July 10th, 2002

beer!

Tiiiiiiny Bubbles...

After yesterday's full-blown mania, which if it turns out for the best you will hear all about (but if it just fizzles, you probably won't), I needed an omen.

This morning I come in to find the Stitch as Elvis Surf-bobbler sneakily hidden on my pushed-in chair. There is already a prime suspect. Along with Pineapple-Driving-A-Car, I have a new Happy Place at work.
  • Current Mood
    grateful grateful
JOY

Hunkarama vs. Lucky Chang's

Call me crazy.

Call me a betrayal to my gender.

Call me a regression of feminism.

But Jesus Christ, I don't get this whole male stripper thing. Female strippers make perfect crystal clear sense to me. I'm not sure why. I hate to rely on that 80’s standup comedy standby of "men need to pay to see naked boobies, but if a woman wants to see naked winkie all she has to do is ask", but it makes sense. The Venus/Mars thing kinda rings clear here too: we approach and think about sex differently in many ways. Maybe it's me, though, and I'm the only chick out there who thinks stuffing a dollar bill in a ballbag is dumb. I never was the poster-ogling kind of girl. I recall at my friend Lisa's birthday party in 5th grade, we were all expected to pose for a picture next to her door-sized poster of Jon Bon Jovi and make some sort of sex crazed face or whatever. Even then I realized how ridiculous it was to lick a paper likeness of a rock star, no matter how great his hair was, and just stood next to him making a goofy face. I still have the photo somewhere.

Anyway...male strippers. I couldn't have less interest in them if I wanted to. The mold of guy who tends to be a stripper tends not to appeal to me, and the entire act of putting a male on display for women to "take advantage of" seems physiologically backwards. I accept that there is a certain degree of physical submission on the part of the female deeply imbedded in the actual act of heterosexual intercourse. No amount of empowerment and no corset can change that; it only changes your mindset. Perhaps it is for this reason that getting a lap dance from a male stripper seems absurd, or maybe it's the whole inner conflict of whether or not you're supposed to service this man whose crotch is in your face, we can never be sure.

What brings me to this is that I am a co-planner of a batchelorette party this fall. My fellow planner has suggested a place where we can see as many greased up chests and leather-clad crotches as we can lay eyes on. Other girls I have spoken to have suggested a different place where they serve Chinese food and the entertainers are not failed actors from Passaic, but Asian transvestites doing a drag show. So really, this is more a question for the ladies, but boys, feel free to toss in a few Lincolns on this. Am I wrong in thinking the drag show is the way to go? This is a batchelorette party; something the bride will want to remember for the rest of her life. Guys in leather pants with greasy chests are so boring and textbook; Asian transvestites sounds like something entirely unforgettable. Thoughts?
  • Current Mood
    curious curious
JOY

Chicken Alfredo with Lentils and Naan.

MSN.com somehow invaded my screen yesterday and I found myself looking at the City Search Top 10 "Best of" Restaurant listings. Of course, Washington DC is not one of the cities featured, so I looked up the Top 10's of the city I was most familiar with on the list: Raleigh/Durham.

As disappointing as it was to find out that my favorite coffee shop, Cup A Joe, *did* get an editorial nod but failed to be the audience favorite; that the chain Red Hot and Blue won the audience pick for Best Barbeque instead of Allen and Son, this converted bomb shelter on the side of a rural highway next to railroad tracks (or ANY OTHER barbeque place for that matter); and that these people had the creativity to put Taco Bell, McDonalds and IHoP as Best Burrito, Best Fries, and Best Breakfast, respectively, none of these things added up to their picks for Best Indian Food.

Collapse )
  • Current Mood
    amused amused