Last week I received a text message from a friend of mine inviting me to some event downtown hosted by Devin Harris who is a former Dallas Maverick's player who currently is employed by the Utah Jazz. I pay NO attention to basketball or any sport thereof (thank you Wikipedia). However, I was feeling that it was high time that I do something that did not require me baking my own pie crust from scratch. My lovely friend whom invited me we will call Johnnie-cakes! She is a lovely person whom I met when I moved to Dallas. She is a professor at a university here and a wonderful artist! I was very happy when Johnnie-cakes invited me to experience some true Dallas lifestyle. Let me explain to you what this eventually would entail.
Johnnie-cakes came and picked me up at my apartment and them drove to me this wonderful place called the W Hotel. This is a wonderful and snazzy franchise that exists all over this wonderful country even including Texas. At this particular location in Dallas, there is a quaint little establishment inside the W Hotel called the Ghost Bar. I had heard of this place but had never been on account of me not having a drivers license or the need to escape making quiche in my own kitchen. However, on this particular evening I was game on account of being accompanied by someone with some sanity. Johnnie-cakes picked me up looking fabulous. She had on a green ensemble which I understand is often referred to as a "jumper" as it is a one-piece outfit that is cut into shorts nice and high on the leg. Upon arrival, Johnnie-cakes informed me that we would be meeting a friend of hers whom also works at the same university as she. I didn't know anything about this mystery woman and was very excited to finally meet a new person who didn't appear as an image on the cover of a cookbook. As we walked towards the hotel Johnnie-cakes said "I only met her a little while ago but I know she's VERY tall.". I began to scan the very large crowd that had accumulated in a line-up outside. Very quickly she and I discovered this lovely tall abundance. We ran over quickly. This new found friend whom we will call Rapunzel, is an incredibly tall statuesque woman with very long blond hair that was tied up neatly on the back of her head just under a snazzy Cabaret-type hat. She had on blue jeans, high heels, a white wife-beater with a grey vest over it paired with some very decorative brassy jewelry. I felt I had been silenced for a moment. I need to vent for a second and let you know how much I LOVE tall people! They fascinate me to no end just like the telly-tubbies and Bisquick. After I pulled my jaw up to my lower lip I finally introduced myself. After some time speaking with her I discovered a wonderful fact. SHE'S CANADIAN! Can you believe it? If I couldn't think at that point it could get any better but in fact she was from the wonderful province of Alberta! The only thing more exciting that meeting a fellow Canadian is finding one whom is not embarrassed about admitting it! HALLELUJAH!
After a relatively lengthy conversion, the three of us (myself, Rapunzel, and Johnnie-cakes) realized that the incredibly long line we were in, for some reason, was not moving. You see, we had pre-registered online for this "prestigious" party which guaranteed us free entry before 11pm. We had arrived slightly after 10 knowing that surely we would have free entry. Supposedly we were mistaken. After an hour had passed by, the three of us were a little pissed to say the least! It's one thing for an event to take its time but this was a complete rip-off! The line was literally at a stand still for over 45 minutes! What could possibly be the problem? Did Yoko Ono die? Did the bouncer forget to shave his cho-cha?! I mean really! And of course with the curfew for free entry ending at 11pm, we were conveniently not allowed into the building until 11:15 where we were each asked to contribute a $20 cover! Are you kidding me? These bitches at some snotty club are making $60 on the three of us entering an establishment that purposely slowed down their entry service to hype up their own event and profit off of 3 unsuspecting victims (2 of which were Canadian!). Chris Brown will see you in a Hell! Fo shizzel!
After the shenanigans at the front door came to a standstill, we finally made our way to the Ghost Bar. This particular bar, by the way, is only accessible by elevator. I don't think this was by necessity. I have a theory that they purposely designed the bar to have an exclusive access from the hotel to give the feeling to patrons that the money that had been swindled from them was well worth it! Screw you corporate America! So we hopped in on the over-sized elevator with concierge who struck a very similar resemblance to Suge Knight. After all this hype, money, and time wasted, the three of us were more than ready to be overwhelmed with high expectations. We walked in and I must say it was pretty beautiful. Everything had a blue or purple sort of hue EVERYWHERE! The lights behind the bar illuminated the copious amounts of Patron bottles. The flourescent green seats lit up the African-American bums perched so gingerly atop. The purple lights seered up through the floor and shon upon the scuffling feet of the crowds drinking above. It was all very lovely and hideously pretentious! Noone was dancing! This is very strange to me. How can you pay $20 to get into an "exclusive event" held at an "exclusive club" and not even dance! This is the problem with Black people! Give them too much money and high standards and they begin to get all bougeois on your ass and start ignoring their African heritage filled with dancing and drumming! Come on people, shake your money maker!
At the point where I thought things would not get any more annoying, I ventured to the restroom. I should make a point of referencing the fact that whenever I am going out on the town, pretentiously over-priced or not, I always make a point of having SEVERAL cocktails at my own home beforehand. The reasons for doing so are both economical and enjoyable. First of all, when you look at the prices we hoes have to pay at clubs and bars these days, you might as well get yourself drunk enough before you leave your house as to not feel the need to drink yourself away foolishly to forget about the $20 cover you paid to get in the stinky place! However, it must be said that just like watching others slip on a banana peel, I always leave myself wanting more. By this I mean that I always am sure to serve myself just enough drinks at home that I will be fully prepared to be tipsy once I arrive at the public establishment yet also in the perfect mood to enjoy one more evening cocktail at full price. Here's why! I cannot walk around a place completely drunk with no adult beverage in my hand, that's just tacky! You have to buy at least ONE drink when you're out! Do you hear that kids?! In any event, I had gotten my brain to the perfect point of inhebration after 4 delicious cosmopolitans prior to being picked up by Johnnie-cakes. That combined with waiting in line for over an hour led me to feeling the urgent need to urinate in copious amounts. I ran to the restroom! After relieving myself I found to be quite startled once I arrived at the sink realizing that someone had been watching me do my business the whole time. After a second or two of reflection as I stood there in the disco-ball themed restrooom, I realized that this person was not a pedophile but in actuality, a bathroom attendant! May I just point out that the job of a bathroom attendant is one of the most bizarre, inappropriate, and impossibly explained carreer choices of the millenium. Truly, you must have to have smoked an entire ganja tree in order to even consider such a hideous trade. I'm still trying to figure this whole thing out. So I go pee and then I need a paid human being to squirt soap in my hands for me. Really? Even having consumed 4 cosmpolitans in a 1 hour span, do I seriously need assistance in being lubricated manually in an anti-bacterial fashion? I figured out how to operate the elevator well enough didn't I? This was completely absurd. What disturbs me further is that with a bathroom attendant you are not offerred the service but rather impeeded on with their gesture without being asked. This random guy just attacks you with Purell! It's absolute craziness. As I washed my hands in complete disbelief, the young man grabbed some paper towel and held it out for me to dry my hands. As I grabbed a towlette, I noticed from the corner of my eye that he had a stack of cash next to him that was presumably his tip accumulation. I decided to have my first Black moment of the evening. I chose to NOT leave a tip which is incredibly non-Canadian of me by the way. I just feel like if someone forces on their services on you it's really not my duty to tip that person. I had been soap raped! Can you at least ask first? Not to mention this was the first White person I had seen the ENTIRE night besides Rapunzel. Go figure!
Once I returned back to the bar, Johnnie-cakes had a Vodka-cranberry waiting for me! The love of my life! Rapunzel, her tall self, was drinking a bottle of beer of some American variety. However, she explained to me that drinking beer was truly what makes her Canadian. It's like how Russians drink Vodka like it's water; it's part of their heritage. Interesting fact: The word "Vodka" comes from "Voda" which means "water" in Russian! White people are brilliant! In any event I grabbed my beverage and headed outside with my two fellow musketeers. I was immediately floored by the absolutely gorgeous view we had! From the top of the Ghost Bar, we could see the entire downtown in all of its glory! It looked like our family Christmas tree from 1989! I remember it well; it looked like the Public Relations committee from New Kids on the Block had thrown up on a spruce! It was one Hell of a tree! After some time, and several drinks later, we decided, Rapunzel, Johnnie-cakes and I, that we were tired of watching pretentions Black people stand around like a reverse auction and get out on the dance floor and make some use of it! This was going to get good!
For some reason, if you are bold enough to be the first one to bust a move in a public situation, you are either revered or heavily made fun of. In our situation, I think it ended up being a bit of column A and a little from columb B. However, the point is, after only one hideously pretentious and degrating hip hop song, we managed to have the whole club dancing! That's what happens when attractive people start gyrating. What made the feat even more impressive was the capabality of the three of us to maintain a 0% consistency of drink spillage. In my case, I value alcohol to much to spill it, even if I've had 4 cosmopolitans. A little time, and a little more drinking went by, and all of a sudden something very exciting happened. The DJ played THE WOBBLE! This is one of my favorite Black line dances! It really gets all of the coloreds moving, even the really thick down South ones! It's like it was made for them! And what thrilled me to no end was that the only White person in the entire place, Rapunzel, knew that dance like the back of her Vanilla colored hand! She had this shit on lockdown! After a few rounds of this line dance I noticed something very strange come over me. At this point I had in my hand, some Crown Royal and coke, the Blackest drink since Colt 45 and bubbly. Something about this African-American alcoholic concoction spoke to me in the most Negro way possible. Out of nowhere, I grabbed Rapunzel and started dancing and gyrating with her! I suppose this wasn't completely scandalous but it is very seldom that I am so forceful in my dance choices! Normally, I'm happy just to "lonely hump" on my own in my purple jeans but on this evening I must have been feeling especially frisky. A few minutes later I was even more surprised finding that somehow I had grabbed Johnnie-cakes and was dancing with her like a maniac! She would drop it low like she had lost a quarter on the floor and I would immediately follow along and end up right on the floor behind her. Between the Rapunzel-groove and the Johnnie-cakes gyration, I was beside myself! There I was, the polite Canadian, pimping TWO women on the same dance floor. I was an absolute disgrace to my people and to my country!
I was jiggling it back! I was shaking it to the front! I was circling my pelvis in any direction the music or the Crown Royal would take me! I was throwing my bald head around like it was caught on fire like Michael Jackson in the 80s! I was not playing! Yet at some point, this lead to me somehow not feeling so fresh. I was feeling quite sweaty and in desparate need of Summer's Eve. As I entered the restroom for the second time that evening I realized that my little White friend was in fact my savior. As I swung the doors open I stared at the bathroom attendant briefly. "Hey do you have any scent that could make me smell a little more like a Black man with a porsche and less like a lonely African in a bush?". This guy had me covered! He went right to a secret Batman-like closet and grabbed some lovely Divenchy and sprayed it gingerly on both of my armpits, TWICE OVER! This was absolute brilliance! It was without reservation when I placed two dollar bills on top of his stash. I was paying hommage to finally learning why someone would actually work in a men's restroom voluntarily (With the exception of Larry Craig).
Once the three of came to the point of being past inhebriation, we all decided it was time to leave. The fact that each of us, separately, had to work at 10am the next morning further encouraged this decision (It was 1:30 in the morning at this point). Rapunzel and I had paid for our drinks in cash but Johnnie-cakes needed to head to the bar to take care of her tab. Her bill came to 45 dollars! She couldn't believe it! Neither could we! How could it be so damn expensive for one person to get slightly tipsy on a Thursday evening? This was atrocious. Johnnie-cakes couldn't believe it herself! After what felt like an eternity of silence, she finally begrudgingly paid the bill and we all piled into the elevator with the "elevator escort". Inside, I was delighted that I got to see some of the most pretentious bullshit of my life. It took everything in me not to burst ouf laughing and cry uncontrollably when I saw this mess. It was a Black woman wearing more make-up than Wendy Williams under harsh lighting. The poor little prostitute was draped over this man who looked like an over-grown Lil' Bow Wow. The hooker could not stop laughing! I do not know what was wrong with this woman. I guess some ladies think that if they dote over a man and act like they have just received a labatomy that the man that they are with will, without skipping a beat, buy them a Lexus. I was appauled. Although I shouldn't be; Nicki Minaj has a carreer.
Ultimately I was appauled at myself on how I had acted that evening. I was a true ghetto Canadian (a complete oxymoron). I had disrespected Jesus by gyrating with two lovely women at the same time who had been drinking completely separate flavors of alcoholic beverages. Clearly, I had had too many myself. As I pulled my heavy Crown Royal-filled head off of my pillow the next morning I took a moment of reflection to think about what I had done. I had taken a step down urban lane and found myself to be a true pimp daddy. However, this was truly a Cinderella case in the fact that this behaviour had only lasted a short period of time. By the time I had woken up I immediately wanted to begin praying to ask Jesus for forgiveness on account of me behaving like R.Kelly the previous evening. What was I thinking? I never thought that I would ever do anything in my life that would make Flava Flav proud. OY!
No comments:
Post a Comment