Ain’t No Wasted Like Asian Glow Wasted: True Story

I was Asian muthafuckin Glow WAAAAAAASTED.

 

But if I was AGW, everybody else was Khmer Krunked, and there is no way in hell I can ever reach that level!

 

But I’m getting ahead of myself.

 

Way ahead.

 

Let me paint you a picture of my Saturday night.

 

Me and #1 RI BFF  hop in her clean ass ride and have a hype session to our theme song as we head to her BFF, P-Nice’s, house. We get there about 7-7:30ish. Hurrr done, nails done, errythang did. <– Crute!

We got into that house and P-Nice was in her room getting ready. Tonight was all about her! She hit the big 25, and as we all know, this is a #prettybigdeal! So we had to get the drinks flowing ASAP and #1 RI was on. Pear Grey Goose and Cran-Raspberry in hand! Bottoms uuuup!

It’s important to pre-game, pre-game. We were waiting for all of P-Nice’s guests and the party bus to show up.

Around 8:45ish, the most gangstaest Asian dudes I have ever met in my whole life showed up! Real rap, their black-ccents were more authentic than mine! And the girls they walked in with where the BADDest. Their shoe game had pneumonia! #SICK <–I won’t have anymore Drake moments. Promise.

I was elected as the DJ and the bartender. Umm I’m really bad at the former and really dangerous as the latter. Like really dangerous. I created two drinks that night: Fruity Pebbles and The Jersey Slugger. You know how they say you should never get high off your own supply? I’m never drinking another drink I make/invent. EVER. Smh. I hadn’t been drinking for more than an hour and was GONE.

Whatever. Excuse my newly developed light-weightedness. My sole job for the evening, aside from picking out some funky flyy dance tunes, was to get everyone Asian Glow Wasted.

Now I know you all are probably like, “Why are you such a racist? All like ‘Asian Glow Wasted’ and shit.” But I didn’t invent it. I mean I can come up with some good stuff, but I don’t think I’m THAT good.  More to the point, you want to know WTH AGW actually is.

So, I’ll tell you.

In the past, #1 RI told me that you aren’t really all that wasted if your only get “White Boy Wasted.”

No.

Apparently the only kind of wasted that matters is Asian Glow Wasted.

 

Riiiiiiight…ok. Wasted is wasted, right!?

 

Yea, no apparently not. The origin of this particular type of wastedness has a backing in medical fact. According to SCIENCE (and Wikipedia) “Asian Glow” comes from the following:

“An estimated one out of three people in East Asian countries have an alcohol flush reaction, colloquially known as “Asian Glow”, a condition where the body cannot break down ingested alcohol completely because it lacks the genetically coded enzyme that performs this function in the bodies of drinkers with “European” tolerance levels. Flushing, or blushing, is associated with the erythema (reddening caused by dilation of capillaries) of the face, neck, and shoulder, after consumption of alcohol.” Source

#Themoreyouknow

 

Soooo, HA! I’m not a jerk! But we’re getting off topic.

 

As soon as people walked in the door, I immediately made them a drink and started them on their pre-game/pre-party bus AGW quest. I did a damn good job, if I may say so myself. So good, in fact, that by the time the party bus showed up, I was already three sheets to the wind and had informed #1 RI BFF that I couldn’t feel my face. #Winning!!!

You know, it’s really, really, REALLY hard to mix drinks on a moving bus; ESPECIALLY when you’re already drunk! I just kept falling. I gave up on trying to stand after a while and just started mixing the drinks with the cups in my lap. It was an executive decision that needed to be made. Otherwise, the shots they wanted me to pour would have been on the damn floor! #Realtalk!

 

By the time we got to the club everyone was super ON and I had OFFICIALLY reached the coveted status of ASIAN GLOW WASTED…even though I don’t glow.

 

I mean look at how noice I was. I even posted Facebook proof!

Status update 1: Is Asian muthafuckin glow wasted!!!!!

Status update 2: This cnt be real life!!!

Status update 3: Pretty sure its illegal to be this drung [sic] as the only blk person. Love my Asians!!! These Ni-***agas [sic] go hard ad [sic] hell!!? Love em!!! #1 RI BFF you my nigg!!

Status update 4: Ill she a mean drunk. We ain’t froendz [sic] right now. Real rap.

Status update 5: Is like 10secs frm yaking. Pretty sure about that.

 

Ty auto-correct. You make seem like less of a drunk [sic]. <3s yooouuuuu!!!!! <– #FAIL

 

Now #4, this is where the story gets good.

I learned a very important lesson over the weekend. This lesson is crucial for one to learn; the sooner the better, for all parties involved. Now you’re confused. You’re like, “Well what the hell did you learn that is crucial to my life?”

Glad you asked.

It is essential that you know what kind of drunk your friends are. No, I’m dead ass serious. Like, seriously, serious. <– You know someone or something is important when a particular word is doubled up on. LOL

There are several kinds of drunks. You know, there is the “Happy Drunk.” This person loves everyone. This is the person that you have to keep an eye on because if you don’t, next thing you know they’re tonging down strangers or on the verge of being tossed into the back of an unmarked white moving van. This drunk can also turn into that “clingy” person that just can’t take a hint. Then there is the “Depressed Drunk.” This person will Hurricane Katrina all over your parade. They like to sit and talk about the most depressing things they can think of and then get all offended when you tell them to STFU and go ‘head on with all of that bullshit. Next is the “Chill Drunk.” This person wouldn’t care if their life was on fire because, for them, everything is all good. They just want to keep a drink in their hand and kick it with good people. They don’t want noooooo problems. Finally, there is the “Mean Drunk.” This person is a whole ass asshole. Like Kanye West level. They are indignant and stubborn. They are likely to either get into a fight with you or to cause a fight with strangers, or some how work it out that your ass is fighting a stranger because of them! <– You know I’m not lying.

It is necessary to know what kind of drunks you will potentially end up with. It makes the difference to whether your are partying with a powder keg or a porn star or Captain Emo.

I found out what kind of drunks I was kicking it with. Most of P-Nice’s guests, if not all, where Chill Drunks with a splash of Happy! #IFuxwiddit . Everyone was having a good time; we were laughing, drinking and dancing.

Well not everyone.

Joke was on me because apparently everyone else knew. HAHAHA-the-fuckin-HA!

#Imnotlaughing

#1 RI BFF is a Mean Drunk…

And guess who was in the crosshairs of the Mean Drunk! That’s right ME!

 

This, ahem, chick…

::sigh:: For most of the night she was cool. Matter of fact, we didn’t even really see that much of each other (from what I can remember). I mean we got our Dougie on together for a little bit, but after that I didn’t see too much of her. You know she was all boo’d up in the club (#sandtothebeach). She was all cheesin’ and cuffed like this is my boo and he all handsome and shit and we make such a cute couple and shit and we all in like and shit. Oh shuuut uuuup!!! <–LMAO I’m such a hater.

 

I mean it was all rainbows, unicorns, puppies, glitter and Rihanna “We Found Love”…until it wasn’t.

 

See all the trouble started when RI’s boo, left to go check out another level of the club (I thought he had stepped away to go to the bathroom) and she didn’t know where he went. To compound this problem, she couldn’t get her iPhone unlocked to check the text messages Boo was sending her.

So being the GREAT friend that I am, I tried to look my girl out. I saw that she was pressing 9848374 buttons…for a 4-digit code.

 

{Side eye}…why isn’t your code something easy that you can remember ESPECIALLY when you’re drunk? Don’t most people make the code their birthday or last 4 of their social or mom’s birthday or something that can be quickly recalled when the room is on lean? I’m just sayin’.

 

Anyway, I saw that she was so frustrated (aww Pookie), so to help her I took the phone out of her hand and put it in my palm so it would be steadier for her so she could see everything clearer. That didn’t seem to help. I then tried to guess the code by “studying” which numbers she was pushing most often; mind you I AM DRUNK TOO. Yea, no. That didn’t help either. Actually, now that I think about it, I think that made it worse. RI snatched the phone from me, and continued to try to get the phone unlocked, but not before she gave me the look of DEATH.

We interrupt this blog post to bring you a Public Service Announcement:

Dear iPhone Nation,

Let this be a lesson to us all. If you are planning on going out and getting wasted, it’s probably best that you turn the required access code off. I mean, seriously, how often do we iPhone addicts not know where our phones are, drunk or otherwise? Exactly. Think about it, what if you were stranded some where? or had 9093484987508494875 text messages from your boo who is desperately trying to track you down in a loud, dark club? What do you do then, huh?! My advice: take the damn code off and stop being ridiculous in the club.

That is all.

Now back to your regularly scheduled blog post.

 

Given RI’s preoccupation with unlocking her phone, I decided I’d keep an eye on her, you know so she wouldn’t get trampled by the crowd or bust in the head by a waiter who had waaaayyyy too many bottles in his/her hands to be lifting above the crowd. As a means to direct her out of the way of people, I grabbed the closest elbow and moved her one way or another.

 

…Ooooor at least I tried to.

 

Her: “NOOOOO!!! Don’t touch me!”

Me: *Confused look* WTF!?

Tries to move her again.

Her: “NO!! Leave me alone!”

Me: *Pissed off confused look*

 

Oh and not only is she yelling at me like a stubborn 6 year old, she is sucking her teeth and snatching her arm away from me all crazy-like, and whatnot. Listen!!! Imma need you to save all that beat boxing and breakdancing for another day, dammit!

 

::Sighs and thinks to self:: Bitch if you don’t bring your drunk ass on and stop playing games!!

 

As a way to prove to RI that I was not playing games, I called her by her whole fist name. I know, I know, you’re all like, “So?” Yea I don’t ever, ever, EVER call her by her whole first name. Like ever. Think of it like how you know you’re in trouble when your parents call you by your whole entire “gov’ment” name. Yea…it’s something like that.

Since I was public enemy #1, RI pulled her attention away from the phone to give me the “You-can-go-die-now” look, spun around on her heels, and started to walk away while punching numbers into the phone. In not so many words, she told me to “kiss her ass.”

 

Oh…arrrd. I got you. I hope you put the wrong passcode in so many times, the damn phone erases itself!

 

Punk.

 

And the night only got better from there.

I knew, or at least I thought I knew, why RI was being all shitty. I mean she wanted her boo, right, so she could grind all up on him and make me an aunty with her clothes on. Shiiiiit, #doyouboo! In a “moment of clarity” RI asks me if I see Boo anywhere. I tell her “No,” but I scan the crowd to see if I can spot him.

Why is it that when you need to find a particular person in the crowd, everyone starts to look just like them? I mean really, how many hi-yella, bald head, goatee/bread combo havin’, 5ft tall Jason Kidd/Chico DeBarge look-alikes can there really be in a club. Like really?

There are a lot. Like a lot, a lot. That’s that hotness up in Mass. You’re not ready for it. Hell, RI almost got passed off to a bunch of random look alikes. Not to mention, it’s hard to see when you’re drunk, your feet hurt and you have dark aviators on. <– Yes, I’m that person that wears sunglasses in the club! SO WHAT!

In the mean time, while looking for Boo, I text P-Nice, to ask her if she’s ready to go. Come to find out, she didn’t even have her own phone! Lol, her cousin had her phone and told me to try and find as many people as I could so we could leave.

Roger that!

So I put my hand on RI’s back to direct her to the area where I remembered seeing the most people we came in with. As we’re walking, RI is practically doing the “Harlem Shake” to keep me from touching her and yelling, “No.”

You. Are. Testing. My. Soul. And making me look like a creep! CUT IT OUT!!!

I find a whole group of people and tell them that everyone else is on the bus, and that we would be leaving soon. I asked that they could round up other people, while I STILL try to find Boo for RI.

Another reason why I asked them to look for other people is because everyone started to look alike.

No, like, I’m not being mean. I was the only black person in a group of, oh I don’t know, 20-25 Asians. Umm…after all the drinks I had…Shiiit they’re lucky I got RI back to them! I’m not saying they all looked alike. No. What I’m saying is in that particular darkish lighting, combined with my clouded state of mind, it was difficult for me to discern any distinguishing features of anyone who came with us on the bus to properly disseminate direction. <– #Politician. That’s my story and I’m sticking to it.

I asked RI to post up against this giant pillar, I  was trying to convince RI that we needed to go. She wasn’t having it. She starts doing this thing with her face where she’s between starting to yell and starting to cry, because its been like 25-30 minutes and we still haven’t found Boo.

Whoa. Whooooa. Easy, Light Skin. Be easy. There is no need for tears. I can do yelling. That doesn’t bother me; but tears? Tears aren’t fair. They just aren’t. The cryer always wins.

So in my final effort to find this man and turn RI over to him, I asked her to stay put against that giant pillar, so I could scan the crowd for Boo, so she would bring her ass on, and we all could go home! I grabbed her hand and tried to put her near the pillar.

…She snatched her hand away from me and told me, “No.”

 

Bougie girl, grab her hand, FUCK THAT BITCH she don’t want to listen and stand where the hell I tell her super drunk ass to stand!!” <– I’m sure that’s what Kanye was talking about in “Ni**as In Paris.” Pretty sure about that.

 

I just looked at her and shook my head. So damn stubborn. I kept scanning the room for Boo. I was over the club, over my feet hurting, over RI’s STILL locked phone and over Boo for walking the hell away! Why didn’t he take her ass with him!? I turned and looked at RI again, only to see that she was in the process of falling.

Dammit! Am I being Punk’d!? No, like, really?! AM. I. BEING. PUNK’D!? ‘Cause this shit isn’t funny!

 

You ever watched someone break a fall with their face?

You ever watched someone break a fall with their face in a packed ass club?

You ever watched someone break a fall with their face in a packed ass club, after you told their hardheaded ass to stand still, i.e. DON’T MOVE, while you scan the room for the rest of the people you came with, as well as frantically look for that person’s Chico DeBarge looking significant other because they are seven seconds away from having a nervous breakdown because they can’t find said significant other and STILL CAN’T GET THEIR PHONE UNLOCKED?

I have. It’s not as glamorous as it sounds. Trust me on that.

What makes it funny, aside from the fact that she fell, and I do mean it was hilarious, is that while RI was falling, all the strangers around her put their hand in the air like, “WHOA! NOT IT!!! That is NOT my drunk friend!!!” and just let her fall.

 

Ya’ll some assholes!

 

So I walk over to her, at least 6-7 feet away from the pillar where I told her to stand, and helped her up, which as I’m doing so, she’s fighting me the whole way. WHY ARE YOU BEAT BOXING AND BREAKDANCING ON ME!?  I just want to help you! I want to pull your damn dress down, so you don’t have a Lindsay Lohan moment! I want to fix your hair so you don’t look like you just got your ass beat by the floor…like you just did.

 

AHHHH! I had to fight the urge to push her ass back down there and walk the hell away!

 

Now, let me say, I’m not picking on RI. Nope. Listen. I was in rare form, too. I fell, not once, not twice, but THREE times in the club. Hell I almost took someone else out with me when I fell! (Oops! My bad, boo-boo!) It just wasn’t THAT bad. I mean your face, bro? Like your whole face?

Damn son.

 

After that, I was done. I grabbed RI by the arm and pulled her out of the club. To hell with Boo! I didn’t give a damn at that point! We got outside and I took my shoes off, because there is no way I could keep RI and myself on our feet with those damn heels on. Bye shoes, shoes bye!

Ugh…I couldn’t feel my toes.

The bus met us in the middle of the street. I got RI on and I got on and we waited a few more minutes for some others come back from the bathroom. In the mean time, as the pseudo bar tender, I started handing out bottles of water. We needed to avoid puking at all costs!

P-Nice was sitting next to me, with no shoes on, so I found her Uggs and helped her put them on. I then noticed that RI had taken her shoes off too, and didn’t have her Uggs on either.

Okay, look. I hate feet. Like I really hate feet. Please don’t touch me with your feet. Feet are so gross. I don’t care if they are freshly pedicured up. I DON’T CARE. I don’t like feet so much so I request that people sleep with socks on in my bed! ICK! Feet!

So, now I’m tapping RI on the leg to convince her that she should put her shoes on. I mean, think about it, we’re in a moving vehicle where people want to stand up and move around, and all it takes is for someone to step on someone else’s foot, and break a damn toe. I’m just trying to help her out.

 

Me: “RI, please put your shoes on.”

Her: “NO.”

Me: “Will you please, please put your shoes on.”

Her: “NO! Leave me alone.”

 

I wanted to kick her in the shin really hard and watch her rub it!

 

Sitting next to RI was one of her besties. I asked her to get RI to put her shoes on.

Bestie: “RI. RI, babe, put your shoes on.”

So, RI responds, “No, I’m good. I don’t want them on right now,” sweet as pie.

 

THIS BITCH!!!! I was pissed!

 

Me: “PUT THESE FUCKIN SHOES ON NOW, RI!!!”

Her: *Ignores me*

Me: “YO! PUT THESE FUCKIN SHOES ON!!!

Her: *Glances up from her STILL LOCKED PHONE, shoots me a dirty look, then goes back to the phone*

Me: “FUCK YOU AND YOUR SHOES! I DON’T FUCKIN CARE ANYMORE!”

 

I was over it.

So over it!

 

I don’t really remember what happened after that. I know I was playing DJ again, but that’s about it. RI finally got her phone unlocked about the time we arrived back at P-Nice’s house. Thank you God!!!

We all unloaded the party bus and brought the stuff into P-Nice’s house. RI’s disposition had changed because she had finally gotten her damn phone unlocked. However, I was still pissed!

 

Fuck you, your shoes, your phone and everything else!

 

Now RI is standing at the top of P-Nice’s steps, yelling my name in rapid succession.

WTF do you want!?

She was just calling me to call me. She didn’t want anything. Just yelling my name.

I answered her and she walked down the steps into the kitchen, where I was, and over to the pizza, ignoring me.

WHAT-EVER.

Oh and that pizza…yea… someone stepped in it. However that little detail only made everyone want to eat the pizza more. {side eye}

#Icant

RI finally said her goodbyes, and we began walking to the car. I asked RI for her keys, because there is no way your face-first-falling self driving me home! NO WAY!

Me: “Hey, gimme the keys.”

Her: “NO.”

Me: “Give me the keys.”

Her: “NO!”

Fine.

I just got in the car and closed my eyes. If I was gonna die, I didn’t want to see it coming. I just didn’t. I knew it was dumb to ride with her, but I couldn’t just let her go by herself either, right?

Hmm. Not sure.

Anyway, we made it back to RI’s house, SAFE, and I bolted up the stairs to the front door. I was so over her and her locked phone/shitty attitude shenanigans. You figure out how to get up those dark steep ass steps by your damn self!

About 6 or 7 minutes later, she did finally make it up the stairs. Then it took her literally a whole 5 minutes figure out which keys went to which door.

 

You know you are killing me right now. Just killing me.

 

We finally get into the house and RI made a beeline to the bathroom. About 2 minutes into her being in the bathroom, I hear “OHMYBUDDAH! WHOA! I’m okay.”

Oh great, that’s all I need is for her to bust her head on the damn sink. I mean we are friends and whatnot, but I don’t know if we have graduated to the “Oh you passed out in the bathroom with your clothes half off and I need to put them back on for you” level. Yea, I’lln’t think we’re quite there yet.

Just sayin.

She finally came out of the bathroom and started getting ready for bed. I went into the bathroom got changed, washed my face and brushed my teeth. By the time I came out, RI was already in the bed knocked out with the covers pulled over her face!

You’re going to suffocate your little dumb-dumb self! *Kanye shrug* Whatever, bro!

I put my things away, turned the light off and got in the bed. Just as I was falling asleep, RI said something to me.

In a barely audible whisper with the covers still over her face, RI says to me, “Goodnight, Mean.”

All I could do was look in her direction confused, shake my head and chuckle to myself. Who does that!? LOL

 

In spite of the shenanigans, I had madd fun!!! So much so, I’m doing it all again in 2 weeks!!! WHAT, WHAAAAAAT!!! I’m a glutton for punishment. Hopefully there will be more awesome stories to pull out of that weekend, with less beat boxing and breakdanceing!

 

Post-party injury list: 

One busted lip

Some bruised ribs (maybe)

6 Numb toes

A bruised knee

A bruised arm

3 broken finger nails

A forearm cut

And a bruised tooth (O_o) <– No one goes as hard as we does!

 

THE BEST DAMN RANDOM WEEKEND ADVENTURE EVER!!!

 

Priceless.

 

 

Speak your mind…

About themeanblackgirl

My name says it all!
Gallery | This entry was posted in Shenanigans. Bookmark the permalink.

3 Responses to Ain’t No Wasted Like Asian Glow Wasted: True Story

  1. Alisa says:

    That story made my day!! Lol I need to come and party with you guys lolol

  2. Pingback: iHate Patrón… | The Mean Black Girl Says…

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