Bk... They Go Hard... Pt I

I'm tickity tacking from the comfort of a bar stool down the street from my house. What you guys didn't know about me is that I'm a brain surgeon. I left the house for work today without my keys, thinking that someone would be home when I returned. Famous last words. I arrived home to an empty house and had neglected to travel with my charger so: no entry, no phone and angry Mala. Nothing to do but write. Wanna read it? Here it goes:

Over the course of the last week I've had some interesting adventures.

Friday night was a clusterfuck. I had inordinate amounts of running around to do which culminated with me at an album release party wondering why. I had other things to do after and I knew it would turn into whatever the female version of a circle jerk is... The universe tends to never disappoint. I left the show on Thompson and walked over to Bowery to retrieve Raines. He was off work and accompanying me to my now exbestfriend's birthday show. The bar was called Madame Geneva's and it was packed with some of the most annoying drunken Englishmen I've ever had the misfortune to encounter. While waiting for Raines to wrap it up so that we could make our way to Williamsburg, I decided to hit the head. While in the loo, a patron decided that the alcohol was too much for his constitution. I came out of the bathroom to be greeted by a ruckus that included the stool that was holding my jacket hostage being knocked to the ground and some blondie being held in a half-assed half-nelson. Needless to say it was time to blow the scene.

Knowing that the F would screw us slowly to go the few stops it would take to get to 14th street, we decided to walk to the L. We hot-footed it there only to discover that entry to the stations were blocked. In both directions. Fucking MTA. They do it to us daily. Having traversed half of LES quite literally, we tried to catch a cab. No haps. 1:30 am found us still wandering around trying to find transportation. Raines then said that what we were doing was bordering on inane because by the time we got to the Burg everything would be long done. This distressed me because the effort we put in to get the hell out of the city was incredible. We threw in both towels and had a drink before walking over to west 4th from 14th and 1st and heading uptown.

Now I had missed my exbestfriend's bday party last year for reasons, once again, beyond my control. The result of that fiasco was him deciding to voluntarily avoid my bday party. Mature eh? So I knew missing this year would be an issue. What I didn't know was that it would end our friendship. By my choice. I tried to explain the effort and the fuck up. He wanted no parts of it and let me know this in no uncertain terms. At first I was very Nirvana: all apologies. Then I recalled that in ALL the years of us being friends he came to all of zero of my parties. I mean none. Not once did I bitch. Here he was giving me grief. I called him on it and got no response. This brought out the mal in Mala, especially when I noticed that he possessed so much shit that he had some left to pop about people being full of shit for not coming to his party. It was then that I decided to 86 that ass. If our friendship of years is based on my attendance to a show that I broke my ass to get to, then we weren't friends. Exit Mala, stage left.

Moving on, Saturday I ended up at a house party with my boy Miles somewhere deep in Bushwick. The party itself was cool until, like always, some bullshit happened. Having walked in with Miles, it was assumed that I was one of his many, many, many girls. His interest for the night was shying away and he asked me to explain our relation to her so that he could pursue her. Being the M that I am, I acquiesced. The girl's fears assuaged, the night went on without Miles making a move. So much so that the young lady revisited my side to express her disappointment. Hating the position I had been thrust unceremoniously into, I began to snap on Miles's prowess with the ladies. That didn't go over too well, which was displayed by Miles trying to manhandle me into another room to discuss my slick mouth. Now, if you've ever met me, you would know that didn't go over well. To avoid me throwing hands, I elected to break out like a rash, because frankly he had one more time to push me before I swung a haymaker, friend or no.

I step to the left, well after the witching hours hunting for a way back to my end of civilization. My phone was dead, it was late as fuckall and I was in West Bubblefuck, by way of Brooklyn. I had just, managed to convince dude at the habibi spot to charge my phone through the spinning window, when I run into Buck. Buck is adorable, but the classic epitome of a Brooklyn thug. Upon hearing why I was out at such an unfortunate hour in such attractive spandex pants, was all for returning to the party and shifting the part in Miles's hair. And trust me, if Buck couldn't accomplish that haircut, someone in his crew most assuredly would. I managed to waylay their bloodlust by providing a large can of strawberry flavored death, commonly known as Tilt, and so was Miles, and the part in his hair, saved.

Ah, the tale pauses here. I must move on to the next flex, but will continue this later...

M,
will always, ALWAYS carry her keys from now on...