The Clermont

Ah yes, my previous drunk posting definitely left out some key details. It is, in fact, a little weird and creepy and awkward to go to a strip club with your brother on his birthday. But the Clermont is a far cry from, say, the Pink Pony. In fact, it's an Atlanta institution, and on Saturday nights features the best dance party in town. The rest of the week, well, the rest of the week it's a mostly sad little dive bar featuring equal parts hipsters and alcoholics. But as the brother's birthday was on a Wednesday night, and he was displeased with the 12:45am last call, the bartender at the Irish pub recommended the Clermont and there was no denying a tourist excursion with hopes of seeing Blondie crush a PBR can between her boobs. You see, the strippers at the Clermont are all, well, interesting. And bitter and funny and yell at the patrons. So it's an adventure. We had already agreed to add bowling to our evening (my friend has recently become obsessed with our all-night bowling alley, and the promise of more beer convinced my brother). So the strip club was just a brief detour, and it was easy to convince to boys to stick around only long enough for one beer. The End.

The brother left yesterday, the parents leave tomorrow. Hopefully a return to 'normal' blogging will ensue shortly thereafter.