The Longest Day Ever

Two weekends ago your favorite BG, me not Monique, made her annual pilgrimage. No, not to Mecca sillies. To the Atlanta Civic Center to cover the BET Hip Hop Awards!
I have gone the past two years. The show is always cool, but it's the standing on your feet on the red carpet waiting for the celebs to come whenever the Hell they want to that is killer. Knowing this, I wore flip flops, thinking I was doing myself a favor. However, by the end of the carpet, the sides of my flops had actually become an extension of my foot. My feet were so swollen, I could not even squeeze into these adorable gray suede flats I'd bought just for the show. I know, sadness.
After the show, my boss and I went to Hooters for wings. He was very consumed with the game. Luckily, I had plans for the evening with my girl Tasia and the gang. There was no way I could stay there another minute competing for his attention with the game to have a conversation.
To avoid my feet hurting, I literally walked on my toes to the train station, where I missed my train to meet Tasia. The next one did not come for 20 minutes. You would think that on the weekends they would run more frequently, but no, not in Atlanta.
Tasia was convinced I had died by the time I got to her. There was no reception on my phone in the tunnel, so I could not call her to tell her I was late. We ended up going to a bar to meet up with the gang. Even though we were late, we were the first ones there, and even though it was like midnight, that damn game was still on. By the time we'd had a few drinks, it was someone's bright idea to walk two blocks to another bar. By this point, mind you, my feet were as tight as sausages. The next bar was worth the walk though. It was a Wigga spot; white college kids dancing to heavy-duty Southern rap. I know, funny. I spent my time there talking and sitting, my two fav thing.
So the bar closes, and we are hungry. I am cold, so I suggest the Waffle House for a cup of cocoa. We end up deciding on Gladys Knight's Chicken and Waffles which was full of women still in tight ass tiny dresses from the awards show. Let me just say that the walk from the bar to the car felt like an eternity. Every little rock and pebble I stepped on felt like a knife. The white couples walking past me, seeing me in my skin tight leggings and drink stained cardigan no doubt thought I was a prostitute on her last leg, walking on my toes with my useless flip flops under my arms.
When we finally got our table at Gladys', it was damn near in the kitchen and the seats were stools. I hate stools. Fat people generally do. On top of this, there were only two stalls in the bathroom were occupied! The woman in the handicap stall was taking a shit, and I stood there, peeing on myself a little waiting on her before I settled for the baby stall. My God! The stool was so loose that when I sat down, I damn near flew out of the stall, thus urinating on the floor instead of the toilet. Being a lady, I stuck around to clean up after myself, only to be greeted by a line of pissed off, pee-dancing women in mini stresses and stilettos when I opened the door.
Once I leave the bathroom, I pull the manager to the side, who looks like a discounted Al Sharpten, and tell him that I simply can not do the stools. Seriously, I'm fat and my feet are barkin' here! He tells me, a paying customer, that he can not help me. He can not get me a low chair. I ask him why and he just shruggs. Asshole right? So I complain to the waitress, we take our food to go, and she gives me a complimentary slice of cheesecake for my trouble.
Considering my pediatric condition, there is no way that I can walk to the car. So I sit on the waiting bench next to a very unattractive amazonian couple in my pee leggings and dirty cardigan with my painful flips on, feet on fire, watching Al Sharpten Jr. kick out a patron because she slid her heels off under the table. As I watched her get escorted out of the restaurant by security, I sat back and rolled my eyes. It had been a long annoying day. But somehow, as I limped out to my friend's car, I found myself strangely exhilarated and excited to be young in the big city.