What keeps me up at night

One of my favorite things to do is to have conversations that are either a) hypothetical or b) probe into the nitty gritty details of some of life's enigmas (AKA, what most people would deem as "stupid").

This past weekend was an excellent example of this. On Friday night, I went to a fabulous Weezer concert with my good friend Devika. The concert was at the Williamsburg Waterfront, and as we waited for the show to start, we stood by the water looking at the Manhattan skyline. And then it started.

"How long do you think it would take to swim across to Manhattan?"

Now, most people would say "I don't know," or take a lame guess, and that would be the end. However, Devika is awesome in many of the same ways I am, and so she indulged me in a discussion about the perceived distance from hipster Brooklyn to Manhattan, the upstream current, the water temperature, and a number of other factors that might impact how long it would take one to swim across. Our conversation was clearly so fascinating that the guy standing next to us joined in and added his input as a surfer and swimmer. However, his analysis was that you would die before getting across, and I'm pretty sure that is..not true. In the end, we decided that while Devika would accept $5,000 for swimming across the East River with full information and advance notice, I would have taken that same $5,000 to jump in the water at that moment in my clothes and head over.

The next day, I joined some friends at the Connecticut marvel known as Foxwoods Casino. Foxwoods is a wonderful place because it has everything a girl like me needs in life: a swimming pool, a ten dollar Blackjack table, and booze aplenty.

At night, we went to one of the many Foxwoods bars for some drankin' and a pretty decent cover band. Luckily for everyone, they also had some of those scantily glad girls who dance on an elevated platform for all to see. I say this is lucky for everyone and not just for the men in our party because, frankly, us ladies enjoyed watching hot girls dance just as much as the guys did, and everyone picked out their favorite (everyone chose the same girl as the favorite because she was way better than the others).

The thing is, it did not suffice to just stand there and rock out to Journey and watch the girls dance. I got all Alice in Wonderland up in there and became curiouser and curiouser. The questions kept popping up.

How much money does the bar pay them?
How much money do you think they get per night in "tips" (AKA men leaving dollars on the ground next to them).
Do their parents know they do this?
Are they ex-strippers?
Are they future strippers?
Do they have a gogo dancing resume?
What's the job application like? Does the boss just put on some music and they dance around?
Don't they get sweaty dancing with their hair down?
Since the 2 girls dancing now are far inferior to the 2 girls who just left, does that make these girls the second string?
Are they drunk when they do this?
Are they not allowed to drink when they do this?
Do they have dancer names?
Do they always wear this same outfit (some kind of bra type thing, boy shorts, and a denim ensemble that involves a g-string that connects via a small strip going down the outside of their legs to some normal jeans bottoms. There are also knee socks that go under the jeans. And PUMAS)?
How much do they LOVE that they get to dance in Pumas, seriously?
Why do they bother picking their wedgies? Do they really care about covering that tiny bit of asscheek that we can't see already? Also, what happened to showmanship?

And on. And on.

Thankfully, there were enough people there that I could ask my questions of different people and (I think) no one got tired of me.

But seriously. Inquiring minds want to know these things.