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Oh what a night
Dec. 1st, 2001 03:23 amSo I mention dancing to Ali last night, and we decide to head out to Poly Esther's/Cuture Club tonight - check out the 70's/80's dance scene, shake some ass. Lori declines, but Lucy decides to come along with us, maybe we'll hit Ozzie's after or before or something.
I take a supposed short cut, and it takes twenty minutes to drive the five miles. Cover's ungodly high in my eyes - $10 is not something I'm used to shelling out for dance clubs, though really, my only experience has been in the Springs, and a number of years ago. There are two dance stages, and I get stuck on the 70's one (not really knowing where the 80's is off the bat) and yeah - black pleather, jingle belt - I'm all about the dancing. Lucy played coat rack for a bit before I tossed the jackets over a wall within eyeshot, and we all had fun.
Well, until we had to leave. Um - I'll get back to this. And it's early enough we head to Ozzie's, where the bartender (shh, don't tell), tired of all the talentless hacks hogging the mike, shunts Lucy to the top of the list for her first song. Yeah. Steven shows up, and a couple more of his friends hang with us, and somewhere in the middle of CopaCabana, the New York Octopus puts the moves on Ali. Big time.
I have the phone number in my hot little hands. Both the local and his NY number. I think I'll start collecting these from Ali and maybe Lucy too, collect 'em and paste 'em up and frame them. Heh.
We left after Lucy's second song: Lady Marmalade, and headed for IHOP. On the drive over, Lucy decided that Guiness not only tasted like microwaved ass, which she'd decided on in the club, but also that she needed to elaborate on the analogy. So apparently, Guiness tastes like Joey's ass after a concert where he was wearing some tight, non-breathable pants, and he'd just eaten some corned beef hash (which had been on Ali's plate), so he was a little gassy, sliced off right after he gets offstage, and then microwaved just long enough that it's crispy, not really rubbery nasty like...
Well, she did stop eventually. We had to eat, right?
Anyway, now it's 3am, and I'm ready for a shower to get the smoke out of my hair and heat up my cold little toesies, and I still have my pants on. My pants that split right down the center back seam when I was trying (at her request) to shower a little lesbian action (you know, to keep the guys from getting delusions of getting any) on Lucy.
I laughed then. I'm still laughing. I'm thanking my lucky stars I had handy my little grey sweater to wrap around my waist, and that Lucy covered me on the quick shuffle to the wall, but I'm laughing. Well, hell, the pants cost less than the cover, and I had a good hour of dancing when I was there, so y'know, I'm happy. Cheerfully mortified, perhaps, but happy.
I take a supposed short cut, and it takes twenty minutes to drive the five miles. Cover's ungodly high in my eyes - $10 is not something I'm used to shelling out for dance clubs, though really, my only experience has been in the Springs, and a number of years ago. There are two dance stages, and I get stuck on the 70's one (not really knowing where the 80's is off the bat) and yeah - black pleather, jingle belt - I'm all about the dancing. Lucy played coat rack for a bit before I tossed the jackets over a wall within eyeshot, and we all had fun.
Well, until we had to leave. Um - I'll get back to this. And it's early enough we head to Ozzie's, where the bartender (shh, don't tell), tired of all the talentless hacks hogging the mike, shunts Lucy to the top of the list for her first song. Yeah. Steven shows up, and a couple more of his friends hang with us, and somewhere in the middle of CopaCabana, the New York Octopus puts the moves on Ali. Big time.
I have the phone number in my hot little hands. Both the local and his NY number. I think I'll start collecting these from Ali and maybe Lucy too, collect 'em and paste 'em up and frame them. Heh.
We left after Lucy's second song: Lady Marmalade, and headed for IHOP. On the drive over, Lucy decided that Guiness not only tasted like microwaved ass, which she'd decided on in the club, but also that she needed to elaborate on the analogy. So apparently, Guiness tastes like Joey's ass after a concert where he was wearing some tight, non-breathable pants, and he'd just eaten some corned beef hash (which had been on Ali's plate), so he was a little gassy, sliced off right after he gets offstage, and then microwaved just long enough that it's crispy, not really rubbery nasty like...
Well, she did stop eventually. We had to eat, right?
Anyway, now it's 3am, and I'm ready for a shower to get the smoke out of my hair and heat up my cold little toesies, and I still have my pants on. My pants that split right down the center back seam when I was trying (at her request) to shower a little lesbian action (you know, to keep the guys from getting delusions of getting any) on Lucy.
I laughed then. I'm still laughing. I'm thanking my lucky stars I had handy my little grey sweater to wrap around my waist, and that Lucy covered me on the quick shuffle to the wall, but I'm laughing. Well, hell, the pants cost less than the cover, and I had a good hour of dancing when I was there, so y'know, I'm happy. Cheerfully mortified, perhaps, but happy.
