Vanilla Winter

There I was sitting on my couch watching Jeopardy, which, as a 23 year old single male, is one of my preferred ways to spend a Friday night.

"She popping she rolling she rolling
She climbing that pole and
I'm in love with a stripper
She tripping she playing she playing
I'm not going nowhere girl, I'm staying
I'm in love with a stripper"

Hmm, that's weird music for Jeopardy to have playing. Oh shit, wait, that's my phone. Now, before you get all over me for having that ringer on my phone, I'd like to point out that only a few people on my phone get the honor of having that particular ringer. They're all females, so that makes it better, I like to think.

Glancing down at the display I saw it was a ex-girlfriend/now-female-friend of mine who we'll call Sarah (which isn't her real name, but we'll call her that because I'm convinced that if her name really were Sarah we'd still be together and living happily ever after). At this point you're probably thinking, "Guys don't have female friends unless they're interested in having sex with them." Well, if that's what you're thinking, you're completely correct.

Sarah would like to know if I already have plans tonight. Wistfully considering the 24 PBRs in my fridge upstairs and the second season of The Office I have on DVD, I quickly realize I'm free as a bird. Conveying my freedom to her she asks if I would like to go to a bikini contest at a bar called 'American Cowgirls', one of her (also incredibly attractive) friends is in the contest.

Now typically, the prospect of paying a $5 cover to drink at a bar that thinks black and white cow-print chairs and barstools are acceptable, I would demur. However, faced with a the alternative (PBR, the Office, and crushing lonliness) I figured, "What the hell, why not?"

Sarah informed me that she didn't have any idea what time this event started, but it'd be awhile and she had to get ready, so she'd call me in a bit when she knew more.

Realizing that the post-gym smell which enveloped me would likely kill whatever slim chance of finding companionship I already had, I decided to take a shower. After showering I walked back to my bedroom and discovered I had missed Sarah's phone call. Returning her call she let me know she wanted to get there around 10 and she was just about to take a shower herself. Having dated this girl and known her for awhile, I realized that despite the fact she was getting in the shower at 8:30, it would probably be about 10:15 before she met me at my house (the drive takes approximately 10 minutes).

This worked well for me, since I had been saddened by the prospect of missing 'Friday Night Lights' on NBC. Her chronic lateness afforded me the opportunity to find out how Matt Saracin and Tim Riggins spent their summers, while drinking (I wasn't going to let all this PBR go to waste after all). Sarah arrived right about when I expected her after an unfortunate mixup with directions (it requires five turns to get from her house to mine, apparently this was one too many to do without consultation).

When she arrived and discovered the 6 empty PBR cans on the coffee table, she decided it would probably be best if she drove.

Our arrival at the bar was met with much fanfare, mostly because we were patrons #12 and #13 in the bar. In spite of this, the bar decreed that for the privledge of hanging out with less than a dozen other people, we would need to pay $5 each. Entering the bar, Sarah's friend (we'll call her Anna, because that's her name) immediately ran up to us and told us how happy she was that we were here. She also disclosed the fact that she had won a $200 drink card as her prize in the semi-finals and all drinks were on her. After Sarah introduced me to Anna (who I've met, and been introduced to, at least 5 times) we got down to serious business, or at least I did. Sarah's main job was to ensure that Anna didn't get too drunk to dance during the bikini contest. I wasn't really concerned with that, I was busy trying to figure out how expensive the drinks I ordered could be without coming off as rude.

While Anna was off on one of her numerous glad handing trips around the bar to build a grassroots campaign of voters who could carry her past the incumbent favorite, I started talking to Anna's roomates (they had come for moral support). The talking was short lived because all three of them were blonde, and had the combined intelligence of a box of rocks. I went back to working on the $200 credit Anna had generously put at my disposal and making fun of the blondes with Sarah.

As the hour marched on towards midnight (the appointed hour for bikini dance contests in cowboy chic city bars) I grew more and more free with my suggestions to Anna. She was determined to dance to a slow rap song about falling in love with a stripper, I eventually convinced her to dance to a more upbeat song about falling in love with a stripper. Having determined that she had three other competitors I broke down the competition like this (I only mention cup size since it is one of the more important judging criterea for a bikini contest):

1. Cute brunette with small breasts who was a poor dancer.
2. Nineteen year old blonde girl with an amazing body and small breasts (Anna)
3. Cartoonishly drunk Asian stripper with cartoonishly large fake breasts.
4. Bar tender with large-ish fake breasts who had an amazing body.

While Sarah and I were dancing (mostly I was moving awkwardly while she did neat dance things while rubbing up against me and I tried to remember why we broke up), I was shocked to discover a new species of male Homo sapien that I had never been exposed to. I would describe its vital statistics this way:
5'8" 160 lbs
greying hair
~54 years of age
yellow leisure suit

It would creepily circle the dance floor doing some sort of weird shuffle/forward moonwalk/shamble thing that passed as peacocking and/or dancing only within its own mind. As it shambled towards Anna and her blonde friends, they panicked like a pack of delicate antelopes who realize that a lion is stalking them. How the nature channel found its way into this imitation of a down home drinking establishment, I wasn't sure, but when Anna's friend Shelbi (with an i) slipped on the dance floor because of her 6" heel and the leisure suit creature asked her to dance I felt as though I was on safari.

I have to admit, things got kind of foggy between this incident and the actual bikini contest. The contest broke down something like this:

Competitor #1 would probably do well in any sort of 'girl next door' contest. In some sort of Cowboy Ugly wanna be bikini dance off? She just didn't dance with enough enthusiasm or energy to win over the crowd. Which is probably because the crowd was made up predominately of creepy old guys wearing too much flannel, and this probably hindered her ability to self motivate.

Anna (whose fake ID said her name was Jennifer, which led to an interesting discussion about what name they would make the $1,000 check out to if she won) is a cheerleader, tall, blonde, and was drunk enough to enjoy herself, but not pass out at the bottom of the pole had a pretty good chance.

Competitor #3 passed out at the bottom of the pole during her dance. The crowd thought this was hilarious, but not worthy of the esteemed prize. She did get booed while being helped from the stage though, so maybe everyone else wasn't as entertained by it as I was.

Competitor #4, a bartender whose name was ostensibly Shilo, had a large crowd of admirers probably because there seems to be some fiercly loyal subculture of men who hang out in ridiculously overpriced faux cowboy bars to leer at attractive bar tenders and vote for them in bikini contests.

Once the dancing (in bikinis) was complete, it was clear that the decision was between Anna and Shilo. The bouncer/judge couldn't decide who won, lacking the appropriate equipment for objectively measuring crowd noise. As he was consulting with another of his bouncer/judge friends right next to me, I helpfully suggested that they just split the prize. He thought this was a brilliant idea (I went to college for a reason, I just hadn't realized it was to assist bikini contest judges with problem solving). However, he needed to consult with the event photographer before he could decide that such an action was Right and Just. Why the wise bouncer/judge chose this amateur photographer as his arbiter of Rightness and Justice, we shall never know.

After consultation with the photgrapher, Shilo was named the winner. I have always wondered what it really was that election observers 'observed'. Now I know. Election tampering is probably a bit more complex than bikini contest tampering, but I figure the basics are pretty much the same, and I knew that I had just witnessed a rigged contest. Anna never had a chance, bless her tall blonde innocent... heart, she was just a pawn in some sham of a contest.

As you might imagine, Anna took the loss quite hard. She dressed quickly and stormed out of the bar with her blonde entourage in tow. Sarah and I went to the bar to make sure that none of her $200 had been left unspent.