The night started out innocently enough. I went to Riannon’s to meet up with my usual Long Beach crew to go dancing at the überhip Club Touch It. If I could only have known how the night would have turned out, I could have . . . hell, I don’t know what I could have done to prepare myself. That’s why I love Long Beach so much: all the crazy locals you meet when you're out with a bunch of loud, drunk people.
So we taxied it to Touch It. Mikey B. was there, of course, playing the Host With the Most, with about a hundred of his closest friends. The music was vibrating through everything, making the cocktails shimmy and shake like the girls who took over the go-go boxes. Everyone was so beautiful I took some pictures for all of you out in cyberspace, so be sure to check out the slideshow.
Dancing, dancing, drinks, more dancing.
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Then Wiley got the half-inebriated idea to go to the V-Room so we could judge—I mean, approve—our friend Shua’s new man. I love the V-Room. It’s one of those dive bars that attracts all sorts of tattooed, tough-looking sexy people on the weekends. On the weekdays, it really is a dive bar, though.
So far, so good. We all had warmed ourselves up with just enough vodka to get to the point where everyone was our best friend. A few of us were getting a little obnoxious, bent on embarrassing poor Shua on her, like, second date with her very-understanding and enamored new man. I won't name any names (Nory!), but if anyone ever offers you a shot called a Snakebite, don’t take it.
I think it was right after the Snakebites when the drink was spilled. I mean, a full, icy, just bought glass of something or other. All over me and Riannon. And on my phone. And in her purse. I spent the rest of the night with cold, sticky jeans, and it looked like I peed myself. And no drink was offered as a replacement (that is such bad bar etiquette!).
Then we met the porn star in the bathroom. She didn’t look like a porn star, but rather an aging crack ho, and she insisted on flashing her very altered breasts. She ended up following us outside and leeched onto my friend Nikki, slurring and bragging that she was one of the best squirters in the industry.
Gross. Okay, get me out of here.
Finally, the taxi showed up. After we dropped off half our alcohol-soaked group at an afterparty (I was done at this point), the rest of us got to hear the very detailed sexual adventures of our cab driver.
“I told her I was married, but she pulled me in the house and rode me like a horse!” he said of one of his fares. “She practically raped me!” he exclaimed, shaking his head.
“I still charged her though.”
That’s nice. Stop here, thanks.
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