Part One of this entry can be found here
FYI: The mouse is still in the house. That’s going to be an entry in and of itself.
Where was I? Oh yes, I’d just completed the first point on the outline titled ‘Getting the Hell Out of Dodge’. Thank god for the outline.
Because none of us had eaten lunch, we formulated a simple plan to maximize our time. We’d head downtown to the Hootchie Mama store, then grab food at Ed Debevics, then off to the Mayfair Mall where we would revel in a consumer’s utopia. And get Krispy Kremes. I think Penny and Carissa began to lose faith in the Weetabix method of navigation (drive around in the vague direction of where you are going and correct as you go until you get there) to the Hootchie Mama store, but we did find it after one circle around the block that I thought it was on. We scored prime parking in front of the store because the meters were going to shut off in half an hour (at which time, it became illegal to park there’. Details, details). Penny and Carissa scurried with full arms to the dressing rooms, which were basically little cubbies with 24 inch doorways covered by 18 inches of fabric. Then we had a mini fashion montage. Or would have if someone had been piping in ‘I’m Too Sexy’ alternating with ‘Oh My God, Look At My Fat Ass’. (That one’s available on the soundtrack to my life, by the way. In stores soon.)
Penny ended up with a hot pleather skirt, a velvet top thingy with Stevie Nicks sleeves, a white lace up shirt that looks as though it were mated for life with the pleather skirt, and I think something else. I kept throwing many outfits at Carissa and essentially trying to dress her like me, and she ended up with a damn hot pair of SortaSuede pants and a brown peasant blouse, a matching pleather bracelet (for a DOLLAR!) and I think Penny bought her a shirt too. I ended up with nary even one cheap Hootchie Mama find, after several disappointing attempts and false starts decided to cut my losses and save my retail therapy for the greener pastures of Mayfair.
Oh, and we got a $30 parking ticket. Time apparently flies when there is cheap slutty clothing to be had.
Then went to Ed Debevics for lunch. If you’ve never been to an Ed’s, imagine Jack Rabbit Slim’s from Pulp Fiction, but not as nice. Our waiter, Nickels, reminded me of the Verizon Guy. Another waiter, who was gayer than Gaydonia, kept calling Carissa Lynda Carter. Then he acted like Penny was Donna Mills from Knots Landing. Then he turns to me and forever earned himself a place in hell. ‘Roseanne Barr! I hope you’re making a comeback, sweetie!’
I hate him. I hope he gets VD.
Our waiter, however, was hot. Carissa, because she is that way, convinced him to make the entire waitstaff dance on the tables. He played ‘Car Wash’ and oooohie, that boy could shake it. If he wasn’t adorable when we started, with the whole cutie Verizon Guy glasses and goofy grin, when he started dancing, you just wanted to lick chocolate syrup directly off his body. Even the hairy parts.
We then scurried off to Mayfair Mall, but found the freeway to be a veritable parking lot, as it was rush hour. I pulled off at our earliest exit and found ourselves deeply ensconced in Da Hood. Penny nonchalantly locked the doors. I pulled out the Bon Jovi and put in one of my mix CDs with ‘Ghetto Superstar’ on it. I kept reassuring them. ‘Look, they recycle. See, only good people care about the earth!’ But then I found the street I was looking for and trekked through town to the mall. By that time, it was 6:00. We were to be at The Bad Bar at 9ish. We were still 120 miles away from home. We pulled into the mall and then I realized that they didn’t have a Lane Bryant at that mall’ the one black spot on the utter perfection that is Mayfair. Carissa went with Penny to see if they have adequately sized bras at Victoria’s Secret while I hit the second floor to find Torrid. I was greeted like an old friend by the clerks, as I was wearing my red hoodie and Tinkerbell shirt from there. I quickly scored an Emily Strange t-shirt and a different Tink shirt. Then I blew over to Victoria’s Secret. There, Penny was scantily clad and Carissa had learned that Vickie’s Secret is that they only make stuff for skinny people. Like, if you need a bra, then you can’t shop there. I had her try a size down. At one point, I was standing in the dressing room and both of them had their bras off and it was a bonding moment. I lifted my own shirt and showed them my boobs too. Hot blonde, sassy brunette, and um’me’ topless. Something for every man.
We then hit the road in search of Krispy Kreme, with a little handdrawn map on a Torrid receipt (love those girls!). Carissa and Penny then got to taste the heaven that is a perfectly warm Krispy Kreme donut. I ate three and then felt sick for the next two hours. Gah. I always do that! By that time, we were completely pumped with adrenaline by our rush through Mayfair (which took all of 35 minutes). I threw in a Bad Bar mix cd and we proceeded to jam out to the Tricky song. Carissa then began flashing her breasts at fellow commuters, because we are sometimes wild and uncontrollable. Penny tried on her new bra and new lace up shirt thingy and almost blinded us with her hotness. And also flashed a trucker, who then tried extremely hard to catch up with us again, but I lost him in rush hour. Good times, good times.
I cut some minutes off the drive time (read: sped like a little banshee) and we whiled away the time talking about the only thing you can talk about after you’ve all seen each other’s boobies, and that is sex. We talked about penis size. We talked about our first times. We debated receiving oral sex (for the record, one of us is for, one of us is against, and one of us didn’t opt in with an opinion on the matter) and we managed to get Carissa home at 8:05 and me home by 8:24, just in time to get my sister Mo’s phone call wondering what time I was going to pick her up for the Bad Bar. Gah. I barked at her that I would be there in fifteen minutes and proceeded to do a complete change of outfit but still looked like I was wearing the same thing (instead of blue jeans, white socks, and sneakers, it was black jeans, black argyle socks and Docs; instead of navy Tink shirt and red hoodie, my retro black/grey v-neck t-shirt and hoodie. I accessorized with my choker collar necklace that says ‘Princess’.) and then floofed the hair and did a three minute makeover on the face. Result: not bad. I trucked out of the house, forgetting my digital camera in the process, and sped the four blocks to Mo’s house. She was wearing the F.C.U.K. t-shirt I bought her in San Francisco (the one that Chauffi thinks traumatized the sales clerk) and looked very hot. But not as hot as me. That’s not her fault, though. When I’m at the Bad Bar, I’m the hottest chick there. There’s just no competing.
We hooked up with a friend I’ll call Buttercup and her posse (I had to give her a pseudonym. She knows about the diary but I don’t think I’ve mentioned her here before and she wanted a pseudonym. What is worse, she wanted to PICK her pseudonym! What? No way, missy! My own sister is called Mo because she tailgates like a MoFo, do you think I’d let you pick your own pseudonym? I mean’ mine is a pressed wheat CEREAL for God’s sake. She wanted Sinead. SINEAD??? No, I insisted. It’s Buttercup. She lobbied to change my mind. ‘Yeah, doesn’t Sinead sound cool?’ Honestly, it sounds like a hooker. Or a stripper. A stripper who hooks as a side line but has a heart of gold. Sinead. Harrumph. Your name is Buttercup and you’ll like it, chica. Gah. Mofo people.) Jasmine showed up with Chris. Joel waltzed in, soon to be joined by our friend Eric and a large contingent of his work friends. Carissa and Penny showed up. Apparently, Penny had become afraid of the hotness of the lace up shirt paired with the pleather skirt and opted instead for the velvet top thingy. Don’t fear the sexy, Penny. It is your friend.
By the time Scotty Boom Boom showed up, I was well into my third Malibu and Diet Coke. There were shots. There were body shots. Eric and I danced. Then we danced some more. I was up and down off the damn windowsill more times than I can count. At one point, Carissa Penny and I were doing Greased Lightening up there, complete with authentic choreography. We were spectacular. Whenever we were up dancing, a bunch of people would then come up and dance, just to be near such hotness.
At one point, I was up there and a middle-aged man came up and started grinding back against me, pinning me up against the window, like some science project slide of the cross section of a liver. ‘Buttocks!’ I screamed, and then started laughing because that was quite possibly the funniest thing I’ve ever had come out of my mouth. And yet the onslaught of his man buttocks continued, prompting me to scream ‘Buttocks Buttocks Buttocksbuttocksbuttooocccccccccccccckkkkkkss!’ and then collapsing into a heap of giggles against Penny’s breasts. (Undoubtedly, I was the envy of every man in the place.) ‘What? Are you ok?’ said Penny. ‘Buttocks!’ I replied, because that is the answer to end all questions. Buttocks indeed.
I fled off the windowsill for it had become the Windowsill of Bad Memories. To cement the horror of the Windowsill into my brain, Mo flashed passersby on Broadway. I’m not certain if this was spurred on by Carissa and Penny or if there was an air of breasts exposure on the wind, an instinctive thing the way that birds will some how alight off a telephone wire at once or salmon know how to go back to the stream where they were spawned. My own breasts seemed to be trying to get free and flash with their unencumbered jiggly sisters, but I managed to keep my top on. I did however allow Scotty Boom Boom to check out the cleavage that the Dayam!Bra provided. I plead temporary exuberance. I was swept up as it were in the Senseless Acts of Titillation.
Ok, here’s where things get a little fuzzy. The bald bartender started comping my drinks again, right around the time that I started calling everyone ‘baby’. At one point, I was leaning on the wall, giggling. At one point, I grabbed Eric’s cigarette and took a puff and tried to look all cool to freak him out, but I suspect that I looked like a big booger. At one point, a strange guy came up and asked what I was drinking and I said ‘I’ve already got a drink, baby!’ and then he invited me to suck on his candy necklace. I bit off a few candies. You know, just to be polite and stuff. What? I’m a very polite girl. At one point, I said to Carissa ‘You know, if penises tasted like Krispy Kremes, I would be the most powerful woman in all the world.’ Which makes dubious sense to anyone sober but it rivaled the word ‘Buttocks’ in comedic genius. At another point, Mo reported that Joel was drunkenly dancing with the Lesser Pole of Uprightness. He claims that he did not, although admits that he might have been pretending that the pole was the girl on the bar who was dancing like a ho.
Esteban came to pick Mo and me up and we ended up taking Joel home also, even though he lives 15 miles in the complete other direction. The ride to Joel’s was strange and bizarre, mostly consisting of an argument between Mo and Joel about whether or not he did have inappropriate relations with the Lesser Pole of Uprightness.
‘I did not!’
‘You did!’
‘No, you’re hallucinating!’
‘No!’
‘I did not have sex with that woman!’
‘The pole! Joel! The Pole!’
‘Whatever!’
After dropping Joel off in his house out in the furthest point in the country from our own home, we endeavored toward our side of town, with a drunken Mo and a perfectly sober Esteban bantering back and forth. All I remember was Esteban saying that he wouldn’t be comfortable at the Bad Bar because it was a Cool Person Bar and he isn’t comfortable around the Pretty People, and then Mo replying ‘Well, you lucked out because Weetabix is cool and you’re ok around her.’ Which I’m assuming was her drunken way of complimenting me. Mo really wanted food from Taco Bell. I was ok with a run to the border originally, but by the time we got to our side of town, I could taste my own urine so demanded that they bring me home. Mo and I ran in the house to pee, Mo made disparaging comments about my toilet seat and the fact that I don’t have moldings up yet (because I’m replacing the floor and putting in slate, so I’m not going to put up moldings until then) and then went back to the car where Esteban brought her to Taco Bell. Then he came home, we ate Chilitos and Krispy Kremes and went to bed, where the room did funny little spins for about five minutes and then was silent. So it was all good.
Let’s check the outline. Hootchie Mama store’ check. The multiple flashings’ check. The Joel Pole dance’. The candy necklace’ check. There it is. Over 2000 more words. Gah. I don’t need to participate in that Write a Novel In November thingy’ I do it every damn month. I better end this entry before I declare myself the hardest working diarist in Diaryland and walk off stage with Carissa draping my back with a sequined cloak. Get uppah’ get on up’ I feel good! Thank you and good night! Be sure to tip your waitstaff!
