Smells like strippers and shame

I recently came back from my family reunion which was held in Las Vegas. Yes, I realized that a family reunion in Vegas means that my family is full of alcoholic gamblers, better yet it's our second family reunion in Sin City! Maybe I'm not adopted after all. Not that I ever thought I was since I am my father's clone, which is kind of unfortunate, but I digress. I'm sure that's why I'm the favorite...Well that and because I have a future unlike my sister.

So what occurs during my family's reunions? Copious amounts of alcohol is consumed, Asian is spoken (I'm so p.c. it's amazing...I get it from my father), my nonexistant love life is discussed, oh and a trip to the strip club.

Yes, my family is so fucked up that my cousins and I ended up at a classy establishment called the Spearmint Rhino. Firstly, WHAT KIND OF NAME IS THAT?! Also I once again question my bloodline.

I want the world to know that the Spearmint Rhino (god I just love that name now...), is a touching-encouraged strip club. And that we had bottle service at said strip club.

Two of my girl cousins thoroughly enjoyed the night by asking the girls if their anatomy was real or fake (real butts for the most part, fake boobs for all!). I had 3 lap dances all paid for by my cousin's husband; I shared a lap dance with my 24 year old male virgin cousin (sexuality is ambiguous, but my dad and I are betting on gay and out in 5 years).

Nothing is more priceless than shocking a stripper. The look on their faces when we said that we're all related and in town for a family reunion was great. The place was like the international house of strippers, every flavor you want, with any toppings. Due to our classiness and bottle service the guards were like DJs taking requests, "What kind of girl do you guys want? I'll fetch them for you."

Let's skim over the part where my cousin goes to a private room leaving me alone with his friend that tagged along. I was sitting there complaining that I wish we went to a normal bar, since I miss getting hit on (yes my self esteem is THAT fragile and nonexistant), and in order to feel good about myself in that environment and Vega in general; I'd require an eating disorder and boob job. His nice friend aptly named Bert (Humberto...I'm an asshole I know), took it upon himself to hit on me.

Me: I wish we were somewhere normal. I want a real bar, I want to get hit on, bawww.
Bert: You're hot...yeah you're hot.
Me:Thanks?
Bert:You don't have to say thanks...you know what would be awesome? Watching you get a lap dance. That would be hot.
Me:OH.

Meanwhile I'm sure private-show-cousin was boning a stripper and the other cousins fondled more strippers.

I nearly forgot this part! I got tosecond base with a stripper. After being forced to fondle and spank things, I think my Czech stripper got bored and decided to go digging in my shirt. She told me I had "Verrry nice boobies. Let her see." And then she proceeded to look inside my shirt and bra. I then promptly decided I should find Jesus. So I guess I had a religious experience at the strip club... Please I'm a heathen, that probably won't happen.

Things I have learned from Vegas:
1.Strippers are aggressive as hell (did I mention my cousin got into a fight with one for only giving her $40?)
2.$10,000 a month for working 3 days a week is impressive as hell (you go stripper Glen Coco!)
3.Daquiris from comedicly large cups taste better...they even taste better when you take a bubble bath in them
4.There are a plethora of middle aged midwestern women in sparkly tops in the day time
5.The family that goes to strip clubs together stays together.
6.It's really difficult to wash away the smell of strippers and shame from your hair

Oh and today while I was being studious and catching up on my LSAT homework outside at a cafe, I a bird pooped on the book. It's a fucking sign I tell you.

booty calls at sunday lunch

In an effort to procrastinate before my 4.5 hr long LSAT class, as well as to appease Kelly and myself, I'm making a new post. I'm also not even halfway through my homework for said LSAT class...but Logical Reasoning makes me cry and feel vulnerable and I don't think that's a proper state for me to be in.

Originally I was going to make this about the pirate I met at a bar, the same night I met a Michael Jackson impersonator, until I realized the story doesn't amuse anyone but me and Angela because of our obsession with pirates...We also have a theory that Irish accents sound similar to pirate accents. Can anyone verify or deny this for us? It's kind of an important matter.

So I almost got disowned by my family on Sunday due to nearly puking on my 8 year old cousin.

After a night out at a place named Butter (it smelled like fried twinkies inside! yes that's a good thing...), I received a rude awakening at 8am. Apparently my family was in town and we justhadtoseethemthisverysecond.

The 10 minutes I had to get ready involved cradling the toilet like it was my firstborn. Then we met my cousins and apparently it's church time...due to my aforementioned heathen status, I was dropped off at home and spent the hour once again in front of the toilet. Yes that means while everyone else was finding Jesus and eating the body of Christ, I was praying to the porcelain toilet gods; but both events involved kneeling and praying, so that's the same thing right?

Oh my god, did I just compare my quality toilet time to going to church? Father Bruce would not be happy...nor would Sister Eileen. Hello repressed Catholic school memories! I did not miss you, nor do I miss my hideous maroon and blue jumper.

So after all of that lovely quality time spent on my bathroom's nice marble floors (great investment parents, I had to make an appearance at lunch. At 11:45 AM I received a drunken booty call. Who the hell gets shitfaced at 11:45am?! The World Cup is over, it's no longer acceptable.

The Irish. That's who. I'm seeing a new Irish boy who is under Ireland number 2 in my phone, and yes I hope he never wonders what his name is in my phone, and who Ireland number 1 is. So as I fight off the need to puke on my 8 year old ADD addled cousin, I'm answering booty calls...all before noon. Except that the boy was belligerently drunk and didn't understand I was at a family lunch, and no I couldn't leave right now, not even to celebrate his soccer game win, and yes, I'm quite proud of you. Ireland number 2 mentioned alcohol and that nearly triggered covering the 8 year old in puke, who might have deserved it, but I would really like to stay in the will.

I win. I get to stay in the will and inherit things! And then to celebrate not embarrassing my parents and myself, I promptly passed out the minute I got home and dreamed of unicorns prancing in Ireland drinking Guinness.

bar ventures

I like going to the bar, sometimes when I haven't been to one of my regular bars, it seems like a homecoming when I finally go there. I think that's the sign of an alcoholic, but that's fine. I'm in college, where everyone drinks an exorbitant amount. Some people feel at home at their friend's homes...I feel at home at establishments that serve liquor.

So yesterday I went to Hobson's for the World Cup. Tell me why there was only one bartender for the fucking final when on slow weeknights there's at least 2?

Anyway I told Angela that there was a man in a suit in the bar. And Hobson's is not a place where men in suits congregate, on ANY day.

Me:Angela there's a man in a suit..
Her:WHAT NEIL PATRICK HARRIS IS HERE?!

We need to stop watching How I Met Your Mother...which we do instead of pregaming for the bar. Winners. Well we befriended the man in the suit during the game. We're friendly girls...in all the good ways.

Me:Why are you wearing a suit?
Him:I just came from church.
Friend (not in suit):I obviously didn't go to church.
Me:Oh they won't let me in, I'm a heathen.

Hello great first impressions. No wonder I'm single. Then I promptly told him "Catholic school probably ruined me." We went to rival Catholic elementary schools, how riveting.

Then I met a lawyer who told me not to go to law school since the job market sucks. Guys my future is looking bright...maybe I can become a professional blogger.Also why does every lawyer tell you not to become one? Are they worried of competition?! Yes I'm looking at you dreadlocked sexy lawyer man. BRING IT.

I'm pretty sure minus the church thing this boy is my soulmate since he brought his own beers to the bar. Remember ONE BARTENDER?! He snuck in 2 24oz Budweiser Calamatas...and used his church blazer to do so. Jesus would be proud.

And naturally Angela liked the scruffy friend, whose chips I ate thanks scruffy fried. Too bad we didn't see them again after the match. HEY SOUL MATES COME BACK TO US.