Samantha slapped a flier down next to my Guinness. On it was a close up shot of a woman’s chest. The words bikini, bubble bath, and wrestling all jumped out to me. Sam looked at me and said two words: “We’re going.”
As I’ve mentioned before, I’ve become a Tuesday drinker thanks to $2 draft night. This Tuesday was even better because it was my official reunion with Whitney. I’ve written about her before, but we had a falling out before graduation (read: I was a bitch and fucked things up) and we didn’t talk for five months. Fortunately for me, Whitney is a much more forgiving person than most so we worked things out. And to celebrate, she came down to my neck of the woods for a day. Girls in bikinis wrestling in bubbles just made the reunion that much more memorable.
When we got to the “match” we befriended two guys, Brad (who will always be known as Tourette’s guy) and his uber hot friend who doesn’t even need a name because he was that hot. They asked us why we were about to watch some girls wrestle each other for $250 and free drinks for a night. Well readers, I’ll tell you the same thing I told Tourette’s guy and hot friend: When drunk bikini-clad girls are about to wrestle other drunk bikini-clad girls, you don’t fucking miss that. I mean come on, at the very least you can cross it off your bucket list and talk about it for a week. (Or in my case, get an awesome blog topic out of it.) I don’t care if you’re male, female, old, young–and all of them were there–you can’t look away. It’s out duty as Americans to go and cheer for the girl covered in tattoos who looks like she could kick everyone’s ass. And that’s exactly what I did.
Have you ever seen a room of grown men watch girls wrestle? It’s kind of like watching a room of grown men slow clap during the pivotal game moment in “Varsity Blues.” Words will never do it justice. I’ve never seen so many cell phones set to camera mode. I’ve never seen so many guys look that enthralled. Someone could have walked in and yelled “Free drinks for anyone with a penis” and not one of them would have left that room.
Since drunk half-naked girls don’t do much for Whitney, Sam and I, we spent the time remarking on the entire situation:
“Ooh she has a belly button ring, that can’t be good.”
“What happens if a boob falls out?” (Tourette’s guy and hot friend proceeded to laugh and reply with, “That’s a good thing.”)
“How drunk is she?”
“What self-respecting woman would do this?”
“I guess you’ve got to make rent somehow.”
“Check out the creeper in the corner.” (Tourettes guy: “It’s the most action he’s gotten in 15 years. Come on, you know you were thinking the same thing.”)
“Are we the only girls in here?”
Unfortunately, my girl (the tattooed bad ass) didn’t win. Then again, I was probably the only person cheering for someone. All the guys were cheering for team exposed breast. The next day Whitney wrote this on my Facebook wall:
things from the past 24 hours:
-failed attempt at being cultured
-car accident?
-cookies… yum
-furry hat and guilt present
-amazing food
-creepy old men in all denim
-bubbles and boobs
-hot guys
-stalking people in the parking lot looking for purple polo
-too much food
success.
Bikini wrestling, cute boys, and best friends again? Oh yes, definitely a success.
