OK, I have not been on this site since 2006, but alas I have been waiting for some work to come in and got bored and decided to do a little blog searching for something cool to read. Holy moly am I not disappointed!!!! This is by far the best review of the White Isle seen through an American's eyes that I have ever read. I went there in 2005 with a bunch of my buddies, and I tried to keep a journal in hopes of recreating something like this, but could never duplicate my experience. My favorite part thus far in this review was the walk home from Space where he inevitably just started dancing in the street! I had a nearly similar experience on our last night walking home from some god-forsaken bar called Lucifer's that we were coaxed into going into for 40 euros. The memory of 'walking on clouds' with my best friend is still the longest lasting memory I have had from my visit to Ibiza. Cheers to you, letsgetdownanddirty!!!
An American in Ibiza 2008
- Thread starter letsgetdownanddirtybaby
- Start date
WeLuvIbiza
Active Member
Any more experiences to share?
Just re-read the whole thread and it has brightened up a dull Monday
Just re-read the whole thread and it has brightened up a dull Monday
letsgetdownanddirtybaby
Active Member
The great Train(what?) and Buss Adventure
Started to write but ran out of editing time...will post tomorrow.
Started to write but ran out of editing time...will post tomorrow.
letsgetdownanddirtybaby
Active Member
The Great Escape
Getting back to Ibiza on the same day after watching a soccer match was going to be a challenge. In the US, when a football game ends, there are eighty thousand plus trying to get home through the equivalent of sand passing through an hour glass. Not so in Liverpool. I had no idea it was so easy to get to the trains. I had even purchased tickets on two separate airlines at different times in different cities. The Manchester airport was such an early flight we would have had to leave the stadium before the end of the game and that didn't happen. Not after the Torres first goal any way. My alternate plan was to do the train thing to London. When we got to the Liverpool station, they put us on a buss since the train was “under repair.†What kind of crazy system chooses a Sunday during a sports match to do maintenance on the train system? I was spouting out about how different life would be at that moment had Mussolini had his way…at least the trains would be on time and all of that. It was the first and last time in my life I verbally approved of fascism and it didn't go over well with onlookers. Turns out the English really weren't amused.
An hour later and after a nerve wrenching buss ride; we actually made the train connection in Birmingham and got to London on time. The VIP lounge for the discount airline I had purchased tickets for turned out to be closed on Sundays. Why would they let you buy specific day tickets for a lounge they knew was closed on that day? WTF? At this point, my buzz was getting thin so we sat in the main terminal and ordered some twenty dollars each (weak) drinks. The genius behind the bar broke the cash register and refused to give back my credit card until the drinks could be paid for. I was out of cash so we had to wait until he could fix the credit card machine.
First Boarding call…complaints from me mount…explanations of world crisis and how they relate to this exact moment are not helping genius boy fix anything but it seems to calm me to rant with inside jokes about immigrants the poor kid could not begin to understand in this lifetime.
Second boarding call…I begin to throw the ice from my drink at the kids back since he is still ignoring my pleas to return my card. A manager “MUST BE CALLED†he states. The radio is out and he's off to the other side of the circular counter to actually help someone else, ignoring my flabbergasted looks and insults in English with an accent to help him understand how desperate the situation is. He does not understand no matter how much accent I add or how many “Please to returning's†I put in front of my choppy sentences.
Final boarding call…. Screw it…I go around the counter and grab the card and yell at the kid as we run away, “SUE ME†and we take off through the boarding gate to the plane. The door is being shut as we try to enter the plane like some kind of bad movie. The stew puts us in the back of the plane in seats that are not what I paid for. Par for the course at this point so as the plane is taxing I show the sky waitress the itinerary I pulled from my wallet showing the extra leg room and “Champagne†that should be served as part of the ticket price. She leads us to two extra leg room seats with an apology. Weirdness continues as these are the only two seats left on the plane and their computer system has made some sort of glitch leaving two seats open for overbooked flight. She asks for and keeps my itinerary to go over with the “home office.â€
Ten minutes later and airborne, what could pass for “Champagne†only over the English Channel is in my glass. I'm desperate to keep my buzz going so I choke it down with no minimum exaggerated expressions of distaste. G will have nothing to do with it since he just wanted to sit in the seats they gave us originally and everyone is looking at him as though he is a party to my “Diva†like drunken actions.
The plane touches down in Ibiza, its dark outside, and I feel nothing like when I first arrived. Only happy to be wrapped in a slice of paradise that is Ibiza for a few more days. The alcohol has dulled the excitement to a bare minimum and I'm counting my blessings I wasn't arrested, stuck in England, or beaten up by at least four people who would have been justified in removing any number of my teeth.
Getting back to Ibiza on the same day after watching a soccer match was going to be a challenge. In the US, when a football game ends, there are eighty thousand plus trying to get home through the equivalent of sand passing through an hour glass. Not so in Liverpool. I had no idea it was so easy to get to the trains. I had even purchased tickets on two separate airlines at different times in different cities. The Manchester airport was such an early flight we would have had to leave the stadium before the end of the game and that didn't happen. Not after the Torres first goal any way. My alternate plan was to do the train thing to London. When we got to the Liverpool station, they put us on a buss since the train was “under repair.†What kind of crazy system chooses a Sunday during a sports match to do maintenance on the train system? I was spouting out about how different life would be at that moment had Mussolini had his way…at least the trains would be on time and all of that. It was the first and last time in my life I verbally approved of fascism and it didn't go over well with onlookers. Turns out the English really weren't amused.
An hour later and after a nerve wrenching buss ride; we actually made the train connection in Birmingham and got to London on time. The VIP lounge for the discount airline I had purchased tickets for turned out to be closed on Sundays. Why would they let you buy specific day tickets for a lounge they knew was closed on that day? WTF? At this point, my buzz was getting thin so we sat in the main terminal and ordered some twenty dollars each (weak) drinks. The genius behind the bar broke the cash register and refused to give back my credit card until the drinks could be paid for. I was out of cash so we had to wait until he could fix the credit card machine.
First Boarding call…complaints from me mount…explanations of world crisis and how they relate to this exact moment are not helping genius boy fix anything but it seems to calm me to rant with inside jokes about immigrants the poor kid could not begin to understand in this lifetime.
Second boarding call…I begin to throw the ice from my drink at the kids back since he is still ignoring my pleas to return my card. A manager “MUST BE CALLED†he states. The radio is out and he's off to the other side of the circular counter to actually help someone else, ignoring my flabbergasted looks and insults in English with an accent to help him understand how desperate the situation is. He does not understand no matter how much accent I add or how many “Please to returning's†I put in front of my choppy sentences.
Final boarding call…. Screw it…I go around the counter and grab the card and yell at the kid as we run away, “SUE ME†and we take off through the boarding gate to the plane. The door is being shut as we try to enter the plane like some kind of bad movie. The stew puts us in the back of the plane in seats that are not what I paid for. Par for the course at this point so as the plane is taxing I show the sky waitress the itinerary I pulled from my wallet showing the extra leg room and “Champagne†that should be served as part of the ticket price. She leads us to two extra leg room seats with an apology. Weirdness continues as these are the only two seats left on the plane and their computer system has made some sort of glitch leaving two seats open for overbooked flight. She asks for and keeps my itinerary to go over with the “home office.â€
Ten minutes later and airborne, what could pass for “Champagne†only over the English Channel is in my glass. I'm desperate to keep my buzz going so I choke it down with no minimum exaggerated expressions of distaste. G will have nothing to do with it since he just wanted to sit in the seats they gave us originally and everyone is looking at him as though he is a party to my “Diva†like drunken actions.
The plane touches down in Ibiza, its dark outside, and I feel nothing like when I first arrived. Only happy to be wrapped in a slice of paradise that is Ibiza for a few more days. The alcohol has dulled the excitement to a bare minimum and I'm counting my blessings I wasn't arrested, stuck in England, or beaten up by at least four people who would have been justified in removing any number of my teeth.
letsgetdownanddirtybaby
Active Member
An Evening of Missed Opportunity
All the running around England was to get back in time for Hed Kandy and we were back just before a late Ibiza Supper. The cab landed us at the Jet Apartments and the closest place to eat was an outside venue just to the right of the Jets entrance. I stumbled up to a table more “Trading Places†Santa drunk than my usual snappy “Arthurâ€. No one actually appreciates a belligerent drunk, including the spanish waiter I kept calling "Garcon", and dinner was short lived. Half a bottle of wine later, G'd had enough and just said that he wanted to save the remaining energy he had for Disco Invaders Closing at Amnesia. Of course I cursed and acted like I was completely pissed about all the running around. I went up to the apartment to change, fell asleep on the bed with the window open and a cool breeze with light rain pittering on the overhand.
Hed Kandy might have been f'ing A for all I know. I slept through what might have been my fantasy night:
1. Finding the right out of your skull roll and having plenty of it
2. Meeting and partying with a new group of friends who are also not broke
3. Hearing music that you know and have missed in a cold venue
4. Catching the perfect (easily orgasmic and skinny) girl on a non bleeding night and fooling around before you even leave the club.
(Okay, the last part is a bit much but it's my fantasy and the bleeding part has actually ruined it in the past, what a terrible let down..isnt' there some kind of law that the girl is required to let you know or something?)
5. Add that it turns into some kind of actual relationship and you're living the dream..you always have the upper hand beacause she was the slutty one on the first date.
So for Hed Kandy, I'll be back. It's top of my list next trip and should prove worthy of more than a disappointing paragraph citing unfulfilled dreams.
All the running around England was to get back in time for Hed Kandy and we were back just before a late Ibiza Supper. The cab landed us at the Jet Apartments and the closest place to eat was an outside venue just to the right of the Jets entrance. I stumbled up to a table more “Trading Places†Santa drunk than my usual snappy “Arthurâ€. No one actually appreciates a belligerent drunk, including the spanish waiter I kept calling "Garcon", and dinner was short lived. Half a bottle of wine later, G'd had enough and just said that he wanted to save the remaining energy he had for Disco Invaders Closing at Amnesia. Of course I cursed and acted like I was completely pissed about all the running around. I went up to the apartment to change, fell asleep on the bed with the window open and a cool breeze with light rain pittering on the overhand.
Hed Kandy might have been f'ing A for all I know. I slept through what might have been my fantasy night:
1. Finding the right out of your skull roll and having plenty of it
2. Meeting and partying with a new group of friends who are also not broke
3. Hearing music that you know and have missed in a cold venue
4. Catching the perfect (easily orgasmic and skinny) girl on a non bleeding night and fooling around before you even leave the club.
(Okay, the last part is a bit much but it's my fantasy and the bleeding part has actually ruined it in the past, what a terrible let down..isnt' there some kind of law that the girl is required to let you know or something?)
5. Add that it turns into some kind of actual relationship and you're living the dream..you always have the upper hand beacause she was the slutty one on the first date.
So for Hed Kandy, I'll be back. It's top of my list next trip and should prove worthy of more than a disappointing paragraph citing unfulfilled dreams.
Last edited by a moderator:
letsgetdownanddirtybaby
Active Member
Cocoon Loometh
The evening of the Disco Invaders closing party at Amnesia had finally arrived. The crappy things I thought were a joke that G had bought several days back and put in the fridge now seemed like a genius had put them there. After a few more hours of chilling, we gathered together the remaining glow sticks (500) and everything else that blinks or shines to give away. I shipped 50 three foot long LED multi colored clear tubes along with several strands of battery powered LED lights and various flashing necklaces to Gordon so we looked like two well dressed hobos carrying a sack of presents to the island of lost toys in the dark to the taxi stand.
How do you describe perfect anticipation? The evening was set and so far everything was exactly on course. Party material, favors, VIP arrangements... perfection. Do you know the feeling you get just before you start to party when you know it's coming and your about to be voluntarily mind fuc'd for hours? Your mind slowly builds into piling crescendos of delight until you phase in and out of moments that drive you to return.
For those not inclined to partake, it's sort of like when the hot girl you just met leans over and licks your ear or the scent of a new convertible just before you drive it out of the showroom or the first sip of scotch in Business Class on the way to an Asian vacation… Life's more complex delights kick a simple pleasures ass hands down.
This was it…Ibiza's big 2008 climax before asking the island “just to not move†till I wipe off its stomach with something clean from the bathroom.
The evening of the Disco Invaders closing party at Amnesia had finally arrived. The crappy things I thought were a joke that G had bought several days back and put in the fridge now seemed like a genius had put them there. After a few more hours of chilling, we gathered together the remaining glow sticks (500) and everything else that blinks or shines to give away. I shipped 50 three foot long LED multi colored clear tubes along with several strands of battery powered LED lights and various flashing necklaces to Gordon so we looked like two well dressed hobos carrying a sack of presents to the island of lost toys in the dark to the taxi stand.
How do you describe perfect anticipation? The evening was set and so far everything was exactly on course. Party material, favors, VIP arrangements... perfection. Do you know the feeling you get just before you start to party when you know it's coming and your about to be voluntarily mind fuc'd for hours? Your mind slowly builds into piling crescendos of delight until you phase in and out of moments that drive you to return.
For those not inclined to partake, it's sort of like when the hot girl you just met leans over and licks your ear or the scent of a new convertible just before you drive it out of the showroom or the first sip of scotch in Business Class on the way to an Asian vacation… Life's more complex delights kick a simple pleasures ass hands down.
This was it…Ibiza's big 2008 climax before asking the island “just to not move†till I wipe off its stomach with something clean from the bathroom.
letsgetdownanddirtybaby
Active Member
The Party Has Arrived!
Although I've passed Amnesia several times without paying much attention, I'd never actually been in the club so when the taxi pulled up to a 4-story, nearly windowless looking box, I should have known I was in for an experience not felt since Disney's Mr. Toads Wild Ride in the 70's. Unlike the other two Super Clubs I'd been to in Ibiza (Space and Privilege), this one was a box on the outside with the character and charm of a wet noodle. Dank and drab on the outside and surrounded by a black tar parking lot, this was an ominous prelude to what would occur. I was already beginning to feel the empty pull of argumentativeness whelming up in my throat like a bile picnic. This was not going to be anything other than a dirty, gritty, roll.
The VIP table had already been arranged with an Email and phone calls a month earlier so I walked up to the front of the misfit Q carrying our armfuls of goodies. The Guido (and I am affectionately describing the gangster in charge of the line) asks, “What the hell is all of this?â€
“Ummm, just party throws. I like to see flashy things when I'm in the dark with 3000 people. It helps me find the bathroom.†Guido looks at me with his head cocked like a Doberman but I can't tell if he's thinking of pulling something out of his pocket to hit me with because his moustache is covering weather he is bearing his teeth and I cant hear growling over the boom-boom.
“The line is back there and you can't bring whatever that **** is in.â€
I just look at him patiently; making sure the audience of 50 or so soaks in the entire moment. I can only believe the poor souls waiting to enter must think were some kid of circus act who will be immediately forced to perform to gain entrance. Guido mistakes this for a sign of aggression and bow's up his chest, reaching for his radio to call Thing 1 and Thing 2 for immediate back-up. I can tell it's his dream to pounce a 38 year old skinny bald guy that is obviously a threat since he is standing there in silence, staring at him in disbelief. Finally, after a good 10 seconds of both of us posturing, G has finished paying the Taxi and joined me for the show. I look at G, stare coldly back at Guido and do my best look-down-my-nose at him. “For what you're charging me for your VIP section, you could be a little nicer.â€
This is not the right thing to say to Guido and G is forced to step in between us. For some reason, Guido also has no sense of humor…even when he gets that I'm shelling out a couple of thousand Euro for the evening, there is no change in attitude or respect. He could have just been polite from the start but I guess it takes two to tango and cooler heads prevailed. I do look like a smart ass. G is older now but still recognized as a dangerous Pitt Bull and that is the deciding factor for Guido to switch from being a hard ass to a smart ass. Guido puts on a flat grin and opens his moustache enough for me to hear, “Are you sure you know how much VIP is?â€
Being the man that I am, the 50 Euro note in my hand is folded slowly and neatly in front of him and put back in my pocket and I hand him a 5 while saying, “For your trouble… should have been the 50…what have you learned?†I leave my back to do the talking, all the while wondering what circle of hell awaits me this evening for such a blatant moment of pride. Still, I'm on top of the world and as I'm walking in the door, it feels a little like I'm the kid with the ice cream cone laughing at the other kid who just dropped his. Small victories and all that…
Inside the door there isn't much to see. It's a giant box with a balcony and a doorway to a second cube. The shape reminds me of the Borg on Star Trek but without all that pestering technology and decoration to get in the way. There is a DJ to one side with the right side of the cube containing some kind of two story cube within a cube. We're led up a stairway to a balcony that looks over both sides of two square bars. The second cube it turns out is connected to the first and it's equally drab with a DJ booth on one side in about the same style. Thing 1 from the door checks us off with our Waiter/Bouncer who asks, “Are you sure you know how much this is?â€
This is the second time I've been asked this question so I figure either they must have been burned a bunch or I don't look like I could shell out a couple of thousand Euros. I show him a small roll of Euro and a couple of colorful shiny credit cards, putting the 50 I had in my hand in my pocket like a mime with a prop in front of him and pantomiming disgust as G shakes his head. I'm playing primadona for some reason and can't seem to break out of the character. I must have been just a pleasure to deal with. The rope is pulled and Thing 2 leads us 25 feet to a table for two that overlooks the back of tables that actually overlook the dance floor. What a let down. There are three layers of tables in the VIP section and this table so far back and against the railing it's at the bar. I take the 50 back out of my pocket and expect there must be some sort of negotiation that can be done but Thing 2 will have none of it. “Those tables have been reserved for over a year†he says with a snug smile. So for a K and a half Europas, I've got a grand view of the tops of people's heads and access to the private path that leads to where the pretty people are.
I finally break character when I realize that for PWT from New Orleans, this is as good as it gets. We'll have to make the best of things and I'm prepared. The next 15 minutes are spent wrapping LED strings around my table and chairs. Some of the tubes are taped together to form a palm tree and a bottle of Jack Daniels with some chasers are brought to the table. One girl later in the evening hanging at the railing bugging me for a pull on the second bottle said, “This is the most expensive, worst seat in the house.â€
A couple of drinks later and realizing we're the only people in the VIP before 11pm, G gives me the obligatory join-the-battle wave and we're armed with a hundred glow sticks each to begin the trouble making portion of the evening. It's early and G's attention is actually shorter than mine so we're off to spread intellectual fear and tangible light before the surge of humanity on psychedelics sets in. (Somewhere out there is a sociological physicist reading this and laughing his ass off).
Although I've passed Amnesia several times without paying much attention, I'd never actually been in the club so when the taxi pulled up to a 4-story, nearly windowless looking box, I should have known I was in for an experience not felt since Disney's Mr. Toads Wild Ride in the 70's. Unlike the other two Super Clubs I'd been to in Ibiza (Space and Privilege), this one was a box on the outside with the character and charm of a wet noodle. Dank and drab on the outside and surrounded by a black tar parking lot, this was an ominous prelude to what would occur. I was already beginning to feel the empty pull of argumentativeness whelming up in my throat like a bile picnic. This was not going to be anything other than a dirty, gritty, roll.
The VIP table had already been arranged with an Email and phone calls a month earlier so I walked up to the front of the misfit Q carrying our armfuls of goodies. The Guido (and I am affectionately describing the gangster in charge of the line) asks, “What the hell is all of this?â€
“Ummm, just party throws. I like to see flashy things when I'm in the dark with 3000 people. It helps me find the bathroom.†Guido looks at me with his head cocked like a Doberman but I can't tell if he's thinking of pulling something out of his pocket to hit me with because his moustache is covering weather he is bearing his teeth and I cant hear growling over the boom-boom.
“The line is back there and you can't bring whatever that **** is in.â€
I just look at him patiently; making sure the audience of 50 or so soaks in the entire moment. I can only believe the poor souls waiting to enter must think were some kid of circus act who will be immediately forced to perform to gain entrance. Guido mistakes this for a sign of aggression and bow's up his chest, reaching for his radio to call Thing 1 and Thing 2 for immediate back-up. I can tell it's his dream to pounce a 38 year old skinny bald guy that is obviously a threat since he is standing there in silence, staring at him in disbelief. Finally, after a good 10 seconds of both of us posturing, G has finished paying the Taxi and joined me for the show. I look at G, stare coldly back at Guido and do my best look-down-my-nose at him. “For what you're charging me for your VIP section, you could be a little nicer.â€
This is not the right thing to say to Guido and G is forced to step in between us. For some reason, Guido also has no sense of humor…even when he gets that I'm shelling out a couple of thousand Euro for the evening, there is no change in attitude or respect. He could have just been polite from the start but I guess it takes two to tango and cooler heads prevailed. I do look like a smart ass. G is older now but still recognized as a dangerous Pitt Bull and that is the deciding factor for Guido to switch from being a hard ass to a smart ass. Guido puts on a flat grin and opens his moustache enough for me to hear, “Are you sure you know how much VIP is?â€
Being the man that I am, the 50 Euro note in my hand is folded slowly and neatly in front of him and put back in my pocket and I hand him a 5 while saying, “For your trouble… should have been the 50…what have you learned?†I leave my back to do the talking, all the while wondering what circle of hell awaits me this evening for such a blatant moment of pride. Still, I'm on top of the world and as I'm walking in the door, it feels a little like I'm the kid with the ice cream cone laughing at the other kid who just dropped his. Small victories and all that…
Inside the door there isn't much to see. It's a giant box with a balcony and a doorway to a second cube. The shape reminds me of the Borg on Star Trek but without all that pestering technology and decoration to get in the way. There is a DJ to one side with the right side of the cube containing some kind of two story cube within a cube. We're led up a stairway to a balcony that looks over both sides of two square bars. The second cube it turns out is connected to the first and it's equally drab with a DJ booth on one side in about the same style. Thing 1 from the door checks us off with our Waiter/Bouncer who asks, “Are you sure you know how much this is?â€
This is the second time I've been asked this question so I figure either they must have been burned a bunch or I don't look like I could shell out a couple of thousand Euros. I show him a small roll of Euro and a couple of colorful shiny credit cards, putting the 50 I had in my hand in my pocket like a mime with a prop in front of him and pantomiming disgust as G shakes his head. I'm playing primadona for some reason and can't seem to break out of the character. I must have been just a pleasure to deal with. The rope is pulled and Thing 2 leads us 25 feet to a table for two that overlooks the back of tables that actually overlook the dance floor. What a let down. There are three layers of tables in the VIP section and this table so far back and against the railing it's at the bar. I take the 50 back out of my pocket and expect there must be some sort of negotiation that can be done but Thing 2 will have none of it. “Those tables have been reserved for over a year†he says with a snug smile. So for a K and a half Europas, I've got a grand view of the tops of people's heads and access to the private path that leads to where the pretty people are.
I finally break character when I realize that for PWT from New Orleans, this is as good as it gets. We'll have to make the best of things and I'm prepared. The next 15 minutes are spent wrapping LED strings around my table and chairs. Some of the tubes are taped together to form a palm tree and a bottle of Jack Daniels with some chasers are brought to the table. One girl later in the evening hanging at the railing bugging me for a pull on the second bottle said, “This is the most expensive, worst seat in the house.â€
A couple of drinks later and realizing we're the only people in the VIP before 11pm, G gives me the obligatory join-the-battle wave and we're armed with a hundred glow sticks each to begin the trouble making portion of the evening. It's early and G's attention is actually shorter than mine so we're off to spread intellectual fear and tangible light before the surge of humanity on psychedelics sets in. (Somewhere out there is a sociological physicist reading this and laughing his ass off).
I
icebaer69
Guest
letsgetdownanddirtybaby
Active Member
ZIP'ing Through the Crowd
As we cross the rope, thing two (T2 henceforth) sneers at me and I sneer back as though we are two cannons loaded for arrogance and ready to fire. I so want to break it to the guy that he's a glorified waiter but he doesn't deserve that any way. He's got to deal with a surging crowd trying to get into his area for the next 7 hours and taunting the keeper of the roped off section is not going to help anything.
I figure I'll “make friends†so as we leave the section I again do the “Mime with props†routine as I reach for my wallet and ask him to hold my drink. He reluctantly agrees and while he's waiting for me to give him something he can spend later, I grab an angry green glow stick and put it around his wrist since he can't get away with my drink in one hand and the rope in the other. As we walk away I can feel him glaring at me with a new found hate and look back just in time to see him pulling off the glow stick and throwing it on the floor. So much for making friends although I am sure T2 is ready to bury the hatchet in very unfriendly ways.
We made our way through a smattering of people on the “perch†toward the stairs. This is an area that you can pay extra for that is overlooking the crowd downstairs. It overlooks the real VIP and the dance floor. So close and yet so far for the people who paid extra expecting to brush elbows with the pretty and rich people that I am not either of. In a few hours, this section is more crowded than the dance floor below and the bar upstairs is nearly inaccessible with the size of the crowd. I'm still trying to figure out the attraction or why you would pay for this area when they overcrowd it more than the “dance floor†below.
At the bottom of the stairs, the back room, which is just as big as the main room, is now crowded. The fist pumpers are everywhere but are not yet organized as the music is a bit disjointed. They are gathered in two's and threes so it looks like people are mad at Hitler but they are closed fist Siege Heiling with uncoordinated rhythms. This seems disorienting so we make our way through the crowd to the doors to the main room.
The twinges of roll are starting to hit and something less than a normal state of reality seems to be popping in and out of my head. Better, as we walk through the doors, ZIP has taken the booth and is playing something reminiscent of music I like. It's enough to make me forget about the “light and boogie†of Tiesto I keep comparing everything to. Not that the DJ is doing anything nearly warranting the incredible earnings for pushing buttons that play someone else's music, but there is that certain indescribable “It†that a real star has. You feel it more than you hear it. The crowd recognizes it at the same time that I do and the ZIP ride begins.
The hour is spent in a raised “elbow to elbow†chase through an overcrowded dance floor. I'm trying to find a fly-tasty to pull back to the VIP but I'm already to incoherent to really talk. This only leaves an at-a-glance chance for hooking up that's not going to happen in a room full of 16 to twenty somethings without the hand of God intervening. Of course, being the romantic idiot I am, I have faith after many eveinings of similiar failures and ZIP is playing something that matches “I'm bringing sexy back†in my head. I'm mouthing the lyrics and trying to get close to the 1 in 5 that are there and actually have tits. G is into his own grove which I mistake to being oblivious to what I'm thinking a wingman should be doing. I was hoping for the “have you met my friend Roy†game but I could have only smiled and offered a glow stick at the time any way.
I lose G in the crowd but somehow find myself close enough to the DJ booth to offer ZIP a glow stick. Actually, he's a good 20 feet away but at the time, I couldn't tell 5 feet from 25 so I throw it toward the booth and it lands well short in the back of some guy's head who is not amused. This is my Q to back up with arms raised and retreat into the surge. No one has even paid attention but I'm pretty much stuck where I am. I look up and can see the top of G's head in VIP so I figure there must be a way back without looking too embarrassed about being alone.
The crowd refuses so I figure the best way to move someone in another reality is shiny things. Pulling several sticks from my pocket, I face away from the DJ and start to make boxes in the air with my best imitation of someone talented with liquid. The people immediately in front of me are giving me the attention of the crane people from Toy Story and I throw the glow sticks every now and then so they can chase them enough for me to get by. Five minutes later I'm up the stairs and crossing into T2's threshold.
ZIP is kicking in ways that can't be described. I'm now a fan that never was and so I'm breaking out several other flashy things to give to the crowd. It's time to venture to the edge before the real VIPs arrive.
As we cross the rope, thing two (T2 henceforth) sneers at me and I sneer back as though we are two cannons loaded for arrogance and ready to fire. I so want to break it to the guy that he's a glorified waiter but he doesn't deserve that any way. He's got to deal with a surging crowd trying to get into his area for the next 7 hours and taunting the keeper of the roped off section is not going to help anything.
I figure I'll “make friends†so as we leave the section I again do the “Mime with props†routine as I reach for my wallet and ask him to hold my drink. He reluctantly agrees and while he's waiting for me to give him something he can spend later, I grab an angry green glow stick and put it around his wrist since he can't get away with my drink in one hand and the rope in the other. As we walk away I can feel him glaring at me with a new found hate and look back just in time to see him pulling off the glow stick and throwing it on the floor. So much for making friends although I am sure T2 is ready to bury the hatchet in very unfriendly ways.
We made our way through a smattering of people on the “perch†toward the stairs. This is an area that you can pay extra for that is overlooking the crowd downstairs. It overlooks the real VIP and the dance floor. So close and yet so far for the people who paid extra expecting to brush elbows with the pretty and rich people that I am not either of. In a few hours, this section is more crowded than the dance floor below and the bar upstairs is nearly inaccessible with the size of the crowd. I'm still trying to figure out the attraction or why you would pay for this area when they overcrowd it more than the “dance floor†below.
At the bottom of the stairs, the back room, which is just as big as the main room, is now crowded. The fist pumpers are everywhere but are not yet organized as the music is a bit disjointed. They are gathered in two's and threes so it looks like people are mad at Hitler but they are closed fist Siege Heiling with uncoordinated rhythms. This seems disorienting so we make our way through the crowd to the doors to the main room.
The twinges of roll are starting to hit and something less than a normal state of reality seems to be popping in and out of my head. Better, as we walk through the doors, ZIP has taken the booth and is playing something reminiscent of music I like. It's enough to make me forget about the “light and boogie†of Tiesto I keep comparing everything to. Not that the DJ is doing anything nearly warranting the incredible earnings for pushing buttons that play someone else's music, but there is that certain indescribable “It†that a real star has. You feel it more than you hear it. The crowd recognizes it at the same time that I do and the ZIP ride begins.
The hour is spent in a raised “elbow to elbow†chase through an overcrowded dance floor. I'm trying to find a fly-tasty to pull back to the VIP but I'm already to incoherent to really talk. This only leaves an at-a-glance chance for hooking up that's not going to happen in a room full of 16 to twenty somethings without the hand of God intervening. Of course, being the romantic idiot I am, I have faith after many eveinings of similiar failures and ZIP is playing something that matches “I'm bringing sexy back†in my head. I'm mouthing the lyrics and trying to get close to the 1 in 5 that are there and actually have tits. G is into his own grove which I mistake to being oblivious to what I'm thinking a wingman should be doing. I was hoping for the “have you met my friend Roy†game but I could have only smiled and offered a glow stick at the time any way.
I lose G in the crowd but somehow find myself close enough to the DJ booth to offer ZIP a glow stick. Actually, he's a good 20 feet away but at the time, I couldn't tell 5 feet from 25 so I throw it toward the booth and it lands well short in the back of some guy's head who is not amused. This is my Q to back up with arms raised and retreat into the surge. No one has even paid attention but I'm pretty much stuck where I am. I look up and can see the top of G's head in VIP so I figure there must be a way back without looking too embarrassed about being alone.
The crowd refuses so I figure the best way to move someone in another reality is shiny things. Pulling several sticks from my pocket, I face away from the DJ and start to make boxes in the air with my best imitation of someone talented with liquid. The people immediately in front of me are giving me the attention of the crane people from Toy Story and I throw the glow sticks every now and then so they can chase them enough for me to get by. Five minutes later I'm up the stairs and crossing into T2's threshold.
ZIP is kicking in ways that can't be described. I'm now a fan that never was and so I'm breaking out several other flashy things to give to the crowd. It's time to venture to the edge before the real VIPs arrive.
letsgetdownanddirtybaby
Active Member
String Dong, String Dong!
Returning to the worst of the best seats in the house required turning on the strings of lights I had wrapped around the chairs and tables. All the flashing lights drew a small gaggle of lookers-on against the metal railing, trying to figure out who the two goof balls were standing in front of the mini-Vegas table. It only took a couple of minutes before the mesmerizing failed and they realized we're pretty much nobodies. The gathering slowly dissipated into just random looks from the overcrowded standing room only almost-VIP area. One of the couples on the rail asked for one of the three foot long tubes we brought that do the flashy thing and this puts me in the mood. I lean over to G and say, “It's a Mardi Gras moment!†He raises his hands in a WTF gesture and I motion to G to follow as I pick up the bag of hundreds of shiny things. He now gets it and we walk to the edge to be rebels and break the “this isn't your section of the VIP†rule.
Standing at the edge of the VIP cliff, we make like its Bourbon Street during Mardi Gras and the parade below is showing us all of their tits at the same time. We make it through half of the bag before we realize it's time to start slowing down a little or soon all of the toys will be gone. Richard Villalobos has taken over the DJ Booth and we're being ignored by the crowd so a game of audience ring toss is totally appropriate. Hey, when 3000 people ignore me, I push back.
I go back 20 steps and grab the bottle of JD and set us up with shots that are a reward for plinking a glow stick off the target. Three shots and the rest of the bag of shiny toys later, it's over and Villalobos has the crowds compete attention. No one even bothers to look up but I can only imagine if you're tripping out on the floor and showers of glowing lights are raining down around you, it could only add to the surge freedom and happiness that is watching Villalobos do his thing. Eventually, we wander back to our well lit corner just in time to see a procession of models and their well dressed companions take the best tables in the house. I'm dressed like I was going to space and missed the right thing to wear again. Idiot.
The next hour or so is spent shaking lights around VIP and talking to various people who all seem to be a blur. I can tell you that Richard Villalobos was the third best DJ that I can actually remember while in Ibiza. Of course if you played any of the music that I heard while he was at Cocoon, I would have no idea.
Villalobos mix and beat was perfect. A new appreciation for a growing art form is born, and I kept thinking that it wasn't going to get any better than this..and then it kept getting better. I'm in a Barn in a 600 dollar metal chair about 50 feet from where I want to be and terribly lonely but still happy.
The set kept gaining speed and I finally get pulled out of my cloud by a group that arrive and sit in the last table before the big drop off. One of the girls has on a painted black mini dress and it's barely covering her snatch. Her French boyfriend is ready to jump into the ring in the UFC at 185 pounds, or at least he appears that way. If figure I have no shot but still walk to the group and scream hello above the music while tossing a dozen glow sticks on the table. They look mystified and look at each other for a few seconds so I just shrug and go back to sit under my near-neon chair.
I can see them still talking in each others ears and making gestures that you must have to be French to understand. Eventually, Miniskirt looks upset with the rest of the table and is shouting something at them. She but grabs all of the glow sticks, including popping one off the wrist of her now unhappy friend, and throws them at my ground at my table. Right about this time G has returned from a trip and I go to tell him about it but give up and just move my feet enough to stop standing on my own tounge. People are just F'ing weird.
Of course G immediately notices the latest addition to VIP and points her out. He has no idea of the scene that just happened. A few minutes later, he's talking to the French guy. He returns to the table and yells at me, “I asked him where he met her…He says he got her in Columbia…But she whines too much.†I'm thinking he hit it right on the mark along with her phobia of people who are randomly kind.
G taps me on the shoulder; he is laughing his ass off. I look at him and he can't concentrate long enough to get out a word. There are actually tears running down his face from laughing. He finally gets it together long enough to say, “Can you see it?â€
I look at him, obviously perplexed, and he leans in my ear and points at Black Miniskirt, “She's not wearing any underwear.†I'm of course trying to figure out why this is funny but I'll except any excuse to look at her fantastic ass. This gets boring after a few seconds of blatantly staring. I look away, concentrating on some other random thing when G grabs my shoulder and says, “No, you don't see it…look for the string.†I'm still trying to figure out what he's talking about when I do see it. Dangling about two inches past the bottom of her mini is a tiny white sting, shaking left and right like the clacker on a bell.
After minutes of passing the laugh back and forth with G, I get really sad. I finally recognized why UFC French guy is having a ****ty time on such a big night. He's been blessed with a hot girl with no couth and much flow. I've had that look on my face before and recognize the “this is the last night before I send you packing with your passport†attitude. She of course has no clue and will be blind sided. There will be tears that roll down her body and most likely drip from the chin onto the sting later as she stands naked next to the bed saying why in a Spanish accent that used to be endearing. All UFC guy will ever remember of her is that tear wet string in a month, grossing him out as it rubs against his thigh as he holds her for the last time.
That's an incredible body right there in front of him and he's just tired of it.
The loneliness I've been feeling all night stops suddenly and leaves my body. Even the pretty people have to sigh and say goodbye. Someone else's night of future suffering caused me to forget about the girl that is supposed to be on my arm, laughing right along about ding-dong clacker sway of the tampon string that I will never get out of my head either.
Returning to the worst of the best seats in the house required turning on the strings of lights I had wrapped around the chairs and tables. All the flashing lights drew a small gaggle of lookers-on against the metal railing, trying to figure out who the two goof balls were standing in front of the mini-Vegas table. It only took a couple of minutes before the mesmerizing failed and they realized we're pretty much nobodies. The gathering slowly dissipated into just random looks from the overcrowded standing room only almost-VIP area. One of the couples on the rail asked for one of the three foot long tubes we brought that do the flashy thing and this puts me in the mood. I lean over to G and say, “It's a Mardi Gras moment!†He raises his hands in a WTF gesture and I motion to G to follow as I pick up the bag of hundreds of shiny things. He now gets it and we walk to the edge to be rebels and break the “this isn't your section of the VIP†rule.
Standing at the edge of the VIP cliff, we make like its Bourbon Street during Mardi Gras and the parade below is showing us all of their tits at the same time. We make it through half of the bag before we realize it's time to start slowing down a little or soon all of the toys will be gone. Richard Villalobos has taken over the DJ Booth and we're being ignored by the crowd so a game of audience ring toss is totally appropriate. Hey, when 3000 people ignore me, I push back.
I go back 20 steps and grab the bottle of JD and set us up with shots that are a reward for plinking a glow stick off the target. Three shots and the rest of the bag of shiny toys later, it's over and Villalobos has the crowds compete attention. No one even bothers to look up but I can only imagine if you're tripping out on the floor and showers of glowing lights are raining down around you, it could only add to the surge freedom and happiness that is watching Villalobos do his thing. Eventually, we wander back to our well lit corner just in time to see a procession of models and their well dressed companions take the best tables in the house. I'm dressed like I was going to space and missed the right thing to wear again. Idiot.
The next hour or so is spent shaking lights around VIP and talking to various people who all seem to be a blur. I can tell you that Richard Villalobos was the third best DJ that I can actually remember while in Ibiza. Of course if you played any of the music that I heard while he was at Cocoon, I would have no idea.
Villalobos mix and beat was perfect. A new appreciation for a growing art form is born, and I kept thinking that it wasn't going to get any better than this..and then it kept getting better. I'm in a Barn in a 600 dollar metal chair about 50 feet from where I want to be and terribly lonely but still happy.
The set kept gaining speed and I finally get pulled out of my cloud by a group that arrive and sit in the last table before the big drop off. One of the girls has on a painted black mini dress and it's barely covering her snatch. Her French boyfriend is ready to jump into the ring in the UFC at 185 pounds, or at least he appears that way. If figure I have no shot but still walk to the group and scream hello above the music while tossing a dozen glow sticks on the table. They look mystified and look at each other for a few seconds so I just shrug and go back to sit under my near-neon chair.
I can see them still talking in each others ears and making gestures that you must have to be French to understand. Eventually, Miniskirt looks upset with the rest of the table and is shouting something at them. She but grabs all of the glow sticks, including popping one off the wrist of her now unhappy friend, and throws them at my ground at my table. Right about this time G has returned from a trip and I go to tell him about it but give up and just move my feet enough to stop standing on my own tounge. People are just F'ing weird.
Of course G immediately notices the latest addition to VIP and points her out. He has no idea of the scene that just happened. A few minutes later, he's talking to the French guy. He returns to the table and yells at me, “I asked him where he met her…He says he got her in Columbia…But she whines too much.†I'm thinking he hit it right on the mark along with her phobia of people who are randomly kind.
G taps me on the shoulder; he is laughing his ass off. I look at him and he can't concentrate long enough to get out a word. There are actually tears running down his face from laughing. He finally gets it together long enough to say, “Can you see it?â€
I look at him, obviously perplexed, and he leans in my ear and points at Black Miniskirt, “She's not wearing any underwear.†I'm of course trying to figure out why this is funny but I'll except any excuse to look at her fantastic ass. This gets boring after a few seconds of blatantly staring. I look away, concentrating on some other random thing when G grabs my shoulder and says, “No, you don't see it…look for the string.†I'm still trying to figure out what he's talking about when I do see it. Dangling about two inches past the bottom of her mini is a tiny white sting, shaking left and right like the clacker on a bell.
After minutes of passing the laugh back and forth with G, I get really sad. I finally recognized why UFC French guy is having a ****ty time on such a big night. He's been blessed with a hot girl with no couth and much flow. I've had that look on my face before and recognize the “this is the last night before I send you packing with your passport†attitude. She of course has no clue and will be blind sided. There will be tears that roll down her body and most likely drip from the chin onto the sting later as she stands naked next to the bed saying why in a Spanish accent that used to be endearing. All UFC guy will ever remember of her is that tear wet string in a month, grossing him out as it rubs against his thigh as he holds her for the last time.
That's an incredible body right there in front of him and he's just tired of it.
The loneliness I've been feeling all night stops suddenly and leaves my body. Even the pretty people have to sigh and say goodbye. Someone else's night of future suffering caused me to forget about the girl that is supposed to be on my arm, laughing right along about ding-dong clacker sway of the tampon string that I will never get out of my head either.
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letsgetdownanddirtybaby
Active Member
I'm not sure what you mean...
this is the story of my life..not some cheap fiction novel.
this is the story of my life..not some cheap fiction novel.
Exactly! So Im saying, I think the only thing missing from these stories (of your real life experiances) is some drunken, misguided attempt at pulling a bird. We actually want you to make a completely shameless attempt at pulling a chick, then write about how it went here!
Because your style is so funky
Because your style is so funky
Ad when I say shameless, I mean balls-out shameless. Like, walking over to the hottest girl in a bar/restaurant, surrounded by her buddies, and then getting down on one knee and singing her the first verse and chorus of Jamie Blunt's 'You're Beautiful!'.
I only ask because I think you've gpt the cajones for it, Sir. . .and it will make for a good read.
I only ask because I think you've gpt the cajones for it, Sir. . .and it will make for a good read.
letsgetdownanddirtybaby
Active Member
Rats...you should have warned me not to try it on my boss. I guess they'll send me to Iraq!
oh yeah...never mind.
I'll be staying at Ibiza Rocks from the 12th through the 22nd of September.
I promise to make a fool of myself many times over, if anything, for your entertainment almost exclusively.
Anything with bumps in her shirt that even talks to me will be rewarded with lavish gifts of alcohol and a seat in VIP. There, i've baited the hook.
I hope someone in the 20 thousand people that are reading this thread will at least stop to say hi.
L.
PS...My pictures in my profile so you know it's me.
oh yeah...never mind.
I'll be staying at Ibiza Rocks from the 12th through the 22nd of September.
I promise to make a fool of myself many times over, if anything, for your entertainment almost exclusively.
Anything with bumps in her shirt that even talks to me will be rewarded with lavish gifts of alcohol and a seat in VIP. There, i've baited the hook.
I hope someone in the 20 thousand people that are reading this thread will at least stop to say hi.
L.
PS...My pictures in my profile so you know it's me.
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I
icebaer69
Guest
letsgetdownanddirtybaby
Active Member
Nah, that's Puerto Galero in the Philippines and no Lady Boys are there. Just world class diving and clueless native girls as pictured. Your thinking of Thailand.
Try www.mermaidresort.com and www.southseadivers.com if you're a sporting person or you just like to chase. A little money goes a loooooooong way there.
http://i982.photobucket.com/albums/ae305/bugblender/Me%20in%20Paradise/P5310166.jpg
Try www.mermaidresort.com and www.southseadivers.com if you're a sporting person or you just like to chase. A little money goes a loooooooong way there.
http://i982.photobucket.com/albums/ae305/bugblender/Me%20in%20Paradise/P5310166.jpg
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