Sunday, May 10, 2009

Starbucks = Power Exchange, i.e. Do Not Read This Post If Your Name Is One of the Following: Edgar, Judy, Andy, or If Your Name Ends With In-Law

Somebody--bury me in a Y-shaped coffin. I am a whore. A slut. A dirty, dirty girl the likes of which Prince writes songs. Not that I hang around hotel lobbies with magazines, but last week? When I was hanging out at various Starbucks throwing back chai after chai and cattin' around with the town bicycle WiFi? I contracted something, a computer STD. First my laptop broke out in some nasty warts, a rash, the screen began to itch, went black and then died. Like dead died. Which would be one type of problem if the laptop were mine but it is/was Bryan's with all of his architectural software on it, drawings, work, and now he hates me and I have been branded with a scarlet Valtrex. This post? I am writing it from my mother-in-law's computer which might comes as some relief to her should she ever type h-e into her Google search engine only to have it automatically pull up herpes symptoms and treatment. Don't worry, that was just your daughter in-law doing some research for her blog. I have never had herpes and to my knowledge none of your children are secretly searching for the cause of any errant itching of the nether region.
So I called The Geek Squad and they basically told me that connecting to the internet at Starbucks is like going to a sex party holding a venti. Only this was the Geek Squad so he didn't say anything about sex per se, but you just know that's what he was thinking. He meant that because I hadn't updated my virus protection I was basically having sex with multiple partners in the dark without a condom. With other people looking on. And maybe getting slapped on the ass for good measure. So yeah, Starbucks is the new Power Exchange and unsecured WiFi the new glory hole. But 30 is the new 20 so it's all good.
I actually went to the Power Exchange when I was around 25, and right about now my parents are wishing they had heeded my warning for them not to read this. But here's the thing: I didn't mean to go to a sex club. Nor did I mean to dip my ponytail into a small plastic container of lube, but it happens. And "dip my ponytail into a small plastic container of lube" is not a sex party euphemism for group sex. At least not that I know of.
It was Valentine's Day, 1997. I was out with 3 girlfriends and each of us had our own sob story about why Valentine's Day sucked that particular year. Bryan was living in Italy, so there was no amore por mi, or something like that. We went out and got extremely drunk. My friend had the number of a cabbie named Robert. She would call him to pick us up wherever we were and take us to the next bar, the next club, whatever. I was so drunk I called him RohbAIR all night long; I thought he looked French when really he just looked like an old pervy cab driver. At some point he began to tease us about how we thought we were so daring, so city, when really we were just a gaggle of Marin girls feeling jilted on Valentine's Day. Long story short, he bet us we wouldn't go to his favorite club and seeing as how we truly were just a gaggle of Marin girls feeling jilted on Valentine's Day, we did, we went to the favorite club of a 70 year old cab driver who pronounced the 't' at the end of his name.
Let me tell you--nothing sobers you up like walking into a dark room full of men having sex. Or standing next to a friend you've known since the second grade while a fat naked woman gets flogged right in front of you. Or backing up into a bar full of little salad dressing sides of lube and screaming like a girl when you realize your ponytail has dipped into one of them. Or suddenly realizing halfway down a hallway that there are holes in the wall on either side of you with penises poking out. Penii? (Me thinks the plural of penis is hell-to-the-no-effing-way.) Nothing sobers you up like a man asking if he can masturbate in front of you and not knowing what level of politesse the occassion calls for. No thank you? How does one demur to a man in ass-less chaps? Bonus points to anyone who knows the answer.
The next morning my friends and I went out to get bagels, all of us quiet and hungover. The world was a different place suddenly, a place where the old man hands shaking at the newstand could have been out the night before with a ballgag in his mouth. We sat and ate our bagels, avoiding each other's eyes and trying not to think of the word schmear.
And this, my friends, is how I got from a computer virus to a sex club, from Starbucks to the Power Exchange. Yes, this is how my mind works and at times I curse it, (like right now with the word schmear.) But most of the time it's good times here in Being Susannah Blogovich, rainbows and chocolate chips, flowers and Funyuns. And the best part? Bryan is now buying me my own laptop! For some odd reason, he no longer wants to share his with me.
Happy Monday (indeed)!

22 comments:

moseyalong said...

I hope he's getting you a Mac. (opens can of worms....)

krista said...

duuuuude.
i really want the bonus points so i'm trying to think of some sort of witty comeback to a man in assless chaps asking if he can masturbate in front of me.

yeah. just writing that last sentence was enough.

that is, by far, the best story EVER.

Good Enough Woman said...

How about, "Maybe next time, Cowboy?" Not great, but it fits the theme.

amber {daisy chain} said...

omg. I remember when you did that and it totally freaked me out (even though I wanted ALL the details and then some). People are so freaky, it makes me want to stay indoors.

Erin said...

Oh no you did NOT just re-live our Valentine's Day of '97 or '98 or whenever it was right here in public. My mother reads this blog, too! (Of course, now I'VE outed myself, since you didn't actually mention me by name.) But Robert (Robe-AIR) sure was right about us prude little Marin girls. I can still picture the four of us, eyes and mouth wide open in shock, trying not to touch anything or accidentally bump into anyone in that place, and not being able to look at the pregnant woman we saw at Noah's the next morning in quite the same way. Holy crap, what a memory!

arollerskatingjam said...

Oh my! A night you'll never forget!

David Brenner with a sex change said...

My curious side would probably have replied "flog away, just don't get any on me!" and backed up a foot or two, proceeding to watch with about the same degree of scientific interest as when viewing mating elephants on the Discovery Channel. Guessing that I would likely never step foot in such a palace of perversion again, and considering my judgement capabilities were already severely impaired by the mass quanitities of alcohol consumed, I'd have to say I would likely have viewed enough acts as to provide a plethora of good stories for years to come! (no pun intended)

Jessie said...

Yikes. I don't think I'll ever be able to order cream cheese at Einstein's AGAIN.

Glad you get a new comp, though. :) Happy belated Mom's Day, too.

Brandi said...

here's what i just read...
sex club = new laptop!
that's the kind of world i wish to live in :)

Erienne said...

I always love your amazing transitions ; ) Yay for a new computer!

ps: if you're interested, I tagged ya over at my place. Perhaps it will brighten your Monday ; )

Simply AnonyMOM said...

Oh my gosh! I am sitting here with my mouth open and laughing at the same time. Thank you for always making me laugh when I need to.

nicole said...

that is freaking hysterical!!!

Maggie May said...

holy story, Batman!!!

Oh Brother! said...

Uhhh... ummmm... duuuuuh... well... uh hum... ok, so... ok.

Never mind.

-Bro

Author said...

Just tell your mother-in-law you thought the stress of being homeless was giving you shingles - that's a string of herpes!! Very safe answer ; )

jen said...

thanks a lot Susannah. now in addition to the horrible word "moist" I also now hate the word "schmear."

oy

My Funny Little Frog said...

Oh my god- I had a power exchange mishap too, and like you- I had NO idea what I was walking into. I was about 25. My friend and I were both newly single and took a trip up to San Francisco (we live in LA). We decided to go to the Castro to see if we would find a fun gay bar with go-go dancers- cute guys that we could look at but would not be all pervy. Seemed like a good idea. Well the bartender at one place told us that all the gays moved out of the Castro and that we should check out the power exchange. We found it, signed their waver (should have been my first clue)and then headed in. I'll spare you any more details, but it was more than my little eyeballs could handle. Basically I jumped into my friends arms like Shaggy after he saw a gu-gu-ghost and ran the hell out of there. We lasted about 10 minutes. One of the strangest nights of my life.

Annie Empiric said...

that really is the best part! my husband cursed me when I said I wanted a laptop and told me I'd never use it. then, when he saw that i did use it ALL THE TIME he started using it too and now its "our" laptop. there are just some things people shouldn't share. like sexual partners at a night club venue.

get a mac!

Lolo said...

I use the word "peeners" to denote multiples of penis. Or as I call them, "peener" cuz it rhymes with weener and well, I like to rhyme.

And yes, the world is filled with filthy filth and at least you found out in the company of friends. You had safety in numbers which was a Good Thing, believe me. There are way worse ways to find out such things and I've experienced one or two of them. Ew. Flashback there.

Anyways, the thing I learned and am passing on to my children is that when filthy grossness attempts to rub itself against you, you snort up a throat full of loogey and spit. Do it real old man-like, as though you've been sitting in a dark bar and staring at the pickled eggs and have to rid yourself of weeks worth of gob. Something about the shock of such guttural sound and matter coming out of a sweet, young face is very peener damping. Works like a charm.

God, you trigger all sorts of seedy associations. Bless your heart.

Anonymous said...

Another interesting part...the fourth girl in our crew went back to the club again. Yikes!

Richie Designs said...

that was the funniest f*ing post ever

Brilliant Asylum said...

I once went to a club like that in New York. What was it called...The Vault? The Vortex? Still conjures up the heebie jeebies for me.