Hobos and Vomit and Dildos, Oh My!

I couldn’t decide what to call this post.

Since I went to Dallas this past weekend, I originally called it “Shelia Does Dallas.” (If you don’t get that reference, you’re probably too young to be reading my blog.)

But Hobos and Vomit and Dildos, Oh My! sounded quite charming and whimsical, which is totally what I was going for here.

Now, don’t worry! This is not a boring look-at-my-pictures-of boring-stuff-I-did-this-weekend kind of post. There’s lots of action and fun, so read on, readers!!!

I went with my crazy cousin, Tammy, to see Lisa Lampanelli at the Majestic Theatre Friday night.

At the show, there was a whole row of very flashy dudes sitting behind us. Most of them were very cool, but one of the men was very loud and rude during the opening act; so my cousin turned around and told him to shut the fuck up. She’s so shy!

I was fully expecting to be ambushed by the dudes in the parking lot. However, we did make it out safely (probably due to the giant pair of scissors I had in my purse) and then checked into the Hyatt Regency. Here is an over-the-balcony pic that made my butt hole clench up while I was taking it.

On Saturday, we went to Dick’s Last Resort for some great food and drinks.

Our awesome waitress made us some very classy hats.

If you can't see this, the dude has a broken finger, and his hat says, "I broke my finger in her butt!"

For some reason, a group of ladies decided to bring their kids into Dick’s. Bad idea! I was trying to hide my totally inappropriate hat because the kids were staring and trying to read it.


The kids were mostly girls, but trailing them was one young boy. He read my hat, and then waggled his eyebrows at me, and said, “Nice!”


Oh. My. God.


I just received a nice-blow-job-hat eyebrow waggle from a friggin‘ 9-year-old!


Then the tornado sirens started going off in downtown Dallas, and the electricity went off. I went to the bathroom, and thought I had locked the door properly, but hell…it was dark…who knew for sure?


This hooker in a sparkly dress busts into my stall, practically crushing my skull with the stall door.


She trilled, in a very annoying little voice, “Omigod! I’m like, so sorry. But it’s ok because we all have, like, the same parts. Hee hee hee!”


Yeah, bitch, but what about that subdural hematoma you just gave me?


Here is a pic of the stall-slamming whore who wore a sequined evening dress to a restaurant that serves ribs and something called “Chick’n Fry’d Chicky.”

When I regained consciousness, Tammy and I decided to scope out the city. That’s when we spotted a store called “Condoms To Go.”

We just knew this had serious blog potential, so we entered the establishment to do a little research.


Yes, it was totally for research, not because we are perverts. Seriously, stop laughing!


A young lady employee, who we shall call “Cherry” was schooling us on the benefits of a personal shaving product called “Coochy.” With a straight face.


I decided that this was an excellent time for an impromptu blog interview.


Me: So this place is “Condoms To Go.” Is there also a “Condoms To Stay” in the city?


Cherry: Ummm, not that I know of. It’s pretty much a take-out kind of business.


Me: Has anyone ever asked if you have a fitting room?


Cherry: {giggling} No, but that’s an excellent idea!


Me: Do you have any of these edible underwear that taste like chicken?


Cherry: We only have apple and watermelon.


Me: Do these pasties pull the hair off of your nipples when you remove them?


Cherry: You have hair on your nipples?


Me: Uhhh, never mind! I’m doing the interviewing here, dammit! So, about these 12-inch diameter butt plugs...does anyone actually buy these?


Cherry: A few people. Very few.


Me: Can I have their phone numbers?


Cherry: No.


Then she walked off. Hmmph. And I thought it was going so well!


Here are some interesting pictures that I covertly snapped in the store:

Later on Saturday night, we poofed up our hair for a night on the town.

Tammy and I decided it would be a super-fun idea to ride the train over to the West End.


Sometimes "super-fun" actually translates to "super-homicidal."


While waiting for the train, we were accosted by several very aggressive hobos who “just wanted to buy some food, man.”


I’m sure they would NOT have used the money to buy booze or cigarettes, even though they all smelled like 2 a.m. at the local honky tonk.


One of them even pulled out her papers to prove that she had just gotten released from jail that day.


Because that made her seem much more respectable.


Also, we saw someone’s pants in the trash can. I don’t even want to know.

Hey, maybe one of the panhandlers can sell these pants to buy more crack and Wild Turkey food.


When we finally got on the train, we noticed a very strange and foul odor. Checking the seat in front of us, we saw this:

Yes, that’s vomit.


Thank God we had a very short ride to our destination.


We rounded off the evening by eating some excellent sushi, having a few drinks, listening to some music, and NOT riding the train back to the hotel. Taxi!!!


Despite a massive head wound, potential tornados, the vomit incident, and monster anal plugs, this was the most fun I‘ve had in a long time!


Yes, my social life is sad.


Now, who wants to go with me on my next road trip?