Really, I don’t know what I’d do without my sibs. I’d have a lot less fodder for this blog. In fact, I probably wouldn’t be blogging at all. They are my tether to adventure and ridiculousness. Thinking about my life as an only child (while I would’ve had more toys, clothes, and not had to have fought/still fight for cookies and others sweets would be nice) would be boring. Case in point, our last night at Icon:
Andrea was all decked out because she was there for the calendar competition. Never underestimate the Hobgood Kids. We have friends. And we’re not afraid to use them. Andrea brought her work people, I brought friends and set up a Facebook event, and Kevin brought this whole posse that I think comprised of the entire 2005 Central High School soccer team plus a few other people. We were all prepared for a good time – especially with $2 you-call-its!
We got there around 10:30 and the competition didn’t start for another hour. No worries though, we were chilling and having a good time. Andrea did awesome. Made the final three, and despite having the loudest and biggest number of people cheering for her, she got second place. That was good considering she was wearing a conservative bikini.
The chick who won, I think I saw her run into the bathroom and construct her bikini out of dental floss and string. All I can say is, thank god she waxes. Being face-to-face with another female’s feminine hair isn’t something I’m exactly a fan of. Back to the story.
Andrea is sure she lost because of some ass who was booing her. He was cheering for the girl who got third, and when the competition was down to Andrea and Dental Floss, he began to cheer for Dental Floss and loudly boo for Andrea.
I didn’t hear his booing. I might have punched him. I did, however, recruit fans for Andrea. One guy in the audience tried to cut in front of me. That’s not cool when you’re vertically challenged like I am. I made him get back. And then I made sure he cheered for Andrea. When Dental Floss came out, I had to laugh because I heard him and his friends talking trash about her being a whore. And he called her a slut, yelled it loud, when it came to down between Andrea and Dental Floss.
However, once the dust had cleared and my sister was second, we started dancing. The Booer decided to mosey over and steal a dance from my sister. She turned him away and laughed at him. Note to all guys: Booing is not the correct action course of action to take if you plan on trying to mack a girl later in the evening. Even single and not your girlfriend, we remember those who have wronged us. Also, you’re lucky she didn’t have her foot say hi to your groin.
Andrea, Jada, Ryan, and I and all of those we recruited, we were all having a fun time, a high time, in fact. But no one’s evening topped my little brother’s.
I arrived at Icon with Andrea. Being in a competition with high, high, high heels, she didn’t feel much for drinking. This was fine for me because of the $2-you-call-its. Stoli’s all night baby! However, an hour after we arrived, the little brother hands his keys over to me and says “Erin, you drive my car home.” That phrase put a serious monkey-wrench in my Stoli’s Night. However, as the night unfolded, I was not ashamed or upset with my sober status.
I knew Kevin was going to have a fun night when I elbowed my way through the macabre cluster of people around the bar to take my place and flash some cleaveage at the bartender. I get a call on my cell and answer it. It’s Kevin. He wants two vodka, cranberry, and Red Bulls. I snort and let him know that mixing an upper (Red Bull) and a downer (vodka) will give him a heart attack. He doesn’t care. The bartender comes over and I order his two drinks and a vodka and cran for me. Stoli’s vodka all around!
I’m a Stoli’s girl. True, I could drink Grey Goose for $2, but really when we’re discussing vodka, are we going to trust the French or the Russians? The Russians! I deliver the drinks to my brother and Jada and I disappear to dance with Andrea and her co-workers. A little while later, Ryan appears and tells me about Kevin hitting on this skank.
One of the girls in the competition, a girl who was merely a blip on the radar in the competition, was hitting on my brother. This girl had straight bleach blonde hair, no breasts at all, a Louis Vuitton clutch (which should’ve went to her breast fund in my opinion), and a dress that slashed down her invisible cleavage to her navel. Not to mention, she had some horrible tattoo down the side of her rib cage to her hip. I’m not one to dis tattoos, but let’s try to have some class.
Anyway, I sidle up to my brother as he sits at the bar. The Skank is all in his face. I ask Kevin a question, and Kevin ignores me. A few people perceive me as laid-back, but most identify with me as a bitch. I went into full bitch mode. I crossed my arms over my chest, tapped my foot, and glared at the skank.
She got the picture, said she wasn’t interested to my brother and toddled over to her friends, tossing a few pointed looks and gestures in my direction. Kevin seemed oblivious. This should’ve been clue number one to me. However, I overlooked it, berated him for associating with someone of that sort of caliber.
“Bear,” he said using my nickname, “Bear, it’s cool. Get me another drink.”
And that was when I learned of my little brother’s infatuation with one of the bartenders who was probably ten years my senior (so about fifteen for Kevin). It was quite the spectacle to watch. When he finally cashed out at the end of the night, he signed his name and wrote “Yeah, you’re fine,” on the receipt along with his number. As far as I know, he has received no phone calls.
Anyway, in between flirting with the bartender, Kevin was on the dance floor double-fisting. My little brother can cut a rug. He’s the youngest and has two older sisters and was often coerced into our ploys with minimal manipulation because he just wanted to be included. Yes, he did play Barbies with us. No, he did not play Barbie’s right. Still, we had to include him, mom’s orders.
Despite his flawed Barbie-playing skills, he’s a decent dancer. Not only that, but he’s a fun dancer. He’ll twirl you around, do the fish and reel, throw in a sprinkler, dust off his shoulder…he may look a little goofy, but he’s having fun. And his lack of care is probably why people consider him a decent dancer.
Anyway, one such dance move called for him to throw his hands up in the air. This doesn’t work so well when you have a vodka cocktail in your hand. Someone ended up wearing the drink, though thankfully, there wasn’t much left.
“He’s sorry,” Andrea said as Kevin obliviously continued to dance.
There was also the Seven-Foot-Tall Guy. He was dancing and Kevin decided it would be a good idea to thump the guy’s chest. Kevin isn’t a small guy at about 6’1 and around 220 pounds. He played soccer, and as a big soccer player, he’s used to having people bounce off of him. The Seven-Foot-Tall Guy didn’t bounce. In fact, he tapped Kevin back. Kevin staggered. Andrea, little 5’5 Andrea (ok, she’s not that little, she’s taller than me, but still), got in his face and said “Hey! He’s drunk!”
I also managed to snag a candid photo of Kevin and one of his friends/college roommates together. His friend Dan and Kevin had just come back from another canteen break. Dan bent over in front of Kevin and wiggled his ass in the air. Kevin stood in front of him and did the sprinkler. It was a perfect shot of those two goofballs.
That is when I looked over and saw The Skank dancing pretty much like Dan did (only difference was Dan’s was for fun). She was bent over at the waist grinding her ass all over some other dude’s crotch. I was just glad that wasn’t my brother behind her as if they were simulating doggy-style sex. Then we all laughed as some drunken dude came onto the dance floor and tripped over The Skank and knocked her off balance.
A little bit later, the obligatory tribute to Michael Jackson came on. The song, “Don’t Stop Till You Get Enough” was playing. A few people were dancing to their own rhythm, but a circle had gathered around and white boys and black boys were having a sort of dance-off, each taking turns in the circle.
Ryan handed me his camera phone to record the guys. Kevin saw me recording. “Erin, you gotta get me,” he said. “Get me!” This lasted for about half the song and finally Kevin had an opening. He slid into the circle on his knees, twirled around on his back (lost a flip flop in the process), stood on his knees and did a few pelvic thrusts before jumping to his feet (with only one flip flop on) and vacating the circle. Andrea grabbed his flip flop and somehow managed to place it back on his foot.
Meanwhile, I nearly collapsed on the dance floor from laughing so hard. I seriously popped a squat (thank you, yoga) and hugged my sides as I laughed. Ryan and Jada were bent over me also laughing. About five minutes later, I finally caught my breath. The dance was a thing of beauty. Not a whole lot could top that. To make the dance even sweeter, every moment of it was captured on Ryan’s phone in decent detail. I’m waiting for it to be uploaded onto Facebook, Ryan.
Anyway, the evening began to wind down. Kevin had planned on going out with his friends, but alcohol is a powerful manipulator and Kevin decided to stay at Icon with his sibs. We walk out. Andrea goes to her car, Ryan is behind us schmoozing some ridiculous people, and Jada is helping me get Kevin to his car.
We get him to his car and once Kevin finds out Jada is driving herself home, he insists we drive her to her car. This isn’t exactly a big parking lot, and Jada tells him she’s fine. Kevin still insists and won’t get into his car. Jada reiterates that she’ll be fine. Kevin is stubborn. Jada is crafty.
“I don’t think you can get into the car by yourself, Kevin,” she tells him.
This bit of reverse psychology works and Kevin is nearly in the car. He is sitting in his seat, but one foot is out. Jada gently persuades him to put the foot in the car, then we hurry and shut the door on him and she scoots off to her car.
I put the car in gear and drive to the road. We have to drive back in front of the club. Kevin wants me to drive slowly so he can holler at some girls.
“Erin, slow down! Hey sweetness,” he says. “Hey hot stuff, Erin, go slower,” he says until we’re passed the club and are pulling out onto the street.
There is a concrete divider in the street and all cars have to turn heading south. Our house is north. This means at some point, I’m going to have to turn around in a business’s parking lot. In his alcohol-addled state, Kevin missed the concrete divider.
“Erin, you’re going the wrong way,” he says and my phone begins to ring. It’s Andrea and she asks me where we are. I tell her. “Erin, this is the wrong way,” Kevin says. I try to pacify him and talk to Andrea simultaneously. I find a parking lot and turn the car around to get going the right way.
“There’s the Civic!” Kevin exclaims happily as we see Andrea’s car waiting for us in the parking lot to make sure things are going well.
Apparently I hit a bump as we pull into the parking lot. The bump barely registered with me, but I was not hanging my head out the window yelling at people like my brother was.
“Ow!” he yells. “Damn, Erin! That hurt! Like you hit me with a fucking bat.”
“Well, why was your head out the window?” I ask him.
“Ow,” he says still feeling the effects of the window frame. “God, I didn’t know I was in a car with Don-fucking-Mattingly. Jeez.”
Somehow, we manage to get home. Kevin pretty much passes out immediately. That is kind of sad because we don’t get to see him do his Silence of the Lambs dance. Andrea and I settle down, shaking the adrenaline of the evening off as we ready ourselves for bed. She may not have won in the judges eyes (but she certainly should have), but the evening wasn’t anything close to a loss!
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