Attack of the Bellydancer

It was widely speculated that after the triumph of hitting #1 on google for goulash, I would kill myself immediately so as to go out in a blaze of glory. You better think again, turkeys. I can't give this up while the competition is hot on my trail. While we're at it, I forgot to say thank you yesterday to those bastards for warming up the #1 spot for me. But anyway, as promised, today I will relate to you how I was molested by the belly dancer at Cafe Istanbul on Saturday night.

I'll set the scene for you. It's Saturday night, I'm back home in Arlington visiting the fam, and my mom suggests we hit up our favorite turkish hotspot. It's not that we're too good for American food, we just know our way around the Tavuk Sis Kebap, know what I'm saying? So my mom, step-dad, and step-grandmother (if such a relation exists) load up in the family truckster and move it on over to Dallas, intent on kebabing our butts off. I am wearing my eating pants; I am ready to get down to business. Before I leave, I place a call to Nunchuks, who lives in the area and relates to me that on Saturday nights, Cafe Istanbul has bellydancers to entertain the crowd. I am intrigued, but I do not reveal this to anyone.

We get there, we chow down, we talk endlessly on the merits of the dewey decimal system. Towards the end of the meal, I get up from the table and place a scathing call to Nunchuks, full of insults and slanderous limericks, due to the fact that I'd seen no bellydancers. I had been tricked, and I put her down on my Enemies List (she and Hank Williams Jr. are the only ones still alive on it). As soon as I sit down, some really loud, Arabic soft-core porn music comes on over the speakers. Suddenly, the belly dancer bursts through the door and starts shaking her unmentionables. I am chagrined after calling Nunchuks out as a whoreface, but I sit and enjoy the show.

Immediately after the belly dancer came out, she made it clear that she was going to get the audience involved in this whole thing. She went around, doing little belly dancer jokes with everyone, including me. I was okay with that; I can take some manufactured tough love from a belly dancer. After she had made the rounds, I thought she was going to get into the act and leave everyone alone. I was mostly correct there, as she was only planning on bugging one more person. She looks around the restaurant for a moment, and then runs over to my table like a Samoan chasing after the ice cream man. She begs me to get up and join her act. Nevermind my Doner Durum was getting cold! Nevermind the fact my mom and I were in the middle of our Best of 11, Intergalactic Championship Thumb War. But who am I to deny the people a show of a lifetime? I get up there with her and play along.

She wants me to dance with her, sort of in a dance off fashion. Obviously she doesn't know the lethal mistake she's just made, so I give her a taste of the dance dance inferno that I bring to most indoor establishments. The crowd roars with envy, and she decides to make me stay up there with her and place things on her stomach so she can do belly dancer tricks. They were things like two glasses on her stomach, with one full of water, and pouring the water from one glass to another using her stomach muscles. Impressive. Lots of different crap like that, and I play along, having a good time with the whole thing.

Finally, she lets me sit down. I get back to my food, happy that this deranged Turkish woman has given me a moment's peace. About 2 minutes later, I hear her coming back. I am a little apprehensive, but then what are the chances of her screwing with me for a third time? That's probably against the rules of the Bellydancers Union or something. Evidently, she saw in me some kind of diamond in the rough, because she navigated her way to my table again and started up with the harrassment again.

I tried to ignore her, but she wouldn't have any of it. She kept bumping my seat with her rear end until I turned around. I've never had a seat whacked so hard; it was like being attacked by a rhino. I made it clear that she would be lashed until she dropped if she made me get up, but it didn't stop her. She wanted me to take some money off the floor and stick it in her bellydancer pants. Fine, whatever, I pick up the money and try to place it delicately in there. It's not happening, due to her gyrations. I try again, but she starts jiggling away. I have to chase her around the restaurant before she's cornered and I stuff the money down there like it's covered in monkey pox. At this point, I beg my family to make a hasty escape. They agree and we beat it to the door, real sneaky like.

As we're leaving, one of the waitresses comes up to me and says, "I've never seen her that nervous around a customer!" And that was all it took to change it from a bizarre, frustrating encounter to the highlight of my life. I am Cody Powell, #1 result for goulash on google, and Turkish bellydancers everywhere long for my sweet caress.

Posted by Cody at September 29, 2003 6:03 PM