Tuesday, August 3, 2010

Just WHO is your cousin

I’m not gonna lie, sometimes I have moments where I wonder “is this my life?” and “how did I end up here?” I guess I really shouldn’t lie about this – these moments happen more often than not. One of my most recent experiences left me wondering not only how did I end up here but who are these people and who their cousins are.

It all started on a Sat. night around 8p. I was feeling sorry for myself and making brownies (hello, fat food!) when my neighbor came upstairs to borrow some jewelry. Upon seeing my state, she invited me out with her and some friends. She didn’t know these people from Adam (funny, her husband is named Adam), but was going with another girl who DID know them from Adam. They had gotten a limo for one of their birthdays. So, I got all cuted up and went with. The night started at an apartment somewhere in town. Within 15 minutes of arriving, I had started dance lessons. Now, if you know me, you know I am an awesome dancer. My signature moves are: 12 seconds with a white girl, stoke the fire and bake the cake. As soon as I got done demonstrating how to bake a cake, I had some new facebook friend requests. Yes for mobile facebook!!! After eagerly accepting my new friends, thereby making our friendships official, we piled into the limo. Only my new friends didn’t come. They had a dinner party at the Wendy’s up the street (I am not lying when I say this. Talk about being chopped liver) I quickly made new friends inside the limo and away we went. After a few hours downtown, we headed back to the Beach. We went to one of the most popular bars and congregated in their outside bar area. This suited me since baking a cake can be quite taxing on your soles. Literally as soon as I sat down, we heard sirens and yells galore. We all climbed onto the brick wall surrounding the outside area to see what the deal was. There were 7 police cars with police officers running and yelling “towards the beach!” with their guns drawn. The bouncers at our bar sprung into action, yelling at all of us to get down off the wall and no one was to leave. It was like a scene out of shoot em up in the wild wild west: popo running around with guns drawn, sirens turning the sky a brilliant Carolina blue (go heels!), drunkards running amuck, and I was trapped inside this brick wall, not allowed to leave. If they had just let me leave, I could have told them how to handle this situation. I wondered how I had ended up caged in when clearly, I needed to be out there in the masses, running this show like I run this town.

We finally we able to leave out the other side of the building to go back to our limo. At this point, it was around 1:30a, I was tired, everyone was drunk (and frankly, there is nothing more annoying than drunk people surrounding your sober self) and my feet were sore. I was seriously out of cake batter and merdeezy needed to go home. As we walked back to the limo (when there is a police raid, limos have to forego their curb side service apparently), we passed two drunk little boys punching a sign and saying so many colorful things I just knew a rainbow would pop out of one of their britches. I said “hey guy, I hope that makes you feel better.” One of the guys started laughing and saying his friend had gotten towed. The other, the towee, turned around and said “Eff you, bitch.” (only, he really said it). I stopped because once again, how did I get here? I said “excuse me?” he said “you heard me.” And I said “yeah I did. You’re the bitch for punching the sign when you parked illegally.” (and Lord knows, I NEVER do that). He made some comment about how he should be punching me and I don’t know what happened. It was like this wave WASHED over me and I became Merdeezy of the hood. While I would like to say the song "Girl Fight" played over the speakers as we fought, this didn't happen. i did hear it in my earballs though. But, I did become Merdeezy of the hood and I started yelling “hit me asshole! Hit me!” This exchange went on for a few minutes before Steve (who is Steve? you might ask and that is a GOOD question. Because I do not know) appeared, pulled me back and told me to calm down, a lady doesn’t act like that. This made me REALLY mad. I know VERY well how a lady acts and who was he to tell me how a lady acted (and while he was right, I would never admit that). But those guys were total dbags and I really wanted him to hit me. He was saying he should so why doesn’t he man up and do it? At least then I could press charges. And that would be cool. I finally get into the limo, ill as a hornet, and everyone else piles back in. This in itself was a process because everyone was drunk. Have you ever tried to get 12 drunk people into a limo? It’s like herding cattle, only they’re drunk. We finally get in, and our limo driver starts easing his way through the bank parking lot. A CHARGER (yes, a CHARGER) was trying to ease its way out of the bank parking lot at the same time. The next thing I know, all the windows in the charger are rolled down, the limo windows are rolled down, our limo driver is yelling, the guys in the limo are yelling and then, someone yells “WHO IS YOUR COUSIN!” “who’s your cousin?” I thought, still trying to figure out how I ended up here on this night. Only I said it aloud. In a yelly voice. And apparently it was obvious I thought that was the most ridiculous thing I’d ever heard. I mean really, who is your cousin has got the be the STUPIDEST thing I have EVER heard in my LIFE! You could have heard a pin drop in the silence that followed my repeat of the charger’s asinine question. Everyone looked at me in the limo. The charger occupants peered at me with their beedy eyes out their cool, gangsta car. Next thing I know, one of the guys from the limo has escaped (out the window? I don’t know…we never heard a car door open) and he is RUNNING around the Charger yelling “who’s your cousin! Who’s your cousin.” Now, I don’t know what happened next but something must have clicked inside his drunk head because the next thing we know, he screams “oh shiz let me in the car” and he jumps back in and starts yelling to the limo driver to go! I secretly felt like I was sure they felt in Grandma’s Boy when they are yelling “drive monkey drive” to the monkey because they are “way too baked to drive to the devil’s house.” Only the limo driver wasn’t baked. But I sure was confused.

As soon as I got back to my car, I got in and went home. I literally said OUT LOUD to myself the ENTIRE way home “what just happened, how did I get there and is this seriously my life right now.” But the ONE thing that NEVER crossed my mind that night was who their cousin was. And why I should care. One thing I do know, do not EVER question who someone’s COUSIN is!!!


  1. Girl, your posts are truly entertaining. I really wish you had your own sitcom! :-)

  2. thanks Emily!! I'm glad you enjoy!

  3. i am seriously rolling on the floor laughing right now.