Here's one from the archives, from like last May.
So we were in Orlando to celebrate Heckyeahwoman BECOMING A DOCTOR! Being the AWESOME GUY that I am, I booked us a room at Orlando's finest Econo Lodge. It's formerly a Best Western, and hasn't yet taken on the shittttttiness that comes with the Ecrapo Lodge name.
And it's $35 a night.
But for real, it's dope as hell, a great value, clean, has a sweet pool, and is close to fun stuff...like a dueling piano bar!
You ever been to one? It's basically like watching a house band at a bar, but they play popular songs, no shitty originals, and it's much more interactive. So much fun.
So we went for a couple beers and had a great time. Stay with me as I detail a few notable experiences from the night.
Since they take requests, the first thing I do is put in a formal request. Take a guess what song. Go ahead, at least guess the band. I bet you're only partially right, cause here's the actual request I wrote:
Can you please play "Party in the USA" by Miley Cyrus? If you don't know that one, anything by Maroon 5 would be great. Actually, I would PREFER anything by Maroon 5. I would suggest "Sunday Morning", "This Love", or "She Will be Loved", not necessarily in that order. Thanks!
Do you know how hard it is to squeeze a short paragraph onto two short lines meant for just the artist and song title? Now multiply that by pre-partying drunk handwriting. Twas a mess, friends.
Turns out they did play both "Party in the USA" and "This Love". Turns out I drunkenly sang along to both, rather obnoxiously. Also turns out that Heckyeahwoman was too loaded to care/yell at me! Score!
It was cool, they would let anyone in the crowd come up and play an instrument. Naturally, some handsome guy came up and played the drums. Not sure why this was noteworthy, but I was definitely more handsome than him, if even just by a little bit. Dude had a great haircut too.
Then later in the night, I inevitably had to use the turlet. And by "use the turlet", I mean I had to spill some urine, you feel me? Spill some urine, bros.
Charging a $10 cover, the bar was fancy/luxurious/succulent/sensuous/enough to provide a bathroom butler. You know, one of those dudes that stands there and squirts Dial hand soap on your hand, then hands you a paper towel to dry your hands, then tries to make petty conversation with you. Oh, and you're supposed to tip him too.
Paying a dude to squirt soap on my hand, for real. It's probably not even real Dial soap; I bet it's some shitty Suave bought-in-bulk liquid soap. Anyway, I'm rambling.
But I don't want no dude squirtin' nothin' on my hand.
After washing my hands, saying what's up to the bathroom butler, I hear him mumble something to me.
"I'm sorry, what's up?" I ask.
"Where you from, man?" He stammers, a little louder.
I answer, "Gainesville, WHERE THE FUCK ARE YOU FROM?"
And he gives me the oddest reply: "ah, from Florida, you're a person".
That's it, that's all he said. WHAT?!
Maybe he just didn't like all the out-of-state tourists, but still, VERY weird.
Having been at the bar for around two hours, and with how interactive the band was with the crowd - inviting patrons to sing along, dance on stage, and make asses out of themselves, it was surprising there was no obligatory fat-chick-with-not-enough-clothes-on dancing on the stage.
Right as the band tore into a rousing rendition of Sir-Mix-A-Lot's "Baby Got Back", she appeared, thundering her way to the stage. No lie, shawtie was morbidly obese, wearing a tiny black tanktop, and gross tight pants. I threw up a little bit in my mouth rehashing the events in my mind as I type this out.
Much to the collective dismay of the crowd, homegirl was backing it up on the stage. It should be noted that she was with a couple of her friends, also obese. Though not quite morbidly obese, both friends' obesity levels teetered just between "have you ever heard of hoggin'?" and "haha, it would be funny if my friend nailed that cow".
A general rule: believe it or not, but big boobs on fat chicks are not hot. In fact, what were formerly big boobs cease being big boobs; they actually become floppy, droopy boobs, and that's not cool. Nobody wants to see them jiggle, shake, bounce, flop around, or anything. Cover 'em up, wear modest clothes, and don't speak until spoken to.
Long story short, the piano bar was awesome.