I went to the MAVS season opener with my pretend husband @GMFett last night.
God, I love that kid. He's obnoxiously loud, inappropriate, and drinks too much. Basically, he is the male version of me. And we all know I love myself.
Fortunately for us, George Sr. is out of town and we got to test out the new season tickets.
My previous American Airlines experiences with Marcus were in that lowly Platinum club. Amateurs.
Check it.
I mean, I could have tasted the sweat flying off Dirk's man-tastic bob.
If my mouth wasn't full of beer and hot dog, that is.
Let's talk about the refreshments, by the way.
First of all,
Our waitress strongly resembled the young Lindsey Lohan, Parent Trap style.
There was no need to make jokes about the drapes matching the carpet, there was no doubt.
She could have possibly been a lesbian too, since I got a bag of Lays with my foot long hot dog, and Marcus didn't.
The more likely cause behind this is that she was sick of him messing with her.
Does her drink go on your tab? NO!
look of panic crosses her face, brief hyperventilation
I'm kidding, yes.
(Insert loud joke about shoving foot long wiener into my mouth)
Bad behaivor = no chips = eating MY chips = be nice to the waitress, dick wad.
Anyway, half time finally came and we headed to the Jack Daniels club.
Actually we walked the wrong way for 5 minutes, then I got reprimanded for not telling Marcus we were going the wrong way. Have you met me? I have to GPS my way to 7-11. Back off asshole, and get another drink. Your "nice" tank is running low.
You could have at least bought me some of those candied cashews for all of the energy I expended clacking along in my 4 inch pumps.
Finally we arrive.
Ah, Old No. 7, I've missed ya bud.
Sleaze ball city.
1) Stripper at front door gives me 2 for 1 admission card to strip club.
2) Meet friend Robert* downstairs with the client he brought to the game.
While the guys go get more drinks, I get left with Client McFeminist
Sleazy dudes older than my father approach, "Are you two together?"
My plan was to walk over to the bar and stand by protective young men on the other side of the invisible "Don't cross if you're over 40" line.
Her plan was to pretend we were lesbians and then tell the guy off. I was more embarassed that anyone would believe I would be with THAT if I was a lesbian. Nice try, honey. You are maybe a 4.
Of course, men couldn't care less is she is a 4.
Text from Robert* later in the game: "I feel like I should fuck her just to prove to the guys at the office I'm straight."
A) What?! This is a man thing.
B) Robert* works for George Sr.
Marcus replies: "Or you could get her home safe. Your call."
I eagerly await the results.
Guess who was sitting in front of us when we returned to our seats?
Brenda and Laura Johnson from Dallas Divas & Daughters!
This show could have its very own blog topic, so I'll just dip my foot in the prattle pool, instead of cannonballing off the diving board.
Her mom is divorced, confirmed by absence of wedding ring, and was shmoozing with date while daughter moved to empty seat beside her to create a buffer between herself and mommy dearest.
Laura was wearing some sort of faux-chinchilla fur and looked like a typical miserable 17 year old who would rather be drinking Boones farm and smoking pot with her friends in an empty parking lot.
Recap of the rest of the game: Marcus got a t shirt from the MAVS dancers, we made fun of Fuddy Duddy rent-a-cop who couldn't have stopped a 90 year old man with a walker from getting on the court, watched the "Thriller" dance, listen to Marcus heckle the players in the voice that he imagines a large black man to have, and left shortly before the MAVS lost by 10.
"It's only 10 o'clock. Cocktails?"
This was not a question.
It was fair warning that I was going to feel like shit this morning.
Which I do.
I. am. hungover. as. fuck.
(Sorry for the language, Mom)
The rest of my night involved shots of jager at Stoneleigh P.
Princess had Soco-lime.
Queso verde made an appearance too.
Looked sick, tasted fantastic.
That's what she said.
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