The Angel of Cloud 9.

So, I have a story.

It was the Fall semester of my sophomore year at Abilene Christian University, and I was feeling ballsy. Moreover, I was employed at Spaghetti Warehouse. Time of my life. Anyway, after work one night this boy I worked with, Quinn, asked if I would like to ever hang out. Apprehensive to commit, knowing that I never actually wanted to hang out, I said sure. As we were exchanging digits, he mentioned something going on after I got off work. Something exciting, no doubt. This is Abilene, Texas.

I was counting my $21 dollars profit after a lively night at Spag House, when I received the text message that started it all. Quinn informed me that he and a couple of his friends were hanging out that night and I was cordially invited. Omg!

As I mentioned, I was a sophomore. As I failed to mention, Quinn was a Freshman. Shut up.

At ACU in the year 2008, if you were a Freshman - you had a weekend curfew, unless you "checked out" to someone's house. Now, the little brats don't have a curfew. But that's besides the point. Quinn and his freshman buddies picked me up in his friend, Mark's truck. Mark, Quinn and the guy whom I refer to as the "group douche" planned to buy beer at the gas station on Judge Ely notorious for selling to underage drinkers. This was before my drinking time, so I was indifferent to the plan. But you can bet your ass if cops questioned me, I was already thinking up an elaborate story to tell them. Something about how these boys I didn't even know just picked me up as I was taking a nightly stroll down Judge Ely and forced beer in my hand and blankets on my body and threw me in the backseat of their truck.

I'm sure you're anticipating me revealing that we wound up at a raging party, full of college cliches and MIPs... but we wound up trespassing on a lake shore that spilled into a lake that was unswimmable. It was freezing, so the Freshman cuties brought the beer and blankets to keep warm. I would venture to say they brought me along to keep warm as well. I'll take it as a compliment.

Either Quinn is a ridiculous lightweight or he had been drinking long before they picked me up because within 15  minutes of us arriving to the poison lake his pants were around his ankles and he was peeing everywhere. Group douche was too busy inviting other Freshman girls looking for scandal that the pee shower didn't really phase him. Moreover, Mark and I had a decent chat about various things that could have easily been covered on Facebook chat in the warmth of my dorm room, but it was pleasant enough.

It got too cold for me to play pranks on pee pee head, so I asked casually when everybody would be heading back. Freshman boys + booze = lame jokes at anything the token non-slut says. After they were through making fun of me for being cold and tired, and after Quinn emptied his tiny tank one last time, we left.

We dropped Quinn off at his Texas Chainsaw Massacre home in the back woods of Abilene. Shortly thereafter, I accidentally fell asleep  on the way back because Mark got lost. Group douche would have driven but he was drunk, [poor Mark was merely a Freshman and "I'm a female". These boys were complete not only with lame ass jokes but misogynistic ones.

Every girl's dream. No wonder we got lost.

The truck stopped and I sat up anticipating to see the warm, welcoming outer penitentiary-esque shell of A.B Morris Hall... only to discover the warm, welcoming outer venereal disease-soaked shell of Cloud 9. The shittier Abilene strip club. And by "shittier" I mean both low-class and that there was shit plastered all over the walls. I even think I saw someone finger their name, number and endearing message out of one of the smearings. Anyway, my moral compass and I refused to walk into that place. GD and Mark pleaded with me, trying to convince me to go in with them by dishing out all the benefits of going like: BYOB and an entry fee of $10. Jackasses.

I caved. Only because I didn't want to be left out in the cold, in an almost stranger's truck, in the parking lot of a strip club, at 2 in the morning. We walked in, and I'm sure you can imagine what my virgin teenage eyes saw: scantily clad, overweight, too old and too young women gyrating and pulsating on a metal pole stricken with STDs centered on a  7x7 wooden stage, adorned with strategically placed mirrors.

After I paid my dues, and declined a job offer, I sat with my knees to my chin on a couch probably soaked in jizz and Natty Light, and stared at the ground. If ever I looked up to take a breath there were endless amounts of vagina attacking my line of sight. Mark and Douche looked awkward, paranoid and pleased. Awkward, because they are prepubescents chillaxin' in a janky strip club with a girl they just met, paranoid because I'm fairly certain an undercover cop was giving them the stink eye from across the room and pleased because they are prepubescents chillaxin' in a janky strip club with a girl they just met.

It was the longest hour of my life.

But, I think God was trying to tell me something. He sent me an Angel. She was a blond, seemingly petite 20 year old who dropped out of Cisco Junior College to strip full time. Angel was wearing a letter jacket, bra and thong with giant ass shoes. I gained valuable knowledge whilst talking with Angel. If I want to hide my money from the IRS, robbers, my parents, or my roommates all I have to do is buy some stripper shoes. They're hollow and completely useful. They have a movable slat that comes in the sole of the shoe that lets you put money inside of it. That way you don't have to keep it in your pants. Or lack thereof.

After declining yet another job offer, learning about the usability of 6 inch platforms and when strippers can touch a customer, where they can do it and how much it would cost, we left.

I got back to Morris and immediately took a shower. Afterwards, I put on my high heels, my bikini and popped in "Pretty Woman".