I hardly get a chance to go out clubbing here in LA because 1) it's so damn expensive, 2) I live 45 minutes from downtown LA without traffic, and 3) well, there really isn't a third reason, I'm just so frickin lazy that I'd only go out if someone were willing to drive my fat ass around town.
So when I finally was given the opportunity to venture out to an LA nightclub, I had to do it big. On this particular night, about the third or fourth week of my moving to LA, my boy Khasha picked me up and we headed down to Anaheim to meet up with one of his classmates, Nemo. Apparently, this guy's on that baller status and is a big partier (is that even a word?). So we get to his place and it's crazy. The ultimate bachelor pad. It was so baller that it even made ME blush like a little school girl. The whole time I'm thinking, "This guy's in med school but he's already living like a doctor!"
So we prefunk it, belt out the usual empty prefunk chants like, "We're sooo bringing bitches back this apartment tonight!" and head over to this club called Sutra where we meet up with more of Khasha's med school classmates and proceed to drink and dance like dirty little pirate whores.
Towards the end of the night, I blackout and this is where things get interesting:
We went to a Mexican place called Alberto's and let me tell you how bomb their burritos are. Their burritos are so bomb, that one bite brought me out of my blackout. Seriously! The series of events that I can recall from that night are drinking, dancing, blackout, taking three bites of that burrito, blackout, and then all of a sudden I'm waking up on the floor of Nemo's place.
When I woke up, the first thing I said to the guys was, "Hey, I might have been dreaming...but did we go to a burrito place last night?"
"Yeah, you took a couple bites of your burrito and then you couldn't stop repeating, 'This is so good' over and over again. Then you stuck your head out of the car window on the I-5 and threw up on the freeway all the way to Nemo's house, where we had to pick you up and throw you on the floor."
"Nice! So you're telling me there are still left overs of the burrito?"
"Yes."
"And it wasn't a dream?!"
"No."
Can you imagine my excitement?! Thinking that it had all been just a delicious dream, only to wake up and find out it were true! I wish that had happened that one time I had that dream where I was married to Jessica Alba and Jessica Biel and while we were doin the nasty mcnasty in our mansion in Hawai'i, Oprah calls me up and tells me she really doesn't need all her money anymore. But oh well, I've digressed.
So there it was!! I had only eaten half of the burrito and the other half was sitting in the fridge staring up at me, calling me, seducing me, giving me those come hither eyes that R Kelly only uses in preschools.
I didn't even warm that shit up, I grabbed it and as I was going to take a bite of it, I thought "What if it doesn't live up to my memory? I was drunk. The burrito was fresh and warm eight hours ago. What if I hyped it up in my mind and this burrito is actually crap?"
Screw it. I took a bite.
And it was GLORIOUS! The heavens opened up, light shined on my face, and I think I saw the virgin Mary. Every happy vision imaginable popped into my mind: naked women with horns trumpeting, unicorns dancing, Jesus eating ice cream on a merri-go-round.
My mouth engaged in premarital mastication and then passed it on to my stomach as if to say, "Here you go fella, Merry early Christmas!" And then it was done. The sexy pahhty was over and and I was left thoroughly satisfied.
But as I looked down at the now empty wrapper, I couldn't help but feel a little dirty.
"Just put the money on the dresser and leave!", I thought.
And that was the last time I saw her.
Did I feel cheap? Yes.
A little used? Maybe.
But there was definitely love there. And that's all that matters.