I’m an adult and I can do these things. I didn’t want this trip to be stressful and filled with events. I wanted to take time and enjoy things at whatever pace I decided felt right. I went to explore in the city but was kind of let down when I found that everything was closed. I forgot that every country besides the US takes holidays seriously. I did get to walk around. I got hella lost even with my good friend Google Maps leading the way. I really regret being such a shitty Boy Scout. :( It was so cool just walking around the city and exploring on my own.
That night, I decided to venture out to Zona Rosa, the gay part of town. I wanted to see how the Mexican gay nightlife was. My Uber was a sweet man who warned me that the gays were nice but they wouldn’t trouble me. I guess he didn’t get the memo. Note to self: wear something tighter next time I go out. The bars were alright. Lots of the same music that I’m used to hearing in the States. There was also a bunch of old ass Spanish songs from what appear to be the late 90s/early 2000s that everyone seemed to lose their collective shit over. Apparently the kids there still go up for a good Selena moment. It was during one of these Selena moments that this kid noticed my “What the fuck is happening” expression and started chatting me up. “You look lost. Where are your friends?” I told him that I didn’t speak Spanish very well (or at all) and that I was visiting from Orlando alone. Thankfully he spoke amazing English and we talked for awhile. Jonathan (I was upset he wasn’t Alejandro, Pedro, or another name that would make this story feel more authentico) explained that not many Americans visit Mexico City alone and that NO black americans come. I was basically a unicorn and he said that was a good thing there. Wait, so my being Black was actually celebrated? I’m home!


Saturday I slept in because I was out until 5:30a doing hoodrat things with my newfound friends. Kidding. (totally serious) I decided that I wanted to do something cultural to balance out the night before. I went to the museo nacional de antropologia. It was such an awesome place to visit. I love museums and the cool part about being alone was that I was able to do things at my own pace without having to worry about my travel companion. The museum reminded me of the rich culture of Mexico that many Americans fail to see/recognize. It was also cool seeing the similarities that you find between different cultures and lands. As much as humans fight it, people are people at the end of the day.

Early Sunday is when I found out that my card was no longer working. The night before should’ve been a clue when it declined for 120 peso meal (less than $10 USD) and for the 300 peso cover at the club. I called my credit union and they said it was a fraud alert and they fixed it so I was able to use it to get into the club. I tried to catch an Uber home and saw that my account was suspended because of my card repeatedly declining. I spent the bulk of Sunday calling about my card, as I had run out of cash (except the few dollars I had and planned on using to get back to the airport) and no place takes Discover. Note to self: get rid of my DiscoverCard. I was freaking out frustrated at having to tell my story 2384203423 to 234823043 different people. I ended up giving an award winning Olivia Pope-esque monologue about how tired, upset, and disgusted I was by the whole situation. It didn’t fix anything, but I sure as hell felt better.

Monday, I finally got my card to work and I pulled out some money before they started playing games again. I went to a French boulangerie for breakfast and it was amazing. I decided that I was going to make the most of my last day and visit the pyramids. It was an amazing trip and I highly recommend it to anyone. I actually broke my rule about hiking and walked up not one, but TWO different pyramids. I was a hot, sweaty mess, but it’s a view/experience I will never forget. I met an older lady from Missouri and it was so great to hear not only English, but also a Midwestern accent. We talked about our trips and she respectfully asked if I noticed the lack of Black people there. Y’all thought I was kidding when I said I was a unicorn?! Later on that night I decided to go try Mezcal. I went to this cool bar with mixologists who were on point. My bartender explained to me the different nuances in the different mezcals as I drank a flight. I left feeling warm and fuzzy inside and filled with dread for my 5a wakeup call for my flight home.




My trip to Mexico was exactly what I needed. Sometimes I need to be reminded that I can do things on my own. I also think that being uncomfortable from time to time is a good thing as it forces us to adapt and try things outside of our comfort zone. I was warned about the violence by everyone from coworkers to my Uber driver to the airport. Many of the people warning me hadn’t even been there themselves, so why would I listen? I never felt unsafe and given the police murders that were going on when I was gone, Mexico City felt like a safe haven. The language barrier was scary. Unlike Cancun, Mexico City isn’t filled with English speaking people who ensure that Americans are made to feel at ease. Once again, when I was thrown into it, I actually found out that I can actually get by with my toddler level Spanish. Traveling on my own forced me to meet new people that I might have not met had I had someone with me. I came back from Mexico with tequila, a sense of empowerment, and a desire to explore more unknown places. I can’t wait to see where my next travel adventure takes me.

New Music Review: Britney Spears' Glory

So Britney decided to make 80% of the gays of the world happy and dropped a new album. She teased it for a bit, but things looked bleak. Yes, she is looking the best she’s looked in years. Sure, she’s dancing again and looking lucid. BUT, girl is in Vegas doing a sweet ass residency and doesn’t really NEED to do anything. She dropped “Pretty Girls” and it landed with a thud. Had Britney lost it? Did people stop caring?

Somewhere along the line, Britney decided to start caring again. For this album, she actually been doing press for it, and it looks like she’s doing something that SHE wants to do. That’s great, but at the end of the day, it all comes down to the music. Britney and her team keep on referencing “In the Zone” and “Blackout” when talking about the direction for this project. No big deal, just two of her most career defining projects. That alone, had me nervous…. I have lived with the album for a few days, and this is what I think so far:

Invitation: I was expecting her to start the album with a bang, but instead this song is very much laid back. It ends up being pretty indicative of the whole vibe of the album: mid tempo, vibey music with breathy vocals.

Make Me: I thought this was an interesting first choice for a single, given her usual bombastic first singles. It’s not very quotable (think, “Work Bitch”) and kind of fits into the landscape that Nick Jonas, Tove Lo, and Selena Gomez have turned into mainstream pop. Despite, the lacklustre video, the song grew on me.

Private Show: I find myself humming this track more than any of the others. It has a throwback vibe (maybe 50s era?) coupled with THOTish lyrics. It ends up being catchy as hell.

Man on the Moon: I don’t love this song, and I think it has to do with the lyrical content. It feels a bit juvenile for her.The whole thing is a bit of a snore.

Just Luv Me: This song has Britney back in her comfort zone. This song just oozes sex. It feels like a song that Selena might have had on her last album, but make no mistake that this is Brit’s forte and where she shines.

Clumsy: This song was written by half of Pop and Oak, who have been putting out some super interesting music as of late ( Brandy’s “ Beggin and Pleadin’ for example) Britney is flexing a bit vocally and the chorus leads to one of the album's few uptempo moments.

Do You wanna Come Over: another upbeat song. It’s a fun, cute, danceable song.

Slumber Party: Now that Brit got you to come over, she slows it down with this song and gives us a bedroom banger. At times, it reminds me of Jermih’s “Birthday Sex” (probably the I--i--i--i-I--) but reggaed out just a bit.

Just Like Me: starts out with a simple guitar then builds to a mid tempo moment. Who doesn’t love a song about your boo, stepping out with someone that looks just like you? I mean I know, I can relate. That’s for another post though…

Love Me Down: I like the island vibe of the song. It sounds very Major Lazer to me. There is a bassline at one point that sounds VERY similar to “Pretty Girls”

Hard to Forget Ya: I like the verses to the song, but there is something about the chorus, that I don’t quite love.

What You Need: Another track with Britney flexing her vocals. I don’t foresee her ever singing this live.

Better: This is another Major Lazer sounding track. The chorus reminds me of “Lean On”

Change Your Mind (No Seas Cortes): Britney is singing in Spanish y’all! Dame Mas! (I’m too lazy to google the correct translation) The infusion of the Spanish actually isn’t horrible. It works for her and the song is sexy and flirty.

Liar: I’m guessing the internet will lose it mind because this has to be about Justin Timberlake. Who care that they broke up like a decade ago, surely she’s still obsessed with him, right? I don’t care who the song is about, I just think it’s a fun “fuck off” song.

If I’m Dancing: I love this track. FINALLY a track that makes me want to clap without my hands! Beyond the music, I actually l really like the way her vocals were produced on this track.

Coupure Electrique: On mon DIEU, Britney a un chanson en francais! C’est cool, non!? We all know that French makes everything/everyone sound much sexier. This song is definitely sexy. Britney leaves the album, the way she came in: with a body roll and a hair flip.


This album doesn’t have the “Gimme More”, “Womanizer” or “Work Bitch” to scream for our attention. I doubted at first, but ultimately, it ends up making this feel like one of her most cohesive projects to date. I don’t really get many “Blackout” vibes for this album as that was a really R&B heavy album. I’m sorry they kept on referring to that album as that’s my all time favourite and it left me kind of longing for it. Taking that out of the equation, this is a good album.

I am always saying that Britney is lazy. She’s iconic, legendary, blah blah blah, and she is aware. She doesn’t have to do much and her fan base will cut you if you even hint that it might not be her best work. I was thinking she should just retire. Then she got the spark in her eyes, and started looking like she was enjoying what she was doing. We are in a time where Beyonce continues to push the envelope musically, and visually. Rihanna is evolving into a true artist. Britney is not here to do either of those things. She’s here to make pop music that her fans will enjoy and purchase (I SEE YOU, BOOTLEGGERS!) Glory to me, represents a return to Britney doing what she does best. She knows her lane that she’s created and she’s ready to remind you hoes of her greatness. I, for one, am here for it. Glory, GLORY Hall--lemme stop.

One Small Step.

I just got home from playing tennis. Well, just serving my myself, but I picked up a tennis racquet and hit tennis balls with it. This might not seem like anything major, as said act didn't occur under the lights of Roland Garros or Arthur Ashe Stadium, but it was a moment for me. You see, I haven't picked up my Prince racquet in almost four years. Today, I decided that I would tackle this weird fear. New month, new me. blah blah blah..


My brother was an amazing tennis player. At one point, his coaches were wanting him to go pro but my mother wasn't keen on the idea. He ultimately walked away from tennis but came back to it later in life. When I was young, I remember him walking up to Heather Hill and teaching me about tennis. Even then, I was doing it for the (non existent) Gram and was more concerned with the tennis fashions and my Gatorade. Bruce taught me other sports, but tennis was the only one that I really enjoyed and continued to play.

Moving to Florida was cool because one could play tennis outdoors most months out of the year. Bruce and I would randomly play and it was some of my most treasured time with him. We would hit the courts for hours. I was eleven years younger so even though he was much better, I figured that I would take advantage of his bad knees and back. I mean, it was only a matter of time before his body gave out and I won, right? Oddly enough, wrong. :( I remember going up there with my niece and her running around the court while my brother beat up on my like I stole something. Ahh sweet memories. These games gave way to the Siblings Cup. I believed Bruce purchased a trophy at a garage sale and renamed it. He would carefully construct displays with the cup and text me pictures to bait me into a match. Those texts always cracked me up. Bruce remains the funniest person I ever knew.


My brother died three years ago and changed my world forever. Up until today I've been scared to play tennis again. Not only did I have the fear of being rusty as hell, but now I was worried about having an emotional breakdown on the court. "40-Love? Bruce used to ALWAYS say that!" *Ian falls to ground rocking himself back and forth while his opponent looks over at him with an alarmed expression* His old partner reached out to play with me and I wouldn't. I always had an excuse of some sort. After some time, he gave up asking. I'm not really sure why today was deemed the day, but I decided so at the end of my workout the morning. I rolled up the the court and it was empty (Thank you, Sweet Baby Jesus)! My grip has begun to disintegrate and it took about ten minutes before I remembered how to hold a racquet. My brother's voice was in my head telling me how told old my head and to follow through. Soon enough I was serving the ball the way I wanted. It felt so good to be doing something which I used to love so much. It made me smile, which is a rare thing these days. Now that the fear is over I'm excited to return to the courts. I hope the tennis world is ready. You all do know, Serena is my cousin, right? Ok, that's a lie, but she's Black so maybe we're related somehow. I'm just praying that my Williams genes kick in soon as I went ahead and quit my job, as I plan to live off my winnings, endorsement deals and HSN fashion collections.

Memories from a Mama's Boy

I don’t remember whether my mom went into heart failure when I was in Jr. High or High school. I do remember it was traumatic seeing my mom who was my living superwoman, in a hospital bed with IVs and machines hooked up to her.I remember wanting to hug her but being afraid to touch her, as I thought I could hurt her or break a machine. It was terrifying thinking my mom could die. I like to think I was a smart child, so yes I knew parents don’t live forever, but it still is jarring to have that reality smack you across the face so forcefully.

As different health concerns got added into the mix, I started becoming a bit more matter of fact in my approach to dealing with my mother’s mortality. Mom was going to die and I was going to be one of those kids in school with one parent. Would my dad remarry? Would I have a stepbrothers and sisters? Would I like them? I remember practicing getting the news at school that my mother died and how I would act. I wouldn’t be all dramatic and cry at school. I’d be as stoic as possible and people would marvel at how well composed I was at such a young age.

Needless to say my mom lived through high school. I’m not sure how she made it through a third, angst ridden, moody teen, but she did. My mother would later tell me how she cried after my 18th birthday because she knew then that if anything were to happen to me, I would be fine on my own. No court could force me to live with anyone and I wouldn’t have to deal with any potential wicked step moms. Little did she know that at 18, I still wasn’t ready for her to leave me. Hell, at 34, I am not sure how I will go on without her.

I think my mom spanked me like three times. My brother and sister thought it was because I was the baby and got away with any and everything, but I was just smart. I didn’t like being hit with a wooden spoon, so I obeyed. Additionally, I saw what Bruce and Simone did and didn’t make the same mistake. Weirdly enough, even though my mom was the one to discipline us, I still went to her and knew I could always talk to her. I am the epitome of a mama’s boy. We would talk when I was at the foot of her bed watching TV or while I sat on the counter as she cooked. She talked to me like an adult and didn’t keep much from me. I didn’t really keep much from her. I was with a group of kids who got caught drinking during a school sponsored, trip to London. I was not drinking (I was planning on doing so later, truth be told) but got the same punishment as the group, which involved a call home and a threat of being sent home at our expense. My mom was not thrilled about the call, but when she asked if I did it and was told no, she replied “if he said he didn’t do it, my son didn’t do it” How is that for trust?

I went off to college and hated University of Illinois. I was a small fish in a big pond. I was no longer seen as “the smart kid” in classes and I didn’t think I could make it. I called home often. My mom talked me off many ledges and I went home almost weekly to do laundry (public washing machines? gross.) and get some good food. I started out doing well, but then I had trouble paying for school and ended up working two jobs. My grades suffered and I was on the verge of a breakdown. I remember telling my mother that I was going to drop out of school to work and figure stuff out and was waiting for a spanking. Instead she got emotional over the fact that I was feeling that sort of pressure and had waited so long to tell her so. She hugged me and told me it’d be ok.

It wasn’t ok. I was still in Champaign years later and miserable as my friends were all graduating and moving back to Chicago or other cool locations to start their lives as adults. I’m not 100% sure whose idea it was but my brother and mother both convinced me to move to Orlando. I would live with my brother and finish school here. I FINALLY finished school and got a degree in biology. I had many “ok mom, so I might have to retake this class next semester” phone sessions with my mom, but she was always confident that I’d prevail and she was right. I knew my mom’s health was getting bad and I really wanted to graduate while she was alive. I needed for her to know that she had done well and that all of her kids were going to be fine. My mom was my driving force when wrapping up college. I would always think of Kanye’s “Hey Mama” when it looked like I wasn’t going to make it:

I wanna scream so loud for you, cause I'm so proud of you
Let me tell you what I'm about to do, (Hey Mama)
I know I act a fool but, I promise you I'm goin back to school
I appreciate what you allowed for me
I just want you to be proud of me (Hey Mama)


I remember getting a call from my mom. She said she needed me to drive to Palm Coast. My car was shitty and I didn’t like driving the 1.5 hour drive up here. She told me to rent a car and that she’d pay for it. She needed to see me in person. Of course I was scared and thought it was going to something serious. Instead, she greeted me like usual and we hung out like normal. I was waiting for the “I have 2 weeks to live” speech but it never happened. It was getting late and I was about to leave when she calls me to the couch and she says that she wants to discuss my sexuality. Awkward. She wanted me to know that she knew I was gay and that she loved me regardless. This was kind of anticlimactic as I thought everyone knew I was gay. I didn’t announce it at Thanksgiving dinner, but I also didn’t hide that I wasn’t dating girls, loved Beyonce, and had great fashion sense. She wanted me to know that any boyfriend of mine was welcome at the house and she wanted to meet anyone. Clearly she didn’t know that I am perpetually single. :( As boring as my coming out was, it still was great knowing that once again, my mom had my back no matter what.

It was hard seeing my mom’s dementia take the toll it took on her. It started out with small things like forgetting things when cooking, or using salt instead of sugar. She would forget things and I could see the frustration in her and she’d beat up on herself. That would break my heart. By the time of my brother’s death in 2013, she was was to the point of asking “where’s Bruce” an hour or so after his funeral. Not only did I have to deal with my brother’s sudden death, but also my mother’s rapid decline. Phone conversations with her became difficult, and I once again started to mourn the loss of my mother. Yes she was physically here, but mentally she was light years away. I felt like I lost my sounding board. I don’t have many close friends that I talk to regularly so it sucked not having my mom there in that capacity. She would listen to me and weigh in with her advice when I asked.

In June, my mother was admitted to the hospital and I drove up. It was incredible to see the rapid decline. It was scary, but she made it through the visit. A few months later in October she got admitted again almost for the same thing. This time it ended up being worse. From there she went to a rehab facility and then ultimately a nursing home. My dad, who still works, went to visit her every single day. It made me see him differently and love him even more than I thought was possible. He kept positive that she would walk again and that she would return home someday. I, on the other hand, thought this was the beginning of the end. I began to try to once again make peace with my mother’s death.

I visited the nursing home 20th of December. My mom wasn’t eating and there was concern. I went there and spent the day with her in near silence, as by this point, she was not really speaking. I came across a Jamaican nurse who upon finding out we too, were Jamaican, gave us some candid feedback on my mom. With her not eating and developing bedsores she was starting to downward spiral that might take her away sooner rather than later. She told me to say anything I had to say. I told her I talk to my mom every time I’m there even though she doesn’t respond. The nurse looked at me and repeated what the originally said and said it even slower. It was scary hearing that but I felt comfort in knowing that someone was being open and honest with the situation. I wanted to prepare myself as best as I could for what was to come.

The following day, I went to work at 8a. I was dressed in a blazer and had on a nice outfit. It was great not being at work at 4a and I was hell bent on having a good day during the craziness of holiday fuckery. My dad called me around noon and was telling me to come up as mom had gotten bad. He was crying and I began to cry at work. I called my boss and she got someone to come in earlier to cover the shift. I drove up to the nursing home. I got there and was taken aback at how far she’d fallen in just 24 hours. She was struggling to breathe and was hooked up to an oxygen line. It was scary. All I could do was cry. They were giving her morphine and anxiety meds. She looked scared. I played music for her. I sang for her and I held her hand. My sister, who lives in California was trying her hardest to fly on standby (Christmas week mind you) to Florida. She was to arrive around 3a on Tuesday morning, and the nurses were doubting my mother would make it. My sister finally got in at 6a and we were all thinking it could happen any moment. I finally ended up going to a nearby hotel room Simone got Tuesday evening around 9. It felt so good to take a shower after nearly two days. I hadn’t even changed. I looked a certified mess. My professor chic look had devolved into hobo chic.

My time at the hotel was cut short as Simone came knocking. Both my dad and I slept through her calls. We had only been asleep for less than 3 hours when the nurses said to call us back as mom was going to die any moment. We rushed back and got there before midnight. IT was at 4:07 when she stopped breathing and was pronounced dead. I could see the colour leave her body and the room was quiet as loud oxygen machine was now turned off.

The whole experience was surreal. I mean, with my brother everything was quick; this was the complete opposite. I didn’t know if I was an asshole for actually wanting her to die, but it was so hard to see her struggle with each breath. I wanted my mom alive, but that was definitely NOT living. It was humbling to see how my larger than life, over the top mother, had been reduced to a shadow of her former self. It was gut wrenching to see my dad sob over his wife of 50 years. (they’re anniversary was December 17th)


I’m not sure what the point of all this was, but I started writing and couldn’t stop. I don’t wear emotions on my sleeve so I think people find it hard to get a read on me. I am not ok. I am so far from it. For someone who prided himself on being honest with his mother, it felt odd telling her it was ok to let go and die because I would be alright. I honestly don’t know if I will ever be right. I feel so sad, broken and lonely right now. Just when I think I’m done crying and fine, I hear, see, or say something that brings me to tears.

I didn’t wait until she was gone to tell her that I loved her or appreciated all she did for me. I was lucky enough to give my mother her roses when she was alive and of sound mind. Still, it bothers me that she didn’t see me super happy or successful at life. I am always going to feel like I didn’t hug her enough, thank her enough or even take enough pictures with her. It sucks seeing my sister and dad go through this and not being able to give them comfort. Right now I’m getting used to my new normal in life. I fucking hate this version of normal.