Though a few people 'liked' my Facebook status that was akin to the title of this post, I fear that not many of you are familiar with the ouroboros. It's the ancient snake-eats-tail symbol that's been interpreted as everything from the Wheel of Time to the phoenix to the cyclic nature of existence. I became most familiar with it via the [Title of Show] show, or t[ToS]s. By the end of this post, you'll understand our current relationship with the great ouroboros.
The only "nightclub" that we've experienced since moving to Eastern Washington is a local gem known as Jack Didley's. While locals have a hard time NOT hearing about how cheap drinks are at JD's on the radio (seriously, most specials are $1), our very first experience at the club was when Annie insisted that we go enter their Halloween costume contest. I won the male division. Annie won the female division. For winning, each of us were given $25 cash and a certificate for a free VIP party for 18 people at JD's in the following 90 days. So, we had 2 VIP parties to use. Had it not been for them forcing us to come back with these VIP party passes, I'm not sure that we would have ever returned. We're just too old to club in a 'small city'...
Though it took a few weeks to actually contact them, I was able to snag the heavily sought-after Ultra VIP seating area for last Friday, the 13th, in order to celebrate Annie's upcoming First Annual 29th Birthday Party. Since we depart for Tahoe this Friday, this past weekend was our last weekend in WA in 2013. I made a Facebook event, invited everyone who's profile said they were near 'Richland, WA', and said that the first 16 people that RSVP would get wristbands, while the rest that want to come would have to hang out on the dance floor with the other peasants. (We ended up bringing everybody we knew in the VIP area, because nobody gives a fuck at JD's.)
The very-classy Ultra VIP lounge's center-piece was, fittingly, a stripper pole. Nothing like eating a fancy Frost Me 'fetti cupcake-cake off of a stripper pole (with Woodford Reserve horse racing napkins):
Well, some time around 1am, the mic guy (he's not the DJ, he's really just worthless and walks around yelling inaudible things into the mic all night) cleared the dance floor (and the elevated levels of stripper poles) for a dance-off. As the current King of JD's, I felt obligated to participate. I climbed to the top, danced the shit out of that place, and was asked to come back for the Finals, an epic battle of the sexes.
Then, it was the ladies' turn. Let's be real, for a minute. This was the saddest group of dancing ladies I've ever seen collected on a small stage. They all looked either roofie'd or rolling on E, humping the stage or the mirrors or the poles like a pack of horny chihuahuas. A few looked like they had itchy butts and were trying to drag them across the stage in order to scratch themselves. I cheered loudly for a particularly rhythm-deficient chubby girl, knowing she would be easy pickin' when it came to the final. Through a sad chorus of cricket chirps, a female finalist was selected. (Seriously, if you're the guy that came with a lady dancing on stage, it's your responsibility to cheer for her. Don't leave her up there in shame at an awkward silence.)
Then, it was time for me to shine. Rob vs Didley's Skank. Though she tried to woo the audience with her stripper moves, she had no chance against my ability to gyrate and shimmy every part of my body. She even tried to get up on me (slapping me in the face with her desperate flailing), but she was no match. The crowd voted, and the noise level made the decision quite clear. The King shall remain in his throne. I've heard that I looked very similar to this:
Annie made sure to point out afterward that it was not just our VIP section going crazy, the whole club loved it. One of the girls in our party even commented, "Even our boyfriends are cheering for Rob." Never underestimate my ability to not care at all how I look in public.
And what did they have for the winner? A VIP party for 18 people at Jack Didley's! (Where was the $25 this time?)
So, every time I go to Jack Didley's now, it's for a VIP Party. Also, every time I go to Jack Didley's, I win a VIP Party.
...and the snake eats its tail,
~RoB
P.S. The bartender at Didley's was the second person I've spoken to since meeting them as Miley Cyrus, and both people had no clue who I was, dressed in boy clothes and looking all normal...
Though it took a few weeks to actually contact them, I was able to snag the heavily sought-after Ultra VIP seating area for last Friday, the 13th, in order to celebrate Annie's upcoming First Annual 29th Birthday Party. Since we depart for Tahoe this Friday, this past weekend was our last weekend in WA in 2013. I made a Facebook event, invited everyone who's profile said they were near 'Richland, WA', and said that the first 16 people that RSVP would get wristbands, while the rest that want to come would have to hang out on the dance floor with the other peasants. (We ended up bringing everybody we knew in the VIP area, because nobody gives a fuck at JD's.)
The very-classy Ultra VIP lounge's center-piece was, fittingly, a stripper pole. Nothing like eating a fancy Frost Me 'fetti cupcake-cake off of a stripper pole (with Woodford Reserve horse racing napkins):
 |
| Merry Birthday, Annie! |
Well, some time around 1am, the mic guy (he's not the DJ, he's really just worthless and walks around yelling inaudible things into the mic all night) cleared the dance floor (and the elevated levels of stripper poles) for a dance-off. As the current King of JD's, I felt obligated to participate. I climbed to the top, danced the shit out of that place, and was asked to come back for the Finals, an epic battle of the sexes.
Then, it was the ladies' turn. Let's be real, for a minute. This was the saddest group of dancing ladies I've ever seen collected on a small stage. They all looked either roofie'd or rolling on E, humping the stage or the mirrors or the poles like a pack of horny chihuahuas. A few looked like they had itchy butts and were trying to drag them across the stage in order to scratch themselves. I cheered loudly for a particularly rhythm-deficient chubby girl, knowing she would be easy pickin' when it came to the final. Through a sad chorus of cricket chirps, a female finalist was selected. (Seriously, if you're the guy that came with a lady dancing on stage, it's your responsibility to cheer for her. Don't leave her up there in shame at an awkward silence.)
Then, it was time for me to shine. Rob vs Didley's Skank. Though she tried to woo the audience with her stripper moves, she had no chance against my ability to gyrate and shimmy every part of my body. She even tried to get up on me (slapping me in the face with her desperate flailing), but she was no match. The crowd voted, and the noise level made the decision quite clear. The King shall remain in his throne. I've heard that I looked very similar to this:
Annie made sure to point out afterward that it was not just our VIP section going crazy, the whole club loved it. One of the girls in our party even commented, "Even our boyfriends are cheering for Rob." Never underestimate my ability to not care at all how I look in public.
And what did they have for the winner? A VIP party for 18 people at Jack Didley's! (Where was the $25 this time?)
So, every time I go to Jack Didley's now, it's for a VIP Party. Also, every time I go to Jack Didley's, I win a VIP Party.
...and the snake eats its tail,
~RoB
P.S. The bartender at Didley's was the second person I've spoken to since meeting them as Miley Cyrus, and both people had no clue who I was, dressed in boy clothes and looking all normal...
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