Story #362
R. Linda:
There was no getting out of this; HE hobbled off to his room, leaving me to find Tonya to be sure she didn't mind I went with him. I couldn't bring meself to say the Chinese checkers tournament because I did not, for the life of me, believe we were going to a tournament of any kind. She was okay with me going on. She'd see me when she saw me. I was hoping she would feel slighted and come up with an idea to have her friend pick up our kids, and she came along. Would serve dumbarse, right. But no, she wanted respite from the Weasil, and if I could take him off her hands, she'd be ever so happy. Well, what choice had I?
I went off to see where we were really going. He had changed into a maroon t-shirt that said Fordham University in white on the front and on the back. F U. Yeah, ya gotta love him, don't you? He handed me a red tee that said Ball State in white on the front and B S on the back.
"You are such a dumb arse," I laughed, but I put it on. We were set to go. Tonya shook her head when she saw us. She was all for taking a picture until we turned around. She actually laughed. I dunno.
So we get into me motor, I set us in drive, and as we pull off, he tells me we have to pick up Freddie and his girlfriend. I was like, who the hell is Freddie? And why are we picking him and his girlfriend up?
"Dey iz entered in da tournie mint."
"Yeah, they are," I laced me laugh with scorn.
So I had to drive to Needham as was initially planned because the "chick" lived there. As I pulled over to where Freddie and his chick were waiting, I noticed Freddie flashed his Weasil-appropriate blue t-shirt that said in gold letters Pace University on the front, and yes, you can figure out the back. The girlfriend was not joining in the male moronic humour. Thus, she was dressed like a girl. The girlfriend, one Christie, was celebrating her birthday, so it was decided we'd go into Boston to a bar she likes, and then we'd go to the . . . tournament, uh huh.
We had dinner at a very busy and noisy Beantown Pub. While we were there, a few of Freddie's friends wandered over, and it got rowdy. Christie lives in Needham, and Freddie lives in Boston. The so-called tournament was also in Boston, down on Broadway.
We finish dinner and drinks just after ten at night. Who has a Chinese checkers tournament this late? We go out and hail a cab because we don't know where this place is, and since Weasil is a fan of the Amazing Race, he has learned the little trick of asking a cabbie for directions and then you pile into your own car and go. So he pulled Christie in front of him and told her to smile, and he whistled for a cab. Well, this worked oddly enough. The cabbie heard the shrill whistle, looked, and there was a pretty girl, so he stopped. Weasil leans in and asks him if he knows where Broadway is.
"Which one?" The cabbie asks.
"Well, not the one in New York," answers smart arse, "the one in Boston."
"Yeah, well, it's a long street. Where are you going on Broadway?" the cabby asks, then says, "Don't tell me you're looking for number 79."
"Yeah." Weasil says, gets the directions and then looks at Freddie as the cabbie pulls away and says, "Do we look like we going to Jacques? (pronounced Jocks)" And Freddie starts laughing. Suddenly, I be suspicious.
Christie leans towards me and smiles. She tells me Jacques is her favourite place; it is so much fun.
"What is Jacques?" I ask her, but I am overheard by Weasil, who pulls me aside and says to wait. It's all Chinese checkers, and Christie loves the game. Humour her.
I find parking, not having any clue where the hell I am. We get out and walk down Broadway, and I have to tell ya, I saw two very tall "ladies" that gave me pause. Their skirts were no bigger than band-aids, and the heels were like Lady Gaga's, high and weird, which made these grand dames taller than me at 6' 3". Plus, they were made up like hookers, and they were very ugly and garish looking.
I was in open-mouthed shock at the "ladies" as I was pulled into a doorway inside a brick building that looked like a private club or another pub with a crimson awning, of which there was the name Jacques. So there I was, already in the middle of Nerd Central, when I saw a stage with silver fringe from ceiling to floor, different-coloured lighting, and cabaret tables, and I realised this was no Chinese checkers tournament; it was a strip club. IT FIGURES!
I was not happy; my wife would skin me alive if she knew where I was, but considering who I was with, well, I had an excuse. We were taken to a reserved table, so the Weasil had this planned. Christie was jumping up and down like a rabbit in anticipation of the "show," Now, my mind switched gears because I was thinking of Chip and Dale dancers. OH, for freaking joi!
Before I could voice me displeasure to Weasil, this rather plump woman with dark hair comes to the mic and welcomes us all. She looks strange and familiar, but I can't figure out why. I realised she was one of the "tall girls" I had seen outside, yet there was still something else I couldn't quite factor in until "she" let the little girly voice go and said in a manly tenor, "I do hope you will upon leaving not be too noisy, we have neighbours you know." OH MY GOD, it's a guy in drag. Weasil was enjoying me shock.
I sat through a show of men in drag. Yes, I did. I will admit they were good; they were funny, but I was still in a state of shock. It also hit me; I was in a town where I worked, and what if one of me co-workers saw me? I'd never live it down. And, to make it worse, the three of us were wearing those awful T-shirts. I wanted to crawl under the table several times. One of those times was when a rather beautiful woman came over and started chatting with Christie, I thought she was one of her friends, and she took a seat between us and included me in the conversation. She was very flirty, and then I realised she was a he. Yes, slide on under that table Gabe. Ms. Christie is a regular; she loves the shows and often goes there. The "girls" all know her. Oi!
By the time we got out of there, it was very late. I was in no condition to drive, and neither was anyone else. I ended up calling Tonya and telling her I got meself into a "Weasil situation" and asked what she would suggest besides telling me to go shove me problems up me arse since I knew she wouldn't take this dilemma well. She told me not to come home. Which Weasil took well, but I didn't because I knew she was really pissed off, but Weasil would have me believe she was concerned for our welfare. Right.
We walked what seemed like 40 long blocks to the Seaport Hotel down by the wharf. It was a frigid trek, and while Weasil got us rooms, we three collapsed in the lobby. Freddie fell asleep, and we had a time rousing him. We got rooms on the same floor, and I discovered I was sharing a room with Weasil. That's good, I thought, because he will get a piece of me mind when we are alone.
I started ranting at him, but he didn't care. He told me to calm down; it was too late to worry, and we needed to sleep because we were set for the tournament tomorrow morning.
"Would you stop with this tournament thing? We are not going to a tournament; there will be no tournament. YOU, sir, are a lunatic. Where you get these things from, I dunno."
"Welly Gabe, you will be all shite-faced tomorry when we git dere. I hope yer gotz yer Chinese checker fingers ready cuz I iz countin' on yas to win it fer da Weaz." With that, he dropped off to sleep instantly. I stood there looking at the angelic face and shook me head. He was certifiable. He needed to be stopped. And why was I always his foil?
Your words came to me, R. Linda. What was it you said, "What can I say about Weasil? He's a species and a country all unto himself, with his own laws and language." And then you added, "Gabe, you might need a passport and an interpreter and therapy later." Yeah, well, I NEED IT NOW.
R. Linda:
There was no getting out of this; HE hobbled off to his room, leaving me to find Tonya to be sure she didn't mind I went with him. I couldn't bring meself to say the Chinese checkers tournament because I did not, for the life of me, believe we were going to a tournament of any kind. She was okay with me going on. She'd see me when she saw me. I was hoping she would feel slighted and come up with an idea to have her friend pick up our kids, and she came along. Would serve dumbarse, right. But no, she wanted respite from the Weasil, and if I could take him off her hands, she'd be ever so happy. Well, what choice had I?
I went off to see where we were really going. He had changed into a maroon t-shirt that said Fordham University in white on the front and on the back. F U. Yeah, ya gotta love him, don't you? He handed me a red tee that said Ball State in white on the front and B S on the back.
"You are such a dumb arse," I laughed, but I put it on. We were set to go. Tonya shook her head when she saw us. She was all for taking a picture until we turned around. She actually laughed. I dunno.
So we get into me motor, I set us in drive, and as we pull off, he tells me we have to pick up Freddie and his girlfriend. I was like, who the hell is Freddie? And why are we picking him and his girlfriend up?
"Dey iz entered in da tournie mint."
"Yeah, they are," I laced me laugh with scorn.
So I had to drive to Needham as was initially planned because the "chick" lived there. As I pulled over to where Freddie and his chick were waiting, I noticed Freddie flashed his Weasil-appropriate blue t-shirt that said in gold letters Pace University on the front, and yes, you can figure out the back. The girlfriend was not joining in the male moronic humour. Thus, she was dressed like a girl. The girlfriend, one Christie, was celebrating her birthday, so it was decided we'd go into Boston to a bar she likes, and then we'd go to the . . . tournament, uh huh.
We had dinner at a very busy and noisy Beantown Pub. While we were there, a few of Freddie's friends wandered over, and it got rowdy. Christie lives in Needham, and Freddie lives in Boston. The so-called tournament was also in Boston, down on Broadway.
We finish dinner and drinks just after ten at night. Who has a Chinese checkers tournament this late? We go out and hail a cab because we don't know where this place is, and since Weasil is a fan of the Amazing Race, he has learned the little trick of asking a cabbie for directions and then you pile into your own car and go. So he pulled Christie in front of him and told her to smile, and he whistled for a cab. Well, this worked oddly enough. The cabbie heard the shrill whistle, looked, and there was a pretty girl, so he stopped. Weasil leans in and asks him if he knows where Broadway is.
"Which one?" The cabbie asks.
"Well, not the one in New York," answers smart arse, "the one in Boston."
"Yeah, well, it's a long street. Where are you going on Broadway?" the cabby asks, then says, "Don't tell me you're looking for number 79."
"Yeah." Weasil says, gets the directions and then looks at Freddie as the cabbie pulls away and says, "Do we look like we going to Jacques? (pronounced Jocks)" And Freddie starts laughing. Suddenly, I be suspicious.
Christie leans towards me and smiles. She tells me Jacques is her favourite place; it is so much fun.
"What is Jacques?" I ask her, but I am overheard by Weasil, who pulls me aside and says to wait. It's all Chinese checkers, and Christie loves the game. Humour her.
I find parking, not having any clue where the hell I am. We get out and walk down Broadway, and I have to tell ya, I saw two very tall "ladies" that gave me pause. Their skirts were no bigger than band-aids, and the heels were like Lady Gaga's, high and weird, which made these grand dames taller than me at 6' 3". Plus, they were made up like hookers, and they were very ugly and garish looking.
I was in open-mouthed shock at the "ladies" as I was pulled into a doorway inside a brick building that looked like a private club or another pub with a crimson awning, of which there was the name Jacques. So there I was, already in the middle of Nerd Central, when I saw a stage with silver fringe from ceiling to floor, different-coloured lighting, and cabaret tables, and I realised this was no Chinese checkers tournament; it was a strip club. IT FIGURES!
I was not happy; my wife would skin me alive if she knew where I was, but considering who I was with, well, I had an excuse. We were taken to a reserved table, so the Weasil had this planned. Christie was jumping up and down like a rabbit in anticipation of the "show," Now, my mind switched gears because I was thinking of Chip and Dale dancers. OH, for freaking joi!
Before I could voice me displeasure to Weasil, this rather plump woman with dark hair comes to the mic and welcomes us all. She looks strange and familiar, but I can't figure out why. I realised she was one of the "tall girls" I had seen outside, yet there was still something else I couldn't quite factor in until "she" let the little girly voice go and said in a manly tenor, "I do hope you will upon leaving not be too noisy, we have neighbours you know." OH MY GOD, it's a guy in drag. Weasil was enjoying me shock.
I sat through a show of men in drag. Yes, I did. I will admit they were good; they were funny, but I was still in a state of shock. It also hit me; I was in a town where I worked, and what if one of me co-workers saw me? I'd never live it down. And, to make it worse, the three of us were wearing those awful T-shirts. I wanted to crawl under the table several times. One of those times was when a rather beautiful woman came over and started chatting with Christie, I thought she was one of her friends, and she took a seat between us and included me in the conversation. She was very flirty, and then I realised she was a he. Yes, slide on under that table Gabe. Ms. Christie is a regular; she loves the shows and often goes there. The "girls" all know her. Oi!
By the time we got out of there, it was very late. I was in no condition to drive, and neither was anyone else. I ended up calling Tonya and telling her I got meself into a "Weasil situation" and asked what she would suggest besides telling me to go shove me problems up me arse since I knew she wouldn't take this dilemma well. She told me not to come home. Which Weasil took well, but I didn't because I knew she was really pissed off, but Weasil would have me believe she was concerned for our welfare. Right.
We walked what seemed like 40 long blocks to the Seaport Hotel down by the wharf. It was a frigid trek, and while Weasil got us rooms, we three collapsed in the lobby. Freddie fell asleep, and we had a time rousing him. We got rooms on the same floor, and I discovered I was sharing a room with Weasil. That's good, I thought, because he will get a piece of me mind when we are alone.
I started ranting at him, but he didn't care. He told me to calm down; it was too late to worry, and we needed to sleep because we were set for the tournament tomorrow morning.
"Would you stop with this tournament thing? We are not going to a tournament; there will be no tournament. YOU, sir, are a lunatic. Where you get these things from, I dunno."
"Welly Gabe, you will be all shite-faced tomorry when we git dere. I hope yer gotz yer Chinese checker fingers ready cuz I iz countin' on yas to win it fer da Weaz." With that, he dropped off to sleep instantly. I stood there looking at the angelic face and shook me head. He was certifiable. He needed to be stopped. And why was I always his foil?
Your words came to me, R. Linda. What was it you said, "What can I say about Weasil? He's a species and a country all unto himself, with his own laws and language." And then you added, "Gabe, you might need a passport and an interpreter and therapy later." Yeah, well, I NEED IT NOW.
Gabe
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| Welcome to Jaques |
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| Isn't she lovely? |
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| Isn't she precious? |
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| Isn't she wonderful? |
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| Money, money -- money makes the world go round |
Gabe
Copyright © 2011 All rights reserved
OH MY. looks like fun though, tee hee. Very Weasil-ish
ReplyDeleteI went to one of those once. Was a bit of a laugh really until one drag queen was in the ladies loo with feet turned in the opposite direction beneath the stall. Bit of an identity gender crisis I reckon.
ReplyDelete