Dumb Cop Tales – NY’s Finest

I swear, NYC must have a monopoly on stupid police officers.
Apparently, walking down a street with a long coat on can get you mistaken for a prostitute and arrested!

That’s basically what happened to Monica Gonzalez, a 40-year old grandmother. Gonzalez was arrested for prostitution after police spotted her walking in an area known for prostitution. That area, one block on Third Avenue, was also on the way from Gonzalez’ crib to a local hospital. She was on her way there because of complications with her asthma medicine. Officer Sean Spencer thought otherwise.

Gonzalez, wearing a long winter coat, was suddenly confronted by Spencer and another cop who jumped out of a marked SUV.

“He [Spencer] said, ‘I saw you going up to the car,'” Gonzalez recalled. “His partner said, ‘Let her go, I’ve never seen her here before,’ but he [Spencer] wouldn’t listen,” she said.

“I told him, ‘I’m somebody’s mother. I’m somebody’s daughter.’ I was hysterical crying.”

Spencer also busted a second woman on Third Ave. for prostitution and drove both suspects to the 72nd Precinct station house, where another cop called an ambulance for the asthmatic Gonzalez.

Spencer – who claimed Gonzalez was carrying a condom and had been arrested before as a hooker – swore out a complaint charging her with loitering for prostitution, according to court papers.

The officer claims the two women were approaching vehicles together, according to a police source.

“I have never, ever been arrested in my life,” Gonzalez told The News. “I did not have a condom.”

She hired a criminal defense attorney, Leon Schrager, and the Brooklyn district attorney’s office dismissed the case on May 29.

How not to save a seat

This is kinda crazy in light of my previous post but isn’t this just the way life works? So after work last night, I headed out to meet someone for a networking type deal. We were going to have drinks somewhere in the city, talk and all that stuff. So when C and I meet up, she asks if I’m okay going to Bump for drinks. See, she had to ask because Bump is a gay bar and well, some people aren’t cool with that. HOWEVER, Bump also has $3 cocktails (good ones too) from 5-7pm. I’ve been to Bump before and I have no prob drinkin’ with the Kids, so I was like cool.

So we get to the spot and pull up to the bar. There are tons of seats in the place, but the bar is kinda full. Oh, but look, two seats open! Score! C and I take a seat and order a couple of drinks to make the 7pm cutoff. Strangely, though, there’s a glass sitting on the bar right at my seat. It’s pretty full and has a napkin over it. Hmm, could be that someone was sitting here and just got up really quickly or something and this is how they’re preserving their drink? I don’t know. I just pushed it back a little bit and set about chatting.

About 15-20 minutes go by and I’m feeling kind of good, ya know. All of a sudden two dudes and a chick roll up. The one tall guy is standing right behind me and is talking to his buddies, but clearly intending me to hear:

“That’s my drink right there. This is my seat. I put my drink there to save my seat.” So now I’m looking at C like, I know this fool ain’t crazy and I KNOW he ain’t hinting at me moving!!! Now the guy addresses me directly, “That’s my drink.” So I reply, “Oh? Well do you want to get it?” and I move back a little bit so he can reach the glass. His guy pal says something like, “Are you serious, don’t do this. Don’t make her move.” The girl is silent. Dude is STILL standing there and we had a mini stand-off. I was NOT planning on moving. What the fuck, dude? You really think you saved your seat at this bar by putting a napkin over your glass and leaving it unattended for like 20 minutes?!!! What part of the game is that?

C decides that I should just move. “Here, take my seat,” she says. I hesitate. I’m not about to be moved because of this dumb shit. I mean, it’s the principle, right? BUT… my better sense kicks in. This is a networking outing, after all. This woman is an attorney and in charge of an organization that I am trying to get involved in. I do not need to wild out in a gay bar over a bar stool. So I moved.

I am still heated about that shit, yall. In retrospect, it was probably best not to try and rumble with a queen in a gay bar. He looked like he could get an attitude just as quickly as I could. Plus, there’s no telling who had his back in there (no pun intended).

Goldilocks and ‘nem

I’ve noticed that this blog has become less about me and more about random pop culture, music, and stuff I see elsewhere that I find funny or interesting. My first few entries were about ME and the things I was doing. I think I want to get back to that, or at least include it in what I’ve been doing as of late. I guess the more people started checking Bourgie Adventures out, the more nervous and guarded I became. How could I write about my friends when they read the blog? How can I talk about dating and relationships when the guys I know might stop by this place every now and then? Hell, I think my family might even have stumbled over here. Anyway, I’m going to try and get back to basics.

Yesterday, I was talking with a friend and he said “I think I want someone who’s passionate about me. Not indifferent and not obsessed.” I agreed. Then I thought we were sounding very Goldilocks – we want it to be just right. Well that’s like stepping outside for the paper and getting hit in the head with a bag of money. It’s possible, but not likely to happen. Most of us will just end up with a Papa Bear or Mama Bear, running too hot/too cold, too hard/too soft for our own tastes. We’ll tolerate it for as long as we can, learning to adjust our own preferences to suit what they’re dishing out. Eventually, we’ll get fed up and move on to the next bowl of porridge, the next chair, the next bed.

I need an umbrella… (v.2)

Because it’s still pouring in my life. I’m walking around under my very own storm cloud, it seems. (okay, I’m being dramatic, just humor me)

Went to a 90s party last night… bangin’, by the way. Music from that era is my all time favorite. I was sangin’ EVERYword to nearly EVERY jam. SWV, Wu, Biggie, Mary, Buju Banton, Tribe, Snoop, etc. We hit the open bar HOARD before time was up so I was liquored up and groovin’ away. I could not quit dancing. To begin, I love to dance. I dance like nobody’s watching. I dance because I can’t NOT dance. Also, the DJ was doing his thing and was throwing on hit after nostalgic hit. In my fervor to let the beat hit me and take control ©Lisa Lisa and ‘nem, and in my zeal to always be fashionably fabulous, I rolled my ankle. A botched Heavy D move and some solid gold pumps sent my ankle to the side like a slept-on afro.

Ouch. However, ya girl kept on dancing on it for the rest of the night. Why? Well I already said that I’m a slave to the rhythm! I meant it. Finally, me and the Cougar Squad had to force ourselves to quit dancing by sitting outside the party. Right now, my jawn is tight and hurts when I rotate it. Oh well…

Can a sista get a break?

High School Confidential

After a few requests, I am going to post a few entries from the journal I kept as a teenager over 10 years ago. I am so embarrassed. I have no idea why I am even going to post these. Reading them makes me laugh at myself in an uncomfortable way. I feel as if I do not know the girl who wrote this stuff. It all sounds so… silly and cheesy and dumb. What was I thinking?! I hope that I do not look at these blog entries years from now with the same thoughts. Don’t judge me, yo. All of the emphasis, spelling and punctuation is in the original, by the way:

Oct. 30: I haven’t written lately, I’ve been busy. Saturday’s my birthday! 16. Everything has been fine, except my mother and my uncle. First of all, he’s moved in, thirty-something years old and he’s back at home. PATHETIC! Mother is such an ass. She’s selfish, and inconsiderate. Well, gotta go, it’s time for Bio.

Nov. 2: I turned 16 last night (yesterday)!! I can’t wait to drive!! everyone called to say happy birthday. Last night I went out w/Georgette and Lynnece (aka Lynneye), we drank a little (Quanisha got some from the bootlegger) and we chilled at the party at Morgan. It was raining all night on + off. Me and Lynneye went up to Smith St. to see if rick was there but we only saw Collin and Terrance (yuck). Tuesday I have to escort the superintendent’s son around school. (we’ll see about that). – Peace –

Barack Better Be Bresident!*

I just gave Barack Obama and the rest of you Americans 14 hours of my life today. I volunteered as a legal observer/poll watcher. Even got a snazzy lil certificate that says so. What’s a legal observer, you ask? Unfortunately, it has absolutely nothing to do with strip clubs and drink specials. This is what lawyers and law students do to make sure no one is disenfranchised (aka their right to vote isn’t infringed upon, dummy).

As a sidebar, it’s noteworthy to mention that there is no actual federal right to vote in the United States. No Constitutional Amendment. Nada. There are, however, several amendments which tell us who cannot be prevented from voting based on certain criteria or classes.

15th Amendment: no law may restrict any race from voting

19th Amendment: no law may restrict any sex from voting

23rd Amendment: giving residents of D.C. the right to vote

24th Amendment: the right to vote in federal elections may not be conditioned on payment of a poll tax

26th Amendment: no law may restrict those 18 years of age or older from voting because of their age

Basically, if you’re over 18 you can vote.

Anyway, I digress. Back to the poll watching…

Bourgie gets a hangover …

Bourgie goes out for the usual Thursday night romp and overindulges…

Thursday night is usually the night when my friends and I go out looking for alcohol, good music and beautiful people in Philadelphia. We usually end up with two out of three.

Something inside of me told me not to go out. I had a presentation Friday morning and still needed to go over what I was going to say. However, Thursday night was one of the first really beautiful nights, as far as the weather goes, in a very long time. I had to take advantage of it, right? So off I went.

Started out at Bamboo with the Stoli open bar. Had two drinks there. Next, ran into a friend who drove us over to Rittenhouse. Meanwhile, we drank HENNESSY straight from the bottle. It is at this point that I’d like to mention that I hadn’t eaten a thing after some hors d’oeuvres at a 5pm reception (which I kind of crashed, anyway).

Our original plan was to go to Byblos, which is usually pretty hot on a Thurs. night. But upon arrival, we noticed that neighboring Vango had a line halfway down the street. Usually, Vango is filled with Euro-Trash and bangs with house music all night. AKA Vango sucks balls. But this time it looked like something cool might actually be happening there. Luckily, my girl is a supporter of the Fraternal Order of Bouncers & Club Doormen (she just knows everyone) so we had a good feeling we could skip the line. Sure enough, the owner of the joint is out front, sees my girl and is like “everyone has to wait in line… except you of course.” In we go.

Place is packed. PACKED. So my girl uses her FOBCD card to get us into “VIP.” Now, while this may sound utterly un-bourgie of me, I typically hate VIP. It’s always full of assholes who just want to be seen. The fun is with the “common folk” downstairs, ya know? On this particular occasion though, VIP was just where I needed to be to get away from the crowd downstairs AND to get access to the rooftop patio on such a great night. Strangely, VIP was overpopulated by Asian men and women in costumes. Favorite costume? Yup, schoolgirl. SMH

While there, I put back an extra dirty martini and then think “self, you should drink some water.” Unfortunately, that was too little, too late.

To make a long story short, I ended up looking for a cab in Center City at 4am. Had to be up at 7 to get ready and head to school for my presentation. I felt soooooo crappy. As I type this, I still don’t feel 100%. That’s the problem with the All Day Hangover. It’s true to its name. I could barely stand up today so I called into work (which means I sent an email saying I wasn’t coming in). They hate me there, I’m sure. Feeling is mutual, though, so no biggie.

I’ve been laying around all day. No energy. Well, I mustered up some energy to run over to Five Guys with my boy Drew. Nothing is better for an All Day Hangover than a cheeseburger and fries.

So, what have I learned? Well, I learned that I make poor decisions sometimes. I learned that one should not take Henn to the head in unmeasurable amounts after downing unmeasurable amounts of vodka. I learned (for the 800th time) that I ought to eat before boozing. I learned that recovering from Thursday night means Saturday morning in the gym. Finally, I learned that it’s hella hard to catch a cab at 4am in Philadelphia.