The Non-TSA Event

Definitely Not a TSA Event
This weekend I was invited to a party by my good friend Whitaker.  Apparently, it was a birthday party of someone who used to be in the unit, but I never met this person before.  The promoters of the party was this gay entertainment group calling themselves Legacy Entertainment, who just so happened to be a sergeant and a captain from my unit.  Anyway…

The party was WACK.

Look, I don’t know how many times I’ve said it, I just don’t really like hip hop parties.  Yeah, yeah, yeah, I already know what you’re saying:  “Then why did you go?”  When someone invites you someplace, it’s kind of rude to turn it down for no good reason.  If I say I’ll go, then that means I’ll go.  I’m not really the type of person to make half-assed attempts.  If it’s some place I truly do not want to be then I won’t go.  But Whitaker invited me and we don’t hang out like that too much.  I mean, we hang out, but not like at parties, so I said I’ll go.

They had the party in a community centre which was actually kind of nice, but the management forgot to open the doors for them so when we arrived they were still sitting outside on the corner like they were waiting for a parade.  Whitaker and I wound up leaving to go get ice cream and then coming back only to be sent out again on a grocery run, which I thought was kind of rude to send people you never met before on a grocery run.  They did ask people to bring things like food and alcohol because the guest list got so huge and the birthday boy was worried that there wouldn’t be enough.  It’s different to call people and say, “On your way stop by….” but not to send them out again once they’ve arrived.  But whatever.

They finally get the party started but it was just wack from jump.  First of all, mad hoes.  It was like 15 girls to every guy.  Even though I am not trying to pick up anybody, I don’t really want to be hanging out with a bunch of overdressed stuck up harlots.  All the girls were “too cute” for anything.  They were cloistered with their friends in their open-toed stilettoes and too tight shorts and 12 pounds of kanekelon fibres.  Whateves.  Whateves.

The DJ was playing some all right kind of music.  You know I don’t keep up with hip hop music, but they acted like he was playing Beethoven’s greatest symphonies the way they were sitting in the corners with their noses turned up.  Turn off right then and there.  I am a girly-girl to be sure, but being overly ridiculous is quite another thing.

The promoters, Legacy Entertainment, one of them… I’ll just call him Brandon was wigging out because nobody was dancing.  That’s what happens when you invite Hoes of America, Inc and no guys.  Girls do not want to dance with other girls.  Girls do not sit in the mirror for 2 hours before a party to impress other girls.  They want to meet guys. 

Since when can hoes resist all those idiotic line dances?  The DJ played like 3 line dances before they would even consider getting up.  You are not that cute.  I don’t really know line dances because we don’t do that in Florida, but I was able to follow the steps to Booty Call.  I don’t know the Cupid Shuffle or whatever it’s called, so I had to sit that one out.  Then the DJ put on Go Go music and finally people started dancing.

Look, the shit is garbage.  I can find no discernible beat in the clanging of pots and pans and spatulas.  But whatever. 

I wore punk clothes to the party with a pair of patent slingback stilettos.  When the DJ started playing hood music, I changed into my Ed Hardys.  Looking cute is one thing, but if I want to dance, then I want to dance.  I actually like to dance.  I can dance and very well.  But prancing around in high heels and a mini skirt, that’s not really my thing.  If I am dressed like that, then you know I am not dancing.  If I have on capris and flats, then you know I’m dancing.  I can stomach hood music more than I can stomach the cutsy music of the north.  I know that sounds weird, but even though I prefer freak music, hood music is what grew up around me.

Me and Whitaker did decide to dance, but then we had to fight off this drunken bastard the whole night.  He would not leave us alone.  He was so trashed and it was pissing me off.  He was stepping all over my Ed Hardys and that was really getting on my nerves.  They are new.  They are nice.  They are fresh.  Boys practically shit on themselves when someone steps on their shoes.  If I step on a boy’s brand new Forces, he pretty much wants to commit domestic abuse.  Why can girls not be the same? 

This guy stepped on my shoes for like the umpteenth time and I pushed him and he spilled his drink on the ground.  He was like, “You made me spill my drink, blah blah blah!”  And I was like, okay, you are fucking up my shoes.  Ruin my satin slippers, why don’t you!  (That’s a quote from a movie.  Hahahah).  He was like, “They’re just shoes…”  Just shoes?  Strike out.  He got a second and third strike out when he tried to tell me that I was his one and only and how he really wanted to get to know me better and some other bullshit.  Uhm…. we just met, and I don’t date drunken hood types.

This other girl, Ouzts (I hope that’s how you spell her name) was with us, and he was just on all three of us.  Whitaker had to put it on him and he just fell over.  She gave him a two piece and he wound up falling asleep on a couch somewhere.  Drunk bastard.  Anyway, since Whitaker, Ouzts and I were the only girls who were not too cute to dance, we were pretty much hated on.  Sorry that we did not show up to a party dressed like a goddamn bunny.  This chick is standing outside with bunny ears, and I was like, “Oh, I didn’t know it was a costume party.”  I was serious since I never got an official invitation jsut someone calling me telling me to come a party.  The girl was like, “Oh, no, I just wear costumes to all parties.”  Then her friend showed up in this sliver of a baby doll slip dress with her ass hanging out.  Well, that is one reason you couldn’t dance because the slighest breeze would put your dress over your head!

Then the girl in her pyjamas.  She came in some sheer pyjama top.  She was very attractive and had on some bad ass red pumps, but the pyjama top?  That’ll do, pig, that’ll do.  There was a vast array of girls overdressed with too tight dresses, too high heels and otherwise in such a state they could not dance properly and were mad because we decided to make the best of a bad situation.  Oh well.

But let’s talk about the guys now.  Brandon…. why are you wearing the zoot suit your grandfather wore in 1929?  Herman… why are you dressed for Sunday school?  Why are you named Herman?  Seriously, the promoters, Legacy Entertainment, or whatever… they tried to be GQ in suits, but they wore like suits you wear to church or to your stuffy office job.  Not…. suits.  You know what I mean?  Then let’s talk about the fake wannabe Usher.  There was this young guy in there who just swore he was the next Raymond Usher.  Sorry, boo, learn how to move your hips more.  He was so stiff and the girls were going crazy throwing dollars at him.  Why?  Then he had the nerve to try to shake his ass on me.  No, no, no.  No.  No.

I had to clown because I have my own issues with Brandon, but we’ll talk about that another day. 

Anyway, I think Whitaker had a good time and I’m glad.  The last two hours were a lot better than the first 3 hours.  I felt like I was wasting my life away. 

The reason I say it wasn’t a TSA-style event is because TSA people know how to party.  Even though the girls come dressed to kill, they don’t sit around like they are too pretty.  There’s always a good mix of guys and girls.  There’s a lot of hating at TSA parties, but not to the point where everyone is sitting in corners in these cliques acting like they can’t be bothered with everyone else. 

Secondly, the DJ was wack.  It was like he was playing the whole CD, the whole radio edit version of each song.  When I went to request “Freaky Girl” he looked at me like I asked him to play The Beach Boys.  DJs should know how to feel their crowd.  If the crowd is not happy, move on.  When he started playing Go Go, some people did dance but two hours later, we’re ready for something else. 

Please do not stop the music for a commercial break.  Especially one that is five minutes long.  That just killed it.  People were finally dancing and then they stopped the music to advertise wack ass Legacy Entertainment.  They were talking for like five minutes about their contracts with the federal government, blah blah blah.  Yeah, we’re all government workers, real nice.  Who cares?  This is a party not a seminar.

Third, if you’re going to have food, have food.  Don’t have one bag of potato chips and pot of green beans to feed 70 people.  If you’re going to have an open bar, have liquor.  One bottle of Grey Goose, a small can of orange juice and a fifth of Malibu isn’t enough for greedy drunken whores. 

Lastly, if you’re the promoter, don’t argue amongst yourselves in front of your guests.  It just creates tension for the whole night and everyone was focused on the fact that Legacy Entertainment was having some internal issues. 

At any rate, I did find it amusing that I danced more at this party than I have at any TSA event combined, but that is because at TSA events I spend more time taking pictures and talking.  At this party, I didn’t want to look like a party-pooper and make the night bad, so I just tried my best to enjoy myself, especially when they played dirty south music.

 Like Whitaker said, I guess deep down inside I really am ghetto chick.

Hahahahaha.  Take that however you want to.


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