Project Apartment/Weekend Stuff

This weekend was packed with running around and fun activities, yet so boring at the same time. Just how I like it. The highlight of the weekend would be....I found an apartment. For the low-low. And it's in a nice neighborhood. Yes indeedy, Mr. Petey! After I saw the lease special I started singing Jesus is On the Mainline, Tell Him What You Want right there in the leasing office. And you know I'm serious. Everything else is good. I have to be the only person who had everything that goes into an apartment, furniture, home accents, bed/bath/kitchen accessories included) before there was actually an apartment to live in. That's me though. Preparation is key.

I admitted to myself that I am a list-maker. I make lists--of anything and everything. I get on these spastic trips in which I engulf myself in the whatever I'm into. For example, the apartment. No, this isn't my first one, but it's the first in which I'll live alone. So this has been my "project." I make lists of what I need, don't need, already have, want. I make lists of budgets, minus additional monthly income, plus additional income. It is official that I am as crazy as they come.

On a serious note, I have a question about clubs. Actually about people. Black people, maybe? Nah, just people, in general. Why do we thrive off of being "important"? Case and point: There a little spot I go to occasionally on Fridays. Clearly, it's smaller than the palm of my hand, but it goes pretty hard most of the time. (Hint: It's free admission) Packed, crowded, crunk, whatever your choice of words are, that's what this place is---always! I have my little spot where my friends and I stand. It just so happens to be near the VIP (if that's what you want to call it) section. When people have birthday parties there, they usually party there. Nevermind that it's like $1,000 for a party that only includes balloons and maybe a bottle of champagne. Anyway, you should have seen girls trying to break their necks to get into VIP for this guy's party. They were like crack fiends. He looked like he was 14 years old and he only allowed women in. To top that off, guys were killing themselves to get in, too. Why am I complaining you ask?

I'm not complaining because every time I turned around, some chick and her "girl" were damn near knocking me down to get to the bouncer to negotiate getting in. I know what you're thinking: Why do you stand by the VIP anyway? That's what you get. I'm not complaining because random hips and breasts were hitting my arm like every five seconds. Believe me, I moved imMEEGIDly after that. Guys moving past me had to hold my waist to make "excuse me" more effective (why do they do that?). I'm complaining because of this. VIP is only 1,2 steps up from everybody else! VIP is also where the DJ is housed. The only difference between them and the rest of us is they have complimentary chicken wings. WTH?? Does that really say that you are an important person??

The guy was asking every woman he ever knew to "come up to VIP and do it big" with him. Are you serious? Like foreal? VIP is overrated and not because I wasn't in it. If I wanted to be around all those breasts and legs, I would have filled out an application at Popeye's. No thanks!!!