Monday, December 05, 2005
Bachelor Party Weekend
This weekend I hosted a bachelor party for a good friend, Plizzba, down from Connecticut. The boys all came out, with pre-drinking starting at my place. We actually went for a good while, finishing off a couple of pizzas and partial bottles of liquor in the process. Then off we then went to Camelot, a gentleman's club in midtown. As a gay man, I love a good female stripper.
Trying to catch a cab there, a station wagon with a passenger already in it tried to stop and pick up all five of us. FIVE. DC law allows four, and we thought we'd get away with one cab for sure, but the woman in the cab already was NOT happy. Not much I could do at that point, as he had already locked Plizzba and I in the trunk. Well, we ended up bailing, and after someone let us out, we got a new cab.
Once at Camelot, and I am not making this up, they would not let us because we were "too drunk." IMAGINE! US! The bouncer, after checking 1/2 of our IDs and asking two of us how much we had had, technically said: "We might not be able to let you in. You might be too drunk." Turns out that was the most direct statement we were going to get. I'm sure you can appreciate my indignation for this less than precise communication, since the English language has more direct words like "No" or "Leave."
In our defense, Special R looks "too drunk" after he's had 1/2 a beer. Its not really a good measure of his actual intoxication. How many text message he's sent that don't make sense is a much better one. We decided that we were turned away because we're in our 20s and have small bills. This seemed to be an establishment for the wealthier man. I had been only once before, and a friend who was a waitress there got us right in.
Thus, the night was a simple one, with three more bars and a turn as Wrecker's wingman to distract whichever woman seemed less interested in him at the moment. I'm a good wingman, guys. Just so you know.
Saturday the girls were invited out to help Plizzba celebrate. We sat in my apartment again, talking until after midnight. Then the energetic among us, meaning me, Plizzba, and TrannyLuver, headed to midtown for a simple bar. A simple bar we found, and it sucked. But it was right next to Camelot, and so for kicks we thought it would be fun to be turned away two days in a row.
But surprisingly, we were let in. And we were given a table directly in front of the poll. And it was mostly pathetic guys in their 20s like us! [Meaning age, not level of patheticness. Although I'm sure we would have been a sad sight if we had made it in the night before. But what fun we would have had!] So we drank, and we gave out singles, and we critiqued the various alluring techniques of each dancer. It was quite a scene -- Plizzba was finally in a strip club, not entirely comfortable, and accompanied by a homo and a chic.
I will say that the ladies at Camelot are gorgeous. I was mesmerized watching some of them. Even went up and gave a $5 to the most beautiful one, whose smile melted me just as much as the first wink from a boy. But don't worry, she didn't have the appropriate equipment for me to fall for her trap, and I knew this because I could see her equipment. I tried to find her picture on their site, but it seems to be a bit outdated (although complete with every pro-military animated icon imaginable - how mid-90s!).
Verdict, I'll take Plizzba and a straight strip club over a gay one any time.
Trying to catch a cab there, a station wagon with a passenger already in it tried to stop and pick up all five of us. FIVE. DC law allows four, and we thought we'd get away with one cab for sure, but the woman in the cab already was NOT happy. Not much I could do at that point, as he had already locked Plizzba and I in the trunk. Well, we ended up bailing, and after someone let us out, we got a new cab.
Once at Camelot, and I am not making this up, they would not let us because we were "too drunk." IMAGINE! US! The bouncer, after checking 1/2 of our IDs and asking two of us how much we had had, technically said: "We might not be able to let you in. You might be too drunk." Turns out that was the most direct statement we were going to get. I'm sure you can appreciate my indignation for this less than precise communication, since the English language has more direct words like "No" or "Leave."
In our defense, Special R looks "too drunk" after he's had 1/2 a beer. Its not really a good measure of his actual intoxication. How many text message he's sent that don't make sense is a much better one. We decided that we were turned away because we're in our 20s and have small bills. This seemed to be an establishment for the wealthier man. I had been only once before, and a friend who was a waitress there got us right in.
Thus, the night was a simple one, with three more bars and a turn as Wrecker's wingman to distract whichever woman seemed less interested in him at the moment. I'm a good wingman, guys. Just so you know.
Saturday the girls were invited out to help Plizzba celebrate. We sat in my apartment again, talking until after midnight. Then the energetic among us, meaning me, Plizzba, and TrannyLuver, headed to midtown for a simple bar. A simple bar we found, and it sucked. But it was right next to Camelot, and so for kicks we thought it would be fun to be turned away two days in a row.
But surprisingly, we were let in. And we were given a table directly in front of the poll. And it was mostly pathetic guys in their 20s like us! [Meaning age, not level of patheticness. Although I'm sure we would have been a sad sight if we had made it in the night before. But what fun we would have had!] So we drank, and we gave out singles, and we critiqued the various alluring techniques of each dancer. It was quite a scene -- Plizzba was finally in a strip club, not entirely comfortable, and accompanied by a homo and a chic.
I will say that the ladies at Camelot are gorgeous. I was mesmerized watching some of them. Even went up and gave a $5 to the most beautiful one, whose smile melted me just as much as the first wink from a boy. But don't worry, she didn't have the appropriate equipment for me to fall for her trap, and I knew this because I could see her equipment. I tried to find her picture on their site, but it seems to be a bit outdated (although complete with every pro-military animated icon imaginable - how mid-90s!).
Verdict, I'll take Plizzba and a straight strip club over a gay one any time.
