By Megan Ree
Its Ludacris' album release party and Im having dreams of poppin bottles with Jazzy Pha, Diddy and Kathleen Turner, so its time to Roll Out to Velvet Room on a Sunday night. Pulling up to the club, there are Escalades, Dodge Chargers, refurbished Range Rovers, and a fucking Big Lots? Now dont be mistaken, this is some balla ass shit. Where else would you pay 40 dollars to possibly get a glimpse of Amber Roses ass (she's supposed to be hosting tonight). The parking lot is packed but who wants to pay $30 for valet, so me and my roll-out partner circle around all the while getting flagged down by a multitude of parking lot attendants and/or parking lot crackheads trying to charge $10 when the shit is free (Hustle #1).
Now we have to walk all the way around from the back of the plaza. On the way we hear a Psssssst, wanna cut through? Uhhh yeah, sure. So we walk up the steps to the back door of some hair salon and ol' boy is waiting there, still in his smock with hair clips attached. He asks for a dollar and I pay him and roll through when I hear my friend say, You got a single?
"For what?" Turns out itss a dollar per person (Hustle #2).
After passing off another dollar, we trot through the salon and make it to the front lot where there's a sea of fake ass Rhiannas, Beyoncés, Kid Cudis, Jeezys and Lil Waynes (with less tattoos cause they have to hold down some sort of job). Everyone is mixing and mingling, and if there was a bar set up we'd be at the party. But then we see the line, or should I say lines. There are four of them. One for regular muthafuckas, one for folks on the list, one for table reservations, and another for VIPs (Hustle #3). This shit is more organized than Hartsfield complete with four full-sized, over-your-head metal detectors and even the little plastic bins to put your shit in before you go through.
Next we get our ID checked. Twice. If youre a male you get wanded twice (even before the metal detectors). And if you're like me, the female security guard will start patting you down top-to-bottom and, just when she gets to the top, start jiggling your tits for way longer then appropriate before turning around to say, Oh, I forgot you were there. So were at an A.G. Entertainment event; we know what to expect at the door. (By the way, I have a sneaky suspicion that A.G. runs not only clubs but all the parking lots in Atlanta and the toll booths on Ga. 400 as well.) But we are on the list, so whatever. Or maybe not. Apparently, the list has ummmmm 12 names on it. Really?! This is a Ludacris party, not some jam band at East Andrews. Doesnt matter cause whatever it is, were not on it. Which means were not getting in . Shit man, I just want a Henny with coke!
So we make our way back through the Six Flags-like maze of barriers, through six APD officers and back into parking lot pimpin'. Thats when we hear: Ay shawty, we got some good eats over here. If you cant get a cocktail, why not some food? Dude at the mobile BBQ is looking like my Uncle Larry. We got turkey sausage, poke sausage, and chicken sausage, he says.
How much for a sausage, might you ask? 10 dollars (Hustle #4).
We're not paying $10 for some Ball Park Bullshit, so its time to head back to the cut-through when ol' boy demands another dollar: I said a dolla in and out! Did u guys go in the club?
That fast?" a lady behind him chimes in. "Hell naw, that was the worst fire hazard south of the Mason Dixon! And I hope yall pee'd in there cause hes chargin for that too!
Sure enough, the sign above the salon restroom reads, 2 dolla per person. (Hustle #5).
Sorry if you wanted to know what Amber Rose's ass was looking like you're going to have to check some other blog. We dipped through the salon and headed to Bamboo Luau to pop bottles of saki and feast on some crab rangoon.
(Photo courtesy Prince Williams/ATLPICS.net)
3 people apparently love handing over an extra 40% in fees for nothing in return…
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Forgot to mention that Iggy did a stellar show @ the Agora in the spring…
Their fees were onerous, to say the least. $16 per ticket for "convenience," and it's…
That poster is for the Iggy Pop show on March 11 1983 @ 688 club…
oh sweet: just who i was waiting to get announced!