V.I.P. Status

Wednesday, June 29, 2005, 10:00am :

"Hello.....?" "Sup diiiiiiiide?" "Sup, Cole. What....what's going on?" "Oh not much, I'm fuckin tired." "Yea. Me too. I just woke up." "Yea, my mom just called." "Sweet. Uh....so, yea. What's up?" "Oh, not much, you wanna do somethin today?" "Uhhh....sure, yea." "K, cool, well, I'm gonna go back to sleep, I'll be over at like noon or a little past." "Yea, sure Cole...sounds good."

So. Ok, now that we're past that, I get up, shower, blah blah blah. Cole and I are hanging out on the back deck, and asks me if I want to be on the VIP list for The City yesterday night. I say, sweet. I always wanted to hang out in the VIP lounge of a bar, get special treatment, free drinks, shit like that. We decide that we're going to go out in suits, and get all dressed up.

Fast forward through our uneventful, typical day with Cole to that evening. We decided not to wear suits. Just dress up. We met up with Heather and Jacki, who were cute. Actually, Heather's fuckin hot, reminds me a lot of Jordan, who randomly called me yesterday too, making meeting her even more odd. We head out to Hoo Song and Larry's where it's a complete meat market. Lotta hot girls, tons of douchbag meathead G guys, things like that, fun stuff. College kid's dream. After that, we decide it's time to head out to The City. Sweet. VIP time. So we show up, found our names on the list, got our VIP wristbands, and then made our way in, where apparently that night they were having casting for The Apprentice. Never really saw any evidence of that, but other than that, I assume it was there, and people were having a merry old time.

Anyway, listen, I'm gonna stop this story here. This isn't really about the narrative, I don't really care about what happened last night, much less wanna try to make it interesting typing it all out. What I really wanna get at here is that I spent the entire night at several clubs where all they played was hip hop and rap, fitty cent and all that crap, there are a bunch of meatheads fighting over all the hot bleach blondes that are going for the black guys that just rolled in cause they know the bouncer from when they all dealt drugs together, or still do, and so on and so forth. The whole night was like this, and we were never really VIP. That was the shit that really got to me. VIP there that night meant that we didn't have to pay a cover. Big fucking deal.

When I think VIP, here's what comes to mind. Cutting through the kitchen to a private lounge adjactent to the office of the owner of the club, velvet everything, champagne and cocaine everywhere, you and like 7 other people that really fucking matter in there, having a blast, knowing that this is what the club is really about. No one else knows that this room even exists to even know what they're missing, but people know when you walk into the rest of the club that you're just not to be fucked around with. That sorta thing. You don't talk about being VIP, people don't ask. The people who work there just know. If you need a drink, the bartenders drop what they're doing when they see you, and you don't pay them a thing. They just make it. Back in the back, you and the owner are doing lines off the hottest girl you've ever seen, and trying to be nice and pick who gets her first, only to have the owner tell you that you should do it, cause all he has to do is look at a girl and he's got a replacement. That's VIP. VIP doesn't involve an orange wristband. VIP doesn't involve seeing anyone else that's VIP with you outside of that room.

Not only that, but I had clubs. I hate them. They're absurd. I like the Ghost Bar. Go there, and that's my bar. I like it there. I like the Indigo District.