![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
gordonzola Saturday After work I went to the Lusty Lady benefit party South of Market with a friend and co-worker, Hot Historian. Of course, she had the time to go home, change, and look good while I came straight from the cheese mines and was stained and stinky. Oh well. The main part of the party was just like any small club show with people standing around watching bands, though the bands were probably wearing less clothing than usual.
I should have realized something was up when we had to finish our drinks before going into the next room but we were too busy discussing where the kids area and the karaoke machine should be during our worker party which, coincidentally, we’re having in the same space. We were wandering around planning and suddenly all these women wearing lingerie were being extra nice to us. Hot Historian was talking to one of them who turned out to be a scantily-clad friend from school when I realized we had stumbled into the lap dance area. Uh clueless? Yah.
HH* eventually got a lap dance from another dancer and came back hot, bothered and unable to form complete sentences. After watching a couple of rounds of lube wrestling, everyone got kicked out of the area because the "Fire Marshall" declared it too full. I decided to go home, satisfied that I’d done my duty supporting another cooperative. My only regret was that I missed The Space Whores because I didn’t want to lose our front row wrestling seats, on nice comfy couches.
*Um, for any co-workers reading this, it is not our co-worker who’s initials are actually HH, though he is somewhat of a historian. Otherwise, he’s about the polar opposite of the person I’m talking about.
I should have realized something was up when we had to finish our drinks before going into the next room but we were too busy discussing where the kids area and the karaoke machine should be during our worker party which, coincidentally, we’re having in the same space. We were wandering around planning and suddenly all these women wearing lingerie were being extra nice to us. Hot Historian was talking to one of them who turned out to be a scantily-clad friend from school when I realized we had stumbled into the lap dance area. Uh clueless? Yah.
HH* eventually got a lap dance from another dancer and came back hot, bothered and unable to form complete sentences. After watching a couple of rounds of lube wrestling, everyone got kicked out of the area because the "Fire Marshall" declared it too full. I decided to go home, satisfied that I’d done my duty supporting another cooperative. My only regret was that I missed The Space Whores because I didn’t want to lose our front row wrestling seats, on nice comfy couches.
*Um, for any co-workers reading this, it is not our co-worker who’s initials are actually HH, though he is somewhat of a historian. Otherwise, he’s about the polar opposite of the person I’m talking about.
