Yes, I know, "the" is not normally capitalized. Since "The Pink Door" is the name of the establishment, in this case it is. So there!

About a month ago, a (female, hot, but with boyfriend) friend of mine (referred to as G. forthwith) called me up and asked me if I wanted to go to a burlesque show at The Pink Door. Now, I've heard the word "burlesque" before, and I had been led to believe it was a combination of comedy, song and dance acts, and the occasional bit of risque theatre. It sounded like fun, and this particular friend of mine has a way of mixing my life up, so I said sure.

So, I headed down to The Pink Door on my own via bus. I had every intention of relaxing a bit, and downing some booze. The only thing I knew is that I would be met at The Pink Door by T., who was G.'s boyfriend's sister. T. is underage, but through her modeling work (T. is a fashion model, complete with anorexic look that repulses me) knew the producer for the show, and was able to get in anyways. When I arrived, I found T. and two older Italian gentlemen (unsure of age - I would guess that R. was between me and T. in age, while the other was much older.) at a table. R. earns his moniker from the fact that he was hitting on T. something strong. I end up getting the seat next to T.; R. is sitting across from her. While waiting for everybody else to show up, I order a rum and coke...

...when Gaius Baltar walks in and sits down at a table between me and the stage.

No, I am not shitting you.

Assume for a moment, that Battlestar Galactica is a recreation of events that occurred, and that each of the characters had some physical resemblance to the people they really were. That's what this guy looked like - the hair, the overly pretentious jacket, the smarmy air of smug self-confidence.

He sat down at a table, and ordered a martini.

I finish my rum and coke, and I'm watching the door for G. and my friends. A tall, attractive leggy blonde walks through the door...

And joins Gaius at his table.

Fuck me with a chainsaw. I order a whiskey sour. My friends show up. The show starts. Rather than being a variety show, it's a nonstop strip show ending up in pasties and undies. G. is sitting on one side of me, T. is sitting on the other. T. is flirting with R. (R. from Romeo, natch) and at the same time, she's rubbing her leg up against mine. I'm socking back whiskey sours like there's no tomorrow, and with Gaius Baltar and Six laughing over martinis as women strip in front of me, and two members of the mafia flirt with a young woman who is currently trying to have leg sex with my kneecap, there may very well be no tomorrow for me.

After about the third or fourth whiskey sour, I get to the point where I'm really enjoying all of this. I mean ALL of this. G. also recognizes Gaius independently, and is also somewhat freaked out by the Six resemblance.

That was a wild night. No, I didn't get the girl, but I didn't want that one. That's another story for another time...

I lost count, but I had a rum 'n coke and seven or eight whiskey sours in a two hour period. Yes, I was drunk. No, I didn't have a hangover the next morning.

And I had fun.