As The Butt Puckers; taking it slow in SLO.

..that title will make sense later in the story.

As you know, the hubby and I went to San Luis Obispo for the long weekend and met up with my friend Debi and her boyfriend. The weekend consisted of eating, walking around San Luis Obispo and the surrounding beaches and towns, eating, shopping, eating, taking cat naps at the hotel between eating, and ..oh yes.. more eating. However, we started our food marathon on a bad note. Debi and I LOVE this place in San Luis Obispo called Hobee's or something like that. Nothing on their menu is worth noting EXCEPT their giant coffee cake, served warm with BUTTAH. Oh lord in heaven bless me for I have orgasmed once, twice, three times a lady over each bite of this delicious coffee cake that was the mother, queen and baby Jesus of coffee cakes and dessert in general. Upon learning that we would be going to SLO for the Labor Day weekend, I dreamt and counted the moments when Hobee's coffee cake and I would meet again. Finally, on Saturday, with my bib and drool cup ready, we headed off to Hobee's........
only...it wasn't Hobee's anymore.
It was called Starlight Cafe or some shit like that.
No matter! They have GOT to have that coffee cake right?!? Even if they bought it from this Hobee fellah, they must have paid extra to keep serving the coffee cake because it is basically why everyone even WENT to that restaurant. I had high, albeit unrealistic, hopes. Debi on the other hand, the realist, demanded a menu before we were seated and was dutifully ignored when the host played deaf to her request, grabbed the menus and shuffled us off to the nearest booth. Looking back, I think he may have sensed that we were looking for the coffee cake (I THINK our "I heart Hobee's coffee cake shirts and buttons tipped him off...hmm...) and, knowing there was no coffee cake to be had, he ignored our request to see a menu in hopes that we would remain at the restaurant to have their delightful "plain omelet" (which was 4 scrambled eggs. The end. Sooooo, why wasn't it just called scrambled eggs? Discuss amongst yourselves.) Debi and I frantically searched the menu for the holy grail of coffee cakes.

No Hobee's coffee cake. Not in the front of the menu, not in the back, not written in chalk under "Specials" because if ANYTHING should be written under SPECIAL, it was THIS coffee cake dammit! Not even a generic, grocery store coffee cake so that we could at least ask them to heat it up in the microwave and IMAGINE it was a Hobee's coffee cake as we ate it and cried.
NO. Coffee Cake.
None.

I simmered in my anger as I begrudgingly ate the "ok" chicken fried steak with the "ok" homefries. When the waitress asked if there was anything else she could get us, it took all my willpower not to carve "WHERE IS THE COFFEE CAKE?!?!" on her forehead with my gravy stained butter knife. Bitchass Starlight Cafe. May you choke on your plain omelet.. oh wait a minute... you mean SCRAMBLED EGGS!!?!?!?!?! Assmunches.

Thankfully, the rest of our food marathon was filled with delightful dishes such as potatoes, potatoes and more potatoes in the form of french fries, hash browns, mashed, sauteed, cubed.. etc, you name it, we maxed out on the carb filled goodness. And that was just breakfast. We also had some great saltwater taffy, fudge by the pound and awesome seafood from Morro Bay. I had some chicken satay with peanut butter sauce and a cup of Gumbo Yaya at Big Sky Cafe. (truthfully, I only ordered the Gumbo because I wanted to say "Yaya" out loud...but the soup turned out pretty good, although not as spicy as you would expect Gumbo to be). We walked around SLO, barhopping, sipping drinks here and there and capped the night off with a Mexican Hot Chocolate, which I never had before but mmmmmmmmm, it was delish and a perfect way to cap off the evening.

So when does the butt pucker you ask? When DOESN'T the butt pucker is the real question.
Especially when you're walking around with manly men such as Debi and I were...

Join me as we go back to Saturday night would you?
We had just gotten done with dinner and headed off to a local pub for a few drinks. Unfortunately, the bartender lady smoked a few too many pipes out in the back and was as jittery as Katherine Hepburn after downing some Hydroxycut. (damn .. that's harsh, sorry Kat, I love your shakin' ass). Debi had to verbally walk her through each drink.

okay, now walk to the bar.
Get Vodka.
Get Redbull.
Open Vodka and Redbull.
Mix.
okay, next order is a beer...see that green bottle?

Debi was at the bar choreographing the mess for at least twenty minutes. At this point, it's like 10:30 pm and much as I didn't want to do it.
A yawn escaped.
Thirty was paying me a visit and letting itself in. I was not amused.

Debi got back with our drinks and even though Debi gave her instructions in English, Spanish, Braille and in Close Caption, my Redbull and Vodka was basically just Vodka.. and I think she spilled some maraschino cherry juice in it as she was making another random drink which allowed me two good gulps before I started making my Robert Deniro grimace. I finally gave up after the fourth gulp and we all decided to head over to another bar that had pool tables for the boys.

We get to the other bar, set up the pool table, get some drinks and have a merry wonderful time. Debi and I were basically just bullshittin and not playing pool, so two guys came up and asked our boys if they could join in on the fun. Being the competitive hounds that they are, they agreed, seeing that these two were about two steps away from playing Dungeons and Dragons at home. Surely they would not pass up an easy ass whoopage such as that! Debi on the other hand, being the keen observer that she is, noticed that one of the gentlemen, let's call him Mark, was aggressively stroking his pool stick up and and down while talking to her man. We chuckled at the fact that our minds probably had timeshare in the gutter and how we should really think about purchasing some actual property in the gutter, seeing that our minds were ALMOST always there. But as the night wore on, Debi the Observant became Debi Gaydar 2000. Mark and his friend Steve posted next to their chosen man, (Mark liked Debi's man and Steve was an anxious bottom trying to top my man). The questions that they peppered our boys with went from normal to all out pick up lines. Never mind us icky girls in the corner, they wanted their man meat and by god, if they had to scuff up their manicures by playing pool, then that's what it was going to take.

First question: So where you guys from?
(I urged the hubby to say Funkytown, but he refused. He's such a party poop.)

Second question: (after the hubby replied we were from San Diego) oh so, there's a lot of military down there. Were you in the military?

The hubby replied, "yeah, the Navy."

Shing! Sparkle sparkle, went Steve's eyes upon hearing the word "Navy" come out of my husband's mouth.

Third question: So where are you guys (with nary a glance at the "girls") going after this? There's a lot of bars around SLO, we could show you around!

Fourth question: So where are you guys staying? Are you at a hotel nearby?

Fifth question: So do you take the balls out after you scratch? (apparently this was a billiards question..but it didn't keep Debi from doubling over with laughter, tears streaming down her eyes. I was more composed and bit my lip. Until it bled.)

In between these questions, they had asked little billiard pool questions to keep their men talking and to "tenderize the meat." Maybe, just maybe, the men would tire of the cackling breasts in the corner and warm up to Mark and Steve.
Theirs was a valiant effort indeed.

The boys began to feel the "fabulousness" of Mark and Steve and grew increasingly uncomfortable. Mark and Steve had closed their personal space to about ass slapping distance as well. The boys began to miss their shots purposely so they could hurry back to their stools and sit, lest they expose their behinds to the drooling sharks. At this point, like the supportive wife and girlfriend we are, we began to make ass slapping gestures to our significant others, along with a little tongue wagging and orgasm faces, whenever Mark and Steve had their backs turned.
Debi and I are mature, sensitive adults and really, it was the least we could do.

Their advances increased with each shot and at one point, Mark pulled out two brand name lubes and asked one of the boys which one he preferred using.

Okay that didn't really happen. I wished it would've though.

Regardless, our mens were ready to roll out after the second game because even after the boys clung to us like life preservers and practically groped our boobies in public to solidify the fact that they were straight, it was apparent that Mark and Steve would not be deterred by the silly 'ginas.

So we eventually left Mark and Steve with the pool table and their broken hearts.

Final Score:
Pee pee: zero
'Gina's: two

But the pee pee's had all the heart.
Better luck next time Mark and Steve.
We hope you find your tops.