Although I am reasonably sure that this title explains itself, I shall embellish with some unfortunate but true details for your amusement and for purposes of your self-esteem. First, however, I will apologize to my mother who I know will read this.
Due to its considerably embarrassing content I have only shared this tale with a select few of my friends, one of whom actually dated a white rapper. Luckily for me, I got away after only one unscrupulous evening.
Two summers ago after attending an all-day beer festival, I picked up takeout and parked myself on the couch to watch a marathon of one of my all-time favorite shows, Snapped. I cannot say I blame some of those women for the murders they commit; sure, for now I simply blog about my frustrations with men but who knows what could happen down the road. While I drunkenly and insatiably scarfed down lo mein, I got a text from a friend of mine begging me to accompany her to the strip club. It was almost midnight. I was exhausted, sloshed, and still starving. I knew better than to say yes, but if an all-day beer festival does not radically impair your judgement then you paid far too much for your admission to said festival.
So I called a Lyft and got picked up by “Thomas Tha Franchise,” a fast-talking, backward-hat-wearing white boy, a Slick Rick wannabe who blasted his own jams (all five of them) on the radio. One of Tha Franchise’s masterpieces was re-mixed with “Wonderwall” by Oasis—how gangster indeed.
“I’m going to Diamond Cabaret,” I said.
“Seriously? What kind of girl goes to a strip club by herself after midnight?”
“I am meeting some people there. But if you are worried about me going alone, why don’t you come in with me?” (remember: all-day beer festival = supremely impaired judgment).
I had an effective excuse for my poor decision making (copious amounts of alcohol). Why Thomas Tha Sober Franchise agreed to go to the strip club after midnight with a complete stranger is beyond me, but I guess there is not much about white rappers that really makes sense.
If you are thinking that hanging out at a strip club with a white rapper who moonlights as a Lyft driver and who is also a total stranger in the wee hours of the morning after drinking all day at a beer festival sounds incredibly awkward, you are correct. It is unbelievably, outstandingly, exceptionally, insanely, unusually awkward.
What can I say? My drunken self was erroneously enticed by the dizzying rap beats and lyrical stylings of an aspiring hoodlum. Though I laugh about it now, inviting Thomas Tha Franchise into the strip club was hardly worth the free ride home. Or the even freer ride that came (or did not come, in my case) after that.