Whenever I have a long day ahead of me, I like to kick it off with a Dirty Chai, grapes, bagels and a strip club. Thus, this morning, I did just that with ROFL and The Leaver.
With an 8:30 start time, I knew I really had only one option – to wear the same thing I had worn the day before. So, when my alarm went off at 8:15, I hopped off the couch, put my boots back on, and made my way.
We had been there for several hours when Sleepless arrived. She walked up mid-interview and was greatly amused by the questions I was asking one of the male patrons. “How often do you come?” “So, they’re (the dancers) pretty familiar with your shtick?” “Are you listening to these double entendres?” Sleepless asked me. I was listening. In fact, I’m pretty sure what she said was a double entrendre.
Being that we were at the strip club longer that we had planned, I ran out of time to get a tattoo. I’ve been wanting to get one for a while and knowing we would be attending the demolition derby later, I felt it would be most appropriate if I was donning some fresh ink. Luckily, Sleepless is both pretty and clever, and suggested we just draw one on with some markers and cover it with plastic wrap.
Before doing that, however, we decided to apply our press-on nails (while en route to Dr. BJ’s). We quickly realized it was going to be extremely difficult to do much of anything while donning the nails. “How are we going to open our Smirnoffs?” Sleepless asked. “Boys,” I replied. As we tried to do a few simple tasks, such as rolling down the automatic window, texting, taking things in and out of our purses, etc., we resigned to the idea that we were just going to have to smile, look trashy and hope for the best.
When we arrived at Dr. BJ’s, we smiled, looked trashy, asked him to open our Smirnoffs, and began the ink work on my right bicep. We opted to go for a misspelled saying – ‘Cunceal Gunnz,’ drew a Yin-Yang symbol below it, and taped plastic wrap on it.
Ice Cream Man arrived around the same time and wowed us with his acid-washed wrangler shorts, muscle tee, stone-washed jacket with his name monogrammed on the right side, and high top sneakers, sans socks -Jesco White would be proud. It was very clear that tonight was going to be one of the best Demolition Derby nights ever.
After slamming our Smirnoffs, we headed to the fairgrounds for what was, white trash trimmed hands down, the best derby ever. “Don’t you just love being white trash?” I asked Dr. BJ. “Honey, I will never be white trash,” he replied. “As chocolate as you may be, you are white trash tonight,” I replied. He realized it was pretty difficult to dispute that fact and continued to enjoy the deep fried Twinkie, Snickers, and Oreo cookies with Disdain.
We met up with Tile, One And Done and several other friends who were donning some fantastic wife beaters, bandanas, boots and jeans (tags on the jeans in tact – “$17 is a lot to pay for jeans, I’m returning these after tonight). We took our positions in our assigned seats on row H – pretty sure that stands for Hillbillies, and cheered on the drivers while trying to win dance competitions, catch orange hats and not kicked out.
Fortunately, we know a couple of the ‘rangers’ who work the fair and, in addition to not kicking us out, they kindly escorted us around the facility to ensure we were able to get our fill of deep-fried desserts and “wonder what they did wrong,” looks from patrons. After about an hour or so of having the privilege of being in the presence of pure fair genius, aka Sleepless, Ice Cream Man and I, they eventually walked us to the exit and, for the pleasure of the fair guests, bid us farewell, “Don’t let us catch you out here again.”
