The Bet

[Alphamazing]

I got this from another board I visit, from a guy who got it off another board. From the board I visit:

"This story is written buy an aquaintence of mine from California. I took it from a local message board in the L.A. area but I thought it was just too funny not to share. This guy is a CPS Social Worker and by far one of the fastest riders I have ever seen. If you ever meet me in person ask me about this guy's "Christmas party story", even funnier than this one but not appropriate for this forum."

"The Championship, the Wager, and a Dance of Flash"

Due to underwhelmingly and unpopular demand, here is the tale of my
first cross dressing experience and the sorted story that led up to me
having to don the garb of the womenfolk. For those that like the
reader's digest condensed version: It sucked, it was fun, all is good.
But for those in need of a light pick me up - a reminder that life is
a joy, and don't let it pass you by, read on...

It all started when some yokel friends of mine started calling the
MotoGP championship at the midseason point in Nicky Hayden's favor,
despite the fact that Valentino Rossi (pretty much the equivalent of
God in human form riding a motorcycle) was still in the championship,
and ostensibly, if Rossi is still alive and breathing, the
championship is wide open. Well, being the nice and all knowing person
that I am, I told them how ignorant they were, and challenged all four
of them to put their money where their mouth was, and they did. We bet
a simple sushi dinner to the winner(s). In fact, I was so confident
that Rossi was going to win, I took him against all 21 other riders in
the championship. So, to recap, I am betting the bad side of 4:1 odds
with my one guy, God – Rossi, against 21 other riders, and my guy is
30 or so points behind in the championship. A great bet for me!! I am
sure to win!! Really – no kidding.

About a month later, it is still mid season'ish and Rossi is starting
to chip away at the lead that Hayden has, but the ignoramus's I am
betting against are just not getting the fact that I am going to win,
and still protesting that it is simply not possible for him to
overcome the great American hope – Nicky Hayden. Blah, blah, blah.
These yokels have no idea that they will be buying me sushi at the end
of the season. Trash talking by both sides is unstoppable, and pretty
much every topic of conversation invariably heads back to the
discussion of "the Bet".

Fast forward to Laguna Seca in Monterey, the US round of the MotoGP
World Championship. All is going well, my man Rossi is cruising around
in the top three for the race, just get some points and get out of
here. That will be fine, this track is far from his favorite and any
points are good points. He has been making up ground in the world
championship standings for the last few rounds, giving back a few
points ain't no big deal. We're all good, dude!! And then...the
unthinkable happens! Rossi's bike breaks down!! With only a couple
laps to go!! No way!! We are going to lose 25 points to the Kentucky
Squid Hayden! **** it!

Oh man, now I am going to hear it. This is a pretty sizable gap in
points, and it will be hard for anyone, even Rossi, to overcome this
to win the championship. Oh, woe is me!

As expected, the ragging and nagging begins, I am content to simply
sit there and lick my wounds and wait for the inevitable. Hayden,
barring some miracle, is pretty likely to win the championship. And,
what's worse for me – Hayden's teammate Dani Pedrosa is now second in
the championship with my man Rossi holding third, but a bit back. This
is not looking good. Not good at all.

But wait! What is this?? Prophecy?! From the mouth of God-Rossi? Yes
it is!! But only if you know the language of the gods! In an
interview, Rossi simply states that "de shampionship eez pretty well
decided, now it eez time to go make for fun and the good rhee-thym". I
can't believe this!!! This is great news!! If you read between the
lines what he is saying is simply this: "I am going to win every race
from here to the end, and we will see where the chips lay. Theess
Keentucky Keed is no match for me."

And for those of you that don't know, when Rossi decides that he is
going to win, it is as though God has spoken! He simply wins!

So guess what? It is time for me to take advantage and double up on
the bet. These hapless idiots that I am betting against will have no
idea of the blindsiding they will get. I can't possibly lose, God hath
said what the future will hold. So I double up with the soon to be
losing bettors. They agree to it, and I will get two – count 'em – two
sushi dinners when I win!! Woohoo!! But here is a wrinkle. They don't
want two dinners. No no... that would be too much financial pain to
inflict upon me, should they win (yeah, right). So, instead, their
ringleader (even though we are still friends, it has turned into
something of a heavy rivalry at this point with two distinct camps –
ME, and them) tosses out the suggestion that for their winning double
up, I have to dress up for the occasion.

But not just any dress up... If they win, I have to dress up in tribute
to the star of what their leader calls "the greatest film of all
time". Yep that's right. I would have to dress up like Jennifer Beals
in Flashdance!!! And probably have to do some sort of karaoke.

It is quite obvious that these guys have no idea what they are doing.
I am going to get two free sushi dinners out of this, it is impossible
that Rossi will not overcome the 51 point gap (he said so after all,
remember) and win the championship!! Seizing the opportunity, I take
the terms for the doubling of the bet, and agree.

These guys have no idea. Much more trash talking ensues, mostly
initiated by me, and perpetuated by me. I am right, I am right, I am
always right, and I am simply soaring!!

Fast forward a couple more rounds, Rossi is making up ground in the
championship, though not as fast as I would like, but still cutting
the gap with every race. It is looking pretty good for a last round
showdown with Rossi only needing to make up a few points in that final
race by simply winning. Which he can easily and handily do.

Second to last round, Portugal. A day that will live in infamy! The
absolute unthinkable happens as Honda (Hayden's team) tries its best
to ensure that God-Rossi's prophecy comes true!! In one of the most
incredible displays of how not to be a teammate, Dani Pedrosa
torpedoes Hayden in the race!! I can't believe it! Hayden is out and
loses a bucket full of points to Rossi. In fact, Rossi now takes the
lead in the championsip heading into the last round! Yay!! There is no
way I can't win now! Rossi being in the lead at the last round is a
virtual lock on the champioinship! I'm getting sushi!!! I'm getting
sushi!! I'm getting suu-uu-uushiiiii!!!!

Though, being the gentleman that I am, I refrain from the "I told ya
so" banter – I don't want to tempt fate. So I am pretty much quiet –
no trash talking - in the last week before the final round of Valencia
(though in retrospect, I should have been banging the trash talking
gong to high heaven so I could at least get my money's worth - next
time I will!).

The final race of the season. The championship comes down to this.
Rossi has the lead and pretty much needs to finish just behind Hayden,
and depending on how Hayden does, can finish way back. My smug mug is
watching the final round, with every bettor's number on speed dial so
that when I win, I can call them and totally rub their noses in it,
and let them know that I know everything, don't ever doubt me again,
you insignificant little gnats on the butt of....

Wait....

What?

Rossi crashed?! All by himself? Are you kidding me?? That is simply
not possible. Pause that and rewind, maybe you saw it wrong.... Someone
must have hit him, let's see if we can see who the rider is so we can
flood their email with scathing... wait, no one hit him? He crashed on
his own?

No freeking way!!!!!! No....No ....NO! nonononono!!!!!

Pick up the bike!! Pick it up! You can still do this!! But somewhere....
Deep down, I know that it is just too much ground to make up. Letting
out a deep sigh, I resign myself to my fate. The race concludes.... I
weep. I weep long, I weep deep, for now I have a debt to pay to the
ignorant sheep.

Surprise, surprise, my phone starts ringing – yeah, I know you
*******s. Neener neener!!! You won!!! But I'll be ****** if I am going
to answer it...

The next time I talk to these folks, my name has been changed to
Jennifer Beals, or Maniac, or Flashdancer, or.... You get the idea. And
all I can do is grin and bear it.

The date is set for the sushi dinner when I will have to put on
tights, a leotard, leg warmers and a cut sweater. Oh yeah, and makeup.
Let me tell you, there ain't nothing uglier than a not so pretty dude
in make-up. If you see the pictures that go along with this shindig,
you will definitely agree with me here.

So, off to shop for the wardrobe that I am going to have to wear. I
figure light colored spandex, and the leotard will work. I don't know
where to get this stuff though... hmm... I guess a sports store will
probably have them.

After a few minutes walking around the store and looking, I don't see
anything even remotely close. I spot sales associate Ben, and ask him
if he can help me with locating some light colored spandex pants, and
a dark leotard. When he asks me what size, I am cornered.
"Well...actually, my size, dude, bro-man-bro." Note to readers: any
combination of dude-man-bro used in a sentence from one man to other
men immediately lets them know that despite the obviously dire
circumstance causing him to shop for women's clothing that, yes, he
still has his man card, and this must be something unavoidable -- such
as losing a bet. That is established man-law. Go look it up. But just
to be sure we are actually on the same page, I quip, "You see,
dude-man bro, I lost a bet."

Ben lets out an uneasy chuckle. "Hey, um ... bro-man-dude, would you
mind if I got one of the girls to help you??" Well, I am glad to see
that he responded in a sufficient form to not have to call the man-law
authorities on me, and he passes me on to the lovely Summer. "Yeah,
hey, um... Summer? Can you help us here?? This dude needs...um... Hey man,
you tell her. I'm outta here." Out of the corner of my eye, I see Ben
running away... fleeing is more like it, actually.

So I tell Summer what I need and she asks me if this is for my
daughter. "Well no, I don't have a daughter, I don't even have a
wife." Wink wink, nudge nudge. "This is for me!" I am trying to catch
the words as they are coming out of my mouth and stuff them back in
there, to no avail. Her eyes quickly focus to meet mine...and she has a
devious, almost devilish look about her upon hearing this last tidbit
of info. OK, she reacted better than I thought she was going to.

"Really!?!!? Well what's the occasion?" she asks. So I relay the short
story of the bet, and what I have to wear. She laughs – the good kind
of laugh too. A laugh of understanding, empathy and, most importantly
of a newfound idea. She says, "I have soooo got to remember that next
time me and my boyfriend bet on something."

That last bit of information puts an end to my next question to her
before I can even think about asking. Boyfriend.... ****. Well in any
case she lets me know that they don't have spandex in light colors and
suggests that instead of a leotard, I try a one-piece ladies swimsuit.
So we get the biggest size available – in dark blue, and it fits –
very snugly. I mean verrrryyy snugly. It even got to the point that
she and I were "shopping" for the best color when I remembered that I
can't "shop" for this stuff, lest the man-law police come in and whisk
me away. "I will take this one, thankyouverymuch." But they still
don't have the rest of the stuff I need.

Summer tells me that the rest of my apparel can be found at a local
department store, and where to find the items in the store. I thank
her, and head over to get the rest of my stuff. I still have a problem
with proper leggings to be truly authentic to that which is the
essence of the greatest film ever (again, according the top monkey of
the not-so-knowing ones). Well I will figure something out.

As Summer said, the sweatshirt, leg warmers, and tank top are all
easily found, and as I am still puzzling about what kind of legwear to
use, I happen to ease by the panty hose section. Panty hose.... Hmmm...
Well Joe Namath wore em, and he is on the man-law board, I guess this
will be all right. Immediately after I start looking it becomes
quickly apparent that I am going to need some help in getting the
right pair of leggings. After soliciting the help of a fellow customer
of the female persuasion – and countering her befuddled look with the
super short bet story, she informs me that I will definitely need the
"Queen Plus" size. Oh goodie gum drops. We choose the right color, and
off I go.

There is one last stop at the wig place to get a proper wig. Once that
is done, on to the house to try on the entire ensemble, and make sure
everything fits, works, does the deed. Two cracked mirrors later, I
accept the costume and it works.

Just for good measure though, I had my dog, Snoop – a man dog, baby –
that's right, an American Pit Bull – try on the wig. Well I had to, he
was sitting right there. It was the absolute most ridiculous looking
thing, and he looked downright hilarious, and ... hey wait... I am not
going to look ridiculous in this get up, am I?? No not possible.

Well, the night arrives, and I am more nervous than a less than chaste
woman in church. Really. And I have had one of the theme songs from
the movie, "Maniac" running through my head for the last two days, as
I have been informed a few days prior that this will be the
interpretive dance and karaoke that I will be expected to perform. Oh
yippee.

After I get dressed, a friend of mine helps me with the makeup, and I
scare myself a bit more by looking in the mirror, we all hop into the
car and drive over to the restaurant. Now the thought runs through my
head, "what if I get pulled over on the way there? How is this gonna
look?" I don't think I ever approached the speed limit on the way
over. Not even close.

Let me tell you there is nothing like showing up in public to a busy
restaurant, dressed in drag - and fairly revealing drag at that - to
settle a bet. Oh and did I mention that my loser friends decided to
invite a dozen or so other folks as well?? Oh yippee again.
There is only one way to do this, and do this well, and that is to go
totally over the top. So I do. It was a night of fun. We all had a
good time with it, a few dance moves here and there, some "supersexy"
poses along with dinner. My debt is almost paid.

Except for the karaoke...

We all move into the karaoke lounge – and oh great, it's full. We find
a few chairs and sit down as we have a few songs to go before I get up
there. I see wandering eyes all around, and folks trying to get a
peek, because it is pretty easy to spot a 6'1" 240 pound dude in drag.
Those kinds of things really don't go unnoticed. But I sat in the
back, stayed kinda hidden and got my game plan together. You see, I
have never done karaoke, pretty sure that I can't sing a lick, so this
is all going to hinge on my "performance", my stage presence if you
will, to pull this off. Oh yeah, and I have never really been on stage
before, so I have that going for me too. Wonderful.

Here I have a stark realization. The vast majority of people at the
karaoke bar can't sing and have no talent – just like me, and are
probably doing this to fulfill a bet or dare as well. They are nervous
and shy and just don't pull it off. Of course there are a few serious
folks in there as well, probably training for the next American Idol
tryout. But guess what – I am just gonna totally go for it, have a
good time with it, who cares!

I powered through as best I could, had a good time with it, even gave
the crowd some glimpses of things they probably didn't want or
necessarily need to be subjected to. But hey, I did it, the bet is
over. I paid my dues.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=L7TmWjQpO2g

All year long and as a result of the wager, I was telling these guys
that I bet with that I really, really wanted Nicky Hayden to win the
championship... just not this year.

Well Nicky got his championship, congrats to ya son, you earned it.
And thanks for ensuring that I got to celebrate your championship in a
manner that the world probably never needs to see again.

For posterity sake, and because I can't seem to keep my mouth shut, we
are doing the bet again next year, probably with the same riders. I
will take Rossi against Hayden though, not the entire field. Being a
betting man, that is a good bet – and though I would like to torment
these other fools with their transvestitism, should I win the bet, I
would be happy to become a cross dresser again for Nicky to take the
championship. Not that me cross dressing is any kind of motivation –
in fact, after watching the video of me "performing", it might be
incentive not to win the championship at all. Ever again.

But best wishes to all, good luck to Nicky. 2007 should be an
interesting year in MotoGP.

In the end, whatever happens – it will be all in good fun.


Pictures http://marcdanziger.exposuremanager.com/g/steveyracer

[annguyen1981]

Damn Brian...

Can someone give me the Cliff Notes version?


Funky pics tho...

[Alphamazing]

Can someone give me the Cliff Notes version?

For those that like the reader's digest condensed version: It sucked, it was fun, all is good.

[annguyen1981]

 

See...  technically, you should have stated that in the first paragraph as well.

I'll eventually read it when I'm not too tired...  right now, my energy is being directed towards my post-whoring attempts.