Allow me to begin, however, by saying I am so happy to have had an opportunity to go visit Dale this weekend. Everything seemed to just fall into place: the flight was cheap, and the best weekend for me to come down happened to be the only weekend in a few months when Dale didn't have classes. It was one of those living reminders of how fortunate I am to have such good friends.
Friday night, after my flight landed and a lovely dinner at a Carribbean restaurant, Dale and I went to a strip club called the Clermont Lounge. Apparently Located in the basement of a halfway house (that boasts unfurnished apartments as well as furnished rooms available by the week, the night, or the hour), the Clermont is Atlanta's oldest Adult Entertainment establishment, having been in business since 1967. There were as many jackbooted Skins out front as any ska show at the old Bayou. We showed them our IDs and stepped inside.
All of the roumours we had heard about the Clermont were true. The strippers were already in full-swing. The gal on the bar was down to her hotpants, and the one hosting the private show in the corner behind our table had taken it all off for her special customer. The music was cranking out of a jukebox and a few strategically-placed speakers, and yes, each and every one of the strippers was between 35 and 65 years old and a minimum of 30 pounds overweight.
Just as our waitress brought us our cheap beers, the stripper on the bar, the famous Blondie treated the crowd to her signature crush-beer-cans-with-cans move. Later in the evening, she was at one of the nearby tables mashing a young hipster's face in her chest and literally grabbing her breasts and kind of tossing them at him, slapping the side of his head. Afterwards, like all of the Clermont strippers, she sat down for a drink and a chitchat with her now-satisfied customer.
I tried to remain calm and not laugh the entire time we were in there. While it was hilarious to me and most of the clientele, there was a twinge of seriousness to the ladies on the bar, and nevertheless, how could you laugh at a gal who was determined to keep doing what she loved 10 years after she qualified for AARP?
As soon as we were out on the street, I let it all go and laughed myself to tears. Un-fucking-believable.