Can You See My Knickers?

Yesterday we finally got a chance to run in the Cupid Undies Run for the Children's Tumor Foundation. Half of Team Can You See My Knickers was in action while the other half drank beer fully clothed in North Carolina. Just a touch of failure there. Our team DID manage to raise a total of $775 for the charity, which is pretty impressive, if you ask us. It scored us free panties and open bar VIP status. What, what?! Before we get into the nitty gritty details of the race, let's talk poll results. We asked what kind of pictures you wanted us to take of the run. 4 of you asked for us, wanting to know if our "no beer or wings" diet worked. You'll have to check out the photos and let us know. 1 person wanted us post-race and sh*t faced. We've got 1 post-race picture, but we're not sh*t faced. Sorry. Finally, 1 other person just wanted random pictures of the race, which we tried to accommodate via pictures and video, but it IS hard to document sh*t while running.

We'll get right down to it. We showed up nice and early to The Brass Monkey wearing clothing. We drank beer and got fun heart straws.

 

 

Eventually, we got the balls to remove some clothing.  It might've been the beer talking or the man with the hearts shaved into his chest and back hair.

As you can see, we made friends. This guy's wings were pointy and we had a private discussion about making sure not to run next to him.

Almost immediately, Lisa was cold. We hadn't even gotten outside yet and she was half-bundled up. In fact, this is the shocking conversation that went down:
Lisa: Let's do a shot of Jameson.
Serena: Woah...
Lisa: I'm cold. I need to warm up.
Serena: Lisa, if we do a shot of Jameson, these shorts are coming off and there's no telling what may happen.

Fun, sparkly chicks gave us sparkly heart glasses. Serena began referring to herself as Clark Kent. Lisa would go on to lose this pair...as well as a second pair she scored.

We also met a fellow Wonder Woman fan. She rocked a kick ass cape, which made us jealous. This caused Serena to bitch about how she really wanted to be Batman.

At around 2:30, the actual run, if you can call it that, kicked off. It was FREEZING! Here's an a-hole video of us waiting at the start. To put things into perspective, Serena was cold, which means Lisa was literally on death's door. Organ failure started to set in. Fear of losing fingers and toes to frostbite was a great concern.

It was also unlike any run we'd ever participated in before. For starters, we were in undergarments. Insert another asinine video that starts with a sad focus on Serena's butt. Secondly, we were corralled like cattle. Usually, the fast runners take off, while the slow runners linger behind. In this case, we all jogged a little until we reached a crosswalk, where our chaperones stopped us for safety purposes. Then, we jogged across the street toward water and stopped again while we waited for the light to change again so that the rest of our party to make it across the crosswalk.

 

The waiting was the worst part. At least while we ran, our bodies warmed up a bit. Standing on the corner waiting for the rest of our crew was horrible. We just wanted to run ahead of the crowd, but we had no idea where we were going and let's face it. We had just drank a bunch of beer. We were in no shape to navigate a group of drunk pantless people.

As we ran, cars honked at us and passengers leaned out of their windows to photograph/video us...which is kind of creepy. In theory, we are plastered all over people's Facebooks, Twatters, and YouTubes and we'll never see any of it.

As soon as we made it back to The Brass Monkey, we hit the bar. Time for more beer.

A toddler who we're pretty sure was not allowed to be drinking ordered Serena a shot called a "Pickleback," something we'd never heard of. It's a shot of Jameson followed by a shot of pickle juice. The only thing that sounded appealing in this duo was the Jameson. The bartender assured Serena that it was delicious. Well, the bartender was an a-hole. It was not delicious. The pickle juice was terrible. It ruined the Jameson. Who in the hell is ordering this shot these days and why does a bar have an ample supply of pickle juice lying around? It doesn't make sense. It's appalling that you'd serve this concoction to someone. Gentlemen, whenever you're in doubt as to what kind of shot to send over to a girl, stop after the word, "whiskey." Don't add chasers, regardless of how clever you think you're being. We have news for you. You're not being clever. You're being an idiot.

Back to us. We ditched that jerk of a bartender for our lovely blonde British lady at the other bar. We were starving. We ordered the first of 3 meals. While we waited, Serena attacked a nearby jelly bean jar and ate all of the pink ones.

And that's pretty much the end of the story. After this, we ate burgers and fries at a local place in the city and then hit up a Thai place once we landed back on Long Island. Diet over. The end.