Mighty Starry-Eyed
In the vein of all celebrities, I spent hours prepping for last night's big awards show hosted by the Weekly Planet at Yuengling Brewery. I mean, hot rollers, glittery eye shadow, the works, and by amazing coincidence, my disco hair-and-face fit right in with the banquet hall stylings.
Stepping into the Yuengling Brewery is like stepping back to 1972. The ceiling has concave domes cut into it that sparkle with silvery space orb stickers. The back wall is classic, family-den wood-paneling, and the front wall is dotted with embedded tree trunks of different sizes, rings facing out. Everything was brown, even the scrumdiddlyumptious catering from Jerk Hut.
We got right into the evening with Mr. Pinero claiming the first award. I must admit I went fairly nuts, waving my hands in the air and hoopin' and hollerin' for a bit of blog love. The whole thing was quite touching, but the absolute best all night was the guy who won Best Fast Food Window Guy or whatever.
His speech went something like, "When I started this job outta high school, I told myself I wanted to do my best. Like when I pole vaulted, I pole vaulted, so when somethin' gotta get done, I'ma do it. I've never won anything like this before. Thank you."
He said it without a trace of irony, and, honestly, even though I'm not really clear on what the pole-vaulting reference was about, I felt a big, blinky tear come to my eye when he was done, because obviously he totally deserved his award way more than anyone else in the room. Plus, he so showed up the Evo's guy, who bumbled up for his plaque with super-slit, smoked-dragon eyes.
Afterwards, we went to Seven 17 for a little celebration drink, where there was a bachelorette party in the back room. Now, this was strange, because the bride-to-be was wearing white and pink in honor of her big day, but she was wearing a white and pink sweatsuit. Um, a sweatsuit? For your bachelorette party at Seven 17?
Even if it was all veloured out with a cropped jacket (and she covered the skin with a tank, anyway), sweatsuits are for jogging. Also, they stayed back in their glass room, away from all the flashy men, until they hit the porch for a cigarette. I asked the bride-to-be what they were gonna do for the night, and she said that when they were done at Seven 17, they were gonna go to Thee Dollhouse.
So, let's see, you've decided to throw some big shindig to make the most of your last hours of singledom, and you wear the unsexiest outfit in the world, lock yourself away in a room with no men, and then go to a strip club featuring naked girls. I'm sorry, that is, like, the stupidest thing I have ever heard in my life.
I have to say, if you ever ask me to plan your bachelorette party, we will all be wearing incredibly hot outfits or getting left at the curb. Cocktails will provide maximum mingling time with boring, rich men who we will tease mercilessly and sexy gymheads who we will flirt with very sincerely. Then, we will hit the male revue at Club 112, where an eight-pack of abs ain't no thing. Afterwards, we will bring the out-of-town revue boys to somewhere with a large dance floor so that they can learn about Tampa. There will be lots of cocaine and no pictures.
Either that, or I will tell you bachelorette parties are for losers, and you should spend the night before your wedding f*cking your man cross-eyed.
After Seven 17, I went to St. Bart's to rock out with Jahfari. I love the boys of Jahfari. I had a great conversation with the ever-so-pleasant Dave about frogs, and then once I got inside, Hot Shower was there, too, drinking away the hours before his big morning departure to Brazil! Whoo! Lucky boy. Mark and I kinda danced a little bit and then I just started dancing in my own little universe for awhile, while Mark kinda beer-bottled around the floor. I felt very light and peaceful, because Jahfari does a very smooth set full of twangy love sounds and plinky keyboard noises.
Once we were all danced out, I grabbed Hot Shower and his ladyfriend, and we hightailed it up to the Azalea. An interesting thing happened at the Azalea. This dude comes over to me, and grabs me by the shoulders and says, "Oh my God! I totally know you!" I'm like, no, no, I don't think so, but nice to meet you, anyway, or whatever.
"I do know you! You live in Mobley Park, and you're always out in the parking lot with a hula hoop. And you wear high heels like everywhere! And I see you struttin' around downtown!"
So, OK, then, I guess this guy does know me. We spent the next few minutes kind of idly chit-chatting about nothing, and the whole while he was so off-the-hook excited about everything and so effervescently over-the-top, and suddenly I realized, oh my God, that's what I sound like, isn't it?! The idea sent me reeling into giggles, which I couldn't explain, and I think my new friend probably thought I was a little bananas, but whatever. It was super, super funny.
The best part of the entire evening, though, seriously? When I got back home, Mark and I smoked ourselves silly, and he belted Beatles songs at the top of his lungs until Lil Sis had to come to the bedroom door and demand silence, which sent us out to the front porch in riotous giggles. God, I love that boy. He wears work boots to award shows, too!
Stepping into the Yuengling Brewery is like stepping back to 1972. The ceiling has concave domes cut into it that sparkle with silvery space orb stickers. The back wall is classic, family-den wood-paneling, and the front wall is dotted with embedded tree trunks of different sizes, rings facing out. Everything was brown, even the scrumdiddlyumptious catering from Jerk Hut.
We got right into the evening with Mr. Pinero claiming the first award. I must admit I went fairly nuts, waving my hands in the air and hoopin' and hollerin' for a bit of blog love. The whole thing was quite touching, but the absolute best all night was the guy who won Best Fast Food Window Guy or whatever.
His speech went something like, "When I started this job outta high school, I told myself I wanted to do my best. Like when I pole vaulted, I pole vaulted, so when somethin' gotta get done, I'ma do it. I've never won anything like this before. Thank you."
He said it without a trace of irony, and, honestly, even though I'm not really clear on what the pole-vaulting reference was about, I felt a big, blinky tear come to my eye when he was done, because obviously he totally deserved his award way more than anyone else in the room. Plus, he so showed up the Evo's guy, who bumbled up for his plaque with super-slit, smoked-dragon eyes.
Afterwards, we went to Seven 17 for a little celebration drink, where there was a bachelorette party in the back room. Now, this was strange, because the bride-to-be was wearing white and pink in honor of her big day, but she was wearing a white and pink sweatsuit. Um, a sweatsuit? For your bachelorette party at Seven 17?
Even if it was all veloured out with a cropped jacket (and she covered the skin with a tank, anyway), sweatsuits are for jogging. Also, they stayed back in their glass room, away from all the flashy men, until they hit the porch for a cigarette. I asked the bride-to-be what they were gonna do for the night, and she said that when they were done at Seven 17, they were gonna go to Thee Dollhouse.
So, let's see, you've decided to throw some big shindig to make the most of your last hours of singledom, and you wear the unsexiest outfit in the world, lock yourself away in a room with no men, and then go to a strip club featuring naked girls. I'm sorry, that is, like, the stupidest thing I have ever heard in my life.
I have to say, if you ever ask me to plan your bachelorette party, we will all be wearing incredibly hot outfits or getting left at the curb. Cocktails will provide maximum mingling time with boring, rich men who we will tease mercilessly and sexy gymheads who we will flirt with very sincerely. Then, we will hit the male revue at Club 112, where an eight-pack of abs ain't no thing. Afterwards, we will bring the out-of-town revue boys to somewhere with a large dance floor so that they can learn about Tampa. There will be lots of cocaine and no pictures.
Either that, or I will tell you bachelorette parties are for losers, and you should spend the night before your wedding f*cking your man cross-eyed.
After Seven 17, I went to St. Bart's to rock out with Jahfari. I love the boys of Jahfari. I had a great conversation with the ever-so-pleasant Dave about frogs, and then once I got inside, Hot Shower was there, too, drinking away the hours before his big morning departure to Brazil! Whoo! Lucky boy. Mark and I kinda danced a little bit and then I just started dancing in my own little universe for awhile, while Mark kinda beer-bottled around the floor. I felt very light and peaceful, because Jahfari does a very smooth set full of twangy love sounds and plinky keyboard noises.
Once we were all danced out, I grabbed Hot Shower and his ladyfriend, and we hightailed it up to the Azalea. An interesting thing happened at the Azalea. This dude comes over to me, and grabs me by the shoulders and says, "Oh my God! I totally know you!" I'm like, no, no, I don't think so, but nice to meet you, anyway, or whatever.
"I do know you! You live in Mobley Park, and you're always out in the parking lot with a hula hoop. And you wear high heels like everywhere! And I see you struttin' around downtown!"
So, OK, then, I guess this guy does know me. We spent the next few minutes kind of idly chit-chatting about nothing, and the whole while he was so off-the-hook excited about everything and so effervescently over-the-top, and suddenly I realized, oh my God, that's what I sound like, isn't it?! The idea sent me reeling into giggles, which I couldn't explain, and I think my new friend probably thought I was a little bananas, but whatever. It was super, super funny.
The best part of the entire evening, though, seriously? When I got back home, Mark and I smoked ourselves silly, and he belted Beatles songs at the top of his lungs until Lil Sis had to come to the bedroom door and demand silence, which sent us out to the front porch in riotous giggles. God, I love that boy. He wears work boots to award shows, too!
<< Home