I’ve spent the better part of my last four workdays reading the archives of a blog called Funny Gals. I stumbled upon it through twitter and it’s really pretty good. The two women are former journalists, but that’s about all I know (as far as who they are…past that, it seems they let their readers know A LOT) because they keep their identities pretty well hidden.
Anyway, reading this blog inspired me to think about a funny/embarrassing story from my life. I was beginning to think that really funny things didn’t happen to me, when I remembered…
Just last week, one of my best friends (since I was 5) turned 21. We had a weekend of festivities planned, starting with going out just before she turned 21 at midnight.
After a champagne toast at her house and some birthday banana cream pie, complete with cherry smiley face, we headed to Hartford.
I had offered to be the DD, so we set out in my beat-up ’98 Altima and arrived at the Pour House on Allyn Street. Now, the Pour House is a really fun bar because it’s got everything – the first floor is your typical bar, with a DJ spinning rock and roll, pool tables, and peanut shells on the floor. Upstairs, it’s a completely different world – a dark dancefloor that sounds like a high school dance – wayyy too much rap music.
To me, this is the best of both worlds. Rock and roll is my heart and soul (wow, that was pathetic). My best friend, Nickie, preferred the first level. But I love to dance. And so does the birthday girl, so we split our time between the two, going back and forth whenever we’d get bored.
Upstairs, we kept getting skeeved by the creeps trying to “dance” with us (yeah, I guess thrusting your pelvis into my back could be considered dancing in some countries). To our left was a woman in her forties, overweight and in an ill-fitting tube top, grinding with a sleazeball half her age. I pointed her out to the birthday girl and made a comment about her being to old to be there.
On our fourth or fifth trip back upstairs, the birthday girl had to use the bathroom. It stunk something awful in there, so Nickie and I told her we’d wait outside.
As I walked out, my gaze wandered to the right, toward the strobe lit dance floor. A mere four feet from me, I noticed a short, chubby woman who was definitely not fitting in with the crowd. She was alone, and standing over by the bathrooms, not on the dance floor. After I did a double-take, I realized this woman was MY MOTHER.
Picking my jaw up off the floor, I went over to her. We both started laughing immediately. I laughed uncontrollably for a full two minutes, until tears were streaming down my cheeks. My friends thought it was great.
I told her she belonged at someplace more suitable for a 47-year-old, and she pointed out that she was DDing and was only drinking a ginger ale.
She couldn’t find the friend from work who she’d come with, so we took her under our wing and brought her downstairs with us. Nickie did a shot of whiskey. With my mother. She thought it was great.
She spent much of the time trying to track down her friend, to no avail. When she finally grabbed her, I was horrified that it was the tube-topped-pig-lady.
“You need to teach your mom how to go clubbin’!” she said as she left.
You know what? I think I’ll pass.
Mommy and Me before Prom '06. Before we accidentally went out drinking together...