Vegas part 4: Contemplations

I'm exhausted. Part of the exhaustion has to do with the massage, the other aspect is the drinking and running around. I'm hurting. It feels like I just finished playing 10 games of 5 on 5 full court. I look at the clock: 11:06 a.m. I am about to miss the checkout time. I call downstairs to inquire if I can check out late. There is so much noise I cannot hear the woman on the other end of the phone. She tells me that I can not stay any later than one o' clock. I jump up to take a shower and throw my clothes into my suitcase. My throat is hurting, feels like I am going hoarse. I take a shower then get dressed to go downstairs.

Diddy calls me to make sure I'm good. He stayed at the club until almost 7 a.m. trying to leave with a woman there with no luck. Today is J's last night in Vegas, then he returns home. I don't think J is having a good time; hell, I don't know if I'm having a good time. I'm not sure if I remember what a good time is.

Law school is very demanding. I have become accustomed to dedicating 8+ hours of my day to reading and writing. Once that concluded, I have been running errands for my father and helping him out daily, so it's not like I've been out here crazy.

I get into the checkout line to inform the hotel staff I will be checking back in Sunday. The woman takes my information and reserves me another room for two more days. I don't fly out until Tuesday, so until then I have awhile to improve the quality of this trip; but what does that mean? Sex? Public intoxication? Police custody*? What 'fun' am I looking for? Because all of the aforementioned conditions I have already experienced at some point in my life. I think this trip is starting to confirm what I've began to suspect for sometime: I'm older.

Maybe I'm just not so hot. Maybe I do need to start thinking about getting married and having a family. Maybe I have already ran my course on the scene and it's time for me to begin a new chapter of my life.

I go into the sportsbook to choose from the parlay cards what additional wagers I will make. All together I have about $400 dollars to play with. I take a seat next to some latino guys sipping corona's out of 22 bottles. They are from Los Angeles. Not because they told me they were, but because they all have on some form of Dodgers paraphernalia: jersey, cap, tshirt, etc.

We talk about the weekend. He comes down with his friends for labor day weekend every year. He says this very excitedly. I look at the four of them: mid-thirties, tattooed, single...damn. I get depressed. A man several years older than me is spending his labor day weekend with 3 of his friend rather than his children (he has a daughter and son) and a woman; moreover, he does this every year. I begin to think that if that were me, I would rather take my daughter to disney world bring them with me to see the Lion King (shrugs).

University Of Georgia is killing my parlays. Damn. I'm going to lose out on hella money. I think I have UGA in a $100 dollar parlay that would yield like $60,000, but too bad they are going to kill that. When the final score settles, I lose like 8 bets. Fuck. I give the latino guy dap then head to the restaurant with my bag. I decide to treat myself so I go into the upscale restaurant and have a NY strip with madeira sauce, asparagus and citrus butter, and baby carrots. Diddy and J call me to meet them at hooters (again) but I'm not feeling it. Truth is I'm not feeling none of it. Not Vegas. Not Hooters. Not the 21 year old kids who smile at me and touch on me only to reveal they have boyfriends. Not the older women who are my parents age who ask me 'what's up?'. Nada. I think I may be done. I am now officially Carlito Brigante.

Diddy has made reservations at a hotel that is off-strip for one night. It is the only hotel whose rates have actually gone down instead of up. On the surface, this is good, however, my intuition tells me to be apprehensive. After I finish my meal, I watch more football. Truth is, I'm not so excited about going out tonight. I know it's Saturday, J's last night, blah blah, but I just want to chill. I don't think J wants to go out either. He and his co-workers left pretty early yesterday. I think he's ready to get back home to his girl. Diddy is still the same Diddy. I think because he was somewhat of a late bloomer. I don't know, but I do know I don't want to be the old nigga in the club.

I call Diddy to find out what hotel he has us at. I get the address then head to the cab stand. We drive about 5 minutes away from all of the bright lights and structures of the strip. I check in to find the lobby cluttered with people. I get my keys then call Diddy to find where he is. I notice alot of guys in the pool area. I find my way to the room, place my things on the bed then go to sleep. I wake up to missed calls from Gino & 'shorty'.

I call Gino back and voice my disdain with Vegas and life generally. I feel like most of my 'mature' friends are married or in relationships serious enough to be parallel to marriage, yet, I am out here chasing tail as I've done for most of my life. I don't know if the reason is because that's all I want to do....or....if it's all I can do. Hmm. Wit, sarcasm, charm, and good looks are great, but then what? What is it that I want? I've already stated that I am not happy. Do I want a relationship? Do I want a lifetime of cocktail parties and women in short black dresses? I don't know. For someone so certain about most things, I am vague about what should be important.

Gino tells me that I will know when it's right. He is going through a rough patch with his own marriage, so he advises me against it (laughs). He tells me that his only bright spot is coming home to see his newborn son. He tries to make me promise him that I will never get married so that I can live the dream for people like him who are dying inside (laughs). Gino is a comedian when he wants to be. I tell him I will be there shortly before I go to D.C.

Gino sounds defeated. His tone is that of a man losing more of himself with everyday he is involved in a marriage. I offer kind and supportive words in an attempt to support my friend, but it is hard when I myself am disillusioned about where I among the relationship hierarchy.

I call shorty back. On vacation I usually talk to few people who are involved in the vacation themselves. Mostly, because I only want to deal with what I see and hear before me. The events and actions taking place in other places cannot affect me, yet they can alter my mood where I am. I decide to call shorty. We have known each other for years and we are actually considering taking our friendship to more--but we have issues. She knows me: too well. She is a good woman, so I have no doubts or apprehensions about her--past, present, or future; yet, I do wonder about her consistency.

We started talking after we lost a mutual friend to a drunk driving accident. She was closer with them than I was. Death places life in perspective. After my own experience I did alot of self-examination and re-evaluation. Shorty is going through the same process now. She has lived most of her life 'by the book' and is by all means the epitome of the type of woman men want to marry: she is cute, she is smart, she is hard-working, personable, cooks, selfless...her only flaw seems to be that she is too good (yeah, that exists). I call her because I need to. During the rare times of uncertainty and ambiguity, I need to talk to people who never waver. People who have known me forever and a day. One minute I'm just a skinny kid with Air Jordan's singing along to born and raised in compton at house parties, then, I blink: I'm a young, single, educated, black man, whose diction is dissected like the cerebellum in neuroanatomy with all of these expectations and pre-conceived notions that have been bestowed upon me by everyone from family and friends to employers.

And right now I need that reassurance. So I call:

Her: How much is your bail?

Me: (laughs) You think I would call you if I was in Jail. Stawpit.

Her: (laughs) what's up? I sent you a text, are you having fun?

Me: Eh, I dunno. Truth is I think my definition of fun has evolved and this may no longer be it.

Her: Aww, is that baby growing up? Aww, see you gonna have to trade in those red bottoms and get you some stacy adams old man.

Me: (laughs) you craaazy. First, I don't own red bottoms, you negros ran out and invaded the stores as soon as that verse came out (she laughs). I am a red-stripe wearer and a Double G gangsta. Negro the day you see me in some stacy adams, is the day you get a neck tattoo with your baby daddy name, orange hair (she's laughing hysterically now), and baby phat scrubs (inside joke)!!

Her: (laughs) you are a fool! But you don't have everybody fooled, so what's up? You're supposed to be enjoying yourself in Vegas....what's going on?

Me: I'm not feeling it. Just think I'm done with this aspect of my life. I think it's time we quit playing and I meet you at Tiffany's (she laughs) in the Galleria so we can make our mothers happy (chuckle)

Her: My mother thinks you nasty (I laugh); she remembers you from middle school, you AND your little brother, trying to sleep with people (I laugh hysterically).

Me: You mom doesn't like me anymore?

Her: My mother loves you, she just knows you and told me to watch you.

Me: How does you mother know I was a mannish boy? You can't tell your mother stuff like that?

Her: She already knew Bond! It's not like it's some big secret! Y'all were nasty! I'm playing with Barbie and Nintendo, you and your brother, your LITTLE brother, trying to mack. Like, dude, we're 12...go sit down.

Me: (laughter)

Her: But seriously, like I can see that. You have been, um, out there a minute.

Me: I know. It's one of those times, when I feel like I experienced so much so early and I am jaded; but what's the other option for me, marriage? kids?

Her: I don't know. That's something we're all trying to figure out Bond. You're not alone with this thinking. I mean, I moved to______ and I've been traveling like Anthony Bourdain because I feel like I haven't done ENOUGH. I'm almost freakin' thirty!

Me: Hey, thirty is the new twenty, I'm so hot still, word to Hov.

Her: Negro you too hot that why you by yourself trying to figure out which way is up...(laughs)

Me: (laugh) Nigga, you by yourself too! See, there is no 'correct' answer to this happiness equation. If that were so you would be with (millionaire) or (athlete)...but your here with me (jay z voice) I appreciate that....

Her: (laugh) shut up! I'm not with you Bond...we're still...growing.

Me: Aight, I don't want you to get all uncomfortable; so I'm going to end the call on that note.

Her: Negro, you don't scare nothin' over here!

Me: You talk real tough, maybe that move to Texas is going to your head.

Her: (laughs) you crazy! But, you alright boo boo. I would wait until your trip is over before you start to discard the entire experience.

Me: True. It could be worst: women could approach and ask for my number based on how 'smart' I look*

Her: SHUT. UP! (Hysterical laughter) It was all-star weekend damnit! Compared to what those women had on we did look smart!

Me: Whatever it takes to get you through the day (laughs). I appreciate the talk babe. Take care. Tell yo' mama I'm STILL nasty...(laughs)

Her: (dying laughing) I will, be good, be safe, be blessed. I'll call you in a few weeks before I go to Atlanta, maybe you can meet me out there. Take care.

We hang up. I feel a little better. Diddy comes in we dap and call J. J decides he is staying in for the night because he flies out in the morning. I feel J. As a matter of fact, I think I just want to get a good meal, chill, and rest. The last few night have been exhausting for nothing.

Diddy and I walk to a hotel and have supper at an Italian restaurant. We talk about college and the time thereafter and how we've changed. Diddy is in a suit, I'm in jeans and a tshirt and baseball cap. Even my attire suggests that I am not into hanging out tonight.

We go back to the room and notice something weird: All of the people we saw earlier are MEN. They are bunned up with each other...what the fuck is going on?!? I go to the desk to ask what is going on at the hotel, when the front desk attendant tells me that that particular hotel is sponsoring some kind of homosexual conference. What. The. FUCK? Immediately I ask Diddy what type of dope he's been sniffing that he didn't think to inquire about this. He tells me that the price was decent in comparison to the rest of the strip, so he did not ask questions. Well, this now explains why. I go to the room to watch sportscenter. I have to see if I have won any bets. The hotel is charging $15 dollars per day for wi-fi connectivity. Fucking Oklahoma loses in an upset that kills damn near every parlay wager I have placed. Great. Not only having a bad time, I'm losing money. I tell Diddy that I want to go the the Venetian/Bellagio to see what it's like there. He's changing clothes again and seems hesitant to come out so he wants me to call him when I get there. I don't even bother putting on a suit or slacks. I just catch a cab and go.

When I get to the hotel, I see all kinds of young, attractive, women. This is where we should have been. I call Diddy to tell him that I have found an oasis in a desert. I see all kinds of women: Black, White, Latino, Asian....and they all look good. Damn, guess I should have dressed up. I walk around for about 15 minutes then Diddy calls. This negro is truly pussy crazy--if I call him for anything else, I will have an hour wait minimum, but for women, he'll teleport.

We walk around awhile, flirt with a few women, when I begin to feel tired. I am tired though--tired of this entire ordeal. Tired of going out. Tired of the same wack songs in clubs. Tired of the same lame dating game. I may be ready to turn my hand in. Permanently.

Diddy suggests we go to the Caesar's, because there is a club inside called PURE that is supposed to be hot tonight. We exit the Bellagio when I notice two guys that look like Gucci Mane talking to a tall blonde. One of the guys gets her number and she walks into the hotel.

"Working girl" says Diddy. "Think so?" I reply. "Gotta be. what else she gonna do with them?" says Diddy. "Fuck'em. That's what." I reply matter of factly.

Educated people amaze me sometimes: they act as if the carnal desires of individuals are restricted among class structure. Like an orgasm gives a fuck about your MBA.

As I snap back into reality, I notice a curvy thick Italian woman hopping out of a lincoln towncar. Goddamn. My dick gets hard instantly. She smiles, but at who: me or diddy. Diddy immediately rushes over to her. Damn, too slow Bond. He gets her name and number and they kiss each other on the cheek before we depart. I suck (laughs). That was a gift and I didn't take it. Diddy such a cakemaster he'll probably find a way to incomplete that task. If I would have been more assertive I would have have her tanned Italian legs wrapped around my waist while I dent her head board to the yells of "fottere mi piu difficile!*"

We walk to Caesar's and now I am really disgusted. My experience has been sub-par and I just let Diddy grab a woman that could be Monica Bellucci's little sister. Fuck. It's not that I'm envious, but I know Diddy: what happens is he gets possessive or obsessive and begins to treat the woman like they're already in relationship, which eventually drives her away instead of simply allowing nature to take it's course. What's even more frustrating, he does this BEFORE he gets any sex. A waste. I'll never let him live down the one from undergrad. Long story short: he drags me to the roller rink sophomore year, he meets a HS senior who is BAD, hooks me up on with her friend, she calls the crib later, starts feeling me, but out of some sense of loyalty I tell him, he catches feelings, I back off, he continues to see her for 2 more year where nothing happens, eventually she moves away. Fail. And she was BAD. AS. FUUCK! Beyonce Junior...why else would I still be talking about her 8 year later (laughs).

We walk to the entrance of PURE and there is a group of women trying to get my attention "HEY!" and "Sexy Boy" (laughs) are what they are trying to lure me with. I mean there is no doubt that I could respond, have a conversation, then be punishing their clitoris in about 30 minutes, but I don't want to. Not them (laughs). I mean, depression and all, there are still standards. We go to the entrance of PURE to see practically the same group of people we've seen over the past 2 days. Same music. Just the same. I've had enough.

Before I leave, he wants me to accompany him back to the Bellagio. We enter and there seems to be a crowd going into the lounge inside of the hotel. Just when we are preparing to enter, I am denied admission because I am not dressed. That is a sign to go. I tell Diddy that I am returning to the hotel. He tells me that he is going to stay until he brings something back to the room. I wish him good luck then leave.

I make it back to the room around 1 a.m. I connect my ipod and dose off to sleep. About 5 hours later, I hear Diddy with a female voice. Oh shit, this fool closed. The student has now become the teacher. I am now officially on the outside looking in. Wow. Never in a million years did I believe I would have to surrender my crown. With all of the weights he lifts and his embellishments*, I still consider him my apprentice, rather than my peer; at least when it comes to macking women. I turn over to get a peek: she's tall, light skinned...reminds me of Jurnee Smollett. Wow, I can't front: he's that dude. Maybe this is more confirmation that I need to quit. I can't keep up with a guy who once drove from East Point to Duluth in one night to take a woman chinese food and didn't get to spend the night. Well....not exactly.

I hear her ask him if he wants me to watch. What?! What the hell?

They go into the bathroom and I hear the shower come on. Eventually I hear some noises...moans...then it ends.

She comes out and I start hearing talks of money. Hell to the naw. She leaves. I get up to piss. When I enter the bathroom there is a condom wrapper in the trash. I come out and we talk:

Me: Nigga you scored? Good Job, you did that.

Diddy: Yeah, well. I just got tired of waiting on the odds, so fuck it: I just paid a bitch.

Me: Foul on the play. Nigga what?!?

Diddy: Yeah. Me and that bitch was talking at the bar, then she asked would I 'take care' of her, I said yeah, so for $200 dollars..fuck it.

Me: Aight, I take it back cause you cheated...

Diddy: (laughs) We all pay eventually

Me: Yeah, but not like that. In a way I'm glad you went that route because I was actually starting to doubt myself and believe that you were the superior mack but, when you do things like that, I can breathe a sigh of relief that I haven't lost anything

Diddy: (laughs) Nigga, fuck you (laughs). I fucked. You didn't.

Me: I didn't fuck yet. And I don't pay. I am cut from the cloth of the space-agers. You can't be a pimp if you're a trick.

Diddy: It ain't trickin' if you got it.

Me: That's a muthafuckin lie (laughter)...that's some shit some lames made up to make themselves feel better about paying for sex (laughter). You still my nigga though (laughter).

Sunday is the last 'official' night. Guess if it's over for me, I will find out tonight. A few years back I went to homecoming and I felt the same. Guess this trip is my confirmation of what I already suspected. I just need to build my life with one woman. Guess it's like one of my favorite Puff lines, "I'm through being a player and baller/ Just need one bad chick/ so I can spoil her". True that Puff...maybe if I had a Cassie (with a Kim in the background) I would be more focused in all other aspects such as my career.

Guess Sunday night will be my official closure. It will be my game 6 in a black and red twenty-three. Well, it's like the rat pack philosophy: I would rather burn out, than fade away. So I will go out with a bang. Fuck it. I had a hell of a run, but I am man enough to know when it's over...but is it?

To Be Continued...

Bond. BlkBond.

*When I was young (16 yrs old), I was cuffed, but never charged. My big homie got me out of that.

*I had to look that Italian phrase up

*Diddy is still my friend; I can't tell EVERYTHING about him.

I've been busy with alot

My fault family, I have been crazy occupied. I started on the part 3 and 4, but haven't finished. I got the emails, and I thank you all for your support of the blog, I've just had a lot going on:

1. I'm Back in D.C.

That's right, the mysterious man return to the district. I will keep you posted on the haps & adventures. The homie already hit me up about going to Josephines, The Park, etc. I can't because..

2. I'm sick.

No soon as I get her, I get a head cold. I'm been laid up in the bed taking everything from my cold healing arsenal: theraflu, zycam, orange juice, and enough vitamin C that my saliva looks like orange juice. Bare with me. This does not go well because...

3. I'm going to L.A.

I'm supposed to go meet up with Diddy and latina mami (I didn't finish the vegas trip). That's a problem, not only because I've been sick, but because...

4. I got offered an interview.

You all should know how I feel about my paper. I may have to push the depart date back and/or shorten my time in L.A. I gotta get this money.

I will keep you all posted, hopefully I will finish the blogs I started so that we may move forward with our discussions.

Any questions or comments, hit me on the mac.

007blackbond@gmail.com

Bond. BlkBond.

Vegas: part 3

I slept for all of 4 hours. My spa appointment was at noon and I did not want to be late because I have been stressed out over the past few months and need this massage! (laughs). I go downstairs to grab a quick meal: I have the fried shrimp and fries. I come back upstairs to shower and shave then I head to the spa. I walk in and show my credit card. I am then escorted to the locker room where I am asked to change into a robe and sandals. I ask if I must go naked but they leave it up to me. Shortly after, I am escorted to a separate part of the building with many doors. I meet my masseuse, her name is Gabby*. She is a cute older woman from the islands. I lie down on my stomach where she massages my scalp and works her way to my shoulders. This is a deep tissue massage so her motions are very deep and soothing. We talk, she tells me she has been in Vegas for about 20 years, she has a son in high school, and does not like living there. She tells me that there are the largest number of per capita pedophiles in Vegas (random). We talk politics for a bit, while I enjoy the rest of my massage. I lay there in a trance. It feels as if her fingers are touching every fiber of my muscle tissue. Ahh, now this is living. After my massage, I tip her, we shake hands and I go into the sauna. I am the only young guy in there. I figure to sit for awhile and sweat out some of the toxins over the past few months. I take another shower then head back to my room. As soon as I get into the room and take off my shoes, I collapse on one of the beds. I lay there until my phone rings. It's Diddy and J:

Diddy: Get yo' spa treatment ass up Bond!

Me: For what? It's early, it's nothing poppin' off...

J: That's what I'm sayin'

Diddy: Yo, they had something poppin' off last night where J was (laughs)

Me: Word?

J: Maaaan, I don't even want to talk about it...

J is in Vegas partially for business purposes so he is here with people from work. He tells us that the call later that night was from his friend, who told him to come back to the hotel. Upon entering he found that one of the women was performing oral sex on the other while his friend was face-fucking the one being eaten out. Wow.

Me: So, did you join in?

J: Man, if you see these women...I'm good. (laughs)

Diddy: Yo, I saw'em and it's not happening...(laughs)...

J: I mean...I got a girl back home. Also, like...they ain't hot.

Diddy: Bond, they aren't hot like that.

Bond: Anyway, so what are y'all about to do?

J: We're about to gamble for a bit. Tonight is supposed to be poppin' at club Rain.

Bond: Where's that?

Diddy: The Palms. That's where we prolly should be staying at. I mean, in terms of young, trendy, crowds...

Bond: Aight. Y'all know I'm not with throwing money away on slots, and I'm not a strong poker player, so, y'all hit me up when it gets close to meet up. What's the cover?

J: We've got passes so as long as we all go in together, we should be good. If's it's nice, we can just get bottle service & a table.

Bond: That's what's up. I'm about to zone hit me in 3 hours or so to eat.

Diddy: Ai-ight, cool. I'm about to call Ms. Trini so we can get up, that way I don't have to be tied up tonight.

Pause.

Me & J: Whatever.

(laughter)

I go to sleep. That massage was so invigorating I should get one every week. I wake up with 7 missed calls; Diddy is 3 of those. I wonder if anything is wrong so I call him back, but he's just bored. Seems that Ms. Trini is not picking up the phone. I tell him that she will call him once it's time to go out. She does not want to spend any money, she wants free drinks and companionship, so his phone will ring around 9-10 p.m. After I determine what I have a taste for, we decide to meet at P.F. Chang's before we go to the club. I have my usual: Shrimp with lobster sauce, seafood wantons. Diddy has water. For a man who will splurge two grand on a suit or five hundred on a scarf, he comes across as a cheap bastard. His logic is that those things help generate more money or women, so they are worth it. He claims he ate earlier when he met up with J. He fills me in on the hilarity that are his co-workers. They ask him to join in, but when he declined, they accused him of being scared. He left the suite and went into the lounge where he spent much of last night on the phone with his girl and falling asleep in the chair.

After I eat we have a drink at the restaurant, when Ms. Trini calls like clockwork. She does enough flirting to keep Diddy curious: he tells her all of our plans for the next 3 years seem like it. I shake my head in dismay. He reassures me that tonight he will close or cut her loose.

We catch a cab to the Palms where club Rain is located. There are 2 or 3 other clubs in there as well, so in case Rain does not live up to expectations, we may have other outlets. See, Vegas does not sleep, but the people who own the establishments do.

We exit the cab and I notice a long line on the cab stand: some people are leaving. Outside I notice a few whips: AMG S550 white on white, Black Maybach, Grey Aston Martin...young money. None of the plates are Nevada also. I guess all of the Vegas Money is at home or at some place where locals hang out.

We enter the Palms into a mist of smoke. There are slot machines immediately in fron of us. We walk to hour left and head straight toward the back when we pass the Roulette table where we see a familiar face: Flavor Flav. Flav is there with about 5-10 racks gambling. He has the his last baby momma is close proximity. People are coming up to him to take pictures and yelling out, "Flavor FLAAAV!". I notice when the baby momma walks off he immediately takes off after her. I laugh, because it seems that he is kind of jealous. They go into the playboy club, which from the outside looks like a lounge. We walk further up before we see a long line. We walk up to notice there are two lines that seem to form a ' T '. We stand at the beginning of the vertical line and ask the bouncer about the cover: $50 dollars. It's Vegas, as long as I have a good time, money is not a big problem. I have been apart of Super Bowl Weekend, NBA All-star weekends, etc. thus, the premium is expected. They inform us that the premium is not in vein because DJ Jazzy Jeff will be spinning. Before we pay, we try to contact J and his people for an estimated time of arrival. They will be another hour. We try to wait, however, after several conversations with J we determine that it would be best to go in rather than wait. There is still the issue of the line. The good thing about Vegas is that if you have money and you are willing to spend it, you can have whatever you like (word to T.I.). After a short conversation with the bouncer, we tip $50 to skip the line.

We enter Rain to discover it is half full. That sucks. We make our way to the bar: I order us both vodka tonics. We make our way to the dance floor filled with cougars and mountain lions* in tight jeans and low halter tops. I feel awkward. It's like I'm dancing among women who mirror co-workers and colleagues to the sounds of Jay-Z. We find two girls to dance with for a minute: both girls are blondes. Their doing their best impression of a luke video, it's bad. Just when I'm about to walk off, I notice a bad ass Asian girl dancing in one of the booths. She is spanking her friend who is bent over...hmmm. That would be nice... I have all kinds of thoughts and flashbacks...this is reassurance that I need to get back to D.C.

We dance there for about an hour when J calls Diddy to let him know they are in the club. We walk around to meet them. I greet him and two of his co-workers with the 'dap-hug', but the third gives me the awkward 'head tilt'. Guess he's got some issues with me...ah well, fuck him.

I meet one of the women from last night's episode and they are all that I expect: chest tattoos, piercings, FUPA's*, braids, etc. Looking at them made me wonder where the hell J worked at: an office or a prison! We go into one of the 'reserved' areas with a bar. J buys everyone drinks and we talk about a joint business venture we were supposed to get into once I graduated. Everything is still good, we only need to meet formally to discuss money. That's always a problem.

Diddy is talking to a brunette who is clearly lit. She is pretty, but intoxicated nevertheless; she reminds me of a young Demi Moore with a Jersey accent. Diddy is in mack mode because has his hands on her waist. She keeps telling him how much she loves 'chocolate muthafuckas', so sarcastically I ask if she is a mother, to which she replies 'yes!'. Hilarious. I tell her we can make that euphemism a reality; everyone laughs. I'm getting annoyed. Whenever I get aggravated my sarcasm gets sharper and more frequent. She rubs her hand along my cheek and tells me how sexy I am. Me and Diddy both start kissing on her neck. She moans that she is married and tells us we are going to get her ass beat (laughs). She claims her husband is a 'Mandingo'. She tells us that she just can't resist the sexy 'chocolate muthafuckas' and how she wishes she was single. As a precautionary measure, we inquire about her husband (laughs). He is back in New Jersey with their child (?!?). Diddy catches a wave and bounces back into the open space of the club with J and his friends. I stay in place because I haven't finished my drink, and I don't feel like going through the crowd with my drink. The Jersey girl begins nibbling on my ear before she stops and chastises herself for her indiscretions (laughs):

(nibbling on my ear)

Her: NO! Oh GOD! What am I doing?

Me: You're nibbling on my ear. Guess you call yourself trying to get me hot...

Her: I should go! My husband is gonna beat my ass! He gonna beat the fuck outta me...but you sexy chocolate muthafuckas just do something to me...oh God...I need to be good...

Me: Hey....it's Vegas. I dunno your husband...do what makes you happy...(smirk)

Her: You BAD T.I.....ohhh, you milk chocolate muthafuckers...

Me: WHO? (laughs)

It's time to go find the crew. I walk around to the front door to see Diddy, J, and the crew talking with Ms. Trini and Ms. Cuban. Now, the night is taking a turn for the worst. We were already attached at the hip once, now another night? Um, no. I greet them, hug Ms. Cuban and whisper to J that "it's a wrap". He nods. We stand there for about 30 minutes before Diddy runs off to get Ms. Trini a drink. I walk off. I go on my on to explore the upstairs area: there are bungalows upstairs where parties are seated and taking photos with bottle service. Again, I notice the usual bottles: Grey Goose and Patron. I look out over the dance floor to observe all of the people who are now there: various ages, ethnicities, occupations, etc. Most of the people have smiles and are dancing like maniacs: I am not. I feel nothing (word to Don Draper). I'm not really having 'fun' .

I drift in thought about how at 12 and 13 we would get dropped off at the movie theater to catch the late show with all the high school and college kids. At 14 and 15 we would sneak my parents car down the driveway by parking in neutral and pushing it a few houses down before starting it up to go to teen clubs. I thought about how at 17 I would pay an extra $20 cover to get into the strip clubs to sip Maker's Mark and Wild Turkey while watching hood mamas and trailer trash dance. My freshman year we would go to the hood club down the street to make out with locals, and wild out with the trapstars. I think about how from 19-20 we would scrape up ways to be at the spots with the rappers, actors, dopeboys, video vixens, and groupies. From 21-24 I was basically sick--but I still did my share of travel, blunts, and stunts. By the time I was 25, I began to have this feeling. I wondered if it was because I was still in the south, so I relocated to D.C. The good times continued...but less frequently. I would leave the party scene again because of my health. I thought I was missing something, but I am slowly realizing that maybe what I thought I was missing: I already had experienced. It's like when you listen to dopeheads talk about the first time they shoot up or get high: no time thereafter equals that first time. They spend the rest of their lives chasing that high, but they never catch it. Every high thereafter is but a shadow of that first time, then... they die with an empty life. Immediately I start thinking about Jay-z songs like "Allure", "Regrets", and "The Watcher". I don't want that.

I snap out of this when I notice Diddy and J dancing crazy among themselves. It reminds me of all the wack ass parties I attended in college, when we would make up other means of entertainment like shits and giggles*, hilarious. I decide to walk down to join in. I think this is the last hurrah; for me at least.

They greet me with a roar of 'YOOO!!' like I've been missing for years; essentially, I have been. We return to the reserved area for more drinks. J and his colleagues eventually leave and it is me and Diddy.

I ask Diddy about Ms. Trini, but he waves me off. The Jersey girl returns (laughs). She starts grabbing my arm and dancing in front of me I entertain her for awhile. She whispers in my ear that she may be married, but if I go say 'Hi' to her friend on the wall, she will fuck the shit out of me (laughs). I look toward the wall to see a woman who mirrors one of my aunt's friends: Brwon skinned, weave pony-tail, dark lips (smoker), saggy & separated boobs, etc. Remnants of a woman who has partied alot. She is not bad looking, but the resemblance is an indication that the show is over. I tell the Jersey girl I will keep that in mind and wink. Diddy begins talking with a group of sorority girls. Sorority girls are the only ones that travel in packs larger than 4. He is pushing up on this black haired girl like she is Rosa Acosta. He must be really drunk (or horny). I grab her friends hand and dance with her: She has sandy brown hair and can move. I saw her dancing earlier to Biggie. I was getting a strong 'freak' vibe from the group, but I could not decipher who it was from. It turns out I made the wrong choice: she is a senior at Arizona State and has a boyfriend. She gives me her number, but 'makes no promises'. There was a time when 'no' meant 'no' and 'yes' meant 'hell yeah!', now I know I'm getting older. Because I don't have the patience to play...at least not tonight.

I dance awhile longer with several females in the group. Jersey comes by to dance with me, when some random nigga asks me if I'm going to pay for the drinks (?). I ask him, "for what?!" to which he replies, "just thought you were trying to get it in". What the FUCK? Lame ass nigga...I give him a look then turn my back to him. I'm sick of people misusing slang. Like, if I hear another person refer to a chick as 'thick' and she is fat, a guy as 'diesel' when he is fat, weed that 'fire' when it is dirt, I may just stop talking to them altogether. Ugh.

The club is damn near empty so I look at my phone: 5:36 a.m. Damn. I've got to gamble in the morning. I tell Diddy I am about to leave. He tells me that he will stay until he leaves with someone. I give him a weird ass look of pity, to which he replies "I've got to make up for yesterday, so I'm not going until I leave outta here. I do this in L.A. all the time". I give him a pity pat on the back then head to the cab stand. I am intoxicated. The line is long, I wait behind a tall light-skinned woman who gives me a smile. I guess that was my green light, but I am too tired and a little drunk, in order to get at her. I get into the cab then fall asleep on the way back to my hotel. After I use the restroom, I go into the cafe and have a turkey sandwich with swiss cheese and fries, then return to my room.

I strip naked, turn the air down then collapse onto the bed. I'm going to change hotels for one night because the rate jumps up to almost $400 dollars, so I've got to be out by noon (I think). I have a text from shorty, she asks if I'm having 'fun'. But, I dunno....

To Be Continued...

Bond. BlkBond.

*Names changed to protect the innocent and guilty

*FUPA = Fat Upper Pu**y Area

*'Shits and Giggles' is an absurd game that young men play in order to salvage a bad time. We would go to parties that were wack, so in order to save the night, we would play this. It's when you would drink or get drunk then do crazy shit for giggles (thus the names). For example, we would play shits and giggles and require that guys could only dance with women with no hair. To win 'shits and giggles' you would have to sleep with her, make out with her, kiss her, etc. If you lost, you had to pay for all of the drinks for that night (which was usually very high).

Vegas: The Awakening

(Note: Whenever there are interactions between Me, Diddy, or J there will be lots of slick talk and profanity. This is the way guys speak. I have not omitted any thing, however, somethings are downplayed. Do understand that speak, slang, actions, etc. have no bearing on the character of each individual. Thanks in Advance--Bond)

I slept in on Thursday. I didn't get up until 1 or 2 p.m. My body was sore, aching. I lay in the bed resting, watching tennis. Serena and those legs. Goddamn. I keep imagining what they would feel like slamming against my pelvis while I do a Justin Slayer impression on her. Damn, I'm daydreaming. My neck and my back were tense, moreso since I arrived. I called the spa to make arrangements for a swiss or deep tissue massage. My brother went to Jamaica a few months back and he's been bragging on his deep tissue ever since. He knows that I am stressed the way I am honest: always. The spa told me they were booked until tomorrow. Fuck. I really need a massage. See, these are the pitfalls of no girlfriend (laughs); no back rubs. Problem with trying to have a jumpoff/sidekick give you a massage usually results in two types of fails: (a) Lead to sex...which is good, but damn, it doesn't make my back stop hurting (laughs). (b) She has no idea how to give a massage. I provide them with my card number to secure my session for tomorrow. I am soo tired from jet lag, that I drag myself into the shower. I am in the mood for a lobster and steak. Side of asparagus and carrots. Mmm, that would be good. I look at the information booklet and there is an upscale restaurant in my hotel. Yeah, I'm gonna do that. Surprisingly, I am not that concerned about putting my mack down. My phone rings, it's Diddy:

Me: Peace king.*

Diddy: Peace king.* (laughs) Yo, you still remember that?

Me: Yeah fool! (laughs) we said that shit for like 3 years, (laughs).

Diddy: Yo, I got J on 3 way.

J: What up Bond baby! You ready to get it in? Long time fam'. It's been a minute, too long.

Me: Yeah, well, I got side tracked in life, but I'm back, no half steppin' like Cane....just as dope.

(laughter)

Diddy: See! That's what I wanna hear! See, Bond, you told me you wanted the old Diddy back so I'm ready! Where you at? J, Where you at?

J: Man, I'm headed over to the Palms. Grab something to eat...s'up wit' ch'all. You tryin' to grab something to eat?

Me: Yeah, I'm hungry now though. I was gonna grab me a steak and lobster.

interupted, "Damn nigga, day one: lobster and steak. What you eating tomorrow, lamb?" says Diddy jokingly.

"I might. Look, I came to have a good time" I replied.

J: "Yo, where you going for that?"

Me: "In my hotel. There is decent restaurant. I have lobster on my mind, it's been a minute"

Diddy: "Yo, I might need to use your room if we come up on some females"

(laughter)

Me: "Why? I told you that I may switch hotels tomorrow if your hotel is straight"

Diddy: "Nah, my hotel doesn't have lobster. We'll meet at yours, (laughs)"

(laughter)

Me: "Aight"

I hang up the phone and head downstairs. I can't wait any longer I've got to eat. I'm not really concerned with staying at the best hotel, really I just want to have a good time.

I am concerned about getting my money up. I go downstairs to find the sportsbook. I have said before this is how I supplement my income, and this weekend I don't expect anything different. If anything, I expect a payday that will allow me to take the year off*. I pick up a few parlay cards to look over back in the room. The restaurant does not open until 5, but I cannot wait that long. I go into the mid-priced cafe to have a burger and fries. Diddy and J call and tell me they have made their way from the Palms to a Hooter's. We all know how I feel about Hooters*. I tell them to meet me around 8, they agree, but want to check out my hotel. They want to check out my hotel for comparisons and competitive purposes. They want to see exactly how well they are doing in comparison to me. It's ok, see most men do that, with everything: girlfriends, jobs, education, wardrobe, hair texture, etc. Life as a man among men is a constant comparison. We are always sizing each other up to see who is one up and who is too down.

After my meal, I go back to the room to watch sportscenter for the weekend college football picks. I need to get to a gym. I know that compared to Diddy* and J I will be the lightweight, but I at least must make it close. I'm taller than Diddy, but he is a gym rat. He literally lives in the gym. He works out at least 3 times a day-no matter where he is or what is going on. Jay is is the tallest, but not as big as Diddy, yet bigger than me. I am the lightest (smile). In college, whenever we would go out and Diddy would strike out, he would remark , "You light skinned niggaz make me sick! Yo, I may have to get some bleach cream...", we would laugh, but a lot of this sarcasm was laced in annoyance and insecurity. Insecurity I find myself feeling since I had surgery about my own size. One minute I'm 'Roy Jones' the next minute I'm 'Shane Mosley'. That makes a world of difference when you don't have the millions of both. Also, because I guess I feel different. Like, women are now more likely to be interested in me to date/relationship, versus when I was bigger, they would let me do whatever the hell I wanted. I tell myself that the change is a result of my age and their maturity, but part of me does not believe that.

I put on my grey banana republic slacks, Ike Behar white french cuff shirt (rolled), and gucci loafers. I'm anticipating meeting up with my guys. It's been a minute. I mean, J and I kicked it in Atlanta a few year ago, but since school and the sidetrack, I have missed out on all of the adventures in New York, Miami, Los Angeles, and Vegas. I go downstairs to meet them and I find them at the bar with two females. I go to Diddy and give him the 'hug dap'. It's been the longest since I've seen him. I give J a dap hug as well. The girls smile and I greet them, but I'm not really paying attention.

I take a seat next to Diddy. Goddamn he's big. He told me has been in the gym and taking more supplements than Barry Bonds, but FUCK. This lil' nigga is a monster like...Monster*! (laughs)

J is kinda big too, but he looks the same as when I last saw him in the A. I ask Diddy what the suit (drinks) is. Rule of thumb is that you don't break 'suit' when joining a party for drinks. "When in Rome, do as Romans do"

Me: "What are y'all drinking?"

J: "I got a Goose & cranberry"

female with J: "White wine"

female with Diddy: "Zinfandel"

Diddy: "I got a...shirley temple"

(laughter)

Diddy can't drink worth a fuck. No, seriously. If he drinks too much he starts taking off his clothes and may lose control of bodily functions (to say the least). We try to keep him within his own parameters to look out for him. There was an incident in college that I will not go into here, but all you need to know is that it was not good: Women were present and he had to pay for J's car to be detailed.

Me: "Give me a Stoli Vodka Tonic"

That's a man's drink. I know somebody's gonna try to sip this. No soon as I have the thought...

female with Diddy: "Let me try that"

She sips, then makes a face like she drank vinegar.

"It's not for everybody. I'm a professional" I reply with a smirk. Diddy and this girl eventually go into one of the blackjack areas. J and I catch up. The girl he is with informs me that she and her friend are visiting from Vermont*. We laugh, because we didn't think there were Black people in Vermont (laughs). Her friend is Trini and she is Cuban. She has a cute face, but she is rather round. Big breast. Yeah...J can have that one. An hour passes and J wonder's where Diddy is. Diddy has the habit of falling in love in a day; not literally, but figuratively. He meets women then they occupy his entire schedule-eventually taking over his life and bank account. You do not bring sand to the beach; especially when that beach is Las Vegas. I go to look for him and find him having another drink with Ms. Trini. They just took a shot of patron. This is not good. I warn her that he is not a drinker. She laughs, because she thinks I am playing, however, I am not. When he drinks, he becomes belligerent and uncontrollable. I tell her that from this point forth, I will be screening his drinks. We gather and decide that we will head to the club, JET. J gets a phone call and tells us he will meet us there.

Diddy, Myself, Ms. Trini, and Ms. Cuba take a cab to JET. The ladies enter free with VIP cards that provide free drinks that contain Absolute Vodka. Diddy and I pay cover of $30.00. We enter where we both have vodka tonics. At this point, I make a mental note that this will be Diddy's last real drink.

JET is a nice club: the atmosphere is mixed: Black, White, Asian, Latina, Asian, White, Asian, and Asian. There is a small stage in the middle of the dance floor, so there are a number of the low-self esteem attention seekers dancing and fighting for position among the poles. There are sectional sofa's that seem to be the areas reserved for bottle service. I see the usual bottles: Grey Goose & Patron. The fact that there is no champagne means that this is a light night or these people aren't into it like that. Diddy and I decide to do a once around. Some of the girls are cute, but nothing is jumping out at me. Maybe, I'm just not in the macking mood. Diddy begins to dance with Ms. Trini, soon after begins to get it in with Ms. Trini. They are kissing and fondling. I decide to suit up my uniform, because tonight: I am the wingman. I dance with Ms. Cuban, but I am not into it. I honestly want to walk around to see what I can catch on my own rather than simply settle for what has been bestowed upon me. This will be over once J arrives... I entertain her most of the night. At one point we are approached by a drunk Eastern European guy. He wants to take pictures with us as he has been doing so with various people in the club. His friends wave to us that he is wasted. I empathize, so we pose with him for pictures. He is truly drunk, judging from the saliva dripping onto his shirt. He asks Diddy and Ms. Trini to take a picture, but Diddy declines. He is in mack mode. He has Ms. Trini pinned against the wall with one hand on her upper thigh. The guy takes a picture posing behind Diddy and Ms. Trini. Later in the night, we see security escort this guy to the back without his friends.

As we dance, a promiscuous brunette who is with a couple stands next to me. She begins to dance and eyeball me. She has on a green dress with ink on her right shoulder. She begins to drop lower....and lower...damn, she is doing that too well... I want her now. I make an excuse to go to the restroom. I chill in the restroom for a minute, tip the attendant. As I exit the restroom, I see the girl in the green dress. I whisper to her:

Me: "I was waiting on my turn"

Her: (smile) Well, how am I supposed to know"

Me: "I just told you. What's up?"

Her: "Nothing, I'm Karen*. Where you from?"

Me:" I'm from_____. But it's not about where I'm from it's where we're going"

Her: "And where is that?

Me: "Dancefloor first. My room later"

Her: "One out of two isn't bad"

Me: " (laughter) Good, I'll just tell my friends to meet me back at the hotel (I laugh)"

Her: "No (laughter), the dance. I wasn't talking about the room"

Me: "You said one out of two. You gave me the options, I made the selection"

Her: "I meant the dance...I dunno about the room"

Me: "You should concentrate more on what you do know: You're attracted to me. I'm attracted to you. We would both enjoy ourselves"

I kiss her neck. Flick my tongue from her neck to her earlobe. She lets out a soft whimper.

Her: "ohhh...I gotta go, before, I get into trouble.."

Me: "No trouble. If I were trouble, your concern would be me getting into you.."

She laughs. I stroke her cheek...I got her. Then her friend comes from the restroom. The friend is ready to leave. Fuck. I was about to close. Where is that lil' nigga who was with her friend?!?! Goddamnit. Where is J??!!?!! FUCK!

I make a round through the club, before I head back over to Diddy, Trini, and Cuban. When I arrive, the girls leave to go to the restroom.

I notice a lot of Bachelor's and Bachelorette's. Some of the Bachelor's have on crowns; the bachelorette's have on tiaras. There is this one bachelorette and her friends who are going around asking guys to run their credit card down the crack of the bachelorette's ass like the Tip Drill video. She lifts her skirt to reveal that people (her friends presumably) have been signing her ass with a sharpie. Hilarious!

I make my way back to Diddy, and we have this conversation:

Me: "No sand"

Diddy: "I know, I know. But I'm trying to close. Nigga, she wetter that Nemo! (laughter) I'm about to close on this, just run interference"

Me: "(chuckle) what the hell you think I been doin? Hope you don't think that was for me?"

Diddy: "Yeah nigga, I know; but I thought J was gonna come thru, because I think she was feeling J, but that nigga bounced.."

Me: "Yeah, that nigga always was pretty smart"

(laughter)

Diddy: "Yo, the friend hating though. When you were gone, she was teasing me about how wet she was and asked me if I could handle some of that Trini pussy, so I told Ms. Cuban that we were about to leave, and he told me "no your not. Not with my friend". I'm like, bitch your friend grown! Take yo' banana boat ass back to the room then!"

(laughter)

Me: "This will not be a sponsored trip"

Diddy: (laughs)

Me: "Serious. I didn't come out here to be caking some ol' ai-ight ass broads fuckin' around with you!"

Diddy: "(laughs) I know, I know. We need to ditch them. It's getting late, they should be getting tired"

They don't get tired until we do. They hang around for another hour seemingly. During this time a brunette asks us if we have seen 2 of her friends. Diddy and I flirt with the girl tag team style. He is hugging her from her left, me from her right. This serves two purposes: Puts her on notice that we are both vying for her attention; second, in the spirit of competition we try to one up each other. It never stops. It's what men do.

She is from Australia. She is telling us that she loves how aggressive American men are. She doesn't know the half. She is here on holiday visiting. She was living in L.A. for a month, but could not get permission to stay longer. Diddy and I are both kissing on the side her necks. She is giggling, states that she must go, before she gets in trouble. I try to convince her to stay, but she states that she must find her friends. By this time Ms. Trini and Ms. Cuban have come back from the restroom. She give me a kiss on the cheek and promises to return later.

When we look at the time it is 3:25 a.m. and most of the people from earlier have left. The girls tell us goodbye and motion they will see us tomorrow. We scour the club for women, but I am not satisfied with the prospects remaining. Diddy does not care. He starts looking for women who are 'stumbling' or 'barely making it', lol. I laugh, because his desperation is a reminder of that square dude I met sophomore year; I know part of it is playful, yet he is serious. Forget Wayne, this negro is the pussy monster (laughs hysterically). I convince him we should leave because of my spa appointment in the morning. He concedes and we leave to find a place to eat. We walk into the hotel area where we pass two women who look 'ready'. One of my talents is identifying loose women and these two are loose. As we pass them, two men are talking to them, but they go out of their way to greet us. I have to piss though. I instruct Diddy to go after them while I find a restroom.

I come out to find that Diddy is empty handed and dry-mouthed. He informs me that the women are leaving tomorrow and were possibly 'professionals'. Damn.

We catch a cab back to my hotel where we eat at the cafe from earlier. I have the raspberry french toast with turkey sausage, side of orange juice and water. Diddy has the chicken breast and egg whites. He is always thinking of his body. The chicken and eggs are protein for his muscles. Whenever a guy eats: chicken breast, tuna, egg whites...these are all signs of high protein; it's like a prerequisite for muscle heads. By this time it is 5 a.m. I am losing my voice and becoming dehydrated. I stop into the hotel store to buy two liters of Fiji water. I also remember to take my milk thistle to filter my liver from tonight's alcohol. I'm not 17 anymore. My upkeep is more strenuous than years before. Diddy tries to call Ms. Trini for the booty call, but she does not answer. He decides to go to the gym to work out. I decide to go to sleep. Verdict: stalemate. Tonight was good, but I actually hope it gets better....and where the hell is J?!?!

To Be Continued...

Bond. BlkBond.

*'Peace King' is the beginning introduction between Nas & AZ on Nas' song 'The Flyest' from the Stillmatic album. We are both Nas fans (him more than me). We sometimes greet each other this way as a sign of respect and admiration. It's like that Wu-Tang quote, "I call my man 'sun', because he shines like one". We were also having a conversation a few years back when we were talking about the dating shift past a certain age bracket where women went from searching for simply 'attractive' to 'with money'. Diddy got heated and blurted out, "Yo, we don't have all the money, but fuck that WE THE FLYEST!!" It was funny as hell, because we were having a serious conversation and out of nowhere he goes on this emotional rant, so, it has become an inside joke, lol. This greeting is a nod of recognition to both.

* Hooters? See my post: 'Brand New'

*Diddy is short and brown skinned. He has somewhat of a Napoleon complex. To compensate for his height, he has decided to become an ANIMAL in the gym. Seriously. He has thought about doing amateur body building (which might be he true passion).

*Monster = "Monster" Kody Scott, Street Legend.

*Places of origin, Nationality, characteristics and traits have been amended to protect the innocent. Vermont wasn't a stretch though (laughs).

Vegas part 1: The Arrival

My brother drove me to the airport for my flight. Usually, I fly to the east, so I'm used to wearing sweats & timbs on the flight, but this time, I am just wearing my everyday wear: D&G jeans, striped button up polo (sleeves rolled), and my gucci sneakers. I figure to use this time for us to talk and catch up. He has started his Master's/MBA program and he seems a little distant. His birthday is next week and I want to make sure he's good. We talk about my father, my sister, and whether he is happy. It seems we are both in need of time off. Since I have been helping out with my father, my mother and I have had conflict. This is crazy, because by most accounts I am a 'mama's boy'. I just spent a few hundred dollars for her to give her bathroom a makeover. I give her money whenever she asks, I talk to her, advise my siblings, etc. She STILL finds things to bitch about: She wants me to get married. God Bless her, she is just a good ol' Southern woman who believes that marriage and children are the end all be all of God's plan for our lives. With so many of my family, friends, and associates down south being married or having children, she feels deprived. I haven't had the energy to even explain to her that most of those people can't even take care of their children, their wives, and barely themselves. She just thinks you need 'love'. I don't even want to cross into that conversation with her for fear of offending her. The best thing I can do is what I am doing now: leaving. There is more to it, but that is a week of blog posts alone.

My flight was scheduled for midday Wednesday with plans to be there by 6:30-ish that night. I planned to check in, find a restaurant, then go to a lounge; however, I missed my flight. Partially my fault because I retrieved my suit late from the tailor and could not find my favorite cuff links. The other reason is because my brother was driving like my grandmother (laughs). I mean, I know you got a new whip and all but damn*. The next flight is not until 5:30-6 p.m and it has several stops. I grab something to eat in the airport and talk to Diddy about missing my flight. Diddy is one of my best friends from college. If I am cool and collected, he is flamboyant and over the top, thus his nickname 'Diddy'. I dubbed him that when he lived in New York and told me he was 'renting' a chinchilla fur. He now lives in L.A. and I haven't seen him since college. I can only imagine the level of flamboyance he is at now. This is ironic because when I met him, he was sooo square. We both lived in the same complex and one night we were having the "who is f*cking ____" conversation, he got a little irate that his phone would only ring with spoiled and annoying women who would only reach out when they wanted something other than sex. See, contrary to what women believe, we need sex like we need to eat. It's a physiological need. I know there are going to be some women who read this and say, "well, we need it too but we control ourselves...blah blah blah...". The difference is that if you don't get it, you're body does not empty itself upon you to remind you that you need the release (laughs hysterically). Yeah, you could masterbate, but what self-respecting Man over 14 years old who is entertaining women by spending time and money, wants to do THAT?!?! Or should have to?

I assured him that I did not have those problems. He then challenged me on my assertion. I picked up the phone and placed it on speaker. I called 3 women and instructed all of them to get ready because I was coming through so I have my way with them. It was 2 am. Astonished, he asked me what was up. I then changed his life the way somebody changed mine when I was 14 years old: I gave him Iceberg Slim's book, Pimp. The rest has been history. Sometimes, I actually regret that, because he has lost considerably because of his undying pursuit of women: employment, stability, even love. I sometimes ponder how he would be today, how his life would be if I never gave him that book that night. Guess that is one of the things I loathe about myself: my ability to influence is not always positive. We communicate once a week, so it's like we never missed a step. We have done a lot of crazy things together so much that every time we meet up I number our adventures some absurd number (i.e."episode #2,323,486"); I am intrigued to know whether this will continue through the weekend. The other friend, 'J' is from the mid-west. Vegas was actually his idea because he had just been in L.A. a month prior. J is more like myself: laid back, calm, however, considerably more particular--for everything. I think this is because he comes from a more upper-middle class/affluent background. I mean, anybody who drives a lexus as a sophomore in college is going to be 'accustomed' to certain things.

I tell Diddy I will not be in until late Wednesday night/Thursday morning. He tells me to call J and let him know, because J had made plans for us. I tell him I can't reach J and I will try once I arrive.

When I am seated, immediately I go to my ipod. I have almost 2500 songs (finally), so that is more than enough to zone me out. I notice a mother and daughter tandem coming down the aisle. The daughter is sexy-redhair, long legs. She smile when she sees me, but the mother is walking ahead of her; she also sees me (lol). Her mother looks at me then looks at her daughter. The are sitting on the same row that I am. I have a window seat, so then the mother sits next to me, leaving the daughter in the aisle. I am disappointed, because I thought I would at least get a prospect just to start the weekend off (lol). I look across the aisle to see a slim brown skinned girl with a nose ring. Wow, Vegas may really be poppin' off. I am soon deflated to see the brown skinned girl with not 2, but 3 kids; one is a new born. Pause.

During the flight I take breaks from listening to Interpol and The New Pornographers to read. I have finished Malcolm Gladwell's book, Outliers before I left. So I am currently reading Word Smart (to increase my vocabulary) and Then We Came To The End by Joshua Ferris. I have a book list that I partially jacked from Rob the bouncer*, this was one of the first I chose to purchase. Apparently, being a well mannered and decent looking Black Guy who reads is a good thing, because the mother offers to buy me a drink; however, I respectfully decline. I don't like to drink on flights. I guess because (God forbid) if something goes wrong, I want to be conscious and cognizant of all things around me.

I have a layover in Los Angeles. I decide to go to Baja to grab a chicken wrap. As I walk through the airport, I don't notice any of the particularly 'beautiful' people I hear about all the time, there are only a lot of foreigners (Eastern Europeans & Asians) as I hear various dialects, accents, and languages. People who live in L.A. and California in general are notorious for bragging on how good looking everyone is. Among some of my friends it has inspired a whole different 'scale' of measurement. For example, if a girl is a dime, she is considered 10, in essence, she is perfect; However, on a 'California scale' a dime may be only a 7 or 8. I am always hearing about the unparalleled beauty of California, to the point where I pondered for awhile if it was an absurdity or embellishment. I recall how the L.A. guys would express their disdain and disappointment at many of the girls who I thought were pretty during undergrad. They would only get impressed if there were some rare specimen that mirrored Halle Berry or Emanuela De Paula*. Well, it was difficult to explain to these Negros that those type of women were not simply walking around daily, to which they would always reply "in Cali they are". It is conversations like this that keep good men from committed relationships (laughs). You can't tell a man there is a place in this country that has an abundance of beautiful women on par with Halle Berry. With that knowledge he will forever choose 'the bet' rather than make the choice of security, safety, and sanity. After having a seat, several girls pass by and give me the flirt wave*. I reciprocate. I don't feel the need to act on this: first, because this is simply a gesture. Second, I am only in L.A. for a layover (this time). Even the girl working at the coffee shop makes her way over to say hello. Guess California could possibly be a spot for me..hmm. No soon as I sip my water am I joined by the mother and daughter who shared the row with me. We talked and I find out they are from San Francisco. Both are actually very pretty; very well kept. I can tell from the mother's Hermes scarf and the carats on her finger than she doing well. The daughter is a student at Berkley. They tell me to get ready for a wild time in Vegas. I bid them adieu, proceeding back to the gate for my flight into Vegas. I notice the slim girl (and her kids) walking, she sees me and gives the double take. Just as I debate whether to approach her, my phone rings, it's Diddy. I tell me that I am in L.A. on layover. He wants me to come out to have a drink, I tell him my flight is in an hour. We hang up and by this time she is gone; guess not-fate must have known better.

I wait in the boarding area, when I notice two women across from me snuggled in a blanket. They look my way and begin to talk to one another. The attendant calls my name: guess because I missed my flight I am on standby. Nevertheless I am seated and within 30 minutes we land in Vegas.

Surprisingly, I am tired. I planned to go out, but I am not feeling so up to it. The time is now 12:30 am Thursday morning. I catch a cab to my hotel. The cab driver mentions some lounge called LAX. I tell him I will ponder this once I am settled. Even at 1 am I must wait in a line to check in. After I get my room key I go up stairs with the intention of freshening up and going out. Fail. I go to sleep, guess the adventures will have to wait until Thursday.

To Be Continued...

Bond. BlkBond.

*LOL@ my brother, he reads this blog sometimes

* Rob the bouncer is one of the first blogs I started reading. He actually got a book deal (which I would love). he writes at: http://standingonthebox.blogspot.com

* I love Emanuela De Paula. And Jordan Richardson. And Kerry Washington...etc.

*The Flirt Wave is that smile/smirk like 'yeah boy, you can get it. maybe'. Considered an overt green light to men.

Vegas: The Prelude

As requested, I will be posting the Vegas series.

I am writing this to notify all that some places have been altered, personal features have been changed/amended, etc. Many events and actions will be down played. I usually write from a retrospective aspect to insulate myself from repercussions that could interfere with my well-being. This retrospective aspect of my life also protects me against 'action' that may be taken against me. Be mindful that I am not a 'writer' per se; so, this is not my day job. I work in a profession where conservatism and hypocrisy run rampant.

A few weeks back, I checked my stats and noticed there were visits from the servers of several white-shoe firms in D.C. Anybody who knows me, will tell you, I do NOT play when it comes to my money, or future money. I would like to be idealistic and believe that they are simply admirers of the blog, however, I know better. I can't take liberties where there are none; the economy is not a stable enough for me to take those chances. Yet.

It is unfortunate we live in a time when what you do on your personal time & in personal aspects of your life can affect (and hamper) your professional life. I mean, what I do and write about on this blog has no bearing on how well I write an office memorandum or my ability to use Westlaw or the hornbook. It's also unfortunate that this (blogging) has already affected people negatively to the point where they are being sued, fired, and attacked.

I am a man of my word, so the series will begin after midnight. I appreciate the love the blog is receiving, as well as the hate (hi losers, lol). I will attempt to be more consistent, as things become easier for me professionally, as well as personally. A large reason for the delay is the editing: I must decide what to leave in (to maintain the integrity I intended) versus what to omit (to protect myself). All of this may be solved simply, by placing a 'password' but that would make it more difficult for new readers, people who access the blog at places of employment, etc. I would really appreciate it if people who don't like the blog (or me), would just kick rocks, that would be GREAT! (laughs hysterically), then I can proceed as intended. Or, if you would simply separate your emotions for me from my professional life.

Many of these people would love to say "well, you put it out there"and you are correct; however, I created a persona, I did not put myself out there to the point where I deserve to have a background search conducted, people hacking my email/blog, etc. This is the same argument people provide to public figures such as actors, musicians, athletes, etc. However, just because my 'activity' places me in the the spotlight, it does not open all aspects of my life as a result of said activity.

One of the last days of debauchery will be a synonymous post with one of my favorite blog personalities, the DC Diva @ DC Dating Adventures. I comment on her website and she sometimes posts here, so I will either have the post on that site, a link to her site, or the post on both. I still have not figured out how to use all of the features of blogger, so, whichever is less irritating and time restrictive.

Vegas was debauchery, disappointment, deep thought, and debate. Nevertheless, I did have fun and you will see all as noted in the following posts. I hope you enjoy. Email me for personal questions & comments @ 007blackbond@gmail.com, all other commentary can go into the comments section.

I do not want to use the delete button, because I think it's some bullshit-I mean, if you can't be honest and open even over the internet, when? I want my blog to remain real, not some ceremonious display of monotony that allows us (or me) to feel good about ourselves by reinforcing the things we embrace as right based on false perceptions or because I can't defend my argument against people who oppose my views.

Bond. BlkBond.

Defenseless

Inspiration: Sistas & B***hes by Jay-Z, Blueprint 2

Interpolational quote: "Sistas love Jay

cause they know how Hov' is

I love my Sistas

I don't love no bitch"---Sean Carter

Trojans. Ruger P-series. Juris Doctorate & Bachelor's degree.

These are some of the things I protect myself with. There are things that I have no protection from however. One notable thing: accusations of sexual assault/rape.

Personally, I believe that rape/sexual assault is one of the most heinous (if not the most) crimes an individual can commit. A few years ago there was a case before the Supreme court, Kennedy v. Louisiana, where the Supreme court overturned the death penalty for child rape. I was heated. Particularly, because Anthony Kennedy* wrote for the majority. I will not go into their logic for voting to overturn, but I do encourage you all to wikipedia this case and read the facts and result.

This has relevance, because last week, it was brought to my attention that a girl at Hofstra University named Danmell Ndonye accused 5 guys (4 were arrested) of rape. The woman is an 18 year old freshman. She told police that she was at a party and one of the guys took her cellphone. In an attempt to retrieve the phone, she followed him back to a dormitory. Once they entered the dormitory, she followed him into a bathroom where she was bound with rope while the five men took turns sexually assaulting her in a bathroom stall. The four men were promptly arrested and held for 3 days. When the woman was questioned about the assault, her story began to unravel with inconsistencies. The amazing part is that with these inconsistencies, she did not recant. It was not until she was confronted with the fact that there may be video (there was..lol) of the incident that she recanted. She went on to admit the sexual intercourse was consensual. The prosecutor recovered video that also confirmed this. After she recanted, she informed the police that she had concocted the story because she had been confronted by her boyfriend (WTF??!) when he asked her why she was not wearing her shoes, appearance disheveled, etc. After the guys were released, neither made comments or reference to Danmell, they were simply happy to be free. Two of the guys actually denied any type of sexual conduct with her.

I saw this story sometime last week. I did not plan to write about it, notably, because I expected to retrieve at least a hundred blogs written about it. Fail. There were less than a handful. Most of the blogs with heavy traffic, blog award candidates, etc. did not even touch it. Ironic, considering I'm still reading Chris Brown entries; especially, when the only people who really know what happened were in that car.

I read this one wack ass blog (I ain't even gonna mention it), where the female writer made no reference to the actions of the woman. Instead, she went on a rant about how the guys were disgusting, lacked respect, etc. Guess she does not know what consensual means. Guess it is beyond her comprehension that some people engage in various perversions for pleasure. I guess....but I KNOW she is not the only one.

I think people who make false accusations of rape should be subject to criminal penalty akin to the crime they make accusations thereof. If you lie about rape, you should be subject to as much time as a convicted rapist. No suspended sentence, no plea bargain, no probation, no 'obstruction/false statement' charge. Just time. At any time when life & liberty is at stake, the courts must be compelled pursue justice at any and all costs. One of the reasons we even have criminal laws is deterrence. Where is the deterrence here? From Tawana Brawley to the Duke Lacrosse Team* to Danmell Ndoye and all of those in between there is no deterrence to this type of irresponsibility.

This is problematic, because as a result of lies like this those people who are actual victims of such horrendous crimes. It becomes more difficult for them to come forward. It makes it harder for prosecutors to convict. It makes it difficult for all of us.

This female, is arguable a smut jawn, slut, etc. First, she had a boyfriend. Second, she lies about her sexual behavior and conduct. This is hard for some women to fathom simply because they are not promiscuous, and/or have no first-hand knowledge of these type of women. Because of their own morals & beliefs, many women rationalize this behavior with the false belief that it is the result of a man directly (physical, mental, emotional & verbal influence) or indirectly (music, film, environment). These so-called 'educated' women never even fathom that maybe some women just like to eat dicks & cum from various men. The feminist movement not only liberated women from the confines of traditions like gender roles and social restrictions, it also liberated many women sexually. See, you cannot open some doors halfway: either all restrictions are 'lifted' are none are. Many of the things that were restricted to closed doors conversations/activities, became open to be discussed. Female empowerment eliminated alot of the guilt or shame many of these women felt prior to the feminist movement.

So they thought. These women did not get the memo from the 'other' women that the feminist movement was not for them. It was only for 'certain' women. Only 'certain' activities women were allowed to pursue equally: educations, career, gender roles, etc...not sex.

Men play a role in this as well. I know of few men who are not as forgiving as women. I think this has to do with the fact that many men are natural skeptics of relationships & romance. Through a lifetime of music, television, film, family, experiences, etc. (many of which are misogynistic melancholy) they feel that should know better than to fall head over heels in love. This false sense of omnipotence leaves men distraught and ashamed when relationships are not successful as a result of actions/behavior they believe they should have seen. Men rely more on what we know (or think we know), rather than how we feel.

I say all of this to note the role of both genders in this girls thought process for lying: she cannot be herself for fear of consequences and judgment; yet, she is 18, thus, a legal age of majority consistent with sexual consent with the ages of the aforementioned men, so why does she even care?!?!

Her name shall become synonymous with labels like 'liar' and 'bitch'--by men and women, respectively. In time, this shame will likely subside or disappear (i.e. Lewinsky, Brawley).

The guys?

Their names will also be forever attached to an untruthful impropriety. A lie that may restrict them from various aspects of life and happiness that may be anything from a relationship to employment. They will forever be linked to a event that depicts them as criminals. Their reputations have been sullied beyond repair. And for what?

Because they had sex with a woman. Because they were accused of a certain crime. Because that woman is a liar. Because this woman did not want to be judged?

Because there is no defense.

Bond. BlkBond.

*During law school, I found myself agreeing with most of Justice Kennedy's opinions. They are logicial, concise, factually sound. I was disappointed that he could not see that the effects of rape making the crime just as severe (if not more) enough to warrant the option of the death penalty.

* I hate everything about the Duke Lacrosse case. The racial implications, false entitlement of the students, the prosecutor being disbarred, etc. It was a loss for everyone. The entire incident felt like a missing chapter from Tom Wolfe's novel, I Am Charlotte Simmons.