So, last weekend I had to help my drunk mother and her friend rescue my significantly drunker great uncle, his girlfriend, and my mum's friend's boss's sister from a strip club called Lollipops.
This is my life.
We were all having dinner together in a bar. I drank water, because the only reason my parents even had me was so that they could have a designated driver at all times. The other members of the party, having nothing to do for the next two days but watch NASCAR on tv, took advantage of the opportunity before them and put away enough alcohol to prepare them for life suspended in jars in a middle school biology classroom. When last call rolled around I, in my naivete, assumed that I could at last bundle my mother into her minivan and take her home.
But my mum's friend's boss's sister, who for the remainder of this entry shall be referred to as 'Debbie', was not ready to park her party wagon, and jubilantly suggested that we continue our evening at Lollipops. She was not referring to a candy store. My great uncle and his girlfriend particularly warmed to the idea, and after failing to convince my mother or her friend to join them, tried to persuade me.
Maybe I'm just one of those stodgy, boring squares who can't handle a real party, but somehow the idea of visiting a titty bar with two middle aged women I barely knew and my great uncle, a man who once forewent his jersey and shaved his number into his back hair for a company softball game, was less than tempting.
So the merry band sallied forth to Lollipops and I breathed a sigh of relief, because I was tired and had been socializing for far too long for my health and I had just started the fourth Song of Ice and Fire book and was anxious to go home and read it so I could learn the fate of my boyfriend Sandor Clegane. Alas, almost immediately after they left, my mum's friend proceeded to freak the hell out.
"This is not good! This is so baaaaaaaaad! Uncle Ed just took my boss's sister to a strip club! This is not a good situation! This is bad! Oh nooooooooooooo!"
For the next forty minutes my mother and I huddled in the parking lot while her friend bemoaned the circumstances that led to the peril in which her job had fallen, using the phrase "my boss's sister!" in every other sentence, and coming close to tears. We reached the consensus that we should have gone with them to keep an eye on them and make sure they got home safely, though I secretly gave thanks that I had not been called upon to try and wrangle five drunks in a strip club. I no sooner thought this, then my mum and her friend decided that we had no choice but to go and get them. My mum's friend called out to a man passing by on the sidewalk and asked him if he knew where Lollipops could be found, and he immediately gave us directions. Before departing, he cheerfully assured us that if we got lost, we could just ask anybody, because everyone around here knew where Lollipops was.
I then had to shepherd my mother and her friend across the parking lot to the minivan, my mum's friend focusing more on expelling blubbering gratitude than on her own motor functions. As we neared the car, my mother suddenly gasped, her eyes going wide.
"Oh my God, I'm making my twenty-two-year-old daughter take us to a strip club!" she wailed.
At which point, my mum's friend laughed and wet her pants.
After assuring her that her trousers were dark enough that no one would notice the stain, I managed to get her into the backseat, and my mother took shotgun. I got in the car, and we sped off into the night. My mother's friend spent the drive reprising her earlier consternations, with extra repetitions of "my boss's sister!"
We ended up getting lost, but at least I found out that you can find strip clubs in your GPS. When we finally made it to Lollipops, my mum and her friend hesitated on the sidewalk and insisted that I go in by myself. Yeah, no. Who knew what shenanigans they could get up to out in the street without supervision? Besides, I had never been in a strip club before, and had very little desire to become acquainted with anybody's funbags but my own. Luckily, my mum and her friend were not hard to bully into coming with me as booze makes them docile, and in we went.
I explained to the bouncer that some friends of ours had come in earlier and we wanted to make sure they were okay, and after seeing my ID, he was kind enough to let us in free of charge. Inside it was lit only with black light bulbs and the flashing, spinning, multicolored spotlights on the stage. The music was loud and pounded in my head. The whole place smelled overwhelmingly of lemon-scented cleaning solution, which was suspicious and discomfiting. It was also crowded with people, men and women. The men appeared to range in apparent age from high school kids with fake id's to a few elderly gents, and a good number of them had female dates. The strippers themselves circulated about the club, chatting up people at the bar and surrounding tables, their scanty costumes sparkling and their enormously tall shoes clip-clopping like hooves.
My mum, her friend, and I scanned the crowd for a familiar face and saw none. My mum and her friend began to talk amongst themselves ("this place is so icky!" "my boss's sister!") whilst I, a curious soul, observed my surroundings. I saw a stripper subtly pick her thong out of her butt as she chatted with a group of men in golf gear. A few tables away, an inebriated youth was exchanging high-fives and having his picture taken with a man who, judging by the youth's elated cries, he believed to be Zach Galifianakis. It wasn't Zach Galifianakis, it was just a guy with a beard.
"Heeeeey," I heard my mum mutter over my shoulder. "Doesn't that guy at the bar look like Uncle Ed?"
I followed her pointing finger. There, indeed, was Uncle Ed, waiting on his drink order with a woman in a shiny gold bikini standing close as a vital organ.
"That is Uncle Ed!" my mum's friend yipped.
I squinted my eyes. "Where did he get that hat?"
Looking closely at the nearby tables, we soon found Debbie and my great uncle's girlfriend and hurried over to them. Debbie caught sight of us and grinned like Paula Deen at the thought of butter. "You caaaaaaaaaaaaaame!" she shrieked, a complete and sincere delight writ large on her face. Uncle Ed's girlfriend had not noticed us, she was watching Uncle Ed and his new friend, eyes narrowed.
When Uncle Ed eventually returned with drinks in hand, my mum, her friend, and I were bid to join them, and only through acquiescing to one more round of drinks did we persuade the others to agree to leave with us. I grudgingly sat down, telling myself that since my boyfriend Sandor Clegane has his own proclivity for getting drunk and weepy, this would all be good practice for when we get married. I don't care that he's fictional, it will happen.
For about an hour, I sat at that table while Uncle Ed and his girlfriend argued, my mum and her friend struggled to remain conscious, and Debbie stared around in wide-eyed wonder at the surplus of bright colors and boobies. The lights, music, and chemical lemon smell were starting to give me a headache. Even the strippers looked bored, and I noticed one yawning behind her fanned acrylic fingernails.
At long last, everyone finished their drinks and I stood up to try and marshal the troops outside. Uncle Ed's girlfriend ignored me and sauntered off to the bar, and Debbie began to excitedly tell us that there was a back room where the strippers would have sex with patrons. There was no point in calling after Uncle Ed's girlfriend because the music was so loud that I could feel the bass thudding in my teeth, so I sat and waited for her to come back. Debbie seemed elated at the idea of paying a stripper to have sex with one or more of us, and repeatedly insister that we would get a girl and go to the fabled back room. My mother and I exchanged raised eyebrows. My mum's friend shrieked in horror as she finally noticed that the black lights were making her pee stain glow.
Uncle Ed's girlfriend returned swiftly, pink of face and bereft of drinks, and told us that while she was trying to get the bartender's attention, a stripper had squeezed up next to her and breathily informed her that she 'liked blondes'. Uncle Ed looked smug.
At that moment, Debbie joyously shouted, "HEY! OVER HERE!" and a stripper in an aqua blue bikini and platform high heels that put her feet at about the level of my shins trotted over to our table. Debbie asked her for a lap dance. The stripper did not seem too pleased with this, and began yelling at Debbie.
"Yeah, right, cause I'm a total bull dyke, right?!" the stipper demanded of a wide-eyed Debbie. "'Cause I have 'I Eat Pussy!' tattooed across my forehead, right?! Do I have 'I Eat Pussy!' tattooed on my fucking forehead?!"
We all stared, shocked. I felt sorry of Debbie.
Then, suddenly, the stripper changed her tune and burst out with a toothy grin. "I'm just messin' with you, baby doll. MOTORBOAT!"
And then my mother, her friend, Uncle Ed, his girlfriend, and I watched as the stripper tugged her top open, grabbed Debbie's head, and mushed her face into her boobs.
We heard a muffled, "Woooooooooo!"
After the stripper departed, I managed to get everyone up and out the door. Debbie was smiling and giggling, "I don't understand what just happened."
By the grace of the gods, I got everyone out of Lollipops and safely home, and by the time I got into bed my head was throbbing. There was a faint ringing in my ears, and I could smell the lemon-cleaner lingering in my hair. I leaned back on my pillow and stared longingly at my book, lying where I had left it on the nightstand.
I reached out to tenderly run my finger down its spine. "I'm sorry, baby. I just can't tonight," I sighed. "I have a headache."
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