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 :)

Day 1 of Vacation: Palm Springs' Magic Mike

My four-week vacation started with an Official Girls Night Out (Terrible way, I know). At least that's what the recording said when I called Zelda's Nightclub in Palm Springs to reserve a table for three.

I'd been to a strip club once, for a bachelorette party, at Hollywood Men, many moons ago. I knew there was nothing to fear (ie. ugly dudes with long hair forcing their junk in your face) as long as I didn't wave dollar bills in the air. And luckily, my girls Maria and Susanna agreed that it would be innocent fun. The plan was further encouraged when I explained that the place would turn into a club after the show.

The entrance was free before 10pm and you bet that we arrived on time. A big guy with a ponytail escorted us to our Reserved table and we quickly got started with a round of Patrón shots. Those were immediately followed by Mai Tais and a Long Island Iced Tea; we had to start early to burn it off by the time we hit the road, Jack.

We watched several Bachelorette parties on the dance floor as we settled in. We were surprised to see a fair amount of guys in the club since it was Girls Night Out. Don't get me wrong, I knew there would be guys, mostly gay ones, before the club started. I just expected the straight ones after the show. Susanna was quick to point out a dude that resembled my former romantic partner, thus making it a given to keep him at arm's length. We were getting ready to join the ladies on the floor when a tap on my shoulder blade made me turn around. It was a guy, a short one who came up to my shoulders, maybe. He wanted me to dance with him. Because the music was so loud, I was forced to come in close proximity to his face and explained that I'd just arrived and was having a blast with my girlfriends right now, maybe later, thank you. I wasn't out to destroy egos, either.

I worried Little Guy would be persistent once he saw us dancing but Maria, Susanna, and I were left alone. I suggested we purchase a Bachelorette kit and start taking turns wearing it when we went out. That way, we could always receive special treatment, like free drinks or desserts or maybe even a lapdance. Susanna warned that people might catch on if we began to frequent certain establishments often. But I told her it'd be safe to say we were on to husband #2, then #3, etc.

We danced until Big Ponytail Guy kicked us out because the show was about to begin. We hollered and screamed until three fat men without rhythm appeared in cowboy attire dancing a number. Maria and I laughed so hard because we could not believe they were the ones who were supposed to strip for us in a bit. I leaned in and asked her, "Did they just pick up these men off the corner?" I continued cracking up out of embarrassment for their choreography and was beyond grateful we hadn't paid to get into what was now a comedy show more than anything else.

After the "tease," the choreographer/announcer made small talk with all the ladies in the club; he was obviously stalling a wardrobe change. He designated the area we were sitting Erection Section and proceeded to give the rest other sexual terms. Then he came back around to ask where we had come from and what had brought us in. When he finished fishing details from the white-girl bachelorette party on our left, he came toward us speaking a few phrases in Spanish. It was obvious he was utilizing the Spanish he had learned in high school 30 or 40 years ago. Since we had already been stereotyped, Maria went along with it and told him we were from Guatemala. He then gave props to the Central American country and we cheered with him. When asked what we were celebrating, I told him it was simply ladies night. He joked that meant we told our boyfriends and husbands that we were at a Tupperware party.

While he finished making the rounds, Maria pointed out the baby-faced security standing guard. He stood at the edge of the dance floor as if trying to block us from from running, jumping, and getting a feel of one of their strippers at any moment. He ended up dancing with us later that night.

Once the choreographer/announcer got his fill of attention, the show continued. Two men dressed in black appeared and once again, we were quick to point out how fat one of them was. After their skit, only one of them remained on the floor. He was the one who ended up stripping. While he covered up his thong with boxer briefs, Big Ponytail Guy brought out a chair that resembled a vintage one from a dentist office. If you waved a five dollar bill in the air, we were told, the baby-faced security would escort you to the Big Bad Red Chair where you could meet Stripper up close and personal. Maria quickly busted out the money and waved it over Susanna. The rest is history. None of us, and I mean none of us, were immune.

Female shall remain anonymous :p. So shall Stripper.

Wooooooooooo!

Good times.

The music started playing after most of us had a piece of Coachella Valley's Magic Mike and in the words of Flo Rida, we hit the floor. A guy with a tattoo across his collar bone peering through his shirt asked me to dance. I said no. He asked if maybe later. Very unconvincingly I said, maybe. Later that night he came up to Susanna and she declined his offer as well. Which was a good thing because Neck-Tattoo Guy was mine first and I was prepared take her down.

Stripper also came around, danced with Susanna, and swept her away. Maria and I ran to our table, grabbed our stuff, and followed them up a set of stairs, aka the VIP Lounge. Stripper led us to the DJ booth where we had a full view of the club below.

Thanks, Susanna, for your good looks. It got us to the top!

VIP status

Foot scratching.

A la Miley Cyrus

A while later, we went back to the dance floor. We danced until our feet betrayed us. As Susanna and I walked Maria to her car, a fight between egos broke out near my car directly in front of the club. We sought refuge in Maria's vehicle until it was over which of course led to a conversation because that's what happens when you put a minimum of two girls together in any given space. When you add the chat Susanna and I had when I dropped her off, it totaled up to 4:30am. 

And that's how we roll.

Next stop, WeHo.

Oh yeah, Happy Birthday, Sophia!!!

How To Throw the Best 1st Birthday Party Ever...For Maximum Adult Fun

First, hire a couple of local artists to bake and decorate the cakes. You'll not only save money but add that "personal touch." They have to be the same people who created the child whose birthday you are celebrating.

I already hired the artist to make me a Mary Poppins painting.

I added a P!NK profile painting to my queue. Here's his link, he makes wishes come true: http://www.etsy.com/shop/ignaciosalinas?ref=l2-shopheader-name  

Second, enlist an awesome friend to help decorate. The requirements are that she be punctual and willing to be paid with food.

Cheese beautiful.

Third, keep it simple, stupid. Hot dogs and burgers are what anyone really loves to eat anyway.

Fourth, only invite folks with older kids who bring personalized gifts.

Hello Kitty cover.

Fifth, get a piñata even if there's only one guest under 10.

This should help me get through the last two weeks of school before my vacation.

Sixth, hire your friends and family to take beautiful pictures of you.

Seventh, after most of the hard work has been done, let the real party begin.

Shots for those 21 and over.

In the words of yours truly, "Rrrum punch!"

BB guns for the youngins.

Alas, let there be cake and gifts and pens.