2008-09-23

Oregonian Adventure, Part Tres.

Sunday, September 14th, 2008:
Happy Birthday To Me. I'm 38. I greet the day in the Radisson, with no solid plans other than to go to at least one titty bar.

Because 38 is such a NOTHING birthday. I know this. To paraphrase Patton Oswalt: "'I'm 38!' Great -- go to work...who gives a shit?"

Nobody's going to make a big deal over the fact that I'm 38.

Except...my cousins. Mike and Shawn. Mike, because I corrupted him at a very early age and he's going to return the favor by taking me to the sleaziest titty bar in Portland. Shawn, because he likes me, which is kind of a big deal, because Shawn doesn't like people as a general rule. This is why Shawn and I get along. They will make a big deal over my birthday, or at the very least will hang out with me for a couple of hours.

Mike has recommended Magic Gardens, in the Chinatown area, although Shawn has counseled me, separately, that there are so many titty bars in Portland (more titty bars per square capita than anywhere else in the U.S.) that if there was a particular variety of titty bar I was looking for, Portland would have it: "Like, if you wanted to see white trash chicks in Coors Light tshirts stripping to Bob Seger, we could FIND THAT TITTY BAR."

When I inform Shawn that Mike has recommended Magic Gardens, he is silent for a moment. "Yeah," he mused, "that's probably the biggest shithole there is."

"I would expect nothing less of Michael," I replied, "...and I would want nothing less for this pointless 38th birthday of mine."

But first -- we have to return all of the tuxedos from last night. And we need to go to the Doug Fir for tasty, tasty $3 appetizers. And then we have to go to the Lloyd Center Mall so Tina (who is departing tonight) can pick up souvenirs. This mall has a SKATING RINK, right in front of the entrance to Sears. Allegedly, Tonya Harding -- our greatest national treasure -- learned to skate here. What a world!

Finally, we get to Magic Gardens. It's a tiny, dark place with the requisite Budweiser signage and a lone pool table. A blonde, tattooed stripper is crawling around on the floor to Nine Inch Nails. There are about 4 other people in the entire place, including the bouncer, who comes up to ID us. When he walks away, I make a pouty face and say to Shawn: "He didn't notice it was my BIRTHDAY."

"Lees, that guy had maybe three teeth in his head."

"Yeah, but STILL..."

The next performer came out and started dancing to the Divinyls' "I Touch Myself." Fortunately, as I said, the place was dark, so nobody detected my eyes rolling. I rotated in my seat, discussed tattoos with Shawn, and nursed my $6.00 Diet Coke. When I next turned around, the performer in question had gotten pretty much entirely nude, and had contorted herself in such a way that I was about to ask if she wanted the speculum warmed up before we began her examination.

It was a fine birthday. I have the best cousins a girl could ever ask for.

to be continued...

lisamcc at 9:19 p.m.



4 comments so far
Mike Burchett
2008-09-24 05:39:48
Of course a Stripper danced to "I Touch Myself!" Its a Strip Joint. Subtly is for those "Burlesque Shows" they charge 80 bucks for in Vegas and call "Performance Art" because they paid some asshole post-modernist to direct it. If you don't expect caviar at KFC. There is something rather sad about a bad Stripper though.
-------------------------------

LisaMcC
2008-09-24 14:38:34
I just expected more from that stripper, that's all. But then she's the one that was being requested for "private dances" at the front of the bar...which really wasn't all that private, come to think of it.

If I was a stripper, I would take it off to Jandek. I'm not even kidding.
-------------------------------

Mike Burchett
2008-09-24 20:23:02
I think I'd Django Reinhardt on the Pole! That or Raffi.
-------------------------------

vikkitikkitavi
2008-09-24 22:16:21
You're faulting a stripper for making an obvious choice? Man, you are harsh.
-------------------------------

previous | next