Meat Market

(side note: I meant to write this earlier but life has been a bit busy lately!)

I joined some friends at the meat market about a week ago. Meat market you say? Yes. Well, the social meat market that is.

Let me explain.

My best friend (I previously mentioned) celebrated her birthday this month, so to continue the festivities, two other friends of hers wanted to take her out in downtown Chattanooga. I asked if I could tag along cause well, I don't get out as much as I used to for one, and I knew it would be loads of fun with this group (see below).



After dolling up and downing a little rum and Coke, we headed to our destination, a nightclub called Electric Cowboy. Now, the name alone should give you a bit of insight into the crowd that filled this joint, but one of the reasons this particular spot was chosen was for the potential making-fun that would surely be involved. And boy were the choosers of EC correct!

We got there about 9:45 p.m., early enough to get a table but late enough to be considered “going out” time. Our table was located along the west wall of the place. A huge wooden dance floor was in the middle, and an electric bull occupied the east wall (no, I did not ride the bull). Pool tables and restrooms were in the back, and of course, the bar was in the front.

As you can imagine, a place called Electric Cowboy boomed with country tunes, anything from “Chattahoochee” to “She Thinks My Tractor’s Sexy” (cringe) to any slow ballad from George Strait. But, thankfully, they also played some dance music.

But you know what happens when rednecks hear dance music… Let’s just say there was lots of humping going on, and I’m sorry to say I didn’t get any photos of the best duo. A youngish? woman in white pants and a red shirt (showcasing her sagging boobs) and a young guy with dark hair and a striped shirt were possibly swapping genital fluids as the music went on. He picked her up (barely) and pretty much all you saw were two white lets on either side of him and some fake blonde hair bouncing up and down. The same girl was seen later on in the evening doing some humping with a different fella, and even though she was seen making out heavily with both of them, I think she probably went home with the latter. Lucky guy!

Other people-watching highlights included a tall, thicker guy dancing by himself on the floor with some super-tight, possibly women’s jeans on. We nicknamed him Camel Toe or CT for short. We were appalled when later in the evening he came over and tried to dance with us. An older couple sitting next to us seemed to have rehearsed every song with some choreographed line-dancing. They were showing off all night. I later realized they only knew about four different dances and used them all on different songs. See CT below:



This guy and the lady behind him were also fun to watch. He was wearing the tightest white shirt you could find, and she was wearing that vest with none other than her 1972 Cross Your Heart bra shining through the open sleeves. Awesome!





Fairly early in the night, a short bald guy came up to our table with shots for all of us. After we toasted and drank, he asked us all to dance with him. I think someone said, “Well, I guess since he bought us a shot we have to.” No. I don’t think we HAVE to do anything… But we hadn’t been out on the dance floor all night, so what the hell. I stayed as far away from him as I could get, but he was a persistent little booger. After that, anytime we got on the dance floor, here came his short little bald head weezling through the crowd. This didn’t last too long. He came up to my friend and I and asked, flat out, “Are you good in bed?”

What the…?

“Excuse me!” was my reply and he repeated the question. I kindly yelled at the top of my lungs, “I’m married!” And he said, “Then you’re good in bed.” Wow… “I guess I am,” I said. My friend replied over and over with a, “That’s none of your business,” and basically told him to fuck off.

I’m pretty sure that was the best pickup line ever! Feel free to use it in the future.



As the night went on, the craziness/humorous events continued. Also while dancing, a guy approached my friends and danced/humped with them one at a time. When he grabbed my arm and tried to get me to join him for the next song, I told him no and pulled away. Son-of-a-bitch grabbed my arm again and some biker dude behind me grabbed him arm and pulled it away, telling him to leave me alone. I told biker dude thanks and he said, “I saw your ring.” It really was nice of him. I would have hated to have to take out Son-of-a-bitch right there on the dance floor.

Close to the end of the night and many drinks later, guys were showing up at the table left and right asking for us girls to dance. Our response was simple: Married. Married. Taken. Lesbian. It speaks for itself. I think about five or six guys asked for me to dance, and by asked I mean grabbed my arm. What is up with the grabbing? When I refused, the last one that asked said, “What’s up with you and dancing?” What the hell? Had it gotten around that I was some kind of stick-in-the-mud? GOOD! “I’m married,” I tell him, with a nice attitude. “Oh, nice ring,” he says looking down.

So, we really had a good time, but like I said, it was like going to the meat market. Or maybe you could liken it to some Wild Kingdom show on Animal Planet where the males are on the chase for a female, any female, to lay with. I guess you aren’t really welcome at these clubs unless you too are on the prowl for a good lay.

Also worth noting:

1. I’m pretty sure my friends and I were the classiest dressed girls there.
2. These girls definitely know how to party!
3. If you are 40 and over, maybe you shouldn’t go to Electric Cowboy. Or wait, maybe EC is just the right place for you!
4. I couldn’t breath well for three days due to cigarette smoke inhalation.
5. Apparently the smaller and browner you are, the better. Partner that with a short school-girl skirt, a midriff-bearing shirt and LOTS of eyeliner and you too could be a server at EC (or possibly Severo at Halloween! HA!).
6. Even though I drank it over the course of about five hours, a rum and Coke, tropical orgasm, two Smirnoffs and some kind of shot didn’t make me feel any different. I guess five hours is a long time…
7. Why must you play that song so many times? Sure it’s got a good beat, but there are others. Here are the lyrics (proceed with caution: best lyrics ever written):

Shawty had them Apple Bottom Jeans
Boots with the fur
The whole club was lookin at her
She hit the flo
Next thing you know
Shawty got low low low low low low low low

(a tear falls… beautiful! And haven’t we already addressed the boots with the fur?)

8. Photo with random hot guy was a nice gift for the best friend (Maybe I was a little tipsy. I don’t seem to know what’s going on in this photo.):



9. If you’re a Jello-shot server at a place called Electric Cowboy, you should not, I repeat, should NOT get on the counter and act like you work at Coyote Ugly!
10. If you don’t know how to walk in heels, please refrain from wearing them.
11. I’m pretty sure a lot of people were too drunk to be driving but did anyway. I was DD for my group (stopped about an hour and a half before getting behind the wheel), but there were definitely some staggerers.
12. I think I’m getting old. 4 a.m. is really late for getting to bed…

And No.1 lesson learned: I’m really grateful for my gentleman of a husband!