Stop’ part one of this entry is here.
Go read it. I’ll wait.
Phew.
Penny and Carissa asked if I would do their hair for our evening’s hotness. I accepted the challenge, complimented that they feel that confident in my beautifying techniques to entrust their heads to me. It’s been a weird summer, as this is the third time someone has asked me to do their hair for them. The problem is that yes, my hair does look acceptable most of the time, but honestly, it’s the cut, not me who makes it look that way. I am entirely low key about the matter. And also, on that particular night, my hair had not done good things. It had not been kind whatsoever. It was bordering upon being Female Gym Teacher Hair. Regardless, I rose to the challenge, packaging up all of my products (Esteban’s favorite thing now is to mock me and refer to any hair goop as ‘Product’. He especially likes to repeat Kyan during ‘Queer Eye for the Straight Guy’ every time he says ‘Product’ too. He’s so goofy.) and heading out. It was entirely too warm and humid to bother with dressing cute, so I wore my tan cargo shorts which are dumpy and baggy, but extremely comfortable and I cannot bear to think about the day that they will undoubtedly slide off my hips in whilst I am in line at Target or somesuch. Although, according to the damn jean skirt at Lane Bryant, that day will be very far off. I paired this with a olive shirt with a retro Limited 1986 insignia on it. I called it my Militant Lesbian outfit, as it was so drab and baggy, but I didn’t care, as comfort was the theme of the night.
Carissa, however, was fucking hot and that was in no reference to the thermometer. Her efforts on Weight Watchers have earned her a fifty-plus pound loss and she was smoking in military-esque pants, a funky sleeveless top, and some strappy shoes (which, incidentally, she purchased to wear at my wedding, but they have aged gracefully). Very Studio 54. I made the cheeky comment that she actually looked her age (I always tease her about having forty-year-old hair) and she told me that if she didn’t adore me as much as she did, she would have smacked me. Yeah, but I was dressed like a lesbian, so what the hell do I know about fashion?
At Penny’s, I ordered both of them to wet their hair and gave them Tigi’s Superstar to give them volume. Had I known then what I know now, I would have forbade Carissa from even looking at the bottle, because she has more than enough hair to cover all of the Hair Club for Men. I began blow drying Penny’s hair, giving her a piecey fluffy shag, but her top pieces were very long, so I was having a problem giving her the desired effect on the top. Then I turned to Carissa, whose layered cut should have been accepting to the volumetric blow drying technique I was giving it, but it was like trying to put out a fire with gasoline. Her hair was so thick and there was so much of it that my arm actually got tired while I was drying it. Then, when I thought I had pretty much finished with the dryer, I realized that half of her hair was still wet! I forged onward through the thicket, wielding my vent brush, freestyling with a straightening technique, but finally realized that I was giving her an afro. Finally I threw my hands up in defeat, declared that her head was my Waterloo and have decided that while I know what looks good, I can’t do it myself. So I’m kind of like an art critic. Or Larry Flynt. Carissa took over and tamed the savage beast that was her head, creating a cute shag from the wilderness.
Then, with the addition of Lisa and her friend Judy, we headed out to the Bad Bar, with strict orders to claim the side by the Magical Wall of Support (which is the best side of the very small bar, because you don’t have people standing by you, squishing in to get to the bar, and you don’t have people walking past you to try to get to the bathroom, and you still have access to the windowsill for dancing), but were surprised to find that there was maybe three people in the whole place. We staked out our real estate and quickly ordered a round. Penny was drinking something that looked like Smurfberry Blue kool-aid (which I used to drink by the gallon when I was first living on my own and excrutiatingly poor. I called it Smurf Pee. Yes, I was classy even at a young age. And which the folks at Kool Aid no longer make’ damn you Kool-Aid man! Damn you to hell!). It was made with lemonade and Blue UV and’ oooh’. Bad Bar! It tasted like Blue Raspberry Slushie, only it didn’t give you a brain freeze if you chugged it because it was soooo good. Bad Bar. It’s a Bad Bar. Bad Bar with the glowy magical cups.
By the time I was into my second glass, I was feeling the effects of said concoction. I did the math and realized that I had forgone the ten dollar food rule (on Bad Bar days, you must eat at least ten dollars worth of food’ by my calculation, all day, I had soft pretzel sticks, a bag of microwave popcorn during the DVD, and most of a 99 cent bag of Cool Ranch Doritos which are my personal snack food crack. Thus, total for the day was less than five dollars.) I felt that an emergency Chili Cheese Burrito was required, but we had all been drinking and the nearest Taco Bell was at least five miles away. Thankfully, Jason walked up right then, so I commandeered him and his BMW convertible and we sped off into the night in search of cheap Mexican-food alternatives. Carissa and Penny followed me out the door, shouting their food orders until we were trying to remember them, ‘A chilito’ a soft shell supreme taco’ another chilito’ nachos with cheese’. Ok, two chilitos’ a soft shell supreme’ nachos with cheese’ this is too much for a drunk person to remember! A gallon of milk and a stick of butter!’ Which is what Esteban yells at me whenever I attempt to give him a list that exceeds three things.
Drive Thrus whilst in a convertible are a totally new experience. Also, Jason’s car only seats two people. And it’s not kidding, either. There is no ‘But my friend, she’s a fashion model, she can sit in the back’ I almost told him ‘Dude, there’s no way you’re ever going to get some threeway action going on now!’ but then the sad realization that he would probably be happy with just some two way action’ and I kept my mouth shut. Even while tipsy, I am occasionally blessed with propriety. A mosquito had the audacity to bite me on my shoulder through my shirt. I was completely shocked at this. It would never have happened in car which wasn’t made by Fisher Price. But at the same time, while sitting under the drive thru canopy, we got to look up at a ginormous spider that was straight out of a book by E.B. White, leaving me to exclaim with delight ‘Its thorax is the size of a bean!’. And leave me in wonder’how is it that I could pull from my drunken brain the word ‘thorax’ when usually I just call my friends ‘baby’ because I don’t actually want to go through the trouble of remembering their names? It is a mystery.
I returned with the fiesta of cheap food, having purchased more than requested, including an additional chili cheese burrito, three meximelts, and an extra nachos with cheese, all of which were quickly inhaled. Carissa worried for a moment that we would be thrown from the bar for eating take in, but then Steph, our favorite bartender, walked over and said ‘Ooooh’ is that a Chilito??’. Thus, showing her age, because all children of the eighties call a chili cheese burrito ‘Chilito’. And I suppose the addition of food allowed us to stay at the bar longer and also to drink more, theoretically to buy more drinks (although I believe I only spent nine dollars, excluding the Taco Bell stuff. My normal source of free drinks, the Bald Bartender/Owner was not there that night, but my girls Steph and Nancy were both comping me drinks and Eric was surreptitiously buying me refills of the Blue Death while my back was turned because I gave him one of my patented back massages. I suspect that I made him drool. Penny got jealous, so I gave her one and then she also asked if I could teach that to her boyfriend. Next in line was Carissa, who said she understood why I was happily married, given that my mastery of physical pleasure is not limited to my oral skills. I never realized that it was all that great, but Eric said that it was not too soft, not too hard, it was juuuuuussst rayht. And it all made me giggle, just a little bit.
Then Eric claimed me as his bitch by giving me his earring to wear. So I think we were engaged again. For the evening at least. At one point, I think I made his night when I said ‘Yes Sir’ about something and he was astonished, stating that he never thought that he would hear those two words, in that order, coming from my mouth in all sincerity. But I was his bitch, what could I do? Well, maybe it wasn’t that sincere. Thanfully, he didn’t want me to put out.
There were many rocking tunes spun on the MP3 player that evening (The Bad Bar may be retro, but it’s up on technology, yo.). Carissa and Penny pretty much owned the dancing window ledge for most of the evening. And for good reason because they were so hot they were altering the weather patterns. I did manage to ascend the window ledge for Run DMC’s ‘Tricky’, because it is my song. Apparently I missed ‘Dancing Queen’ while making my Chilito run, and thus Penny and Carissa hauled Lisa up to complete the Charlie’s Angels choreography. They taught her the glorious arm waving and pointing. I’m so very proud of them. Look at my little party girls! They are all grown up.
The bar started to get more and more crowded. Jason had been sitting in the bookend spot on the bar, guarding the boundaries of our much desired bar real estate, but Jason is one who likes to dance and do the wacky at the bar. It occurs to me now that this was poor planning. I should have assigned seats, as it is my own personal vendetta to keep our claimed spots at the bar. Some interlopers tried to budge into Jason’s spot while he was dancing and Eric and I made him come down from the ledge and reclaim his territory, which he did with much finesse and charm. But it was like trying to keep back the very tide of the ocean with the drunken skinny bitches and their dull as toast boyfriends. Soon Jason’s spot was gone again and there was simply nothing to be done. Choose your battles and all of that. Obviously, the Chilitos had interrupted my level of inebriation, else I would have been asking them to step outside and take on the angry lesbian in baggy cargo pants. Eric commented that they wouldn’t try that shit with Boobs McCallahan and I have to agree. And then Eric did the Godfather chin scrape gesture, and I decided that Boobs McCallahan’s trademark would be a licked finger circling her nipple. And then Jason almost had a stroke and I suspect passed an entire bottle of imported dark alcohol through his nasal cavity.
Speaking of which, my normal hotness vibe was completely off. At no time was I ever the hottest person in the bar, even when there was only six of us there. For instance, the cute bartender that I kissed on my birthday was there, and did he ask for more Weet loving? He did not. He didn’t even blink. I think of it as a ying and yang thing. Or maybe my hotness is hibernating, getting set to come back stronger and more irresistible than ever before. One can only hope.
Carissa, Me, and Penny recreate this famous boobular pose.
And then I got tired and Scotty Boom Boom offered to drive me home. Carissa and Penny made sad faces at me and then off I went, into the night with Scotty, discussing blow jobs and Esteban’s illness and the love of a good gardener. And there it was. Another Bad Bar night in the books and me not even a little drunk anymore. Ah well. I crawled into bed. Esteban walked in from his bi-weekly D&D game just as I turned off the light and then we proceeded to sleep the sleep of the dead, allowing me to catch up on my sleep deficit quite nicely. All in all, an excellent way to spend a Friday.
This is Boobs McCallahan. Signing off on another Bad Bar entry. Mwah.
