Do you love how I claimed that I would start blogging once a week and then suddenly disappeared from the blogosphere for yet another month?
Again, my absence can be attributed to grad school being a needy bitch.
Honestly, if I could somehow get a written guarantee that my life would turn out just like Julia Roberts’ character in Pretty Woman, I’d totally drop out right now and turn to prostitution — that way I could blog during the day and then hit the streets at night!
Two crazy things happened a few weeks ago that I have been meaning to write about. They are:
- I was involved in a street fight
- I went to a straight strip club
(As usual, all names have been changed.)
Both of these events occurred in the same night, and as their respective descriptions imply, involved lots of fists and boobies.
Ok, “lots of fists” might be an exaggeration. What happened was actually a senseless attack involving just two sets of fists…
…neither of which belonged to me.
A group of friends and I were walking to the subway after having enjoyed some cocktails on my rooftop, when an inebriated Marlena (my delightful classmate and beloved friend) decided to pin me up against the side of a random building and tell me how beautiful, thin, and sexy I am.
- Explanatory side note: throughout the evening I was regaling my friends with the high-octane thriller of a story known as Nic Gained Twenty Pounds and is Now Fat and Unlovable.
Out of the freakin’ blue, a drunk and possibly coked out twenty-ish guy came barreling towards us. He was being loud and obnoxious.
The rest is somewhat blurry, as I was busy being validated…
What I do vividly recall, though, is that after the crazy guy passed by Marlena and me, he randomly punched my friend Steve in the face.
I KNOW, right?!
Had we been in another borough, perhaps I’d understand this random act of violence and hostility… but in safe, gentrified Manhattan?! I was stunned.
Steve promptly proceeded to fight back and almost severely injured the attacker until someone came in and broke it up.
After this whole debacle, we migrated to a random strip club in midtown called Lace. Steve recovered very quickly with the help of a lap dance.
And this is why straight men sometimes perplex me.
If I had been randomly punched, it would have taken a lot more than a set of boobs in the face to quell my urge to turn the entire night into a dramatic sympathy-for-Nic festival, complete with multiple retellings of the incident — each of which slightly increasing in severity with alcohol consumption.
As the night progressed, there were lots of boobies — perfectly shaped, oblong, saggy, perky, large, small, and in between. All major segments of the booby market were represented at this symposium of boobies.
It should be clear by now that I love using the word “boobies,” despite my lack of interest in the actual product.
Something else I love about strip clubs: I get to play some of my favorite question games!
- Guess the Stripper Life Story
- If __________ knew his/her song was being stripped to right now, how would he/she react?
and my personal favorite,
- Which straight man in here do I most wish would instantly turn gay and give ME a lap dance?
Game number one is most fun when you exhaust all of the possibilities. After mulling through the usual broken home, daddy issues, and working-her-way-through-community-college scenarios, I finally settled on “trained gymnast out of work.” Bitch knew how to work a pole.
As far as number two goes, I’m pretty sure two of the three members of Destiny’s Child would be appalled to know that “Jumpin’ Jumpin'” is now standard strip club fare.
I’m of course excluding Kelly Rowland — have you seen the video for “Motivation”?
Number three was the least fun, as for some reason I kept coming up with Bradley Cooper, and he wasn’t present.
Now that I’ve relived this whole night of boobies, I suddenly have the urge to go watch some softcore gay porn.
That or Pretty Woman.