Flashback - Not Cat party. Coke party!

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Today I received a Twitter text message from the Atlanta Journal Constitution regarding a police report about a man falling from a Midtown highrise apartment while attending a coke/alcohol party. Since I'm inherently crazy, I cracked myself up for the next hour with jokes about creating formal invitations for a coke party and thinking up what kind of party favors one would give out at a coke party. Ha, ha, I thought. What the hell is a coke party?!?!? Then I remembered that once upon a time, I'd unwittingly attended a coke party. Like to read about it? Here it goes.

While living in Los Angeles during my early 20's, I supported my independently undergrad lifestyle as a sales assistant to a team of financial advisors at...um...let's call the company Cadmium Craig Rugby. Those financial advisors were the epitome of every stock broker, day trader, greedy bastard movie, stereotype and rumor you've ever heard and will ever hear. They were chauvinistic. They threw money around like there was no tomorrow. They were womanizers. They had huge egos. They were rude. They were crass. They had really idiotic, unfunny senses of humor. I had the time of my life working there. I wish I would have started blogging then. Anywho, all of these stereotypes were compounded by the fact that we all resided in the real life ongoing movie set that is metropolitan Los Angeles. Long Beach to be exact. LBC!!! Oh dear, it was so gorgeous there. Everyone was totally and utterly full of themselves. Yep, it was pretty great fodder for a fledgling storyteller.

One of the top brokers...let's call him Bob...announced that he was hosting a summer party at his house. He had this pretty fat crib in the Naples region of Long Beach. His backyard was a beach. He was going to be providing the liquor, food and entertainment. All any of his guests had to bring was his or herself. I was about 22 and ridiculously hot in the ass, so of course I was going. Plus I was playing hostess to these two young, strapping Marines I'd recently met out at Club Lingerie. One of my coworkers, the very angry and very Taiwanese Oliver Chu, wanted us to all roll together, so I volunteered to drive because I didn't really care for alcohol then. Hence, we rolled over to Bob's villa at about 10:00pm that night.

The party started off innocently enough. I dined on some diet-conscious and rather tasteless hors d'oeuvres while lightly sipping on a heavily iced rum and coke or something along those lines. Like I said, I really didn't do alcohol and since many of the guests were my coworkers, I didn't want to embarrass myself in any way. Back then I had a great deal to prove. I didn't want anyone to make any assumptions other than that I was a ridiculously cute young college student who could hold her own in a party full of wealthy people. I sat down with my three dates on the couch and made small talk with a couple of other sales assistants. Other guests both known and unknown trickled in. It was a pretty tame little gathering on a beautiful summer night in southern California. No big deal.

I noticed over the next couple of hours how many of the women had chosen to store their purses under the sink in the guest bathroom but I didn't think of anything of it. I was more comfortable with my purse securely on my shoulder. I wasn't drinking that much so I saw no reason to make constant trips to the bathroom. However, many of the other guests were practically running a train on the toilet. I assumed they just had weak bladders or something. I really had no clue. Then all of a sudden, everyone lost their friggin' minds. Oliver, the Marines and I were sitting on the couch minding our business when it seemed like everyone just started yelling loudly and incoherently for the sake of yelling. I looked up and one of the brokers was tossing around an empty Jack Daniels bottle while a smaller blond female broker was hanging on to his waist as if she was trying to tackle him. The blond, in turn, was being swung around like a human hula hoop. Someone turned on some music and then everyone started smiling insanely and clapping to their own individual rhythms.

I was pretty confused at this point.

A really skinny, fast-talking sales assistant came over and asked me to get up and dance and I was afraid. First of all, she was speaking wayyyy to quickly. Second, I didn't want to be dancing and then suddenly be knocked out by that Jack Daniels bottle. I lied and told her that I couldn't dance. She insisted that since I was African-American, I could definitely dance and she wanted to see. "I can't dance," I yelled at her. "I don't even like watermelon or black eyed peas. I'm an odd Negro!" One of the Marines grabbed my hand and lead me out to the back patio. We turned and looked back inside the sliding doors at the ensuing madness. Except for the other members of our four-person party, everyone looked CRAZY. The energy was indescribable and foreign and again I feared for my personal safety. I'd never seen these people behave in such a manner. Oliver and the other Marine sat on the couch pointing and laughing at everyone else. We signalled to them that it was definitely time to transform and roll out. We didn't even bother to go back in the house. We just went through the fence on the side of the house and met them at the car.

"What the hell?!?" I said. "What just happened?"

"They were doing coke in the bathroom, Dumb Ass" Oliver Chu said. "Like you didn't know that was going to happen." Oh, that Oliver. So Taiwanese. So angry. He cracked me up.

I really didn't know that was going to happen. I had never known anyone who'd done coke. I'd never done coke and never, ever will for that matter. At that point in my life, I knew nothing about cocaine other than it was something to which I was supposed to say "no." I was both shocked and dismayed. Those people handled millions of dollars in retirement funds and such and this is what they did that on the weekends? Were they high at work? Oh my goodness! I was surrounded by high end junkies! Something had to be done! All three of my dates laughed at me. I'm laughing at myself as I write this. Once upon a time, I was that innocent. Following that experience, I think we decided to go eat at Lucy's Drive In. And that, my dear readers, was my first and last coke party experience.

Flashback - Why Tequila is a No-No

As I've gotten older, I've done a much better job at learning my limits especially when it comes to alcohol. After living and drinking in New Orleans, Los Angeles and Las Vegas, I've learned the following:

1. When you weigh 115 lbs soaking wet, an extra large Hurricane on Bourbon Street is a really bad idea.

2. More than one tall can of Steel Reserve can drive anyone with good sense to streak through the corridors of a Beverly Hills rock star's mansion.

3. Multiple rounds of tequila should NEVER be consumed while sitting in the hot desert sun.

There are interesting stories to go with each of these lessons, but I'll share the third.....

Quite a while ago, while living in Las Vegas, I used to work as a salesperson for an electronic media group. During each week, this group would have remote broadcasts or satellite radio shows to promote local businesses. On occasion, these remote broadcasts would be held at a really cool location such as Blue Martini, The Palms, or Hawaiian Tropic Zone. When such an event was held at a bar, it was a pretty sure bet that there was either a drink special going on or the organizing sales associate would receive comps from the menu. Thus, I was happy to accept the invitation when a good sales associate friend invited me to one such event on The Strip. Let's call her "Rosa."

I arrived at about 3:00pm. After hugs and "how are you's" we settled in on the top balcony of the establishment and got ourselves comfortable at the bar. The poison would be margaritas. Now, I don't tend to do tequila in any way shape or form. For me, it produces rather bad decision-making and a terrible hangover. But being around Rosa did always bring out the worst in me. She's just that kind of a friend and we don't hang that often. About three hours later, the sun was still burning a hole in my back and we were still drinking because neither of us knew that we were tipsy. Another hour goes by and everything gets ridiculously funny. Another hour goes by and we start harassing some of the men nearby. Another fifteen minutes passes and I come to my senses a tad. I noticed I'm not maintaining good posture on my stool and the bartenders are giving me and Rosa dirty looks. I start tapping Rosa on the shoulder but she's in rare form now. She wants another drink but we've both been cut off. We go downstairs to another bar to score and then head back upstairs. At this point, Rosa falls backwards off of her stool.

I'm thinking Oh Christ! This has gone too far. I have to get my act together. No more margaritas and I should be fine and then I can help my friend not make a total ass of herself. I call some guys that we know and start drinking water. By this time, it is way to late. There is no way that we'll be able to drive either of our cars to escape. The managers of the joint were probably in their office making banned signs for each of our sloshed faces. The guys arrived and offered not to take us home but instead to take us to the Hard Rock. Great idea. We headed over to the Hard Rock. After getting out of the car, I found a trash can and got rid of some of the alcohol sifting around in my belly. This was so not a pretty moment for me.

We got into the club at the Hard Rock, found the VIP section and then just stood there in a circle facing each other. I was downing as much water as possible. I looked at Rosa, now cross-eyed, smiling like an idiot, pinching the rears of passersby. I decided that the best place for me would be the cool confines of a restroom stall. After what seemed like three and a half years, I secured a stall, sat down and immediately fell into a deep coma. While I was dreaming of ice packs and soft pillows, Rosa was making an odd circuit throughout the dance club. According to her report, she managed to dance on a few tables, nearly get into a fight and explore the unknown lesbian side of herself by making out with a blond girl. About an hour and a half later, I woke up feeling pretty refreshed and made my way out to the festivities. The rest of my party rushed towards me asking where I'd been. In the bathroom! I guess it was time to go home before Rosa did a striptease or something.

All in all, I don't think I behaved too badly that night. However, not being able to control one's liquor intake is never a good look at any age. I guess I share this story to further promote the idea of being safe and making wiser decisions. I have so much to live for and I am definitely far from being indestructible. To tequila, as to many other ridiculous things, I just say no. Call it maturity.

FLASHBACK - OPM @ Ceasars Palace

I'm not a parent but I might as well be, considering the antics of my cats. Berenstein, perhaps under the influence of Spring, decided to try to mount his sister, Buttercup. Buttercup wasn't having it; thus she put the smack down on Berenstein to the tune of $250 in vet fees. In order to make sure Berenstein didn't try to remove his e-collar (again) and scratch out his stitches, I've been playing nurse...at home... devoid of nightlife, complimentary cocktails...or encounters with crazy tourists. Alas, I do have my memories.....

While in the midst of a rather nasty breakup, I decided that the "mack" in me was due to make a return. I called up an old friend from the Bay Area (let's call her "Candy" ) to go check out OPM at Caesars Palace. World-renowned Kid Capri would be handling the wheels of steel so I knew there was going to be a good mix of music. (OPM no longer exists. It is now Poetry Night Club.) I went and picked up Candy, put a fast-forward on her wardrobe selection and whisked her away to Caesars. I was eager to let off some steam on the dance floor plus I refused to pay cover or miss out on the free champagne until midnight. We must have gotten there right around 10:30pm.

Champagne in hand, I recall scanning the crowd. I knew that half of the ladies had gained entry on the strength of borrowed IDs. Ghastly. I was pretty disgusted for a half hour because Kid Capri had not yet begun to spin and everyone who had gotten there early enough to get a seat was sitting there with that "I have a seat and you don't" look on there faces. OPM was one of those clubs that was designed to look packed no matter how many people were there. There could have been 150 or 1050 people there and it would still feel like the cozy confines of a sardine can. Meanwhile, Candy was convincing some dude to score us some shots. I knew she'd come in handy.

The night progressed and Kid Capri made his entry. (It's amazing how we're all aging, isn't it?) The dance floor was ridiculously packed thus prohibiting any movement that could remotely be considered dancing. I just stood there for a while looking around at the people. I noticed a guy walking by with a cigar hanging out of his mouth. I asked him what kind of stick it was. He gives me this totally smug half-grin and proudly announces, "It's Cuban, Baby." I asked him to let me take a look at it. Being a cigar snob of sorts, I have the ability to smell the savory decadence encased within an authentic Cuban tobacco leaf. That was no Cuban. The cigar band didn't even have a brand on it. I handed his cigar back to him and advised him that he was mistaken. I then watched him approach his friends and ask them what kind of cigar it was. That's when I knew I had to get the hell out of there. I was in a room full of faulty "flossers" and "posers."

I ended up staying for about another two and a half hours.

I would gladly go see Kid Capri spin anywhere. He was playing all of the East Coast sounds I like even as he mixed in some Bay Area favorites. After throwing a few 'bows and slapping more than a few people in the face with my dreadlocks, I was able to clear a space for myself to get down. I worked up a good sweat and then found Candy talking to some guy who apparently had at least three STDs. I had to drag her all the way down the stairs and out of the casino by her forearm....and she was no skinny Minnie.

On the way, I had to listen to Candy talk about how many guys had hit on her and how she was afraid that someone from the Bay Area had seen her and would probably report it back to her seasonal lover. She then kept insisting that we stop and get something to eat. I refused. I guess I could've stopped after all but I just didn't want to. Besides, Candy had the situation under control. She pulled a half-eaten Arby's roast beef sandwich out of her purse and sated her appetite. I didn't even begin to comprehend what I was witnessing until the next morning. Yes, she had brought that sandwich to the club. Yes, she had danced around the club for at least three hours with that thing in her purse. Yes, she smacked as she ate it on the ride home.

Honestly, I think that's what made my night.

FLASHBACK - Sam's Town Live

So, I was supposed to go to Lavo tonight, but I totally spaced on the fact that I had a tres importante conference call scheduled with Phenomenal Women Las Vegas. My deepest and sincerest apologies. However, that doesn't mean that I don't have a tale of Las Vegas to share. I happened to remember the particulars of my first visit to Sam's Town Live a couple of years back. I shared with a few friends who urged me to post the lowdown. Hence, I present a flashback. (Georgia Boyfriend, whom I love, please do not worry your handsome head as to whether or not the following events happen regularly when I frequent night spots. Rest assured that such things most definitely occur. )

On Friday nights, without fail, there is a party sponsored by Power 88- KCEP 88.1 FM at Sam's Town Casino. Sam's Town is about as far east from The Strip as you can get. It is a local's spot in every way imaginable and is one of the few places one can go to find a large gathering of African-American folk in Southern Nevada. I'd heard that Sam's Town Live was usually frequented by men who were typically 55+ and their significantly younger, well-sponsored love interests. I really didn't care. As long as there wasn't a bunch of 19-year-olds with fake IDs running around I would be cool.

I'd been in a terribly anxious mood to get out of the house no matter what. I'd wanted to go to a place where I didn't have to get too dressy and where the alcohol would be cheap. On this evening, I would be flying solo and there was no guarantee that I was going to meet a tourist to fund any cocktails for the night. Neglecting to do my squats or properly stretch my feet, I just headed out the door. I was excited to go and get there and get on the floor.

I think I arrived at the casino at about 10:45pm, parked and then made my way through the sea of slot machines to my destination. Sam's Town Live is actually a venue inside of Sam's Town Casino. It's pretty much a multi-purpose room for award ceremonies, concerts and dances for a big crowd of black people. I paid the $10 cover without a great deal of complaint only because KCEP is a nonprofit station and does many positive things for the community. I strutted into the place, gazed upon the rather large dance floor and the surrounding tables and I swear I could have been transported to The Riverboat Hallelujah in New Orleans. Back in my college days, The Riverboat Hallelujah had been the site of many frat parties, dances and Chocolate Chip 'N' Dale shows. Oh, those were the days! Anywho, here before me was its western twin. Some older couples were already out on the floor just a two-steppin'. Prompted by nostalgia, I purchased a pineapple amaretto and made myself comfortable at one of the tables.

As is customary at any night club, all of the weakest records are played toward the beginning of the night. But people who want to and can dance will dance to any damn thing. It was fun to see normal people just grooving as if they hadn't danced in years. It reminded me of a family reunion when all the aunts and uncles dance or when my parents suddenly broke into an impromptu shuffle in the kitchen. I sat there smiling, drinking, giggling. The crowd grew. Forty-something gents in three-piece orange, green, and purple suits. Hats with plumes. Ladies with proud bellies wearing strappy, sparkling gowns and matching shoes. Twenty-something girls in jeans, halters and spike-heeled boots. Twenty-something guys in relaxed jeans, huge polos and Doc Martins. Thirty-something men and women in everything in between. Everyone was in a good mood. Happy to be there. Happy to see everyone else had come to the party. Happy to be able to escape Las Vegas and go into a little bit of soul for a few hours.

They put on the Cupid Shuffle and I thought I would die. I and a whole host of people rushed to the dance floor. What a treat! There are very few clubs out west that will make time for line dancing. You should have seen all of the folks in unison. Strangers smiling at each other as if they were long lost friends, shouting "Get it, Girl!" or "Ah, don't hurt 'em now!" After that song went off, the DJ began to play more recent hits and I just went ahead and stayed put. I have no shame. I danced by my lonesome. When I needed a partner, I'd grabbed some unsuspecting male from the sidelines and made him dance. As if he was going to do otherwise!

When one of my partners asked if I was thirsty, I requested a water and he brought back a beer...which didn't help me at all. Since one is not allowed to consume alcoholic beverages on the dance floor, I was forced to sit. That's when I noticed the pain. OOOOOOOOOOOOOOUCH!!! The whole lower half of me was hurting like I'd been the victim of a caning from the thighs down. My feet were beyond screaming. I finished my beer, bid adieu to my partner and pretending wellness, marched out of the auditorium. Refusing the hand stamp for re-entry, I had to stop and lean against the wall. How in the hell was I going to make it all the way through the casino to the datgum parking garage. I should have valeted. Why had I not valeted?!? I summoned all of my willpower, stood proudly on aching feet and started tipping away from a group of party people gathered outside of the entrance. That's when a rather good-looking man approached me and asked why I was leaving. We'll call him Darrell.

I'm done for the night.

Ah! Don't go yet!

Nope. On my way home.

Don't go home. Come back inside. Let me buy you a drink. I just got here. Big whoop, Buddy. It's not my fault that you were late. It was friggin' 2:30am. I'd been dancing non-stop for three hours.

Look, I'm not going back into that place for another second.

Well, let me just talk to you. I stood there. There were plenty of witnesses around. He happened to be attractive and I needed to rest up for my voyage to the car anyway. He asked me what I did for a living. Told me what he did for a living. Talked about this and that and the other. I can B.S. with anyone, so he believed that I was actually interested in what he was saying. I wasn't. However, since he had no idea that I could care less, found me attractive and assumed that was I some kind of idiot, he proceeded to invite me to his home. I, of course, laughing hysterically, refused the invitation.

I'm not going home with you. I have no idea who you are and what you might do to me once I get there.

I'll treat you right, Sweetheart. As if that was going to change my mind.

Sorry. You have my card. (DRAT!!) Perhaps we can socialize at some later date, but I will not be sharing a bed or any more of my time with you tonight.

So you're saying you want to miss all of this? While Darrell had been persuading me to give him some nookie, he'd been fumbling with his phone. As he was making his last statement, he proudly thrust the screen at me to reveal a very clear shot of his....his primary amenity. I looked at him.

That could belong to anyone. He then scrolled to the next photo which was a full portrait of him grasping his...primary amenity. I asked him who had taken the picture of him. He told me that it had been a friend. I asked what kind of friend would just agree to take multiple shots of him naked like that. Why wasn't he requesting sex from this friend instead of me? Wasn't he afraid that the wrong person would come across his phone and discover his pictures? He told me that I was crazy for asking all of the questions. I replied that it was he who was in fact the one that was crazy since he had a member on his phone. He begged me to quiet down. Evidently, he was embarrassed. I referred him to some desperate looking chick leaning against a slot machine and then began the extremely painful trek to my car. Good grief.

True story. Only in Las Vegas.