Red Dress Run X
September 8, 2007
Hares: RDR Committee (Punk Ass Bitch, Flabio, HUA, Prick)
Start/ On In: Club Midway (Avenue B and 2nd St.)
Ah September, when the tourists diminish in number and the weather finally begins to cool down. But who am I kidding, RDR 2007 was hot, hot, hot…and I’m not only talking about the outfits seen at Club Midway, either.
Yes, the weekend of the RDR was a scorcher, all those poor hashers in heavy makeup were suffering badly, as well as leaving unsightly sweat stains on those dresses. Luckily for us the trail was guaranteed to be short, unlike the death marches of the previous couple weeks. But it was still a hot r*n…how hot you ask? Well at the 3PM start it was 88 degrees in the shade. In practical terms, even the dog on trail was sweating (more on that later).
Unlike the past couple years the hares found a new venue…Club Midway in Alphabet City. Also, the hares finagled a deal with Bluepoint, giving us some free kegs of Toasted Lager©, and allowing for hash cash to pay for the venue (not that this didn’t stop them from chasing us downstairs and later back upstairs).
After the long and usual pre-lube, the hashers finally managed to stagger back out for the chalk talk and actual r*n. Overheard at the chalk talk:
– Hares yelling “Tits out for the boys”, and when it failed, muttering “that never works in New York…”
– Announcement of a lap dance competition later in the evening, immediately followed by second announcement that Wee Willie was not allowed entry.
The trail itself wasn’t much to speak of (that is if you can shrug off 80-100 crazies trotting around the East Village in red dresses, I suppose). I’m not sure exactly where the route went, though some of the checks did throw the pack off. Actually this was mostly due to a lack of chalk handed out, because at one point about a dozen FRB’s were waiting at the Washington Square fountain for everyone else to show up. After they did and pictures were taken, most of the pack waded through the fountain, as the usual tourist horde in the Square cheered on. Again luckily the trail was short, and after little further trouble we were back at Club Midway.
As per tradition, there were two separate circles, first the NYCH3:
The hares started off, then got a second round for neglecting to pass out chalk, or maybe it was not having chalk marks at the pub crawl. Another pub-crawl related award went to FMIG and Girl Scout Nookie, for talking a civilian out of her red dress that night. Former regulars and now visitors Kindergarten Kim and Booty Call were up next. Also not given at this point, but later in the night a belated down-down was given to visitor Shrimp Skanky from the home of the Red Dress R*n, San Diego. Next a fair number of virgins (or maybe a number of fair virgins) followed. A notable excerpt of this down-down was when the fairly plastered father of Red-headed Steve staggered up to the stage dragging Salt Lick along. Heard in the peanut gallery:
Hasher 1: “Wait, she’s not a virgin!”
Hasher 2: “Most certainly not!”
Gillian then received a down-down for flirting with random non-red-dress-wearing civilians at a bar across the street from the on-in. Next was Dr. Bruce, sometimes known as Lexi’s Bitch, for pointing out Lexi (a canine, BTW) had a case of “ass-sweat”…is that the official medical term, Bruce? Hoboken Dave was sent up, as he still didn’t appreciate the crappiness of his trail from a couple weeks back. AOTW went to DBB. Apparently he was out of his red dress faster than you can say (insert your own damn punchline here, I don’t feel like it).
For the RDR circle, my notes become really sporadic (see below), but I’m told some of the awards were:
Best Boobs: Doggy Style
Best Ass: Wee Willie
Best Wood: Wee Willie
I’m sure there were cheesy and/or crappy prizes associated with said awards, and I’m also willing to bet I missed a couple of awards too. Also about this time the pizza, which had arrived just before both circles (and had been mostly saved by conscientious folks from being attacked during the long-lasting circles), was finally freed and quickly consumed by the ravenous hordes. Much more drinking then ensued…
Yes, at this point I should remind you, dear reader, that my hash name is ‘Blackout’. While on trail my buzz was good and mostly harmless, by the time we finally got around to the circle I was three sheets to the wind, as the sailing hashers might say. I have to admit that the rest of the evening was pretty murky. However, me being the diligent scribe I am, I went to great lengths the following day to scrounge up some information on later events…
– Wee Willie quite likely had the most disturbing costume on trail, but at some point Crazy Bob trotted in with an outfit that clearly proved his hash name. It was stunning, to say the least.
– There was a pretty racy diagram of how to save a choking victim on the wall of Club Midway (think of victim standing but leaning over, with resuscitator ‘helping’ from behind), and Dr. Bruce was kind enough to demonstrate on Anna, numerous times by the way…
– Another noticeable outfit was Red-headed Steve’s dad in his uber-sketchy cowboy hat and sunglasses…envision a state trooper from the South perhaps, except in a red dress.
– At some point we were forcefully shooed downstairs, where more alcohol awaited us. Also downstairs was a pole that just called out for someone to dance with…I’m sure a hasher or three answered the call.
– At some later point for unknown reasons (another party?) we were forcefully shooed back upstairs, but we probably managed not to be too scary to the natives at that point. I say probably ‘cos I don’t remember much at this point, which can often lead to dissolute behavior. For example, I’m told that as Salt Lick was giving goodbye kisses Euro-style, yours truly tried to pull the trick often used by the recently departed Oh Sh*t!…the one where you turn your head, suddenly changing a peck to a lip lock. Except that in my inebriated state, it didn’t quite go off as planned. The scene, however, was funny enough to spectator FMIG that he fell over sideways in his chair.
– Completely unremembered by me, but sounding notable nonetheless was a fight involving chocolate and a plunger (yeah, sounds gross, doesn’t it?) between FMIG and Anna.
– Not too much later your humble scribe managed to leave the bar before causing any more trouble. However the party surely continued into the wee hours. Actually speaking of Wee (Willie), a cryptic (i.e. drunken) phone message late that night was sent…”We’ve lost Will”. Yes, there were many lost souls that night…