Misha and Mr. 300

I have two sets of best friends. One group I talk to more often, the other group I would call and tell them the same story. Shanti and Mia, I love them to death, we've grown a part for different reasons, but the contact is still consistent in some ways. Misha and Mandee I probably consider the closest. We think alike, but not so much that we are not individuals. We have the same standards and levels of expectations when it comes to certain things and I think as friends we are not afraid to check each other. The last statement is the most important. If the friends you have around you are afraid to, are not the type to or would never check you when you've crossed the border, got out of line, look a wreck, sound a wreck, about to make a crazy decision...then you need new friends. "Wounds from a friend are far better than kisses from an enemy."

Now. To the entertainment.

Misha is what some would call, "a diva." I hate that word though. It's like "Heeyy Diva"?! How corny does that sound? I mean diva has been known to cover a multitude of characteristics including, fashionable, trendy, fun, independent, female version of a hustla', you know. But it also can mean, spoiled, stuck-up, high maintenance, well-to-do, pretentious, the list goes on. Now take those characteristics, remove some add a few more, there you have it. Misha. You say toe-may-to I say ta-mah-toe!

Misha is the friend that will end up with a NBA, NFL, MLB player...marry him. Find out he cheated, divorce him and then cut him off for the rest of his life. But not his checks. Don't get it twisted though, she still holds her own. Misha has been on her own since the age of 16 and for the past 15 years she spent them, working, obtaining her Master's and walking around in shoes that some people can't even pronounce. Me and Mandee were conversing one day and we realized Misha has held a steady job since we were 16 probably and she wasn't spending all her money on clothes on shoes. She's about her business.

Anyway, any guy knows, well they should know, that certain things just won't fly when it comes to Misha. Although she is compromising, picking her up and thinking you can swing by the McDonald's is probably not your best option. But, men still try.

He called her up and told her to get dressed."For what"? was her response. Not a "For what" question that is sensible and sensitive in it's manner, but a "For what" because my show is about to come on and I am much more interested in laying in this bed and watching it.

He responds, "I got tickets to the Bulls game, come on, let's go."

After heavy contemplation Misha finally agreed to embark on this "date" despite the fact that she wasn't all that interested in him. Now. Some girls go to sporting events, well in sporting gear. Not a "diva." Jimmy Choos? Check. Gucci? Check. Jeans so tight, you have to sit on the edge of the seat and lean back because otherwise the buttons start cutting into your stomach? Check. She waited downstairs.

He pulls up and actually has on a Bull's jersey. Really? You that into the game? You don't have no plans afterward? No after party with socialites? You got on a jersey? Fine, Misha resolved and got in the car.

"This should be fun. The tickets is like the 300 section though," He says.

A who a, what a? "Did you just say 300"?

"Yeah, but I got binoculars though," He giggles in that way where it's like girl I'm just playing.

*Side eye*

Misha and Mr. 300 arrive at the stadium and all of sudden it passes by them on the left.

"Where are you going"?

"Oh, Oh we not paying for parking I'm a park over here in the street."

Are you effin kidding? I know, you guys are like what's wrong with saving a buck or two. Nah. Number one, United Center is not placed real cute like in the middle of the city where there are bright lights, fancy hotels and hip restaurants. United Center is in the hood...or was. Ain't gentrification a beyotch?

They park in tim-buck-too and make the trek back to the United Center. They get in the building and he says "This way...."

Up the ramp, up the ramp, up the ramp, up the...wait. Are we still going up this damn ramp she thinks. Finally, they get to where there are no more ramps. The 300 section. Oh no, not front row leaning over I can see the lower section. The last row a the top of the stadium and it's like them and some poor man with his son trying to look at the little ants going back and forth on the court.

He pulls out binoculars.

O_o

Now some people would have hung around for a hot dog, grabbed a Pepsi and enjoyed the night. Nope. Misha goes, I'm going to the bathroom. Calls up the homegirl and requests an immediate pick-up from the stadium. STAT. You think she went back to wait? Nope her and those Choo's click-clacked all 100-leven of them stairs and ran to the exit.

Goodnight Mr. 300.