Thursday, April 14, 2011

I Got Your Question Party Right Here!

So I’ve noticed a new “thing” on Facebook that completely puzzles me. I’m seeing more and more friends using the “Question Party” application. Have you seen this? They answer random yes-or-no questions about their friends that the computer randomly selects. I’m not really sure what it’s all about, but because more friends have answered questions about me, I’ve started at least clicking on the link. I doubt I’ll play along, though.

Why? Well, for one thing, I spend enough time on Facebook as it is and don’t need to start playing games on there. Heck, I used to tease a certain someone I’m married to (but who shall remain nameless) when he was totally into the whole Café World and Farming thing on Facebook. He could spend HOURS goofing around on there.

One time when we were visiting my relatives in northern Michigan, he even borrowed my cousin’s computer to log onto his Farm so he wouldn’t “lose” his crops! What’s more, when he had to leave the computer for a few minutes to take a shower, he practically begged me to finish harvesting his crops for him! (We weren’t married yet. So I did it. I know, I know – the things we do for love.)

Anyway, I’m always a little suspicious when any application on Facebook asks to access all my information. What sort of information are they looking for? My checking account info? My social security number? Who knows what they’d find on my computer. And, yeah, I’m guessing they’re really just looking for the list of my friends so they can get me to answer questions about them so we can all be sucked into their game-playing trap. Seems a little diabolical. Or maybe it’s just me.

The worst thing is, I was a little afraid to read the questions on this Question Party thing – and even more afraid to read the answers. It’d be like junior high all over again – I might get embarrassed over an answer or I might think someone didn’t like me. Oh, the horror and humiliation!

Fortunately, the questions are fairly benign. For the most part. Like, for instance, the newest question was whether or not I’d help a little old lady across the street. The answer was (thankfully) “yes.” At least that friend thinks of me as sort of a nice person.

Other questions were if my friends thought I’d give people the benefit of the doubt (yes), if I was a geek in high school (no) and if I’m a little selfish (no).


But then right smack in the middle of all those questions was a whopper. The question was if my friend thought I’d ever visited a strip club. And the answer? “Yes.” Ack! I have friends who think I’ve visited a strip club?? What sort of woman do they think I am??

But, um, the worst thing about it? The answer IS “yes.”

You should know, however, that I was an innocent bystander in the whole sordid event. At the start of the evening I had absolutely no inkling that I’d be darkening the doorway of any such establishment.

See, it was New Year’s Eve – the big one where we weren’t sure if all the computers around the world were going to crash because they wouldn’t know how to change from “1999” to “2000”. Well, that New Year’s Eve I drove to Pittsburgh with my good and, apparently, not-to-be-trusted friend. We’ll call him Adam. My impression was that we were going to meet some friends out for dinner, have a few adult beverages and watch the fireworks that were going to be set off over the river at midnight. Sounds fun – right?

Well, we met these people for dinner and had a lovely time. Enjoyed some good food and good wine and made all sorts of toasts to the New Year to come.

After we ate, the only other woman at our table got up to use the ladies room. And I nearly fell out of my chair when I saw her figure. It was mostly not real. Or at least the upper portion of her body was mostly not real. I tried not to stare, but none of the women in my circle are so surgically enhanced and I wanted to see if she was able to remain upright without toppling over.

This was my first clue, although I wasn’t yet connecting the dots.

When we left to walk to our next destination, this woman – let’s call her Barbie – lagged behind to “chat” with me. She linked her arm through mine and, towering over me in her 4” heels, pulled me along and informed me that we were going to the place where she works. And that I’d have a lot of fun. I thought, hey, great, I’m up for some fun. It is, after all, New Year’s Eve!

Silly, innocent Jane. STILL not connecting the dots. So she had to spell it out for me – that we were going to a strip club. Only I think she called it a “Gentlemen’s Club.”

Me, being the subtle woman-of-the-world sort of person that I am, stopped dead in my tracks on the sidewalk with my mouth gaping open in shock wondering how in the world I was going to get out of this one.

My friend Adam and the other guys, meanwhile, had practically sprinted ahead of us and were already inside this, uh, “Gentlemen’s Club.”

Since I (a) hadn’t driven and didn’t have the car keys physically on my person, (b) couldn’t have gotten myself back to the garage where we’d parked without a map and a tour guide, and (c) was about an hour from home and couldn’t afford the astronomical cab fare it would have taken to get me back there, I didn’t have any choice but to be reluctantly dragged inside. And, yes, there were naked women in there!

At least I didn't have to pay a cover charge since I was with Barbie.

I can’t really tell you anything else about the place because I pretty much plastered myself against the wall near the bar and refused to look anywhere but at the male bartender. Oh, I probably gave my friend Adam dirty looks from time to time, but I don’t imagine he was paying a bit of attention to me when the rest of the scenery was ever so much more interesting. I think someone even handed me a dollar to give to one of the, uh, dancers, but there was no freakin’ way. I could not play along and act like it was just another day in the life.

Eventually, my friend took pity on me and we left to go watch the fireworks over the river.

The next day my parents came to visit and blithely asked me what I’d done for New Year’s Eve. So I told ‘em. They weren’t as shocked as I expected they’d be and instead laughed at my horrified retelling of the story.

My friend Adam was, in turn, horrified to hear that I’d actually admitted it to my parents – and begged me not to be so forthcoming with his mother who was also sure to ask me where we’d gone for New Year’s Eve.

So the answer to the question if I've ever been in a strip club is, sadly, "yes."

But, more importantly, would I ever go back to a strip club? Well, the answer to that would be a resounding NO! Once was wayyy more than enough!

Any other questions?!

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