Sure, I’ll come out for a drink with you all!” Famous last words.
I’m back bitches. When I hit the ground at Dulles and turned on my phone, I had a text message from the Queen of Quantity. “Are you home yet? We’re going out tonight.” I texted back that I was on the runway. She called. I said, “Hell fucking yeah I’m going out tonight.” That was exactly the person I needed to talk to. And there you have it. Several tidbits first, however.
Home. I was incredibly happy to see my dogs. Damn I love those little shits. I was also incredibly happy to have dinner with a friend. Thanks for that, by the way. You know who you are, wink wink.
So, it was a good trip. I got the work stuff accomplished and I realized that I have a true love for Phoenix. So, while the market isn’t right at this point, I’m diving in to buy something in Phoenix when the market stabilizes. Too bad I didn’t think of this when I lived there before. Oh yeah, I didn’t have any money when I lived there before. And I probably would have bought it jointly with my ex. Gamoti. Just the thought of that gives me the shakes. That’s the phonetic spelling of Greek profanity by the way.
Sad to report that my heart still aches. This will probably take longer to get through than I thought. Do they make a pill for this? What I’ve learned is the next time I feel panic-ridden I need to check out sooner, before I say things to people I don’t mean to say.
I’ve been getting a lot of emails from you all on recent subject matters. I can’t thank you enough for this. I seem to get as many or more emails than comments, and in this case, having these conversations off line was much better. So thanks.
Ok. Let’s get to it. I met up with The Queen of Quantity and Esther, as she asked to be named, and others at Cafe Citron around 10:00. Ha! It’s still 7:00 for me, if I’m still on Arizona time. I really push the envelope with that time difference by the way. So, I arrive, they have a table already and a bar tab rolling. For someone who woke up in Arizona yesterday, it was a night of massive, incredible drinking. Seriously, I don’t know why I say the words, “Sure, I’ll have a drink with you all” when that basically means, “I’ll get annihilated and stumble home at 2:45 a.m.” That shit still makes me laugh because I really do mean “one drink” when I say “one drink.”
The bar was a sea of EuroTrash. Sad but true. We almost got in a fight. One of our crew is getting married next week, and another in the group who knows the owner of Cafe Citron or something, had reserved a special table. Some girl jumped on it and started dancing and wouldn’t leave. Fight brewing, the girls at the table next to us said, “We got your back. Take that bitch and her stupid friend.” Holy moly. I’m too old for fighting, I might break a hip, but I’d do it in a heartbeat if I had to. The girls, outnumbered, finally left our table.
Now. The truth. Brace yourself.
When Velvet gets incredibly drunk, she fantasizes that she could really pull off life as a stripper. I have my lineup of stripper songs ready to go. And I’d be a damn fucking good one too. Very drunk. Dancing on a table on Cafe Citron. (They told us to!) And, yes, off come the clothes. Damn you Bombay Sapphire. That’s your fault.
Now, I don’t need an audience for this event. In fact, I don’t need anyone. I’m a one man, er, woman show. But, yes, I was approached. Several times. Aggressively. Seems that something about watching a woman rip off her clothes and a man is convinced he must have her. Ok. I’ll play.
First victim. All over me. Country of origin: Venezuela. Asked for my name. I replied: Renee. Yeah. That ain’t my name. Would NOT leave me alone. When I tried to get away from him, he put his hand, yes, his whole hand, down the back of my jeans and yanked me back to him through the crowd. Several times. I couldn’t get rid of him and he kept coming back to harass. He was acting like a jealous boyfriend and I’ve had that already in the form of one crazy named in prior posts as “The Cop.” I finally had to tell him to get the fuck off me. Let’s say that he wasn’t pleased. I could envision his last girfriend cowering in the corner as he beat the shit out of her for buying a skirt with a hem above the knee. Exit stage left, stat!
Second victim: Tried to get me to jump off the table into his arms. Country of origin: Brazil. Asked for my name. I replied: Diane. That ain’t my name either. Saved me, briefly from Victim Number One’s advances.
Third victim: Grabbed my hand as I was trying to go to the bathroom. This one was actually a few inches taller than me, as opposed to the others. Country of Origin: Afghanistan. Asked my name. I replied something incomprehensible like the teacher on Charlie Brown, just to see if he would ask me to repeat it. Nope. That mofo nodded like he heard what I said.
At the end of the night, our engaged and about-to-be-married-any-minute-now friend lost one of her shoes. Who loses one shoe? It was truly hilarious. But she went to look for the missing shoe and when she didn’t return in a timely manner, I went to look for her. As I wrestled through the crowd, there were hands grabbing me all over. I finally took one hand, dangerously close to my breast, and threw it back at the body it was attached to. Are these guys fucking kidding me? Do they seriously think this shit works? Let me give you a hint. Lose the attitude and the groping technique and try this again by just saying, “Hi.”
Someone ended up giving our friend a pair of shoes. Again, I ask: Who comes to a bar with a spare pair of shoes? Out of the smoke and standing on the sidewalk, Esther says, “HELLO! GIRLS!!! I was sending the smoke signals all night to be rescued and no one helped!!” To which everyone responded, “SHIT! I WAS WAITING TO BE RESCUED MYSELF.”
I don’t think I need to go back there again. But ladies, dinner friend included, thanks for yanking me out last night and being friends. Y’all are awesome. Completely awesome.
so wait, groping and grabbing doesn’t work? fuck! THAT’S what i’ve been doing wrong all this time. so… are there pics of the stripping? hehehehehehehe.
now i have to go work on my first contact approach since you say groping is poor form. dammit.
Total meat market… if you’re into short men.
I like the music, but that place is way too EuroTrashy and Napoleonic.
I need a night out like that!
I’m glad you had fun.
I want to hear what the stripper songs are…
I recommended alcohol in a previous post… perhaps that was not such good advice! Oh, and if you dance on a table top and take off your clothes, you should be expecting any groping that ensues. You… shook me allllll niiiight looooong!
yeah.. cafe citron is not a very good idea for saturday nights.. too packed with obnoxious men.. thursdays maybe..
glad you let the stripper in you come out for a little while.. sounds like you (and the men around, hehe) had fun and enjoyed it..
Christ, I need to go out more. I think a little public display of… well, any part of me, might do me some good.
Sounds like you’re back, baby! I’ll alert the Neighborhood Watch.
you just highlighted for me why I never set foot in citron. funny, funny post. hope you have a great week back home!
I think I vomited a little bit.
Only because of the men there.
[holding up dollar bill]
It’s okay Sammy and Thora, you won’t have to wear the paper bags on your heads for too long. It will blow over, I promise. Mommy just can’t help herself sometimes. It isn’t her fault she can’t spell Afghanistan!
We got your back. Take that bitch and her stupid friend.
God, I miss you guys.
Damn. All my comments stolen. Siryn stole my short men comment (I have been to Cafe Citron exactly one time about 5 years ago… I was at least a foot taller than everyone in there).. And, comic shambles stole my comment re: dancing on the table (and taking your clothes off?!!?!)… Yiiikes.
Glad you’re back!
Chud – pics have been emailed.
Siryn – Yup!
BC – We’ve already discussed…
Cosmic Shambles – Does this mean that if a girl says no, but has come home with you anyway, despite her firm “no” that she won’t have sex with you, you would force her to anyway, because she “Deserves it?” Hmm.
Marie – The Stripper in me is ALWAYS out. But usually it’s more at home, with the blinds drawn, when I’m alone than out in public.
AW – I AM back. Fuck being miserable.
Chicgirl – time for lunch again. I’ll email you.
AM – Yup. It was pretty bad.
Elvis – put that in my g-string please!
Bilious – Fuck off. I fixed it. I was hungover. I’d say that YOU should try drinking with the girls from the dog park and see how you feel the next day, but you’re an eating and drinking machine, so that doesn’t really work.
Playful – I miss you too.
Kayla – Clothes off is good. I should have been born in the 60’s.
Barbara – Uh. I’m not. I started the conversation again about a transfer. I think I’m winding down this chapter of my life. Seriously. After the heart to heart I had with my boss and after I presented it the way I did, he said he totally agreed with me. I think it’s time to get out of here.
Yo! There is a big difference between rape and groping a drunk girl who is stripping in a bar, and I do not I condone either action. (Well, unless she is REALLY drunk!)
Oh, and I said “expect” not “deserve”!
What better than a night of debauchery to welcome you back?! You were excruciatingly missed, and I was ecstatic that you came out.
Yet another night of DC at its finest. Citron men are leaches, but where else could I get away with outright telling a guy that his tongue down my throat was about as pleasant as licking a dead alley rat in the middle of the night. Too funny! No word on the sacrificial shoe.
Velvet, you rock. I hear you about AZwhen you go, I go!
Ok Cosmic Shambles. I believe you!
Q of Q – NO SHIT! Hey, I didn’t know you got tongue in your throat! Damn. All I got was a hand on the side of my breast, owner of hand unknown. It was way too crowded in there. Pics are up on Snapfish by the way. I sent you the link.
Ok, so I totally thought you left your blog, and I’m just catching up today!
Are you really transferring out to Phoenix? I have a friend who just transferred out there, and his quality of life has gone way up!
paging Oliver Closeoff…
Sounds like an… interesting night and a great way to welcome yourself home.
well if you can’t strip in front of friends, then who can you strip in front of? Perfectly good strangers who are willing to pay you for it!
Welcome back & I hope you’re feeling better.
let’s recap some bad eurotrash / peruvian pick up lines from the evening….
i am talking to the one and only white frat boy in the bar (purely chance that he happened to be at the bar next to me ordering a drink while i got my many many G&Ts) and i say, this doesn’t seem to be your crowd, what are you doing here? he replies, “looking to f*ck someone, interested in going home with me?”. now what kind of shit is that? So i naturally respond, “at your age, i think you would be better off calling your f*ck buddy unless you like short latino men.”.
then there was my special man…he kept saying, “you are so very very tall”. Uh, yes mr lilliputian, i am tall, so tall in fact that you only come up to my breasts which is probably why you are talking to me and trying to rub up on me every nanosecond.
and then, there is the one guy that just flat out says’ “i love you, come home with me”. oh gee, can i be that lucky. And get your hand out of the back of my pants while you are at it. I hate to think where that hand has been before touching me, gross.
Its so fun to dance on top of tables, maybe there is a stripper in all of us. I couldnt find a pole though.