Picture and shirt available at founditemclothing.com.
I figured I'd squeeze another V-day story in before February came to a close.
Initially I had no plans for Valentine's Day. *Jen and I were going to stay in and get some housecleaning done. On a whim, she decided to spice it up by having a night out on the town. The idea was that cupid (or some other midget in a pamper) might shoot us in the ass, too. Neither of us had gone clubbing in a while. We figured it would be an adventure. Well, we were right about that part.
I contacted a DJ friend of mine to give me the scoop on what events were taking place for singles on V-Day. He gave me a few spots. One of which was a stoplight party (wear red if you're taken, yellow if it's complicated & green if you're single). The concept intrigued Jen and me. The location of the venue...eh, not so much. It shared a building with an hourly motel. I shuttered at the thought of what I would see coming out of there on the Day O' Love.
Another club, Magic City, was having its grand opening that night. "Magic City," I thought to myself. "Isn't that the name of a strip club in Miami or Atlanta? Oh no, silly. It's the name of that theme park in Disney World. They probably named it that because it sounds clubby." (Please note: inner thought bubbles are great, but Google is a much better resource.) In any event, Jen and I opted to have a "magical" evening.
When we first arrived, there weren't many people there. Jen and I conjectured who we might meet that night. We chatted each other up while we waited for the night to kick into full gear.
It didn't take long for us to realize we weren't in Kansas anymore. An overweight gentleman with unkempt facial hair and a sloppy button down shirt kept walking past us. Jen discovered that it wasn't us he was attracted to. It was a green laser shooting from the ceiling to the dance floor. His attraction to the laser wouldn't have been so bothersome had he not thrown his head back as if he were in an Herbal Essence commercial and flicked his tongue like he was performing cunnilingus on it. I tried to take video footage, but the flash from my camera betrayed me. Oops! On a positive note, he moved to another side of the club.
Jen and I also learned that people believe Valentine's Day gives them a free pass to wear whatever the hell they want. Case & point: one young lady had a black and white mini dress on. Normal right? She wore a red overcoat that puffed out at the bottom like a window valance, giving her the appearance of "Little Red Riding Hood" (LRRH). I thought maybe I was being a bit harsh until others began referring to her as LRRH as well. Another winner was a rather large woman in a tight red dress donning gold earrings that said, "TRUST NO BITCH". We shall call her "Big Red". Her toes hung over the top of her red, pleather open-toed shoes, begging for mercy. I said a silent "Hail Mary" for them.
Big Red was quite the dancer. By dancer, I mean she could bend over and make her gluteus maximus do things I thought could only be done with CGI technology. Cupid's arrow landed on a lanky gentleman standing at the edge of the dance floor. She shook her tail feathers (all of them) in front of him while he just stood there. Now, I'm not clear on whether he was drunk, or in shock. At one point I looked over and caught a glimpse of her holding his face in between her boobs. I contemplated finding someone to give him CPR as I was sure she had suffocated him. But he came up for air.
A little later in the evening, LRRH got the dance floor going with her sultry moves. Not to be outdone, Big Red dropped it low for her rag doll of a dance partner. The whole scene left me scratching my head. I wanted to laugh, but then I remembered this was happening for real. And I became sad.
Of course, the night wouldn't be complete if I didn't have a creeper or two hot on my trail. I did good for about two solid hours. As Jen and I observed the tragedies occurring on the dance floor, I felt a presence behind me. I turned around to see a guy in a denim outfit holding two cans of beer. He had corn rows on the top of his head and the side was shaved. I turned back around. Bad idea. He began whispering in my ear at an uncomfortably close distance.
Him: Hi, my name is Rico.
Me: Hi Rico.
Him: You're so beautiful. I had to get drunk just to get the courage to speak to you.
Me: You what?
Him: I'm shy. I needed to get drunk so I could speak to you.
My constant cringing at his warm breath against the back of my ear did nothing. He didn't get the hint. Out of the corner of my eye, a lifeline appeared a few feet away from me. One of my male friends stood nearby. I walked over to him and smoothly asked him to put an arm around me. He happily obliged. Rico got the hint and plodded away to harass some other poor soul.
Valentine's Day at the club scene turned out to be an interesting experience. Jen said it best, "The right type of guys just aren't in here. I guess the quantity doesn't matter." At the very least we can tag it as a social experiment.
S/n: The theme park is called Magic Kingdom. Duh!
