the zero escapades - part deux.

Welcome back – hope you all had a good NBA All-Star/President’s Day weekend. Mine, to say the least, was very interesting. Let me first preface this by stating; this was definitely not a normal weekend for me but as chaos follows me, I must share it with you… the saga continues…

Friday – Zero K arrives from his humble abode in Memphis and we immediately make our trek toward Chili’s. There, we meet up with a couple of friends in town and proceed to consume large amounts of alcohol (the joys I feel for the 2 for 1 special at Happy Hour never cease to amaze me). During our drinking session, I see a friend of mine, High Yella. I am slick pissed at High Yella because we were supposed to go out the previous weekend and she canceled on me at the last minute because her “frat brother” came into town at the last minute. Anyway, I believe she knows I’m a bit annoyed with her so she asks me over to her table so we can talk. I’m feeling amenable because I try not to carry grudges (plus the warm liquid I had imbibed was working its sweet magic). I convince High Yella and her friend to meet Zero and myself at the club later that night. She immediately asks if I am going to pay her admission. As Whitney would say – HELL TO THE NAW! (You’re lucky I’m even talking to you right now…guess the ideal of not holding a grudge has been set back…) I do let her know that I don’t mind being the transportation (I am still a gentleman, you know).

Zero and I rush home to get dressed because it’s getting later in the evening (and we’re trying to beat the cover charge before it gets too astronomical). We also have to swing over and pick the young ladies up. We specifically tell them our plans and that we are on a strict schedule (they must not understand: we are trying to BEAT the cover charge!). We call 10 minutes before leaving my place and arrive at High Yella’s residence (20 minutes later) to discover: THESE CHICKS AIN’T READY! (Lawd, please pass the Excedrin because I have a headache this big…). We wait on them in the parking complex for about 15 more minutes before they come down… and then we rush over to the club just to find out the cover had gone up: 15 MINUTES AGO! SONUVABITCH!!!! After I calmed down (it took me a hot minute), I decided to enjoy some more libations, socialize and begin my natural segue to the dance floor. I politely ask High Yella (being gallant) if she will accompany me on this escapade. Of course, she declines (stating that she is tired and does not want to leave her friend alone).

At this point, I decide that I am not here to look after anyone and begin to saunter around the club, looking for potential victims (I mean, partners, err, dance partners). I venture onward and spot some more folks that I know. I stop and chat for a bit and I notice that one of these friends has brought her sister with her. She introduces me to the sister and indicates that her sister is from Chicago too. Of course, I’m delighted to see someone else from the crib so I insist on dancing with her (in my impaired stupor). Right about that time, some booty-shake music comes on. I grab the Sister’s hand and begin to twerk something on the floor… big mistake.

The Sister enjoys my grinding and proceeds to one-up me. She (in one motion) puts her legs around my thighs, extends her arms and flips down to the floor (like a wheelbarrow). She then freaks me very hard (so hard I think I might’ve busted my stitches in my leg).

After that performance, I feel compelled to talk to this girl again (you know, for dance lessons and stuff). It did take me awhile to collect myself but finally I ask the Sister how long she planned on being in town. She tells me: I’ll be here until the end of the semester. WHAT?!!! Methinks I have been freaking down a certified youngin! Turns out she’s 19 (you can’t even drink legally at that age, let alone be cavorting around the club like that). That’s false representation (underage females should be given instructions with the bodies – do not use until you are legal). I was hoodwinked, bamboozled, led astray…. Anyway, after that escapade, I had to sit down and as I do this, I look and see High Yella getting worked on by some other dude… WTF? Who’s tired now? She looked awfully lively to me as she was thrusting her backside in the air. To top it off, I still had to drive her home. What a night…. at least, I got some free champagne out of the deal.

Saturday – After Friday’s escapades, I was worn out and I still hadn’t decided what to wear to the Martini Party. Let me tell you about the Martini Party… it is NOT a normal affair. At last year’s event, there were martini fountains around the mansion, endlessly flowing with enough alcohol to set ablaze a Chicago city block. People were so inebriated they were literally dancing on the stairs (and falling down them as well). Needless to say, this was an immense event. Many of the invitees were well-to-do figures around the Nashville area (doctors, lawyers, artists, etc.) so you had to be properly cleaned up. The process of having just the right outfit was a painstaking process (but it was finally accomplished). Zero and I (dressed to impress) headed out and confirmed our orders: GET PISSY DRUNK OFF OF THE RICH FOLK’S FREE LIQUOR….

We arrived fashionably late (OK, on the notorious CP Time) and proceeded to greet people and advance toward the bar area. We drank, ate and danced until the event was over. We had such a great time we decided to go the “establishment” next door. Realize that our group (about 30 black folks) are still a bit intoxicated but nevertheless still down to have some good times (like Jimmie JJ). We enter into the “establishment” and are immediately stopped by the bouncer.

He announces to us the club is at capacity. We look around confused because as far as we can see there are a few patrons milling about but the club is nowhere near capacity (but no one in the group was a fire marshal so we couldn’t complain). After waiting 15 minutes (and seeing other patrons go in), the bouncer lets some of us up while the rest of us were stuck, waiting to get in (like the episode on the Cosby Show when Theo got left out of Dance Mania). We all began to get a little restless when the bouncer tells everyone to clear the walkway (mainly our group). I ask the bouncer where should I go to... it’s clearly no room in the area. He tells me I’m belligerent (huh?) and tells me to clear the walkway. Bouncer Boy must not know who he’s messing with. I haven’t even begun to get belligerent.

The more we go back and forth, the more obstinate I become. There is nowhere to go, I’m cold and this dickhead is calling me confrontational. Anyone that knows me knows that I avoid drama (LOL, OK, maybe I don’t…) but I didn’t initiate anything this time. He ends up calling another bouncer (of the same persuasion) to tell me to leave. During this time, I’m thinking to myself that I want to introduce his face to his my fist but I thought better of it. After 10 more minutes of discussion, we all decided to leave this “establishment”.

After a weekend like that, I realized two things:
1) I’m getting way too old for this drama.
2) I am way too pretty to end up in a jail cell, on the top bunk, next to Guillermo, the Latin lover.

I’m not even trying to think about going to the club, let alone, drink anymore… this ish is for the birds.

Who the hell am I kidding? Zero and I will be on the trail again next month – avoiding peril, cover charges and bar tabs. Now if only I could stop dry-heaving… back at cha on Thursday. – Jorge