Dallas Bimbos and Bottle Service

Last night I had the displeasure pleasure to hang at my first bottle service bar. And it had one name. Like so many of them do. One name everything like we are trying to be a mini Los Angeles or something. Kind of sad. I was there for a singles event and I had a good time until everywhere we sat eventually we were kicked out of because of “reservations.” Which basically means people called ahead to spend nearly $1,000 on a table of liquor and mixers they put together themselves. Seems like that kind of money should come with a bartender at every table. So I see this Tom Leykis looking joker (but worse) come with five better looking guy friends and whip out his wallet immediately for two bottles of Belvedere. All I could think was what a way to get attention. I mean all that cash is going down the drain — literally. I mean I pee after two drinks.

Well. Like I said. I did have a nice time — prior to the crowd getting there. But I had no qualms leaving before midnight. While I waited for my car from the valet (yea, it’s THAT kind of bar where you really don’t have a choice) I was privy to a little play I call: Dallas Bimbos and Bottle Service. This is where I saw a gaggle of ditzy women, drunk, waiting for their car.

The blond says, “We need the white Volvo but we’ll take a Bentley.” Her brunette, equally vacant friend chimes in, “Yea, or an Aston Martin.” She annoyingly giggled. The blond staggered a bit. And I imagined it that is was only going to take two more chocolate martinis before that one was going to need the brunette to hold her hair back. The group of them said a number of superficial epithets. And they laughed — that laugh. The one where you have to ask if there is air between the girl’s ears. I was in absolute disbelief that the Dallas stereotype was standing right there next to me, putting on a real life comedy of errors. I wish I had a video camera.

And this is Dallas. I am thinking that at sometime back in college or better that I felt that THIS was the lifestyle I wanted. I think looking at it now at 30, I just shook my head. Before heading to my car, which I found was a $6 valet instead of $5 and the guy just stood there because there was no tip (sorry, miscalculated), I remembered all the pumped up guys who rudely brushed by me to get to the bar, the girls overdone with silicone tits and acrylic nails and the fact that I’m happy not to fit the look and attitude of the typical uptown “Dallasite.” In room of fake, I felt my own fresh air.

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2 responses to this post.

  1. Posted by Nectarfizz on Friday, March 28, 2008 at 2:12 pm

    Have I told you lately that I love you? (grin) This is why.

    Reply

  2. You know, I’m not sure what they did that was so wrong lol

    Reply

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