Now that I’m older I seem to be more and more content to do less and less. Some people call it growing up. Others call it boredom, as in ‘been there done that.’ I call it laziness. Just a few years ago I seemed to have virtually unlimited amounts of energy all the time. I’d work all day, go to the basketball court and spend 2 hours hooping, drive around doing everything and nothing, get to the crib, check email and make a couple of calls and before I know it it’s 2 am. Resignedly I’d shower and sleep at maybe 2.03 am. [Yes, my showers are usually that short. They’re intense though.] The alarm clock would go off at 6.30 and I’d try and break the snooze button a couple of times. I’d eventually get up at about 6.50 and be out the house by 6.55. [Yes, 5 minutes is all I need.] I’d be at work by 7.45 and the same sequence of events would replicate. All this time I’d be 100% alert and literally bouncing off the walls with boundless energy. Not so these days. All I do after work, if I don’t have anything to do, is go to the crib and chill. I know, even I am surprised at that.
A couple of weekends ago though, I decided to break that cycle of monotony and went out to a club. A couple of my friends persuaded me to go actually. That wasn’t the sole reason I broke down and went out. It was the weekend of
Anyway, before I get ahead of myself, let me get back to the chronological order of events. We were in one of my boys’ truck that night. It’s a black 2005 Chevy Tahoe with everything in it. I’m talking about DVD, smoked out windows, custom running boards, custom LED brake lights, exhaust, intake, interior etc, all on 22 inches of deep-dish chrome. Trust me, this truck is a beauty. With the owner’s consent I may post a photo of it someday. Anyway, back to the story. [I like cars, as you might’ve guessed] We knew we were gonna get f_ed up so we passed by Taco Bell. I had a beef & potato burrito. [Shout-out to B.E.T. You know about this, ha ha!] We rode to D.C. headed for the Platinum Club. For all y’all who aren’t familiar with D.C., The Platinum Club is a hip-hop club. It’s OK. Too crowded though, but OK. The music is good.
There was mad people around the club. I kid you not, the line went around the block. Plus, it was a little nippy and there was this annoying drizzle – the kind you think is not serious but it ends up soaking you up. First thing I noticed when we got close to the entrance was all the scrumptious ladies around. I guess some had trickled out of
Next thing I knew we were headed toward a much shorter line that had only 5 or so people. I was about to ask what was going on when my boy [shout-out, J-Dub] asked how much the cover was. Bouncer dude said, looking dead at us like it was nothing:
“This is the VIP line. The charge is $150.” I was about to turn back headed for the ‘ordinary’ line when J-Dub was like:
“Don’t get your panties in a bunch >d., I got you.”
“For real?” I asked, incredulous.
“Faw shaw,” he said impatiently. “Come on!”
Believe it or not, he paid for me to get into VIP. I thought that was it until we got inside and were trapped at another ‘pay booth.’ They were asking for another $50 just so we can get our own table. I was about to protest when J told me to shut up, and he paid for me again. Wow. That was $200 spent already and I wasn’t even in yet!
We finally get in there and get the table, a collective $1,000 later. [There was 5 of us, in case you’re mathematically challenged] The VIP lounge is butter, all nice and warm, spacious, has good music and has 99.999% female occupancy. [
The rest of the evening seems to be a blur in memory. Soon as the Henny kicked in I was suddenly into the music and the rest is history. I was determined not to dance though I usually can’t help it. Trust me again fellas, when you’re sitting in VIP keep cool. Don’t dance. Make every gesture smooth and premeditated. Never seem overeager. If you follow my advice there will never be a shortage of honeyz trying to holla. And that’s how it was. There I was looking at some of the finest looking people in the greater Washington D.C. Metropolitan area and all I did was chill and have them come to me. I vaguely remember some chick sitting down between J-Dub & me and putting her arms around us looking at us back & forth saying something to the effect of ‘y’all so fine.’ [Trust me, it must’ve been the alcohol. Fine doesn’t exactly describe me.] Then that annoying but OK joint “Shake Your Laffy Taffy” song came on and suddenly she was standing up with her booty in my face gyrating to the beat. As f_ed up as I was that booty seemed like a blur!
A moment later is when I realized that everyone in there was smoking. And I don’t mean cigarettes. Maybe that’s why I was so out of it coz of second-hand ciga-weed smoke. FYI – do you know that no one ever died from an overdose of marijuana? That’s more than I can say for some ‘medicinal’ drugs. I’ll leave that alone.
But anyway, all I remember next is my boys leaving and I was all by myself surrounded by a bevy of half-drunk
Young Jeezy came through. Yes, the one and the same from “Akon and young Jeezy.” I’ll tell you what though, that iced-up diamond Snowman hanging at the base of his platinum chain is really icy. As in it seemed to light the whole place up. He performed too. It was good. Great, actually. The crowd was so hype it was amazing. Not only that, but there were so many people. Like, it took me 5 whole minutes to get to the bathroom; I could see the bathroom from across the room. Wow.
Next thing I knew, it was and time to get back home. Thankfully I wasn’t driving. Most of the Hennesy somehow managed to involuntarily find its way down my esophagus, through the stomach walls into the bloodstream and consequently into my brain where it tricked my hypothalamus into influencing me to believe that I was king of the world and that I should just let myself go. And go I did - I was asleep 2 seconds after getting back into the truck. All too soon I was at the house and somehow managed to drag myself to the bed. I was too far gone to get into bed so I lay on top of it, Tims and all.
The rest of the weekend blew by. Let’s just say I was hurting the next couple of days. Henny is no joke, people. It’ll grow hair on your chest. It’ll make you hurl last week’s spinach. It will make you part of the bedroom furniture – affixed to the bed. It’ll make you not wanna touch any alcohol ever again – till the next day anyway. Grown people stuff it is, that Henny.
Be sure to get to the D.C. area next year. More importantly, get to