"You look like a whore."

NOVA (the rugby team) held a fundraiser at a local bar last night. The theme was 80s (as it usually is with this group). My sister was home for a couple of days, so she said she'd "Madonna" my outfit. I ended up looking more like Peg Bundy from Married With Children. My mother took one look at me and said, "You look... like... a woman... who, you know, walks the street and gets paid money to get into men's cars." Then she said it would probably be a good idea if I covered up because I looked like someone the police would arrest for soliciting.

I get to the bar at around 9:55, 5 minutes before I start my stint as guest bartender. Problem: I only know how to make Jack and coke. I figured I could flirt my way out of trouble, wink a little, perhaps play on some creepy people's Asian fetishes.

NO. Did not happen like that. At all. Instead, I wandered around, trying to make drinks. This one guy watched me make a screwdriver and told me that was the worst mixing he's ever seen in his life (and he totally looked like someone who has had his fair share of bar experience). It's pretty sad because the drink is just OJ and vodka.

I also think living at Casa Coaches has ruined my ability to judge alcohol. If I learned anything from living with Doctor and Comiqua, it's that no drink is "too strong." That, in addition to my poor vision/inability to see in dark places, led to a lot of drinks where I would run out of room for the mixer. Whoops. Don't care.

My whore outfit didn't help me out one bit. Not only was my drink knowledge completed pulled out of my ass, but my heels kept getting stuck in the rubber mat and I'd drag it with me while running around or trip and throw alcohol all over the people at the bar.

The worst part of the evening is that I didn't have time to invent my "yello fever" shot, a drink I had been advertising all week. Instead, the drink I made up was brown, which is sad because all the liquor in it was clear.

The upside is I did get many compliments on my outfit:

"You look like Mr. T's wife."
"You should wax your lip."
"Didn't have time to wash your hair?"
"Were you alive in the 80s?"
"Are you wearing make up? It looks like you got punched in the face."

I'm in love with a stripper

I have failed in so many aspects.

Updating this blog after Vegas: F
Not selling out: F

But on the upside, I have continued to succeed where it matters. I'm still often confused as a lady who will "play" for pay. It doesn't help that in the past week alone, I've somehow found myself in the company of stripper poles and naked women.

There's a bar/restaurant that has great happy hour deals a block from where I work. I met a friend there for drinks and dinner after work. We were catching up when the the lights dimmed and loud, awful music (read: Avril) started to blast. A man in a suit came over to our table and, very politely, told us that at 8, the bar/restaurant became a gentlemen's club.

As we were finishing up and waiting for the check, the ladies started to come in. I have never seen a more diverse group of women. I saw ladies dressed as a cowboy, a cop, a hobo, etc. It really showed me that my gender doesn't limit me, and if I put my mind to it, I can be anything I want to be.

Then last night, in an effort to help NOVA fundraise, I was coerced into visiting a "restaurant" to ask for a raffle donation. This time, the ladies weren't dressed as anything. In fact, many of them weren't dressed at all. One was even making out with herself in the mirror. I mean, I understand if you find yourself attractive, but making out with your reflection is one step below making out with your hand (which I totally stopped doing sophomore year of college*). I didn't get the donation and I'm pretty sure he wanted to offer me a job. Thank goodness the muscle I brought along took care of that.






*by "sophomore year of college" I actually mean "last year, when I graduated"