Another week.
And more cold rain...

It’s official, y’all…
I am finally switching to Nextel.
After several months-years of deliberation, and careful reexamination of my current plan rate vs. the current plan rates for Verizon and Nextel, the decision was indeed obvious. And with two phones for the price of one, my brother & I, as well as the kliq that vouched for Nexel service will all walk away winners. And the best part, I get to keep my number.
Note to all Verizon/Sprint/Cingular/T-Moble peeps: I know how much you guys hate that “please hold while the Nextel subscriber you’re trying to reach is located”’ message. But you know what, that’s just something you’ll now have to live with.

Me, and Number 33
I was invited some weeks ago to a party for one of my Haitian acquaintances. Automatically thinking that this was gonna be a Haitian party, I immediately phoned my co-worker, to see if we could buddy up and go together. Funny thing was, she was about to call me to ask the very same question; so we met at the mind at a very fascinating time…
In any event, that Friday after work, I met with my co-worker at her house, and from there, we fled to our ride. The invitor attempted to take us to the 23rd Street BBQ’s; except he doesn’t know where that BBQ’s is. Commuting in the city a lot, I eventfully became the “designated GPS device,” as it was coined by my worker; who was greeted then with several screw you’s and such. We get there, and we’re just in time for the birthday boy to get his gifts: a Nextel Blackberry (yet again, another reason for the switch), and a Sony PSP. Whoa, I wish I had friends like that, instead of just being one. Ten minutes later, we were up and out to the club; and with that little ten minutes that I had, my co-worker and I grabbed a frozen martini and a margarita, respectively. Note, I have not eaten since breakfast that day, so this should prove interesting.
At the club (somewhere on 26th between 8th & 7th Avenues, my coworker and I found a cozy spot on the couches and touched base with our current events. It was so funny because while all jams were playing (big-ups to the DJ, he had a very excellent flow), we were dancing while sitting down. At first it was awkward because I thought I was only one who did that; come to find out that she thought the same thing. We eventually got to the dancefloor, but we were so comfortable at the lounge area, we didn’t want to give that up. Furthermore, while we didn’t want to lead anybody on to the fact we were together, we didn’t want to seem as if we weren’t either. Illogical as it sounds, it actually made sense at the time. She then points my direction to a Latina sitting nearby. Oh man, you wanna talk about a knockout SSF? If I didn’t have my co-worker there, I’d probably been on her like a cheap suit! In fact, my co-worker’s asking of my opinion of her made me think; was her asking a two-folded question? What if, on one hand, she wanted to know or confirm that I am straight, while on the other hand she wanted to know my personal preference in women? Suppose I actually commented and said yeah, I see myself with a young thing like that, and then she hounds me on how I left my own kind?! I didn’t need that when I came to party; so needless to say, I sat silently, watching her talk to her Dominican friend, and as her male friend greeted her & they walked away, muttered no comment.
Minutes later, some tall near 7-foot guy sits at the lounge near us. We started to comment on how tall he was, when he was flanked by his agent and two too hot Latinas. Rock/Paper/Scissors saw me head over there to find out the deal; and the next thing I knew, I was shaking hands and brushing shoulders with Patrick Ewing!
Aww, that’s what’s up! Chillin’ with the common folk here. You look great, dude.
“Thanks a lot, guy.”
Hinting at his two female friends, he politely let know that they were off limits. Well, that’s cool. Okay guy, take care!, and off I went back to base, where I told my peeps the news. My coworker must have figured that two could play that game, so she (obviously the better looking out of all of us) went up to him with the high hopes she’ get an autograph. I could’ve warned her that he woudn’t go for that, but she insisted. A minute or so later, she came back a tad bit disheartened, telling me that he said he wasn’t here for that. Bummer. But, just because she couldn’t an autograph doesn’t mean she couldn’t get something to remember him by. A waiter then arrives, with a bottle of champagne similar to what he was drinking, and said it was compliments of the big guy. We turned around and nodded in thanks, and he waved in response. Some more drinks (thanks to emwah) and some more dancing later, we finally went home. It was probably about 3-3:30 in the morning, and I was fighting this sleepy feeling long enough; I was knocked straight to sleep shortly thereafter.
Two hours later, I wake up with a queasy feeling up my ass. I headed to the bathroom, and proceeded to throw up. It wasn’t pretty. One hour later, the exact same turn of events occur. Seven thirty in the morning, I was showering, and the feeling returned. I was vomiting my frozen apple martini in the shower. I changed clothes and headed to work; en route to the cab, I was throwing up my martini. Oh man, I vowed never to drink again if I got the intelligence to get out of this funk. I went to finally put some food in my system, when the waitress looked at me, and gave me tea. “Just take it,” she said. Moments later, I started to recover, and was fully able to digest my breakfast. Before I knew it, I was ready for anything.
Lesson learned: if you don’t eat, don’t drink.

Good times, everyone. Good times.




It's a rebuttal, kliq.
But that doesn't mean I'm getting it.
More later...