First things first (I poppa freaks all the honies), I do not look like Juelz Santana. At all. Let’s just put that out there.

However, everytime I wear a bandana, somebody calls me Juelz Santana. I know they’re joking but I hear it all the time. Last year, one of my boys threw a party with the Howard (University) Dental School and I was rocking a black bandana and this group of chicks working the door kept referring to me as Juelz.

Let’s backtrack for a second. Is it even feasible that it makes even one iota of sense to refer to me as such? No. Perhaps, it’s the fact that we’re two lanky lightskinned ninjas who wear bandanas. In fact, lanky wouldn’t cut it. Kevin Garnett is lanky. I’m just skinny (sexxy). I think its the lightskinneded skinny bandana that does it.

But it never fails, which brings us to Saturday night. Like I’ve stated before, I work at a nightclub in DC. I’d tell you which one but then you might come stalk me and kill me and…

…I don’t wanna diiiiiiiiie.

Bone Thugs-n-Harmony said that best.

Well, I had on a black bandana and this one particular girl stood out from the rest, poison as could be, a high powered chest. Ya know, in that past sentence, there was one fact and three un-facts. Two points if you can name that song.

I was standing behind the bar doing what random cats behind the bar do…taking shots with customers and making jokes with the bartenders and waiting for the T-Pain song “Bartender” to come on so that everybody could continue singing about bartenders hopefully bringing people to the bar so that our bartender could do what bartenders do…bartend. Out of the corner of my eye, I see this chick and her friend looking at me all funny and smiling. One of them was giving me the “smile”; the one that says come talk to me, Daddy. And I love it when they call me Big Poppa.

By the way I’d like to point out that embellishment sells books.

I pay these chicks no mind and go on about my business. Hell, I’m working. Well one of them walks up to me and is like, “Juelz?? Juelz Santana?”

Now I’m thinking this is somebody I’ve met before who didn’t remember my name but because they met when I had on a bandana decided to refer to me as the Dipset under-capo.

Nope.

I was like, “(sarcastically) yep…Juelz”.

She kissed my hand and told me that she loves my music and kept trying to follow me around.

End story.

Actually, un-end the story. If I was really Juelz Santana, you’d think she’d wonder why NOBODY else seemed to care in the club. The moral of the story here kiddies is this:

Get chicks drunk because they’ll think you’re a celebrity and probably sleep with you if you even give them one iota of attention.

Good night and good luck.

This entry was posted on Monday, August 6th, 2007 at 9:02 am and is filed under A Life In The Day of Panama.... You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.