leftunspoken's Diaryland Diary ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- ...and then I won the wet-tshirt contest I was dragged unceremoniously out of my apt. this weekend by friends in town from Houston and Connecticut. I would have prefered spending my weekend sleeping all day and eating soup and crackers in my pjs watching tv all night. But best-laid plans and all... Friday was wretchedly spent LOST down town looking for a club in which my friends could get drunk and rowdy. Not that they weren't already in that state in my car. The clubs I knew how to find all seemed deserted, another that was supposed to be good I couldn't find, I jumped (another) fucking curb in my car, and I almost got us killed trying to drive and look out the window for landmarks at the same time, all the while listening to my sweet friends bitch unstopping about the city - despite my pleadings that they remember I do have to live there and therefore be gentle regarding its failings. At 12 a.m. we finally ended up at a club on the side of town from which we had begun. By that time my back was in intense spasm from the stress of it all and I was not a happy camper. The other two females in the group had worn their coats into the club, even though everyone knows it's only cold during the long trip from the parking lot - once you're inside the club, the body heat alone justifies whatever itty-bitty summer clothes you've worn despite it being winter. Five minutes after we were in the club, one of my friends whined that she didn't want to carry her coat around, and asked me if I would take it out to the car. She didn't ask for the keys. She actually asked me to take her coat to the car for her. I must have looked about ready to slap her, because she finally said nevermind and looked away. Candy-ass that I am, after a heartbeat, I did it anyway. On top of all of this, I was driving, so I couldn't even get smashed and forget the whole thing. Are you in utter sympathy yet? Don't pity me too much. Saturday entirely made up for everything. Saturday: Retrieve same visiting friends and one gentle, loyal, true-blue, local friend for moral support or help burying the bodies (whichever the night and their attitudes requires), and proceed directly to pre-agreed-upon club. No driving around. No whining. We are having a pretty decent time. Nice crowd. Very good music. Dancing for all. And, as it is very early, I have a few shots knowing I can sober before I have to drive. I'm a total pussy, so a few go a long way. The evening wears on and one of the employees approaches me and suggests I enter the Wet-Tshirt contest they're having. I modestly (of course) decline, but after some encouragement from my friends, and another shot of courage (or alcohol), I go talk to the dj to see what all is involved. I decide it doesn't sound all that bad. Brief synopsis: There are six of us. We are taken upstairs, given scissors and wife-beaters (that is men's, white, tank-sleaved undershirts...for those of you who don't speak Whitetrash), and told to cut them however we like. We are warned that if a nipple is even accidentally exposed we will be disqualified. (This statement from the big, burly, bouncer sends me into a fit of giggles.) We are taken to the dance floor which has been cleared and has a plastic tarp and a small elevated stage placed in the rear. We are to dance on this stage for one minute while being sprayed with water bottles. (Apparently in summer-time they pour pitchers of water on the girls, but being more merciful in winter, we are wet less violently. Although this doesn't save the front of my jeans from getting soaked.) The crowd is to cheer the loudest for their favorites and we are pared to three. All of whom will receive a check. We three dance one more time and are sprayed again - for no good reason as we are still dripping, shirts plastered to our bodies. We are lined up together on the floor for the judges decision regarding the scream-o-meter. I got 1st! I still can't believe it! $150! Yea me! Adoring fans screaming #3! Or horny men screaming something that sounded like it. Regardless... Fates were forgiven for the disaster that was Friday. Friends were bought a round of drinks. All was good cheer and happiness. Local friend (Amor) now states she is planning on pimping me out to any other contests she can find that involve me half naked and wet and/or sticky for just a small cut of the prize money. By all means Amor...you earned it. You are my courage when it is lacking and a never ending supply of fun. Woohoo! Long story, huh? If you're still with me...bless you. Hope you enjoyed the tale...Please forgive the telling. 11:49 a.m. - January 06, 2003 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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