A future recommendation- don't go to a strip club on a weekday. Specifically not a Monday night. There was a slow progression of the night- I didn't just get in the car and set off on this adventure. Dinner with friends turned into hanging out at a bar. Somehow this led to the discovery that I've never been to a strip club before. My guy friends were (overly) excited with the possibility of going; my straight, female friend said "Meh."
It was bizarre.
The women on stage were nothing like I pictured they'd be. I wasn't expecting to be inspired to strip, but I was hoping for more theatrics. Completely dead eyes, hair in ponytails with non-sexy glasses using the same moves in almost the same order and no transitions. Ass shake, lay down, spread legs, shake legs, get up, ass shake, end of song.
Correct me if I'm wrong, but the point of stripping is to show some skin in a seductive manner. Most of them went to the unlit side of the stage behind a pillar to take her top off and come back out. The one who didn't leave was not graceful about it. It was literally a 'here are my tits' move.
Possibly the worst disillusionment- only one used the pole... badly. She climbed to the very top and awkwardly slid down. Really more falling than sliding. It looked painful.
Previously, my friends decided that I needed the full experience of getting a lap dance. The unfortunate thing is the dancer we all liked had already gone home for the night and then we couldn't agree on an acceptable replacement. So the rest of the evening, my girl friend and I critiqued the style or lack thereof of each dancer, deciding either of us would be much better. I still firmly believe this.
If I were a lesbian I'd be severely disappointed. Even as a straight woman I have to say it was fairly anti-climactic. So... that was beginning of my week. It can only go up from here, right?
Wednesday, December 17, 2014
Tuesday, December 2, 2014
Petty, Satisfying Revenge
A while back I was officially inducted into the nerd club- actually paying money this time! The information card everyone was supposed to fill out included name, major, career goal, and if you wanted to thank anyone in particular.
As a joke in the offhand chance they'd really humor me (or not pay enough attention and slip up), I filled out my name as "Lauren Waitforit [last name]." I knew the odds were slim to none against being announced as such, but I still had to try regardless. In my opinion, this isn't a terribly serious event. How wrong I was.
The rest of the info I filled out like a responsible adult. I was going to make another snappy comment, but didn't want to push my luck. Too much goofiness and I'd definitely get caught right away.
The day of the long, winded ceremony came and I was reminded of how much I truly hate these formalities and the people who run them. They are rigid "Type A" personalities and I am nowhere close to that. I'm a go with the flow kind of person... or apathetic. Whatever synonym you'd prefer. While lining everyone up for the hundredth time, I glanced at the card and saw Waitforit had been completely (unnecessarily aggressively) scratched out. It was disappointing, but not surprising.
When the president of the universe *ahem, university* got to my card, she purposefully left out half of my information. Just the name and major with an incredibly awkward silence for me to walk across the stage. The tension was palpable in the small auditorium in that drawn-out moment before she moved on to the next person. Other people got away with dorky, joking parts of their announcements. I lividly glared at her the rest of the evening, wishing I could shoot lasers out of my eyes.
Then, to drag this miserable night out even further, Ms. Priss demanded a group picture of the 100ish people. I faked a convincing smile and planned out what I'd say to her when I confronted her later. Something biting about her unprofessional immaturity at a trivial and harmless joke. Just because I pissed you off doesn't mean you were allowed to ignore everything else. I thanked people and you made me look like a jackass.
I needed revenge. She ran off immediately afterwards and I was too angry to trust myself to confront her without making a scene. There was no way I'd let the world see me lose my cool. She was in the wrong, not I. I still needed something to vent.
There was very little action I could take in that moment. Looking at my surroundings, I settled on the one thing I could definitely do. You passive aggressively leave out half of my information, I passive aggressively steal your flowers.
I stole an entire pot of them off of the stage. On my way out, as part of the crowd, I smoothly picked them up and left without missing a beat. I have the skills to get away with it. Not that I'm a kleptomaniac, but I've had enough practice to be confident. Those are stories for another time.
In the long run it really doesn't make that much of a difference, but I felt better with my small victory.
As a joke in the offhand chance they'd really humor me (or not pay enough attention and slip up), I filled out my name as "Lauren Waitforit [last name]." I knew the odds were slim to none against being announced as such, but I still had to try regardless. In my opinion, this isn't a terribly serious event. How wrong I was.
The rest of the info I filled out like a responsible adult. I was going to make another snappy comment, but didn't want to push my luck. Too much goofiness and I'd definitely get caught right away.
The day of the long, winded ceremony came and I was reminded of how much I truly hate these formalities and the people who run them. They are rigid "Type A" personalities and I am nowhere close to that. I'm a go with the flow kind of person... or apathetic. Whatever synonym you'd prefer. While lining everyone up for the hundredth time, I glanced at the card and saw Waitforit had been completely (unnecessarily aggressively) scratched out. It was disappointing, but not surprising.
When the president of the universe *ahem, university* got to my card, she purposefully left out half of my information. Just the name and major with an incredibly awkward silence for me to walk across the stage. The tension was palpable in the small auditorium in that drawn-out moment before she moved on to the next person. Other people got away with dorky, joking parts of their announcements. I lividly glared at her the rest of the evening, wishing I could shoot lasers out of my eyes.
Then, to drag this miserable night out even further, Ms. Priss demanded a group picture of the 100ish people. I faked a convincing smile and planned out what I'd say to her when I confronted her later. Something biting about her unprofessional immaturity at a trivial and harmless joke. Just because I pissed you off doesn't mean you were allowed to ignore everything else. I thanked people and you made me look like a jackass.
I needed revenge. She ran off immediately afterwards and I was too angry to trust myself to confront her without making a scene. There was no way I'd let the world see me lose my cool. She was in the wrong, not I. I still needed something to vent.
There was very little action I could take in that moment. Looking at my surroundings, I settled on the one thing I could definitely do. You passive aggressively leave out half of my information, I passive aggressively steal your flowers.
I stole an entire pot of them off of the stage. On my way out, as part of the crowd, I smoothly picked them up and left without missing a beat. I have the skills to get away with it. Not that I'm a kleptomaniac, but I've had enough practice to be confident. Those are stories for another time.
(Molly approves)
In the long run it really doesn't make that much of a difference, but I felt better with my small victory.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)