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Strippers and Boxes

Part One: In Between Days

I’ve moved again.

I hate packing and moving, but I’m damn good at it. They say practice makes perfect…. and yeah, I’ve had my practice. When I was a child we moved a lot. We moved so often it made army brats look sedentary. It made witness protection hide-ee’s look exposed. It made Harold Hill* look like he had an office job. In all of my childhood life, I think the longest we stayed anywhere was for a total of 3.5 years.

(*Music Man…. You know?? 76 Trombones? Gary Indiana? Oh gawd, tell me you’ve seen this musical and are not devoid of all culture!!)

This go around it happened fast. I had not really been looking to move, though I had my peripheral vision alert to any great housing deals. About three weeks ago I found one.

I do not like chaos, nor do I like that “in-between” feeling that goes along with moving….I like to feel settled. It was the motivation to get through the chaos and in-between that lead to my frenzy style kick-arse move.  Sonora and I threw together boxes, purchased big black bags, and went to filling them up with our “things”.  During this time, if it broke… then that meant one less thing to move and unpack. I’m shocked that my subconscious didn’t trip me and send some of the heavier and over-loaded boxes flying… I sort of wish it had!

When, finally, the house is clear… the cleaning starts. This is wear the nostalgia decides to join in and hang out for a bit, watching with you when you see the “wear and tear” created by your occupancy. No, we didn’t trash the place like a rock star… it was the everyday living that inevitably leaves a mark. The house was an older one, no doubt seeing a slew of tenants through out the years. Which dent, stain, or planted bush did they leave as their fingerprint? As I vacuumed, dusted, and scrubbed the hell out of the place… I came across Sonora and my fingerprints. A stain created on the stairs when I took a glass of wine up to my room a little sloshed over the side along the way.  I was tired and vowed to clean it up the next day… but never got around to it.  How many times did I go up the stairs and think to myself that I should take care of that spot, only to reach the top and forget about it once again. Sweeping resulted in a pile that summed up my very existence: dog hair and coffee grinds.

And so it went, through every room I cleaned, I took note of our fingerprints and had flashbacks of the days we spent occupying the house.

It is anxiety that joins in with the wait for the phone call from my old landlord to tell me when he’s going to arrive for the final walk through. The final walk through is a very private show and tell, where all your deeds are laid bare for the perceptive eye. The clean oven either reveals that I am exceptionally great at cleaning, or I don’t really cook. The patch walls reveal that either I have a bad aim, or I tend to drink while I hang pictures. The amount of holes patched in the wall also reflect a certain amount of indecisiveness and could even hint to my being a bit of a commitment phobe.

But what about the strippers? The titled indicated there would be strippers floating about this blog. Ah, yes… true. I did brazenly pull in the audience with the lure of strippers.

Part Two…. Silicone Valley

I want to be a cool girlfriend, truly I do. When I found out that my boyfriend of eight months was to going to be going to a strip club for an up and coming bachelor party… I thought to myself, “Sure, I’m cool with this… it’s a guy thing. It’s been happening throughout the ages.”

I envisioned my coolness with practiced repartee:

Boyfriend (BF for short): Going to a strip club for a bachelor party.

Cool Girlfriend (CGF for short): Oh how fun!

BF: If we find one that doesn’t serve alcohol they strip all the way and get totally naked.

CGF: Oh wow, you’ll get to see bush… or lack there of, since I’m sure they’re all pristinely shaved for your viewing pleasure. LOVELY! I’m excited for you!

BF: They give lap dances, though I probably wont get one.

CGF: Wow! You mean you’ll get to have a firm and naked body, that is not mine, wiggle her shaven parts on your manly parts? Oh JOY!! That will be brilliant, no doubt!

(Well, I’m not implying that my body is firm… but I can get naked.)

BF: I’m not really into that sort of thing, I’m just going to hang out with my friends.

CGF: I totally understand. You have to do it for your friends…. take one for the team and all. It’s in the name of matrimony and commitment! Enjoy! I’m so excited for you. Here, the first lap dance is on me. But if she’s totally naked, where do you stick the dollar….

Like I said before, I really wanted to be the cool girlfriend. REALLY, TRULY, and FOR REALS.  But… I just didn’t have it in me to be happy about his ogling breasts other than mine. I tried to psych myself up for it. Persuade myself into the cool way of thinking. But damn it, it just had me thinking more of the ogling, parading, and soliciting that would surely make up the evening.

My advice to the men who go out and participate in the bachelor party traditional debaucery: If your girlfriend is uncool like me, cut her some slack. You got to go and do your thing DESPITE your girlfriends distaste of the whole event. You got your free pass of indulgence under the guise of the almighty Bachelor Party. I’d say that’s worth a little bit of kissing up the next day!! My gawd, you just spent an evening staring at other womens nether regions! Suck it up and play nice with the woman who lets you stare at hers for free!!