So there I was being so funny and cool as usual (shut up! I am to funny!) and sending out text messages about how my sister Kelly and I were staying at THE PALMS for the weekend. About to hang out with Flo-Rida, Diddy and 50 Cent (by hang out, I mean wait for hours in the sun driving up a $180 bar tab until Slo-Rida decided to grace us with his presence for 30 minutes). We were TOTALLY Rock Stars! Unfortunately...the auto correct on my phone decided we were rocketeers instead. FAIL! It was fun saying that we were partying like Rocketeers all weekend..eventually all the cool kids were doing it.
Although there was an unfortunate crotch incident that occurred (thankfully to Kelly and not so much me)..let me just explain it this way...a young woman decided to stand and dance where Kelly was sitting and Kelly dared not inhale too strongly in fear of catching a whiff of her lady parts (did you just sniff? what is THAT about!) You can imagine, what with all the sweating in the sun.. and I think she was European (not ur a peein!). Those were some really fun 30 minutes though...looking at that hot piece of man muscle! Flo-Rida not the female European.. WOW!
Our rocketeering continued on later that evening at the Playboy Club and Moon (Diddy wasn't worth $150 per person..just sayin) and drinks were had, food was eaten, and two beautiful sisters went home without incident! Whew...
And then...the pain rained down upon me as if a burning hot poker were being held to my flesh (I kind of feel like I have the authority on what the fires of hell will feel like). That crazy bitch sister of mine got me into a tattoo shop and my stupid ass thought..sure ok! I watched her get one..didn't seem so bad..and since I had always wanted a tattoo and said I would get one if I ever could commit to one thing..and I had recently thought of a cool quote I would like..then apparently the fires of hell aligned perfectly for me to fulfill this masochistic experience. Fucking Shakespeare with all your smug and witty verbiage. "To thine own self be true" my foot! literally on my foot. FYI...it hurts THAT bad. Kelly and the tattooed ink master were all chatty chat chattin about her cold feet as he was inking her ankle..he mentioned she should put on a foot sweater! HAHAHAHA foot sweater. How funny right?!?! Where I come from we call it a sock.. but hey.. to each his own!
Later that night at Ghostbar...Sis decided she was gonna tear da club up! Hell yes...there were 3 bouncers involved. Because my little sister can get a little out of hand in a big way. (snicker, snicker, snort...you go sissy!) OK..before my mother calls and asks if she got arrested..here's the whole truth and nothing but the truth. Sitting there minding our own damn business and trying to get cute pictures of ourselves on our phones so we could post them on Facebook..(hence proof of how cool we are!) her purse, not zipped, fell toward the back of the couch and her driver's license fell down between the crack of the cushions. 3 burly bouncers had to come and disassemble the damn couch so she could get it back... yep...totally Rocketeers.
The next day at our own little pool party (no the burnt flesh was not in the sun or the pool!) was good times starting off at noon with a pitcher of mojitos (or after 3 pitchers what I liked to call Mo-G- toes!)
The escapades of one very confidant woman I'll just call the mermaid on crack were thoroughly enjoyable. Picture that slow motion Christy Brinkley hair shake on a 45 year old black woman coming out of the pool, with a short blond fro. And you can bet your sweet ass she had her swagger on...the kick of her hips when she walked almost made her look like her legs were different lengths. RE DICK U LUSS! oh...and she was with the DJ or so she told anyone who looked in her general direction as it's hard to tell if you're making eye contact with someone wearing sunglasses! oh funny funny times. Our catch phrase..."Whatch yo name is shawty!" That's "What is your name short girl" in an urban dialect that I haven't quite placed yet. Kelly left early for reasons I can only presume were related to me drinking 3 pitchers of mo g toes! I doubled up on the milk thistle so there was not even a lick of a hangover! Which is totally how a rocketeer parties.
The shenanigans were even more fun when Robin and her two long time friends showed up.. They were super fun and it's great being single and partying with married women...as they are always trying to hook you up with hot men. Well..by hot..you know I am starting to question Robin's opinion of me. In Santa Monica there were the questionable German dudes (not attractive but totally fun) and then this weekend some old man named Arthur? or Arnold? ugh..really Robin? You think we would've been good together...I might have to take you off my man hunt duties. Less beer gut and gray hair and more within 10 years of my own age. Please and thank you! wink wink.
Dear Yahweh,
What's up shawty?!?! I write to you in full confession of the greed, gluttony, and whatever the names of all the 7 deadly dwarfs are, that I participated freely and willingly in each one. Feel free to text me and I'll get you on the guest list the next time you're in town. Your faithful servant, Brooke.
