Mayr-wige.

Mayr-wige is dat bwessed institution dat bwings us togeva today.

Translation:

Marriage is that blessed institution that brings us together today. Well, Saturday actually. But boy was it blessed.

So after that sloppy introduction let me tell you that I went to a wedding this weekend. Rather, I was in a wedding this weekend. As an usher.

Come a little closer.

That’s it.

A little more.

NEVER be an usher in a wedding. It requires so much random work its ridiculous. I had a good time and I wouldn’t take that time back. But unless I’m a groomsmen, I’m planning on planting my happy ass right in the pews with the rest of the love-viewers.

Now the point in bringing this up is that I witnessed something at this particular wedding that serves as a cautionary tale to all those young whippersnappers thinking of embarking on marriage and the ensuing planning and ish. I’ve been to no less than 5 weddings since last May. And I was in 4 of them. And I ain’t NEVA seen no shit like I saw at this wedding.

Let me unfold the story.

We’re at the part most people come to see at a wedding. YES YES!!! The bride is nearing her triumphant entrance into the sanctuary. Myself and the other usher are preparing to head down the aisle to roll the white carpet out for her…

YES YES!

Two young men tasked with the responsiblity of walking in with bells and screaming at the top of their lungs “THE MARRIAGE OF MALCOLM AND BETTY!” (well not really, but you get the drift) begin their walk into the sanctuary and then…

…the pastor says stop. He motions the two young men to stop. He tells them to walk out of the church and that we should roll out the carpet first, ya know, the white carpet that only the bride is supposed to walk down untouched.

The wedding coordinators shriek in horror as this man has managed to completely RUIN the wedding proceedings.

Ladies and gentleman, the pastor actually STOPPED the wedding so that he could have things happen in the manner in which he felt it should happen. It’s not in my nature to not like a man of God.

I do not like this particular man of God. Nevermind that the actual change he made wouldn’t have made any real difference for the wedding and was totally unnecessary. He just felt it should go the way he viewed it. It was not, so he made it do what he wanted it to do.

He…is a bad person.

The night before at the wedding rehearsal, he changed up the entire setup that was previously coordinated by those who coordinate such things. Perhaps we should come up with a term for them…perhaps…wedding coordinators. He decided he wanted to coordinate.

And coordinate (and confuse and discombobulate) he did.

I can’t even go to this church ever because of this man. As long as he’s the pastor, I couldn’t go. My god wouldn’t want me worshipping with his god.

While the proceedings were going on I just kept thinking to myself, when I get married, things will be made very clear to the pastor and everybody involved that it is MY WIFE AND I’S wedding and that ain’t NOBODY gonna wrest control of ANYTHING.

Mind you, the bride and groom told the pastor they wanted something to occur in the wedding.

He said, “no.”

At their wedding. They paid this man.

My god and his god might fight if that were to happen.

So, I leave you with three simple rules for getting married:

1) Make sure you’re marrying somebody you want, not just somebody you knocked up. Marrying somebody you knocked up (or got knocked up by) is such the bad look.

It is hip-hop. But it is not smart.

2) Make sure that you let people involved in the wedding know details that they need to know way in advance. If they are Black, they will need much advance notice.

It is rule. It is fact. We are Black. We need details.

And last but not least…

3) Do not ever let a grown ass man take control of your wedding and ultimately do shit his way which will ruin you doing it your because he felt that his way was better when truly its your day and your way should trump his way because your way is what you paid for not his way.

Apparently, Joe Jackson ain’t the only nigga who had control issues.

Word to Janet Jackson.

[***Yeah, you know it's long.***]

So yesterday was totally tomorrow on Monday.

A ninja apologize. You know you’re doing something right when you get emails from people asking you where the second half of a story is.

So our story ended up with our heroes, Panama Muhfuckin’ and Frank White finally returning from a night out with a strange woman in a strange land eating strange pizza and going to our respective abodes for sleep at roughly 415am only to wake up at…

…drum roll please…

…8am.

For no good gotdamn reason at all. Actually, I woke up at 8 am and began watching The Fantastic Four. Frank Nitty (he got the keys to the city) woke up around 830am…because I had the damn TV on.

I’m going to do this half a little bit differently than I did the first half. Mostly because there has to be a more interesting way to tell you what happened at the wedding. In fact, I shall do it in my standard, Things I Learned manner…and boy did I learn some shit.

I only tell you how early we woke up because apparently after being drunk off of your ass, waking up and being fully cognizant after a cool 4 hours of sleep is not normal. Who knew? One of the hostesses said she didn’t know how we could get hammered the way we did and be up all early and shit raring to go.

Now if you read here for any given amount of time then you already know the answer, but apparently, she didnt know that I, Mr. Oh So Sexxy…

…am just damn sexxy like that.

Woosah, bitches. Woosah.

On to the actual wedding day and:

10 THINGS I LEARNED AT THE SHOW, THE AFTERPARTY, AND THE HOTEL

I’d like to go on record as saying that Jodeci’s song “Freak’n U” is their best song. You can disagree but you will be wrong.

1. Richmond, Virginia, suckin’ fucks (well now that didn’t quite work now did it?).

There was a planned informal breakfast planned for everybody in the wedding party scheduled for 12 noon for all of us to just come in and get something to eat quickly. It wasn’t required or anything. However, you see us ninjas were up early as the Dickens (which I can only assume means Charles…Barkley for Governor 2008). So we decided to traipse out of the hotel and find a McDonald’s. Only problem was that, despite being downtown, there was only one which was like a good damn 2 mile walk away. Oh well, we make the walk and stumble across a quaint little market off of Main Street. Hmm…that’s nice.

We find McDonald’s. Well this MUST be the only gotdamn McDonald’s in Richmond because there must have been 12 generations of Vito Corleone (makes no sense does it) in there. Further, the staff was backed up. Now let me ask you, when your job is customer service, and you have a packed house, what is the best possible thing you can do?

Go ahead…you can say it. Serve customers.

Yo, I was watching The Fighing Temptations last night, and when Cuba Gooding called Beyonce a ho (well Mary Magdalene and indirectly Beyonce “Bad Weave” Knowles) I fell the hell out. That part always gets me.

This McDonald’s said fuck it and just stopped taking orders. STOPPED TAKING ORDERS.

Richmond? Blows.

2. I learned that in every wedding, unforeseen circumstances provide a lot more comedy than one might think.

I really like weddings. I really like being in weddings because you get to look cool while everybody in the audience tries to figure out why you’re special. Well, being as this was a very traditional wedding and all that good shit, and there were 7 groomsmen and similarly 7 bridesmaids, we had a routine planned out for all of us walking up onto the stage/altar kind of deal.

The men were to escort the ladies down the aisle with a flower (assumingly a rose) behind our backs, and when we ascended the stairs, we were to take the bridesmaids hand, kiss it, and pull the flower from behind our backs and hand it to them as we both bust a Michael Jackson spin move into our respective slots standing up to watch our boy and girl get married.

Sounds simple enough right?

And it was until the wedding planners brought us whole damn floral arangements the size of basketballs to carry down the aisle. How about, NOBODY could get that big ass bouquet behind their backs. Seriously, you may not have seen this kind of comedy in your entire life. The jokes went flying left and right. Oh yeah…AND the flowers were a good 2 pounds apiece.

I will say this, my bridesmaid companion was a straight G with hers. We laid our execution down. Even had some jokes going down the aisle together. I’m telling you…if she wasn’t married with kids…then she’d be single.

Speaking of wedding planner gaffes, here’s a quick story. All of us groomsmen were standing outside trying to figure out what the fuck to do while we waited since nobody gave us any instructions. Well the wedding planner finally comes to us, and says, “I’m gonna need you all to…”

Then she looks left and walks off somewhere.

No. Shit.

Anybody need a wedding planner? She’ll be available for you when I get married.

3. Parenting is not an art…it should be a beatdown when necessary.

Let’s just say, there are some kids who need to be beat on sight regardless of whether or not the authorities may be called. This one particular little fucker who was in the wedding was the most disruptive, disrespectful kid on Earth. He wouldn’t listen to direction or his parents. He went where he wanted to when he wanted to and mouthed off on his parents. We were later told that his parents beat his ass all the time. I honestly don’t believe that. He does not get beat enough. At one point, his mother called his daddy to come back and tend to him…

…I saw no fear in his eyes. I’m 27 years old and I’m still afraid of my daddy. That little boy…said fuck you to all of us and his parents and pissed us all off.

As a heads up, any woman who has kids with me better realize that our children won’t be acting like that. Let’s just say, every groomsman has a healthy disdain for said fucker.

And his daddy dresses like a table.

4. ShowStopper is not just a Danity Kane song.

You know, I totally had a dream last night that Puffy owned a comedy club in DC and brought George Carlin in to headline and they both sucked. Yes, Puffy tried his hands at comedy. No more KFC for me before I go to sleep…those engineered chickens be making my mind act up.

I said before that there were some certified stunners in the wedding party. One of them was a bridesmaid. Good googly moogly is she hot. Anyway…what do they tell you NOT to do when standing up for a long time on a stage or some shit where you’re required to stand still?

Do not lock your knees.

And do you know why you shouldn’t do that?

Because in the middle of a wedding you might just fall the fuck out, except in this case, you are standing a good 2 feet into the air which means you will fall off the stage to a big thud in a church full of people who are there to witness the nuptials of two very well-to-do individuals and their families. A great thud indeed.

Let me tell you, she fell the FUCK out. I mean she wasn’t even moving so it was very tense up in there for a good 5 minutes. But when she came too, and the wedding proceeded to much ballyhooing and nuptial joy and happiness, and as me and my bridesmaid walked down the aisle, making sure sure not to fall the fuck out…it dawned on me…she fell the fuck out IN THE MIDDLE of a wedding and shall be forever known as the chick who fell out at their wedding.

Showstopper.

It’s not funny, but I do want a copy of the unedited version of the wedding tape. You know…so I can watch the bride and groom say I do over and over again.

(If you believe that you ain’t bright.)

5. My boy must really have married an angel.

Pretty strong words, huh?

Well, let me tell you why. One of the good things about being in a wedding with all of your boys is that they’re there every step of the way. Me and Frank Nitty were standing right next to each other in the groomsmen line on stage. (I keep saying stage but it was an elevated pulpit more or less….we were in a church).

And we both saw the same shit. No lie…

…when the bride entered the church, the sun came out and shone right into the church. Frank said, “YO…THE SUN JUST CAME OUT.” I was like, “yes…it did…is we gon’ die?”

Okay, no I didn’t. You got me.

God must have agreed with their wedding…that’s all I know.

And my boy Johnny Kwest, was just a smiling his ass off as she came down the aisle. They’re happy. I like that.

6. Even traditional weddings get remixes.

This one will be short.

The bride…bless her heart, when the Pastor said, “…for richer or for poorer…” and she had to recite it, do you know she took a 3 second pause after “richer”. Just like this: “…and for richer…tick…tick…tick…and poorer”

Much laughter.

And the groom…this ninja hit a shoulder lean up there while he was reciting something causing all of us groomsmen to fall out laughing since Frank Nitty had originally requested an A-Town Stomp. We could have pulled it off too if it wasn’t for reason and well-thinking people.

7. If you build it, they will come.

There wasn’t an open bar at the reception. I know what you’re saying. Panama and his boys like to drink, whatever will they do? And trust me, me and my boy Doc were trying to figure out how to get drunk without any liquor…but then it happened…

…one of the waiters came around to the tables of the wedding party and started filling our glasses with wine. Now, I don’t know how he picked up on me and Doc’s lushtasticness, because he told us that the wedding party was to be taken care of all night, wine-wise. Well, I told him he was my hero right then and there. And he kept our glasses full, he did.

Well, after I went off to dance for a minute, or something, I come back to the table and the bartender has left two full bottles of wine for me and Doc. One of the hostesses sitting a droit, claimed that the wine was left because she asked the waiter to leave it. I don’t know if that’s true or not…but I do know that I…felt…like…runn-ing.

8. It’s possible to go from classy to ashy in under two hours.

You know, the worst thing you can ever do in life is tell a woman, that you just met mind you, that she might not look as hot, doing some natural shit women do. Confused? Let me unconfuse you.

One of the groomsmen was apparently kicking game to one of the hostesses, a chick from Spelman that I’d seen before but didn’t really know. Very pretty girl with very pretty eyes. Anywho, I suppose his holleration was working because he got her phone number, etc. We were supposed to go out after the reception for more drinks but we didn’t. We just got drunk after the reception in the hospitatlity suite. Many many shots of Grey Goose were had.

So we get kicked out of the hospitatlity suite for being too loud at 2am and all of the hostesses/bridesmaids that were there retreat to their room. I head up to one of their rooms because me and one of the hostesses need to finish a conversation that we’d been having all weekend. So as not to bother the other young ladies trying to get some sleep, we take our conversation into the hallway.

Well, something like 20 minutes into our convo, the dude that was hollering at the chick with the pretty eyes comes from the elevator and is walking towards us. He makes a comment that shall not be repeated…it’s one of those comments that was the reason for the damn convo in the first place between me and her…then walks right into their room.

Uh-oh. So we follow. Now, fellas…if you’ve ever dated a black woman, one thing you know is that damn near every black woman wraps their hair at night. It’s just what they do. You accept it. Hell, I don’t mind it at all. You’re finna go to sleep…who cares.

Apparently, that ninja. He went off on this soliloquy about how women don’t look as good in their nighty headwraps, talking directly to the chick he was trying to holler at…AND THEN…told another one of the chicks in the room that her headrwrap looked okay. Remember, we’re in their room disrupting their attempts to go to sleep.

Let’s just say, he TOTALLY fucked that one up. She’s hot too. No diggety no doubt. There’s a little more to this story, but I’ll cut that one out there.

9. Weddings and receptions are fun.

I like to have fun. I dance hard. Having fun and dancing hard gets people noticing you. It also draws folks onto the dancefloor. Either way, over the course of this weekend, I was called “Trouble” by a bridesmaid, “Dangerous” by and older gentleman, and invited to some folks home so that they could cook me dinner. And the homecooked meal was from an older dude and his wife who saw me dancing during the reception and were really delighted that I was having so much fun.

Yes, Panama turns this mother out. Trust me on that one.

Not sure what being called “Trouble” was about though.

10. Apparently you can’t take me anywhere without me meeting some random folks.

I almost forgot about this. This always happens to me for some reason. I can just be minding my own business and I will end up meeting some strange person and having a full length conversation about something random. This time, it was the environment. This is while we’re waiting on the limos to take us to the wedding. But yep…according to my boys, I got picked up.

I just like talking to people so I always do.

I asked if I’m the only person that happens too and I got a resounding yes from nearly everybody in attendance.

I’m sexxy.

And a bonus:

11. I love my friends and weddings and I would like to go to more.

Guess that one kind of speaks for itself…

To JK and Summer…congratulations. To Richmond, fuck you. And to my folks, old and new, that shit was one for the books.

[***This is some certified-gangsta Panama-length shit right here. Be aware, be very aware. Also, I could end up leaving some stuff out...to protect the innocent (me) and probably because I forgot. The spirits were calling this weekend. What I'm saying is that I can neither confirm nor deny that I'm telling the whole story. *wink**wink***]

“Mawaige…mawaige is what bwings us togeva today. Dat bwessed institution…” ~ Bishop in The Princess Bride

I love the movie, The Princess Bride. It makes me chuckle profusely.

This past weekend, one of my best friends in life wed the love of his life in Richmond, Virginia. In what was coined early on as The Summer of Love, the wedding season couldn’t have gone out on a better note.

As me and my people love to get up with the get down, much ignorance, enjoyment, love, happiness, debate, discourse, stupidity, fun, liquor, and late night creep moves occurred. I mean, hell, when Panama The Most Muhfuckin’ is involved you know how it’s going down (and in the offchance that you don’t, you really should invite me to your wedding). In fact, there was so much shit involved in the two day affair that I have to break this into two different parts.

I’m cool like that.

Yo, have you seen the Geico commercial with the caveman walking through the airport and he sees the “It’s so easy a caveman can do it” advertisement? That commercial kills me everytime. I’m telling you, the marketing execs at Geico are really worth their weight in gold.

So, I shall begin at the beginning as it’s a lovely place to start, especially considering that if I began at the end you’d probably not know what in the shit I was talking about. Plus, it’s difficult to write stories backwards. Or so they say…

…hmmm…

In the beginning, there was light.

Oops…wrong story.

Anybody who knows me knows that I despise the state of Virginia outside of the Capital Beltway. It’s a dastardly villain of a state. I hate it for one reason: traffic. It has taken me upwards of 4 hours to go 90 miles between Richmond and Washington. There’s never a good reason for it, but it’s as predictable as death. If you must drive between Washington, DC, and Richmond, VA, you will indeed be sitting in traffic. I don’t care if it’s at 3am or 3pm. If it’s purple or green. Shucks, it don’t matter if you’re black or white. Spaghetti spaghetti everywhere, up to my elbows, up to my hair.

Oh, and I’ll be throwing out all kinds of names pretty soon.

We had to be in Richmond by 4pm (well according to an original letter sent…I forgot this whole shebang involved nothing but Black people). So what time were me and two of my compadres, Frank White and Cool Breeze, on the road and raring to go?

1130am.

Mind you, it’s about 120 miles at most between Richmond and DC. That should take, what, 2 hours, tops???

Not in VA. So I like to have a cushion. We probably left more like at noon. Now, apparently, the more I get worried about traffic, the less traffic occurs. So we made it to Richmond in 2.5 hours. And checked ourselves into our lush pseudo-luxury suite at the Richmond Omni.

We’re there early. It’s a wedding. What to do? What to do? Aha!!!!

Liquor. Consumption.

Oh yeah, I forgot to mention that I brought a bunch of liquor from my house with me. Two bottles of Jose Cuervo, one bottle of Goldschlagger, and a big ass bottle of Bacardi Limon. Amazingly, if you mix the Limon with some free Lemonade (well we kind of jacked the Lemonade…like a cool gallon of it) from the Richmond Omni, you can make yourself Mike’s Hard Lemonade. At least that’s what it tasted like.

You know, this is the boring shit, but were a little, um, “lit” by 330pm. Let’s get to the very important stuff.

If you are a groomsmen…fuck it, if you’re in the wedding party period, and you’re a male, what’s the most important part?

The female half of the wedding party. You pray, plead, and hope beyond hope that they will be hot. As in really hot.

As in like, their knees are hot.

You’d also like them all to be a lot of fun, which in this wedding proved to be important since all the dudes involved were pretty much hellbent on having a damn good time.

And yes, they were hot. There was at least one certified 10. The bridesmaids looked good, the hostess lookeded good. Things were falling in order. The young lady that I had to escort down the aisle was hands down cool as a fan too. Bigups!!!!

Further, being as the bride went to Spelman, we knew all the hostesses (save one) ahead of time and they’re beaucoup fun. And a few of us have history with a few of them and there are strange connections between some of us yada yada yada.

I’m boring myself right now.

Let’s skip around a little. Ah…the rehearsal dinner.

Now right before the rehearsal, two more of my boys had shown up, The Doc and Maverick.

Maverick isn’t a drinker…but me, Doc, and Frank White are something like some drunks. So what did we do in the short twenty minute span between getting back to the hotel for the rehearsal dinner and the actual rehearsal dinner?

Shots.

We murdered the bottle of Goldschlagger. Three shots each. Mandatory sentence.

Now the problem with taking shots is that people notice that you return that much happier than you left. And we’re already a happy bunch so a person or two was slightly ’spicious.

Now I’ve heard that the cure for a hangover is more liquor. Well do you know what the key to throwing people off or your drunk tail is? Drinking so they can see you. That way, they think you’re doing it all right there. Much wine was had.

The problem with doing all this drinking is that…it tends to make everything seem a little bit funnier than it just might be. For instance…the fellow who came into sing during the rehearsal dinner sounded a whole damn lot like Randy Watson, lead singer of the group Sexual Chocolate.

So much so that Frank White made sure to yell Sexual Chocolate when he finished drinking. So loud so that folks at another table (the hostesses and bridesmaids) looked over and had to stifle a chuckle or two. So much so that it was hard for me to stop laughing…so much so that we had to leave again…

…and take another shot.

Don’t you see how that made logical sense?

So we got hot chicks, liquor, a wedding, and we’re in a new city. We simply MUST find something to get into for the night. There was a hospitality suite sectioned off for us as well. And do you know what they had in there…all pristine and sexxy (back) like?

Lots of liquor. Now, my boy Cool Breeze got a little more lit than the rest of us during the day. I mean, he just kept drinking so by the time it came to take the shots of Schlagger he took 2 and then declined from then on out. We get to the hospitality suite, and he’s making a Henny and Coke. Then he looked up, looked left and realized there was no way in shit he was about to drink it and handed it off to me. I was happy.

Let me say here, the chicks were bullshittin’. Well not all of them, the homey J.House was down for the cause to go out…but I’ll get to that in a second.

So let’s see…me and the homey Frank White started tossing back Henny and Cokes, then took a shot of Cuervo. And THEN we went to find the groom to make sure he would take at least one shot of Grey Goose with us.

He did. He was required too…I told him that earlier. In fact, I think it should be mandated that before any groom gets married, he is required to take at least two shots: 1) for his bride-to-be; and 2) for his boys.

It was written.

Apparently, the more drunk I get, the more ignant I get. And being as Richmond sucks ass and everything shuts down at 2am, at about 130am, I decided to make a phone call to information to see if I could find us some entertainment. Here’s the transcript of the conversation with 411:

Operator: What city please?

Panama: Richmond, VA.

Operator: What listing?

Panama: Hoes.

Operator: Excuse me????

Panama: Oh, sorry. Prostitutes. I’m bored.

Operator: *click*

Apparently, I didn’t tell anybody I was making that phone call ahead of time because two of the other groomsmen fell the fuck out in amazement at the conversation I was having.

At like, 145am, we make it out of the hotel. Not to get hoes…you see how helpful the operator was…so we ventured outside of the hotel on our own to find some entertainment. At this point its me, Frank White, Cool Breeze, The Doc, J.House, and our homegirl Sweet Candy of the World. That, my friends, is a funny name.

Remember how I said Richmond sucks ass? Well, I was trying to find something to do and I asked well over 10 people, from cab drivers to people letting out clubs what else there was to do in Richmond.

In fact, earlier in the day, two of the groomsmen went to the mall and asked a woman they met what they should do to have a good time in Richmond. She asked where they were from.

“Atlanta.”

“Go back.”

Damn.

While all of this is going on, our party buddies are dropping off like flies. First Sweet Candy of the World drops off. Then J. House. Then the Doc. Which was probably a good thing. For one, it was cold outside.

But mostly because while I’m out polling Richmond’s boring ass party crowds, my boy Frank White has begun breaking up a fight. You see, apparently, when you are drunk, the best thing for you to do, is get in the middle of other people’s bullshit.

It’s always safer that way.

So I go to help and when it looks like it calmed down, I trudge looking for more people to poll. And I think I yelled, “Richmond fuckin’ sucks” a good 4 times.

Well, on my way to more pollation, I walk into a fight between two other people. And since Frank White had just broken up a fight, I was felling like a follower so I jumped into their shit and broke it up.

I find that the key to breaking up any fight where people seem to have any inkling of soberness is to remind people, while pushing them back up against a wall, that if they go to jail tonight, the just might not be going anywhere until Monday. And spending the weekend in jail would blow.

Count so far? Two fights.

I walk back around the corner, and the two dudes who started the original fight, are at it again!!! So me and Frank White, feeling all Officer Friendly-ish, go and break up that shit and send one of the dudes on his merry way.

Oh, and can I just mention that we have YET to actually leave the sidewalk in front of the hotel.

However…Frank White, in his drunken splendor, started yelling to me and Cool Breeze, who was being the watchdog making sure that us idiots didn’t die while getting involved in other people’s shit, “YO…HOW ARE WE GONNA GET HOME??? HOW ARE WE GONNA GET HOME???”

Remember, we are standing in front of our hotel.

Oy vey.

So, we’ve broken up some fights, lost some of our friends who just said, fuck it, and went back inside, and have nowhere to go. Me…I go look for more people to talk too.

Frank White? Finds the ONLY BLACK WOMAN in the vicinity and immediatly goes to rap to her. At this point, Cool Breeze peaces us out.

Oh yeah, final count: three fights.

Because we believe in public safety and have been policing the streets of Richmond, the two safety minded inviduals do what anybody would do in our position. Convince the chick to take us out to eat.

At 3am.

In a city we know nothing about.

With a woman we just met.

Who didn’t seem to mind.

Smells like a setup to me.

Luckily, it smelled like teen spirit to her because she sure did take us to get some vittles at some placed called Aladdin’s.

Hmm…am I racist if I point out that the fellows working their were of Arab descent.

And it was named Aladdin’s? I mean, it was probably one of the fellow’s names…right?!??

Me…I’m trying not to say anything crazy as to make sure that the young lady would actually return us to the hotel. Frank White? Not so much…having to be the sensible one while being drunk at the same time is much more difficult than it might seem.

I promise.

But she took us home at like 4am. And we trudged up to our room. At 4am.

And went to sleep at about 410am.

Only to wake up at …

Tune in tomorrow for Part II of the epic tale of A September Wedding, where Falls Church isn’t only a city a Virginia, horrible game and headwraps take center stage, receptions turn into Soul Train, no Open bar at a wedding doesn’t stop two of us from procuring free bottles of wine from the bar, and oh yeah…a wedding takes place!!!

Al Green don’t got nothing on my remix.

In two days, one of my best friends in life is about to make that wonderful declaration before God, that he shall be faithful and all that good stuff to his intended.

Yes, my boy is getting married.

And I couldn’t be happier for him. Truthfully, I’m as excited to just have fun at a huge event (again). This summer has been chock full of nuptials and love. And though it is officially Fall, I’m still considering this summer as a wedding will then have both started and ended my summer.

My boy…what can I say about my boy? (Yes, this is a tribute of sorts.)

This particular cat is one of the reasons I’m doing a lot of the stuff I’m doing. You see, I believe that everything that happens in life has a direct impact on the next move that occurs. Now, is everything pre-ordained and ordered? Perhaps in some divine theory…however I believe that we have free will. So if I freely decide to make a very bad decision tomorrow (say I meet an ugly woman and decide to engage her in a little foofy foofy), then everything from that day forward occurs in some way because of that decision.

Or not.

But let’s assume that what a decision that I made 10 years ago is damn near directly responsible for the reason I’m writing this right now.

Back in the beginnings of all of our senior year in high school, everybody spends so much time stressing over where they’re going to go to college. And being as that I was in all the nerdy classes, EVERYBODY was freaking out about acceptance letters and the like.

Me? I was chillin. I wasn’t too concerned for whatever reason. Stress sucks. So I figure, why stress.

I had laid out a few schools for consideration: Howard University, the University of Michigan, Georgia Tech, Tuskegee, and the University of Alabama. I wasn’t really worried about paying for it. I figured somebody was going to pay me to go to school. I’m young, black, with a high GPA and all of the necessary honor societies, and good test scores. Fuck worrying.

Well, me and my boy, JK, were both sitting in our AP Calculus class (as you can see, I’ve known him for something like 11 years now) told me he was going to Morehouse and that I should go and we could be roommates. He even got a scholarship. He gave me a little Morehouse spiel. Granted, I knew Dr. Martin Luther Tha King went there, but I didn’t know much else.

Me??

I just said, ok.

I went home, requested some material. It came in the mail. I applied. Got accepted. Got a scholarship. End game.

Thanks for playing.

It was the best decision of my life. And I owe it to my boy.

Thanks pimpin’.

I’m really proud of him, ya know. For one, he’s actually getting married…and really wants too. I have to give it to him, he’s one of the few people I know that you can count on really making any and everything happen that he says will happen.

If he decides it, it will come.

The list is of his accomplishments is too long for me to name, besides, he hates when folks know all of his business, but this cat is that dude.

While I was out there running the streets and missing whole weeks of class (!) our Freshman year, he was studying (and on the phone with his then girlfriend). This cat?? Phi Beta Kappa? Me…I graduated AND kept my scholarship. That was my goal. Stay on scholarship.

I remember when he first met his future wife. Actually, it wasn’t much of a meeting. He saw her at Spelman one day and was caught off guard. Developed a crush if you will. Now that blows considering he had a girlfriend, but its okay to look and not touch right?

Survey says? Yes.

Who’d a thunk that about 4 years later they’d meet at a party in New York City and blaze a trail for marriage. He sure as hell didn’t think that.

But here we are, two days away, and he’s about to marry the girl that made him stop and say, “damn” so many years ago.

You know, there has only been one woman who caught me SO offguard by her fineness one day to cause me to utter the words “damn”. You know you’re hot when that’s the only thing a man can think of. Anywho…

This shit is scattered isn’ it?

So yeah, I’m proud of my boy for manning up and taking that leap. And for doing what he said he was going to do. And choosing a beautiful woman with so much going for herself. I’m not sure why I’m so happy but I love my boys, I really do. I want the best for them in any given circumstance. So it makes me happy to know that they’re happy and that life isn’t just beating the hell out of us.

And trust me, life does beat the hell out of us…some of us don’t make it. Some of us dangle along the edge trying to grasp for anything…

But on Saturday, I get to see my boy, one of my best friends in life, and somebody who knows me as well as (if not better than) members of my family. My brother is getting married. And all of our boys will be there, front and center to watch.

I kind of wonder if this will be the point where all of us start preparing for that leap. I’m not really ready to be married at this point, so the kid won’t be jumping any brooms any time soon. But I’m not afraid of this point in life anymore. It’s coming whether we all like it or not.

Marriage. Who’d a thunk it?

To my boy, JK, I’m proud of you pimpin’. Happy nuptials. And happy pre-nuptials shots of Patron because that’s what’s going to be happening. Can’t get him drunk, but that ninja is going to take one shot for the rest of us and one shot for the rest of his life.

Two shots of Patron.

Speaking of which, I took two shots of Patron last night. You know, it goes really well with a rum and coke chaser. Word life.

To his wife, take care of my boy, Lord knows he’ll need it.

I’d like to extend a toast to my boy…

…JK, congratulations…do this for love, happiness, and all that other shit.

And for strippers…we can’t not do it for strippers…

…but mostly love.

If you will, please congratulate my boy on his pending nuptials. Congratulations are in order, y’all….

…a Black man WANTS to get married!!!!

[***You know the spiel, it's long. Panama-length long. ***]

I have some confessions to make upfront here.

1) It is wholly possible that I still may have some liquor in my system. I’m not 100 percent sure on this but the vision in my left eye hasn’t been right since Tuesday.

2) I have a scar on my forehead right now. I have no clue where it came from or how it happened. Not even the slightest clue. I woke up Tuesday morning, looked in the mirror and there it was. It is possible that maybe, just maybe, I drank a wee little bit too much on Monday night. See #1.

3) I got to Miami on Saturday morning, a full day later than all of my friends. Why? Because I made work a priority for the first time in my life. I feel sick to my stomach. I apologize to my friends and anybody who expects me to be there to be a part of the party jump off. I pledge to never do that again. Employment should never be more important than spending time drinking out of town with your friends while two of them get married.

Let me repeat that last part: A muhfucka apologize and I pledge to never slack on partying again due to anything work related. Feel free to invite me anywhere. I’ll be around like The Spinners and Rappin’ 4 Tay.

[***Sidenote: For everybody in DC, I'm hosting a weekly open mic night on U Street at Bohemian Caverns every Wednesday. Doors open at 6pm with drink specials til 730. Open mic til around 10pm and an afterparty at the club upstairs til 2am. Sign up to get on the guest list for the upstairs club at www.stock13.net. I'm sexxy. ***]

Now that we’ve gotten that out of the way, I just spent 4 days in Miami to celebrate the nuptuals of two of my friends. It was a great time and the wedding was lovely. The bride looked adorable and the groom is something like a G. It was the least traditional wedding I’ve been to in my life and needless to say I’m not sure anybody else will have a wedding like that.

How untraditional? The groomsmen walked in to Common’s “Be” and the bridesmaids walked into Lauryn Hill’s “The Sweetest Thing.”

But like any of my other trips, much hilarity, debauchery, drunken antics and just all around tomfoolery ensued. This was one for the books as well. So what would Panama do? He’d write about it.

Hmm…I just realized that somebody needs to spearhead the WWPD campaign. It’s probably the opposite of WWJD in most cases. Umm…that didn’t sound right.

I’m going to do this as an educational tool. It will be done in a vein of things I learned in Miami. Sharing is caring, reading is fundamental, and Miami is full of education. Believe you me.

[***DISCLAIMER: This will be a very anonymous post to protect the innocent guilty. No names will appear. No references to you know who, who did you know what, to you know who...naw, we'll just keep that between me and you. Any emails from individuals asking who did what will be forwarded to Equifax. ***]

Things I Learned In Miami While My Name is Panama

-A grown ass black man can actually (like no bullshit) fall asleep while in the midst of receiving a lap dance.

[***Sidenote: If you're a stripper, isn't a man falling asleep while you are performing specifically for him the most disprespectful thing ever? Would that make you self-conscious? Poor stripper, that might be a shot to her esteem. He might have singlehandedly signed her death certificate as she might try her best from here on out to go the extra mile on every lap dance thereby causing herself cardiac arrest...all because one drunk ass negro managed to fall asleep during a lap dance. Disrespectful...just wrong. ***]

-Miami is a city that makes you feel like fucking. There is just too much T&A walking the streets and the beach is way too convenient a jumpoff spot for any healthy-libido’d man or woman to be completely devoid of impure thought. The only exception is the fact that a lot of the people displaying T&A needed to be displaying T&S. T-shirts. But I ain’t mad.

-Miami Beach is lovely. The real Miami, of the Rick Ross/Trick Daddy ‘nem variety is something like some hood shit. I mean damn. I say…damn.

-Skinny dipping at 4 am on the beach will result in a lot of fucking sand in a hotel room.

-There is a lonely vibrating lighter dildo roaming the streets of Miami Beach right now.

-Room service can be on some shit sometimes. And they will not hesitate to cuss you out. So…fuck ‘em.

-It is always good to talk to the bartenders and get their names. Do you want to know why? I’ll tell you why. I missed the first day of festivities where my people got fucked the fuck up off some Long Island Iced Teas, but on Monday night…

…shiiiiiiiiiiiiit. We went down to the bar by the hotel pool. Met the bartender. Chopped it up. Result? Two dollar Long Islands.

I MUST repeat that. Muthafuckin’ $2 Long Islands. AND…this dude GAVE us a free round and gave me a free hot dog because I said I was hungry. THEN…he told us to come back tomorrow morning because another bartender was going to be teaching him how to make some drinks and we could have them all free.

I don’t care what anybody says…I love white people.

If it’s one thing white people want you to do right in their presence, it’s drink.

Oh yeah, I learned that too many Long Island Iced Teas may result in unintentional nudity while the hotel next door is obviously shooting a video with spotlights that just might end up on you as you streak down the beach naked. Not that that happened or anything. I’m just saying it seems possible.

-Chasing a bunch of Long Island Iced Teas with shots of Patron and Captain Morgan’s Rum will result in you losing days from your memory. I’m still not completely sure how…fuck it, never mind.

-If given the right audience…it is possible for me to be a bodybuilder. Because apparently some motherfuckers will believe anything despite the sheer unfuckinbelievableness of it.

Oh yeah, I’m skinny as the fuck.

Still sexxy. But skinny.

-Along those same lines, I’ve seen hair that was claiming rival gangs. At the same time.

-I learned that I forgot that I don’t smoke.

-You don’t have to go to the club to have a really good time. You bring the club to the beach. All you really need is some liquor (a lot of liquor) some blankets and some people and you can have a right good time.

You can also get left there sleeping while it seems that EVERYFUCKIN’BODY just dipped out. Then what do you do? Roll over and go back to sleep and hope nobody robs you. This will also result in sand everywhere.

-If you meet a woman who has the exact same name of a chick you used to deal with, somebody will tell you that you should specifically try to holler at her and then tell the other one that you messed with a chick who has her name. For reasons that I will not go into here that is WAY funnier than it might seem…

-I really miss college. More specifically I really miss Spelman College. I’ve also learned something very interesting on a more personal note. People from college either recognize me from jump or swear they’ve never seen me before. Granted in college I had a whole lot of hair doing all kinds of crazy things and I wore glasses but I keep meeting women who have no recollection of ever seeing me, despite a whole OTHER half of Spelman swearing I was there everyday (I was). My friend who got married is a Delta and a a bunch of her linesisters and sorors were there and let me just say…I really love Deltas.

One more time, I really love Deltas.

All AKA’s please feel free to refer any and all hate mail to my email address.

Shit, all Zeta’s and SGRho’s for that matter.

-Time is not always good to all people. Sometimes one should be glad that a crush they had in college remained a crush because as was stated in the first sentence, time is not always good to all people.

-However, time can be fuckin’ great for others that some people have always had a thing for. Summer dresses? That is an idea that must have come straight from God himself.

-Yung Joc’s song “It’s Going Down” is one of the best party songs in years. Especially if two negros in the middle of the room know how to direct traffic and keep things crunk.

-One lightly alcoholic drink will not fuck you up. However, 10 will make you feel a lot better. Especially if you chase said drinks with shots of Vanilla Vodka, Patron, and then drink rum and cokes.

-Driving in Miami fucking sucks. People in Miami are the worst drivers in the nation.

-Cab drivers will curse you out if you call them on the fact that they changed to a black radio station as soon as you got in the car. Luckily the person who called him out was drunk or it could have gotten ugly. Two groups of people I never realized would think to get gully: cab drivers and the hotel cleaning crews. But they too will curse you out.

Over some towels.

Fuck ‘em.

-Being white in Miami must be what it feels like to be Black in Omaha. I think all the white people in Miami are Cuban or something.

Or college students.

-I can’t believe I forgot this one…Miami is fucking hot.

-Key West is far.

-I really like going to weddings. They’re lots of fun and you get to see lots of people you haven’t seen in a good long while. Especially when the people coming to the wedding are a lot of chicks you thought were fine in college who managed to remain fine. That always makes me feel better about life.

-Thundercats and Northern Cali got more in common than you might think. Some very unattractive things happened with some very unattractive people in relation to some very unattractive conversations.

I want half Eddie.

-Some people are in complete denial about the sheer attractiveness of some of their friends. I mean…really.

Top 10.

-Some people are in complete denial about their hateration of people who clearly just need a hug.

Definitely not Top 10.

(By the way, don’t you love the completely inside nature of all of this shit?)

-Drinking done in moderation can totally ruin a weekend.

-Sex…do it for the kids.

-A musicless BBQ that neither the bride or groom has attended will result in food that isn’t ready until its time to go to the wedding rehearsal.

-If you eat at a restaurant in Miami Beach, say for a rehearsal dinner, at say Tap Tap, and say a HUGE FUCKIN’ ROACH THE SIZE OF A SHOE starts climbing the wall…the waitress will kill it near your food and tell you that, “hey, it’s Miami what do you expect?”

-If somebody just happens to spot a mouse running around the theater that the wedding is taking place, while the wedding is taking place, sometimes its better not to tell any of the guests because they might cause a scene. That way, the wedding can go off without a hitch.

Unless of course the mouse runs over somebody’s foot causing mass hysteria and screaming and shit.

Not that that happened. I’m just saying its possible.

-I love my friends a whole lot. I say it all the time and I mean it everytime I say it. We’re planning a 10 year anniversary next August for all of us who met in August of 1997 at Morehouse and Spelman. That my friends, will be some hot shit.

-Miami is a great fuckin’ place!

I think I’ll stop there because for one, I’ve forgotten a lot of what actually happened, and 2 I’m tired.

Next stop: Atlanta, GA, August 4-14th The Panama Vacation Train Keeps Moving On!!!!

I want to wish a pre-July 4th Happy 4th of July to everybody who will be out and about BBQ’n watching fireworks and the like.

What will I be doing you ask?

Well, this weekend the Sexxiest Man Alive will be in the M-I-Yayo.

That’s Miami for you Rick Ross illiterates out there.

The Summer of Love continues for Panama Jackson and Associates (that’s my law firm) in Miami as I witness the nuptuals of two more friends of mine. If you remember, one of my boys kicked off the summer in May by getting married in my favorite city in the United States of America (the Beautiful), Atlanta. I really must say that Black love is a beautiful thing. But Black love that decides to get married in Miami and invites me along for the ride and then adds me to the wedding party requiring that I spend time in Miami…

…during a holiday weekend?

Well, that’s the kind of love I can get behind. Any love that ultimately benefits me in the short or long run is okay with me.

I have one more wedding I’m definitely going too (I’m in that wedding as well…props to the homey JK) at the end of September and one that I’m not sure if I’ll be able to make due to its relative location in this hemisphere. But dammit, keep the love going anyway.

2006: The Summer of Love

And…!!!

And another one of my friends got engaged as recently as a month ago and is getting married in October.

With all this love in the air, the question always arises: Panama, you’re 27 now and you aren’t exactly a spring chicken anymore (I’m too sexxy for that shit actually), when are you going to get married?

Panama Jackson = in no rush.

He’s chillin. In fact, I’m straight.

So straight.

I’ve been put in charge of putting together the music for the pre-Wedding BBQ that’s taking place on Saturday (the wedding is on Sunday). And in the process of putting together some music I noticed something.

I’ll bet your just chomping at the bit to know what I discovered aren’t you? No?

Oh how the mighty have fallen.

What I noticed was that it’s fuckin’ hard to make a “clean” playlist of the most popular songs out there nowadays. Now, for this particular event I’m supposed to be spanning decades which is very easy to do given my music collection. Hell I even have a few pre-made playlists specifically for purposes like this. But all of those playlists include music for the older crowd.

By throwing a BBQ with both young and old folks you have to play the new stuff. And boy is some of that shit fuckin’ profane. And vulgar too! This always causes me some sort of moral dilemma (of which I’ve actually talked about before). I know there will be little kids present and older people and I sure as hell don’t want to inundate them with the throngs of bitches and asses that don’t get bleeped out of the CLEAN versions of songs. Luckily, drug talk has become so coded that most people that don’t listen to rap won’t know what the fuck the rappers are talking about in that realm.

I’ve been combing through my stacks and iTunes trying to find clean AND suitable versions of songs for kids from 8-80 and let me tell you, the shit is an exercise in problem solving. Luckily I only have to come with about 4 hours of music. That’s not hard to do at all, but sheesh.

All I’m saying is that you rappin’ ass niggas need to clean up your fuckin’ music. Shit’s just too profane and vulgar.

With that said, I’m really looking forward to going to this wedding and hanging with my boys and turning Miami out. Let’s see, we’ve turned out LA, San Diego, Atlanta (on a continuous basis), NY, DC, Boston, New Orleans, and Las Vegas. I could very well be missing a few cities but you can blame that on the liquor…

…and Jim Jones.

Did I also mention that this will not only be my first time in Miami…but the WHOLE STATE OF FLORIDA!

That’s right kiddies, Panama has never been to Disneyland or DisneyWorld. I lived overseas for a sizable portion of my life so I’ve been to Euro-Disney, but never to the real Happiest Place on Earth. I was so deprived as a child. There are still emotional scars.

So…have a Happy 4th…enjoy yourself.

Relax yourself and envision the gobs of fun that the Killa (me) will be having in Miami with the beautiful people as the Summer of Love keeps on rolling.

It’s a celebration, bitches.

[***This is Panama-length, plus some. What can I say? It was a wedding weekend and I probably won't even really cover half of it. ***]

Have you ever seen a stripper start reading a magazine in the middle of her act?

Like a Jet Magazine?

I have.

And let me tell you, if there is one thing that this world does not need, it’s lazy strippers.

However, not even a lazy stripper could bring down (though it did make me reconsider cosmic signs) the amount of joy and excitement I experienced over the past 5 days. I went back to Atlanta to witness the nuptuals of one of my good friends from college and let me tell you, it did not disappoint.

So, I figured I’d do a recap of sorts, partially for the entertainment value, and partially so I can remember this 10 years from now assuming this site is still up and hasn’t been taken over by the CIA or somebody. Just know that if one day you ever hear me talking about having a drink from Starbucks, well, click the “x” at the top right of your screen because the government is monitoring you.

Before I get to the festivities and the chroniclization of such festivities (and there wasn’t any real debauchery to speak of), I must take a second to comment on marriage and seeing your friends proclaim their love for eachother. Well, let me just say, it brought me to tears. Literally. The most gangsta of all gangstas was boo-hoo’n up in the wedding. Now, I wasn’t really crying, it’s more like I teared up because when the new-wife did her vows…man…there weren’t many dry eyes in the building. I loved seeing them get married, I loved seeing them happy, and I loved how good the two of them are doing together.

Basically, this made for one of the happiest times in my entire life. I was smiling the whole damn weekend. Just…good times. Neither of them read this site, or probably even know it exists, but I really do have to thank them for the fact that their love was able to make me so happy. It just felt good to be apart of it all. That’s that contagious stuff right there.

Well, I feel gayer now. How about you?

Excuse me one moment.

*going outside to rob somebody to retrieve my gangsta*

I’m going to take this day by day and try not to overdo it by being excessively long or anything about this. Okay, I’m kind of lying on that “excessively long” part. And I think I’m going to do this as a sort of “lessons learned” kind of deal. Shall we? Yes let’s…

Things I Learned on Thursday, May 25, 2006

-It’s hot as the fuck in Atlanta, even at 11am. I got off the plane and felt like I had just been hit with an Egyptian camel.

-Camp Creek Parkway is long as the fuck. I didn’t even KNOW that Campbellton Road eventually crossed Camp Creek Pkwy. And do you know why? Because there’s no good got damn reason to ever be that far down the road. Now there building all of these affordable homes so folks are moving out there, but it’s way too far.

-I’m definitely moving back to Atlanta. There are no ands, ifs, or buts about it. Not only do I love the city, but its also like a gajillion times cheaper than any other city I’d consider living, which would be: DC, NY, or LA. Sorry Des Moines, but your city sucks ass.

-It’s never too early to start drinking. Too bad it took us, me and my boy, The Most Shady, about a good 5 hours to actually get our first marital-induced drink. And it took me even less time to feel the repercusions of said drink. Time started to float…

-In Greenbriar Mall, the wings at Abdullah The Butchers are way better than the little wing spot in the back corner by the bathrooms. My boy, CoolBreeze, wouldn’t admit this outright, but he wanted another one of my wings…I didn’t want another one of his. And umm…no brokeback.

-A little short drunk man was going to get his ass WHIPPED up in Dave & Busters. This nigga got a little ignant when he thought I was by myself…even going so far as to tell me that he had his boys with him. Then a few of my boys showed up while I was talkign shit to him. Oh how the tables turned. I am glad we didn’t get into the fight that seemed like it was about to happen. It’s a wedding weekend.

-Patron shots at the bar in the arcade were like 4 bucks at Dave & Busters. Maker’s Mark? 3 bucks. And how do I know this? You friendly neighborhood, Xquizzyt1, was blessing us with her presence.

Let me just say something about your friendly neighborhood, Xquizzyt1. How about she showed up, and all of my friends loved her instantly. Too bad random other dudes did too. Poor guy. Have you ever seen a man’s spirit completely broken. I have. This overly loquacious gentlemen who was trying really hard to rap to a few of my friends before me and X showed up began attempting to deconstruct manhood, the man woman relationship, and other shit when we showed up. Me, I was drunk. So I just sat there and looked around curiously. And since X never met an argument she didn’t like, they went at it.

In what can only be deemed, “How Not To Get Into A Woman’s Drawz In 10 Minutes Or Less”, ole boy actually said to her…”I guess you aren’t what I expected…” El Dumass. She took his pride after that. Kicked it around on the floor. Then right when he went to pick it up…hurled that bitch into the bar. When he was leaving, he just put his head down and said, “bye.” But…

…on the brightside he gave me props when he realized I went to Morehouse. So he wasn’t all bad. He did recognize his superiors.

*evil snicker*

-I also learned that there are some cool ass folks from up in Chicago. But that would be a running theme from the whole weekend as the bride is from Chicago (and Milwaukee or Killwaukee as it was referred by one of the brides cousins or something…a lot of black folks were running rampant this past weekend).

Sheesh this is long already…I’ll try to speed some of this up:

Friday, May 26, 2006

Fuck the things I learned. I’ll just recap this shit.

So after leaving Dave & Busters, two of my friends brought me back to my boys house at like 2am…I don’t actually remember them leaving, but they did leave at some point. That’s how damn tired I was. So what does a supremely tired black man do after being drunk and going to sleep somewhere in the neighborhood of 3-something A.M.??

He wakes up at 756am and can’t go back to sleep. Fuck. Me.

Went to BBQ. Had a Michael Jackson dance-off at the BBQ. That was fun as shit actually. There were way too many dancing negroes…and I was one of them.

Oh and let me say…i HATE the gotdamned Cha-Cha Slide. Hate Hate Hate it. It is a sorry excuse for a group dance.

Oh yes, on Friday, Atlanta was once again…hot as the fuck. I started stripping. Please, put your dollar bills away. Though I did offer to strip for money at the BBQ. Word to the wise: If you offer me money, I might offer to strip. I also might say no.

Here, I must get into how following the cosmic signs is probably always going to lead you in the right direction. This is a story, please have a seat.

Goal: Entertainment for males
Location: As of 9pm, we ain’t have one AKA Sign #1

By 11pm, we were having fun at my boy The Great’s home and had started to get a little nervous about whether or not we were gonna be doing anything. We were drinking, having fun with a few folks. I’d met another person from Panama and a doctor who was moving to Maryland.

1130pm and nowhere to go? Sign #2 to keep your black ass at home.

1135 or something, we get a call to meet on Fulton Industrial at Riley’s. That’s a strip club. Ehh…we don’t want to roll at this point, but what the fuck, it’s for the groom. And he’s our boy. My boy has a spare tire on his car and we can’t go faster than 55 MPH. In Atlanta, that is a severe problem. Shit’s already far as hell, to have to drive it slowly?? Painful.

We get to Riley’s. Ready to party?? NOPE. You see, we aren’t actually going into that club, we’re waiting outside for some dude to show up with some of our own personal entertainment.

Wait time, one hour and some change. Sign #3. Me and my boy, The Great…get ready to roll. We want some Krystal’s (similar to White Castle but better). We start to leave and say fuck it, but we get the call. We deliberate and go against our better judgement…and go with the caravan. Sign #4.

Fuck it…let’s just say that when you go against your hunches, you get lazy strippers in the middle of fuckin’ nowhere.

And THEN the spare tire blows out on you on Piedmont Avenue leaving you stranded for like 2 hours while you wait for a tow truck to come get you. And you end up on Piedmont when you were just out in Austell (a long ass fucking way apart) because one of your boys also wants to leave the lazy strippers and asks for a ride.

Me, I drove to fast and blew the spare. Plus, putting 300 miles on that bitch in 2 days will do that to you. Luckily, one of our other friends was still up at like 4 something AM and came to get us from Stone Mountain…

…let me just say I really love my friends. And also, I skipped signs number 5 throuh 100 as to why we should have just stayed home.

GOT DAMNED THIS IS LONG.

Saturday, May 27, 2006

Get in at like 6am from the Great Piedmont Car Fiasco of 2006. Wake up at like 10am. Went out to eat lunch with a friend. I also gave this friend a tour of Atlanta of which she had never really seen before. See all these folks think they know about certain parts of the city. I had to take her ass through Adamsville and the real Southwest. Not just driving up and down Cascade. I also took her to Simpson Road and Center Hill. Went through Dixie Hills. Basically, if you ever really want a Westside of Atlanta tour, I’m your man.

Dropped her off. Went to hotel for party. Party was fun. Played spades. Set our opponents, TWO TIMES IN A ROW. On some straight Debo shit. And by the way, I was fuckin’ drunk off my ass. Too much Henny and not enough Coke will do that to you. Especially when you’re playing spades like this:

If you win the book, the other team has to take a drink. If you set them, you tell them they have to do some guzzling. Let’s just say, we were some drunk ass spades players. At about 230, we packed it in…except, I made some phone calls and two of my friends, including your friendly neighborhood Xquizzyt1 and everybody’s favorite Bulletproof Diva came through to hang out at the hotel with us.

And get your mind out the gutter.

They leave at around 4 or something. I really don’t remember.

I get back to my boys house at around 5am.

Sunday, May 28th, 2006 AKA Wedding Day

Wake up at like 9am. Get pissed because I’m up at 9am. Watch the History of Metal on vh1. Head out at 1130am to go to Lenox to do some shopping. Run into the friend I went out to eat with on Saturday. We kick it while she goes shopping. She tried on everything in every store we went into. Lots of fun was had by all. I dipped out.

Went to get ready for the wedding.

Wedding.

Let me just say that it was a wonderful ceremony. I was extremely happy and all the groomsmen and bridesmaids looked good. The pastor presiding…well, it must have been her first wedding because she fucked up more lines than Keanu Reeves doing Shakespeare. No lie…she said this:

“I now pronounce them husband and wife…or I will after they exchange rings. Oh yeah, and then kiss…wait, what else are they gonna do? I can’t remember. This is a wedding right? Fuck it…y’all just do your own thing cuz apparently I’m unprepared.”

Okay, I embellished a little.

The reception was the best party I’ve been to in years. I can’t even explain it. It was that much fun. I sat down for like 2 or 3 minutes in total when the dancing started. Slow dancing, line dancing, soul train lines, ATL dancing, a go-go segment. We had a party. AND an open bar. And we do damage to those.

Hell, I wish he was getting married again this weekend.

After the reception, we kicked it more. Spades, dominoes, late night runs to Krystal’s. Sleep time: somewhere around 3-4 or 5am. I really don’t know when.

Monday, May 29, 2006

Wake up at 730am. Say peace to the groom and tell him to enjoy his honeymoon.

Might I tell you that there is tired. And then there is fuckin’ tired. Bulletproof Diva had a pool party. Me and my boy, The Most Shady, went to sleep there. At a pool party.

Late night dinner, X, came through and hung out. In fact, she hung out on 4 of the 5 days I was there. She’s a trooper that X.

Sleep time at 1230am to wake up and go to the airport at 730am on Tuesday.

All in all, it was a great time, I got to hang out with new friends, old friends, and X all weekend. And I didn’t even really spend that much money.

So cheers to my boy and his new wife for providing a weekend I’ll never forget and here’s hoping that some of you people decide to get married and invite me to the wedding, I promise I won’t let you down.