In love with a stripper

I had a crazy eventful day yesterday.  It started with a wholesome Boston bucket list of famous landmarks, contained a whole lot of naked ladies, and ended in bed with a blast from the past.  WTF? is right.

My good coworker friend, K$ (that's K-money, not K-dollar, fools) is moving in May.  In preparation for that, she's come up with things to do in Boston before she leaves.  Me being awesome, I'm totally down with accompanying her on this list.  First stop, Boston Public Library, a beautiful building built on what was essentially a landfill of Back Bay, makes one think: they just don't make them like they used to.  Right outside we take pictures of ourselves crossing the finish line of tomorrow's Boston Marathon.  I promise this will be as close to finishing a marathon as I'll ever get.  Next, a psychic reading on Tremont Street (more on that later) followed by a canolli at Mike's Pastry in the North End (it's heaven in a shell).  A tour of the USS Constitution 'Old Ironsides', where I see the sign "Please do not handle the canon balls" a little too late.  We walk up the hill to the Bunker Hill Monument and climb all 294 spiraling steps to the top in order to fight people off and be able to see the whole city from a tiny little window.  The flight down is dizzying on shaky legs but damn are we proud of ourselves.  At this point I leave K$ and our day of wholesome Boston fun, and then I went to a stip club.

I met up with Hanging Out Guy (a former, um, flame, I guess you could say, that I met in a bar  a couple years back, better off as friends), who was in town with a ton of his high school friends for a ball game (which they actually won!).   I met them while they were finishing dinner and talking of going to a prominent strip club in the city, Centerfolds.  Now, don't ask me how, but I knew where Centerfolds was, and I knew how to get there (they were going to take a cab, psshht).  I was really just planning on escorting them there and leaving them to it, but they paid my cover, so um, yeah I was going to go in.  When else would I be able to cross Centerfolds off my Boston bucket list?  Inside there was a small stage with a pole, a balcony, and a semi-private room where the dancers led men by the hand for a lap dance.  Of course we couldn't sit at one of the tables, we had to sit up and center where I could literally place my dollar bills on the stage.  I could also literally see vaginas, this place was full on nudity.  For three songs per stripper, we saw several girls.  Destiny, Dynasty and Lola to name a few. Once I got over the whole, there's-a-naked-woman-dancing-in-front-of-me-and-wow-that-piercing-must-have-hurt feeling and the what-kind-of-father-figure-must-you-have? question, I honestly had a good time.  Not going to lie, I threw a couple dollars, when they deserved it.  The athleticism of some of these girls is impressive!  I even cheered for one girl in particular.  If you can climb a two story pole using only your arms and then drop down it into a split, then yes, you do deserve a dollar.

Most interesting to watch was the clientele.  I know, men don't go there to be watched but holy crap was that interesting.  From the glazed over/Utopia look the guys across from us had, to the downright giddy look of one of the girlfriends that was with us.  Some men were in groups wearing business suits, others sat alone, and others had reserved tables. Wedding rings were everywhere. The old guy next to me (not HOG) was by far the creepiest man alive.   He wasn't all interested until the thong came off, at which point he would lean and tilt to better see the business.  Then throw that dollar bill with purpose. So gross.

The guys with me were funny and encouraging to the dancers, and several of them noted how awesome I was.  (One of them gave a stripper a high five when she finished, I asked him how it felt, he made a face and wiped his hand on my sleeve). Hanging Out Guy in particular kept speaking of my awesomeness as he threw an arm over my shoulder and gave me slobbery drunken kisses on the cheek.  After we left the club (we had gotten there before 8 after all) he followed me to meet some of my other friends and came back to my house.  The problem with coming home with a drunk guy from a strip club, is that well, they're really horny.  That was quite apparent as a guy who usually takes no initiative, was on top of me as soon as I slid into bed.  Now I haven't fooled around with Hanging Out Guy for well over a year but one thing hasn't changed: he still doesn't know what the hell he is doing.  For realz.  This guy is basically only good for making out and cuddling with.  Not to say he doesn't try, but holy crap is he awful.  So awful in fact, that I drunkenly chose not to take things any further.  Yes, me.  A drunk girl who hasn't gotten laid in 2 months said "No" to sex.  He's that bad.  I feel awful saying it because he's a really sweet guy but I vow to never sleep with that kid again.  Oh well, at least his friends will think he got some.

Parental preppin'

My (and Violet's) parental units are visiting this weekend. This will be the first time they've visited since I've lived in Boston and I've spent the evening preparing for the occasion. I don't have a special boy to introduce them to or anything (nor can I tell you about introducing them to a special boy) so I feel like I have to make up for it by impressing them with my daily life. You know impress them with my "big city life" i.e. my little apartment, my huge workplace, my easy navigation of public transportation, and my cultured taste for ethnic food (where Violet and I are from, the only "ethnic" food is a Chinese buffet and that doesn't count because they also serve chicken nuggets). So this is what I've been doing this evening:

1. Cleaning. Obviously. Some people may not notice dust but those some people are not my parents. Ok, so it's not just dust, my room usually looks like a closet threw up in it. And to be honest, I've lived here 7 months now and I still haven't figured out where to put some things. I'm sure my mom will have several opinions on that subject. She's ever so helpful *eyeroll*
2. Grocery shopping. Can't really say what I've been eating this week. I think mostly apples/applesauce (I went apple picking last weekend). I'm guessing that the parentals won't be too crazy about that idea. Also, I don't want them eating all my apples!
   
3. Emailing the roommates. Partly to warn them, partly to beg them to not be giant drunken slutbags this weekend. You think it would be a given, seeing that I rarely have guests over and these happen to be my parents, that maybe they should stay low-key or if nothing else, go elsewhere. It shouldn't be too much to ask, but that would be giving them too much credit. So I specifically asked that they have a low-key weekend and even "paid them off" by taking on all the chores this week. This better work because if I overhear sex moans while sitting on the sofa with my mother I will 1. kill them and 2. immediately escort my parents to the nearest hotel without making eye contact with either of them, yet possibly have to stay with them because I'll be a wanted felon.
4. Hiding things. So I know I'm an adult and all but my mother has a tendency to get into things. Not really sure how she does it (I hope to inherit this gift) but say if there were some, um, personal items in your dresser drawer she'll somehow come across these, um, items within the first 10 minutes of her visit. And that's not really something I want to experience. That being said those condoms in my nightstand now have a new home. (On a side note I've realized those condoms expire in December and I find myself hoping against hope that I will have a reason to use them before then. Come. On!) One thing I will not be hiding is my "Condoms don't protect the heart" sticker. It was a gift from my mum, afterall.

So I'm all prepared to be visited by my parents. We're going biking on the Cape (thankfully they still have a mini-van so they can bring up their bikes, rearview mirrors, spedometers and all...dorks), stopping by my lab, and eating at a Shabu/Japanese place (I may have to bring them forks in my purse). If you're wondering how many times they'll bring up Violet and her ACTUAL BOYFRIEND, my guess is as good as yours (but I'm leaning towards 7). Happy Friday, everyone!

Boston on my mind

I've been living in Boston for 4 months now. If there is one thing I've noticed in Boston, it's that everyone, and I am talking everyone, is part of a couple. Therefore, I'm starting a club. A Single Ladies club. Current enrollment: 2. (Ha! And you thought it would be one!).

That's right, I've made a single girl friend. We met at a 4th of July BBQ. I scored her number. We met up for drinks. And yesterday our relationship moved up to the next level, when after hanging out all day, I brought her to a work guy's BBQ. That's right I had a plus one. I never have a plus one!

With her being new in town as well, we've been noting a general fact: As an adult, it's difficult to make friends. We're not playing double dutch at recess, we're not sharing gossip on the volleyball bus, and were not pregaming in our dorm rooms. Making friends as an adult is a whole new ball game. Especially in Boston, where everyone is cold, clique-y, and coupled.

Cold, clique-y and coupledness also makes it difficult to date, which is another thing my Single Ladies club has agreed upon. Even my new hair dresser concurs. "Everyone in Boston is either a couple or a miserable asshole." Grrrreat. She also claimed she had read somewhere that Boston was supposed to one of the worst cities for dating. To which I said, WHHHHAAAAT?!?! Before I started packing up my shit to get the hell out of this city, I decided to do some research. Luckily, I found no truth to the claim, which is good because I really didn't want to have to quit my job. Actually, in 2008, Forbes named Boston the 7th best city in the U.S. for singles (but perhaps in the past 2 years everyone has coupled up?). What was the best/where should you move next? Atlanta, the home of our very own, Violet J. Bickerstaff. So that's why they call it "Hotlanta".

P.S. Violet hates when they call it Hotlanta.