I promise not to lose my will to write this halfway through.
Well, I’ma try real hard, lol.
I work a half day at work and towards the end of it, I get a phone call from my mama. I’m superbusy and about to walk out the door in 15 minutes to go meet her, pick up the rental car and get on the road. She tells me to check my text messages. She sounds weird. I break away finally, and get to my phone.
She’s being admitted to the hospital.
Once I get outside to my car, I call her and see what’s up. She doesn’t sound good. I go home, grab my bags, and go to the hospital.
Did I mention I’m terrified of hospitals?
So, I sit in the parking garage for a long time willing myself to go in. Once I get upstairs, we do the usual waiting-around-for-the-doctor-to-decide-he-wants-to-give-us-info song and dance. Tests, pain medicine, nurses in and out. My mama finally falls asleep (well, more accurately, passes out because of the morphine) and I stay there for awhile curled up in a chair watching her sleep. Finally, they announce that visiting hours are over and a nurse comes around and kicks me out.
I get in my car and head towards home. The closer I get, the more I’m debating whether or not I’m gonna stay in Texas. Staying in Godforsaken Redneckland over the weekend means two things:
#1 I’ll have the weekend off with nothing to do but try not to have a panic attack at the thought of walking into a hospital. Oh, and also waiting on my mother hand and foot, which she adores, but I have been doing all my life so I’m notsomuch with the adoring.
#2 I will miss a job interview in Atl that I’ve been trying to get for a month now, thus further delaying my plans to escape Godforsaken Redneckland.
I pace for awhile.
And then, I say fuck it, grab my (literal) road dog Honey and get in my truck.
The drive to Atlanta from Houston isn’t so bad. It’s not until you you’re driving through Alabama that the boredom makes you want to die. After pulling over and an accidentally-too-long delay for sleeping, I hit Atl about 3pm Friday.
I realize, as I’m texting my usual suspects to let them know I’ve arrived (Joy, First Love, cousins) that in her excitement, Joy has somehow forgotten that I’ve been up all night. I have to remind her that I am definitely due for a nap. Bless her heart.
I nap for about 17 seconds and then we hit Atlantic Station which is like a Georgia equivalent of Georgetown in DC, the Harbor Shops in Miami, Soho in NY. We shop for about two minutes before we have to leave to prepare for the evening.
This is where our accounts of the evening begin to differ.
Joy has told me previously that it’s her friend Thurm’s bday and invited me out. I previously said yes, not remembering that I’ve already told my friend, let’s call her Rockhead, that I would meet her and her line sisters at The Compound. (It was Greek picnic weekend in Atl so everybody and their frat was there.) While we shop I debate; I’m still kinda sleepy so I kinda don’t wanna go anywhere. I told Rockhead I’d chill with her a few weeks back. I told Joy I’d go with her to this club I’ve never heard of but Thurm “said the music was good.” I was still debating by the time we got back to my house. In the end, I decided to go with Joy. I ignored the calls from Rockhead for the rest of the night.
I guess my FIRST clue that this wasn’t going to be exactly my scene was the fact that Joy had on jeans and sneakers. Now, La may be a tad bit hood, but La is TOTALLY saddity when it comes to her club selection. If it doesn’t have a strict dress code, or at least a dress code of some type, I’m not in it. At the risk of sounding racist, if the patrons are at least 80% Black or Hispanic it’s probably not gonna be my scene. If the parking lot looks like a set for the Fast and the Furious Tokyo Drift, I’m taking it back to the house. If it doesn’t have a cover, I won’t be inside. If I have to pay said cover, I probably won’t go. (Being at HU spoiled me; between me and Reka, we always knew somebody that could put us on the list. I paid a cover all of once all my 4 years in DC to get into a club.) (And if you ask, I’ll explain my reasons why those are my club standards.) I’m a Love in DC type, a 40/40 or Butter in NY type. The Compound or the Velvet Room in Atl type. So her obvious lack of disregard for any possible dress code shoulda been my first clue. When we pulled up and the entrance looked like a tunnel to an underground tornado shelter, I knew it was gonna be… interesting.
The music WAS good. But it was more music I would listen to at a BBQ or… you know if I was on some purple with my musician friends, lol. NOT music I go to shake my ass to (which is the only reason I get in the mood to club) and NOT even music that’s a acceptable backdrop to network (why I go to 30 and over events). But I DID however get a DAMN good Long Island and we had fun.
Outside of Thurm continuously humping my leg like a horny dog and complimenting my breasts of course.
Around 2ish, the sleepy and the Long Island catch up with me and I decide to call it a night. I finally find my car and just as I’m pulling outta the space, my phone rings. It’s First Love. Pleasantries are exchanged, yada, yada and he asks me where I am.
“Oh, down on Ponce near the shop (where I get my hair done).”
“Then you’re right down the street from my new crib. You should stop by for a second and see it.”
“I dunno. I’m tired and I still have to drive across town just to get up and come back this way at 7am for my hair appointment.”
“You’re like 3 minutes away La.”
You call me at 2am to invite me to “see your new place”?
RIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIGHT nigga. Right.
To Be Continued…