Booze always seems to get the best of me.
Not that it’s really a problem, or to imply that I really care. It’s just the way it is and I’m okay with that.
I met up with some friends in Atlanta Friday night. A bit of Jack Daniels, a few tunes led and some catching up led to Sake bombs and sushi at a bar in a primarily gay neighborhood in mid-town Atlanta. I mention the homosexual aspect not because I care one way or another, but rather to stress that it wasn’t really the place I should have been trying to pick up girls while being typically inappropriate.
If memory serves the food was excellent, the sake was decent and the waitress declined my numerous offers to show her around town. That’s fine. There’s always the hostess. She was clearly gay because she just told me to get out and called her manager. I told her I had a manager but that didn’t help. What came next made me forget.
Let me explain. I spend a few hundred nights a year in bars and for the most part they’re all the same. Well, The Claremont Lounge was an exception and I can’t recommend it highly enough. Evidently this place used to be a fairly popular strip club back in the day and true to it’s roots, the Lounge still holds that title. Barely.
I’m sure the strippers there probably used to be real strippers back in the day as well. Unfortunately as any middle aged man can tell you, time, childbirth, and hard living don’t always improve a woman’s body in the conventional sense. I suppose they’re more suitable for battle, and they’re probably stronger and better adapted for cold weather; but a better stripper this does not make.
You know how at every strip club you go to there’s always one, maybe two girls there who you know are down to their last month? The manager’s about to tell them the truth, that their time has passed, and they’re ready to move on. They’re almost out the door but they’ve always got something left in the tank. Good fake tits, a slutty personality or a heritage that appeals to a few fetish guys in the crowd. You with me?... that girl's mom works at the Claremont Lounge.
Apparently this place is somewhat of an institution, therefore there’s probably quite a few people who can verify my story. In fact, it’s clearly a joke, it’s what the club’s known for. Something for people to tell stories like this about, In the mean time if a few fat chicks pick up a little pocket change, so be it. If this isn’t some sort of tongue in cheek joke than I guess I win.
Well, we stayed there for a few hours yelling at the girls and demanding a various tasks that are no doubt illegal. I even tried to set up a threesome for my married friends but it didn’t work out. I’m sure they’d heard it all before, because my behavior would have gotten me thrown out of pretty much any other bar. This is the type of place though, that’s such a joke that they pretty much expect and receive people like me at all times. I don’t think I was at all original, but nonetheless I had a good time.
Fast forward through a missed flight and some other nonsense and we end up at what was to be the main reason for the trip. Super Bowl in Jacksonville, FL. The party hosted by Sports Illustrated, highlighted the upcoming Swimsuit Issue and featured several of the models as well as many NFL players and personalities as well as a number of B-listers who couldn’t get past the velvet rope at the Maxim or Playboy parties.
Fairly uneventful except for a few fun C-list moments. I discussed a reent Iron Chef win with Ming Tsai. I challenged an over-the-hill MC Hammer to a dance contest (he declined) and metKanye West (performing in plae of a strangely absent Snoop Dogg).
All in all a great time and a chance to hang out with some people I don't get to enough.
I met up with some friends in Atlanta Friday night. A bit of Jack Daniels, a few tunes led and some catching up led to Sake bombs and sushi at a bar in a primarily gay neighborhood in mid-town Atlanta. I mention the homosexual aspect not because I care one way or another, but rather to stress that it wasn’t really the place I should have been trying to pick up girls while being typically inappropriate.
If memory serves the food was excellent, the sake was decent and the waitress declined my numerous offers to show her around town. That’s fine. There’s always the hostess. She was clearly gay because she just told me to get out and called her manager. I told her I had a manager but that didn’t help. What came next made me forget.
Let me explain. I spend a few hundred nights a year in bars and for the most part they’re all the same. Well, The Claremont Lounge was an exception and I can’t recommend it highly enough. Evidently this place used to be a fairly popular strip club back in the day and true to it’s roots, the Lounge still holds that title. Barely.
I’m sure the strippers there probably used to be real strippers back in the day as well. Unfortunately as any middle aged man can tell you, time, childbirth, and hard living don’t always improve a woman’s body in the conventional sense. I suppose they’re more suitable for battle, and they’re probably stronger and better adapted for cold weather; but a better stripper this does not make.
You know how at every strip club you go to there’s always one, maybe two girls there who you know are down to their last month? The manager’s about to tell them the truth, that their time has passed, and they’re ready to move on. They’re almost out the door but they’ve always got something left in the tank. Good fake tits, a slutty personality or a heritage that appeals to a few fetish guys in the crowd. You with me?... that girl's mom works at the Claremont Lounge.
Apparently this place is somewhat of an institution, therefore there’s probably quite a few people who can verify my story. In fact, it’s clearly a joke, it’s what the club’s known for. Something for people to tell stories like this about, In the mean time if a few fat chicks pick up a little pocket change, so be it. If this isn’t some sort of tongue in cheek joke than I guess I win.
Well, we stayed there for a few hours yelling at the girls and demanding a various tasks that are no doubt illegal. I even tried to set up a threesome for my married friends but it didn’t work out. I’m sure they’d heard it all before, because my behavior would have gotten me thrown out of pretty much any other bar. This is the type of place though, that’s such a joke that they pretty much expect and receive people like me at all times. I don’t think I was at all original, but nonetheless I had a good time.
Fast forward through a missed flight and some other nonsense and we end up at what was to be the main reason for the trip. Super Bowl in Jacksonville, FL. The party hosted by Sports Illustrated, highlighted the upcoming Swimsuit Issue and featured several of the models as well as many NFL players and personalities as well as a number of B-listers who couldn’t get past the velvet rope at the Maxim or Playboy parties.
Fairly uneventful except for a few fun C-list moments. I discussed a reent Iron Chef win with Ming Tsai. I challenged an over-the-hill MC Hammer to a dance contest (he declined) and metKanye West (performing in plae of a strangely absent Snoop Dogg).
All in all a great time and a chance to hang out with some people I don't get to enough.
posted by Monkeydrunk at 10:56 PM
1 Comments:
hoping she crushed a beer can between her tits. that used to be part of the show.
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