I was taking to my lawyer/friend the other day when he said, "you know, we really could have made him pay for your tits." Well, those might not have been his exact words, but that was what he meant. In my divorce, I got screwed. You see, he had promised to buy me a set of nice, perky tits that would rival a 20 year old sorority girl in trade for me paying for his LASIK through my FSA. I want to qualify here by just reminding you to quit judging me. What woman doesn't want fresh tits? What man doesn't want a woman to have fresh tits?
Anyway, in our discussion about my never gonna happen boobs, my lawyer, who is also friends with Tim, asked if I thought he would really testify to back up my story about this verbal arrangement. And I said, "it's like you don't even know him." And really, that was the only appropriate response to such an absurd question. Anyone that knows Tim knows that he is all about improving anyone's boobs. In fact, he doesn't even care if they are saggy, National Geographic boobs. He just thinks that if someone gets a new pair, they will be more inclined to show him. He's selfish like that.
One of the last times I was able to treat Tim to a night of ass and titties was when we're in Vegas. It was a wild night. My friend Yel was there with us along with he who shall not buy my boobs or Ass, for short. Earlier in the day, the guys had scheduled to go to the UFC fight. Yel and I had decided to shop and go to dinner then we had tickets to a Cirque show. It was perfect.
On our way to dinner at some fancy ass restaurant in the Bellagio, we saw some guys with VIP passes to random hotspots within Sin City. We decided to stop and see what places we could check out. One of them was touted "THE BEST strip club in Vegas." And we fell for it. Hook, line, and glitter.
The VIP passes gave us a free limo ride to the club along with free cover and a free drink for everyone in our party. What could possibly go wrong? I mean, Tim loves titties, I love limos, and Yel loves free drinks. There was nothing that could top the surprise we had waiting for the men in our party. What other woman treats her man and BFF to a night of beautiful, mostly naked women?
Well, our Cirque show ended right after the UFC fight and both were at MGM which was the total opposite end of the strip from our casino. We had told the guys to go back to the room after the fight and to shower and get ready for our surprise. They had absolutely no clue. Since the strip club didn't have a wheelchair accessible limo, we asked the guys to call a cab and have it there at 11 so we could all go to the club together. Mind you, they still had no idea where we were going. They just knew that we thought this plan was totally unbeatable.
Well, since the UFC fight ended just before our show, the wait for a cab was longer than the wait for a negative pregnancy test at 17. Yel and I decided to walk. Which didn't seem so far. Well, it was. It took us over an hour to walk from MGM to TI in huge crowds on the 4th of July weekend when everyone was hitting the streets of Vegas at the same time. But we made the best of it. I mean, I was dancing and singing Ice Ice Baby while Yel was acting like she didn't even know me. And who could blame her.
Either way, we eventually made it back to our casino where the guys informed us that the taxi got tired of waiting on us. So, we called the club asking them to send their limo and called a new cab. Then an argument of epic proportions ensued. Ass wanted to ride in the limo, but someone had to ride with Tim. It would have been dirty to send him alone to a place he didn't even know he was going to until he got there.
Yel and I thought we should be able to ride in the limo because, well, we are spoiled bitches and it was OUR IDEA DAMMIT!!!! We won that argument. And mind you, we would have all taken a taxi but according to the strip club someone had to ride in the limo to get the other perks. We just didn't see any other solution. Nor did we see the karma that would come from us demanding we get to ride in this "limo."
The taxi came and got the guys while Yel and I were waiting on our special ride. We waited and waited and never saw one pull up. Then I got a phone call stating they were at the hotel waiting on us. We saw a limo, but thought it had already been there, not a newly arrived one. We are all "did this limo just get here? I thought it was already here." "No driver waiting with a door open?" "This limo sucks! But, eh, it is a limo, right? So we should STFU."
We tried to open the door and it was locked so I look around and see a fucking party bus with the strip club's name on it. Oh mah fucking gawd. The driver asks, "are you Megan?" And I ask how the fuck that classified as a limo. And that man said that because it can carry 15 people, they consider it a limo. I'm sorry but I've never seen a limo with a stripper pole and a disco ball. This was just my luck. Not to mention the eight or so young, barely-legal-type-young guys that were so glad we joined their fun.
The driver said, "here's some music so you can dance." And I shit you not, one of the boys said, "yeah! We can make it rain!" "Bitch, you can't afford me" is exactly what I was thinking. Instead, I cried. I cried for the days when your biggest fear when going to the strip club was that a lap dance would give you crabs and that they only served Budweiser.
When we finally got there, the men in our group saw us run from the party bus with the look of "if you say anything, I will stab you with the severed claw of a kitten" in our eyes and that moment was never mentioned again. It was for the best. Either way, we went inside hoping the rest of the night would be everything we had hoped it would be. It wasn't.
Don't get me wrong, the girls were super hot. But everything else was such a money pit, I wanted to scream. A "song dance" was 40 bucks. A bottle of water was 12. And the ATM fee was 35. It was ridiculous.
We let Tim enjoy the scenery for a few hours before we left. We each got a public lap dance at 40 bucks a pop. And I asked a chick which doctor she used for her surgery. I got a nice referral. So, it wasn't all bad. But to this day, over a year later, I still get job offers through text messages fom that place. If I ever get that surgery, I might just consider it.
Your Flap-Jack Boobs, Meg
P.S. Feel free to email pics of tits to Tim at func.dysfunc@gmail.com
Showing posts with label Vacation. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Vacation. Show all posts
Saturday, September 8, 2012
Friday, August 17, 2012
Limps and Shrimps
We went on vacation, which consisted of many hours of beach time and precisely zero hours of true relaxation. But that's the way we like it. Every year I take my daughter to surf camp. She loves it. She's pretty good too. When she actually tries to get up and isn't making excuses. But that rant is for another day.
We went to Jax Beach, which is our general place to visit because I have so much family there. Plus, I never have to rent a room. Which makes it like the cheapest ten day vacation anyone could ever have. And I'm frugal if I'm anything. Or poor. Either way, cheaper is better. Also, not the point of this post.
This year, we took several newcomers. Three to be exact. Three people who have never been to that part of Florida. One who had never seen the Atlantic before, but she is only 9, so I give her a tad bit of leniency.
One of the newcomers was my friend, Shelley. One evening, after being on the beach all morning and part of the afternoon, we decided to go "downtown" to visit a few shops and spend some money. Well, the whole evening started out with me having to use the potty so, so very bad.
While everyone was visiting a shop, I walked across the street to a restaurant to see if they cared if I used their restroom. Since they were so gracious, I decided to buy a drink from the bar. From that point, I should have known it would be an interesting endeavor, but no. Why would I listen to my instinct? How dare that conscience tell me to just drink my drink, pay and walk away?
Normal people would drink their whiskey and ginger ale and leave a nice tip and go back to join the rest of their group. I am not normal. I called them over, told them the drinks were great, the menu looked awesome, and the place wasn't crowded, so our rowdy little girls wouldn't be able to disrupt many. This is where it went bad.
All of us, four young girls, three adult women, were enjoying our food and drinks outside on the patio when a few dumbass guys joined. Our first thought should be, "who in the hell walks over, sits down at a table where three women are eating, and just joins in their conversation?" That wasn't our thought. My mind was on ordering another drink. Their minds were on, well, I'm not sure.
One guy, who was apparently flaming, was the worst one upper one could ever imagine. I was so distracted by him saying things like "I know the owner of that store, you girls should take those shells back and we'll go get some for free off the beach." And, "when I was swimming with sharks, one came up really close and scared me so much that I actually walked on water." I was so distracted by that, I missed things like him being a crossdresser. And one of the girls saying "but I bought a blue starfish?" As if to ask if there are any blue starfish on the beach just hundreds of feet away. She surely hadn't seen one earlier that day.
When he was talking about walking on water, I wanted to ask him if he were a carpenter. He wouldn't have even understood, so it's probably best I didn't take a chance to be snarky. After we got home, since my gaydar is out of batteries, the children informed me of his stories of crossdressing. Which I apparently hadn't even bothered to listen to. Yeah, this guy, not appropriate for kids. At all.
The other guy, well, he was busy hitting on Shelley. To the point that some time during the evening, he opened his pants so that she could see his schlong. Now, the word schlong here is rather misleading as it contains the word "long." And I'm not usually one to bash on a man's size since it is genetic, and well, my genes made me have like the ugliest feet I've ever seen on any non-neanderthal. Either way, it isn't the fact that this limp was a shrimp. It is the fact that he is apparently so proud of his friend that he decided to show it during "girls night out." If you have the nerve to show off your sausage, wouldn't you rather it not be a vienna?
In the end, we all learned a few lessons. 1. I suck at knowing who is gay or straight. 2. Random guys at restaurants that are so tactless that they will interrupt your not-so-cheap dinner are probably not the type of people that should be allowed around children. 3. Feet size are definitely not an indicator of penis size. 4. Family vacations with Meg always, always have at least one night of total hilarity.
The good thing about this was that we laughed and had fun for ten whole days. There wasn't one day where I didn't laugh my ass off about something. Even if it was because in the back of my mind I couldn't wait to tell you guys about limps and shrimps.
Your Sun-kissed,
Meg
P.S. This post really does no justice to the awesomeness of that one evening.
P.P.S. Eat more chocolate.
We went to Jax Beach, which is our general place to visit because I have so much family there. Plus, I never have to rent a room. Which makes it like the cheapest ten day vacation anyone could ever have. And I'm frugal if I'm anything. Or poor. Either way, cheaper is better. Also, not the point of this post.
This year, we took several newcomers. Three to be exact. Three people who have never been to that part of Florida. One who had never seen the Atlantic before, but she is only 9, so I give her a tad bit of leniency.
One of the newcomers was my friend, Shelley. One evening, after being on the beach all morning and part of the afternoon, we decided to go "downtown" to visit a few shops and spend some money. Well, the whole evening started out with me having to use the potty so, so very bad.
While everyone was visiting a shop, I walked across the street to a restaurant to see if they cared if I used their restroom. Since they were so gracious, I decided to buy a drink from the bar. From that point, I should have known it would be an interesting endeavor, but no. Why would I listen to my instinct? How dare that conscience tell me to just drink my drink, pay and walk away?
Normal people would drink their whiskey and ginger ale and leave a nice tip and go back to join the rest of their group. I am not normal. I called them over, told them the drinks were great, the menu looked awesome, and the place wasn't crowded, so our rowdy little girls wouldn't be able to disrupt many. This is where it went bad.
All of us, four young girls, three adult women, were enjoying our food and drinks outside on the patio when a few dumbass guys joined. Our first thought should be, "who in the hell walks over, sits down at a table where three women are eating, and just joins in their conversation?" That wasn't our thought. My mind was on ordering another drink. Their minds were on, well, I'm not sure.
One guy, who was apparently flaming, was the worst one upper one could ever imagine. I was so distracted by him saying things like "I know the owner of that store, you girls should take those shells back and we'll go get some for free off the beach." And, "when I was swimming with sharks, one came up really close and scared me so much that I actually walked on water." I was so distracted by that, I missed things like him being a crossdresser. And one of the girls saying "but I bought a blue starfish?" As if to ask if there are any blue starfish on the beach just hundreds of feet away. She surely hadn't seen one earlier that day.
When he was talking about walking on water, I wanted to ask him if he were a carpenter. He wouldn't have even understood, so it's probably best I didn't take a chance to be snarky. After we got home, since my gaydar is out of batteries, the children informed me of his stories of crossdressing. Which I apparently hadn't even bothered to listen to. Yeah, this guy, not appropriate for kids. At all.
The other guy, well, he was busy hitting on Shelley. To the point that some time during the evening, he opened his pants so that she could see his schlong. Now, the word schlong here is rather misleading as it contains the word "long." And I'm not usually one to bash on a man's size since it is genetic, and well, my genes made me have like the ugliest feet I've ever seen on any non-neanderthal. Either way, it isn't the fact that this limp was a shrimp. It is the fact that he is apparently so proud of his friend that he decided to show it during "girls night out." If you have the nerve to show off your sausage, wouldn't you rather it not be a vienna?
In the end, we all learned a few lessons. 1. I suck at knowing who is gay or straight. 2. Random guys at restaurants that are so tactless that they will interrupt your not-so-cheap dinner are probably not the type of people that should be allowed around children. 3. Feet size are definitely not an indicator of penis size. 4. Family vacations with Meg always, always have at least one night of total hilarity.
The good thing about this was that we laughed and had fun for ten whole days. There wasn't one day where I didn't laugh my ass off about something. Even if it was because in the back of my mind I couldn't wait to tell you guys about limps and shrimps.
Your Sun-kissed,
Meg
P.S. This post really does no justice to the awesomeness of that one evening.
P.P.S. Eat more chocolate.
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