'Tis the season for ass busting, which I almost did about six times walking down the steps of my apartment from about Saturday night until Tuesday because of the ice - thank god for a little bit of sun and the lovely maintenance men and their rock salt. But, that's besides the point.
The point is, strange things happen around this time of year. People forget to take their Prozac or perhaps take too much of it with their whiskey and water and shit starts to get a little crazy.
Now, lets start with my own crazy ass. I've already mentioned I'm a little distressed and in disbelief that some of my friends have decided to step into the lets-have-children-on-purpose realm. My diet also mirrors that of a three-year-old, so the scene on Saturday night - eating sushi at a table with my pregnant-on-purpose friend - was one that I never thought possible.
An eight months pregnant Sarah, Anna and Lacey were all in town for Thanksgiving and we decided to have a little reunion at Kona Grill. I decided to give sushi a chance a while back and although I haven't sampled all the menu has to offer, I like a small selection in small doses and I attempt to try a new roll each time I have it. This time the surefire Atlantic and California rolls appeared with a new one, the Las Vegas roll and Anna, the sushi connoisseur and apparent eel lover, picked out the dragon roll, another new one for me. Now there's something a little crazy. Who would have ever looked at an eel and said, 'that slimy little bastard might be good to eat?' Whoever decided such a thing - I wholeheartedly disagree with. Just as Lacey was talking about how she was worried about drinking too much after eating sushi and how gross it would be to throw it up (yes, lovely dinner conversations we have), I stuffed a piece of dragon roll in my mouth and discovered that eel tastes just how I thought eel would taste - like a slimy little bastard.
As I sat there with a mouthful of assy eel and rice I wondered, 'will I be able to swallow this or will I vom eel all over this table?' I did in fact swallow it and most likely made a face as though I had just eaten a live cockroach on Fear Factor. Thank you raspberry Mojito. I'll check the dragon roll off my list now.
Kate and I decided to go out for a little drinky-poo on Monday night and shortly after we sat down at the bar in Kelly's in Westport and got our pitcher of Miller Lite, the Tootsie Roll man appeared. This guy can't be more than 4 feet tall, yet he's not a "little person/dwarf" and is maybe in his 60s or 70s. There's something not quite right with him that you can't quite place and he's been walking up to and giving me, all of my girlfriends and every girl in the bar Tootsie Rolls for as long as I've been going to the bars in Kansas City. He shows up everywhere and while I hate Tootsie Rolls and never eat them when he gives them to me, though I'm sure they're harmless, you can't exactly refuse one from a strange, tiny old man, now can you.
Two giant Tootsie Rolls were thrust in between us at the bar stools before we even noticed him standing there looking rather festive wearing a little Santa hat. Then he placed a hand on each one of our backs and gave us a scratch while letting out a little howl. At first I thought it was cute, then after about 7 seconds of scratching I began to think, 'is he going to stop?' About 15 seconds passed and Kate and I are both hunched over, laughing nervously, like seriously Tootsie Roll man, enough with the touching. He finally stopped, but then started to sing...and sing...and sing. More nervous laughing and avoiding eye contact. Finally he left, Kate turns to me and says matter-of-factly, "he just scratched our backs for an uncomfortable amount of time."
I agreed and added, "Then he sang for a VERY uncomfortable amount of time. What song was that anyway?"
We shrugged and went back to our Miller Lite.
Not 10 minutes later, a guy on the bar stool next to me turns to me and says wide eyed and fruity, "Those are very lovely scarves you ladies have!"
And the very next sentence was, "Don't you just love the gays?" As if to check and make sure we weren't the scary Jesus-hates-you-because-you're-gay-and-therefore-so-do-I hypocritical freaks that roam freely around KC.
Why yes, little scarf loving gay man, we do in fact love the gays, so no worries. We then taught him how to properly wear his scarf since he had been with his partner for five years and was "soooo out of the loop."
After he and his two lesbian pals had called it a night, Kate turns to me and says, "Wait, was that one with the shaved head a guy...or a girl?"
"A girl," I said. "But the only reason I know is because she went into the women's restroom a few minutes ago."
I've recruited Kate as my driver to dance class since the studio is the ghetto, the lighting sucks, the parking is terrible and I got approached by two bums the last time I went, one of which approached my car before I got out of it and scared the living shit out of me. I mean, it would totally blow to be robbed or killed at all, but while sporting the spandex? That's just humiliating. So, I've opted to park at Kate's then have her drive me the rest of the way down the street, drop me off, then pick me up when it's over.
All the chicks in the class have been normal and perfectly nice so far and last time there was even a guy that showed up. Then things turned a bit freakish this week when a different guy showed up. He was wearing all black when he came in, then he began to strip away the layers right before class started. I turned around to put my stuff on the ground under the ballet barre and head to the center of the floor for warm-up and when I turned back around I had to do a double take. The all black ensemble had turned into thigh high red leg warmers, a long sleeve shirt with a sleeveless red with white writing shirt over it and, the best part, teeny, tiny goldish, bronze spandex shorts complete with a perfect outline of all of his "parts." I almost fell over.
Wait, were we shooting a Cher video? Why didn't anybody tell me we were auditioning for the new "FAME" movie? Now, I hate to make fun of the guy because some dancers tend to wear strange things, though everyone in this class has stuck with the standard practice dance wear, and I'm not going to shun someone just because they're wearing squeezy metallic shorts, but come the fuck on. It was totally bizarre for the usual atmosphere, but everyone just went on with class as if there wasn't a 6-foot-something balding guy wearing Britney Spears' hot pants standing in the middle of the room.
The weird part was, I'm not even sure if he was gay or just a flamboyant kind of guy. I assumed gay since he was attending a dance class in that get up and had also painted his toenails a soft yellow, but his mannerisms and his voice said straight.
I hope he becomes a regular because I'm dying to see what outfit he picks out next week.