Tuesday, January 5, 2010

Hello ma'am...hand towel?

Well day 6 of my vacation is over and we are finally headed to LA. We had a lovely dinner by the bay last night and decided to top it off by heading to Whiskey Girl.

It was a Monday night ad not much was going on, so we found a nice, trashy bar where people partaaay. It was really a breath of fresh air to find $3 wells...even if it did taste like the bartender had gathered a cup of saliva and topped it off with a lime. We proceeded to order multiple rounds of shots, because a) gotta get your money's worth b) that's clearly the cool thing to do on Mondays and c) there had to be some sort of beverage while we watched the delightful *ahem* escort dance in front of the sweaty bald man spread eagle on the couch in the corner.

Surprise surprise I eventually had to pee, so I waded through the fog, oh yes there was indeed a fog machine!, and finally found the bedroom. Much to my dismay a woman opened the door for me. Hold up, what is this loud, grungy, strip club of a bar doing with a bathroom bitch?

First of all, these people freak me out even in nice clubs. They listen to you pee, linger while you wash your hands, then swoop in for the kill, shoving a towel into your hands and causing me to uncomfortably dodge tipping them by explaining I don't have my wallet while tucking my purse under my armpit to hide the goods.

So in true Whiskey Girl fashion, the stall slave hands me a paper towel, smiles with lipstick staine teeth, and then nods towards her treasures and asks if I need anything. Mints? Ok. Hand sanitizer? Sure. Now stop. Shut up. That is not a snickers. WTF am I supposed to do with that? Hungry? Why wait? Head to the bathroom. Gotta keep that energy up before I go cut a rug on the semen soaked dance floor. Those carmely nougat covered peanuts gave me enough energy for a foam party. Somebody call mr bubble cuz we got a sudsy slip in slide to attend to.

I'm sure the escort enjoyed a blow pop with her hennesy when she was done shakin that ass for sweaty mcbeeferson. He might as well have pulled out a stick of butter. Or a snickers.

I had to go to the bathroom 3 more times before we left. It was awkward everytime. So here's to you, toilet paper Tammy, for unexpectedly making me nervous in the bathroom. Sorry, no tip, gotta reserve those $1 for drinks. Or the escort. But none for you.

Get some skittles up in that hoe and we will talk. But until then, keep your nougat to yourself.

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Hey, hey, I'm technical!

1 comment:

  1. bahahhahaa YES! omg. so glad you started a blog. you are like chelsea handler, but BETTER. can you write a book please?!

    love, pitty