"The Fight": WHAT HAPPENED IN VEGAS…PT III

Last time on “WHAT HAPPENED IN VEGAS…” (PT II)

...The time before the last time on “WHAT HAPPENED IN VEGAS…” (PT I)

And now, today’s feature: “The Fight”

[Saturday morning at brunch]

“Where we going tonight, bitches?!”

The Fight.

“Bourgie” finagles us into another limo to the Floyd Mayweather/Zab Judah fight. I’m not sure of what to expect, but I’m certain that at least 2 of my 3 requirements for success will be in abundance. And were they ever…

We roll up to the Thomas & Mack Center (where UNLV plays), and saunter past a sea of Boys and get in line for some Booze.

I actually manage to smuggle a flask of Grey Goose and cran past security and I’m sipping and sinking into the scene.

It was like a rap concert. That’s the only thing I can compare it to. Not everyone is there to see the fight…they’re there to be seen. And this is where I finally get a good dose of hoochies.

My boys are so ridiculous about it, flat out pointing from point blank range at women’s azzes. Making comments. Actually SAYING shit to them. They're behaving like the losers I blog about. I have to sober up a second and ask them sincerely if what I’m seeing isn’t make believe.

“Did you actually just point your camera phone at that woman’s behind?”
“Yeah, but the one with the big titties got in the way.”
Just checking.

“Well DAAAAAYUMMMM! Look at the sack on THAT cat!” I say. “I KNOW I’m not the only one who sees that dude’s azz!”
“Shut the hell up, Wise. Go take a picture of that stallion chick in the white cat suit for me.”
Point well taken.

Well a scene is not a scene unless there are some famous folk. And there are plenty. (NBA) Steve “Tricky” Smith. Fellow fighter Antonio Tarver. Patriots' Willie McGinest (pictured here). The Maloof Brothers (who own the Sacramento Kings and the Palms hotel/casino). Beyonce. Christina Aguillera. Luda.

I live in NYC, and don’t usually get antsy when I see money walking toward me…but I go absolutely 106 & Park when they show Usher, Magic, and Hov on the jumbotron before the main event. Yeah, this is my first fight.

So if you’ve seen the highlights (or by now the actual fight in its entirety) you know them boys put on quite a show. Despite the odds (I’m in Vegas so I know all about the “odds” and shit like that), Zab was actually bringing it in the early rounds. And the crowd was loving him. Many more random “Judah! Judah!” outbursts than “Floyd! Floyd!”

Then the brawl.

Then the decision.

Then the after party...

My boy Bourgie isn’t so successful this time with the limo…twice in one night would be asking a lot…so we troop through the parking lot past an insane line for taxis.

You can probably sense a pattern here, and I swear I’m no alcoholic…but I AM tossed. We pass Tarver and Steve Smith again (who I later think is stalking me…stay tuned)…and just kind of mingle with the crowd.

It’s a nice night… I have my legs out… dudes are showing off, and my boys (my big bro Anger Management in particular) are not happy about it. But I lay it on thick, and pose for dudes who are pointing their camera phones at his sister, Wise. Touche.

I even go so far as to grab up a piece of yellow police tape from the ground, let it hang from the back pocket of my skirt and prance.

“You got something on your skirt, boo.” That’s what the boys say.
“Uh huh. CAUTION, baby.” That’s what I reply.

My brother is livid and walks way ahead. [and refuses to honor request and take a pic of my backside]

As I haggle behind, I’m aware enough to notice an out of place Maybach. I survey the scene and identify some young scrub dudes gathering.

Oh shit! Shut up!! Who he bout to get killed tonight??

I get my prance on right toward him, letting the night breeze caress my bare thighs.

Since my crew is yards ahead of me, I turn to one of the scrub hangers on and say, “Please don’t run off with my camera…but can you take this flick?” Scrub dude agrees. Looks too high to run anyway. [note: I don’t smoke]

Then I turn to HIM.

“Mr. Suge, will you pose with me?”
“Of course, honey.”

This large arm around my shoulder feels a lil less sexy than the night before.

Suge Knight has years of blood on his hands and now they are hooked around my back. I’m daydreaming about a lifeless Tupac, and a dangling Vanilla Ice, and yet I’m carefree…but only because there are no Bloods or Crips visible in the vicinity. I am, however, slightly concerned about the buckets of sweat dripping from this negro’s forehead…like he just violated parole or something. Oh.

I catch up to my crew at this cute little liquor store at the end of the parking lot and show them the pics on my digi. They can’t believe my balls. Balls? It’s Vegas. It’s rubbing off on me.

“Anger Management, Suge could have snapped my fcuking neck, and you were nowhere to be found.”
“Wise, he could have snapped your neck if I was carrying you on my back.” True...

Anger Management walks off to find a bottle opener…meanwhile, there is a sudden swarm of young sexies around me. I keep it movin, and prance to checkout, where the rest of my crew is gathered.

“I’m telling Mommy you had your legs out,” says my play brother “London Bridge.”
“Here, take a picture and email it to her,” I say.
“Ok Wise, this whole “Caution” thing is a bit much for me,” chimes in Anger Management.

I pull the caution tape out of my pocket, toss it in the trash, buy a 6 pack of Coronas for me and my big bro, and we’re on our way to Hard Rock Cafe.

Next up…“How The White Chick Almost Got Me Jumped”: PT IV