10.20.2009

Veteran Bosoms Galore

10.20.2009
Now, now, before somebody goes throwing a shoe at me or something (that is the latest in insults, right?) I am not being facetious. Well, maybe a bit, but lemme tell you, that was not just a shameless attention grabbing header.

This last weekend a good friend of mine was celebrating another spring under her belt, and what other way to extol the occasion than a strip club? Yes, there was dinner, and a haunted house, but all that is inconsequential and you’ll see just why in a moment.

We made our way into the heart of Atlanta to a little abode named The Clermont Lounge. Stashed in the lobby of the old hotel bearing the same name, The Clermont is a bar unlike anything I, and likely you, have seen. Ever. Ever. At first arrival the place is small, with a permanent cloud of smoke that hovers just above head level. It is loud. And it is packed. This is not your usual strip club attendance though, but rather a gathering of people of all kinds. It’s the cliff notes of Atlanta’s urbanites. You have it all, but that is still not the interesting part.

Upon taking my first step, and being shoved inside by the bouncer saying “Move from the doorway,” I candidly ignored him and turned to the bar to see something that will forever stay with me. A naked woman! (Insert dramatic theme song here).

No, I’m not that prudish. Did I mention that the naked woman, was a naked sixty-something year old, black woman with a blonde wig that would put Rupaul to shame, shaking her humongous ass which could only be balanced on the bar by her keg-like gut, all while slapping titties swindled around the air not unlike a cowboy lasso? (breathe)… Oh, how could I have NOT mentioned that?

I shit you not. The Claremont lounge is known for that. Her name is Blondie. Along with other strippers who have seen much better days, long, long, long ago, they grace the place in short-shorts that are barely visible (marked by mountains of cellulite) and boobs that are competing for attention with their belly buttons. And guess what? We loved it. We loved all of it. Those women, as certifiably insane as they are, are making a killing. The sheer personality it takes to get out there is mind boggling, but the amount of confidence and fun these ladies (yes, they are ladies) are exuding is enough to blow you away. Pun totally intended. It is deliciously awful.

I left, I tried to leave, but part of me stayed. Left behind in those decrepit walls and thighs. And there is only one thing I can do about it. I must return, to get that little bit of myself back, but this time, I must take my brother, and my cousin, and my bud, and his buds, and as many people as I can imagine, because this task is not one that should be taken by one man alone. That would just be creepy.
That’s it… now back to my regularly scheduled MS editing. G’night.

13 comments:

Amber Tidd Murphy

Oh, to be that heavy bosom, swinging in your general direction, so that you might place dollar bills in my nether-parts, or fat-folds.

Ew! Awesomely, ew.

I feel like I am trapped in this blog entry and can't get out. Must. Look. Away.

Anissa

Wow. Just wow.

Travener

Now I understand the origin of the expression "Don't go there"...

Lindsey Himmler

Please write about this someday in a novel. The world needs to know.

Tina Lynn

Ha, Lindsey! I was going to say...it could be a novel about your quest for that lost piece of your soul, with your trusty sidekicks (and there should be many). It could be like a non-vampire From Dusk 'Til Dawn. Hee! Hee!

Tina Lynn

Oops, award. Over on my blog. Almost forgot to mention.

They could be soul stealers. That's what that cowboy lasso move was for. To catch it and wrangle it in.

Oh, man. I'm thinking about this WAY too much...

Shadow

huh??? well, different always makes its mark, right?

The pale observer

And you didn't take pictures??!!

Makes us all want to go. But why? We are all slightly perverted I guess.

And I love ladies with confidence. Even more, big fat old ladies with confidence. What a breath of fresh (or smoky stale) air!!! Go gurlz....

Great post!

Michele Emrath

But the WOMEN!! The point is the WOMEN! Not your experience...If you write about it, concentrate on THEM. What do they get out of it? Why are they there? They sound fabulous! The bar is in a hotel, bringing to mind prostitutes prowling for johns. Smoke is in the air, breasts are swinging, but everything is a bit off...Everything is a bit old...It's as if the whole place aged and no one inside was allowed to leave! Those women have probably been in the exact same spot swinging the exact same bodies for decades, with more and more cellulite rippling across as each year floats by on the outside...Sorry, my thoughts just started flowing with this one. Good fodder for you - write!

Michele
SouthernCityMysteries

Sierra Godfrey

This is great. I love the idea of an aging stripper's last hurrah club. Vivid, if not exactly lovely, imagery!

Natalie L. Sin

So even strip clubs have niche markets? Fantastic : )

Judith Mercado

LOL yet appreciating your skill in taking me there. I could taste the smoke, see the cellulite flesh tremble, the hopes of stripper glory revived. Thanks.

LiLu

"Did I mention that the naked woman, was a naked sixty-something year old, black woman with a blonde wig that would put Rupaul to shame, shaking her humongous ass which could only be balanced on the bar by her keg-like gut, all while slapping titties swindled around the air not unlike a cowboy lasso?"

Holy. Milksteak.

That paragraph just MADE MY DAY! Ahahahahaha!!!

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