Day 17 of Vacation: VIP Status, Baby!

My friend Michael is always winning contests on the radio and has developed a large following of haters because of it. This year alone, he's been to Wango Tango, Disney's D23 Expo, and Geroge Lopez. On Monday he won tickets for the iHeartRadio Music Festival in Vegas this weekend but because he was two days short of the one-prize-per-60-days rule, he didn't get them. 

"@katyperry I won a radio contest to see u at the #iheartradiofestival I photoshopped a pic of u and me but then the station took them away."

"@katyperry they said because I won tickets from them 58 days ago I don't qualify I needed to wait two more days, I really wanted to see you."

"@1027KIISFM @iHeartRadio I won and you guys took it away from me I'm super sad now."

Yeah, he was pissed. I tried consoling him by telling him to focus on the good times he's had all summer thanks to his luck. But just like when you take beer away from a drunk, he was inconsolable. 

I had the pleasure of relishing in Michael's fortune last month. Out of seven million people in the world, he invited me to D23 after finding out that there was going to be a Mary Poppins movie anniversary celebration. Being that I'm the only Mary Poppins fan in the planet, it kind of made a lot of sense to take me. But there is one thing you have to know. Michael's luck doesn't end when he picks up his tickets from the KIIS FM studios in Burbank. No siree. As we stood in line that day at the Anaheim Convention Center waiting to witness the Disney magic inside, one of the workers told us to follow him if we wanted to be upgraded to VIP for free. So we did. As we made our way into the Expo, we looked back at the General Admission line where we had been. The folks we had seen at the front were in the exact same spot. Suckas! I could go on and on about the fun we had that day but I already did: http://practicallyperfectmp.blogspot.com/2013/08/d23-expo.html.

Some of Michael's luck finally rubbed off on me last Saturday. I was at L.A.'s Eat/See/Hear event with my sister and her friends when the dude at the KROQ booth asked us if we wanted tickets to a comedy festival in Irvine on Sunday. He claimed Dave Chappelle was going to be there. My sister had a paper to write so she couldn't go. And her friends didn't want to be out late the night before their work week started. I, being on vacation and all, had nothing to do on Sunday so I accepted the offer but not before asking what I had to do to get them. Dude said, "Nothing." So he began to search for the tickets. Dude looked on top of the table, under the table, and in a few boxes and bags on the floor without any luck. I told him he had lied and he looked embarrassed. He told us there was a guy with a red beard walking around that should have the tickets. My sister asked for the red bearded guy's name and Dude said it was Trevor. We promised to stalk Trevor as we continued to walk around. But Trevor was the one who found us. My posse was standing in front of a food truck debating what to grub when Trevor approached us by asking, "Were you interested in the tickets?" My sister screamed, "Trevor," and I raised my hand. Trevor told me I had to do one thing and I almost backed out. But all he wanted was a picture for the website and I followed him to the KROQ booth. And just like that, I had free tickets in my possession too.

This shot has nothing to do with free tickets. It was just the beautiful view of LA from my vantage point before The Breakfast Club started playing that night. 

Since my sister couldn't come with me to the comedy festival, I decided to repay a favor by inviting Michael. He was very excited. He's the one who told me the venue was outdoors and the names of all the comedians that were going to be there. The lineup included Flight of the Conchords, Al Madrigal, Chris D'Elia, Demitri Martin, Dave Chappelle and more. I didn't care about the specifics, although I appreciated the fact about the event being outside because a girl has to plan her outfit. I was just glad I had won something with zero effort.

I will spare you the details of the horrendous traffic to the amphitheater. I will, however, begin with Michael's continuous lucky streak. He stopped at the Airheads candy booth because they were giving VIP passes to the funniest Airhead moment Tweet. Without a doubt in his mind, Michael said, "I got this."

"This morning I was rushing and decided toothpaste would make good hair gel @airheadscandy #AirheadMoment #oddballfest."

The actual airhead at the booth gave us free hand sanitizer and SPF lotion for our participation.  It was dinner time but the lines were ginormous--over an hour long, to be exact, a nice lady was kind enough to share-- and I wanted a drink. So we headed to the margarita station instead. We were able to get our drink on for the low low price of $27. We then settled for the chili cheese fries truck, per my request, where the alcohol made it easier to make fun of people, like the girl over-dressed for the occasion who according to me looked like Rapunzel but according to the guy in front of us was more of an Ariel. Since we weren't moving, Michael checked his Twitter account to see if he had won the Airhead VIP prize and this is what he found:

"CONGRATS TO @Mstei_! You have won two VIP tix for tonight. You have 20 minutes to claim them at the @AirheadsCandy booth at #Oddballfest."

We started laughing because we couldn't believe it. I know Michael had said that he was going to win but how many times have I said, "I'm going to win the 11 million dollars in tonight's Super Lotto," and nothing happens. There was one problem, though. The Airheads Tweet had been posted nineteen minutes before. That's when I said, "Run!"

When I arrived to the booth, the Airheads dude was taking a picture of Michael's phone screen. There was also a professional photographer taking more shots behind him. As Dude took out two wristbands, I asked if there was going to be free booze. He said there would be. Dude asked for a few more pictures and then directed us toward the VIP lounge. Before we left, I shared with Dude that I had been given tickets to the event and how even more awesome it was that Michael had won our way into the VIP lounge. Dude said we full of positive energy, that he could feel it, and wished us luck as we started towards an even more incredible night.

"Just won a contest from @airheadscandy and won VIP passes here at the #oddballcomedyfestival #free… "

Michael was ecstatic. He couldn't wait to meet Dave Chappelle. I was nervous because I didn't want to look stupid in front of any celebrities. We forgot about the food and headed straight to the lounge. The older white men at the entrance told us we couldn't walk in with our drinks so Michael finished his and I tossed what I had left of my lime/strawberry margarita. You bet we were mad; had Michael checked his status minutes before, we wouldn't have spent any money on alcohol that night. But once again, I reminded him, not everything is free, even when it is.

VIP status, baby!

The chicks behind the beer table were promoting Redd's Apple Ale which I tried because I like apple juice. Michael grabbed a Blue Moon. As they placed reusable can holders on our beers, I asked them for t-shirts like theirs with a big red apple on them but they said they had run out. We heard the crowd hollering in the amphitheater and decided to check out the show. We followed the signs to the VIP seating but our wristbands were useless there. We needed VIP seat tickets to get past the workers. And just like that, Michael and I lost our cool factor. We were going to end up sitting in the nosebleed section after all. So I tried to hold on to the fact that I was there for free. But I pulled a Michael by remaining pretty bummed. To regain some of our dignity, we returned to the lounge. But Michael stopped halfway there. He realized that we were standing in this gray area between the lounge and the backstage that led the comedians and regular folks like us toward the same exit. That meant we were standing in the path of some pretty famous people. And thus the stalking began. 

I spotted my first celebrity pretty quickly. He was tall and slim, wearing all black, with longish wavy hair and a scruffy face. I recognized him from the NBC comedy Whitney. He plays the boyfriend on the show. As I pointed him out to Michael, the actor returned backstage. Michael got on his phone and looked up his name so we could be prepared for his reappearance. Chris D'Elia. That's what we were going to say nonchalantly when he came out of his hiding place again. 

As we waited for other recognizable faces, a group of event coordinators huddled next to us. Michael expressed his desire to be one of them and I almost threw him in the circle so he could start networking. But that's when Chris popped out again. Michael told me to get ready but I was nervous. It was like meeting Rider Strong in 2008 all over again. Except I didn't have a crush on Chris. Either way, I was mute so Michael spoke up.

"Hey Chris, can we get a picture with you?"

"Yeah, sure," he said. 

I walked towards him as he checked in with someone behind us. Then Chris put his arm around me and I put mine around him.  We stood still as Michael took the pic and the rest is history.

Michael said, "Thanks, man."

Chris said, "No problem."

Our egos automatically rose to VIP status again. 

With Chris D'Elia at the Oddball Comedy Festival.

"@airheadscandy thanks for the VIP tickets I'm glad my #AirheadMoment helped me become the coolest kid here."

Shortly after, we caught Jeff Ross heading in our direction. His dirty looking hair was tied up in half a pony tail. Michael approached him but Jeff ignored him by looking back at his friends as he made his way to the exit. That's how we came to the conclusion that Jeff Ross sucks.

It was hard to pinpoint any other comedians because we didn't have a clue what they looked like. Except for Dave Chappelle. But it was time for another drink. We went inside the lounge where Michael now had an Apple Ale as we continued to assess the crowd from our VIP view.

"Having an amazing time in the @ReddsAppleAle VIP lounge at the #oddballcomedyfestival thanks to @airheadscandy."

This is how we roll. Wut wut!

Michael pointed out one of the few African American guys leaving the backstage area and asked me if it was Dave Chappelle. The guy was wearing a newsboy hat like the ones Dave wears. But he didn't have any facial hair the way I recalled Dave having. Besides, he looked too young and we dismissed it. Then we caught sight of Chris D'Elia again, looking a little lost. He walked to and fro by himself, distracted by his phone. He finally sat on a golf cart that had transported the big shots from the parking lot. Michael suggested we go make small talk with him but I knew nothing about him other than asking about Whitney Cummings.

At 10:30, all of us cool kids were told that our beloved VIP lounge was about to close. The workers had to get it ready for the Oddball Comedy Festival after-party for the celebs. Our wristbands should have turned into pumpkins then. But the clock hadn't chimed yet and there was still beer left. Michael asked the guy behind the table for a Cape Cod while he poured himself another Apple Ale because they were out of Blue Moon. Only the coolest kids on the the block walk out of a VIP lounge double fisting it for free.

We had no choice but to find our seats and enjoy what was left of the show. We were on a high from the damn luck we'd had all day. Dave Chappelle was the perfect ending to our free, lucky, crazy, unbelievable, amazing, fun night at the Oddball Comedy Festival. Michael was mad that our wristbands didn't give us access to the after-party but I don't think I could have handled more. Okay, I could have. But we couldn't get greedy because that's where our future luck would surely end.

*          *          *

Need tickets to an event? Don't call Ticketmaster. Check in with Michael or me first. We probably have what you're looking for...

Day 15 of Vacation: Awkward

My friend, who I refer to as Mr. Tam, invited me to his favorite salsa dancing spot last Friday night.

He and I met at the Residence Halls, aka the dorms, over a decade ago, when we were Resident Services Assistants, aka Front Desk Workers. Through the magic of Facebook, we've stayed in touch. 

6-14-03

I want to say I was the first one to contact him after having added each other as "Friends" on the social media network. I saw an awesome picture he posted of a narrow hiking trail on top of a mountain and I immediately wanted to be there. So I messaged him asking for the location. I think he said it was in the San Gabriel mountains but I have yet to explore it. 

Mr. Tam, a fellow Pisces, finally contacted me last year to make the hiking thing happen. I will admit, it was a little awkward. I had not hung out with him since 2003 and I had no idea if we'd have anything to talk about other than our college years. But it was cool. Mr. Tam was an experienced hiker, runner, and talker. We didn't hit up the trail in his picture, per se, but the hike up to Inspiration Point in Pasadena in the middle of July did kick our asses #hikingfail. 

And now, another year later, I received a text from Mr. Tam asking when our next hiking adventure was going to be. Traumatized from the last hike together, we decided to postpone our outing to October. So he invited me to go dancing instead.

Mr. Tam has been dancing salsa for about a year now. He has salsa buddies and dancing shoes which made me nervous. I've taken three lesson in three months and all I learned was to follow the man's lead. I suck at it but I like to dance and want to continue to get better. So I straightened my hair, coated my eyelids with blue eye shadow, threw on a dress, strappy shoes, and off I went with my chanclas in my hand. 

I felt relieved to have bumped into Mr. Tam in the parking lot; it beat showing up to the club alone. I was pulling in as he was exiting his car. I literally braked, made sure it was him, and immediately parked so we could walk together. He carried his dancing shoes in a bag, the bag they came in, directly from the dancing shoe store, and he scolded me for walking on the cement with mine already on my feet. But I explained that they weren't real dancing shoes, just a bargain I'd found at DSW.

Seven dollars later, we were inside the magical salsa dancing place. We set our stuff on a table and lined up with the other folks on the dance floor because the lesson had already started. As we watched the instructor, I noticed a familiar face standing next to me. It took me a second to identify where I knew the woman from but as soon as she turned to look at me too it was obvious. She was a school mom. I taught her kid a couple of years ago. Can you say awkward? We acknowledged each other with a surprised look and a phony smile and pretended not to know each other the rest of the night. It was better that way. 

For those of you who have never taken a lesson, I'm your guinea pig. The ladies are asked to stand in a line and the men are told to stand directly in front of them. Depending on the instructor, either the females or males have to rotate every couple of minutes so we can have multiple chances of practicing with different partners. Even those who show up with a significant other get in on the act. It's supposed to be fun--you see your lover in the hands of someone else for an hour and it makes you want them more. By the time the lesson is over, your desire for them is so great that you take it out on the dance floor. At least that's how I picture it. But what the hell do I know.

Anyway, it was during one of these rotations that I came across a guy in a red t-shirt. He was shorter than me, wearing large black frames, with a hint of baldness in the back of his head. As we finished up the first step, he told me to "move my hips" and "shake what my momma gave me." Um, yeah, I'll move my hips and shake my money maker when I deem the opposite sex worthy of my goods, thank you very much. He complimented my dress and told me that if it weren't for my heels, we'd be the same height. NEXT!

I had already eyed the guy who came after. He was wearing a fedora and anyone who wears a hat, in my opinion, exudes a certain level of confidence worthy of my attention. He was a good dancer, a good leader, and I hoped he'd ask me to dance later that night. But he never did. He spent the entire night with the school mom's friend. Really? She was way older and probably had five kids. Whatever. I didn't sweat it. Maybe it's the latest trend.

The lesson was over after the longest hour and everyone scurried to the tables they had reserved with purses, water bottles, and phones. That was one thing I liked about the club: there was an abundance of tables where you could leave your stuff, get up and dance, and your belongings would still be there when you sat down again. Everyone there had but one purpose: to dance. They were not interested in anyone else's iPhone sitting on a table. That was pretty awesome. 

Mr. Tam and I grabbed drinks and before I got a chance to sit and enjoy a full sip of my strawberry daiquiri, Sal tapped my shoulder and just like that, I was on my way to the dance floor. I had already "tested him out" during the lesson. His strong jaw had reminded him of my uncle, a deal breaker of sorts when looking for a mate. He asked my name, I told him, and then he shortened it to Mari. I said, "No, I don't like that." I guess I know why he never asked me out again. It probably had nothing to do with the fact that I was a terrible dancer. But I didn't want to dance with my uncle all night anyway so it worked out. 

Mr. Tam was surprised that I had already been asked to dance twice before he even got out there. He took me out and I sucked even more. He has nine months of experience over me, though; that's my excuse and I'm sticking to it. When we sat, ladies were fanning themselves after breaking a sweat and Mr. Tam busted out with his fan too. I'm telling you, this salsa club is damn serious about dancing. No one was hanging out at the bar like at the regular clubs and most of the drinks on the table were water bottles. 

And that's how the rest of the night played out. Tap tap tap on the shoulder and off I went. I will say that the Asian men were the most patient with me, compared to what Mr. Tam referred to as "my kind." According to him, Asian men love Latinas, which is why they take up salsa. The few men of "my kind" who asked me to dance once never took me out again. One of them saw how hard I was struggling and suggested we dance the song cumbia-style. I appreciated it but I knew he was bummed that he couldn't pull his best moves. The Asian men, on the other hand,  didn't mind my two left feet; they kept coming back for seconds and thirds. A very tall and lean Asian gentleman took me out when a merengue song was playing and he made me feel like a ballerina. He held me close, invaded my personal space even, but he was so easy to follow that I just went with it. He asked to continue with a bachata number where he changed up the steps depending on the musical notes. I admired that because I too change my moves depending on the beat of a song that I like. It was funny when he asked me to "bend my legs" during a toned-down version of the grinding move; he was so polite and elegant, though, that I told myself not to get grossed out. A different older gentleman took me out for bachata too. He was the first one who spun me around without losing me. I appreciated that very much.  I thought I caught a whiff of cucumber in his cologne but Mr. Tam said it was probably just his sweat. The last good dance was with Mr. Tam himself, God bless his heart. After trying to show off his intermediate/advanced skills earlier, he kept it basic for my sake. I was able to follow more or less but it was mostly honest fun. 

Mr. Tam and I caught breaks here and there. By midnight, my feet were officially in pain. I watched people dance very well and became a little jealous. I noticed that some females were wearing jeans and I told Mr. Tam that I almost did too. He said I could have but was glad that I wore a dress because it was more elegant. He also pointed out that I looked slimmer and then, just in case he hadn't noticed, I told him my hair was three times longer than it was the last time I had seen him. 

For my toes' sake, I declined every other tap tap tap towards the end of the night. The pain miraculously went away, though, when I hit the dance floor, only to be reminded of it when I walked back to the table. As I enviously watched women make men's dancing dreams come true, I couldn't help to want hand sanitizer. I didn't know how many men I had danced with but even if it had been only one the entire night, hands got sweaty. But I shook off the thought and continued people watching.

By 12:30am, a lot of people had already left. I wasn't sleepy but my feet and legs were. A while later I asked Mr. Tam to walk me to my car and he suggested hitting up King Taco. It was the greatest idea ever! I really loved salsa dancing then. 

I drove closely behind Mr. Tam, trying not to get caught up in a red light, to the greatest midnight snack invention, King Taco, and changed into my chanclas immediately. That's when I noticed that not only had my shoes messed up my toes but cut my foot as well. My sandal strap rubbed perfectly against the wound which was the only reason I even noticed it. So I stepped funny into the restaurant, ordered two sopes and horchata, and washed my hands vigorously as I waited for my order. 

Ouch. 

Mr. Tam and I chatted like the good old friends we are as we recuperated the calories we had lost. Then he guided me to the freeway after making sure plans for a hiking trip were set for next month. I wonder where we'll go eat then. 

Day 3 of Vacation: Trojan In the House!

Sunday is the day of rest and I took it literally. I slept in and even took a nap in the middle of the day. But my mom wanted to hit the streets. So I caved and got ready. Since she wants my dad to build a closet in her room, they were going to head to Home Depot. Yay me. Thankfully, though, my dad's careful measurements concluded that there wasn't going to be room for me in the car after they loaded the materials. Thus, I was "allowed" to stay home.

The reason why my mom needs a closet is because my sister moved back home after being gone for twelve years. Naturally, Jackie took over the one in our room, the same one my mom used to put her extra clothes in. And why on earth would my sister do that to herself, you might ask? Because she got accepted into the Graduate School of Social Work at USC (University of Southern California), that's why! And well, while I've been trying to convince her that anyone in her position would love to have free room and board, she's trying really hard to be grateful for this every second she's home.

Once inside the house again where I belonged, I witnessed my sister writing her first research paper. I didn't envy her one bit. That was me two years ago. It was the hardest thing I'd ever done, working full time and going to school. I told her, "Getting a B.A. is a joke compared to getting a Master's." Although she has a place to stay, it's really difficult for her to get any work done. Between dogs barking, cars bumping music, emergency vehicles driving by, car alarms going off indefinitely, my mother's birds screeching, and my parents fighting, Jackie's only way to block everything out is by using earphones to listen to acoustic new age music on Pandora while she sits in the middle of all the chaos.

The worst thing, though, is that her cat Tuxy hasn't adjusted to Southern California even though it's been two weeks since they relocated. She hardly leaves the room where she sleeps under the bed. The cat is terrified of my mom, possibly because her sixth sense knows that there will never be room in my mother's heart for any other cat than our beloved deceased Chiquita. She is bug-eyed, jittery, anxious, stressed out, hot, and hyper-sensitive to any disruption of silence. The only other person Tuxy likes is me because I'm a cat too, but mostly because I sound like my sister.

Here's hoping for a healthy adjustment for Jackie and her pet!

MacBook Pro's charger and hole puncher residue. 

Hot hole puncher

There she is, my little Trojan.

Cooped up in the room, poor thing. 

Jackie brought her out of her cocoon.

When all the evil people are fast asleep, aka parental figures, Tuxy comes out and plays.

Day 2 of Vacation: Hot Bodies

So, apparently this is my weekend of firsts. On Friday I received my first lap dance and yesterday I went to my first gay bar on purpose. If I recall correctly, in May of 2012 I accidentally found myself in one when I followed my sister and her friends to a club in Oakland. I say accidentally because the girls were looking forward to dancing at this particular club they'd been to before but we walked into LGBT night. Females made up most of the clientele that day. I had short hair then--think P!NK or Miley Cyrus-- and I didn't want to encounter any awkwardness with the ladies. Luckily, my then boyfriend was with me so I clung to him the entire time. We sat at the bar where my sister and her posse flirted with the straight bartenders as they had done previously. We were even invited to stay after hours to sip on free beer. 

But this time it was by choice. Jackie's friend who was in town for the weekend invited her to The Abbey in West Hollywood. So Jackie invited me too. I was hesitant at first. I'm not gay so I didn't see the point in wasting my time at a gay bar. But a friend suggested that I be open to new experiences. So I considered it. If I could get my drink and dance on, what would be the issue? My decision was final when I found the perfect pair of pants at JCP in the clearance rack for fifteen dollars. They were a shimmery lilac with zippers at the ankles that felt like plastic when I put them on. Paired with a black shirt and the shoes I bought last month at DSW, I was ready to be a part of the WeHo scene. 

Hot day-um, that's a dirty mirror.

Yes, I matched my nails and eye shadow to my pants.

We were totally safe--she never took her eyes off the road.

In the WeHo district.

In front of The Abbey.

I was so ready to party it up when we arrived--the no cover charge had a lot to do with it. I quickly spotted a hot shirtless male behind the bouncer that I wanted to take a picture with. When I mentioned this to Jackie, she thought I wanted the mad looking guy in the suit who did a double-take verifying my ID to take a pic of me and her. The moment was lost and I followed her inside in search of her friend.

Her friend was waiting at the bar and in no time, male dancers appeared to do their thang. One of them stood right next to me on the bar and of course, I didn't let that photo-op moment pass me by.

Happy much?

I was thirsty and wanted a drink pronto. But Jackie didn't know what she wanted. So she got on her phone and started looking for a drink she'd had and loved. Had it been a sidecar? Did it have whiskey? She didn't know. After extensive research, she decided she wanted a beer. A beer! But now there was a problem. The male dancer was dancing between us and the bartenders. I volunteered to stick my head between his legs in order to get our drinks but Jackie and her friend looked at me like I was crazy. So I pointed to the bar in the back that was clear of toned, hairless bodies.

Pride

Just enjoying the view...

The atmosphere was fun as we sipped our drinks. There was a black guy pulling off ballet moves on the dance floor while a Hispanic-looking male couple made out in the middle of the crowd. Jackie caught up with her friend as I took in every male dancer trying to figure out if he was gay or not. The ones who allowed themselves to be felt up I categorized as gay. One seemed to be flirting with a girl across the dance floor. 

I moved my upper body to the monotonous beat of the music when suddenly another species emerged, the female kind. A girl in a very minimalist Tinker Bell-esque outfit replaced the Asian male dancer with nipple rings. It seemed like the entire club had stopped what they were doing to look at her. Even Jackie and her friend shut up. We stared at Tinker Bell admiring her moves, her body, and her confidence. Her hair was messy with the humidity and all I kept thinking was, Oh yeah, sure, if I wear my hair like that in public I look like a witch but she gets paid not to run a comb through hers. She pulled herself up on the poles in the air and did a split. She was amazing. I told Jackie, "I want her ass." She said she wanted Tinker Bell's entire physique. "She has to be Brazilian," Jackie concluded. "No plastic surgery is capable of creating such a perfect butt."

This is the best shot I got of Tinker Bell's ass. Enjoy, females, males, and intersex. 

Now, I hope you don't take these thought processes as any indication that Tinker Bell turned my sister and me gay. It is very natural for women to check out other women as men check out men at the gym. Just like men compare their pecs, arms, and abs, to others', we notice boobs and butts. And just like straight men cannot stop staring at a perfect body like Tinker Bell's, we couldn't either. It was crazy watching her grab female client's faces and shoving them in her butt and then giving them a kiss. I asked Jackie, "How much do you think those ladies gave her to receive that kind of treatment?" I have to imagine those bills have two zeros after a one. 

In no time, The Abbey became a fire hazard. There were more people stuffed in there than there should have been. We tried dancing but the only moves I pulled off came by getting bumped, pushed, and shoved from people crossing from one end of the bar to the other. It was hot and the music was redundant. I sometimes caught verses of one of my favorite songs embedded in the lyric-less dance music and I seized the moment. But I just kept eyeing a spot in the outdoor patio where I knew my claustrophobia would be under control. 

Sardines.

Inside joke.

I wasn't trying to be a party pooper but I wanted to leave; there was no room to walk or even stand. I suggested to Jackie that we go bar hopping but she and her friend were having a good time, plus the other places had a cover charge. At one point, one of the male dancers on his break made his way past us and left all of his sweat on our arms and clothes. Even a group of gay guys next to us squirmed with disgust while they rubbed themselves clean against each other. 

Jackie and her friend finally decided to take it to the patio. On our way to the bar for some water, I felt someone tug at my arm. When I turned around, there was a white guy smiling at me, signaling to go to him with his hand. I couldn't tell if he was gay or not so I laughed and kept walking. While it was a bit cooler there, the scene remained the same. People walked back and forth as if on moving walkways like the ones found at airports or casinos. I was so bored that I took a bunch of pictures of my shoes. Then I told Jackie to time me because I was going to tie a knot with the cherry stem. It took me about 45 seconds. I went back to staring at the dancers after that. 

Since it was my second straight day (no pun intended) in heels, my feet were done. Jackie's friend found me a chair that had a pretty good view of one of the dancers with the cute smile I had pointed out earlier. I took one picture of him but he gestured that I take another. So cocky, no pun intended there either. 

And then, out of no where, I saw my sister nod towards the exit. It was music to my ears. I told my feet to bare with me, that they'd be free soon. As we made our way to the parking lot across the street, we saw that the line to The Abbey was as long as a street block. I could not believe that people were still arriving or in line for a place with no room for them. But that was not my problem. The valet dude brought our car, off came my shoes, and I headed home content and chatty. 

I don't think I'll find myself at The Abbey again but at least it's another experience under my belt :)