Saturday Night Lights

Some men never cease to amaze me. Saturday night, as usual, I was stuck at work watching paint dry and wondering how many drunken guests from the holiday parties going on will come to the front desk to do nothing more than irk my nerves with drunken stupid questions and not to mention the “belligerent” drunk who yells at you because their key doesn’t work…although they went to the wrong room in the first place and you have to explain, in a patient tone, why a key won’t work if it is not programmed for that room.

So I’m bored out of my skull officially by 8 pm because there were only 15 people left to check in and many of them were probably at the party getting drunk.

Some guy tried to slide to the front desk to holler never mind the fact that I check him and his girlfriend in. And I guess I was supposed to ignore him obviously checking me out as I’m checking him in. I mean how disrespectful! He’s just the cheesing as I check him in, never mind the dry dialogue and limited eye contact I mean they did interrupt my enlightening game of Spider, but oh no please wait until your girl is at the party and try to come back and holler.

Just to get shut the fuck down.

And the killing part: He acted as if I should be honored that he snuck away from the party to talk to me, little lowly ole me. Yes, everyone I should have fallen to my knees and praised God for dropping a slightly balding, middle-aged man right into my lap.

But you know an empty lobby and no manager in sight means an opportunity for yours truly to get ignant.

This fool has the audacity to ask me did I have on underwear because judging by the fit of my pants, I either didn’t have any on or was wearing a thong?

*cricket chirp*

What?! Repeate por favor?

I had to throw my head back and laugh because that had to be the most foolish statement I have heard in…well weeks.

But oh, no he didn’t stop there. I guess the laugh was confirmation to continue to say sweet, perverted nothings in my ear.

He even boldly stated that I should make a key for a room so he can show me “what I’m obviously not getting at home”.

*cricket chirp*

OMG I was laughing so hard my stomach started hurting. He will not try to kill me while I still have three more hours on the clock.

The foolishness that a little bit of spiked eggnog brings out.

Wiping tears from my face I had to tell him to get away from me because he was straight killing me. Oh yeah…And get the fuck out of my face. Please go back to your girlfriend sleazeball.

I said a few other choice words that would make any child of God blush but just know it had a lot of cursing in it *lol*.

I probably got a comment card about that encounter. Oh well…make sure my name is spelled right.

I was encouraged to go out and after some debating, I thought why not? It’s not as if I had any definite plans for the night.

I called JBN and convinced him to iron and bring me a “club outfit” so I can go out and shake my tail feather. He failed to see the logic of bringing a blazer without a shirt, which led into a mini-debate which led to "I didn't ask your opinion, just bring the outfit!"

He can grumble all he want. I was wearing the outfit regardless.

We went to the “Roman Numerals” Club, as we call it, or 1223 as everyone else calls it.

I had a nice time, I was a little bored *maybe I am outgrowing the “club” scene* even though this guy asked me did I do drugs because I have a “coke pinky”.

Tuh as if I would ever do coke. I do not indulge in drugs. Ok I smoke weed once every blue moon but that’s it. I don’t need an after school special to see what drugs do to the human body.

A “coke pinky”, in case anyone didn’t know, means that the pinky nails are longer than the rest of the nails in order to better scoop it up into your nose. You know in case the good old “dollar” bill isn’t working. I’d never gotten the “coke pinky” comment before, but I was highly amused. I can’t help those nails grow the fastest.

And does it look like I do drugs?

I think he was a dealer though because that’s the first thing he asked me.

We had a good laugh about that one. I’m not used to drug dealers trying to sell their wares in the club. I’m used to the good old corner hustlers asking are “you straight” and “what you need”.

The music was actually decent that night although that “Dutty Wine” dance don’t have anything on “Drunk White Gurls” dance. Shit I didn’t know whipping your damn hair all over the place like a deranged rock star actually had a name.

Let me find out there is a dance name for the awkward groping, offbeat dancing, and stiff stripper moves.

I personally find the dancing hilarious and I can not resist laughing when I see a group of girls who swear they are killing it on the dance floor when they are actually killing me with dance moves they’ve probably secretly copied from Save the Last Dance.

And if girls are really going to get on the bar and dance, make sure your outfit fits before hopping on the counter. Nothing is more disgusting than a girl digging her leotard out her butt every other second.

We did feel like pseudo celebrities because the cameramen always wanted to take a picture. I think it was because my breasts were hanging out of my shirt. And it’s not my imagination. I was asked twice by friends did my chest get bigger. And it was not because of the bra *lol*

Then when I sit and think about it…We were really the only people dancing…on beat.

Without spilling our alcohol all over the place. Shit for what I paid for that drink not a drop was falling out that cup. I would fight a motherfucker in the club for spilling my drink…or burning me with a cigarette.

This is very annoying. Stop trying to stunt and smoke that big nasty ass cigar in the club. And who smokes in a fucking crowded ass club…someone is just begging for an ass whooping. Because let that cigarette singe me…oh that’s a fight. Waving that shit all around…let some ashes flick into my hair.

Besides getting a little loose in the club, shit that bartender was trying to get me fucked up, I had a great time.

And I made it in the house at a decent time and I still got my 8 hours of sleep. The most important.

Although I did get a random text from someone early in the morning talking about “Good Morning”. This damn 202 number has been bugging me all week. I think I recognize the number but when I call it, no one picks up and when I send a text all I get is “You know who this is…”

I think 3+ years of having the same number is starting to come back and bite me on the ass. I think it’s time for a new number.

I wonder if they’ll let me have 867-5309 *lol*