Saturday Night Hay Fever

So my baby sis, Shahsh, as I affectionately call her, was visiting, so last night we decide to go dancing at this nearby enormous retro club (name withheld...don't need paparazzo getting word of my stomping grounds and flashbulbs going off any more than they have to!).

We're having a good time and the next thing you know, we're standing on these giant light-up "cubes" (with railings around them) like a coupla go-go dancers. The place is packed. Other gals are on cubes and they're doing their little dirty dances, girl-on-girl with each other. Okay, I'm open to a little lipstick-lesbian-dance, but this is my sister, and well, the stuff going on around us is just nasty. (I have no desire to put my face into another's gal's place of glory and have her gyrate, you know? Leave something to the imagination.)

No matter, cuz we're having a good time yucking it up. Great laughs. Until we turn into a comedy routine. You had to be there to really understand what went down. Stuff like trying to push each other off the cube with our cheetah platform heels on. (But Shash had a cute cowbow dancing on a cube below us, who kept her up there.) Having cocktail napkins stuck to the heel of those shoes, only to grab the napkins and stuff them in our tube tops, only to give them away as free gifts later. Shahsh would spin, her long blonde hair would wack me in the face, and I'd cry, "Oh, my eye!" Marcia-Brady-style, and hold my eye, yelling, "I'm blind!"

Suddenly the crowd of men and women are surrounding our cube watching the impromptu entertainment. The nasty girls are looking around like, Where'd all the men go? Poor things. The mass of men and women gravitate toward the Jenny McCarthy-Lucille Ball comedy act. So the nasty girls try harder to regain control of the audience, but they finally give up and get a drink instead. (Or maybe it was because one gal had squatted to do a stripper's Hello Kitty move and she slipped and fell, I'm not really sure.)

Even the DJ gets into it, saying stuff to us (who knows) and putting this huge spotlight on us. Over on the wall, I see a single enormous shadow of a woman and I think, "Who the hell is the chick with the effin' big hair?"

It's me! I pull Shahsh into the spotlight more and we do the sexiest thing we can think of with the shadows on the wall...make shadow puppets, of course!

Okay, I'm not even gonna get into the $20 bills being thrown at us later on. (Okay, so we were mopping up the sweat from our cleavage and giving the money back, okay? Satisfied? One even made it to the inside of Shahsh's thighs!). Or the "pretend" hair-pulling catfight when I thought Shahsh was wearing my bracelet and she wouldn't give it back. Or when, after an hour, when we were soaking wet and sweaty, I use her long hair to mop off (I gave away all the cocktail napkins as free gifts, remember?) These just make up the tip of the iceberg, people, and yes, you really had to be there to appreciate it.

The entire club watched while we finally got down and exited. We were like, what they hell are they still looking at? Shahsh said, "Oh my God, they're waiting for us to do something else funny!" But we were just too darn tired.

We sat in the car, the hysteria taking over (I couldn't drive due to excessive laughter), wondering what the hell just happened back there. "Remember the thing with the thing?" or "And when you pulled the thing out of your thing?" The fit of hysteria continued when we got home and lasted into the wee hours of the morning.

The lesson learned when entertaining?

"Humor" wins out over "nasty" any day!

--Myki Rebl