Base of Cream & Sugar
There is something about riding in a cab; it transitions you into a New York state of mind. I never fully grasped the true experience until I slide across the worn leather seats and look on as our bossy Fannie Beacon gives the address to the driver. City dwellers seem to take this intimidating public transportation thing for granted here. Who would enjoy doing this on a daily basis? I think about the tranquility of driving within the comfort of my own vehicle, GPS at the ready. I appreciate it so much, especially now.
This metropolis is a different reality; a more specified species exists here. They have adapted to a quick pace and survival of the fittest can be taken quite literally. As for us foreigners; however, we can only hope that we will get the hang of this city’s rhythm. If you want to truly experience New York you have to not only act like you have done this before, but you also have to embrace your anxiety. This is a lesson by example and a necessary way of life apparently.
Just go on, pull up your big-girl panties, step into the street and hail a cab. No matter how daunting they are, don’t let them pass you by. Be warned, they are like horses; they sense your fear! Some encounters will result in excessive honking and rude gestures. And the moment you learn to naturally respond back with similar gestures, this is the real indication that you have transformed your shell. There is a thickness requirement here, mind you. Adaptation is key.
The radio plays some unfamiliar tune in the background as the SUV cab quickly cuts in front of a car that immediately blares its horn. I sit back and attempt to fasten my seat belt. The vinyl strap wraps around the side of the seat. I trace it with my fingers and feel something sticky.
“OMG ewe!” I shriek.
“Hey, you OK?” asks Bustie Mustuxet.
“Yea, I’m just trying to figure out how we are all going to get back in one piece.” I say.
I wipe my hand across the seat and look for the tiny bottle of hand sanitizer in my purse.
“I’ve been to this city many times. Don’t worry, we’ve got this!” she laughs.
Bustie Mustuxet points out some of the cute shops and restaurants as the cab passes the mounds of snow on the sidewalks. My mind begins to ease as I allow myself to enjoy the commotion around me. The buildings with their brilliant array of signs and ads float by as the cab zips from lane to lane. We are mesmerized by the activity on the streets. Everyone is rushing to be somewhere and they all seem to walk with a purpose. I’m so curious to know more about the lifestyle here. I couldn’t picture myself immersed in it. NYC is exactly what I have always imagined it to be. It’s exciting, it’s busy, and it offers a contagious energy that dares you to take it in all at once.
The van quickly shifts over one lane and slows in front of a building with a long awning. The second cab slowly follows behind and floats to a stop just as our driver jumps out and slides open the door for us. The girls laugh and talk loudly as the snap of cold air fills the cabin. A flurry of feathers and glitter floats around us as we exit onto the street. One by one we step out back into the unforgiving cold. Our feathers billow in the wind as we button and pull our winter gear in around our non-insulated ensembles. We are all wearing our heavy coats; our exotic outfits peak out and glimmer from beneath like poorly kept secrets. The bobble penises blink and dance as the brilliant feather boas fan out around our necks, framing our vibrantly painted faces.
Fannie Beacon clumsily rushes over to the second cab to make sure the precious cake box is supported and properly carried into the bar. The other girls delicately step on the pavement with their tall heels. The crowd of people standing within the entrance of the bar clears the way as our feathered flock clacks by. The bobbling headbands, blinking pins, bright feathers, and large white box being transported above the crowd, like a small coffin, compile what is our bachelorette ensemble.
We continue forward. People are questioning if we are the entertainment for the night as our lights flash and our feathers wave from beneath our various layers. I can hear the crowd’s curiosity,
“What is in the box?” they say.
“Could it be an offering?” asks one lady.
“HEY! HEY! What’s all this about?” calls one of the men standing at the bar.
“What show is this for? Oooooooooooo… I see a briiide!” chimes in another voice from the crowd.
We have the attention of the majority of the patrons as our bright flock cannot help but draw curious eyes our way.
Fannie Beacon chats loudly with the hostess,
“I reserved a large booth for our party…yes, it’s a Bachelorette…
There, I see it, that’s the name…”
Cricket Sunnyside and Mimi Magnolia are leading when they are suddenly met by two ladies who share the commonality of feather boas with our group. I notice the larger one has a massive amount of brown unkempt hair that is enveloping the faintly blinking headband on her head. She is wearing an entirely black ensemble that only people with beer goggles would find appealing. The tight clothing clings awkwardly to her heavy frame as she bustles about the group. Her chest reminds me of a what you would expect to see when a plumber bends over as he works. An unnatural and forced amount of sweaty flesh glares out; it is simply something one cannot “unsee”.
The bright phallic name-tag dangles from the side of her buxom chest. It glimmers “Juju Baumstreet”. She has a ragged coral feather boa that she has slipped over one shoulder like a sash. It’s being consumed by her white freckled cleavage.
Juju Baumstreet’s sidekick looks less than thrilled to have any attention. She is also wearing all black (including her boa). I catch a glimpse of her tag, it reads: “Wiggles Burbank”. She stands awkwardly beside Juju Baumstreet and sips on a bright green martini as she eyeballs the men who continually try to get our attention at the bar. Juju Baumstreet waves her hands toward the ladies in our group with the cake box and points toward the booths in the back of the bar.
“They have our booth ready, they just placed chips and waters on the table! Follow us to the back!” She yells.
The two new members of our party lead the way through the crowded bar. The back of Juju Baumstreet’s hair looks like a lion’s mane as it dances around with every move she makes. The crowds part as we pass, people are turning around in their chairs to get a glimpse. The cake hovers above Cricket Sunnyside and Mimi Magnolia as the flock makes its way over to the back booth.
“This damned cake is a pain in the ass! You would think we were transporting a miniature horse in this bitch!” complains Sugar Severn.
She walks along side the penis package as the wait staff offer to help them place it “somewhere safe”. I turn and notice that my sister is nowhere near our group. Wicket Beau Pre, in all her bride glory, is already accepting a shot from a group of men at the bar that have managed to lure her over. I can see them asking her to show her outfit.
She opens her heavy coat to reveal her feathers and multiple blinking dicks as the men whoop and holler. Her veil bounces around as she dances and sips the pink liquid from the shot glass. She is enjoying every minute of this attention. I walk over and tap her arm.
“Not SO fast Wicket Beau Pre! It’s only the beginning of the night, you need to pace yourself!” I say and give her a huge “let’s go” smile.
“Which it Boooo Prey the heck does that mean? chuckles one of the guys.
“It’s my street name… Wicket Beau Pre” she chimes back.
“Uhhh OK, that’s a first for me… what do you ladies drink?” asks the man closest to me.
They eyeball us like we are wild animals and examine the blinking dick baubles on the bride’s veil. Her green feather boa flutters as she chatters back and forth with everyone.
“Ohh I think I want martinis… we are here for the special…” she says.
“Y’all are so sweet but the bride’s party is waiting for her to come join us. Our night has only just begun…” I quickly say.
“Well if this girl is getting married SHE needs SHOTS! We gonna do shots” shouts one of the guys.
The men at the bar are all casually dressed in jeans, pull overs and button down shirts. The night is young and much like any bar crowd these guys are looking for fun and maybe a sprinkle or two of trouble.
…And, enter downstage right, Fannie Beacon…
menus in hand, bright pink dress, feather adorned, complete with blinking cocks and a bright bobble headband. The crowd opens around her as she makes her dramatic approach.
“Hey boys! If you want to make the bride’s night why don’t you buy our group a round?” She asks.
“Damn girl, you are dicktastic!” shouts one of the men.
“Where’s your table? Can we come say hello to the rest of your crew?” asks one of the men.
“Sure! We’d love that! Just c’mon over!” she chirps.
She weaves her arms though Wicket Beau Pre and my thick coats and pulls us both to her sides like we are about to start a Rockettes’ kick line.
“Let’s go girls, everyone is at the table ready for martinis! Boys you can come find us… we are in the back booth” she says and winks at the guys as we begin to walk together back to our designated roost.
“It’s about damned time!” shouts Cricket Sunnyside over the crowd as she spots us approaching the booth.
“Where have you girls been?” asks Bustie Mistuxet.
Bustie Mistuxet points to a spot next to her for me to take. Fannie Beacon and Wicket Beau Pre motion for everyone else stand on the opposite side. They climb over the seats with their flashing feathers, high heels, bobble penises, and full coats brushing over everything to sit in the center of the booth. The other girls straighten up their outfits and squeeze back in. Juju Baumstreet pulls up a chair in front of the table and starts helping herself to the large bowl of potato chips (sour cream and onion) as we all check out the martini menus. She squeezes her fingers in around her heaving tits to fish for crumbs as she briefs the menu options.
“MMM, chocolate and butterscotch anything sounds amazing to me…” she sighs.
“This is awesome you can get 2 martinis for ten bucks! Look they have a ton of yummy sounding flavors,” Bustie Mistuxet announces to everyone.
“They have a grasshopper one…I love mint and I’m a cricket tonight… ooo they are relatives! They both chirp so I’m definitely trying that one,” giggles Cricket Sunnyside.
“Isn’t it awesome? We have to hurry and order because their happy hour ends in like 44 minutes. That guy at the bar is going to come over and buy us a round so everyone hurry and pick two!” quickly insists Fannie Beacon.
“Ooooooooo it’s great to be a bride! The Cosmo is a must for me annnnd I think I want an apple one too” says Wicket Beau Pre.
She straightens her flashing dick veil. The large plastic pink glowing diamond on her ring finger keeps getting tangled in her hair and she huffs loudly. Patches Millgate leans over and helps her with the cumbersome bridal attire. Bubbles Esplanade and Prissy Longvue are taking selfie after selfie.
“No, I hate that one! It’s my fat side. Hold on let me push up my titties!” fusses Prissy Longvue.
The group of young men from the bar; each toting a bottle of beer, walk up to the booth.
“Hey ladies, we had to come see what all the commotion is about. We saw the bride and would like to congratulate you for being the brightest girl in the place. I mean, sunglasses are a must with this bunch!”says the ringleader.
He’s in jeans with a button down shirt, sleeves rolled up. The girls giggle and make small talk with his buddies. Their group crowds around behind Juju Baumstreet as she turns awkwardly, still chewing on chips, to see them. One of the guys stands behind her and stares at her mane in disgust. Fannie Beacon sits up and clears her throat loudly.
“Well!” Shouts Fannie Beacon.”I do recall a promised round of drinks for the ladies!” She smiles.
She raises her eyebrows at the guys and leans on her hands trying to do a cute pout (it looks like she’s about to fall across the table) as she heaves forward allowing her chest to spill over her tight blouse.
“Sure thing, but I at least get a dance with the blinking bride!” Insists the button down barfly.
“I wanna dance tooooooo!” Cries out Mimi Magnolia.
The girls stand and let Wicket Beau Pre out to join the group of guys. Some of the other girls are chatting with his entourage and decide to follow Wicket Beau Pre‘s lead because, well of course, they wanted to dance! The waitress walks over and the young man motions her to him.
“A round for the lovely bride’s group, you know my tab…” he smiles.
He takes my sister’s hand and leads her back toward the small dance floor near the bar. His entourage shadows them as Cricket Sunnyside and Mimi Magnolia name off their two martinis to the waitress. They trot behind the crew, cameras in hand, feathers flashing, through the crowd and they make their way to the dance floor. As the songs become more upbeat the girls go back and forth to the dance floor from our table. Some of the them have started to haunt the DJ’s booth with their requests and flirty attempts to make announcements on the mic.
My sister has this one song that she loves to request for karaoke/ dance and it is always the go to on her list. I now know what is about to happen. As our mother always says, “the writing is on the wall“.
The next thing I see is Wicket Beau Pre being lifted by her new brawny towel man. Then, in all her blinking and feather frilled glory, she walks on top of the bar as people move their drinks out of her way. She is now beginning her uncoordinated moves as she wheels her left arm to the music and holds her right arm in the air as she wiggles her hips The crowd whistles and claps along.
Cricket Sunnyside, always wanting to be a center of attention, clumsily climbs up from some random guy’s bar stool as he sits there smiling from ear to ear. She steps up on his leg, brushes his face with her chest, passes over his head with her short skirt and steps up onto the bar. The crowd gets louder as she turns and shakes her ass. Vanilla Ice blares through the bar as the bride squeals and continues to swing her arms around. Cricket Sunnyside wiggles and jerks, as she screams along to the music, and almost knocks over a woman’s glass. One of the bar-backs rushes over and helps her down. Then he quickly moves on to the bride who is still lip sinking “Ice Ice Baby!” The crowd cheers and the guys hand them bright pink shots when they make it back to the group. The girls quickly throw the neon liquid into their throats before scampering back to the table for their awaiting martinis.
“Well, we only have time for one round because our reservation is for 8 at LIPs. Drink up ladies I’ve already called the cabs” shouts Fannie Beacon.
“That sucks! I wanted more martinis!” whines Bubbles Esplanade.
“Believe me we have much more fun to come after this!” promises Fannie Beacon.
“If we didn’t take so long to get ready we could’ve enjoyed the entire cocktail hour, but NO! There was no way we could have all changed, powdered the pooch and done our hair & make up there was zero time! We had like thirty minutes.” complains Skippy Perkins.
“It’s called Happy Hour….Shut up and chug bitch.” snaps Boomer Southshore.
The girls hurry to finish their drinks and fish out their coats from the wavering pile of jackets that are layered over the back of the booth. Bustie Mistuxet hands me my coat and helps me with my boa.
“I don’t know about you but I am ready to see some amazing queens tonight!” she smiles.
The white cake box hovers over the crowd as the flock makes it way back to the front of the bar.
“Prepare the penis for transport!” Announces Mimi Magnolia.
Our entire group cheers and erupts into laughter.
People call to the bride and yell “CONGRATULATIONS!” as she leads the way with Fannie Beacon and the hovering white box.
The yellow cabs are waiting in front of the long awning.
The night is ready for our next fun and feather filled stop…