SOHH Over It!

What could possibly make a nigga drive 15 hours…DIRTY (lol)?

Chillin wit the Ladies of SOHH Over It! of course!

So willyj took to the road for a cross country jaunt for the weekend.

The drive in, booooooooring.

I hit the Roc at 10:30am. Cruise by 620 to see whuts up. #9 ain’t home yet so I hit the Walmart.(Gotta hit the Walmart? Right?) Jump back to the spot and proceed to twist one up in the driveway when #9 rolls up.(and I drop my bag gettin out the car!!!)

Shower, smoke, Wegman’s, Burger King, liq…get back to the spot and proceed to drink. #9 thinks she’s slick, so I had to remind her of the drinking rules. GIVE ME ICE!

Time to start up the grill…who the fuck leaves a chicken leg on the grill to fossilize? Who put foil on the grill and let it burn until the aluminum turned into soot? Oh well, I do my e-husbandly duty and get it poppin.

Persia (aka Boa) shows up wit the chicken. #9 breaks out the skipper pole. She thinks the ceiling is too high for it to work…back to that later.

Let’s me get something out into the open, I spilled a drink!!!

Lemme tell you what had happened was a fly landed on the back of my neck…

SPLASH!

Folks start showin up.(SHOUT OUTS to D, K, L - names withheld to protect the innocent) Cec is in the building!

We eventually start playin a game of ‘I never’.

(pause)

**Niggaz I’m from the land of drinking games, but they usually involve cards, I’ve probably only played ‘I never’ a couple of times in my life. We need to do better next time. Any drinking game that doesn’t involved a drunken titty flash is outta order!!**

(continue)

Ol boy from next door jumps in (shout out to M) to play too. I think he wants to bang #9 out. (LOL)

So now folks are takin turns at the skripper pole to take pictures when someone BUSTS THEIR ASS when the pole slips from the ceiling. WOOOOOOOOOOOO! (where are the pictures at?)

We continue drinkin until about 1am. Spent a good five minutes lookin for D’s cellphone that she lost while chattin it up wit M, his cousin (happy B-Day) and another cat doin shots of Patrone in the kitchen. (I know it was dude’s birthday, but why did they dress up like they were tryin out for Pretty Ricky? LOL, it needed to be asked okay!)

Beddy bye!

Wake up wit NO HANGOVER. McDonald’s fucks up my biscuit? Do I even look like the type of nigga who would eat a PLAIN ASS sausage biscuit? HELL FUCKIN NAW NIGGAZ WHAT’S WRONG WIT YA’LL? Who eats a plain ass biscuit?

Cec and Persia show up and we’re sittin watching Rock of Love (this is a whole other blog post unto itself LOL). My goodness. I will say the titties look better than the selection from Flavor of Love. Fake as they were.

We finally hit the road for Darien Lake. Jammin to the Purple Rain soundtrack and Oran Juice Jones. We get our tickets and I notice they have metal detectors…OH SHIT…I’ve still got my shit in my pocket (pipe and greenery). Persia’s already through the gate…OH SHIT. Think fast nigga, think fast!

‘I’ll be riiiiiiight back.’

(pause)

**I go into the bathroom and throw the pipe in the garbage**

(continue)

Welcome to Darien Lake!!!

We head over to the Ride of Steel. Shit was scary niggaz. LOL. Get off the ride and…where the FUCK are Cec and #9 at? Can’t find ‘em. Now, they claim to had been sittin at a table, but ‘too far‘ to yell our names? SOHH they just let Persia and I walk the fuck off and get lost!!!!! Niggaz. I don’t have my cell, Dig has Persia’s. We are FUCKED.

It’s the P and Willy show for the next couple of hours. We walk, smoke, ride, walk, smoke, walk…

‘Oh shit Persia, we can call them niggaz on the phone!’

DOH!

Persia doesn’t know Cec’s or Dig’s number off the top of her head…

Fuck!

Persia does know her number…

DAYUM!

About $2 dollars later Persia gets Dig on the phone…these rooty poot niggaz are RIGHT AROUND THE CORNER FROM US.!

Oooooooooooh I haaaaaaate you! (LOL!)

Where the FUCK have ya’ll been…eating damn cotton candy and getting portraits drawn and shit…damn fuckin shame I tell ya.

We mess around a little while longer and decide it’s time to go.

(pause)

**I go back into the bathroom and retrieve my pipe, yes niggaz, in the garbage**

(continue)

Side trip to the Indian Reservation for cheap tobacco products then back to the Roc to prepare for the evening’s festivities.

Man…

Sohh, check this out…I don’t attend clubs with ‘dress codes’. Not on purpose. I really don’t appreciate that ‘No Athletic Gear’ shit at all. As a result I didn’t bring anything ‘dressy’ on the trip except for a basic button up. Not even pants. It’s fuckin 200 degrees over here. Function over form folks.

Persia tries to holla at one of her peoples to see whuts good on my dusty ass gettin into the club dressed like I’m dressed and Nooooooooooo! Since it’s an ‘afterparty’ for musicfest, they’re being extra strict on footwear. Strike ONE!

(pause)

**old nigga tries to holla at #9, Cec, and Persia while we’re walkin back and forth to the car**

(continue)

If ya’ll coulda seen the look on #9’s face…

I can tell the ladies are disgusted wit me, so I say let’s go to Walmart so I can get right.

New shoes, pair of Dickies for willyj. Zip back to the spot and now there’s a line stretchin up the block towards the corner. Persia hollas at ol boy again and we jump to the front (props). We get in, and in the process of Persia ‘gettin nekked‘ in the restroom, they rope off the downstairs of the club.

Niggaz, that’s one line to get in, two lines to dance? Strike TWO!

Everybody and their cousin is tryin to inch up to the front of the line, everybody seems to know anybody who’s at the front don’t cha know.

Shit is getting real salty right about now. I hit the bar like ‘fuck this’ and proceed to chill out. Next thing you know, the bouncer yells ‘capacity’ and damn if they didn’t have the couches roped off for some kind of ‘vip’ type shit **insert serious eyeroll**. Waitress comes by and tells #9, cec, and I to get the fuck up cuz it’s reserved…

Persia works her magic and we get passed the rope to go downstairs, #9 wanted me to leave my just paid for drinks to hurry up… chile please…LOL. I wasn’t about to leave my drink lady are you CRAZY!!!

We get downs stairs and it’s wall to wall.

Some dancehall, some 50? Some ‘A Bay Bay‘… when in Rome (Canada), do what the Romans do. I guess. I do my ‘dance in one place’ dance and shit starts gettin better. **sidebar, Persia knows some cute white gurls, ahem, cjp!!!!!!!** But damn if it ain’t 5000 degrees down in that muthafucka, so before too long the ladies are ready to bounce out. We drop off Cec, and try to hit last call at the ‘around the way’ spot. No dice and no soup for us. So it’s back to the spot.

Night night.

Sunday morning, no hangover.

Hugz, goodbyes, I hit the road at 11am.

15 hours, and a brief state patrol chase later, I make it back to 2104.

And now I’d like to give a special SHOUT OUT to Illinois license plate number 676 1146.

Navy blue Trailblazer, LS trim.

I owe you 1 steak dinner for takin that speeding ticket and keepin a nigga outta the Ohio lockup!!!!! And FUCK OHIO!

Whew…