I sat at a Scottsdale restaurant (not a total bar, but not Denny's either) with a couple of friends from my old job. As is typical when I see these two, I wasted no time in getting myself caught up on who is pregnant, who is getting a divorce, who got fired; the normal stuff. The normal stuff I think. I guess, I should say. Well, not much else for me to talk about with girls my age who are living the American dream. That's right, they are blissfully insulated from the world outside their high-end luxury SUVs and gated communities. To be fair, one of them lives in a high-rise condo with her successful husband and spoiled rotten children but to me it's all the same. I'm just grateful that we can spend an evening together without EVERY topic of conversation being about the 5 y.o. who is so cute because mom and dad indulge her preference of only wearing ballerina costumes. Do you know how expensive tutus are for little girls these days? Check it out sometime, I guarantee you will be surprised. These aren't Toys'RUs costumes either...and they are undoubtedly relieved that I keep my opinions about their buying and eating habits to myself.
Yes, it was a delightful beginning. We sat on the patio of the restaurant, which was crowded with young, Mystic-tanned, surgically enhanced singles who infest Scottsdale on a nightly basis. I tended to ignore them, probably because I fear them- kind of like how Paris fears jail. Could I ever wind up like that?
Chances are no, because I have no intentions of sporting $300 jeans or a tube top of any kind. Plus I have accepted that I have no vixen alter-ego. It's always going to be plain old mousy MH, who my mother shakes her head at disapprovingly and chastises that I'm wasting my youth.
I was fortunate enough to be sitting with my back to most of the excitement. Fn1 (Friend number 1) kept her eyes steadily alert, scanning the faces and bodies as she distractedly added to FN2's account of the old boss asking for a demotion because he was not spending enough time on his Disney memorabilia collection- which led to heart problems. I giggled as I sipped my Tom Collins and made appropriately belittling wisecracks about his Princess Jasmine obsession.
Into our second round with our appetizers hardly touched (two Scottsdale ladies and me, that makes only one person eating), we were all a bit buzzed. Without warning, FN1, who has not been out of the condo in ages, deliberately scooted her heavy iron chair back as she laughed demonstratively at her own statement. A blaring clang erupted from the inevitable collision with the occupied chair behind her. Which, by the way was supporting one of several strippers with a few customers I mean dates I mean gentlemen friends at the next table.
FN1 and Stripper1, both twisted completely around, glared at each other for a split second, but FN1 was clearly in the wrong and what's more, she had obviously underestimated her opponent's scrappiness. Stripper1: Bitch, get your chair away from me and move that fat ass of yours over. (True, FN1 has gained a few, but she's still hot as hell and has an ego equal to the total mass of all saline-filled caverns within a 12 ft radius of her inflated blond head)
FN1- Oh please excuse me, I didn't mean for that to happen, oh my......
(staring directly at the stripper's barely if at all covered crotch with a look of sheer disgust.
FN2 and I were probably looking at both of them with sheer panic. I was baffled and distressed to observe that the whole table was actually looking at us with disgust too! WTF? Am I getting old or something? Stripper1's and FN1's faces were almost nose to nose and I noted that their hair was the exact same color bleached blond. Interesting! Come to think of it, they looked strangely similar, in a nightmarish Parent Trap sort of way.
Stripper1 - Why the fuck are you looking at my crotch, jealous? bla bla bla..... ( forgot the rest but along those lines)
FN1- (regaining her bearings) Well I was wondering what I'll have to ask for at the doctor's tomorrow to avoid getting whatever you must have since I made the mistake of touching you (came out more like, "yeeeeeeew)
That's when restaurant staff stepped in due to two "gentlemen friends" coming to Stripper1's rescue as she grabbed FN1's hair with both hands and shoved her astonished face into the back of her own heavy chair. The stupid asshole guys were really pussies compared Stripper1. All they did was surround us but didn't go so far as to connect our heads with blunt objects thank god.
Turns out they had been playing this chair-bumping game for the previous 45 minutes or so. FN1 and I were unaware, but Stripper1's whole table had been informed early on.
FN1 and FN2 were relieved that in the ensuing confusion, Stripper1's table was politely asked to leave. I was still mortified and wished more than anything that I could be one of the strippers so I could leave too. Plus it would be fun to see what it's like to walk around with fake boobs and lots of make-up and high heels (without falling) and slutty little outfits that barely cover what one believes to be her enviable crotch. How would it be to actually think that my crotch is enviable? I am not sure if these thoughts were going through my mind at the moment, but no doubt I had a sourly, disturbed demeanor.
As the table was cleared, I noticed a stripper version of myself, kind of how FN1 and her stripper foe did resemble one another ever so slightly. Stripper2's gazed was fixed on me as she got up. I knew she was up to something, but was preoccupied with the realization that of all the people at the table, the one who looks most like me wants to fuck with me! We were the only two brunettes in the whole mess of women, WTF I ask!
As Stripper2 raced across the bodies filing out, she screeched, "Wipe that fucking look off your face you fucking...." I think she was saying bitch as she slapped at my totally vulnerable face. I felt my forehead being clawed as my delayed sideways evasive maneuver barely saved my left eye. Actually what REALLY saved my left eye was the guy who had been sitting behind me. He stuck his arm out and thwarted Stripper2's assault. He and I both probably have the same herpes right now and we didn't even have relations! Now if THAT'S not a bonding experience, I don't know what is.
As quickly as she came, she fled, stomping out, still calling me names. She was the last of her tribe to file out, and what was left was a slightly stunned group of young people who slowly started to take sides, jeering us, jeering each other, and exchanging high-fives for whatever probably deserved insult really hit home.
Nothing like a stripper's wrath to ruin a good time.
The guy who slapped Stripper2's claws turned out to be not my type, however noble and heroic his deed. I don't know what my type is, but he definitely wasn't, what a pisser. Wouldn't that have made a great story for our grandkids? Another shining potential future moment, forever to remain unfulfilled. He made several blatant ogles towards my less-than-impressive and miracle-bra-clad chest, presumably trying to figure out if they were real or not. He offered to buy us a round, but FN1 decided that her husband wouldn't want her out much longer so we better had leave before she turned "into a pumpkin!" Sigh. I somehow managed to rid myself of thirty dollars.
I made it home before midnight, but Kitty was understandably upset that I'd forgotten what little pumpkin rules this castle.
Saturday, May 12, 2007