I went out for a night on the town with mah sistahs* last weekend as part of a very eclectic and fun series of our own birthday celebrations this year. Although we’ve had only marginal luck with our downtown sojourns thus far, we went for it again in honor of Missy's mermaid hair, and our good time was neither sullied nor spoiled by the fact that our teetering high heels stepped squarely into the Twilight Zone.
After enjoying a delightfully decadent dinner, we stopped in to a few clubs,* looking for a perfect mix of music, drinks, and dancefloor that seemed to be mutually exclusive. But we were steadfast in our determination, and at one point we walked past a lively group who was also celebrating a birthday, and when they beckoned us to join them in their lair, we agreed.
It was, as Tammy described it, a very urban* bar. We looked around, shrugged our acceptance, and headed to the dance floor. But I was ill prepared to shake my groove thing without a drink in hand, so I stopped at the bar for cold beers. I joined my friends on the dance floor and handed over the lovely cold bottles, took a swig and was ready to get my boogie on*. I was immediately tapped on the shoulder by a big burly bouncer and scolded that there were no drinks allowed on the dancefloor. What the????**
We found a good spot on the sidelines where we could shimmy and drink and watch the peeps. And that dancefloor was good watching! So, dancing now involves a lot more butt action than it did back in the day.** But I’m no prude, and although Baby was technically put into the corner, I could still bounce and groove along with a semi-smile on my face while keeping a close eye on all those gyrating butts.
However, butt dancing was not the only action going on all up in that hizzie*** I really don’t think I can tell you about what we soon noticed was transpiring in an area entirely too close to my little circle of sistah-love. I can’t even type it, because my hands are too busy flapping in front of my horrified face in the universal expression of EWWWWWWWWWW, trying desperately to block out the vision that is forever emblazoned in my memory. Suffice it to say that the action was ….. intimate, and the setting was so, so, so, so NOT.
Wha-wha-wha-wha-WHAT THE HELL?!?!
It was like a train wreck, we wanted to look away, but we couldn’t. We all just stood there looking like this
After enjoying a delightfully decadent dinner, we stopped in to a few clubs,* looking for a perfect mix of music, drinks, and dancefloor that seemed to be mutually exclusive. But we were steadfast in our determination, and at one point we walked past a lively group who was also celebrating a birthday, and when they beckoned us to join them in their lair, we agreed.
It was, as Tammy described it, a very urban* bar. We looked around, shrugged our acceptance, and headed to the dance floor. But I was ill prepared to shake my groove thing without a drink in hand, so I stopped at the bar for cold beers. I joined my friends on the dance floor and handed over the lovely cold bottles, took a swig and was ready to get my boogie on*. I was immediately tapped on the shoulder by a big burly bouncer and scolded that there were no drinks allowed on the dancefloor. What the????**
We found a good spot on the sidelines where we could shimmy and drink and watch the peeps. And that dancefloor was good watching! So, dancing now involves a lot more butt action than it did back in the day.** But I’m no prude, and although Baby was technically put into the corner, I could still bounce and groove along with a semi-smile on my face while keeping a close eye on all those gyrating butts.
However, butt dancing was not the only action going on all up in that hizzie*** I really don’t think I can tell you about what we soon noticed was transpiring in an area entirely too close to my little circle of sistah-love. I can’t even type it, because my hands are too busy flapping in front of my horrified face in the universal expression of EWWWWWWWWWW, trying desperately to block out the vision that is forever emblazoned in my memory. Suffice it to say that the action was ….. intimate, and the setting was so, so, so, so NOT.
Wha-wha-wha-wha-WHAT THE HELL?!?!
It was like a train wreck, we wanted to look away, but we couldn’t. We all just stood there looking like this
(but with make up, and good hair)
I can’t talk about it anymore. I need to go wash my eyes out with bleach. Again.
We were not long for that place, and since none of us can recall the name the bar with any certainty, it is entirely possible that the whole thing was some crazy shared hallucination. Right? Yeah. Let’s go with that.
On our way home, we passed another bar and were once again lured inside*, but this time it was the sound of Pour Some Sugar on Me, and the enchantment of an 80s cover band!** We went home cleansed of those horrific visual images and hoarse from the singalong encore medley of Sweet Caroline, 867-5309, and Don’t Stop Believin.’
*See how hip I am?
** See how unhip I am?
***What the fuck am I talking about?
Oh my god, this is hilarious. The story, the photo, the Dirty Dancing reference, the footnotes. Brilliant. (And, for the record, the only dancing I do with my homies* here in the C-bus*** is at the weekly "Ladies 80s" night**. If only there were Reducers in every town...)
ReplyDeletedidn't you just pay good $$ for a fancy phone that does all kinds of things?!
ReplyDeletewell..it should be able to take a flash picture in a dance club!
The same thing happened to me at a Syracuse bar when I was along as a guest for the Penn State/Syracuse football game last year. I was worried that I might get charged extra for having a front row seat to "the show" and not one male around me was willing to move from our spot AND they were not happy that I was trying to distract their attention with some mindless conversation.( like, "how do you feel about girls who give the milk away for free" and "how 'bout those nittany lions?") It did remind me why we should all wear undergarments with short skirts, 'cause Brittany's not the only one caught in an awkward situation.
Love your expression..a picture says 1,000 words!
I was eagerly awaiting this post because I knew it would detail the craziness you had with yo' sistahs.* (Although I was hoping to hear more about Missy's mermaid hair, but maybe that's coming next time?) And, of course, it did not disappoint! Too funny, J!
ReplyDeleteI wish I would have seen your actual expressions (without having to witness the eye-bleaching incident myself).
beth
ahahahahaha, I am still mystified that I missed the actual fornication moment....maybe I was too busy backin' that ass up.....
ReplyDeleteThe prior said comment was not meant to be anonymous....."baby in the corner"....priceless...how could you forget the cabbie that said "I don't go that way" while almost running over my favorite foot and perfect Lbs (little black shoe)while speeding off to catch an unsuspecting group girls in slutty Halloween costumes in February......jus sayin.....
ReplyDeleteOh. My. God. Really? On the dancefloor? That is really just beyond the pale.
ReplyDeleteI am so speechless I can't even be hip like you and Lisa S.
Are you okay? Have you recovered?
Ellie
Yeeks!
ReplyDeleteI need to poke my own eyes out with a salad fork now, and I am only seeing it in my brain!