wantstothrill replied to your post:7&8, 15, 21, 39, and 44. :3
iwritesometimes replied to your post:7&8, 15, 21, 39, and 44. :3
okay first of all the coolio hitting on you mental image i’m getting is the gr8est thing i’ve ever experienced. (did he have the hair? was it fantastic?) second of all, ZOMG you know my name!!! *blushblushflailfangirletc*<333
Of course I know your name you cutie. :-* Okay also I just went to go find the Livejournal entry I made about this (lmao) so I could bring up some details for you, but since I've found it I'm actually just going to c/p the whole thing so I can really bring you back with me.Â
At McCarran this morning after I got through security I saw a guy that looked like Coolio, of mid-nineties Gangsta's Paradise and Rollin' With My Homies fame. I tweeted about it and got on the shuttle to the D Gates. A few moments later, guy that I was increasingly sure was in fact Coolio (the hair antennae sort of gave it away) got on the shuttle and sat down near to where I was standing. He then asked me if I was Russian. I said no. "Polish?" he asked. No, I said again, just American.Â
He then kept me in a conversation about my origins, and about two minutes into it I realized that Coolio was hitting on me. He asked me if I was a model, and I said no, I'm a writer. "Oh, you're a writer?" said Coolio. "I'm a writer too. I write songs." "Are you Coolio?" I asked. He looked pleased and confirmed that he was. He marveled at my height and how my clothes matched (moral of the story: don't use flying as an excuse to look like a slob. ...otherwise Coolio won't hit on you? Yep, that's a moral). For the record, outfit today: D&G Renaissance print top, dark denim jeans, Docs, Panic! At The Disco belt.Â
"Yo, can I get a picture with you?" Coolio of Gangsta's Paradise fame then asked me. "Sure," said I, Sara, of alleged Brendon/Ryan tinhat and Like At Least Five People Read My Blog Regularly!! fame. He stood up and handed his phone to his friend(/member of his small entourage of like two other guys?) and put his arm around my waist. I was in my Docs and still had about two inches on him. We then continued chatting about where I live and where he lives (a country club in Henderson) and where we were going, and whether or not I had a boyfriend.Â
His friend snapped the picture with Coolio's phone, at which point Coolio showed me the picture, marveled over my looks, and asked for my number and when I would be back in town, because we should have lunch when we're both back in town. We continued talking on the way out of the shuttle and up the escalator (where he stood on the step below and opined about how he'd like to eat me like a meal - a mid-sized meal, he rushed to point out as he looked me up and down, lest I think he was calling me fat as opposed to unsubtly alluding to sex) to the gates where we then had to part. "If I don't call you," said Coolio, brandishing his phone, which now bore my cell phone number (come on, you'd give your number to Coolio just to see what happens), "you call the FBI, you call the CIA, the NSA, Homeland Security, you call FEMA and let them know that something happened to me, alright?"
I confirmed that I would do that, and Coolio hugged me goodbye, and we parted, and then I called Jessa and woke her up (whoops, sorry Jessa!) and then LOLED FOR EIGHTEEN YEARS, THE END.
(For the record, Coolio never did call me, probably because I told him I had a boyfriend. Though tbf I didn't call FEMA to alert them to this, so maybe our thwarted love affair was on both of us. Oh, what could have been!!!!)
