It’s an exciting day for Sex and the Single Dad. As of today, the new blog, J.R.’s Journey, has launched, meaning the parenting and family content has moved there and this will go back to what it was originally conceptualized as–a blog about dating, relationships and content that is geared more towards adults.
For a long time I thought about how I wanted to do this split and now that the moment has arrived, I’m comfortable with it. I’m still a bit nervous and hope that it works out the way I want it to, but I’m happy. When you finish here, please go check out J.R.’s Journey.
I decided to move the Music Monday posts there, along with Magnificent Moms. I’m keeping the Douche of the Week right here (and I need more nominations for this week) and I’m also beginning a new feature, The Bald and the Beautiful. Send me your questions on dating, sex, relationships, drinking or whatever and get them answered by myself and by The Muse. This could prove to be a lot of fun!!!
I was in D.C. for a day this past week–just a quick trip in and out and I think I got a lot accomplished. I stayed in Baltimore and it’s a six hour drive from Buffalo to there. As I drove down, I passed through the town of Duncannon, PA.
Duncannon appeared to have no stop light, but they did boast two gentleman’s clubs. I thought this was noteworthy and I chuckled about it as I continued my drive. The next day I drove back through Duncannon and noticed the signs for the clubs said BYOB.
WTF? A strip club that lets you bring in your own booze? This place looked a little backwoods, but not so much that you could just bring in your own liquor. Thirty minutes after leaving Duncannon in my rear-view mirror, I was on the phone with my blogging friend Chris. Chris is originally from Pennsylvania and I mentioned the BYOB thing to him and he explained how the clubs there work.
BYOB actually stands for Bring Your Own Beer. You can’t bring in hard liquor, but you can bring in beer. Interesting. He went on to explain that people will actually come to the clubs with the old school styrofoam coolers full of beer or will bring in the rolling coolers. Rad….
As soon as he told me that, my mind started putting together a story. Maybe it was the boredom of a long car ride by myself or maybe it was the Mountain Dew that I was consuming at a fairly rapid rate. In reality, it was probably a combo of the two. Either way, I started imagining a very funny story, and I want to share it with you.
Let me first say a huge thank you to my fellow bloggers and a Twitter friend for allowing me to use them in this story. They knew nothing about what it was and although a few of them asked for a basic idea, they all agreed to let me use them here. This is the cast list for this little story of mine:
Urban Highlander (as our token non blogger)
As I drove north through Pennsylvania, it dawned on me that there are a lot of blogging conferences geared towards women, but not for men. I thought someone should change that, so I decided to create Dad-a-palooza. I envisioned it initially as a chance for a bunch of dad bloggers to get together and plan how we can take over the blogosphere.
These mom blog conferences are always in nice places like NYC or San Diego and I struggled with where to host this not-so-prestigious event. Suddenly it dawned on me–Fantasy’s Island Gentleman’s Club in Duncannon would be the perfect spot. I’m not sure WHY it seemed like the perfect spot, but as I mentioned earlier, I was fueling up with Dew.
Before the invites went out I contacted Matt and asked if he would co-host this event with me. He lives the closest and I figured he ,might be willing to do some advance scouting for me. As the time for Dad-a-palooza drew near I was happy to see that some of my friends would be attending. I decided to invite a few ladies, because I’m thinking of hosting a Red Dress Club event here and I wanted their opinion.
Matt and I arrived first and found that we were getting the V.I.P. Room. This wasn’t actually a room, but rather a dark corner of the main room, decorated with a couple of pleather couches and two wobbly tables and chairs. “There’s room for the coolers right over there,” said Jim Bob, the club manager. “If you need ice it’s $5 a bag.”
The place was a dump, but that was cool. I was about to hang out with some fellow bloggers and spend some time getting to know them. Chris and Ron (both originally from Pennsylvania) were the next to arrive and I was happy to see Chris filled my order for five cases of Old Style. Four were going straight in my car, but one was for tonight. Ron looked around, not sure what to make of this place, while Chris looked like he was just happy to get a night out and didn’t really care where we were.
Jack, Aaron, Urban Highlander and Tyrone all rolled in from the airport together and were sporting brand new rolling coolers from the local Walmart. These big city boys didn’t know what to make of this place. Aaron called it “someplace only a Lakers fan could like.” That set Jack off and a long Lakers v vile-Celtics argument ensued. I didn’t hear the whole thing, but I know I heard the phrases, “whiny pussies”, “chowdah'” and “Celtics can lick my….”
Next to arrive were the ladies and Daddy, who made the roadie from Chicago. As they pulled up to the club, Weasel Momma and Melisa were surprised to see this was a strip club. Apparently they didn’t remember I picked the location and thought Fantasy’s Island was some lakeside resort. Oops.
Jennie and Aunt Becky came through the door and had different reactions. Jennie looked around, surveying the situation and trying to assure herself she would be OK here with us. Aunt Becky scanned the horizon and in a very loud voice, bellowed., “Where the hell are all the naked chicks?”
The only two missing were John and Kyle and they rolled in within minutes of each other. John drove up from Virginia and Kyle rode his hog from the ATL. John came in with his styrofoam and duct tape cooler, full of moonshine he hid in beer bottles. He also brought some possum jerky for us all to try. Kyle, clearly being the coolest one of the group, quietly strode in and commanded the attention of every female in the room.
We all assembled in the V.I.P. Room and introductions were made. It became apparent that, with the exception of Larry, Darryl and Darryl over by the stage, we had the run of the place tonight.
We chatted as a group for a bit, but it was obvious that the nudity was a distraction. After about 30 minutes, Weasel Momma asked if there was an Applebees nearby. Melisa said she wanted seafood and for another 15, they debated on Red Lobster or Applebees. They finally settled on Olive Garden, but were disappointed when Jim Bob said the closest one was an hour away.
Ron and Chris were chatting about this and that, but you could see Chris discreetly looking towards the stage out the corner of his eye. I saw Tyrone and Urban Highlander talking with John and I heard Highlander say, “Yes John, if you give them money, they rub their boobies in your face. C’mon–act like you know what you’re doing. Jennie’s over there getting a lap dance. If she can, so can you.”
Everyone was enjoying themselves, except for Weasel Momma and Melisa, who kept reminding us that Olive Garden was going to close soon, so we had to hurry. After a couple hours, Jim Bob came and pulled me aside. “I’m going to have to ask you and your group to leave,” he explained. I asked why and he said that we had purchased only three lap dances and that one member of our group was being excessively disruptive and the dancers were getting upset.
I looked around the room, trying to figure out which one of us was pissing off the talent. Turns out it was Aunt Becky, who sat by the stage and kept screaming, “Take it off faster, bitch! And, “I’ve seen bigger cans in the soup aisle!”
We gathered up our coolers, grabbed the empties and reconvened in the parking lot. It was decided that we would caravan to Olive Garden and finish the party there. As we consumed endless amounts of salad and breadsticks, everyone agreed that Dad-a-palooza was possibly the shittiest idea ever and that I should never be allowed to plan an event again. Period.
Don’t forget to check out the good stuff over at J.R.’s Journey