Lucky Number “Tree”–Pt. 1

It’s your typical Friday night in the big city: distant siren sounds, slow side-street traffic, and the smell of Love Spell around every corner.  To many, this is a recipe for disaster, but it seemed like the beginning of an eventful night to me. Boy. Was I right.

I arrived at a popular spot on Highland/Hollywood just before 10 0’oclock. Everybody knows the guest list closes at 10:30P. I stood in line with 3-7 “new friends,” which are pretty women I spark conversations with so it doesn’t appear that I rolled solo. We’re in line shivering and smiling in a huddle, and hoping the doorman picks us next to go in. Now’s a good time to point out how every car at the stoplight turned to a ‘good’ song then blasted their radios. Why do people do that?

At this point it’s 10:45P and I’m randomly texting a girlfriend about the ratchetness I just saw: a stretch Hummer with butterfly doors and at least 12 wheels…each with 24″ rims…pulls in front of us. All the gold-diggers standing outside got quiet. Out jumps a group of bums, pure bums! The girls had on the latest spring fashions from Wet Seal and the guys were in flannel shirts & Timberlands. One of them even had prison-like (aka fuzzy, messy, and crooked) braids. I was waiting to see Snoop emerge from the cloud of smoke behind them, but no. Just an [un-named] NFL player whose birthday party it was.

We finally get inside at the discounted rate of $10 (thanks to the guest list…smh) and of course, the place is near empty. That explains the line out the door.

After maybe 2 songs, I find myself standing near the wall & eyeing the men in the room. This was by far the tallest collection of guys in LA I’ve ever seen. Guy #1 approaches me with a classic don’t-you-wanna-let-me-dance-behind-you attitude while sipping his drink. I veered right. He says, “Aw, don’t be like that!” I simply gave a ‘no thanks’ through what was left of my lips since his breath had just melted my face. No. Thanks.

Minutes later, Guy #2 comes up to me to ask am I having a good time. I shook my head, “I’m not feeling this DJ, I don’t dance to Yung Berg.” This somewhat handsome dude smiled, “Well I’m having a 90s party next weekend, you should come through. I do party promotions.” If there’s one thing I know, it’s that you kindly accept the flyer and they go away! I stuffed it way down into my purse.

Once the Wobble and Cupid Shuffle songs got me going, my ankles started talking. It’s time to sit down. As I’m resting on a couch in the VIP section (did you really think anyone would be in VIP?), Guy #3 strolls by, stops, and reverses. He is at least 6-feet and some change, but I couldn’t tell how much change while sitting. He’s actually quite attractive, too. He reached out his hand, “Um, please tell me why a beautiful lady like you is all by herself?” I pointed to my shoes, “Gotta give these feet a rest.” He’s still holding my hand, I’m somewhat charmed. Guy #3 is a bouncer and his suit/tie look was very refreshing to me.

A few seconds later, he says he’d like to get to know me better and I should enter my number in his phone. Handed me his Blackberry. Now, I’m more charmed by Guy #3. Third time’s a charm, right?

I ended the night by heading to the bar for a nice glass of water and my last shot at these tall dudes. Not even a full minute goes by as I place the straw to my mouth–Guy #4 is staring me up and down. He’s also 3-inches too close to me and I’m getting upset. By the look of his bloodshot red eyes and flannel shirt, whatever he’s about to say will be classic.

“Ay. You got ass, though.”

That was it. I gave a nod, turned back around and faced the bartender. He’s still talking to the back of my head about how he’s from Kansas City and here in LA to have a good time this weekend. And asked for my number. But I knew Guy #4 wouldn’t walk away without a fight. I grabbed his phone from his hand, typed 310-555-1134 under new contact ‘Terri’ and told him to call me anytime. He smiled and walked away.

–Read “Lucky Number “Tree”–Pt.2″ for the rest!!!

Lucky Number “Tree”–Pt.2

The lights in the club are coming on and I’m standing next to Guy #3 chit-chatting. He has a cuter, shorter friend next to him, and I wished he was the one who approached me. But I can’t be greedy right?

Guy #3 is telling me how rare it is to see women like me, the weave-less type who isn’t hounding men to buy her drinks. I nod a sincere ‘thank you’.  He is still talking about–who knows, I’m not really listening–when I interrupted and asked, “How tall are you?” “I’m six-seven,” he says.  I immediately thought of all my tall girlfriends who would be mad at me.

Guy #3: So what are you doing when you leave here?

Me: Probably go home & sleep. Is there something else I should be doing?

That was my way of asking him to accompany me to IHOP. Chunky girls gotta eat.

Guy #3: Well there’s this after hours spot that we’re all going to. You should come.

Me: After hours? Last time I went to an after hours club, everyone was doing blow off the tables. I’m cool on that.

Guy #3: Oh no no no, it’s nothing like that. It’s legit. Just swing by and have a drink with us.

Me: *squints eyes* Ok, then text me the address.

I’m almost to my car and he sent the address, directions, and parking info to my phone. Maybe this place is decent. But after all, it’s the end of a work day & I’m beat, so I decline. Sidenote: I Googled the address, everything mapped out okay.

The next day, he called and we had a hilarious conversation. It was typical get-to-know-you-before-a-real-date chatter. Not only was he charming, but he’s around my age and funny! Now I’m just waiting for him to ask me on a date. Instead, he invites me to a party at a club he’s working in Beverly Hills. He’s a bouncer, what could go wrong, right?

Again, he sends the full address, directions, and parking info to my phone. As a professional Life Planner (this means I have an agenda or to-do list for everything I do. Like going to Target, then the nail shop, stop by mailbox on the way, etc.), I’m intrigued by his details! Once I got there, I didn’t even have to wait in line; the doorman called my name so I could walk to the front. Now I’m really VIP. I get inside and he meets me by the bar. He hands me $20 to give to the bartender and says, “Order whatever you want. I’ll be standing over there.” *PAUSE* My radar kicked in and said he’s a professional panty-dropper. Women love when guys do sh!t like this.

Now I’m mad but turned on at the same time. Is he showing off or just being real?  I hate being confused. So we’re dancing in the VIP corner…and don’t ask me how I’m dancing with a 6’7″ man, just go with it…when a cocktail waitress brings cupcakes to the booth next to us. He looked at me. I looked at the cupcakes. He walked over to their table, grabbed a red velvet cupcake, and brought it back to me. Oh for real??? It’s like that??? Now I’m trapped.

The night is over and we’re walking to our cars. He holds my hand (we look like Hoopz and Shaq) and asked if I was up for the after hours spot and I gave a quick nahhh then welllll. I gave in. Now I’m trailing his S500 down the 101 toward downtown.

I should’ve know by the reference to “after hours” that this spot would be ratchet on top of ratchet. And it was. But I was blinded by Gucci Mane’s “Wasted,” Waka’s “Grove St. Party,” and some random Yo Gotti song to even notice how crummy it was. All I can think is YES! A hood-worthy playlist! Now’s a good time to note that I can barely breathe through the weed/cigarette smoke in the place.

After 2 separate lesbians on 2 separate occasions approached me, it was time to head home. It’s 4am and I have to hit Trader Joe’s in a few hours. My tall Guy #3 was watching the door then accompanied me to my car once more. Hugs. Call me tomorrow. He didn’t call. He didn’t text. But a day later he texts a message to me saying, “Are you up for an even exchange?” *PAUSE* My friend Big Booty Judy warned about these subtle statements. I know where this is going, but I don’t want to taint my glorified image of him. At least not until date #4 when I have juicy stories to tell on Girls Nite Out.

I probed him a bit more as to the details of this exchange. He said, “What do u think that means? Be honest and idk is not an answer.” Damn. That wasn’t even slick. In about 2.4 minutes he managed to send me 3 pictures of his wang with the subject Eleven Inches Do U Like. His next message read, “I wanna f–k. If u aint with the business I do understand.” Whoa. That was quick. Now I’m disappointed, I think he’s trying to give me AIDS/syphilis/a combo, and I never got the date I wished for.

I declined within a few clever words (inbox me if you wanna know), and he replied, “CHILD PLEASE! PLAY YOUR GAMES W/ SOMEBODY ELSE!” So I’m playing games? If this is a game, then please let the next one not involve cupcakes. You almost had me.


Miss the beginning of this story? Check out “Lucky Number “Tree”–Pt. 1″ 


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