Last Friday Night

Original Air Date: 02.20.2010
Theme Song: "Shots" - LMFAO feat. Lil' Jon

I receive a phone call this afternoon. It's Jiselle (my sister) and she's asking me to come downtown tonight to celebrate her 28th birthday. ...ME? I'm as surprised as anyone because my sister and I have never been that close. She and my brother are both five years my senior, they grew up with the same people, and unlike me, both have reputations for being "reckless." In my family, I've always been the squeaky-clean youngest child who everyone left the hell alone. So of course, I realize I'm the last person on her call list... above Mom, maybe. Sensing her desperation, I agree to accompany her.

8 hours later, EXHAUSTED, I'm outside the FedEx building, serving food to the 2nd shift guys. My sister pulls up and honks the horn. I grab my backpack, hop in the car, and we're off. We arrive at the Sheraton and put down our stuff. Jiselle tells me to hurry, so we can take advantage of the Early Bird drink specials. Sadly, Baltimore is pretty dead after 1:30AM, so you've gotta make the most of it. This leaves me with barely enough time to scrub the stench of blue collar work off my skin and change into something that showcases this hot body.

While strutting our stuff downtown, Jiselle is recognized by a massive group of girls. After a brief conversation on the sidewalk, they invite my sister to join their posse, so we stand in line with them outside MIST, a local nightclub. I can't believe there's a bouncer outside the door, like it's effin' Studio 54. Well, it ain't. After waiting in line for a few minutes, he lets ALL the girls into the club, no questions asked, but stops me and simply says, "Can't come in with those shoes." WHAT?!

You've got to be kidding me. I'm always shocked when any club in BALTIMORE excludes potential patrons based on looks. In Los Angeles, people get rejected once and return even more determined the next night, because there's a chance they might rub elbows with some record execs or dryhump an Olsen twin. But around here, none of that's gonna happen--there's no A-LIST BALTIMORE! So until you mop up the pool of piss outside your club's entrance, y'all need to lighten the fuck up.

It's only been a half-hour and I'm already homesick for Mount Vernon, also known as the gay ghetto. Where it's No Shirt, No Shoes, and I still get service. ;-) And frankly, I feel bad that Jiselle's stuck with me for the night and just had to say Goodbye to her pals. I'm raining on her parade and I seriously need to make up for it FAST! So, we just walk down the block to the Powerplant Live club complex and hit Mosaic, the Top 40/Techno dance club... aka the closest thing to a gay bar in this neck of the woods.

 

We make a beeline for some empty barstools and just let the men come to us. I immediately chug two vodka tonics (my sane limit) so I'll loosen up and feel comfortable dancing around my sister. Within minutes, some dorky guy in a fratboy blazer buys us both a round of shots. After taking one, I tell Jiselle that I should stop so I stay clear-headed. Her response: PUSSY! So I do what any man would do: toss back three more. Worst. Idea. Ever.

After our third round, Jiselle hops off the bar stool, turns to me and says, "DON'T LOSE ME." WHAAAT?! I've never had this responsibilty before. So, as my sister grinds with this sleazeball, I'm about 5 feet away dancing with some hot Asians, keeping her in the corner of my eye. She tells me she's going to the bathroom, so I walk with her and wait outside the door. 20 minutes later, I start getting worried so I knock on the door, "Jiselle?" No response. I walk inside and call out, "Sis?" Some random girl walks out of the stall and glares at me like I'm a psychopath.

OK, she isn't in here. I walk out and guess who I see dead-center on the dancefloor... frickin' HOUDINI! I breathe a sigh of relief that she's safe and I join her. She must've walked right past me and I didn't even notice. That's when it hits me: I'M FUCKED UP!

* BLINK *

I'm lying on my back atop a mattress. I'm soaking wet from head-to-toe. My pants and shoes are still on. My contact lenses are hanging off my eyeballs. Breathing heavily, my mind reels with all the possibilities of what's happened: Oh my God, that bastard slipped me a Roofie and dragged me down to his basement dungeon. Instinctively, I check for rape. Jiselle walks by with a suitcase and I'm at ease. "You're up? Good. Luckily, you got all the alcohol out of your system last night." OMG, I'm so sorry I ruined your birthday. "Nah, it's OK. Usually, I'm the drunk one; it was good to learn how to take care of someone else for a change." ...Great.

We spend the rest of the morning in awkward silence. As a writer, I'm naturally curious because it would make an epic story... but a bigger part of me REALLY can't handle the truth. Right after Jiselle comments, "That guy was nice enough to carry you up here," I'm done prying. I'm clueless about the events of last night and you know what? I'd like to keep it that way.  

Note to self: 

Add 'MOSAIC' to the list of clubs where JiMBO is no longer welcome.