Caterwauling

Memo to my newly knocked-up cousin who had the audacity to call after five years just to invite me to her baby shower:

Blow me, bitch. I fucking mean it. Sure, we were inseparable as kids, but we grew up. You and your family conveniently forgot about me and mine, sequestering yourselves into your own little world and shutting us out. You called me five years ago to invite me to your bridal shower and your wedding. Mom sent gifts to your shower; I provided expensive, unique wedding gifts for you and your redneck husband. At the wedding, you didn’t see fit to even SPEAK to us, only providing us with rigatoni and fried chicken at a fucking FIRE HALL WEDDING RECEPTION (yinz Pennsylvanians know what I’m talkin’ about!). And we never even got so much as a “thank you for coming,” and god forbid, we never saw a thank-you card from your greedy ass.

So today, I find that you’re knocked up by that damn derelict with the mullet. *shudder* How dare you insist that I drive 250 miles to give you a gift for your hellspawn that my tax dollars will probably be feeding. You probably wouldn’t send a thank-you or even let me see the kid via a photo. And your mother was shocked when my mom said I would not be making the drive for you. You think I’m heartless, but guess what? My best friend has a baby, and I will spoil that child rotten as long as I have the emotional and financial means to do so. I highly doubt I will (want to) have my own, so I treat that little girl like she is mine because her mother has been a sister to me for the years during which you were so gleefully absent from the milestones in MY life.

I don’t see why we single folk are stuck buying gifts every time our family members get married or squirt out a child. And I don’t mind doing it when the recipient holds a piece of my heart that would otherwise be void if he or she weren’t in our lives. If I were the one engaged or pregnant, would you give a shit? Beyond giving a gift (and I’m no gift whore), would you really even care that I were experiencing a major life event? I think not.

Good luck. I really do wish you all the best. I just choose not to be there to celebrate with you for your events because you so clearly only want to share them with me when it involves me dumping a few hundred dollars on your cause.

I hope your child looks like you — that ugly-ass husband of yours has no business sharing his scraggly features and white trash mannerisms with another human being.

Fuck off.

Love,

Dawn

On iTunes: Faith Hill, “Cry”

After doing the world tour of clubs/hotels last night, I have a few errant thoughts I didn’t have the presence of mind to post last night:

1. It is effortless to drop more than $200 in a night and not even maintain a solid buzz. This fee does not include the drinks purchased for me nor the birthday gift — it’s all cabs, covers and cosmos. Oh, and I bought a shirt at Coyote Ugly. 😉

2. Strippers with “taint” piercings are fucking scary. How do you poop with a ring around your anus? They have to be anorexic and don’t eat enough to shit, or else that piercing would get infected. Ugh. Next.

3. When people find out that you are a vibrator peddler, they really want to talk to you. Or if they have purchased from you or your friends, they really love telling you how they have benefited from their purchases. 🙂

4. Sexuality becomes ambiguous after 11 p.m. Especially with women. At the point where you realize all the good men are taken, you start dancing with/molesting your friends. And it’s not only socially acceptable, it’s also encouraged. And admired.

5. And men really like it when chicks dig the strippers just as much as they do!

6. Spending upward of $15 on a five-block cab ride is expected. And when your cabbie gets two tickets for hauling your gang of friends to a bar, it is courteous to toss as many $20s at him as you can collectively gather.

7. Quote of the night, “Dude, couldn’t hear you — I was kissing a stripper!” Said by Shawn who had to interrupt a cell phone conversation because the stripper kissed all of us at the table. 🙂

8. Coyote Ugly is the best little redneck slice of heaven D.C. has ever seen. Nowhere else can you actually dance to AC/DC and Kid Rock and get angry when “real” dance music comes over the speakers. I can’t wait to go back!

9. Unless your spouse is cool, leave him/her at home. Andy’s new bride kept putting out his cigarettes, and not in the ashtrays, as soon as she saw him light up. This included her hiding the ashtrays from the rest of us. I was not amused.

10. Wear shit with pockets. I stuck my lighter in my bra, but some dancing and sweating later, that bitch popped out and ran away. Lighting your cigarettes all night off other people’s lit cigarettes is a real fucking pain in the ass. 🙂 But I did get a lot of cleavage compliments — had a nice hot-pink padded bra and a v-neck shirt. So I guess it was worth it!

On iTunes: Hiroshima, “Hipnotic”

Hence how I will remember Angie’s 29th birthday. 🙂

Drove on down to meet the gang at The Hotel Rouge, which, incidentally (aside to JournalCon attendees) is the sister hotel to the Helix, where we shall be meeting in two weekends. Cool place. Not much else to say other than that I found both hotels and got a great parking spot. Hurrah!

All 15 of us then cabbed it on to Coyote Ugly, where we proceeded to have the BEST time! As my first “straight bar” in D.C., well, it wasn’t so much straight — lots of women showed up to watch the women dancing.

Most of the girls in my party got up and danced on the bar. I was down on the floor when a very drunken Amy tripped and came flying down at me — her boyfriend and I managed to catch her, although she managed to knock over ALL of our drinks, which ran down my shirt and into my shoes. Yeah, all those crimson Cosmopolitans did a number on my brand-new silver shoes, but luckily, I was no dummy when choosing my outfit — I was wearing a hot-pink and black rayon number, and I cleaned up easily. In fact, every single girl in our party was in pink and black — it’s like we fucking coordinated or something. Anyway, if I thought my carpal tunnel hurt before, try catching a woman falling from midair. I should’ve let her hit her drunken ass on the floor!

I of course ended up dancing with some of the boys (and the girls!) while we were there. I was fairly intrigued by one of the servers/dancers, Jess. Mmm. Hot.

Chad came up and started dancing with me from behind — almost made me forget to pay Jess for the yummy Cosmo she was whipping up for me at the time! He told me I was the best dancer there. Um, yeah, whatever. Total charmer. 🙂

Anyway, we tried to pile into two cabs to go on to the Black Cat. And my cab — with 9 or 10 of us squashed into it, got pulled over. Four fucking squad cars came out to give our cabbie two tickets for having an overcrowded car. We sent a few people to get another cab, and the rest of us hung out for the fucking ETERNITY it took to issue the tickets. Only us, I swear.

Black Cat was a disappointment. There were supposed to be ’80s bands playing, but the sole band performing was doing like Vanilla Ice-style music. No fucking rap for us, kids. We hightailed it to the titty bar after a half hour of that crap.

I’d never been to Nexus before, but it was a fairly classy experience. My forays into Anacostia are either by accident or to head to Nation, so this was an improvement. We had several dancers come over to our table and strip for the birthday girl, and she got a good spanking from the one gal we requested, who was way cool.

Some nasty Asian chick with lots of tattoos and piercings on not only both nipples, but also on the clit AND the taint, came over and danced without us requesting her. And we gave her lots of money (well, I didn’t, but the gang did), yet she insisted that we hand her 40 ADDITIONAL dollars for giving us a “private” dance. Um, nobody ASKED her to come over. And I’m sure she got at least $100 from the table anyway. I was not impressed.

We headed on back to the Rouge a little while ago — piled again into two cabs. We told the cabbie what had happened earlier, but he said he was willing to take the risk. Just as we jumped out of the car at the hotel, a cop car came flying by with its lights on. But, luckily, it kept on going. Whew!

Some people crashed in their hotel room. I was the only one sober enough to drive home, so I hung for a little while but decided to head home. Angie’s husband Shawn is so freakin’ cool — he wanted her to have a great birthday, so he was picking up the tab left and right. I had to sneak to buy my own drinks — of course, not like I’m a raging alcoholic or anything, but still. I appreciate the gesture, and believe me, he got plenty of rounds for me.

It’s nice to have friends. Really. My own birthday turned out special because of Shan ensuring that I had candles to blow out, gifts to open and a friend who cared, but it would’ve been nice to be surrounded by friends the way Angie was. Oh well — I was glad to be one of the people included in Angie’s celebration. Many laughs and memories came out of tonight — I’m too tired to remember it all, but I made some new friends tonight and got to see Angelique (who came to one of my last parties), so I have no complaints. 🙂

On iTunes: Taylor Dayne, “Planet Love”