John's Best Quip: "License and registration... chickenfucker."
Jessica Sinclair has woven for us a story of a woman who makes bad life decisions but suffers no ill effects against the beautiful backdrop of homeless people sleeping in garbage filled parks. Miss Sinclair also shows us that the only interaction that white people and black people have are extremely painful at best.
Destiny's, our lady of the hour, life isn't going so well. Her husband keeps trying to break up with her in Subways, and she has to deal with strange Japanese people who don't understand how to leave. Her boss thinks she is incompetent, but would consider her for partner if she could just do one thing right.
She runs into Troy, a "photographer" who loves having sex through clothes (one is reminded of Kitty Pryde), and hates fancy dress parties that lack chicken and booze. A simple man, not ready to be a part of Destiny's high living world filled with cd embedded tar art. They go to a Mormon orgy, and Destiny is really sure this is it. Destiny still reaches towards Troy after he makes a scene during an important dinner party that could be considered a hate crime by stereotypes alone. Called into the boss's office the next day, she makes partner despite poor guest bringing judgement and her boss's very clear disgust for her. She relents on being angry at Troy and goes to give him the good news only to find out via his real "boo" that she is actually his "sugar mamma," a term she needed explained to her.
After soul searching in church with head of youth services who was there to pick up her sweater, she hands her husband the signed divorce papers in an Olive Garden.
I keep thinking possibly I left something out, and I am sure I did. Just when you think ," Could that white girl really not think that asking for chronic in a group of professional black sisters is a bad idea?" She then talks about how much she likes dark chocolate men. This movie enjoyed limboing casually below every low point like it was Barbados Slim. -bee