Wednesday, September 5, 2007

Ladybugs & Vomit

It's getting fucking depressing around here.

At first, I was bummed about turning 30 (which you've heard me bitch enough about by now). Then, I was bummed because both my parents and my girlfriend had planned vacations over the long weekend.

That's right. The woman whose vagina I came out of, and the woman whose vagina I go into - BOTH decided to be out of town. On my fucking birthday.

Needless to say, I was one heroin addiction from going all Owen Wilson on myself.

But a funny thing happened as I posted my depressing six month recap...

At four in the morning, on a day of what can only be described as smoldering weather here in Los Angeles - in my smoke-filled office - as I clicked "Publish Post" to put up my recap... a ladybug started walking across the top of my monitor.

I shit you not.

Right on top of my monitor, when I was feeling my worst - a little bit of happiness walked across my screen.

Now I'm not really one to believe in signs or superstitions. I never wore the same underwear because they were my lucky pair, and I never not washed my jock strap just because we won a football game while I had it on.

Still, this was a nice surprise. I couldn't help but be a little touched.

So, I decided to suck it up and go out with some friends and celebrate my birthday. After all, it would be downright morose of me to still be depressed after that touching little moment with an insect.

If nothing else, I could drink until I puked all over myself.

And out we went. To the wonderful world of Oz.

And by Oz, I mean a strip club.

Not a nice strip club, either. The kind of strip club where you wouldn't be surprised if a roach climbed out of the strippers hooch and did a pole dance as part of her act. The kind of dirty, stinky, seedy strip club that you actually have to drive out of your way to find.

It was like being home again.

Up to my old shenanigans, I felt like a kid again. A kid with a huge boner.

The night wouldn't have been complete, though - unless right in the middle of a lap dance, as a dirty, dirty naked woman is grinding all over my crotch - my girlfriend calls to tell me that she cut her trip short to surprise me. The only way this call could have come at a more inopportune time was if I were balls deep in this dirty, dirty woman.

With one hand cupping a slice of silicon heaven, I answered the phone anyway to let her know where we'd be in half an hour.

"You don't want me to just meet you at the strip club?"

What the fuck? Did she have a nanny cam installed in this chick's nipple? I inspected the nipple further.

"Where else would they be playing Motley Crue, dickhead?"

She had a point.

You haven't lived until you've had your girlfriend walk into one of the dirtiest, nastiest strip clubs in town - take one look at the place - and ask for a paper towel to put on the seat before she sits down on it.

"I am not fucking you tonight if you get a lap dance from her," was heard several times throughout the evening.

Overall, it was a really great time. We drank until the wee hours of the morning, I remembered what it was like to not be such a whiny bitch, and I managed to squeeze in a few lap dances from women the girlfriend wasn't totally repulsed by.

And I did end up puking, but it wasn't all over myself.

It's all about the small victories.


Jim Endecott said...

Ahh Motley Crue...

I went into a strip bar in Boring, Oregon and there was a chick dancing there that looked like she survived a shark attack. Missing half a thigh...

Rest wasn't bad though.

The GF sounds like a keeper.


Christina Shaver said...

From ladybugs on the monitor to roaches out the hooch? Seriously. Did I just read that right?

GF is more than a keeper. That chick is saint for sticking around that skanky skank for you. She cut vacation short for that? You're a lucky man, IQ.

Eddie said...

It's cute now. But you'll need a professional when it comes back with all of its friends.

Use the "morose" to write next time.

Anonymous said...

Girls Girls Girls is echoing in my head as I type this... with one hand... BTW, ladybugs on salads adds protein

Danny said...

If you don't puke on your birthday, you're a fucking loser.

Also, if you're older than 30, you're a fucking loser.

Ha ha.