andelman.com

Bob Andelman

Bio

Hotbot Search
  "By Bob Andelman"  

Northern Light Search
  "By Bob Andelman"  

Guru.com
Hiring Information
  for Bob Andelman  

Order Books
By Bob Andelman 

Andelman Archives  
Articles  

Books  
Reviews  

Stadium For Rent  

Hey, Kids!!!
Big Black Spider With
the Orange Orange Eyes  

Mr. Media Archives  
The Latest  
1998  
1997  
1996  
1995  
1994  

The Andelmans  
Bob  
Mimi  
Rachel  

Write To Us!  
Bob
Mimi
Rachel

(Since Oct. 7, 1999)

Bob Andelman Articles Archive

I called my wife at work and said I'd been asked to be a judge in a contest.

""You're not going to judge women in bikinis, are you?"

Uhhhh ... It's the Miss Hawaiian Tropic International Tampa Bay Contest, I muttered.

My wife didn't for a minute try to talk me out of it. Nope. Not a word of protest. ""If that's what you want to do'' she said solemnly. ""I know you want to''

Of course I wanted to do it. What heterosexual man in his right mind wouldn't be interested in standing within a few feet of 12 luscious, full-bodied, seven-eighths naked examples of American womanhood?

By the evening of the competition, I was having second thoughts, however. My wife didn't want to attend thank God but neither did any of my male buddies. That was surprising and disappointing. What better way to bond than by ogling willing women?

So I was to be on my own. But not before having dinner with the Mrs. And what a delicious dinner it was! Mrs. Andelman made a last-minute substitution for our Sunday dinner, putting the pork chops and macaroni & cheese aside for another night in favor of a new recipe: ""Baked Chicken with 40 Cloves of Garlic'' Just the thing for a married guy to enjoy before a night out. Alone.

Half a bottle of Listermint and a roll of breath mints later, I arrived at Biarritz in Clearwater. There weren't many people on hand yet and I was directed to take a seat. Can't begin to describe how much fun it is to be in a nightclub by yourself on a slow Sunday night when the only person on the dance floor is a former Chippendale dancer and you have no one to talk to or look at for an hour.

I was so glad when the contest started.

There were six judges, including Whitney Procer and Sonya Holtiwanger, the husband-and-wife team who distribute Hawaiian Tropic products in the Tampa Bay area. Two disc jockeys from WFLZ 93 FM the Power Pig were emcees. They got to announce the women's first names, ages, hometowns, hair and eye color, weight and measurements and say things about them like: ""Yi-yi-yi-yi-yi-yi!" and ""Good to go!" I remember these comments because they made them about each and every contestant, over and over again.

Guys, if you've always wanted to judge a bikini contest, this was a great one. Twelve stunning, curvaceous, smiling women, all strutting and putting on a good show, first in slinky, sometimes revealing evening wear, then in bikinis. (If you missed anything, the show was on overhead television sets and wide-screens all through the club.) But as a judge, you're expected to be able to take in the wonder of each participant and be able to look her in the eye when she grins at you. It's not as easy as it sounds. I found it unnerving to be sitting on a bar stool on the dance floor as each woman paraded around for the crowds' whistles and catcalls and then stood before the judges, twirling slowly and making eye contact with each of us.

During the evening gown portion of the program, I thought the most attractive, best-dressed contestant was number four, Roxanne. I waited until I had seen all the ladies to be sure and then gave her ""10''s in all the categories we were judging: the face, figure, and personality.

There was a long break between the evening gowns and bikinis as the crowd grew and the drinks flowed. A ""beer-sucking'' contest was held to pass the time with men and women on their knees, hands behind their backs, sucking beer out of mugs with a straw. Meanwhile, Sonya Holtiwanger of Hawaiian Tropic gave me some judging tips.

""Look for cellulite and stretch marks'' she advised.

She told me the company was edging away from blonde spokesmodels and toward brunettes. She asked if I had a favorite yet. I indicated Roxanne. ""Too big'' Holtiwanger said, although she noted that Roxanne had won the contest before. She preferred number two, Tracy, a slimmer, pretty, more evenly proportioned woman.

When the bikini portion began, I wanted to bolt and inconspicuously join the audience. I'm certainly no prude, but it was weird to have these women parading in thong bikini bottoms and string tops for our approval. But I'm tough. I survived.

Again we voted, narrowing the field to five finalists. I continued to support Roxanne, but hedged my bet by guessing that number seven, Jeanine, number nine, Debra, and number twelve, Mary Jo, would make the final cut. The results: Jeanine, Debra, Mary Jo, number eight Gina and Holtiwanger's favorite, number two, Tracy. Roxanne was not among the finalists.

The crowd, interestingly enough, had also taken to Roxanne, alternating chants of her name and a two-syllable term of displeasure usually directed at referees during football games.

But the contest moved on.

In its final phase, the women were to answer the question: ""Why do you feel you would be a good representative for Hawaiian Tropic?" Four of the five responses were virtually identical: it'd be a good chance to travel and I like to meet people. Mary Jo won the crowd and me with her poise and answer. ""Because you have to believe in yourself before you believe in and promote the product'' said the petite blonde from Clearwater. ""And I believe in myself''

The crowd went crazy. ""Mary Jo! Mary Jo!" But she finished a disappointing third. Tracy was second, to Holtiwanger's chagrin, and 22-year-old Jeanine LaBonte of Clearwater (5'3'' 98 pounds, 34-23-34, brown hair, green eyes), was crowned Miss Hawaiian Tropic International Tampa Bay. She won $1,000 cash, jewelry, Hawaiian Tropic products and the opportunity to compete in the national finals in Bahamas.

It was a long night. The winner wasn't announced until 1:30 a.m., three hours after the pageant began. I was tired and sure Mrs. Andelman was not going to believe I was dragging in so late because of the bikini contest.

One thing was for sure: I was not coming back to be a judge for Biarritz' next contest, a 7-week topless marathon to determine ""The Best Breasts in Tampa Bay'' My days as a professional body watcher and critic were over. No one should have to eat that much garlic.

©2000, All rights reserved. No portion may be reproduced without the express written permission of the author.

These books are also available as audiotapes :