Butterfly in Philly Part Deaux aka Butta flies in da hood 2

So while in Philly, my cousin and his bride planned an afterparty for their friends and family who were of a certain age that loved to partay without the need for BenGay. They reserved a VIP section at a club named Plush, complete with bottles (stress the plural) chilled and ready for our consumption upon our arrival.

I was kinda tired after the reception. I was on Prego-watch the night before until 2 am and then made the drive up to Philly very early Saturday morning(no, the little one is not here yet and her mother has absolutely no patience. ahahahahaha). However, my cousin threatened eternal silence if I didn't bring my ass to the club. For once in my life, I didn't overpack so I tried the "I have nothing to wear" to which he said "You can wear anything". This right here should have been clue #1. So I dumped my overnight bag to see what I could make work. While cute, I wasn't putting back on my dress, so that's out. I have the denim shorts I wore to drive to Philly and I have the silver grey heels I wore to the wedding. Okay I see the makings of a club outfit. But damnit no cute tops. I have a brown t-shirt that says "What you see is what you get", a wifebeater (yeah I know the term is derogatory but damnit I like it.....hahahahaha), and a blue fitted t-shirt. Okay the brown t-shirt won't work because it doesn't go with the shoes, the wife beater is too sheer (its one I sleep in hence its purpose in my overnight bag) and the blue t-shirt just screams too boring. Looking back, I know I was overthinking this but I hate going out not looking camera worthy. So I roll out of my hotel room in my denim short shorts, wifebeater, and the blue tee over it to break up the look. And lets not forget the shoes.

On the way to the club, my cousin (the groom aka Cuz), my cousin Nik (the driver), and groom-cousin's childhood friend, Young 'n' Fab, do what we do best - laugh and gossip ("I don't care if she used to be over 200 pounds, she should have worn more than a tshirt to a wedding!!!!! Your grandmother was complaining about seeing the girl's draws!!!!!!!! hhahahahahahahah). As we venture into the area near the club, I am reminded why one of my favorite bloggers, the Field Negro, calls Philly "Killadelphia". According to his site the murder count in Killadelph is currently at 182, and damn if I didn't think I might be number 183 that night. Sketchy is an understatement and seedy was a come-up when I thought of how to describe the essence of the neighborhood . Yeah, yeah I know I'm from the New Jack City Era of Harlem but damnit we always had street lights. hahahahahaha I got out the car anyway thinking a) the club is called "Plush" it must be nice and b)I don't think sitting in a SUV with out-of state plates in the middle of what has to be the hood is such a great idea.

Nik, Young n Fab, and I get frisked and bag checked to enter the club (clue #2) as Cuz waited outside for the rest of his friends and his wife to arrive. As we entered the cavernous club some big momma in cheetah print booty shorts (read too tight sausage cases aka clue #3) tried to jump on the bandwagon because we were waved in for free. Meathead at the door stopped me with "She with you?" I turned and looked. Now my initial reaction was to say "HELLLLL FUCKIN' NO THE CHEETAH WEATHER GIRL IS NOT WITH ME." But then I remember that saying something like that just might make me # 183 indeed, so I turned back and politely said "no, she's not." Now big momma cheetah weather girl did look a lil salty because I didn't give her a pass or maybe that was just her 10 inch fake eyelashes getting caught on her vaseline/lip gloss but I digress. So we enter Plush and the first thing that came to mind was this:

What the hell is "plush" about red painted wood walls, broken down couches, sheets for curtains and a black linolieum dance floor?? Chicks were dancing barefoot all around us. I looked down at the floor and saw all kinds of liquids spilled, and crap shrewn everywhere. I really was in the middle of the barn. With no hay to smoke. We stood out like the sore bourgie thumbs that we are. We waited in the common area for my cousin and his wife to point us in the direction of VIP. As we tried not to laugh directly at the ghettofabulosity surrounding us, Nik announces "I need a drink!" I started to follow her but there was big dude eyeing me like I was a cheese steak with all the fixings by the bar so I decided to stay my black ass right where I was standing. She comes back with a small dixie cup. You know the type that you used to have in the bathroom as a kid??? Yeah that. For 12 bucks a shot of Patron came in a dixie cup (clue #4). Yeah it was that kind of night.

We ran into a bit of trouble with the VIP Meathead but eventually we were allowed up to our secured very important place in the joint - a loft with circle "beds" (read a circular piece of plywood covered in craft store foam and a threadbare piece of material) overlooking the stage and the dance floor. After a shouting match or 2 with somebody, the bottlessssss were brought by the waitresses who were wearing black boyshort undies and tank tops as "outfits". Oh and instead of glasses for the copious amounts of champagne, wine, vodka, and jack present, we were given a sleeve of...you guessed it dixie cups. But at least this time these were the grown-up ones.

Now you would think this would be a recipe for ghetto disaster. Mannnnn, we had a shitload of fun. From my perch in VIP, we drank, we danced, we clowned. At some point Cuz and I realized this was the first time we officially partayed together (as we both drank Moet...he from the bottle, me from the glass I got from the waitress). You would have thought we were in the most exclusive club in New York. We didn't care. It was a celebration, bitches!!!! By the time the needle slid across the record and the lights came up simultaneously (that is really how they ended the party), we were nice and tipsy. So tipsy, I borrowed (read stole) the wine glass I was drinking from, filled with the last of the champagne (email me to ask me how I did it. hahahahahahahahahaha). So tipsy I descended those steps from the VIP loft with the grace of a debutante at her ball with a wine glass secured in her bra and clutch held to chest to cover the "third boob" (oh dayumm, I guess I told you.....hahahahahaha). As we retrieved the car from valet and thought of the best way to get Cuz to his wife's hotel suite and us back to our hotel (not the same hotel), the grime of the hood began to fade in my twisted haze as the beauty of the day illuminated well into the wee hours of the night. I was profoundly happy for my cousin. And nothing could take me away from that moment. But ummm, valet dude, can you hurry up before I'm #183???? Thanks! :)

More pics....

(Wedding party, friends and fam in VIP. yes that's a sheet at the entrance to the right)

(the non-VIP down below. please note the couple dancing to the right. At one point he was banging her so hard from the back I thought she was gonna fly across the room. And yes she doesn't have on shoes. hahahahahaha)

(the newlyweds on the road to drunkville...hahahahahaha)

(me and the "bed".)

(the groom and me on the road to drunkville...hahahahaha)

(I love my shoes...hhahahahaha)

(the shoe game I play is addictive)