**Note to readers**
I started writing this blog post last week and it just kept going & going… meaning it’s LONG. Therefore, I decided to separate the original post into different parts and just post one part every day. I’m up to about 4 parts and I’m still not finished yet, so it’s still a work-in-progress at this point.
Anyway, hope it makes you laugh at least once! xoxo, Lacey 🙂
I should have never opened my damn mouth. I have no idea what I was thinking when I asked my brother what happened last night at the bachelor party? Of course, at first he refused citing “guy code” and that he was forbidden from saying anything. This led to repeated begging with the whole “I swear I won’t say anything!!” speech. He finally caved and told me they didn’t go to a strip club. Instead, they hired 3 strippers to come over to the house. Huh? Say what?? You can actually hire strippers to come to your house? To which I was told that “yes, you can. It’s common for bachelor parties.”
Ok, so now I was really curious. Naturally, I nagged the shit out of my brother for so long that he finally just yelled at me: “They put Blow Pops in their pussy and then the guys eat them.” WHAT??? But, Blow Pops are kind of sticky. Eww… Where did they find these girls and who in the fuck would eat a pussy juice covered Blow Pop? Oh, gross. It seems my disgusting brother would, but I already knew he was gross.
Fast forward about 10 years later and my husband and I were invited to a private party hosted at a bar located on Bourbon Street in the French Quarter. I’ve partied in the French Quarter well over 100 times during my life. A good amount of those times were between the ages of 14-18, but who’s counting? So, we get to the party and we’ve got a free bar, free food, bathrooms and a convenient Bourbon Street balcony. This is the perfect set-up for a drunken night in the Quarter. No need to fight the wall-to-wall crowd of people stumbling all over the place spilling drinks on you and stepping on your feet. Plus, there are bathrooms!! Being drunk in the French Quarter and trying to find a bathroom when you really, REALLY need to pee is a nightmare. Although, there is a pizza place on one of the side streets that if you buy a drink they will let you use the bathroom and there is generally no line! So, needless to say, I got drunk… like really drunk. It was bound to happen. A few of our friends who were also there asked where we wanted to go after the party? To which I drunkenly replied “I KNOW, let’s go to a strip club.” Oh yeah, I’m fucking drunk. I just proved it with that one statement.
Five minutes later I was walking up Bourbon Street to my first ever visit to a strip club. There was some sort of conversation going on about which club or some shit, but I was too busy telling every single person on Bourbon Street that I was going to a strip club. “Hey Jesus dude.. holding a big cross, passing out pamphlets and quoting the bible in the middle of Bourbon Street, I’m going to a strip club! Aren’t you excited?!?!” or “Hi guys walking next to me… want to come with us to the strip club? Yes! Ok, just follow us.”
So, they lead me (and everyone I’ve picked up along the way) to Rick’s Cabaret. Ok, wherever… I’m drunk… Let the fun begin!!!
TO BE CONTINUED… PART 2 TOMORROW.