The Soap Opera continues: B & E, Brawls and Bullshiggity (part 1)

For those unaware, I'm dating New Dude (aka Derrick) who has a treacherous ex-wife (SEW: Shady Ex-wife) who plans to move back to Dallas. While searching for a house near her ex-husband, SEW is staying with his good friend and frat brother Vince. We expected some drama to pop off this weekend. But I did not expect all of this. Here we go.

Let me start the story by saying I own that this story is ridiculous. If I wasn’t there, I wouldn’t believe me. But if you are truly skeptical, I can direct you to the online police blotter so you can review it for yourself. Yes, my BougieTale involves a police report. Allow me to continue…

Saturday had been a series of ups and down. I was supposed to get up and go over to Derrick’s by noon to help him redecorate his home office. I had forced him to watch so many HGTV programs that this was my punishment, manual labor. We had picked out paint (desert sand and sagebrush), a new shelving system from Ikea. The desk and chair came from Thomasville, the rug came from an outlet place I knew and all the cute brickety brackety stuff came from Pier One. Problem was, I was still tired from the week. The electricity had flickered out for a few hours the night before and that further threw me off schedule. Long story short, I didn’t get to his house until four. He's a schedule guy so my four hour tardiness had him a little tart. So we were off on the wrong foot to begin with.

While painting we discovered a few things about each other. He discovered that I’m a little anal about paint and wall coverage. “Yes, I can tell you stopped the roller there, it needs another coat.” I discovered he has a real affinity for nineties’ New Jack music. He had a fifty minute mix that included every combination of New Edition members possible. The sight of him singing and dancing to Raph Tresvant’s Sensitivity while painting the ceiling is burned into my head. He cannot sing. But he’s a decent dancer. The fact that he knows the whole dance routine from the If It Isn’t Love video really told me something.  Also, in case you’re wondering, Bobby Brown’s Don’t Be Cruel still holds up. Still danceable after all these years. The fact that I can assemble a bookcase with power screwdriver and wood glue in less than thirty minutes seemed to really fascinate him. So much so that as I started on the second one, he propped up on the new chaise lounge with a beer to watch. Aw hell to the naw.

By that time, the Hall of Fame stuff was coming on so I abandoned the work, got a glass of wine and sat down to enjoy. He had the rest of the shelves put together and the rug down in time for Jerry Rice’s speech.  He asked if I’d ever met Jerry, I said that I had. He asked how many Hall-of-Famer’s had I met personally and I said honestly that I didn’t know. Then he asked if these were men that I knew or men that I had “known”… like in the biblical sense. I went off on a “what kind of girl do you think I am” rant and it took a little while to get that settled. But settle it we did with much apologizing. We were not having out finest day. After Emmitt Smith’s excellent speech, we checked the paint. Two of the walls were dry enough to move the furniture.

Here’s where the evening gets fun. I wanted more Sparkling Moscato and he wanted some sort of summer ale or pale lager or some something he’s been trying out. This is Texas, beer and wine are still only sold at certain times in certain areas on certain days. So we had to hustle. We dashed out, got what we want, and then pulled back in the garage. “Did we leave the television on?” He asked me as we swing open the back door. “I don’t think so.” I said. He shoved me behind him (very cop drama fashion), “Stay behind me and get your cell phone out.” I was like – for real tho? But I pulled out the BlackBerry and stayed a step back. He stopped dead and I ran into him. “What the HELL are you doing here?” He said in a tone I’d never heard him use.

Peeking around him I saw Vince seated on the living room sofa and perched next to him is SEW (Shady Ex Wife). Shady Ex Wife was dressed like she was about to go out on the stroll for Pretty Tony. NO shiggity. Old girl had on a triangle of halter top and a band aid of a skirt with sky-high gladiator heels in red patent. The outfit was way past sexy and deep into the skank side of the scale. Vince stood up and said, “Surprise!”

Derrick said, “Surp – what the...” Okay, I cannot type the torrent that New Dude unleashed. I’d actually never heard him use more than the occasional 'damn' so this quality and quantity of profanity spewing forth was eye-opening and impressive. I moved to the breakfast bar and popped open the wine and my laptop.

Somewhere in the middle of this, SEW got up with her arms outstretched asking Derrick, “Aren’t you glad to see me? Give me a hug.” He stiff armed her (literally push her backwards) adding an “Are you kidding me with this bullshit?”  Then he and Vince go back to their shouting match. I gave SEW a look and directed her to sit on the opposite side of the room. She did.

Best as I could figure, Vince and SEW decided that it was time to get the three Musketeers back together like old times. Because I parked my car in the back, they assumed coast was clear and just let themselves in with the key Vince had for emergencies. New Dude wondered (what I was thinking) aloud why she (SEW) was dressed like "Peaches needs to make rent by Monday". (His words, not mine – aren’t you impressed?)

No one answered that question. So I had to assume that she came over to either catch New Dude slipping or swing some sort of ménage fantasy, I didn't know – the whole damn thing was too fantastical. Just as I was wondering what could possibly happen next, Vince’s mouth opened with, “This big breasted bitch is ruining everything.” I blinked twice, oh – was that me? Day-um!

But before I could let that sink in, he pointed at me and said something under his breath to Derrick that I did not catch. Next thing I knew Derrick drew back of the left fist and delivered upper cut to jaw of trespassing frat brother. Le Ouch.

SEW started screaming (not helpful), the two of them kept swinging and since Derrick was landing most of his punches, I stayed where I was.

Now it’s important to note at this time that we are in a quiet little enclave in a very posh subdivision in a less than diverse suburb far north of Dallas, in Northeast Texas y’all. These kindly Caucasians do not take to brown people getting out of pocket on a Saturday night. Somebody called the po-po. Yes, when all white neighbors hear upraised black voices; they assume gangland violence. Three (count them) 1, 2, 3 squad cars pulled up. Here’s where the Chele karma kicks in.

And here’s where we’ll pick up part two tomorrow… Thoughts? Comments? Insights?