Lovers, Hooters & the Silent Studio in Tacoma
Our first trip to the 253 was a BLAST, and after a brief refractory period we’ll be back in the ring to take another swig. I mean swing! Both, really.
The drive down was a breeze. The cavalcade (Coach & Nurse Matiddies heading the charge in Limo 2, Pet & Professor tailgating them in Limo 1, and Chef & Mary Jane bobbing and weaving back there in Limo 3) cut through Saturday afternoon traffic like the proverbial hot knife through butter, and rolled into Th’aroma well before sundown.
Limo 2 took a wrong turn off the exit, and we ended up in the parking lot of a Lovers store. Since Nurse was in need of thigh-highs, we decided to make an impromptu field trip of it, and disembarked. Coach asked an employee smoking outside for directions and laid a CD on him, while the rest of the party filed into Lovers and dispersed, wide-eyed and grinning, like kids entering their favorite amusement park.
There was a blow-up doll that looked like either Tom Selleck or Randy Marsh. Another inflatable lover, female (“No teeth! Doesn’t talk back!”), came with a beer cozy installed on top of her head. (So Professor wasn’t the first one with that idea.) Pet investigated covert remote control technology. Everyone took turns putting two in the pink of a Porta-Pussy. (Coach was later caught checking the price tag).
Nurse got her thigh-highs (2 for 1!), and three other fucalty members made purchases, but I won’t tell you about those. It’s a secrit. Ssshhhhhhhhh…
The venue was just south of TheComa, and at first we thought it was a trap: it was an unmarked warehouse next to train tracks in an industrial district, deserted on a weekend. Through an open door the only thing visible was a tv screen stuck on a single image sputtering in a dark room.
Did we piss off the Fun Police at the last Blue Moon show? Were we about to get a beat-down by the boys in blue? ARE THEY REALLY COPS? Or maybe we’re on hidden camera and they’re laughing their asses off in a van somewhere…
Thinking we might soon be sold into slavery on the underground market, we decided to have our last meal at Hooters. Mary Jane took everyone’s minds off imminent detention by ordering a basket of fried pickles. Professor’s first pint came all the way across the room balanced on a server’s head. Hairy sported his new rasta mullet. Coach schooled us all on the differences between WWE and whatever was on the tvs all around (looked like real fighting), while we all enjoyed more than a mouthful.
After that we felt ready to face whatever fate held in store for us (Hooters makes you happy!) and headed back to the “gig”.
Which was legit(-ish)! We were first in the line-up, so we loaded in, got dolled up, and hit the stage. 45 sweaty minutes later our set was done, we still had our freedom, and we could relax and watch what ended up being a truly awesome show. The Taxpayers, The Fun Police, and Constantly Burning Fire all turned in (and put out) magnetically energetic performances. Everyone in the room got suntans. It was fucking great. We drank the bar down to their last bottle of rum, met some fun people, then piled into the limos and headed back to Seattle.
Mission Accomplished and then some, with hopefully more to come!
Where else will pretty girls in skimpy clothes bring you a beer on their head?!?!?