"How The White Chick Almost Got Me Jumped": WHAT HAPPENED IN VEGAS... PT IV

Ok, play catch up...

Episode I
Episode II
Episode III
Special Report

Now for Episode IV: So after the fight we decide to walk toward the club until we can grab a couple of cabs on the street. Walking through the streets, we can see our destination in clear view, and it doesn’t seem like a daunting undertaking in the mild night air.

Problem is, none of the passing cabs are empty. So we approach this small apartment complex. In my mind this is the west coast version of the projects, or the hood at best…those cramped quarters that resemble just about every building I’ve ever seen in Boyz in the Hood, Menace, Baby Boy, Training Day, etc.

The silent old Latino man laying on a cot out on the front lawn should have been immortalized in my camera…but wasn’t. I was too preoccupied by the eerie silence of our surroundings.

At the end of the complex is an alley. No more like a crossing. Ok, what it really looked like was the setting for this line from Boyz in the Hood: "Y’all wanna see a dead body?”

Yeah, on the train tracks. These grown azz men in hard bottom shoes and slacks got me hiking in my skirt and heels on a damn John Singleton set, looking like a black extra from the director’s cut of Stand By Me. [In their defense, it would have been pointless to double back past old man in cot and down another street. We were anxious to party and already almost there.]

Finally, we cross the hill, literally jumping a fence… and approach the Hard Rock hotel. We consider the club there, “Body English,” a spot that my boy“Entourage” is very familiar with. But the line is already really long…and really white. We decide not to stay.

So we step. My other brother “The Boss of Me,” has just arrived in town from his biz conference, and we have his cab come scoop us up. Destination, back to OPM to redeem ourselves.

And we do.

Well for the most part…

Only two more of us can legally fit into “Boss of Me’s” cab. So of course I jump in, and Bourgie is right behind me. That nucca has such entitlement issues, it’s ridiculous. Had I been a bit more sober, I would have screamed on him realizing that he was allowing the female half of the “Codependent Couple” to continue to troop in her killer heels.

We arrive back at the club and the crowd makes the one last night look like a modest neighborhood double dutch line. It’s crazy in there! But Wise was ready. Earlier that day I call the promoter and reserve a table for the crew. So we front him the $200 for the line, and then are escorted up to VIP. We decide on Henney and Stoli for our bottles, and start taking pictures…until burly bouncer who is stationed by our table, informs us that picture taking is not allowed…becase they got a photographer in there selling photos (which my cousin “Oh Canada” can’t resist).

So we’re already partying when the rest of the crew arrives. They place a call, we tell them who to talk to at the door, and after an extended pause I realize something’s probably wrong. Next thing I know, Anger Management and London Bridge run up on us.

“Yo, they said y’all told them there was only 2 others coming. Stay Hype, The Codependent Couple and Pac aint get in.”

True. We tried to save them an extra $200…cuz they told us at the door that if there were more than 2 others they’d have to pay out the azz for another table. So the couple was obviously connected at the hip…I mean, the wife literally slept in the guys’ room every night, even showered down there instead of in the girls’ room. Anywhere the husband goes/or doesn’t go she goes/or doesn’t, and vice versa. Hence the name. They had each other so I wasn’t trippin off them not getting in. But Stay Hype was so named for a very good reason. We’ve been tight since 7th grade and he’s the life of the party…and this is the second party he’s missed. He wasn’t willing to pay $90 to party and I can’t say I blame him.

Not that the party wasn’t well worth it…

Ya know, it’s not a good idea to allow drunk people pour their own drinks. There is a reason why open bars are regulated...as in, there's a bartender. But at a VIP table, with a bucket of ice, two bottles, and nonstop chasers, what makes you think I’m NOT going to wild out?

Well I was doing really well. Btwn the dance floor and the table, I had it under control for the most part. Kid Capri was murdering the crowd with hit after hit after hit [that's Capri via my photo vision by the end of the night]. Even the west coast shit was hot. So I’m walking from the bathroom and I run into Entourage who is in his full element. So I walk behind him back to the dance floor when we run into this tall white girl who is not faring so well. Apparently these two South Side Chicago-type hardcore chicks stepped on her foot and she reached out as a reflex to try to regain her balance. But the girls thought she was swinging at them.

So Entourage, ever the hero to a damsel in distress, steps in and stands between the burgeoning melee. The black girls of course are bout it, and the white girl is of course cowering, and I’m slightly amused. I really just wanted them to move so I could get back to the Kevin Garnet look alike I left on the floor.

So I lean over to one of the sistas, smirk and say, “Don’t even waste your drink on her.”
But home girl took it as me taking the other side.

“What??!” And before I know it the attention is averted from the real offender and now on me. So I step a step closer and look her in the eye to let her know I’m not playing either and repeat myself.
“I SAID…don’t waste your drink on that girl!” And then I punctuate it with a slight head lean and a raised eyebrow. The Rock style.

They smell what Wise is cooking, back off and disperse…and I exhale dramatically. I ain’t no punk chick…I’ve been known to get it poppin for less than this. And a chance to show off in front of Boss of Me, who thinks he’s my dad and would be so proud of me if I beat some bitch’s azz? What?

But really, I just didn’t have the wind to be throwing bows. I swallowed most of my energy three Stolis ago. I had just enough for the upcoming reggae mix, and MAYBE another two “get lows.” [this of course after a brief, but mandatory (and involuntary) pass-out on the couch]

And I didn’t want to spill my damn drink.

I find out the next morning that Entourage went home with the white girl…only because he forgot to get the room key from Pac and Stay Hype. He slept on her couch in the basement of some house in the burbs.

He always tells me when he smashes. And this time, for whatever reason, he didn’t.
I however, did briefly entertain the thought of smashing the KG lookalike. I gave him my card and he was blowing up my biz phone all night. Mighta been a decent look…had the Boss of Me not escorted me safely back to the telly.

Caution!

Next up…the dramatic conclusion of WHAT HAPPENED IN VEGAS…a sista is gettin tired!