So. My weekend.
Gah. This entry is going to make my hand cramp. I can tell already.
It started normal enough. I went home and hung out with my homies. And by ‘homies’, I mean Tilly and several hundred dirty socks. I basically went even further into slacker mode. I wasn’t certain when Penny and Carissa would be done with their afternoon plans (girl golfing, without me because I had to work. They suck.). I got ready, deciding upon my smaller jeans, which now fit (Go Operation Hottie Go!) and an acid green $7 t-shirt from last year. Which is now way too big. Note to self: shrink that. And of course, I had to pair that with matching acid green undies and bra. Because I’m a girl and I can.
I had to find some batteries for my Evil Battery Sucking Camera. On Friday morning, there was a lovely misty haze and I was going to take my camera on my walk and take some pictures of our neighborhood, but my Evil Battery Sucking Camera came up limp. I went to the local mass merchandiser, figuring I’d also see if they had any more $7 t-shirts (It’s a sickness, I tell you! Someone stop me before I run out of clothing storage space). They did. I scored three new white t-shirts, now marked down to $5.96. You can never have too many blindingly white t-shirts.
I also found a replacement pair of white sneakers, as my sneakers from last year are beginning to look a tad dingy. I did not, however find a lithium battery and relegated myself to disappointment with some damn AA’s. Gah.
I went back home and proceeded to idle away the hours. I hate that time. I looked really cute and I’m much like a cut orchid, especially on a 95 degree summer night while wearing jeans. My hair gets droopy. My t-shirt gets wrinkly and limp. My makeup can melt. It’s a lot harder to be a girl than people give us credit for. Because we hadn’t made plans for dinner, I ate a Luna bar and promptly proceeded to get melted fake chocolate-whatever-it-was on my acid green t-shirt. Great.
I quickly replaced it with a big wet spot where I half-heartedly tried to eradicate the fake chocolate. I can’t be left alone to stay pretty. It just doesn’t work out. If I were locked in a small room with only four bare white walls, I will exit the room, covered in bat guano or possibly lardy chocolate frosting. It’s just not fair.
Finally, Carissa and Penny arrived, giggling and very excited. Penny was our escort, in her Monte which is the sporty strumpet red sister to my chaste nun’s apprentice white Monte.
Carissa, having always been the designated driver on previous jaunts to Harry’s, heretofore known as The Bad Bar, was noticeably excited. And yes, that is a Green Bay Packer blimp hanging in Penny’s car window. I don’t get it either.
We drove the short distance to The Bad Bar and I literally ran a chubby sort of undignified run into the bar because I was so very excited to be there.
I think I may have been channeling my drunken mama and all of the drunken elements of my family tree. Seriously. I was having an out of body experience, I think. I cannot be accountable for the actions beyond this point. None whatsoever. Nada. Remember that when you read the rest of this.
I just saw people’ MEN’ dancing on the very scary window ledge and sweet retro tunes pumping from the steamy door that I absolutely lost control. Notice the man very much enjoying the sight of the curvy round sex goddess actually CHARGING the bar, much like a rhinoceros toward’whatever it is that rhinoceroses really enjoy. Perhaps a lovely sale at the rhinoceros Nordstrom or something. Ok, forget that metaphor and let’s just move on.
We made our way to the back portion of the bar. Carissa immediately recognized someone she knew, because wherever she goes, she knows someone. She was in Brownies with them in second grade. She used to date their cousin. They had asked her for directions to a restaurant in 1986. Whatever. It’s one of her many talents. This lady had been at a Tupperware party she attended 8 months ago. I’m not even making that up either. It’s scary to watch her weave her strange RainMan-esque recognition game sometimes. I will not be surprised if she ever recognizes someone who was in the next crib from her at the hospital when she was born. Then Carissa proceeded to make up for lost time and drink from not one, but two, TWO glowy magical lighty-up cups. And yes, in case you’re wondering, that IS Malibu and Diet Coke in them. Both of them.
Apparently, they were forging iron in the back bar of The Bad Bar because it was roughly 213 degrees in there. Not a dry heat, either, but rather a sweaty humid Man Aura kind of heat. Like a Men’sLocker room. Men who engage in pro-wrestling. With pigs. Very hot pigs.
Penny noticed that I did not seem to be enjoying myself to my normal amount of hilarity, and promptly purchased me a Blind Russian, which I chugged immediately, because it had, nestled betwixt the lovely alcohols, glorious cubes of ice. Oh ice! The love that is ice.
I bemoaned my choice to look cute rather than be comfortable. Penny then offered to run me home, as I live not terribly far from the bar, so that I could change. Penny rocks. We left Carissa at the bar because at that very moment, we bumped into Jasmine and her friend, Chad.
We ran back to my house, where I was then forced to make a quick change out of my jeans and into my white shorts. Whoops, back up. Neon green panties are not the best friends of white shorts. With many apologies to Penny for the state of my house, including a horrifying realization that she had used my bathroom, which looked as though the Incredible Wrestling Pigs had used it to make crazy pig loving while stripping their soft cuddly boxer shorts and $7 t-shirts with lust normally reserved for members of the priesthood. Gah. I’m so very bad at being an adult sometimes.
We returned to the bar and found that Carissa had found another of her long lost bosom friends. This one was a very attractive older fox, introduced to me as ‘Tyler’s Dad’. Or maybe he had a real name, but I’m not sure. He was a hottie. And he danced with me at the bar while Penny and Carissa danced on the scary window ledge, their asses in the window facing onto Broadway. I swore to myself that I would not be seen shaking my curvy groove thang in that window, much like a smoked side of pork.
And then I had another drink. And then the Beatles Twist And Shout came on and I felt myself channeling Ferris Bueller and hopped up onto the ledge. I twisted. I shouted. I worked it. And it was a good thing.
I don’t know myself any more.
And that’s when Carissa turned to me and said, ‘Do you know who the hottest person in this bar is?’ And I said, ‘Who?’ to which she replied ‘You!’. Damn straight. Even with my shirt which was far too large, I was dang hot. And it was a good thing that I did match my bra to my t-shirt as apparently the crew neck tee is far more revealing than I had thought originally. And I think that guy standing behind us thinks that we’re taking his picture or something. It looks like he’s doing something nasty back there, though.
Then I was dancing and alternately leaning on the Magical Wall of Support. Carissa and I would turn to look at each other from time to time and say ‘Bad BAR!’ It was. It was a very bad bar that makes us do very bad things. That bar slaps my ass and makes me call it Daddy.
Carissa also spotted Buzz the bartender, the one who had been wearing the red velvet pants the last time we visited The Bad Bar. The one I said was swishy because of said red velvet pants. Seen without his Pants of Swish, he was far more heterosexual. Carissa decided that she had an enormous crush on him, rivaling her affection for Jon Bon Jovi.
She explained that I must get a picture of Buzz for her and then she proceeded to block my very first attempt by doing her impression of Belinda Carlisle. Harry’s Rule Of Alcohol Engagement: Amount of Alcohol Imbibed is in direct proportion to the incidences of Arm Flailing. Carissa proved this theorem quite soundly. She’s going to write a paper, I think.
I did explain to Buzz that I write a web diary and his velvet pants were lauded to the electronic world. He was nonplussed. I then explained that I needed to take a photo of him for my diary page. Then he decided that I was a stalker. Or a freak with a camera and a big wet spot on her shirt.
The bar was getting quite crowded. Mo showed up. In some strange manner of drunken greeting, I walked up to her while she was dancing on the windowsill and pinched her ass, running away giggling. She yelled out ‘You pinched my ass, loser. You’re not that sneaky! I see you giggling!’ Ok. I wouldn’t make a very good spy once they started with the vodka and tasty beverages. She was wearing a rather revealing outfit. Apparently, I made some kind of comment about her breasts. And she replied that she was wearing a water bra. And then Carissa grabbed her boob and said ‘Penny! Feel this! It’s water!’ Bah! Poor Mo. All of this groping and not a man among us.
I perched upon a leopard-print barstool because I was no longer able to stand unless I was dancing. There were strange drunken dynamics at work. A linebacker-esque guy walked by a few times, wearing a white banker shirt and burgundy suspenders with matching tie. By that time, I was calling everyone ‘Baby’, so I said ‘Ooh, those are nice suspenders, baby. I think I just felt a surge of estrogen.’ He smiled, because hey, he thought he was getting picked up and leaned in to say something to me, something which sounded like ‘Motor homes are where I ripe banana Marv Albert’. And he smelled good, so I said, ‘Baby, you smell good!’ And he smiled. And proceeded to subtly stroke my leg as he then continued upon his way. He then passed me like fourteen times in the next half hour, each time surripitously getting more and more fresh. Of course, I was oblivious. Finally, I slurred to our lovely sober Penny ‘Baby, I think Suspenders Guy is feeling me up!’ The next time he passed, his hand grazed along my inner thighs. Penny declared ‘Oh my goodness, yes he was!’ Confirmed in my suspicions, I then proceeded to brag to Mo, who had only at that point been felt up by females.
She didn’t believe me.
That’s my sister, ladies and gentlemen. Luckily I had a witness, and Penny confirmed that I am, indeed, attractive to men wearing suspenders and far too much Polo. Finally, I asked him why he kept passing us and he replied that he wanted to keep getting close to me. Or maybe he said he wanted to show his clothes to me. Or maybe it was that I looked like Glenn Close eating Brie. I dunno.
And need I tell you that I was the coolest person in the bar? No. I don’t think I need to tell you that. And most likely the only person in the bar wearing a lime green bra. They had a game at one point, Harry’s Wheel of Misfortune or something like that. Anyway, you could win a body shot off a bartender of your choice, or a t-shirt or what have you. One girl spun and it landed on ‘Remove One Undergarment’ which she did and the bartender promptly tied it upon his head. I would have been pissed. My bras are expensive. It’s not like they’re boxed Playtex bras or anything. Not to mention the floppage. The girls need support! Her boyfriend later almost went all Jerry Springer on the bartender until he returned her bra. Damn right. He probably paid for the thing and knew how expensive they are. I’m just saying.
Because Carissa is utterly obsessed with Buzz and apparently offered him sexual relief, to which he replied, ‘You’re married, aren’t you?’ And Carissa, being a truthful kind of person, answered in the affirmative. Buzz then expounded that only married women think he is hot. That’s because he is hot. But then, I’m married, so what do I know? He apparently had some kind of magical principle to him which prevented anyone from taking a reasonable picture. I tried taking pictures of his behind, and it didn’t really work out all that well. Finally, I did manage to get a successful picture of him talking to Carissa while Penny looks on.
‘I’m just saying’ became the catch phrase of the night, by the way. Later, I used my little recording device to record our drunken babbling and I’m a bit embarrassed by just how much we said it. I may never say that again. I’m just saying.
This is where things get fuzzy though. I switched to Diet Coke after spending a good five minutes with my face down on the leopard print barstool, which was mercifully cool and still, as opposed to the rest of the room that was warm and spinny. They played the ‘Tootsie Roll’ song again, which perked me right up. I then spilled most of my Diet Coke onto my shirt and announced to the world that I was lactating aspartame. The hottie known as ‘Tyler’s Dad’ disappeared and apparently went to a nearby similar retro bar nearby.
The People In Charge (whoever that was’ drunk people are like sheep’ it might have been the Suspenders Man giving orders. Like I said’ fuzzy.) decided we would go there as well. Thus, we said goodbye to The Bad Bar and wandered down to the other retro bar, heretofore known as The Retro Meat Market. This was like The Bad Bar in theory, the theory being that they were playing retro tunes and had some psychedelic daisies plastered here and there, but it was filled with beautiful people and then boys checked you out as soon as you walked in. It didn’t have the fraternity party atmosphere like The Bad Bar. It was as though you took The Bad Bar, with its I’m Ok You’re OK/Let’s Just Have Some Fun vibe and set it down in a Calvin Klein perfume commercial. Everyone was too pretty to be having fun. I hated it. Carissa immediately disappeared, presumably off with Tyler’s Dad. Mo scammed me into buying her a beer, so I bought myself a beer as well, which just goes to show how inebriated I really was. Then Penny and Carissa decided that they wanted to go, which was fine with me, so I gave my beer to Jasmine’s friend Chad. To his credit, he didn’t worry about girl cooties and drank my Miller with relish. And mustard. Ok, I’ll stop hauling out that joke. I promise.
We skittered out to the car with a peal of giggles with the intent of going to Taco Bell and getting chili cheese burritos. But then we went to a porn shop. And that story will have to wait, because my hand is all crampy and crazy. I’m just saying. Besides, I also have to get clearance from some of the key players. But it’s hysterical. Censorship sucks.
Oh, and here’s a picture of Penny’s retro ‘Jem and The Holograms’ shoes. She’s outrageous. Truly, truly outrageous.
