It was December 31st, 2005. I got off of work at 10:00pm. All of my friends had already made their plans to bring in the next anum and party into the daylight hours. Since last New Year’s was a dud, I knew I had to do something… anything… As I passed by bar after bar, I found myself in the parking lot of our city watering hole, “Chez Mareez.”

As I sat down to enjoy a few bottles of Heineken, of course, who parks her sexy rear next to my stool? Ms. Bunz. She had chocolate skin like a fine Godiva candy. She said nothing, but her inviting gaze said everything. I noticed how thirsty she was and how empty her glass had become from flirting and sipping... so I bought her a drink… Ironically, January 1st was her birthday, but she seemed to be more pleasured by celebrating turning 25 with a stranger than the friends she came with. And no, I’m no dummy. My new mocha mama showed me the drivers license.

We danced, drank, danced, drank, and screamed, “Happy New Years! and Happy Birthday” at 12:00am. She put my hands all over her curvy frame, and I knew the 9 rum and cokes I bought her had been worth the $100 dollars. The time had come.

We exchanged numbers, and she told me to go ahead home and she’ll follow as soon as she can shed her friends. After waiting over an hour, I called the number she gave me only to hear that famous loud triple beep followed by the annoying, “Your call cannot be completed as dialed; please check the number and dial again.

That’s why I’m like, “NO BUNZ! NO DRINK!”