When keeping it real goes wrong...

So who knew Dave Chapelle's signature saying would come into play two days ago. I'll blow pass the unnecessary details and get right down to the "nitty gritty".

While I was out on that day trip in Lake Havasu, I met a fine little "tenderona" that was trying hard to "sell me candy". So I bought it.

Yep! That means I had a date, but just not any date. I had a double date. It was going to be a double date with my roomie and one of her friends, which just happened to be a mutual friend of ours. The only problem with that is that her friend has a thing for my roomie, he doesn't share the same feeling. They have been playing "cat and mouse" for a while now, he hasn't ever had the courage to tell her that he has no interest. She's started becoming very pushy and starting to do things that only girlfriends would do. So the time has finally come to tell her or at least that's what I have told him.

"You just have to keep it real, bro."

The plan was to tell her at the end of the night. There were a few things that no one took into consideration.

Things that we should have thought of before implementing the plan:
1. Don't carpool with the person whose heart you are about to break.
2. Don't leave your keys, 3. phone, 4. and camera in her car.
5. Never try comforting a drunk women who you got drunk on purpose so that she would stop cocking blocking your date, just so that you could have a good time and possibly go on a second date with her friend.
Back to the story.

After he broke the news to her, all hell broke lose or so that's what it felt likeShe didn't have much of a reaction to what he told her. At this point we were all ready to get out of there. My roomie, my date and me said our goodbyes in hopes that she would want to end the night and take us back to our cars, WRONG! She disappeared into the sweaty and probably drunk people forgetting about their cares on the dance floor. The dance floor, which probably represented the lives that they were leaving behind for the 2 or 3 hours of of shear pleasure. 2 or 3 hours of getting, "Low, low, low, low!". She went past the the dudes standing stiffly on the sides of the wall, who obviously came with each other and were waiting for the drunk chic to walk by and pounce when the time was right. Into V.I.P she went.

"Damn, Damn, Damn, Dammmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmn!"
"How in the fuck are we going to get home!"
"We can walk, it's maybe like 3 or 4 miles down the road to our cars."
"These hills are killing my feet."
"You want my tenny shoes?"
"My keys, my phone, my camera!"
"This is bullshit"
"If I wasn't drunk, I would beat this bitches ass!"
"We didn't think this one out."
Those were all random things that came out of the 3 of our mouths as we walked out of the club, out of the casino and into a crowd of drunk tourist wondering the streets of Las Vegas. A scene that could only be out of a movie. "Spielberg! You can scream cut any time."

Thank God we had a relief ride to rescue us. Thank God for her sober sister that just so happened to be at the club to drive her home, enabling me to get my key, my phone, and my camera. Thank God for a sense of humor, because I was praying to God to make me a chic for just 5 minutes to kick this chics ass. And thank God for letting me experience this, because I now know what happens, "When keeping it real goes wrong".



Mo said...

Such a tenderoni...