You gotta Fight for your right to PARTY!

Growing up with a last name staring with a “W” I was called last for everything. I was the last in line for bathroom break, the last to receive snack, sat in the last row in the classroom… and was called last to graduate. I wonder if there is some physiological study on how that affects people into adulthood. I was always in trouble for cutting the line, but you would too if you really had to tinkle and had to wait as 20 something kids fooled around at the sink.

Last night I was watching “Mean Girls” on TBS when I received a text from my girls to meet them at a club on 114th and Broadway. In NY all the dope parties pop off during the week…..so weekends are my chill time, but I had already promised I would go.

As I was stepping out of the cab I heard a couple of deep voices yell out “J WILS!” I searched the crowd to see two of my boys (Laurent and D) standing in some unorganized ciaos in front of the club. I joined them.

Me “What kind of mess is this?!”

D “On my life son! I’m leaving. This is ghetto and I’m tired of waiting”

I called my friend Charanna who was already inside. I could see her through the window… which signaled to me that it was not packed and poppin inside.

Me (on the phone with Charanna) “I’m leaving. I don’t do lines. This isn’t even moving.”

Charanna “Hold on. Zenitra is in here and she knows the promoter. We’ll get you in.”

She texts me that it will be about 5 min.

Me (to the guys) “I could hear her loud and clear over the phone…..”

Laurent “Yea, this is mad wack son. We are leaving. You coming?”

The bouncer comes out and announces there is a guest list. Thus, another reason I don’t like going out on weekends. NY has this thing with having secret codes and passwords to get into every party. IT IS NOT THAT SERIOUS! I text Charanna and ask her for the code. She texts back “BIV”.

Me (to the guys) “The passcode is “BIV”.

D “YO SON WE OUT!” Laurent and D left.

I waited 5 more min… and the line had not moved. Then the bouncers let in a group of dudes. All these females in line, and they are letting guys in???? NOT A GOOD LOOK! I called Charanna.

Me “I’m out.”

Charanna “The promoter said 5 min!”

Me “He said that 15 min ago, and it is starting to drizzle… My hair does not do rain.”

As I was walking to the corner to catch a cab back home Laurent calls and tells me to meet up with them at this bar down the block. I went. Once inside 3 of our other friends were in there… who had just left the party I was trying to get into. (NY is such a small place when you take out the tourists)

Lindsay “It was wack son! The DJ wasn’t even there. That’s why we left.”

We were too happy to be at this new spot. 4 dolla margaritas! This NEVER happens in NY and we took full advantage of the situation. Hell, Cran and Vodka will run you $17…. And that’s with Absolute… not even Goose!

D “So, Laurent and I have this new song we want to produce called “Thicka than a Snicka”.

They both start singing some hilarious hook.

Laurent “It’s going to be a parody of all those stupid sing song dance/ soulja boy joints that are out now”

Me “Can I be the video girl! I’m “Thicka than a Snicka!”

D and Laurent “You are in!”

Me “YAY!”

That’s when all of us drunkards started creating dance moves for this video… that probably will never be.

Brian “Are you guys ready to go back to that party?”

Brian, Lindsay and their friend all pull out these business card VIP passes.

Brian “Since we were already in the party they gave us cards so we would not have to wait in line if we came back”

Me “So what are me, D and Laurent supposed to do?”

Brian “Don’t worry, we’ll all get in.”

Me “I’ll just say I’m in the chick in the “Thicka in a Snicka” video.”

We head back to the party to find the line still long.

Brian “Everyone with a pass… rip it in half so we all get a piece.”

That was a great idea.

We turned our swagga up and walked passed the people in line and flashed our piece of the golden ticket. We had made it inside when all of a sudden a bouncer came behind me yelling and pointing at me.

Bouncer “AYE! YO SON! SHE ONLY GOT A HALF A RIPPED TICKET! SHE GOTTA GO SON! SHE GOTTA GO! GET HER OUT OF HERE!”

Was this dude really blowing up my spot? Even though I was in the wrong… I had to snap back and fight for my right to party.

Me (neck rolling, yelling, and snapping for the kids) “I don’t know why you are tripping. It’s free to get in anyway so it’s not like you are losing money letting me in. I don’t want to be in your funky party anyway. My friends are already in here. I’m industry! I don’t need this” BLAH BLAH BLAH (I snapped all the way out the door).

I then had to walk past all the people I cut to get in. PLAYED MYSELF. I stood at the curb… waiting for at least one person to come out. But my “FRIENDS” stayed inside. I was HEATED. Next thing I know… D was being escorted out. He had the “Get off me son!” face on.

D “I can’t believe I got kicked out. I actually had a full card, but I passed it to Laurent! On my life son! That’s not cool. I’M OUT!”

By this time I was standing there ROLLING. Thing is… D and I ended up looking like that person who is soooo desperate to get into the party. Which is not how we are in real life at all. We get invited to dope events all the time… we really did not care about this random party. And everyone knows I’m always down to just chill and be low key.

D then gets a text from Laurent that reads: “LMAO!”

D “This nigga thinks this shit is funny!”

Me (ROLLIN) “It actually is. We are grown as hell and just got kicked out the club”

I hate bouncers. They are some of the most thick neckded power trip brutes you ever interact with. Thinking they are hott stuff… when in reality they are nothing but burly ex college football players who did not get drafted or dudes who are too simple minded and fat to get into the police academy. Only they would get a rush out of kicking a girl out with half a VIP pass.

Cutting. It would get your name written on the board then… and it will get you kicked out the club now. Like I said earlier, being a “W” and always being treated “last” turned me into a life of crime. I blame my teachers for this incident!