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An Age Old Conundrum

I’ve never been one to celebrate Valentine’s Day. I don’t buy Hallmark cards commemorating the occasion for my son or my parents (seriously, save a tree people). I don’t send mass texts to my friends. Even in a serious relationship, the best a man is apt to get from me is a meal out … and that’s only if he asks. I tend to conform to the belief that, if you really love someone, you should show them you care all year long.

This year, however, an interesting, almost anti V-day event, caught my attention and lured me from my home to Atlanta’s oldest strip club, The Clermont Lounge, for some cupid inspired debauchery. I mean, really, what’s better than a lap dance from someone’s grandma (as long as it’s not mine) and one too many vodka shots to celebrate what is, perhaps, the most annoying of ‘holidays.’

As if making an excursion to The Clermont Lounge wasn’t enough, my friend Shawn’s all female Elvis tribute bank, The Pelvis Breastlies, and the Black Lips rang in the wee hours with some foot stomping fun at A-Town’s favorite dive bar. There was no shortage of culture vultures in attendance, including many of our fine city’s media mavericks, PR mavens, tattoo artists and other miscellaneous and as sundry late night connoisseurs, which made for a lively crowd of misfits with lowered inhibitions (thank you depression, desperation and alcohol).

I didn’t learn much on my first, of what is sure to be many, Valentine’s Day trips to the Clermont Lounge, but four things are for certain:

1. Cheap vodka is not my friend. I can hear your collective gasps as you process this information. I know, I know, this should come as no big surprise and is, admittedly, shocking that I had to learn this lesson the hard way. Apparently, I’m too damned old to imbibe the cheap shit and will, forthwith, be going back to my old vodka standby Belvedere … hello lover … to avoid potentially embarrassing behavior and the relentless headache that is sure to descend the following day.

2. Blondie looks different with clothes on. To be fair, I’ve only ever seen Blondie when she’s crushing beer cans between her strong man tits, so it took me a good 60 seconds to realize that it was, indeed, her introducing the bands before the show began. Imagine my surprise when I stumbled upon the realization that she more closely resembles a middle school PTA mom than a Clermont Lounge stripper when clad in her normal wardrobe.

I’ve never been one to celebrate Valentine’s Day. I don’t buy Hallmark cards commemorating the occasion for my son or my parents (seriously, save a tree people). I don’t send mass texts to my friends. Even in a serious relationship, the best a man is apt to get from me is a meal out … and that’s only if he asks. I tend to conform to the belief that, if you really love someone, you should show them you care all year long.

This year, however, an interesting, almost anti V-day event, caught my attention and lured me from my home to Atlanta’s oldest strip club, The Clermont Lounge, for some cupid inspired debauchery. I mean, really, what’s better than a lap dance from someone’s grandma (as long as it’s not mine) and one too many vodka shots to celebrate what is, perhaps, the most annoying of ‘holidays.’

As if making an excursion to The Clermont Lounge wasn’t enough, my friend Shawn’s all female Elvis tribute bank, The Pelvis Breastlies, and the Black Lips rang in the wee hours with some foot stomping fun at A-Town’s favorite dive bar. There was no shortage of culture vultures in attendance, including many of our fine city’s media mavericks, PR mavens, tattoo artists and other miscellaneous and as sundry late night connoisseurs, which made for a lively crowd of misfits with lowered inhibitions (thank you depression, desperation and alcohol).

I didn’t learn much on my first, of what is sure to be many, Valentine’s Day trips to the Clermont Lounge, but four things are for certain:

1. Cheap vodka is not my friend. I can hear your collective gasps as you process this information. I know, I know, this should come as no big surprise and is, admittedly, shocking that I had to learn this lesson the hard way. Apparently, I’m too damned old to imbibe the cheap shit and will, forthwith, be going back to my old vodka standby Belvedere … hello lover … to avoid potentially embarrassing behavior and the relentless headache that is sure to descend the following day.

2. Blondie looks different with clothes on. To be fair, I’ve only ever seen Blondie when she’s crushing beer cans between her strong man tits, so it took me a good 60 seconds to realize that it was, indeed, her introducing the bands before the show began. Imagine my surprise when I stumbled upon the realization that she more closely resembles a middle school PTA mom than a Clermont Lounge stripper when clad in her normal wardrobe.

3. Boots in the back hurt. I’m sure some rowdy miscreant is nursing a swollen imprint of my size 10 boots on his back at this very moment. Why, you ask? Because a girl can only take so much of a huge, sweaty guy starting a mosh pit in a very small space, that’s why! My solution for stopping such brutish behavior after a couple of cheap vodka shots? Put your foot in his back before he can slam into you again. That’ll learn ‘em but good.

4. The Pelvis Breastlies rock the house. I’ve been meaning to check out this band’s live performance since I first wrote an article on them for MyDailyThread back in April 2010. Sadly, I’m about as dependable when it comes to late nights out as a cat would be as a lifeguard. These girls have some serious chops, people! I’m so glad I wrote such a nice article about them back when.

So, that’s what I learned on my first annual Clermont Lounge Valentine’s Day. Here’s hoping there’s no photographic evidence floating around out there.

mpruden

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