Belligerence And Debauchery, "The Others" Style.
Part Deux: Saturday.
The Clown Car, The Hotness, The Downer.

RING-RING!
*what the fuck*
RING-RING!
*thump. ow.*
RING-RING!

I moan mercilessly, because the ringing of the phone feels like a Mike Tyson left hook to my head. I pick my head up far enough to pull my pillow out from under it, squint at the morning sunlight, and cover my head with the pillow. As I'm mumbling something about turning the phone off, someone pipes up and says that it's after 10 AM. I NEVER sleep this late. Then again, it's been quite a while since I've partied like a rock star too.

Somehow, in my altered state of consciousness, I deduce that I don't have a hangover. This is miraculous. Or more likely, I am still drunk. My throat hurts though, and I later realize this is because I spent a full six hours chain-smoking. I took a panicked second to look back through my "dialed calls" on my cell phone, and see "TheBoy Cell" about five times. Shit. So much for that whole "be patient with him, and let it happen" concept, as well as the whole "he likes the chase, let him chase you" idea. I immediately have a flood of terror coursing through my veins as I valiantly try to remember what I said to him. I feel all the color drain from my face.

Someone suggests breakfast. As the sub-standard gyro (meat of mystery origin) that I consumed at about 2 AM has since worn off, I agree that this is a prudent idea. I throw on a bra, and a pair or Mombi's flip-flops, and go to the lobby in my PJ's (trademark t-shirt and yoga pants). I took my phone with me, as I felt compelled to call TheBoy and apologize for whatever I said. We were too late for breakfast in the hotel, and the thought of eating yet more pizza from a boardwalk shop (what I ate at about 8 PM) was unappealing ... but somehow Mombi managed to convince the servers to give us lots of food "to go".

I stumbled out into the foyer and sat on the steps. I called TheBoy once, and then hung up before his voice mail picked up ... I didn't know quite what to say. Then I had the theme song of the weekend running through my head (to the tune of "Nothing" from "A Chorus Line" ... and I said, fuck it / i'm thinking / fuck it ...) and made the call. I left him this rambling apology in my "I've been up all night, smoked like a chimney, drank like a fish, and cursed like a sailor" voice, something to the effect of how sorry I was for interrupting his night, I hoped that he was having fun, and that due to my diminished capacity, that my ramblings were inadmissible in a court of law.

After leaving the voice mail, we all stumbled back upstairs to eat our bountiful breakfast of bagels and danishes. We had some OJ (without vodka, thankyouverymuch), and then got showers. I realized while I was in the shower that I smelled like L'Eau De Bar. You know ... that distinct combination scent of booze, sweat, and smoke. Nice. I washed my hair three times.

After we got dressed, we all decided that we wanted to go visit the Miss America museum and the famous Bert Parks statue. But, of course, we had 8 girls to transport and our second car was at Sands. What to do, what to do ... oh yeah, we'll just PILE INTO THE CR-V. Great idea, girlies! A drives, I call shotgun, and the rest of The Others pile into the car like the freaking Barnum-And-Bailey Clowns. Yes, three of them piled into the back deck. We took a wrong turn somehow, and ended up on White Horse Pike, almost to Absecon! After we pulled an illegal U-Turn (whoopsie, sorry about that), we got back on the road to the Sheraton. We all nearly cried with joy when we saw the sign: MISS AMERICA WAY. It's a religious experience.

We finally got the car parked, and piled out of it. We all but RAN to see the famed Bert Parks statue, where we took turns like retards getting "crowned". Did you know it has a motion sensor on it, that prompts it to play "There She Is" when you get under the crown. Classic. Here's a shot of my "crowning moment" ...



After this, we toured the Miss America museum. It was awesome to see some of the old artifacts, like the crowns and gowns throughout the years, the old swimsuits (ACK, I thought I'd never have to see a "supersuit" again), and even the kitschy board games and lunchboxes (one of which I own). Good times, good times. After that, we rode the elevators to every floor of the Sheraton to see the portraits in the hotel. We then decided that we were hungry, but didn't want to eat too much (as we had dinner reservations). Subway it is! We walked over to Subway, and got some sammiches, and called MAV on the phone. We really missed her, it's hard to party like that without her. Next year ...

Anyhow, we all went back to the clown car and pile in. Our scientific weather report (sticking our heads out the windows) says that it's about to rain, and if we want to "toe dip", we should bust some ass and do so quickly. We ran back to the hotel, grabbed the "hardware" (for those uninitiated folks, that means "crowns") and we were off to the beach. We luckily ran into AM there (apparently she had sobered up too) and she took some great photos.

Here's a one of us, in the surf:



And I think this one says it all ...



After this, it started to sprinkle. A few of us went shopping, and had to take a cab back. A few of us went back to the room, and started the process of getting GORGEOUS for the evening's festivities (like we had to work at it ... but anyways). We had dinner reservations at Rainforest Cafe, prior to going to the pageant.

We got all dolled up (I'm still coveting Mombi's chunky irr-uh-des-cent die-uh-mond rings), and headed down to the lobby. We crossed paths with one of the many bachelor parties, and as we filed past, we heard a few low whistles and even a "HOT DAMN". You know, it sure is reassuring to hear that you're still hot after all these years. We took photos, and took cabs to the restaraunt. Dinner was OK, tasty but overpriced, and we took some fun photos (more will be posted when other of the girlies get their stuff downloaded). And then ... the downer of the weekend ... the pageant.

Now, I know that the whole reason we made the trip was to go to Miss America. But really, after Amanda didn't make top ten, we really didn't care much to be there. Our views were terribly obstructed because of the TV stuff, and really we didn't feel much like partying. The crew from Louisiana was behind us, and they were funny. The crew from DC was in front of us, and they were SMASHED. They were funny drunks though. Alabama won, and we were all shocked (and less than thrilled). She may very well turn out to be a nice Miss America, but she's not the bombshell hottie that Miss America needed. Louisiana was.

Anyhow, after the show was over, we adjourned to the suite again. We mixed ourselves up some screwdrivers and other assorted drinks (except mojitos. we drank all those.), and just sat around and dished for a few hours. We talked about so much, but the highlight was the discussion about Z eating her leftover sub in the morning ... I mused that she should eat it for breakfast, as "every girl needs at least six inches in the morning".

This prompted tons of penis talk, and then the bombshell hit ... Z's revelation that she once slept with a man with a 12-incher. Yes, boys ... size DOES matter ... it can be TOO big. It was revealed that AC's beloved worked with this guy. So what do we do? WE CALL HIM AT 2 AM to confirm the size of this man's cock. Apparently, he's a good sport because even though he didn't know the goods, he still talked to us. The jury is still out on whether Z will see that man (or his penis) again. Somewhere amidst the talk of cock (can't recall if it was before or after the penis discussion), we also decided that we needed ... you guessed it ... more boardwalk pizza. We finally passed out at about 3 AM, because we had to be up the next day at 8:30 to make the drive home.

TOMORROW'S INSTALLMENT: The Drunk Dial That Changed The World.