High School Fun

“Oh shit, this party is crackin.” That is a phrase that my friends and I used in our senior year of high school so much that it started  to sound cliché. Every Friday and Saturday night it was the same thing. Going to  parties, looking for girls, and after football season was over, DRINKING was added to the list. That is a recreation that I took up my senior year of high school. I have had drinks of wine or I have taken sips of my moms wine cooler. But it was just a sip or two, nothing that was harmful. I was never the one to do drugs or smoke, I just could not stand the idea. But drinking, that is a different story. I have always liked the flavor. I remember coming home from basketball practice back in elementary and making my special drink of White Zinfendal(that I found in the fridge) with Minute Maid Fruit Punch. I drank it, because it tasted good. Not because it was alcohol and I knew I was not supposed to have it. I just like the taste.  But in high school, I moved up from my simple Zinfandel and Fruit Punch. I soon discovered hard liquors. Real liquors. Bacardi, Hennessey, Rum. But my favorite was the poor man’s fix. A Strawberry bottle of CISCO. Commonly referred to as liquid sherm. And as we all know Sherm aint nothing to fuck with. You can always tell who is a sherm head, they will be the ones socking the shit out of a telephone pole. If you ask them why they did that, they would respond by saying, “Cuz that nigga would not move out of my way.” But I didn’t care, I liked the taste and it took me to that next level that I enjoyed so much, the DRINKIN MASTER LEVEL.

            “CISCO, CISCO, everybody drinking CISCO.” Those are words from a LUKE song that I liked because it talked about my favorite drink. Oh another good song was my new anthem. When Xzibit’s album RESTLESS came out, track 6 was my song, “Call it what you want to call it, Imma fuckin alcoholic…” Damn that got me hyped as hell. If I was at a party and I had my bottle of CISCO then I was in the game. Damn I was a happy kat. I was one of those fun drunks that just could not shut up. At one party, I was given the name “FUN GUY.” I was given that name by a few girls. After my shots on Hennessey and my bottle of CISCO has settled into my stomach I became very comical. I was giving lap dances to a chair(damn that chair was sexy). I was a singing and dancing machine. People are shocked by my dancing skills sober or not. They see this big guy and think, “what the fuck can he do” You best be careful, because I can, I have, and I will put you in the got worked section. So be careful. Back to my story. I ended up kissing a girls shoe, because I stepped on it and I hurt its feelings, that’s how fucked up I was. So from that night on I was called the Fun Guy. But when I drank I was smart about mine. I always ate before. DRINKING 101 teaches, never drink on a empty stomach and never mix lights with darks. I didn’t agree with the second part. But I would never drink and drive. If I drove to a party, I was mad because I knew I would not be able to drink.

There was this one party over in Inglewood, just a typical house party. The boys parents were out of town for the weekend and through a party. I really did not want to go out that night because I was kinda tired, but I went anyways. You know how that goes. Your boys come over there hyping up this party, so you give in throw on some jeans and then your out the door. So me and my boys get to the party. There are some girls there, so you know I’m happy. They start passing around a bottle of Spiced Rum, the Costco size. So I took it to the head, I held and drank it for a good 11 seconds. Next thing I know I am in the middle of the room dancing like my name is “Bo-Diddly” from the Right Track. All eyes are on me, I am in the zone. I go from this girl to that girl. I’m having fun. I stroll over to this cute little light skin girl standing near the wall. Next thing I know, her legs are startled around my waist, and I am throwing her up in the air. She is riding me. My drunkenness took an effect on my strength. For a small girl, she began to get very heavy. So with her legs still wrapped around my waist I carried her to the wall. I use the wall as my bookend. I throw her up against the wall, her body still elevated resting on my hips. Everyone at the party is laughing. I hear people in the background yelling, “That’s my nigga Billy,” “He putting in work” I lean in, next to her ear and whisper, “Girl you are sexy as hell.” Then I begin to kiss and nibble on her neck. I finally put her down, refueled myself with some more alcohol and I was back on the prowl. I stumbled into a room where there were a couple of beds, clothes on the floor, posters on the wall, and people sitting on the beds…oh yeah I was in a bedroom. Sitting on the edge of the bed was the cute light skin girl I had just worked on  the wall. I walked over to her and began to give her a lap dance. I got on my knees spread her legs like the red sea and started to move my body towards her in a sexy way. As  I was moving my body in a rhythmic motion this ugly girl who was more drunk then I was said, “What the fuck are you doing nigga? Get the fuck off of my sister, you better not be trying to rape her.” I quickly replied by aggressively saying, “Rape, ain’t nobody talking about rape.” Even though I was extremely drunk, I did know what the hell was going on. I am not the one to ever rape a girl, just the thought of it makes my stomach turn. I tried to explain that we were just dancing in the other room and I was just trying to see what was cracking with her. She obviously was not telling me to stop either in here or out on the dance floor. Just to diffuse the problem very quickly I got off the Krispy Kreame complexion girl and I was on my way.

            By this time the party had lost its buzz. One of the bookshelf speakers that had the party cracking finally blew out. As the crowd diminished my and my boys soon followed. As I walked to my car I was thinking to myself, “How will I be able to drive home, because the Lord knows I am beyond drunk. I was like fuck it, I really don’t have a choice. I can call my dad to come pick me up and all of my other friends were just as drunk as I was. If not drunk then they were high up in the sky after passing the Philly Blunt around filled the sticky green aka CHRONIC. So I did what I thought was best hoped into my moms 1996 Plymouth Grand Voyager. The once family van soon turned into the transportation vehicle for me and my drunken friends to carry us to our next destination of mass destruction

            The entire ride from Inglewood down La Brea to LA was nothing but fun. As soon as we got in we blasted Xzibit’s new hit. We all sung and laughed in the soccer mom van as if we were in a new Cadillac Escalade sitting on those grown men, when in reality we were riding in the MINI VAN sitting on 10” hubcaps but, I KEPT THEM CLEAN, with some plain old static filled factory sounds. We made our way down La Brea then made a right onto Stocker where my speed picked up. Racing down Stocker like I was Jeff Gordon I was lucky enough not to get pulled over by the police. We rode by the Liquor Bank as I made a right on the Crenshaw. I drove down the Shaw not evening caring that I was drunk. Any and every female that drove by got the “OOOOOOOO WHOAAAAAAAAAA” call. I made a u-turn at 48^th right by the Churches Chicken and drove northbound on the Shaw. As I approached Coliseum traffic began to slow down, as it always does because it was a line to get into the Ralph’s Parking Lot. I maneuvered my way in there. As we drove by the Rite Aid I saw the Camaro Club showing off doing donuts. The air quickly was consumed by burned rubber. All I could see is me out there acting crazy. So as the donut hole cleared out I drove out in the center came to a complete stop, turned the wheel completely to the left, and then I floored it. “Sccurrrrrrrrrr” is all I could here as my car made three complete turns. As the smoke began to quickly fly away I got out of there before the cops could get a chance of catching me. I drove down the gauntlet shaped parking lot. Niggas out there sitting on the hood of their old school Monte Carlo’s and Buick Regals. The big husslters playing play station of the SUV sitting on 22’s. I pulled next to my friends car that just left the same party we came from. We all jumped out the van like we were on a military mission. Niggas jumping out of both side doors. I saw my homeboy do what is a huge disgrace to a true alcoholic. He called Earl. That’s right, he threw up all in the Ralph’s parking lot. We laughed at him and clowned him for not being able to hold his drink. By this time it was approaching 1am. 1am being my curfew at the time. Me being the only one with a 1 o’clock curfew I did not want to go home, I was just having too much fun. But I knew if I wanted to go out next weekend I could not break curfew. So I made the right out of Ralph’s onto Rodeo and headed East. I just got passed Degan and it dawned on me. I will call home and tell my parents I have to take my friend home and I will be home a little later. So I pulled over and dialed my number on my cell phone. My dad picked up. With all I had in me,  I collected myself and calmly told my dad what had happened. I told him that I had to take Brandon home because his ride left him at the party. My dad did not have a problem with that. With this recent good news, I pulled into a drive way and made a 3-point turn and headed back to Ralph’s. I went back and by the time I got there, the cops were clearing the parking lot out. I hooked up with my friends  and kicked it a little bit longer.

            I pulled up in my driveway by 1:45am, walked right past my dad who was sitting on the couch watching a Star Trek marathon on cable. I got to my room, unquestioned, hoped in the bed and with the door closed began to silently laugh my ass off.  As I laughed myself to sleep I was so happy that I made it home safe and sound.

Commentary: I wrote this one day when I was in class The teacher was just talking and talking so I decided to write I had just completed reading my favorite book, A Black Man's Love Story by Michael Datcher, and I was inspired to write an autobiography, so I figured I would start writing events in my life that I remembered, this just happened to be one of them

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