I went to visit that little troublemaker, Sixes and Sevens, in Pennsyltuckey this weekend. A pre-departure text I sent said, “What should I pack?”
Sixes and Sevens said we would be doing a lot of shopping, and one of the items on her list to buy was a couch.
Buying a couch for Sixes and Sevens is a difficult endeavor. You think you can just show up at the couch store and sit on a few, then make a decision? Hell no. When you buy things, you have to think about how they will be used so that you do the best job in choosing the item. Like, had I known my beautiful $1300 throwback-to-the-50’s couch would become home for all things dog, I never would have spent that much money on it. Anyway, at this point, Gazoo appeared over my head.
“She’s going to nail her men here, Velvet. The couch must be comfortable enough for that but not too comfortable because we don’t want the guy to fall asleep and God Forbid, stay over!”
“Thanks Gazoo. I also think the couch needs to repel fluids.”
“Well that goes without saying you dumb whore.”
God. When did Gazoo turn into such an asshole?
I packed my stuff, Thora and Sammy, Sixes and Seven’s wayward boxes from her old job, and the King of the Dogpark’s dog, Ted, into the car. Kidnapping Ted from his home did not go off without a hitch. This dog would not come willingly, so I had to forcibly remove him from his bed. By the time I got on the road, I was exhausted. “Beer!” I called ahead. “I need beer!”
To get to where Sixes and Sevens lives, you take the GW out to 495 to 270 where you have to try to have sex with your man on the way but he tells you he’s in a meeting jesus fucking christ, then you go to where 270 ends, then you take a bunch of dirt roads, cross into Pennsyltuckey, take some more dirt roads, drive by many “Land For Sale” properties that your now bankrupt ex-company once had under contract, then more dirt roads, then you find her, at the door of some big house, with a glass of wine and her dog Jukebox, waiting for his friends to arrive. I think one of the dogs sung, “Reunited and it feels so goooooood.”
We threw my stuff down and promptly went out.
I’m not sure why all their eyes are glowing as we bolted out the door and went off for a a night of debauchery.
We ate a very forgettable dinner at some place that looked like New Orleans threw up in there, then meandered around looking for an entertaining place to park our asses for the evening.
Sixes and Sevens: There’s this bar but it is in the ghetto, but I’ve wanted to try it.
Velvet: How ghetto?
Sixes and Sevens: Like, under an overpass and next to the train tracks, wrong side of town ghetto. We’ll need to drive there.
Velvet: And you want to go there because, why?
Sixes and Sevens: It looks fun. And I don’t want to go alone.
Velvet: Fiiiiine. (Trying to sound exasperated but really very intrigued.)
When we pulled up to the ghetto bar, the parking lot was PACKED. I thought that was reassuring, as if we were going to be killed, at least there would be a lot of witnesses.
We walked in and the place was mostly empty. I asked Sixes where all the people who drove all the cars outside were. She didn’t know either. As we sat at the bar and each ordered our Yuengling pints, I said, “This is weird. I feel like I’m in the beginning of a Forensic Files, like I can hear it now. ‘Two girls from out of town were last seen at the bar and no one knows why they ended up under the overpass, naked, dead, with big smiles on their faces.'”
I really need to stop watching Court TV. Then I had a few observations.
First, our bartender looked like a rode-hard Brianna Banks. Well, wait. Brianna Banks looks like a rode hard Brianna Banks, so I’m not sure what that means.
Second, everyone in Pennsyltuckey has this hairstyle. Sixes calls it “mom hair.”
Third, this sign. It was indeed, a Friday. And the only thing standing in the way between any old Friday and a disastrous Friday, was that sign. “Oh, Brianna? We’ll have the pitcher of Miller Lite please!” I would like to state for the record, that this would be the moment when everything went wrong.
While Brianna was pouring the pitcher, we asked her where all the people were. She told us they start to come in at 11 and the place gets packed. We were very excited, but it was still sadly just 8:00. We got started so early; we had some time to kill.
There I am, with my down feather and dog hair covered sweatshirt. When they say “dry clean only” on your down coat, they really mean it. I plugged in Sixes as the big winner on Tai-Play on Megatouch. I need a Megatouch for my house. Oh, wait. No I don’t.
Then, we noticed that they were definitely gearing up for a big night.
Around this point we ordered our second pitcher of Miller Lite. Sixes asked “I wonder why we don’t get a colostomy bag for ours like everyone else?” I guess because there was two of us, compared to all the single people who came in alone for their $5 pitchers.
Here come the cowboys. “Sissy! Get in that truck!”
I thought that this next shot would shape up to become my favorite picture of the evening. This was a common occurrence that night – much older ladies, I think they call them “cougars,” talking to men half their age. But I loved both her hair, and the cigarette dangling out of her mouth.
Note, I said, “thought” in the above statement. I thought it would be my favorite picture. Until, that is, this walked in.
Like Heidi Klum on Project Runway, I said, “What izzz dat?” I was unsure of the sex. Because I had seen it walk up to the bar, I was even more perplexed. Wait, here’s the full outfit.
The spandex dress reminds me of something I used to wear in college when I wanted to piss off my Kappa Kappa Slamma sisters. Man would they get mad. In their last Will and Testament, they left me an “appropriate black dress” for sorority functions. Cunts. It was Miami! In the 90’s! I’m from Connecticut! Do you know what people from the Connecticut coast stare at? Long Island! What the hell did you expect from me?
Back to Pennsyltuckey. The feast for our eyes continued.
Somewhere around here comes the third pitcher of Miller Lite.
Then this is where I got sloppy and forgot to knock off the flash. Sixes likes this picture for its yellow 1970’s quality. I like it because these three chicks didn’t catch me even after the flash went off, because you know they could easily beat my ass. Easily.
I know what you’re thinking. “Gee, you make fun of everything, don’t you Velvet?”
Yes. I. Do.
“D.C. 101 can you make it stop?”
“Yes I can! It’s the sound of Velvet’s luck running out!” Just as I mumbled under my breath that a guy across the bar was staring at us, just as Sixes and Sevens took a picture of him with her camera phone, just as she called him Mike Ditka to both me and via text to my “friend,” he got off his bar stool, walked over to us and said, “Okay, what are you girls taking pictures of over here?”
Damn! It was the time I forgot to knock off the flash! Idiotia! Now, you all know my partner in crime, Sixes and Sevens, right? She seems so tough and together, right. Well, she had that look on her face like when Snoop got caught by his wife for trying to eat chicken at the chicken place with David Beckham. Sixes is like, “uhhhh…uhhhh…I have to go to the bathroom!” She left me there with Mike Ditka, and I’m laughing so hard for being caught that there is literally nothing I can form into words. I wasn’t finished laughing by the time Sixes comes back.
Mike Ditka asked what we found so fascinating. I said, “I’ve been trying to figure a few things out all night. First, is that blonde thing a guy or a girl?” He didn’t know either. “Second, why is the bartender such a bluetooth tool? That looks ridiculous and I WILL get a picture of it before I leave.” Mike returned to his seat and I snapped my pic.
Dude. You’re working. You do realize you look like a major idiot right? Hey, there’s Mike Ditka in the back on the left, sitting in front of the self-serve beer case. Several seconds later, Sixes and Sevens appeared behind all that mess and took Mike’s hat, wore it for a bit, and then got his phone number, email, and told him to check this blog when he got home. What. The. Fuck. Is there one man who has crossed your path Sixes, who you have not given out MY information to? Hmm. Velvet in Dupont has become like a meeting place for all Sixes and Seven’s man-boys. Err. Man-toys. I meant to say man-toys.
So, when she said that she found this specimen “really fucking hot…”
…I had absolutely zero qualms about writing her phone number on a napkin, balling it up, and throwing it at his head. Too bad it missed, and her number ended up on the floor of the ghetto bar. Too bad he was dumb as the day is long. That was a painful conversation, however brief it was.
Now, I don’t want to hear any shit about the next part. None at all. We left. We got in Sixes little truck and we attempted to exit the parking lot and drive the 10 blocks or so home. But then we hit black ice and there was some serious fishtailing and then she righted that thing up and we were on our way. Black ice is not your friend after three pitches of ML. Just saying. And I do want to point out that the woman who grew up in Georgia and spent most of her adult years in L.A. can “drive truck” on black ice after three pitchers better than most sober people I know when it’s 80 degrees out and sunny.
Okay, that was only Friday but I’m exhausted.
And because several dozen people have searched for “sixes and sevens” in my search box, and she’s become such a popular little hussy, you can now reach her at her brand spanking new email address:
tears of laughter are rolling down my face. seriously velvie that was noble prize winning writing there. I hope Mr. G likes your post. Oh and Mr G, thanks for the sticker and stopping by the 501(3)(c) today! the suit was sharp. Let’s do pitchers and wings at Center (or is that centre) street grill(e) soon!
Velvet, you spin me right round baby baby, right round.
That was a classic. Between this and the amputees at Austin Grill your life is complete.
the best part about “princess Diana” was that jersey like triple chain with the crosses…oh and the triple stacked muffin top!
Very nice. I feel like I was there.
Wait. I’m so lost. Mr. G’s was the bar’s name, right? But Mike Ditka was also a “g” name. He came to see you at work? What? Sometimes even *I* don’t know who you are!!!
Sorefingers – This is why I taught you about T-9 or the quickword. It should make it easier. And Sixes likes to text more than I do.
The You Tube is a classic. When I saw the photograph, my very first thought was “Princess Diana.” The hair and dress, I guess..and broad shoulders from all that swimming…only in your case, she’s been righting herself on black ice and Miller Lite pools in the bar.
Kinda sad. Those people go there EVERY weekend, Velvet..Every weekend…can you imagine? And it’s always the same old faces, saying the same old shit, and they have a “reserved” table saved for them with the Sharpie marker..shaking head…and then they go outside and puke under the overpass. This is so Last Exit To Brooklyn, I can’t stand it.
I think I would have been happier staying at home, looking at devil dog eyes, then going outside and watching how fast the stars were moving when there’s no city lights around.
Very funny. The Hostess and I chuckled several times while reading this blog. Also, she reads to quickly and kept scrolling down before I finished the paragraphs. . . Bitch!
Wait, that’s where you were when we were texting? My god. I missed so much.
But what about the text/pix message side story to Hot Neighbor?
I was laughing along and feeling all superior. Then I watched the video and I heard the first few bars of the next song at the end. I knew instantly it was “Doin’ It” by LL Cool J. I then wanted to stab myself in the face for, really, am I any better? I am like Princess Di, just minus the triple stack muffin top and hideous hair. I hope no one has a video of me dancing.
Now I know why all the women in DC want to the gay cowboy bars. A much better looking clientele
The dogs’ eyes are glowing because THEY TOO are preparing for a night of debauchery.
Cube – Princess Di was out there all by herself too. And it wasn’t cute, obviously. Not cute at all. Sixes kept saying that this was like the movie “Beautiful Girls.” I only saw pieces, but yeah, I get it – small town, same people. I grew up in a town like that. Though thankfully, it was much less “townie” and more “Vinnie Barbarino.”
Hostesses Boyfriend – She emailed me about something related to dog poop and I have no clue what she’s referring to. Sixes hits the town this weekend, so we’ll have to go out and laugh at her for where she lives.
I66 – I knew you would like it. I KNEW IT!
Hot Neighbor – The girls we sent a picture of to you are in there. The pic after “the feast for our eyes continued.” Girl with red hair and green shirt.
Lemmonex – This is why I blacked some eyes out. And I left the place anonymous until damn Sixes came in and gave out the name, ha! Well, it ain’t my town I have to protect! It’s just odd to go somewhere that is between a bunch of big cities but close to none of them, and it’s like people just forgot to move along with the times. Sixes said she wore these H&M boots to her job and they all called her a “fashion model.” OH. My. GOD! Our Mike Ditka friend was actually from Ohio, and he laughed his ass off at us when I said Sixes had to move there for work. I’m sad no one was dancing during Bell Biv Devoe, cause that would have been a great video.
Wild Bill – My eyes still hurt. Still.
Jordan Baker – They probably were pissed off that we left them there. I heard from Sixes neighbor that Sammy, a.k.a. Barky McBarkerton barked the whole night. Little asshole.
1) maybe the reason you two whine about men is that you go to places like this where the people that hit on you don’t have all their teeth; and
B) the princess Diana tranny is scary. if you watch that youtube clip before you go to sleep, you will have Kafka dreams.
Wow. Well, I think that you two learned a lot from your adventure, and I’m so surprised that you didn’t end up in a secret gay bar that bound to be there. I look forward to hearing more adventures, ladies.
Gay bars are for the next trip. I didn’t want to wear velvie out. This post is still a tear jerker. Oh what a night. I can’t WAIT to hit the next underpass joint! And there are plenty
Velvie I think hot neighbor means the photo of my boobs I sent him. Right?
Hey kids where’s the email?
I always thought Gazoo was such a queen, not that there is anything wrong with that. You must be on good terms with him; he always makes me call him The Great Gazoo. I guess being Velvet has its privileges.
On second viewing of that You Tube, it reminded me very much of that scene in The Accused where Jodie Foster (obviously in better shape) goes out dancing by herself next to the jukebox and winds up raped on the pinball machine and pool table while the locals cheer it on.
I think that young woman is just a big ole strappin’ country girl, Velvet, all decked out in her clubbin’ dress. The next morning she got up in flannel shirt and jeans and made Peepaw and her Gran their scrapple with poached eggs on top and side of hashbrowns, while Peepaw coughed into his “Chock Full of Nuts” can and Dad was already at work at Al’s Transmissions working on an 18 rigger that had broken down the night before.
I wish you had talked to these people and gotten their stories: if they had washed up in that spot or were born there, if they were bartending as their third job because they were paying on two alimonies and child supports.
There are always stories in those towns.
Oh I wanted to take my professional camera out to the bars the next night and pretend we were with the local “city paper” (seriously I think it’s called The Fly) and “interview” folks. It would have been easier than faking the cell phone photos!
next time…for sure!
Ninja – Hey! You don’t hear me complaining about men no more! Not me.
MA – There are secret gay bars there. I guess that’s next on the list. Oh no…
Sixes – Are you really waiting for sixes and sevens email? OMG, that is awesome.
Uncle Keith – Gazoo and I go wayyyyy back. If you let some guy with a 1/2 inch green cock…uh….I’ll let that one slide.
Cube – We got some stories. The girl with mom hair is from PA but went to New Orleans and thinks it is the greatest place on earth. It was hard not to laugh. Of course I think Phoenix is the greatest place on earth and that makes Jordan Baker howl. Mike Ditka was from Ohio and was transferred to a job in PA. The Brianna Banks bartender gave off a hint that she’d lived there forever when I asked her where we could find Sixes some “men.” She laughed for the time it took to walk the length of the bar three times. Then said, “Not here.”
Make sure the couch will fit in a trailer cuz like… analyze it…
– Sixes and Sevens nails townie
– Sixes and Sevens gets knocked up
– Sixes and Sevens has to move in to trailer
Yeah, I dont think I need to go further.
bite me. I’m not Jamie Lynn!
sixes, you’re right. Jamie Lynn dates guys who are old enough to drink 😛
TOUCHE! I bet none of them wear orange sweaters either.
I haven’t feasted on a 20-something in a while. Anyone got a spare laying around?
I’m impressed by how much it looks like Austin Ave. Velvet, do you make it a pre-req to only visit people who have that kind of bar accessible to you?
And you KNOW you want the megatouch machine! I remember your fascination with a similar model at the Upstairs Bar here 😉
Consider yourself bitten.
Johnny, Ninja and Sixes – I’ll leave you three to your lovefest.
Chris – It’s not like I TRY to do this. You and Edina just like to live near dive bars. And I walked away from that Megatouch right quick when it came time to steal that girls car, right? So see? I can be dragged away from Tai Play.
Megatouch was amazing. We double teamed it. Of course my strategy was to just smoosh my hand all over the screen to see if I accidentally found the missing pieces of the picture. Clearly you have to drink more to get a better score.
Yes, I was talking about the boob picture,
had the biggest ear to ear grin after I saw that. I was waiting for another message with velvet’s but I guess I cant be too greedy.
That Sixes & Sevens.
She’s so needy.
It’s also nice to know that Older women are getting some too! Go Cougers!
Can I come over and sleep on that new sofa – before Sixes juices it all up?
I’m coming next time, and I’m bringing a sleeping bag because there is no way in hell I’m sleeping on the juiced-up sofa. And I will pretend to be the reporter, if we can find a video camera. We have a badge printing thing at my office, so I can make us professional newspaper badges. Your name could be Velvet DuPont and Sixes could be Jamie Lynn Trucker, and I’ll be something like Tammy or some other equally trashy name.
E you are our brain child! We’re on.
who gets to work the camera?
Sometime, Velvet needs to blog on trashy girl names like Dolly or Candi or Brandy.
Hey, is the cartoon gonna be a monthly feature now? Gazoo must’ve been a familiar face there in Bedrock.
No, I’m the weekly cartoon.
you just made this impossibly bad trip im on …bearable…