I've heard that every anniversary has a different themed gift. Ranging from the paper anniversary, to the gold anniversary, to well, I think that's all I've heard of... But, I think these and other types of themes could also be applied to birthdays. Turning 21, it's the legal bar year. Turning 22, at least for me, it was the ghetto bar year complete with a Lil Wayne (yess he's free!) impersonator. And for my friend Banna, turning 24 was the strip bar year.
I made a trip away from home to visit my girl for her birthday celebrations, of which, at the time, I was not informed. As we ordered an obnoxious amount of food with way too many people at Ham's, I was let in on the game plan. We were going to go downtown and go to the strip club that Banna's sister managed, but maybe not in that order.
Now, my only experiences with strip clubs consisted of vague memories of seeing potted plants and then the gay strip club I went to in Key West. The only other time I've seen someone selling themselves was when I was in Amsterdam and dumbly strolled down the Red Light District during the day because it looked like a colorful street (true story). Needless to say, this experience was going to be different and all too memorable.
Though I generally feel sorry for strippers and can only think of what their mothers' think of their profession, I was curious about what the job really entailed, so Banna used this curiosity to get us all into the establishment, as well as the misleading statement that free drinks would be included when really the drinks were only free for her, the birthday girl.
The only people I knew at the celebratory events were Bmaddie and Banna, so I clung to Bmaddie as ventured inside the club. We sat back in a booth as Banna and her other friends sat around the stage. Bmaddie and myself debated the pros and cons of getting too close to strippers, and the possibility of contracting some sort of STD from sitting in a seat that close. I had told myself I wouldn't support the club other than the Shirley Temple I had just purchased, but when I saw Banna folding dollars into triangles, I couldn't help but wonder about the dollar's purpose. My curiosity trumped the possibility of contracting the siph.
Bmaddie and I went up to see what it was all about. Apparently, it's a common assumption that strippers can pick up dollars with their behinds; however, we learned it was based in the also false assumption that all strippers have ginormous butts. The triangular shape of the dollar was to incite an attempt at the clinch of the dollar, but instead these pretty unattractive and unfit ladies just plopped down and assumed something would happen. As I learned through the night, strip clubs are full of false assumptions and disappointing skills.
We never made it to another venue, and only one stripper successfully grabbed the dollar sans hands. We all ended up back at Banna's pad, nom-noming candy corn and watching "Golden Eye." I have now vowed to never go back because I was a little emotionally scarred not just from the poor life decisions those women had made that I had been witness to, but mostly from their lack of commitment to learning new skill sets to please customers.
Sunday, November 7, 2010
Sunday, October 31, 2010
Normal is Never Enough
October is my favorite month for a variety of reasons. Mainly my birthday, but also Halloween is my all time favorite holiday. Not only do we get to pretend to be people we aren't, we also get to dress up and gallivant around while eating candy from strangers, which is hardly ever acceptable.
This Halloween was certainly no disappointment. I decided to be my newest idol, Nicki Minaj, or so I thought. My outfit consisted of a pink wig, a set of glasses fully bedazzled so vision was completely impaired, my black shiny driving jacket and a tight black dress that I may or may not have actually worn to an event or two last year. Everyone thought I was Gaga. I think my lack of badonk was the cause of confusion, but I was willing to be confused for my previous idol, so I went with it.
Bmichelle, Bkristen and I rolled up to a party packed with graduated frat stars and expired beer. Apparently we inadvertently stumbled upon a frat house in the middle of Myers Park, but we were game because they had chili and pigs in a blanket.
A few hours later, we ended up at a bar/club downtown. I ended up ditching the wig because it was affecting my game and had a certain tussled, "drag queen" quality that I wasn't feeling anymore. It was time to hit the dance floor. Since I had recently become the 5th wheel to a 4 person party, I decided to mack on the most guido dude in view, who called himself "Lucas."
He seemed cute enough, maybe a little wrinkly, but his abs were intact and I was interested.
As we danced, I shouted my life story but when I asked for deets on his life, he declined. I asked him what he did for a living to which he replied "You know, I really don't want to talk about it, it's not exactly kosher"; when asked about his age he replied "You know, I thought we weren't going to talk about it"; when asked if I could go to the bathroom, he replied "Really? Are you still trying to talk about this?" Maybe he didn't actually hear me.
When we finally made it off the dance floor, I asked him again what he did for a living and told him that I wouldn't tell any narcs. He said, "I know you want to know, but I just don't think it's important. And don't worry, narcs don't deal with this kind of business." The only possible conclusion I came up with: he was a male gigolo, just like Deuce. Sick.
I quickly grabbed Bkristen and insisted on a swift departure, which luckily occurred. Though I had taken a bite from a stranger's hot dog on the street earlier in the night, I couldn't have been more grossed out by my choice of dance partner. There was not enough soap in the world to clean the gigolo's scent off my driving jacket, something between Axe and Abercrombie and Fitch's cologne. Ew.
This Halloween was certainly no disappointment. I decided to be my newest idol, Nicki Minaj, or so I thought. My outfit consisted of a pink wig, a set of glasses fully bedazzled so vision was completely impaired, my black shiny driving jacket and a tight black dress that I may or may not have actually worn to an event or two last year. Everyone thought I was Gaga. I think my lack of badonk was the cause of confusion, but I was willing to be confused for my previous idol, so I went with it.
Bmichelle, Bkristen and I rolled up to a party packed with graduated frat stars and expired beer. Apparently we inadvertently stumbled upon a frat house in the middle of Myers Park, but we were game because they had chili and pigs in a blanket.
A few hours later, we ended up at a bar/club downtown. I ended up ditching the wig because it was affecting my game and had a certain tussled, "drag queen" quality that I wasn't feeling anymore. It was time to hit the dance floor. Since I had recently become the 5th wheel to a 4 person party, I decided to mack on the most guido dude in view, who called himself "Lucas."
He seemed cute enough, maybe a little wrinkly, but his abs were intact and I was interested.
As we danced, I shouted my life story but when I asked for deets on his life, he declined. I asked him what he did for a living to which he replied "You know, I really don't want to talk about it, it's not exactly kosher"; when asked about his age he replied "You know, I thought we weren't going to talk about it"; when asked if I could go to the bathroom, he replied "Really? Are you still trying to talk about this?" Maybe he didn't actually hear me.
When we finally made it off the dance floor, I asked him again what he did for a living and told him that I wouldn't tell any narcs. He said, "I know you want to know, but I just don't think it's important. And don't worry, narcs don't deal with this kind of business." The only possible conclusion I came up with: he was a male gigolo, just like Deuce. Sick.
I quickly grabbed Bkristen and insisted on a swift departure, which luckily occurred. Though I had taken a bite from a stranger's hot dog on the street earlier in the night, I couldn't have been more grossed out by my choice of dance partner. There was not enough soap in the world to clean the gigolo's scent off my driving jacket, something between Axe and Abercrombie and Fitch's cologne. Ew.
Saturday, October 16, 2010
My Life Lately
I feel I offer my readers (all 3 of you), an explanation as to the recent decline in postings. Well, the title of my blog is not as accurate as it once was in that I am currently employed... though at a local Halloween store... and have been putting it to the grind for over a week now. In a constant effort to make some sort of money, I have demoted myself to true townie status as I don my orange smock.
Don't get me wrong, the people I'm working with are not that bad, though I do question my future as I'm only almost 23 and these people are 30+ and we have way too much in common. I'd much rather work at the local Banana Republic, they however, did not ever call me back... it makes me wonder what employers really think... Yet, there are some perks to working at a Halloween store. The main attraction to this job was to see what people are thinking when they buy horrendous costumes, and believe me, I have not been disappointed, especially while working the dressing rooms.
The fact that people are donning leotards and tutus in full intention of wearing it in public just cracks me up. I myself have worn some atrocious items in the past for shits and giggles, but the things these people say in the dressing room takes the cake. "I mean, if it's too short, just wear underwear" and "I really wanted to be the Candy Corn Witch to match with my daughter, but I know that after I start drinking, that outfit will not give in the belly" and similar comments keep me laughing on the inside all day long. I've found myself saying ridiculous things to people just to get them to buy that adult wizard costume and I don't even work on commission. It's just funny to see what people say in response.
Take this situation the other day. About 30 or more people come in and try 6+ outfits and don't buy a thing, so I got used to returning discarded items and listening to dressing room gossip. These two chicks, one of which was a spitting image of Snooki and the other who looked like a Nicole Ritchie wannabe came in and gathered 20 costumes each to try on. This turned into a fashion show that the fathers in the store were all too keen to enjoy while the more liberal mothers told them they needed to show more cleavage.
After 2 hours of walking around in the slutty nurse costumes, they didn't buy a thing and my male manager had to excuse himself for a "cigarette break." I felt ashamed but slightly sad that my 30% discount hasn't started yet and I therefore couldn't purchase anything yet either.
I feel like this job should supply me with more funny stories, but most of them just make me sad. You get some people that'll drop $100 for a single costume, then you get the down-and-out of luck ladies who can't buy their little boy a $5 vampire cape. It's a tangled web we weave as we prepare for a one day celebration of which decorations and costumes will tossed the following day.
My main observation has been that while millions complain of unemployment, I boast that you can be employed... if you're willing to do anything, even if it means telling the plus size chicas that their rippling rolls do not show in the medium size Perky Pin-Up costume.
Don't get me wrong, the people I'm working with are not that bad, though I do question my future as I'm only almost 23 and these people are 30+ and we have way too much in common. I'd much rather work at the local Banana Republic, they however, did not ever call me back... it makes me wonder what employers really think... Yet, there are some perks to working at a Halloween store. The main attraction to this job was to see what people are thinking when they buy horrendous costumes, and believe me, I have not been disappointed, especially while working the dressing rooms.
The fact that people are donning leotards and tutus in full intention of wearing it in public just cracks me up. I myself have worn some atrocious items in the past for shits and giggles, but the things these people say in the dressing room takes the cake. "I mean, if it's too short, just wear underwear" and "I really wanted to be the Candy Corn Witch to match with my daughter, but I know that after I start drinking, that outfit will not give in the belly" and similar comments keep me laughing on the inside all day long. I've found myself saying ridiculous things to people just to get them to buy that adult wizard costume and I don't even work on commission. It's just funny to see what people say in response.
Take this situation the other day. About 30 or more people come in and try 6+ outfits and don't buy a thing, so I got used to returning discarded items and listening to dressing room gossip. These two chicks, one of which was a spitting image of Snooki and the other who looked like a Nicole Ritchie wannabe came in and gathered 20 costumes each to try on. This turned into a fashion show that the fathers in the store were all too keen to enjoy while the more liberal mothers told them they needed to show more cleavage.
After 2 hours of walking around in the slutty nurse costumes, they didn't buy a thing and my male manager had to excuse himself for a "cigarette break." I felt ashamed but slightly sad that my 30% discount hasn't started yet and I therefore couldn't purchase anything yet either.
I feel like this job should supply me with more funny stories, but most of them just make me sad. You get some people that'll drop $100 for a single costume, then you get the down-and-out of luck ladies who can't buy their little boy a $5 vampire cape. It's a tangled web we weave as we prepare for a one day celebration of which decorations and costumes will tossed the following day.
My main observation has been that while millions complain of unemployment, I boast that you can be employed... if you're willing to do anything, even if it means telling the plus size chicas that their rippling rolls do not show in the medium size Perky Pin-Up costume.
Monday, October 4, 2010
A Regular Nine to Five...Sort Of
Since graduating, I've become really good friends with the job and childcare section of craigslist. I've visited every day, sometimes even twice a day in hopes of finding a gem of a job amid a sea of "at a glance" wanna-bes. Though I contemplated taking a man up on being his female companion to the movies, "events," and dinners (I'm still at a loss as to why this was listed under what I thought were legal jobs), I held out for a job that wouldn't land me in jail.
It wasn't until recently that craigslist and I became true friends with benefits. Usually, craigslist would call back me back and give false hopes of something more, but this time was different. This time would be magical, or as magical as a side hustle can be.
My first time having success with landing a job through craigslist proved to be more random than my typical way to make money. Instead of babysitting, giving blood, or not brushing my teeth, I would actually have set hours and have to clock in and out and perhaps even have to pay taxes. Yikes. Considering I haven't done such a thing in over 4 years, I wasn't sure if I could handle it, but the prospect of having some income was too good to pass up. However strange the job may be.
Ever heard of a traveling rack of clothes that goes from warehouse to warehouse of bulk items for 10 day stints? Yea, I hadn't either. All I could think was that there would be Blake Lively handing me her magical pants that America Ferrera had managed to squeeze into. Much to my dismay of not finding jeans that would in turn find me a husband, these traveling clothes were anything but, yet much more believable.
I signed up for the job having no clue what kind of clothes I'd be shoveling down peoples' throats in the hopes of a commission. As described most aptly by one girl close to my age as "moo-moos," the clothes job was gonna be a doozie, and not the good kind.
It was me manning three racks of fabulous granny clothes for the past 10 days and by manning it, I mean wandering around eating samples and trying to flatter people into purchasing some heinous fashion failures that old women love. Yes, I was selling clothing made of spandex and some synthetic known as acetate, something stretchy and apparently "ready for travel." When asked why I wasn't sporting the gear, I simply replied that I couldn't afford it... I thought about saying I was saving money for my three year old son with a bum leg, but the commission rate wasn't worth the pity buys.
However, I did convince a few people to buy the clothes, but due to the fact that the warehouse didn't usually sell clothes and thus lacked a dressing room and the fact that people wouldn't be able to exchange items after the roadshow left, and the simple fact they were uglier than sin on a stick, it was a hard sell.
Yet, I did get to eat many a meal off the sample carts that littered the warehouse floor day in and day out. I made friends with Bantwon who even saved me some taquitos after his shift was done. I'd say it was a successful hustle... or at least it will be once I get paid... if that happens.
Aside from the fact that I now have pink eye for the second time this year (though the circumstances leading to the infection are NOT the same as the first time, for those of you in the know), I felt more productive and I may even dabble into selling spa quality sheets at the same place.
It wasn't until recently that craigslist and I became true friends with benefits. Usually, craigslist would call back me back and give false hopes of something more, but this time was different. This time would be magical, or as magical as a side hustle can be.
My first time having success with landing a job through craigslist proved to be more random than my typical way to make money. Instead of babysitting, giving blood, or not brushing my teeth, I would actually have set hours and have to clock in and out and perhaps even have to pay taxes. Yikes. Considering I haven't done such a thing in over 4 years, I wasn't sure if I could handle it, but the prospect of having some income was too good to pass up. However strange the job may be.
Ever heard of a traveling rack of clothes that goes from warehouse to warehouse of bulk items for 10 day stints? Yea, I hadn't either. All I could think was that there would be Blake Lively handing me her magical pants that America Ferrera had managed to squeeze into. Much to my dismay of not finding jeans that would in turn find me a husband, these traveling clothes were anything but, yet much more believable.
I signed up for the job having no clue what kind of clothes I'd be shoveling down peoples' throats in the hopes of a commission. As described most aptly by one girl close to my age as "moo-moos," the clothes job was gonna be a doozie, and not the good kind.
It was me manning three racks of fabulous granny clothes for the past 10 days and by manning it, I mean wandering around eating samples and trying to flatter people into purchasing some heinous fashion failures that old women love. Yes, I was selling clothing made of spandex and some synthetic known as acetate, something stretchy and apparently "ready for travel." When asked why I wasn't sporting the gear, I simply replied that I couldn't afford it... I thought about saying I was saving money for my three year old son with a bum leg, but the commission rate wasn't worth the pity buys.
However, I did convince a few people to buy the clothes, but due to the fact that the warehouse didn't usually sell clothes and thus lacked a dressing room and the fact that people wouldn't be able to exchange items after the roadshow left, and the simple fact they were uglier than sin on a stick, it was a hard sell.
Yet, I did get to eat many a meal off the sample carts that littered the warehouse floor day in and day out. I made friends with Bantwon who even saved me some taquitos after his shift was done. I'd say it was a successful hustle... or at least it will be once I get paid... if that happens.
Aside from the fact that I now have pink eye for the second time this year (though the circumstances leading to the infection are NOT the same as the first time, for those of you in the know), I felt more productive and I may even dabble into selling spa quality sheets at the same place.
Tuesday, September 21, 2010
Double Header
Though I was virtually unknown in high school (see prior entry), I did have a group of friends whom I had the joy of reuniting with this weekend over the nuptials of Bcourtney and Bill (damn, my way to hide identity is faulted).
In true form, we started Friday evening at our local haunt, Big Shotz. Most consider this place a restaurant serving beer, however, for us, it is a bar and the location of the infamous $400 tab, so it was a natural choice for the evening. Yet, after having been labeled a townie, I had to point out that despite the live music and 40+ crowd, this was not the place to be for the evening. So we headed downtown after eating dinner.
Not truly being a townie, I still do not know where youngin's my age hang out so we ended up at another 40+ crowd kinda place, though this one did not serve French onion soup. We went downstairs to avoid being seen through the windows in the front and to get in on some prime darts real estate.
A few waters later, we decided this place was not for us and we should stalk some 22 year old looking people to another place. We quickly saw a fratty hopping bar and clambered up to the door to be let in. Considering it was 1:30 AM, they wouldn't let us in unless we paid a cover, obviously. So we looked to each other for a viable option but lucky for us, a loud and observant man gestured toward us and we followed.
He promised a dance floor and no cover. We were quickly ushered in and got our dance on. The music was bumping for our group of 6 and we loved it. Then some sketchy dudes started to sandwich Bcolleen and I did my girly rescue rescue by pulling her away. She apparently was not asking for help, like I had thought, and instead was enjoying the bump and grind of the strangers and thus returned to dance floor. We were owning this place. It felt good to both start and end the party at a bar.
The next morning I checked my account to see the damage only to find a charge at a Thai restaurant that I was certain I had not eaten any $6 worth of food. As it turns out, downtown restaurants in addition to suburb restaurants, become clubs once the sun sets. I'm learning things as I settle into my townie status.
Later the next day, Bian, Bcaro, Bandrew and I set off for the matrimony. We were 20 minutes late in leaving because the boys couldn't tie their ties, so I sped down the highway to the wedding and failed to notice that down a gravel road, you're supposed to go 20 miles per hour instead of the 40 I was doing. We pulled up in a cloud of dust as the parents of the bride reached the front of the aisle and everyone looked over to see what hooligan was rolling up so cacophonously (I'm studying for the GRE so I might be putting some large words in here to review).
Despite our raucous entrance, the wedding went off without a hitch and was beautiful. If anything, it reminded me that I've been slacking on my man hunt and need to get out there more.
It was a great weekend that ended on Sunday with Lady Gaga concerting and spreading her business as she asked Jesus to show her his teeth. Very eventful and disturbing.
In true form, we started Friday evening at our local haunt, Big Shotz. Most consider this place a restaurant serving beer, however, for us, it is a bar and the location of the infamous $400 tab, so it was a natural choice for the evening. Yet, after having been labeled a townie, I had to point out that despite the live music and 40+ crowd, this was not the place to be for the evening. So we headed downtown after eating dinner.
Not truly being a townie, I still do not know where youngin's my age hang out so we ended up at another 40+ crowd kinda place, though this one did not serve French onion soup. We went downstairs to avoid being seen through the windows in the front and to get in on some prime darts real estate.
A few waters later, we decided this place was not for us and we should stalk some 22 year old looking people to another place. We quickly saw a fratty hopping bar and clambered up to the door to be let in. Considering it was 1:30 AM, they wouldn't let us in unless we paid a cover, obviously. So we looked to each other for a viable option but lucky for us, a loud and observant man gestured toward us and we followed.
He promised a dance floor and no cover. We were quickly ushered in and got our dance on. The music was bumping for our group of 6 and we loved it. Then some sketchy dudes started to sandwich Bcolleen and I did my girly rescue rescue by pulling her away. She apparently was not asking for help, like I had thought, and instead was enjoying the bump and grind of the strangers and thus returned to dance floor. We were owning this place. It felt good to both start and end the party at a bar.
The next morning I checked my account to see the damage only to find a charge at a Thai restaurant that I was certain I had not eaten any $6 worth of food. As it turns out, downtown restaurants in addition to suburb restaurants, become clubs once the sun sets. I'm learning things as I settle into my townie status.
Later the next day, Bian, Bcaro, Bandrew and I set off for the matrimony. We were 20 minutes late in leaving because the boys couldn't tie their ties, so I sped down the highway to the wedding and failed to notice that down a gravel road, you're supposed to go 20 miles per hour instead of the 40 I was doing. We pulled up in a cloud of dust as the parents of the bride reached the front of the aisle and everyone looked over to see what hooligan was rolling up so cacophonously (I'm studying for the GRE so I might be putting some large words in here to review).
Despite our raucous entrance, the wedding went off without a hitch and was beautiful. If anything, it reminded me that I've been slacking on my man hunt and need to get out there more.
It was a great weekend that ended on Sunday with Lady Gaga concerting and spreading her business as she asked Jesus to show her his teeth. Very eventful and disturbing.
A Local Celeb Encounter
Throughout my life, I've come to know many people only by the nicknames they either acquired via others or by my brother and I. These people included Scary Terri, Harriet Potter, Stache, Black Rob, and Big Lorey. After I moved home, for some unknown reason, I assumed everyone was either gone figuratively (like to another city) or literally (deceased). If I hadn't seen them in the past 4 years, they were gone...I learned this was an untrue statement and many of the rumors I may have inadvertently spread were false.
In keeping with finding places to play trivia, I ended up at a pub downtown with Bpotter. After sucking at every round, we were gonna call it a night, that is until Big Lorey was spotted. I had been convinced he had Tupac-ed out years ago and this sighting was like seeing Harry from "Harry and the Hendersons." I had to get photographic proof that he did exist.
Not being particularly acquainted with BL, I had to get a Guinness to gear me up. Bpotter and I sat down and awaited the perfect time, but exhaustion was coming quickly and I wasn't sure if he had peaced out (in this context, I mean from the bar). He glided past us and I took the opportunity to grab him from behind to get his attention.
I may or may not have stuck my nails in his back while I exclaimed "LOREY!" He turned around, completely not recognizing the girl who had just attacked him. I quickly went into the conversation with a sense of acquaintance-ness. He followed suit and said, "Oh wow, how have you been??" I was on his good side.
After a minute of chit-chat, I threw the camera to Bpotter and requested a quick photo opp. He stared at me and asked if I was going to put the photo on facebook, for some reason my reply of "Oh no way, this is just for memories!" seemed appropriate. Had he been paying more attention, he would have asked what memories he would want with a girl he didn't even know...luckily, after the photo, I began to complain about being unemployed and he told me about his job that he has to support his 3 year old daughter. I was a little jealous of his income, so I had to leave.
To this moment, I'm positive BL wouldn't be able to identify me even if I tagged him on facebook and friended him. Oh, the joys of having been unknown in high school.
In keeping with finding places to play trivia, I ended up at a pub downtown with Bpotter. After sucking at every round, we were gonna call it a night, that is until Big Lorey was spotted. I had been convinced he had Tupac-ed out years ago and this sighting was like seeing Harry from "Harry and the Hendersons." I had to get photographic proof that he did exist.
Not being particularly acquainted with BL, I had to get a Guinness to gear me up. Bpotter and I sat down and awaited the perfect time, but exhaustion was coming quickly and I wasn't sure if he had peaced out (in this context, I mean from the bar). He glided past us and I took the opportunity to grab him from behind to get his attention.
I may or may not have stuck my nails in his back while I exclaimed "LOREY!" He turned around, completely not recognizing the girl who had just attacked him. I quickly went into the conversation with a sense of acquaintance-ness. He followed suit and said, "Oh wow, how have you been??" I was on his good side.
After a minute of chit-chat, I threw the camera to Bpotter and requested a quick photo opp. He stared at me and asked if I was going to put the photo on facebook, for some reason my reply of "Oh no way, this is just for memories!" seemed appropriate. Had he been paying more attention, he would have asked what memories he would want with a girl he didn't even know...luckily, after the photo, I began to complain about being unemployed and he told me about his job that he has to support his 3 year old daughter. I was a little jealous of his income, so I had to leave.
To this moment, I'm positive BL wouldn't be able to identify me even if I tagged him on facebook and friended him. Oh, the joys of having been unknown in high school.
Wednesday, September 15, 2010
A Musical Night
I realized I hadn't written in a while and was shocked that I've left out a very momentous and memorable night.
I decided to start my own Make a Wish-type foundation for those recent grads who didn't do some certain and necessary things while in school. My first wish to be granted was to take my friend Bmark to a concert, since he's never been to one...which in itself is crazy enough to me because I used to be the scene kid in high school posting up at the local joint, Ziggy's, listening to music I had never heard then commenting on the wicked rifts and guitar solos...totally emo.
No one I knew was coming to play in the area, so we settled on an unknown yet myspace approved artist showcasing his lyrical stylings and all together too tight pants at a bar/club. As soon as we stepped on the scene, it was all teenie boppers then some weird older couples that I determined were either looking for someone to swing with that night or just waiting on their kids. I quickly remembered my days of getting my mom to drop me off at shows while I made sure my butterfly clips were in place so I fit in...yea...
We quickly grabbed beers to both assert our non-teenage-ness and that we were there for a party. It was a good move.
The bands were pretty okay, but the night was ending at 10, and this is just unacceptable for a weekend night at my age so we moseyed over to a hole in the wall that was offering $2 PBR, the drink of champions and the choice of the night. Before scoping out our surroundings, I ordered us one and then turned around to see only lesbians aged 40+ and a random dude getting his jollies. Apparently we'd stumbled upon the stronghold of older hippies without realizing it. There was a band playing a song that was called "Sin, sin, sin, sin to be saved," if that gives you any sense of what this place had in store for us. The lead singer was about 4'10" and wore a rocking flannel shirt as she eyed her large and in charge guitarist lady. It was a match made in heaven. But alas, we downed the drinks as quickly as possible to avoid getting hit on then headed on.
We ended up a fratastic bar with a little guy playing piano. We sat down and immediately saw a couple bound to bed. This couple was extraordinary because you could tell neither of them usually let loose. The chick donned a cardigan and a below the knee skirt whilst the man-friend wore the usual frat uniform of a button down and khaki slacks. The girl's cardigan was unbuttoned for extra exposure and her Indian suitor followed by showing off his belly through an unbuttoned Oxford. They were dancing the night away but as the boy broke away for a pee break, the girl sat down and was visibly contemplating whether she should escape or leave with the round fellow. She squinted her eyes and stroked her chin but as the boy came toward her, she stepped up to him, kissed the heck out of him and they immediately left. Yet another match made in heaven/ the Crunkleton.
The rush of emotions throughout the evening can be summed up as follows: old, young and out of place, jealous. I think you catch my drift.
I decided to start my own Make a Wish-type foundation for those recent grads who didn't do some certain and necessary things while in school. My first wish to be granted was to take my friend Bmark to a concert, since he's never been to one...which in itself is crazy enough to me because I used to be the scene kid in high school posting up at the local joint, Ziggy's, listening to music I had never heard then commenting on the wicked rifts and guitar solos...totally emo.
No one I knew was coming to play in the area, so we settled on an unknown yet myspace approved artist showcasing his lyrical stylings and all together too tight pants at a bar/club. As soon as we stepped on the scene, it was all teenie boppers then some weird older couples that I determined were either looking for someone to swing with that night or just waiting on their kids. I quickly remembered my days of getting my mom to drop me off at shows while I made sure my butterfly clips were in place so I fit in...yea...
We quickly grabbed beers to both assert our non-teenage-ness and that we were there for a party. It was a good move.
The bands were pretty okay, but the night was ending at 10, and this is just unacceptable for a weekend night at my age so we moseyed over to a hole in the wall that was offering $2 PBR, the drink of champions and the choice of the night. Before scoping out our surroundings, I ordered us one and then turned around to see only lesbians aged 40+ and a random dude getting his jollies. Apparently we'd stumbled upon the stronghold of older hippies without realizing it. There was a band playing a song that was called "Sin, sin, sin, sin to be saved," if that gives you any sense of what this place had in store for us. The lead singer was about 4'10" and wore a rocking flannel shirt as she eyed her large and in charge guitarist lady. It was a match made in heaven. But alas, we downed the drinks as quickly as possible to avoid getting hit on then headed on.
We ended up a fratastic bar with a little guy playing piano. We sat down and immediately saw a couple bound to bed. This couple was extraordinary because you could tell neither of them usually let loose. The chick donned a cardigan and a below the knee skirt whilst the man-friend wore the usual frat uniform of a button down and khaki slacks. The girl's cardigan was unbuttoned for extra exposure and her Indian suitor followed by showing off his belly through an unbuttoned Oxford. They were dancing the night away but as the boy broke away for a pee break, the girl sat down and was visibly contemplating whether she should escape or leave with the round fellow. She squinted her eyes and stroked her chin but as the boy came toward her, she stepped up to him, kissed the heck out of him and they immediately left. Yet another match made in heaven/ the Crunkleton.
The rush of emotions throughout the evening can be summed up as follows: old, young and out of place, jealous. I think you catch my drift.
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