Sticky Beak
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The Skinny
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...life in small Northern towns, working for assholes, boys who refuse to become men, synthetic personalities, anorexic models and their link to emotional scarring, bad marijuana trips, crazies on BC Transit, beer, piece of shit cars, living out of a suitcase paycheck to paycheck, unrequited love, Seinfeld, minimum-wage jobs, broken New Year�s resolutions, and over-limit Visa accounts.
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PLASTICS, UNITE!!!! "Oh, my god, there's a line and I don't anyone," whined Luba as we pulled up infront of the nightclub where we were meeting some girlfriends for a birthday night-out-on-the-town. So while I took my place at the end of the line out in the pissing rain, Luba strode directly up to the bouncer and advised him matter-of-factly, "There's two. We're on the guest list for Carley." "Interesting," he replied, "we don't have a guest list". He did, however, usher us inside to the second line where we joined a throng of early 20's kids intent on an 80's / Miami Vice revival. And this is when it happened... I turned plastic. Geezus, I wasn't expecting that! "B.... I don't think I can do this. I'm almost positive that there are people here I used to babysit." Finally, after an hour of waiting and just as we had given up and were just walking out of the club, the girls arrived and sucked us back inside. So, Luba dropped the $12 cover charge and $4 coatcheck and we made our way to the bar where we then stood ignored for a good 1/2 hour while drunken children pushed past us, stepped on our toes, and practiced their dirty dancing moves all around us. There was no escape - we were surrounded. The highlight of the evening for Luba was spotting a "Dr. Christian Troy look-alike". Curious how old he was and settling bets among the girls, Luba marched up to him and waited hands on her hips while he and his friend continued talking. They glanced at eachother uneasily, unsure as to how to handle the situation since they'd probably never been approached by a woman before. "Sorry to interrupt, but my girlfriends and I are having a bet on how old you are..." Meanwhile, I finally got the attention of the bartender for a split second and asked, "Could I see your champagne list?" He pissed himself laughing, and then went back to the 18 year old plastic pair of tits next to me. Excellent. Sorry guys, we're outta here... we jammed after about 40 minutes. I just couldn't take it anymore, and Barbie was on the brink of a meltdown. After 15 minutes of standing back outside in the pissing rain huddled together in a doorway while some nasty drunk punk whipped out his dick and pissed right next to us and losing a cab to some drunk bitch who then let it go... Luba and I finally snagged a cab and escaped from the kindergarden playground. Once safely inside, Luba released a string of cusory words and directed the driver, "Take us to Glowbal... we need to turn this night around. God, I hope Ahman is working." And so, we returned to her natural habitat and the universe regained its natural order. As we sat on our comfy leather stools and took in the plastic atmosphere, Luba smiled and sighed... "ahhh.... I love the beautiful people..." A couple martinis and glasses of champagne later, we closed down Glowbal and were on our way to Opus (Luba's other shee-shee-poo-poo haunt) when Luba caught the eye of handsome stranger outside. "I know you." This is where I started laughing and, thrusting my fist into the air, called out, "PLASTICS, UNITE!!!" Neither Ken nor Barbie appreciated it, but it did make me giggle, and that's really all that counts, right? All in all, just another day in the life of... |