Contest

1. 
   2009 July 7

   Haley Comet permalink

   Singer/model, Smell-A

   For the big deuce deuce, I decided to kick up dust on the dance floor with friends at the benny benassi concert at vanguard Our crew was pumpin’ with me, my girls & 2 of my closest guy friends.
   Depressed about losing my 21-hood, I decided a dance party was all I needed.

   Crown royals later, we all piled into our cab van & hustled to hollywood- blazed a joint before entering on the side where my facebook promotor friend I have never met had my name +5 on his clipboard. Don’t remember the schmoozing here because I was also coordinating with a manager of some big shot band –(met them & the creeper manager at world music awards where I was working as a model.. the manager wanted to stop by benassi’s stint as well as wish me a happy birthday. I, seeing this as a business opportunity, always sure to network while consuming any alcoholic beverage (otherwise what’s the point?), am txting way, thumbs rapid with crown buzzing electrically through all the tiny veins.

   So, my three blond, beautiful actress roommate/girlfriends chit chatty in like butterflies while I flutter past the promoter, briefly saying hello but not even quite sure which one he was..was he my facebook friend? Or just a denzel look-a-like? He just looked like a black guy I had seen before, or had I? These questions went unanswered as sound bursting though my ears.

   The untzing was bumping and the beats blasting while blue, yellow, and red lasers pierced through the smokey, huge warehouse. I was sure this wasn’t Benny yet; the dance floor was half full. We hurried up the stairs to the VIP lounge, shuffled past the security with a shimmy, and headed straight for the bar. One of my boys bought two, or was it three?, rounds for everyone, this time tequila. Getting hot and blasted, we cruised back down to the dance floor as Benny began his set, arms in the air waving madly, tiny outfits wedgying, mindless of any malfunctions.

   The band manager showed up at some point here, we went up to the rooftop and took photos adorning the large, white lit buddha like scantily clad moths, I smoked a half of a joint, discussed being socially spiritual, and then somehow *blink*was back at the blackout vip bar. To my left, my bff girl linked arms and began fixing my matted bangs. To my right, a dark shadow- Ed hardy shirt..the dark skin again…why, it was Will smith the promoter!!

   With three shots of tequila!??! For us?!!?!!!!

   Tequila does make the clothes come off, or so I have heard, but tonight I knew my limits. I was 22 now after all!

   My girl and I were in deep conversation at this point, making out even due to the previous tequila shots and pinky-swearing off boys in la, while Kanye left the three shots and camouflaged out into the dark.

   We both stop our loving embrace when we realize the three neatly arranged tequila shots shaped into a V.

   SIlently, as “Satisfaction” cuddled my eardrums, I lifted my shot, she lifted hers, and we shot them down to 2-2!
   There was one shot left, and the song was creeping to the halfway mark. My best friend lifted the tiny, glistening brown liquid ambitiously, and while I opened my mouth to give her a cheer, she shoved it in my mouth instead, right down my throat like thick fire.

   *black out*

   *blink * Now, I am scaling a large apartment building, 5 stories high, at dawn. It is still dark out. Is this a dream?
   I look around and see identical buildings are within the small community. I look down. It is lethally far down, but I am fearless! I know the way down! I inch across the roof, carefully squatting and shifting my bare feet across the red, rough roof tiles. I inch to the edge, peeking down and seeing the grass far, far below and just 6 feet below, a patio, where I l then leap onto a BBQ and bruise my heels. I don’t feel any pain and assume this must be a dream. I go in through the sliding door, now more aware as the sun rises that this must be MY apartment!! I came in through the back fire stairwell in the building to the room, jumped off the roof onto our deck, because I must have locked myself out! Who cares how I got back, I was home!
   I stumbled up my spiral staircase up to the loft I lived in, noticing a Christmas tree in our living room but thinking nothing of it. I crawl into my warm….very warm,, covers, when all of a sudden…A little black girl pops up on the other side, screams at the top of her lungs, and races down the spiral stairwell yelling bloody murder. I had enough time to notice her corn rows because one of her clickity clack hairbands smacked me in the face when she left out of the bed. In unison, my voice, and two I don’t recognize, bellow “WHAT THE FUCK!?”
   An echo resounds from below, and instantly, I am disoriented and sit up in bed. I realize I am facing the window of the loft, when in my bedroom, my bed is facing the opposite wall. As I peek over the staircase, there is a teenage black girl, and two HUGE black woman, each having walked out of respective bedrooms, each with boobs that could knock a sumo wrestler out.
   Before I can utter a word, one tries huffing up the stiarcase, swearing words I have never heard and the other is on the phone with the police, who roll up in a matter of minutes, because the apartment community is located on the border of Inglewood and Culver City.
   I am arrested, sobbing uncontrollably in black spandex shorts and a tool belt from Home Depot (in lieu of Benny’s ‘Satisfaction’ music video with sexy girls in tool gear). “My friends all had matching outfits,” I tried to explain as snot covered my entire face, arms behind my back unable to wipe it away.
   Then, I just cried because I was confused and really had no idea if I was still dreaming, and both the black ladies hadn’t stopped swearing at me. After a few minutes of questioning, we all come to the conclusion I was obviously on SOMETHING and had entered the wrong apartment mistakenly.. I lived in the next building over!

   I was escorted to the next building by the two cops, one of which was snickering as I tried to explain the tool belt and spandex, but could not longer speak without making bubbles out of the excess snot. I was looking hot as I showed them up to the fourth floor of the next building, now awake and wrists burning. They knocked on my door, not sure whether or not I was telling the truth that this was indeed, where I lived. My groggy roommate opened the door, confused and startled to see the police, and behind her, the boy she brought home walks out, and my other roommate, and the boy she brought home walk out of her bedroom, all staring at my mess of a self as the cops unlock the handcuffs and ask if they recognize me.

   Though I am probably almost unrecognizable at this point, my roommates both confirm it.
   Without a word, I walk straight up the spiral staircase and into bed.

   The next morning, I wake up covered in random ramen noodles and a ringing phone, which is in my front pocket of my tool belt.It is my best friend, who also lives in the complex but the next building over…the same building where apparently, I had been hours before around 5 am.

   I had been ruffied at the club, by that third tequila shot–My friend watched as my pupils dilated intensely, muscles went limp, and she was then forced to CARRY me out of the club with the manager big shot and a few others. Ruffies are muscle-relaxants, so I had turned into a 22 year old vegetable (pumpkin?) by midnight. Since all my friends are wise at looking out, as we all should remember to be for others, they took me straight home and had me tucked into a couch at my best friends since I passed out there before they could get to my apartment (and the roommates each were taking boys home…cool!).

   I must have woken up in a drunken, ruffied –but costumed–stupor at 5 am, slept-walked out into the hallway, walked into the stairwell, and then forgot where I was, kept climbing up and out through the unlocked, ghetto “fire” exit that doesn’t alarm, and across the roof spider woman style into a stranger’s home–
   all while managing not to fall off the huge building’s roof in hot spandex and a tool belt.

   My gf said she knew I was drugged when she watched my face change (”You didn’t look like yourself!”) and I know knew I had been drugged because my insides felt like I’d left them with my dignity at big momma’s house.

   I looked down at my wrists and noticed the raw skin from the HANDcuffs.
   Happy birthday & a HOLY HANGOVER!

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