ghetto, with a capital O

generally, i don't like to use the word "ghetto." i feel it's an upper/middle class term, with black connotations, used to describe anything negative. seeing as how i work around a number of "privileged" young ladies, i hear the word a lot (i.e. my stupid iphone is so ghetto). HOWEVER, i must employ the word today because it is the only word that will properly describe the people and events that i was subjected to yesterday.

now, my friend, god bless her. i love her, but as we've grown older, our social lives have gone in polar opposite directions. on tuesdays, i like to curl up on the couch and watch colbert report and forensic files; on tuesdays she prefers to dance on couches and be treated to bottle service. fine. so we generally don't hang out that often past nightfall. yesterday, she came over after work to discuss what's been going on in her life. an hour or so later, she asked me if i wanted to join her for dinner with this professional football player she'd met. my first response, was "no." i was tired; furthermore, i did not wish to spend my Tuesday night in groupieville with this NFL dude and his crew. more than that i KNEW i would get annoyed before the waitress had even come to take our drink orders. but for some idiotic reason (the promise of free food and/or the fact that i would make it back in time for the daily show) made me second guess my initial response, and i ended up agreeing to go.

so we go to the grand lux, the offspring of the cheesecake factory though i can't tell if it's supposed to be better or worse.

we're sitting on the bench near the door, and in they walk. five of them...for now (more would magically appear later). the main one, who seemed sort of short to be a wide receiver, led the entourage wearing a blinged-out tupac t-shirt, which matched his blinged out ears, which matched his ice-covered watched, which refracted the light and bounced it off the earrings and chains and rings and watches and diamond crusted collars of his homeboys, creating a light so brilliant, that i momentarily mistook them for the Messiah and his apostles. once that wore off, however, i was INSTANTANEOUSLY ready to go.

as we waited for a table, one of the gents began to crip-walk in the middle of the floor. i don't think he was actually spelling anything, but just sort of going around the grand lux emblem in the middle of the floor.
time to eat!
i sit on the end, across from my friend, hoping that my self-relegation to the outskirts of the group will allow me to disassociate myself from the ghetto madness a-brewin'. unfortunately, that was not to be. a guy, who i will call chubby checker, sat next to me but not before he awkwardly tries to put my coat on the back of my chair and reposition my purse. well meaning, yes, but my coat and purse were close to my body, just where i liked them...just where i needed them to be...and so i didn't really need him all in the mix.

i open my menu and pretend to concentrate in hopes that chubby won't talk to me. fat chance (no pun intended). he asks me what i think i want. i say chicken strips. he says, "aw no. this ain't the type of place where you come to get chicken strips. this the type of place you come to get a steak." wtf? i'm sorry. since when do you go to the freakin' grand lux for a steak. this is not Morton's honey or Lawry's; it's the cheesecake factory under a different name! furthermore, don't talk to me like this is my first time coming to "this here fancy place." in fact, i'm pretty sure i'd sat at that table before, which is what i told him.

i order my bellini and as i wait for it, i try not to look at any other tables because i don't want anybody to remember my face. i'm so embarrassed by these increasingly loud mouth individuals. every third word was profane and most subjects were inappropriate. like the butt naked girls they saw in brazil at carnivale. at some point, the loudest guy, who called himself sexual chocolate, starts mouthing off about how i need to take a good look at him before i decide who i want to go home with because i've never had it as good as him. then chubby leans over and says he wants to go to vegas with me and take me in a helicopter ride up and down the strip. ugh. who knew a helicopter ride could sound so repulsive?

the food arrives. i tried to give the waitress the eye, some batman signal so she could get me the hell out of there. but i think she was too busy trying to save herself to help me. i felt bad for her. loudmouth kept calling her "sugar" and "baby", and then the whole table erupted with shouts of "kobe! kobe! watch out, kobe!" followed by rounds of drunken laughter.

the food comes as do two more guys. bringing the total to seven. one of the newbies is dressed and red and proceeds to discuss his gang affiliation. maybe he was joking, but at that point, i really couldn't tell. while i'm trying to enjoy my strips and ignore the nonsense around me, chubby leans over me and asks for a pea pod. okay...i jab my fork into one. he says, "no just pick it up with your fingers." i said, "no, that's not clean." i hand him the fork, which included the pea pod, and i'll be damned if he doesn't sit there with his mouth open...as if i'm supposed to FEED HIM! i just looked at him like "is he for real?" he was like, "awww. i gotta teach you some romance. i'ma teach you to be romantic." gross. i told him i didn't want him to teach me anything.

finally, the check. as we're all preparing to leave. chubby pulls me aside and asks for my phone number. i told him he could give me his. he said he didn't know it and couldn't i just give him mine. again, wtf? what do you mean, you don't know your number? he said, well, you know, with all of this technology and shit, i get confused. i can't remember. i was like, "um, newsflash...you getting an iphone is not going to affect your phone number." oh, i was so done!
never ever again...