09 September 2011

Labor Intensive Day with Rejected Aladdin

Another Labor Day has come and gone and although relatively low key because of the bbq circuit I hit up, I did go out and try to mix it up a bit – let’s just say I’m ready for all the people who spent the summer at the shore to come back home where they belong and for these suburbanites who try to be trendy for their 1 big night out in the city a year to go back where they belong.

Saturday night I was headed out to a club in the city for a friend’s birthday. The club has recently ‘reinvented’ itself –so basically it’s trying to be Vegas, they closed down for a period of time and reopened with a new name and essentially the same décor and staff. I showed up with my partner in crime, we’re standing in line and inform the bouncer we’re on the list for David Sterling’s birthday and are allowed beyond the red ropes. As I am assessing the new and improved establishment, I see that there are a few new light fixtures and a few D list girls dancing in Uggs and bikini’s up on risers. Usually I’m all about these chics getting their groove on earning some cheddar, but these girls were so busted, you couldn’t help but just bust out a sincere ‘oh honey.’ It didn’t help that the dj was so bad; my friend who can dance her ass off to silence was even sedentary. At one point, I swear the dancing girls were doing a tae bo workout for lack of a groove to find haha.

The guest of honor was running late as usual. After throwing back a few overpriced drinks, I was ready to attempt to dance to the sounds of the dj, after all, I didn’t get all dressed up to stand in the corner all night, I’m not Baby. I’m out on the dance floor for all of about 5 minutes when in swoops Aladdin. I coined him that because of the busted vest/fedora look he was trying to rock even though you just know he spent waaay too much on that ensemble. With Aladdin was his crony who looked like he was right off the plantation in Amish Country – but who am I to judge the company one keeps.

I start dancing with Aladdin for lack of a better thing to do and I start my barrage of questioning, he had nothing exciting to offer so I go check on my friend and his friend because my friend looked like she was ready to bleed out of her eyeballs with boredom. Amish boy apparently was asking her what he should order to drink for himself because he wanted to prove to her he could drink anything…. Okay so apparently that meant he was going to come back with a tequila sunrise – I didn’t even think people drank those anymore! I asked him if he was going to go for a fuzzy naval or Alabama Slammer next – he didn’t get it so I asked him how young he was aaaand he was all of 22 years old. He then asked our age and when we fessed up, you would have thought we told him we had 9 penis’ and hard core toys and were going to use them on him all at once before injecting him with mystery syringes and never letting him see his family again. We excused the youngin and I was back to trying to get rid of Aladdin because I did not so much want to take a ride on his magic carpet.

Aladdin moves in for the make out and so I think, fine whatever, I’ll try his lip service on for size and maybe his moves will make up for the fact that he’s dressed like a douche, after all, it’s what’s beneath the textiles that counts ;-) I immediately regret letting this go down and thinking that it is on security tape appearing as though I would knowingly give consent to this. You would think by now people would know how to make out with someone – LICKING MY FACE like a dog happy to see his owner back from the dead is not what I had in mind. I busted out a ‘let’s not play how many licks does it take to get to the center of Scarlett.’ Add in the fact that he was grabbing my ass mechanically like he was using those hand things you squeeze to strengthen your muscles, I did not so much want to see Aladdin showing off his desert lightening. I had to put the kibosh on this whole situation, in the name of research or not kids, sometimes ya just have to walk away before you get kicked out of the hot spot for bringing your own rain cloud.

I walk over to my friends and ask the gang where the birthday boy was because after surviving hurricane Irene, I felt like I might be drowning in the saliva of Aladdin and was ready to bolt before I needed to use my cocktail straws as a raft to float away from his massive Gene Simmons-esque tongue. As I am going off on my need to relo, I see the man of the hour – he had gone home to change into his all white suit. He looked so dapper but I was beyond over it by then. I slipped him $30, told him to buy himself his shot and beer then bid him a happy birthday adieu. I hailed the first cab I could get and came home to scrub myself in the shower until I felt like the remnants of my not so sex kitten were gone and accepted that my Labor Day will be remembered as being a Labor Intensive Day.

Point of the Conversation: It is not recommended to end a dry spell swimming in spit dripping from your face put there by a douche.

- Scarlet

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