I’m Baaaaaack/Heyyyyy, Sexay Lady…

12 Oct

In the past, I’ve written about a co-worker of mine.  She’s the sweetest little creampuff and has a heart of gold.  I’ll refer to her henceforth as Cupcake.

So Cupcake and I were bored last night at work, and the conversation (naturally?) turned to porn.  We had a deep and meaningful dialogue on the state of modern society, infused with our own insightful social commentary of human sexual behaviors.  One important topic of discussion was the necessity of comprehension and awareness of binary gender roles prevalent today in much porn; without it, bifurcation and further division between men and women is a result, breeding deep chauvinism and phallic worship, thus affecting much in other sociological realms.

Nah, just kidding.  We were just talking about fuckin.

So anyway, she brought up how gross a lot of porn is, especially how gross so many of the actors are.  It is especially gross to see male genitalia of the testicular kind.  To quote the comedian Whitney Cummings, “Why do all balls look like they’re 150 years old?”

As we discussed such things, we maturely began imitating a manbag swing, much to the horror of a casual onlooker.  It was very much like:

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doing:

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except down here:

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 Kinda lookin like:

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Our entire show was being witnessed by a young gentleman.  I see him out of the corner of my eye, turn to him, and he is staring with mouth agape.  Ouch. Caught. Exactly like:

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Whatever, the night ensues.

So as he’s leaving, he turns to me and imitates our dangle/swing.  As he’s walking out, he looks me in the eyes and does one of these:

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Hmmmm. Maybe Cupcake and I are onto something. New dance craze?

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Passion: It MUST Be Addressed

23 Apr

As we all know, alcohol elicits passion. My field research at the bar indicates that this passion manifests itself in a few forms.

 

#1: Passion for dancing– usually, it takes most people a few drinks to get that liquid courage to shake their moneymakers.  Add five+ more drinks on top of that, and instantly everyone assumes they are part of Americas Best Dance Crew, the Pussycat Dolls, or a cast member of Step Up. 

 

There is something about the bar where I work that makes alcohol fueled dancing HILARIOUS.  At the larger bar, there isn’t really a designated dance floor.  People generally congregate next to the DJ booth and start their own party, which is fine.  But on certain nights when there is NO dj booth, it becomes a random cluster of furious dancing around people calmly sitting down at tables sipping their drinks.  It’s awkward, to say the least.  Amused onlookers seem to enjoy the free show, as do I.

 

I frequently see people dancing as if their lives DEPEND on it.  It is not the typical two step, awkward shuffle back and forth, booty shake, repeat cycle.  It almost looks choreographed (if it wasn’t so obviously sloppy due to drunken-ness).  With eyes closed tightly, arms clutch across hearts then FLING outwards, fingers splayed in Jazz Hands.  Kicks and shuffle-ball-changes are common.  I see more hair whipping back and forth than in a Willow Smith music video.  It’s INTENSE.

 

What. The. Hell. Passion, indeed.

 

#2: Passion for the opposite sex– obviously.  We all saw this coming.  There isn’t too much to elaborate on.  I will say, however, that from what I’ve noticed, people are failing at this at an alarming rate.  I am surprised by how many creepy stares and stalking sessions there are compared to actually talking to the person.  

 

Usually, the air in the bar is hot, tinged with stale beer, combined with a few lingering notes of shame and/or regret.  However, with enough liquor, the air fills up with a dense cloud of steamy hormones.   The intensity of the passionate, longing stares is crazy; sometimes it feels like
you could cut it with a knife.  The casual onlooker can SEE the tunnelvision from the admirer to the admire-e.   

 

If a quarter as much effort went into striking up a conversation as the “Stalker Gaze,” people would increase their chances of getting lucky at an exponential rate.  Just a thought.

 

 

#3: Passion for homies- there are a LOT of proclamations of best friend love at the bar.  Usually, this happens after 12:30 or 1 AM and continues into the parking lot after last call and we kick everyone out. 

 

The first type of best friend love is the Bro-mance. There are lots of ‘man hugs,’ hearty pats on the back, and “I love you, man”s.  The amount of Jager imbibed is directly proportional to the increased rate of emotional outpour combined with machismo (puffed out chests, inadvertent flexing of muscles).  It’s a confusing and interesting mix.  I often hear things along the lines of, “Bro, you are always there for me.  That time Tracy dumped me/I shit my pants and you brought me extra jeans (not making that one up!!)/insert unfortunate incident here, you were really THERE for me. I love you man. You’re the best friend I’ve ever had.” Touching.

 

The second type is the female kind of homie love.  It usually occurs in high pitched tones that only dogs can hear.  There is lots of girly squealing and hugging.  “OH EM GEE. YOU ARE *soooo* MY BEE EFF EFF FOREVVVVA!” usually happens after several rounds of fruity shots.  As the discussion of proportions (see above), the rate these girls imbibe these shots is inversely proportional to my sanity and directly proportional to the amount of Crown I need to make it through the night.

 

#4: Passion for liquor:  there’s a movie we all know and love. Anchorman.  During the first couple of minutes, we witness Ron Burgundy perform an ode to his Scotch.  I see the same thing at the bar.  Interestingly enough, it usually happens with males and pertains to shots.  Perhaps in order to quote the movie and be clever, men hold their shots to the sky and (drunkenly) roar “I LOVE JACK. JACK JACK JACK.” Or with Rum.  Or with Vodka.  You get the picture.

 

 

End of lesson wrap-up:  you are always being watched. Ha.  And most likely, 90% of your actions fit into one (or more) of these categories.

 

Thanks for being such good study subjects O:-)

You Could Be….

23 Apr

So there are two regulars at the bar that frequently hang out together.  One of them has already made his infamous mark within the pages of this blog.  Don’t ask me who it is- I’ll never tell O:-)

 

Anyway, Friend 2 often says interesting and off the wall things, usually when completely shitfaced.

 

Last month:  I’m standing in my well, and he continues to look at me. I notice all the little hairs on the back of my neck prickle, and I turn my head to see what is causing it.  His half-mast eyes are staring me up and down, over and over.  Finally, his eyes land on my face.  He sees me watching.  Panicked, he quickly looks away.  Not at all obvious to the totally sober waitress, buddy.

 

This continues like 4 or 5 more times.

 

Finally, I stare him straight in the face.

 

“What? What’s the problem?”

 

He awkwardly starts fiddling with his shirt, eyes glued to the floor in shame.

 

“Damn girl…. You could be…. A weathergirl….”

 

He looks up to gauge my reaction, biting his lip in excitement.  I could visibly see the fetish working its way through his brain, being expressed across his face.

 

Ick.

 

But apparently if I ever quit the bar, I have an exciting new career opportunity?

I Love My Coworkers- Part 2

23 Apr

Again. Sentimental. WAHHH. Get over it.  If you have any idea who this little lady might be, you’d wholeheartedly agree with me here.

She is one hell of a waitress.  She can put up with an amazing amount of shit from annoying customers, and she still looks cute as a button doing it. This pretty much sums her up in entirety, right here:

 

She recently moved away to go live with a boyfriend in Southern California. Yayyy for the future!

Well things didn’t work out with them. Sad. But for the best since he was a TOTAL prick.

Anyway, she is back in the bar where she belongs.  We are all blessed to have her back.  And hopefully she can see how much we all love her and will give her our support.

Next time you see her, offer to buy her a Tea-Bag shot- they are her favorite 😉

I love my Coworkers…

23 Apr

I know everyone wants to read the funny stories.  But once in a while I have to get sentimental here.  Sorry, it’ll be short, so bear with me.

 

We recently had one of our best bartenders move away.  Basically, his wife is a smoking hot tv star, so they moved away for her career.

 

This makes me a very sad panda.

 

I no longer get to be inappropriately drunk at 8 PM on a Tuesday at Trivia Night, nor do I get to work Football Sundays with him.

 

I think it is only just that we have a moment of silence.

 

 

If you are reading this, you are missed.

Campbell- The New Hangout Spot for Trannies?

23 Apr

 

Okay, let it be known that I can appreciate a good tranny. I know how much makeup it can take to look good, and putting on a skintight dress can be like climbing Everest sometimes.  All in all, there are those that do it VERY well.  Like this:

 

 

Nice work. Good makeup contouring.

 

That being said, there is a fine line between a good job, and a trainwreck where everything is just all sorts of wrong. Like this:

 

 

Or this:

 

No explanation necessary. (but free drink on me if you can reference the above photo 😉 teehee!)

 

So within the span of five days, I have had two separate trainwreck tranny spottings.

 

One was just obviously a man. Fine. Whatever. But the makeup and the dress and the cheap polyester wig weren’t fooling anyone.

 

Then came the posse last month…

 

It was a birthday party for a very large girl.  It was sort of like this:

in human form combined with this:

combined with this:

combined with WEE bit of:

 

 

Many people were noticing and making comments.  We were all half shying away, ready to shield our eyes should a weiner pop out of the bottom of her inappropriately short dress.

 

At the end of the night, our bouncers kick everyone out.  She is told to leave, so she sets her drink down on the nearest table, and scans the room with a panicked look on her face.

 

She spots me and screams, “SHES SO ADORABLE. I LOVE YOU! I JUST WANT TO GRAB YOU AND PUT YOU IN MY POCKET. I’M COMING BACK FOR YOU NEXT WEEKEND.”

 

:-\

 

I’ll update soon and let you know if the sweet, albeit scary, tranny makes me her pocket bitch-lover.

Waitress Fires Back: ‘She Doesn’t Want You…’

19 Apr

So one thing that bugs me the most is when people think they are hot shit. As in too hot of shit to ‘stoop down to talking to the average person.’ It KILLS me when I see people at the bar trying to be friendly (or even hit on someone), and the paramour of their affection glares down their nose with annoyed impatience and disgust.

Anyway, that being said, I try my damn hardest to never do that to anyone.  It takes a lot of courage to approach someone.  I see let-downs and rejections when I work at the bar ALL THE TIME.  It genuinely makes me sad because after Miss-Laugh-in-Your-Face-and-Flounce-Away does just that, I see the crestfallen looks and laughter from friends that ensues. Tragic, really.

A very sweet young gentleman that comes in somewhat a lot (hasn’t been in for a while- where ARE you my citrus friend??), was visiting one night.  He is a gourmet chef and can cook up a storm.  That’s a whole other story… I’ll explain later.

So he’s visiting and gets slightly intoxicated.  He tells me that he makes a mean Chicken Liver Mousse, and he really wants to make it for me.  I politely tell him that while I DO eat chicken, I do not eat liver, nor do I eat mousse. Two out of three is a FAIL.  I explain that I can liken it to popping open a can of Friskies Chicken Dinner, no offense.

As the night progresses, he continues to drink, continues to offer to make me Chicken Liver Mousse, and I continue to decline. No big deal.

He offers one last time at last call.

An aforementioned snobby girl standing in my well tries to ‘come to my rescue,’ and loudly proclaims, “SHE DOESN’T WANT YOU, DUDE.  GET THE HINT ALREADY. MOVE ALONG. SHE DOESN’T WANT THE MOUSSE NOW. SHE DOESN’T WANT IT TOMORROW. SHE NEVER WILL, AND SHE DOESN’T WANT YOU.”

Rage. Lots of rage on my end.

So I purr in my best porn star voice, “oh yes I do,” and grab his face.  I slowwwwwly lick his entire cheek, bottom to top.  I turn back to the girl and stare intensely into her eyes (‘what now, bitch?’)

She scampers off.  Pretentious Bitch = 0, Mister Citrus + Tiny Cocktail Waitress  = 1