The 7 D.E.P. Chronicles: The Curious Case of Pretty Rickie

*Juke walks up to the band leader and requests a selection.  The song: Untitled (How Does It Feel) by D'Angelo.*

This story is one that is built on the strength of our confidence as both a line and as the Delta Delta chapter of Alpha Phi Alpha.  The participants have been aliased in order to protect the privacy of those in question (since we may wanna run for office one day.) 

Greek life is a societal undertaking that can be both a blessing and a curse.  In the right hands, the title of frat/soror can be a unifying experience, but in the wrong hands, it can be a detriment to the esteem of the whole institution.  On occasion, the difference between the right hands and the wrong hands depends on the situation, as many members of the BGLO system have been on both sides of this coin.

It is understood, however, that when you become a member of a BGLO, that you carry the name and esteem of that organization with you, and therefore, your decisions should be based on the fact that this is most definitely the case.  However, depending on the situation, the leniency of what is unsavory may vary.  One place where leniency tends to be giving in larger doses...

STEPSHOWS!

Now don't get me wrong.  A good stepshow should always represent the respect and admiration that has been bestowed in the participants by the chapters they represent.  Good stepshows are exercises in theatrics, precision, team work, a few dances, and occasionally, something slightly provocative for the opposite sex (within the realms of good taste.)

The last quality is the one where this story will develop.

So Fall 2002 was the very first Homecoming stepshow for 7 D.E.P.  Our deuce, who will go by the alias T.P., was the stepmaster, and honestly, should have been the stepmaster for any and all movies regarding this delicate art.  Simply put, your stepmaster can't top T.P. on his worst day, and I promise that he didn't pay me to say that.  Starting that summer, T.P. and our prophytes went to work developing a stepshow that would be different from anything that ASU had ever seen.  And as members of the step team, we had a short time to catch up to the stepping curve.

The months of August and September were devoted to developing this show.  The team practiced hard four times a week, since we were basically instructed to practice that much or leave the team.  But you know what?  Winners do what it takes to win, so we practiced our asses off.  Additionally, we went into endurance training to ensure that we don't tire on stage so that we could give a fully energetic performance.

I don't have to tell you that we won the step show.  The show was based on the coming of The Rapture, as foretold in the Bible.  The show was amazing.  Hardcore stepping, spirtual music, and an overall uplifting theme made the audience feel spiritually revived and our advisors relieved. (They honestly always get on edge before shows since they don't always know what we plan on doing before we do it.) 

Now that was a serious show, but anyone that knows 7 D.E.P. knows that we love to have fun and can clown with the best of them.  We had another show in two weeks, but the crowd at that show, we knew, would not be the dignified, uplifted crowd that we performed for at ASU.  These would be n*ggas...in every sense of the word.  Yet, we wanted that money for the chapter, so we went with it.

The theme of the show changed to something more comical.  We did a Gorillas in the Mist theme...sure, it is a little hackneyed, but it was meant to be fun, and we made sure it was. The steps were just as crisp as they were in the very first show, and we were so used to doing them that I STILL remember the entire show 8 years later. 

But something was missing...

We had to do something for the ladies. In the homecoming show, we were able to get around it because it was a Biblically-themed show. (Besides, who wants to go to hell for slow grinding in a gospel stepshow? Not us...)  But this crowd would not be as forgiving if we didn't give the women something to remember.

We devised a nefarious plot. It was one that hinged on the audacity of ignorance...steeped in the courageous efforts of one man and one man only...his name is Pretty Rickie.

Now anyone that knows Pretty Rickie knows that he is a dude of impeccable swag. I hate that word, but sometimes, you have to use what is the best term to describe the situation, and Rickie embodies that.  But this plan was something that even he, in all his swagacity, had to be nervous about.

The show started off as planned.  We were stepping hard and precise.  The crowd loved us...especially since some other group in Blue and White had bored them prior to our show. (I think they were Crips, but don't quote me on that.)  The crowd was into us, and we were giving them their money's worth.

Then it was showtime for Pretty Rickie.

The lights went dim, and the DJ cued the music.  Our plan: to re-enact the D'Angelo "How Does It Feel" video, but with Rickie as the spotlight. And just to give you an idea of where this is going...

This is D'Angelo...

This is Pretty Rickie...


Yeah, we went there. Clearly you can see the resemblance.

So the female gorilla (played by the beautiful and vivacious Nikkie L.) came on stage and saw an oiled up Pretty Rickie standing on stage in nothing but a towel.  The audience laughed hysterically.  As PR sung the song, you could see the old women in the audience reaching in their bras for tips to throw on stage and hear the laughter that spread through the entire scene.

Then, he dropped the towel.

Now of course, we didn't let him stand naked on the stage.  We put a large "CENSORED" sign in front of him, which only added to the hysterics. (And he had on some shorts behind the sign...we weren't THAT crazy.)  By now, the entire crowd was rolling with laughter.  In fact, it took everything we had on stage not to laugh as well.

Needless to say, that solidified our win.  We won the show hands down, and to this day, we still get people asking us, 'WHY?"

I will never understand how we, as a team, decided that this was okay, nor will I ever understand how we were able to talk PR into doing the unthinkable.  But in the end, it was one of those moments that we will never forget. So if you should ever see any member of 7 D.E.P., make sure to ask about the Case of Pretty Rickie and the Stepshow hijinx.  They would love to tell the tale.

Thank GOD YouTube was not out back then...

*Dropping the mic*

The Convenience of Truth

Three scenarios:

First scenario-A radical militant group in the US sends a warning to the government that if they do not meet the demands of the group, an attack will be staged that will kill the lives of many innocent citizens.  The government chooses not to negotiate with the group, and subsequently, they attack the residents of the closest metropolis.  The militants later release a statement saying that the government should have listened, and that the blood of the innocents will forever be on the hands of the government.

Second scenario- A serial killer has locked a victim in a vault with a limited air supply.  The police are questioning him about the victim trying to save her, and he tells them to do as he says or she dies.  When the police refuse to play along, the victim dies.  The serial killers response...I tried to tell you to simply do as I say, but you didn't listen.  It's your fault.

Third scenario- A guy tells the woman he is dating that he loves her and wants to be her boyfriend, but he has to confess that he has been seeing more than one woman. She says okay, and sticks around, waiting for him to cut ties with the other women.  Finally, he approaches the woman and says, "Though I love you, I think I may want to be with this young lady over here.  I know you are hurt, but at least I told you...so you had a choice."


In these three scenarios, three common themes occur: someone is manipulating another party through the use of emotion and/or fear, someone in the end gets hurt, and ultimately, the offending party feels that telling the truth (or giving a warning) was enough of a justification to absolve said party of the responsibility.

Now I know that the first two scenarios seem to be in a far different category than the third scenario, especially when you compare a broken heart to innocent lives being lost.  But technically, is there really much of a difference in terms of the mindset that led to each of these outcomes?  I dare say no.  The notion that revealed truth can somehow negate any responsibilities associated with that truth is a notion that many of us utilize out of convenience, but we rarely think about the true magnitude of our actions until we are on the other side.  And thus, we often hurt others under the pretense that we provided ample warning, so the results of the situation are not our responsibilities.

Now I propose that we look deeper into what really happens with these situations.

The Telling of the Truth

Telling the truth is a practice that is highly touted in our society.  We admire people who are able to be honest and forthcoming with their feelings and deeds. Even as children, we are taught to tell the truth in order to be a better person, and though many of us stray from that at times, it is something that most people have a moderate capacity to do.

However, the motive behind your truth telling has to be equally as noble.  Case in point:  When Mike decided to "tell the truth" in Tyler Perry's Why Did I Get Married, it was clear that his intention was not to tell the truth in order to bring about good, but to cause drama amongst the people at the table.  His truth, then, lacked the nobility of being of pure intention.  Same goes for when we tell the truth. If we are telling the truth for the sake of honesty and purity, then it is a noble cause.  If we are telling the truth in order to gain an advantage or absolve ourselves of responsibility, then we are no better than the person who lies to do the same thing.  We have to assess our overall purpose behind what we do, even if it is a traditionally good deed.

The Recipients of Truth

I remember when I was in undergrad, and a young lady expressed interest in me.  She was sincerely interested in me because she felt I was a good man with a good heart, and that was important to her.  I mentioned to her that I wasn't ready for a relationship.  She said she understood.  We kicked it for months on end, doing things that couples do, and she was happy.  But when I finally decided I was ready for a relationship, I decided to go with someone new.  She was crushed, and in my mind, I did my due diligence by letting her know that I wasn't ready, nor did I ever say that when I was ready, it would be her that I wanted. 

But now that I am older, I realized that I honestly took advantage of the situation that we were in.  The fact is, I enjoyed every benefit of having a woman who was into me without any of the responsibility that comes with treating her equally as important.  I knew she had feelings, and I knew that they were getting deeper by the moment.  So even though she heard my "truth," she didn't necessarily receive it. 

I know that common sense plays a major role in how we treat people and how those people allow us to treat them, but in retrospect, the honorable thing for me to do would be to distance myself from her until her feelings could subside.  Sure, she was partly responsible for pursuing me with full knowledge that I wasn't ready for a relationship.  But I also had equal blame by cultivating her feelings with my time, attention, and company during that period, all under the guise of being "truthful" and therefore not responsible for what happened to her feelings. 


The Convenience of Truth

So what is it that I am proposing?

My overall goal with this post is to simply put it out there as plainly as I can...simply telling the truth to someone does not negate the responsibilities that come with the subsequent chain of events if 1) you don't tell the honest truth with honest intentions and 2) if you let the recipients of your truth continue to walk down a path that you know will allow them to be hurt.

So in telling the truth, we need to take time and assess the method by which we tell the truth, the rationale and purpose behind our truth-telling, and the reaction that comes from the truth being told.  It is not sufficient to speak honestly if we know that we are only doing so to assuage our own guilt but allowing the other parties involved to continue to be fooled in the process. It is up to us to take it an extra step, and in doing so, we can truly do right by those who are the recipients of our truth and, in a bigger context, remain true to the honesty that we were attempting to display.

This is merely my opinion...I could always be wrong.

The 7 D.E.P. Chronicles: The Thrilla That Is Gorilla

*Juke searches through the catalog of songs on his jukebox.  There it is...the perfect song: Ludacris's "Move B*tch.*

If you are an Alpha in South Georgia, you know two things: 1) You will be investigated for hazing, regardless of whether you are really hazing and 2) you earn your stripes by going to Gorilla Thrilla in Valdosta, Ga.  What is Gorilla Thrilla, you ask?  Well, I will tell you.

Gorilla Thrilla is pre-eminent party event of the Alpha calendar in Southern Georgia.  Every year, the brothers of VSU put together the crunkest, nakedest, and sweatiest party that the world has ever seen. Simply put, the party is legendary, and if you haven't been to one, it needs to be on your bucket list. And since Mu Omicron is a brother chapter of sorts with my undergraduate chapter, we make it a point to attend the event every year. 

A few things you can count on at Gorilla Thrilla:

1) Every dude will get a lap dance or a slow hunch against the wall.  It is inevitable.  I am so glad YouTube was not big when I was in college.

2) Most of the women, with the exception of the sorors and the upperclassmen, would be naked.  As an example, one year, some girls came to the party in dresses made of saran wrap and pasties.  Yeah, that naked.

and 3) Somebody's ass would get whooped (typically a local or a football player).

Now considering numbers one and two, it doesn't make sense for dudes to get mad enough for number three to happen. But that is when we must remember that the ones fighting typically aren't gentlemen...these are the REAL N*GGAS!

And so our story begins...

It was Gorilla Thrilla 2002 (or 2003...they all blur together after 8 years of attending).  The atmosphere at Rick's nightclub was filled with debauchery and no-goodness, and it was right up our alley. As soon as we walked in, we went straight to the cage area, where we were greeted by the most supple of freshmen women.  The ladies were choosing, and we were all selected in the first round of the draft. (Damn shame that the other dudes had to take left overs, but hey...I told you 7 D.E.P. ain't bout them games.)

So about an hour into the lap dances, we decided to take a break and head to the lobby area to regroup. It was situated between the two club rooms, so we took a quick break there before heading back.

Or so we thought.

Well, as it turns out, a fight was brewing in the lobby area, and we walked right into the start of this fight. What followed was one of the most spectacular ass-whoopings ever seen on the eastern seaboard.

Most fights are usually a bunch of dudes throwing punches and stomping people out, but no real damage being done.  However, remember when I told you that these are REAL N*GGAS?  Yeah, well it showed in their fighting.  The fight was even (10 on 10) and everyone basically squared off into pairs to do battle.  One thing you can say about this fight...it was a fair one-on-one brawl. Oh you shoulda seen this melee...bottles upside the head...uppercuts to the jaws...it was phenomenal.

Just as Rickie and I thought we had seen it all...one dude in the crowd said "MOVE BACK!"

The entire crowd parted and made room.  As soon as the room was clear, the guy picks up the dude he was fighting, and powerbombs him from the top of a couch through a table.  I couldn't make this up if I tried.  A full-out "Pearl River Plunge" type powerbomb through a standard wood table.  The entire crowd looked on in amazement...even the other people who were fighting.

After going through the table, surprisingly, the dude stood back up and tried to get his bearings.

That's when he caught a chair to the back of the head.  Seemed like overkill, but I have to admit that it did add icing to the top of an already spectacular cake.

Now you may be asking...where was security in all of this?  Security was trying not to get their asses kicked during the fight, so they took their time breaking this one up. (See, whereas you saditty people may be used to having trained security at your clubs, down here in S. GA, we just get the biggest football players that need extra money and they now become security.  Sometimes it works...sometimes it doesn't.  The next story will cover the latter.)

The weirdest thing about it all was...EVERYBODY WALKED AWAY FROM THE FIGHT.  No ambulance needed, no one went to jail.  Everyone got tired of fighting, called it quits, and walked out of the club unharmed.  I promise you, if this was a YouTube video, it would have gotten a million views in the first week alone.  We were in such utter disbelief that we had to deal with our shock the best way we knew how...we went back to getting lapdances. (And those young ladies waited patiently for our return. So if you are reading this, we thank you for being so understanding.)

To this day, we still don't understand how a fight of that magnitude could end so peaceably, but one thing is for certain...Gorilla Thrilla lived up to its name. 

Join me next time for part 2 of the Gorilla Thrilla tales...it involves two cracked bottles of Moet and 10 GBI agents.

*And scene*

The 7 D.E.P. Chronicles: Cock Blockers Never Prosper

*Juke fires up the jukebox.  He selects track E:12...Jill Scott's "Hate on Me."*

Let me start by saying that there are three types of people that I feel should be locked away for life:

1) Pedophiles
2) Rapists
3) Cockblockers.

Now I know cockblocking may not seem as serious of an offense as the first two, and it isn't (which is why I placed it 3rd.)  But make no mistake, it is a capital offense, and should always be treated as such.  I hate when men feel the need to insult, shine on, or high post on other dudes in order to gain the attention of a woman.  I don't think this is something that has EVER happened in my line of 7 D.E.P. In fact, if anyone can think of a time where my line cockblocked on another dude...please, let me know. I will wait!

YOU CAN'T DAMN DO IT.  CAUSE WE DON'T LIVE BY THAT CODE.

However, sadly, there are bruhs that feel as though they need to do said activities in order to garner the attention of the female species.  This is a tale of such an activity.  The names have been changed to protect the guilty, but the people who know the dude will know immediately who the guilty party is.  In fact, it is safe to say that the cockblocker in question, hereby designated as "A.I.A.H.", has been proficient in his blocking that the entire frat should nominate him for the Outland Trophy.

It all started with a roadtrip.  Brian (who is my number 7, my homeboy, and probably the closest person to a brother that I have had in life) and I were heading to Macon to hang out with the AKAs of Fort Valley State University.  Now to explain, the bruhs and the Ks always have had and always will have a unique and special bond as Phirst Pham, and we as a chapter and a line tried to uphold that love wherever we went while in undergrad.  It served us well, and for that reason, we still have bonds and ties with these women (particularly in the state of Georgia) that is steeped in respect, adoration, and sincere love between brothers and sister.  So when the time came for the newest line of AKAs from the Alpha Beta chapter to host their first event, we were all in.

We arrived to Macon, and we were ready. Strolls together: check!  Fresh outfits: check!  Suaveness in place: check!  The game was official, and we were the star players.

So we walk in the club, and we see a swarm of beautiful ladies of AKA.  There were gorgeous, as to be expected but...

They were the only ones there.

Apparently, advertisement was not something that was covered prior to this event.  But being the good bruhs that we are, we decided to stay and get the party crunk with them.  And like true pham, they partied hard with just the two of us for a good hour and a half. 

At that point, about three more bruhs showed up from Atlanta, and we greeted them as we always do.  Two of the bruhs that arrived were bruhs that we kicked it with often, so we were geeked to get back up with em.  But that fifth muhfugga is the one that we don't vibe with. He is A.I.A.H.

A.I. stands about 6'4, and is an old head from like 95.  He is DeBarge beige, and you can tell when you meet him that he probably still has some light skinned entitlement issues based on his success in the 90s. So whenever he was around, he gave off an air of "You need to like me because I am khaki, I paid $200 dollars for this shirt, and my momma said so." (Of course, I am paraphrasing, but you get the drift.)

So the party progresses, and we are vibing with the sorors and sharing stories with them about our crossing.  As the party comes to a close, two of the sorors invite Brian and me back to Ft. Valley because they didn't want us to be on the road late. (See, Ethel would have been proud...that's love right there.) But as soon as she said those words, A.I. heard her and said, "Yeah, WE (as in the 7 of us) would love to come stay with y'all."

Now mind you, we had two different ideas of what was about to go down.  Brian and I wanted a place to crash...can't say the same for the others.

Just to help you do the math as we go through the following scenario:  There were 3 AKAs, 5 Alphas.  That leaves a surplus of two dudes, which meant that if pairing off was to occur, two people would have to take a loss.  Not a problem for Brian and I, since we weren't trying to get with them like that anyway.  But the problem with competition is that other competitors don't know when you aren't competing.  And thus, the battle for supremacy at whatever cost begins.

We hit up the Waffle House because WH is only good after 2 am and before 11 am.  As we get to the Waffle House, I tell my LB that after we eat, I am going to stay with another soror who I am cool with, so just take my car and call me in the morning.  He agrees, and we go in to meet with the ladies.

When we get into the restaurant, I hear someone ask a question.

"Who's blue BMW is that?"

Now as a point of clarification, my car is a 97 BMW with my name on the license plate.  Seeing as though I am the ONLY dude named John at the restaurant, it should have been obvious. But I indulged his inquiry.

"What's wrong?  Did I leave the lights on?"

"Is it your car?" he asked back sarcastically.

At this point, my bullshyt meter was going haywire! 

"Yeah, that's me.  What's up?"

This dude has the nerve to ask me, "How much did your daddy pay for it?"  Everyone in the restaurant stopped, including the girls, and the whole room fell silent.

"I paid for it myself with money saved from jobs." As I answered, the group began to ease out of the tension and start back talking.

"Are you sure you paid for it yourself?" he asks.

The tension gets restored.

Now at this point, I am kinda pissed.  It is obvious that he is doing this for the sake of the girls, since everytime he asks me a question, he makes eye contact with the soror sitting closest to me.  Super lame? Yes. Did it matter to him? Not a bit.

So I give him the "Gone for I hit ya n*gga" look and start eating my food.  I thought he was done with the questions, but I see him looking pensive, as if he really had more questions. 

He asks, " So what year is that?"

"It's a 97."

"Oh see, I can't do no less than a 2002, bruh.  I got to have the newest car out," he says to me, as if his 35 year old ass is doing something special by buying a new car.

"Well bruh, if I were to lease my cars, I'd be able to do a 2002 as well.  But I just prefer to own it and not have a bill."

Finally this shuts him up.

I call the soror I am staying with, and she comes to meet me.  When she gets there, I pay for my food and tell everyone peace.  A.I. just couldn't hold his peace.

"Hey bruh, where you going?  Can I come with you?"

Are you serious?  Like really...are you serious?  In my mind, I had all kinds of monosyllabic words of curse to share with him, but I kept my cool, and simply said NO.  He looked disappointed, but oh well.  I don't deal well with shiners, and he was trying to do just that.

My night was comfy.  Slept well, woke up to a good breakfast being cooked by a wonderful woman, and watched TV with her until I got the call. 

Apparently, when I left, he just shifted his hating focus to my LB. We spent the entire ride back discussing how much of a hater this dude really is.

The moral of the story is this: Fellas, there are too many women out here who want a good man for us to have to slit throats over one.  Furthermore, fraternity men need to understand that if a woman wants you, she will choose you...so don't cut down another man if you feel you won't be chosen.  It reeks of desperation.

The legend of A.I.A.H is one that every man should know, and is important for you as the reader, since his hating methods and trifling ways will be a recurring theme throughout the 7 D.E.P. Chronicles.  It's sad that people can get to be that way, but fortunately for the brothers of 7 D.E.P., we were blessed with the gifts necessary to prevail, no matter who the hater(s) may be.

Keep it pimpin'!

The 7 D.E.P. Chronicles: When Wingman Goes Wrong

*Juke puts a quarter into the juke box and selects a song worthy of this blog.  The song: Body and Soul by Anita Baker*

Greetings readers.

So I have decided to revamp my old blog and use it to release some creative energy.  I have had a lot on my mind lately, both good and not-so-good, that I feel I need to get on paper before my time expires.  So today, I present the first installment of the 7 D.E.P. chronicles.  I hope you enjoy.

Before I begin, maybe I should tell you what 7 D. E. P. is.  7 D. E. P. is the line name I share with six other men who, on Dec. 1st 2001, enter the brotherhood of Alpha Phi Alpha through the Delta Delta chapter at Albany State University.  The D. E. P. stands for De'phi'ant Elite Pharaohs, and I don't know if the prophytes knew exactly how accurate that name would grow to be, but we lived up to it.  To this day, we are still supportive and protective of each other, and I honestly couldn't have seen myself on a line with any other brothers other than these gentlemen.

WITH THAT SAID...These muthafuggas have gotten me into some major situations at times.  This especially applies to Rickie Frazier and Brian Dawson.  So these excerpts are my attempt to catalogue the memories that I share with these fellas and to share with you, the viewing audience, exactly how innocent I was before I started dealing with these dudes.

When Wingman Goes Wrong

Rickie (aka Black Ice, aka Big Rick, aka Pretty Rickie, aka Westside Pimpin') has probably been the one LB that I have roadtripped with the most...primarily because we didn't have shyt to do during our last year at ASU. So whenever there was a party to attend, we were there.  (See, the key to being a true scholar is the ability to enjoy life while learning...and we did that often.)

The Alphas at Ft. Valley had a party scheduled, and like any good brothers, we decided that we needed to be in that number.  We loaded up Rickie's truck and headed to the Valley in search of some ignorance and mayhem, and based on the previous track record with the Ft. Valley parties, we knew some good ol' hunchin' and maybe a few lap dances from the wonderful FVSU freshmen girls would be in order. (Don't judge...this was undergrad).

BOY WERE WE WRONG.

We got there, and there were 7 bruhs, a DJ, and 5 young ladies.  No dancing was going on.  None of the legendary hunching that usually accompanies the undergrad parties.  Just a bunch of empty space and sad faces.  But we drove an hour and a half to get there, so Rick and I decided to make the most of it.

As we walked through the party, I saw my LB stop dead in his tracks. There she was...the most beautiful young lady that (up to that point) he had ever seen. (As a side note, my LB is married now, so obviously, he found somebody more beautiful, but at the time, this was the pinnacle.)  As he gazed at her, their eyes locked, and for some reason I started hearing Strawberry Letter 22 by Brothers Johnson playing in the background.  It was something out of a movie of sorts.

Rick made his move towards the young lady, and they began chatting.  There was an instant connection, primarily because there were NO OTHER CHICKS to connect with.  Her name was Dee, and she was, in her words, "happy to see some sexy, suave, and debonair young men finally show up at the event. " (Of course I am paraphrasing, but it was something similar.) But beside every beautiful, attractive young lady is a hating ass friend that is always "ret to go."  And that is why you have a wingman.

*pause*
Lesson for the ladies:  Fellas have an understanding with each other that (unless the men are married or in serious relationships) we will play wingman for our homeboys in order to facilitate conversation.  This is in the Man's Handbook pg 4, section 2a: "How to deal with cockblockers."  Use that to your advantage next time your friend's watch is stuck on H8 o clock.
*play*

So instantly, I do what good brothers do...I take the friend to the side and begin chatting with her.  We start talking a bit, and I throw out the charm in order to make her feel better about being at this social gathering of picayune proportions. The understanding was that I would chat with her while Rick worked his magic. Overall, it should have been about 30 minutes at the most.

We start talking about the basics: she was Christian, a junior in college, really funny and smart...almost perfect. She was into me, and enjoyed the fact that besides being light-skint, bow-legged, and cute-faced...I also treated her with respect during this meeting.  Of course, as the time drew to a close, I started to wrap up the conversation by exchanging numbers with her.  This would signal to Rick that it was time to end things, and we could make our next move.

That's when I see this mf-er driving off with Dee, leaving me on stuck. 

With almost impeccable timing, the friend (which we will call Q) begins to tell me all the reasons why she is single. And believe me, the list was long.

Now I have a theory that crazy people KNOW they are crazy, and therefore have developed ways to hide it until the right time.  And for her, the right time was now, since I had no ride, couldn't leave, and had to listen to her chat.  She starts telling me how she was on two different anti-depressants to keep her mood elevated, how she always felt sheltered by her parents since they were preachers, and how God led me into her life that night for a reason.

I love God, but he and I gotta work on our communication, cause I did NOT get that memo.

I start getting edgy now because she is basically letting me know, in so many words, that at any moment she could mentally go bye-bye, and I wasn't sure that I was ready for that.  Well, the party ended at that time, and I was forced to sit in the car with her until Rick came back. (Incidentally, it was two hours before he actually came back.)  While in the car, I am trying to look straight ahead, and she is staring down the side of my face. 

So she asks me what kind of music I like.  I said Anita Baker.  Who knew that I just happened to be sitting next to the BIGGEST ANITA BAKER FAN ever.  And when I say the biggest fan, I mean, she was a member of the fan club, dues paid and all. Why the hell did I say Anita Baker?

For the next hour and a half, I was treated to a solo concert of all of Anita's greatest hits.  I didn't even realize Anita had that many songs, but I heard each and every hit.  It got so bad that she began to sing the ones that NO ONE REMEMBERS a capella.  All the while, I am sneaking to text Rick to tell him to bring his ass on, but of course, this was during the time of the old school Nokia phones, so there was no way that he would get the text in time.

Finally, this dude decides to come back.  I jump out the car, jump in his truck, wave to Q and Dee, and say "Rick, let's go."  I didn't say anything to this dude for about 30 mins into the ride home, but I was just glad to be done with the situation. (Or so I thought.)

For the next week, this girl called me every three hours of every day. I woke up to a phone call from her, ate breakfast with her calling. Lunch time...same thing.  I couldn't take it.  That's when I learned a valuable lesson: do not give out your phone number during the first conversation if you can help it. Like Chris Rock said, you are not meeting the real person...you are meeting their representative.

I tried ignoring her texts, but she would just call Rick and curse him out as a surrogate, and he would relay the message to me.  I tried ignoring her calls, but *67 is a powerful tool for blocking your number.  Finally, I told her to never call me anymore, and hung up. I didn't want to be mean, but clearly, the message was not being received.

To this day, I still wonder if she ever got the help she needed.  But I am glad that heifer left me alone.  Being a brother to your LBs has many perks, but every so often, you have to do somethings that you just simply wouldn't want to do.  With that said, I am glad Rickie found the love of his life and married her, cause I don't think I could survive another outing like this on his behalf.