Saturday, I painted the town red with leighhyphenanne, or at least our version of it.
Things got off to a strange start when a parade of men started hitting on me at the bus stop. Not one. Not two. Not three. FOUR different men approached me and were shameless, asking for my phone number, dropping ridiculous compliments, asking if they could go wherever I was going–at one point, I looked up to see if there was a full moon, and around me to see if maybe Ashton Kutcher was hiding in the bushes nearby, because I figure the only two potential explanations were either crazy astral influence or I was being punk’d.
When I got to the Comet, I recognized entropic_system just from the pictures he’s posted to the intertubes, and we waited together for Lanny.
Our first stop on the tour was Po Dogs, a place to coat our guts in the requisite grease to kickstart an epic evening. The week’s special was a Mac&Cheese Dog, and while that sounded disgustingly delicious, it didn’t sound disgustingly delicious enough. I steeled myself for mockery, approached the counter and asked “Do I live in a world where I can order a Deep Fried Danger Dog (a hot dog wrapped in pepper bacon which is then deep fried and smothered in onions and chili) with mac & cheese instead of chili?”
Yes. Yes I do live in that world.
It is a delicious world, ladies and gentlemen, though I have a feeling that dog is STILL sitting on my heart, hence the danger.
After dinner, we walked to Lanny’s place to pick up her wallet before we found a place to go drinking, because some places are weird about accepting passports as IDs for whatever reason. I can’t exactly remember when the idea of going to a strip club was first broached, but it definitely solidified when I spotted a Guy Fawkes mask on Lanzo’s table and insisted that it was important that he get a lap dance.
We played ding-dong-ditch on her new pothead neighbors, ran screeching down the fire exit stairs, silly-walked our way back up the hill…and then we saw it. Some utter douche had decided that since he couldn’t find an actual parking spot close to the grocery store, he would just park around the corner, in the intersection, sitting across the crosswalk. My thoughts came out in a rush, “Should I go over the hood? I want to go over the hood. Ok guys, I’m going over the hood,” and then I rolled over it, action-hero style. Next, Lanny used the tire as a step and crossed the hood on foot. As I looked back to watch her, I saw a guy angrily emerge from the QFC and shout “HEY!” Ever an avoider of confrontation, I hurried across the street, my logic being that if he was too lazy to park farther away, he certainly wouldn’t follow us all the way across the street. After we hit the next sidewalk, I glanced back and realized I was wrong. “HEY!” he yelled again, as he grabbed Lanny’s arm. “That was my car you just walked across!” “Uh…sorry?” “OH, you’re SORRY?” I interjected with “Sorry you don’t know how to park!” “YOU BITCH.” “OH NO, NOT THE ‘B’ WORD! MY FRAGILE EARS! NOW I’M *REALLY* SORRY!”
…At some point, I graduated from Internet Douchebag to Real Life Douchebag.
Thrilled at this non-confrontation, we ended up at Moe Bar, drinking PBR tallboys with straws. Lanny brought her own cozy, because frankly that is how we roll. Mike just watched, because that is how HE rolls.
After our beer, Mike was being summoned to Noc Noc for vurumai‘s welcome wagon party (ONE NIGHT ONLY: ONE LJer ENTERS SEATTLE! ONE LEAVES!), so he offered to drive us downtown since we were going to the strip club anyway. We mingled outside Noc Noc with the great big Seattle LJ crew, met the super-awesome-wonderful Tobie, and then Lanny and I walked to Deja Vu.
Once inside, we both agreed that we preferrred ladies stacked on the top and the bottom, which meant, of course, that we were doomed to be approached only by the skinniest girls in the joint. One of them was so thin, her butt was pointed. I hadn’t known that was possible. No matter how much she professed to love dancing for girls, I did her a favor by declining her lap dance offer out of concern that if she rubbed her twiglike legs together too much, she might explode into flames like dry tinder in the wilderness. Another rail-thin girl approached us, but instead of trying to sell us on a dance, plopped into the chair in front of us, almost tipping it over, and started chatting with us while we watched the super-acrobatic girl onstage. Eventually she got up to leave and tripped over her own stripper shoes. My first instinct was to reach out to keep her from falling, and after I grabbed her, I realized what I’d done. “Oh no, I’m sorry, I know I’m not supposed to touch you but I didn’t want you to fall over”–fully expecting to be booted out of the club at this point. She laughed and said it was fine to touch her to keep her from falling, and then I think she made an attempt to caress my face but ended up stabbing me in the cheek with one of her nails. I have a feeling this girl might not be cut out for the stripper lifestyle.
After that, we were pretty well left alone by everyone, free to mock at will. We saw the most coked-out girl in the universe. We saw a rotten weave. We saw another girl who maybe wasn’t cut out to be a stripper, dressed in a leopard print apron, carrying an oven mitt, get rejected by nearly everyone in the club, which we really couldn’t figure out and then she reached out and tweaked some girl’s boob in the front row and we smelled it. Homegirl REEKED of cat pee, which is not the traditional stripper smell. At one point, we crumpled dollar bills into little balls and flung them onstage. We made fun of other patrons. A walker-using midget came and went. Clandestine pictures were taken. Some guy shouted “HEY HONEY, I GOT DOLLARS OVER HERE FOR YOU” and the stripper went over, bent over in front of him, stuck her head through her legs, and took the bills with her mouth. Encouraged by his successes, he continued to shout “I WANT A HOT GIRL WITH NO MORALS ONSTAGE” and the next stripper shushed him. After closing, he shouted that he wanted someone to hook up with him. Yes. I DID die laughing. After the club closed, we hit the lone women’s bathroom. I went in first, and was in there for maybe a minute when someone angrily rattled the door handle. “Whoa! Whoa! I’m coming out!” Apparently one of the strippers had sat in gum and wanted to check herself out in the mirror, so she forced her way in with Lanny, who got to pee in front of a stripper. So. That happened.
Of course, after any successful (not THAT successful, Guy Fawkes never got his lapdance) strip club outing, it’s important to visit the adjacent porn store, which was swarming with tanked guys. “Hey girls! What do you use THIS thing for? If you use this THERE, then where’s the room for me? Do girls really want something THIS big?” and so on and so forth. It was all fun and games until some guy stood reallllly close to us, and whisper-quiet asked our names, asked our ages, then said “You don’t need any of this stuff…I’ve uh, got a PHD, and uh…” When we looked at him quizzically, he said really quietly and quickly “Oh, I hate myself.” I told him he didn’t need to hate himself but that hitting on girls in a porn store maybe wasn’t the best way to meet someone (and maybe don’t come off as a skeezebag, but that’s a lesson for another day). He didn’t really learn his lesson, and when I picked a great big red-glitter dong off of the wall, he asked if he could buy it for me. No, dude. No. Go away.
Then Lanny and I spied the great big fisting arms on the wall, grabbed two, and had a fistfight in the middle of the store. Eventually, she picked out something, I picked out something, and we went home. Let me tell you–as much as it felt normal to pick out a vibrator at three in the morning, it did not feel as normal going home on the bus at 8am with one shoved in my coat pocket.
How was YOUR weekend?
(ONE NIGHT ONLY: ONE LJer ENTERS SEATTLE! ONE LEAVES!),
It keeps the balance
We live in a delicate LJ ecosystem, frankly.
Please, After Saturday none of us have any claim to the word “balanced.”
I can!
I have found my calling. It is called “Guinness”
You don’t look happy with your PBR, but then, PBR isn’t a beer to be happy about, really, unless it’s free.
I would give someone a free PBR if I wanted to start a fight. It is like an insult in a glass.
Oh sweetheart, you can start a fight with me that DOESN’T involve PBR.
That’s hot.
I’ve got Thursday off work. Let’s go make out!
Thursday sounds like an excellent day to get off.
I’m stealing this, unattributed, and twittering it now. Thank you.
That’s not me. 🙂
AH! I thought it was merely the deleterious effects of the PBR.
(actually, we probably ought to meet ftf someday, so I can actually not make that mistake again.)
I’ll be the one in the Guy Fawkes mask and the purple wig!
Check.
I read your entries with deep amusement and envy. You know awesome people and you do awesome stuff. 🙂
cheers,
Phil
I figure, if I live my life to the extent that I can never seriously run for political office, then I’ll have done it up right. 😉
You still have a long ways to catch up to The Governator, Mary Carey (sp?), and Gary Coleman. They did all they did and still ran for office and one won!
And for the record, I’d vote for ya! 🙂
Wellll, they were already famous when they ran for office (even if only for porn…). Anything bad that famous people do only serves to increase their fame. When unknowns do it, it’s way more scandalous.
One could argue that based on your journal following, that you are internet famous 🙂
Nah, not even close to internet famous. I’m not THAT delusional! 🙂
You were also on consumerist! That counts 🙂
Nah, that’s really no big deal. I’m not saying it wouldn’t be fun to be a big cheese, but there’s not much use in trying to make the small recognitions that I have had seem more significant than they were.
this post is useless since guy fawkes doesn’t get a lap dance.
Sorry! I’ll mark the 5th of November on my social calendar as ‘Guy Fawkes Lapdance Day’ to fix this grievous error!
The mental image of getting a lap dance from a woman in a Guy Fawkes mask has got me deeply confused in the pants.
What if you were wearing the Guy Fawkes mask instead of the woman performing the lapdance?
Well in that case, I think I’d be plotting an explosion under the House of Pants-liament.
Plus, the stripper might get super POd if you only tried to give her a penny for the guy.
That’s the day before my big 4-0. I think perhaps I now have a birthday plan!
Always happy to be a group leader when it comes to activity ideas! 😀
Wait, so DON’T hit on the girls at the porn store?
I’ve got it all wrong.
Closetalking and being awkward doesn’t win points anywhere, darlin, but especially at the porn store.
I’ve got a PhD…
In SEXY!
I’ve got a PHD….IN YOUR MOM!
It’s waterproofed, it should be ok.
Here is a PBR. Please remove your pants.
I’m easy. I might not be THAT easy.
You make my life look hollow
/wrist
That’s because you haven’t yet filled up on a deep-fried hot dog. That’s really all it takes.
Had the wasabi dog and the Texas dog there. They were glorious
We need to have a “welcome back to Seattle party (for the weekend)” for Lanny when she comes back for her stuff.
She’s never coming back, I scared her away forever.
You and me both, but she still has to pick up her stuff. And a check if her car sells.
I played video games and watched about 10 hours of Breaking Bad. So…good in a different way.
What game(s) did you play?
Well since the disc tray on my xbox broke, all I can play is Modern Warfare 2, although there are some good games coming out soon that I want to play, so I need to get that fixed, pronto.
I wasn’t aware that the 360s had problems with the disc tray. Are you still under warranty?
No, I’m not. And 360s have problems with everything. If it can break, it will on a 360. Stupid, magnificent bastards that they are.
The original xbox had disc drive problems too–I actually need to replace both the disc drive AND the hard drive on mine. The problems on that console are less well-known, however, as I was one of about twelve people who owned one.
Oh, and some Beatles Rock Band at my friend’s.
while waiting for the bus, i had “hey milk of magnesia” yelled at me. ugh.
What does that even MEAN?
i am smooth and white?
Well, lookit you, being all smooth in your whiteness. Does your milk of magnesia shake bring all the boys to the yard?
o please don’t hit me
eeeewwwwww!!!!!!!
OMFG, PoDog is so good. 😀
I see myself going there much more than is alltogether healthy.
I’ve been there four times, and three of those times were Saturday/Sunday/Monday. I think I need to lay off for a while.
Have you gotten the same thing every time, or are you changing it up?
I’m addicted to the Seattle veggie dog (they go super heavy on the scallions, and I love me some scallions), but I did try the mac and cheese dog too. And promptly fell into a food coma. I’m tempted to try the wasabi/egg roll one next time, but I’ve tried their wasabi sauce and wasn’t too impressed.
I was thinking of having the seattle dog next. Now that I know it’s the equivalent of hot dog crack, I’m reconsidering it.
Ever an avoider of confrontation, I hurried across the street, my logic being that if he was too lazy to park farther away, he certainly wouldn’t follow us all the way across the street. After we hit the next sidewalk, I glanced back and realized I was wrong. “HEY!” he yelled again, as he grabbed Lanny’s arm. “That was my car you just walked across!” “Uh…sorry?” “OH, you’re SORRY?” I interjected with “Sorry you don’t know how to park!” “YOU BITCH.” “OH NO, NOT THE ‘B’ WORD! MY FRAGILE EARS! NOW I’M *REALLY* SORRY!”
You are the superhero I dream of being.
The Amazing Backtalk Girl!