There's no place like home. Anywhere else, it's a crapshoot.

I realize I have been doing a lot of reminiscent posts as of late, so I've decided to have a throw back extravaganza! One post every week until I either run out, which is not likely, or tire of them and move onto something bigger and better. I have a few in mind, and the one I think I'll start it off with begins now. I hope you'll get a tickle out of my brush with royalty;)

  Crap. Crap of a town. Hellhole. God forsaken crap of a town...hellhole...place. My mom came up with the hellhole part; the more creative names I've thought up for it, well, I would be embarrassed to write it here. But you get the general concept. The hellhole I am referring to, is the town my family and I moved to. When I tell other people where I currently am residing, they are unable to hide their pitying or disgusted expressions. I don't really blame them. It is a small city, therefore its the small town mentality for most. Something unique though about the culture, is that its as if they are in denial or subconsciously resist settling into stereotypes (only speaking for some, there are plenty of camo-wearing toothless folk to be seen). Again I'm only speaking from what I've seen, but most of the younger generation seems to think they're all trendsetting, musical models that are professionals at being cool. These fashionistas are highlighted, lacquered, and fake baked to perfection which was the exact opposite of my expectations, so needless to say I was shocked. I did my best at settling into the new town, or so I told myself. My first order of business was to find a job, so off I went in search of my new career.

Well that was disappointing. After trudging around the mall and around town in my best Anne Taylor Loft suit jacket, Banana Republic jeans and laboriously straightened hair, handing out resumes left and right and being tiresomely polite and professional. I only got one call back! One call back, are you freakin kidding me?! And Victoria's Secret of all places? I don't even fit in their bras and certainly can't afford the panties there, even with the discount. Stupid. My first meeting at Vickies was kind of overwhelming because there were like 60 people that worked there, and everyone was best friends and then there was just...me. I was a little fatter at the time than I really wanted to be (confession: that's all the time, but more so than normal in this particular instance), from a different city and wearing an unflattering orange shirt. Looking back I looked really dumb. When the meeting was finished a couple of girls asked me if I wanted to go to a club with them and a bunch of other people. I will say that's totally not my scene, but anxious to fit in and actually have friends I accepted eagerly. They said my uncomely attire was fine for "going out" so I assumed they were telling me the truth. I didn't know my way around town, so stupidly I decided to ride with them.

WARNING: If you ride with strangers, you're an idiot. Always take your own car or have a back up ride just in case, even if you think you know someone pretty well.

We ended up at Latin Vibe, a gay bar. Hmm. As I previously mentioned I don't really go out much and here I am at this gay club with a bunch of slutty girls from Vickies to see a drag queen show of all things. I just wasn't really prepared for the whole scenario. There were porn pictures on the walls, women hitting on us, and all the girls I knew were completely sloshed. I felt completely out of my element and I knew because I wasn't really interested in anything that was happening, like the mundane topics that they were discussing, the girls I was with thought I was a total boring/prude/freak person. There may be some truth to that but still, no one particularly enjoys being with people that plainly think that about you. When the drag queens came out, lip syncing to Brittany Spears and Liza Minnelli, I was officially over stimulated. I couldn't even enjoy the show because the whole time I was trying to figure out how this guy over there tucked his junk into those tiny shorts, or that guy over there totally has a better woman's body than I do. That's irritating. The worst part was when every one made their way out to the dance floor. I am an absolutely TERRIBLE dancer, and it's painful to watch. I always look obviously self-conscious. The entire time I had gay guys grinding on me and girls of all kinds pushing me to let loose and dance like them, which would be impossible. I couldn't get my ride to leave until 2:30am so by the time I made it home my clothes were beer stained and I was exhausted. Such a disastrous night.