The Musings of

Something full of magic, religion, bullsh*t.

Thursday, July 21, 2005

A night in the life

Saturday night. Dallas, Texas. My wife's out for the evening with friends watching Willie Wonka. The original plan was for me to hole up alone and read my responsibly pre-ordered and newly arrived Harry Potter book. It turns out that Amazon is not as magical as the material entrusted to it, and Mr. Potter was unable to attend our confab. Instead I sat for an evening of leftist scare tactics dressed up as an action movie entitled The Day After Tomorrow. Surprisingly, if you are able to picture in you head all the morons who actually got all hot and bothered by this pish, it became quite an enjoyable film.

TANGENT: I don't want to ruin the film "experience" for any who have missed this movie, but part of the plot requires that Mexico start taking in a good portion of American citizens. It's a pretty self-satisfied moment that the director plays with finesse by having some newsman note the irony that Americans must go to Mexico, you know, for the 3-year olds in the audience that didn't catch it. Of course, they continue to push the idea that we beg for assistance rather than acknowledge that it is likely that, upon deciding that America would become inhabitable, the U.S. military would be occupying most of South America within weeks. /TANGENT

The movie ends, the world is once again safe thanks to Dennis Quaid, and it's time to think about heading out. A change of clothes and 15-minute walk later and I'm sitting at My Bar drinking a Fat Tire draft.

There are two bartenders working tonight: the owners' son, Jimmy, and the new guy, a former metal roadie, Jake, who is fairly cool with his cute Scott Ian beard and "rock and roll" cowboy hat. Jim is a huge fight fan and is bitching about missing the Hopkins/Taylor fight. Jake has been sneaking around with his best friends girlfriend, Susan, while still trying to get together with his old girlfriend, Lauren. Susan is sitting at a table in the back and Lauren comes in and sits down next to her and they start talking a laughing. Jake gives me a look that says "this is going to turn horribly wrong very quickly." I laughed.

Beer two. My buddies Billy and Shawn come in separately. Billy does the lights for a local small concert venue and is stoked because it has been leased out to a local law firm to hold a clerk event. Very odd for a place where the average paying customer looks like this who are listening to music by this. He's stoked to be making double his rate off the rich numbnut lawyers who are brave enough to make there way to his layer of hell. Shawn works for a company inspecting gas stations, is a bit of a pretty boy/roughneck (I know, odd mix). He's dating a local waitress who wants to move in with him -- and he evidently went to see a movie earlier that night with Jake's old girlfriend Lauren. Jake is not pleased.

Beer three. I get grabbed by the arm from behind, and turn around to find Missy and her considerable breasts, which are being lifted and separated in my face. Missy is sort of a perennial screw-up. She's moderately attractive (worked the tables in a strip club), but aging rapidly. She has a tremendous smokers voice, is perpetually drunk, and is crazier than a possum in a burlap bag. I haven't seen Missy in a month or so, she hints at problems and then informs me that she's bought a local bar, and the Dallas Observer is doing a piece on her as the youngest bar owner in town. I wonder who gave her the money.

After 10 min., she begs me to walk her 3 blocks to get a check. Evidently, she's too scared to walk 3 blocks on her own, even thought there are 15 policemen sitting in an intersection on the way. I, being insane, agreed. She informs me on the way out that her bar-funding source is a local 50ish (gay?) guy who still hangs out in the area and that he's being a crappy silent partner because he can't remain silent. The bar we're making for is the local biker bar and is managed by a friend of mine who is former army security for Gen. Tommy Franks. Not to be messed with. We get down there and get patted down for weapons at the door. Not a good sign. The have the Hopkins/Taylor fight on pay-per-view. Signs improving. Rough crowd. Signs confused. Beer four. Signs happy.

Missy starts irritating everyone in sight, including the doorman who looked like he eats steak made out of nails. I flip my friend, the manager off, and settle in to watch the fight, which is now in the 6th round.

Beer five. Still watching. Hopkins is not looking too good. Beer six. Hopkins is looking better. For that matter, so is the 40-year old sitting next to me. Beer is good. The fight ends and I grab Missy and we bail back to My Bar, where she drives off into the night.

Susan and Lauren are still sitting at the back table talking and laughing. Jake looks close to hyperventilating. I tell Jimmy the fight result, and he goes completely ballistic because I didn't call him to come down and watch. He tells random customers the rest of the night that I am a dick for not calling. I am, but generally for other reasons. I would be offended, but Beer Seven salves my wounded heart.

I sit down at one of the bar game machines and start kicking names and taking ass at Funky Monkey and Trivia Master. I lost count of beers.

Next thing I know, it's closing time. Out, out, damn spots. Nothing left by the chosen few, who continue to drink as the crew cleans up. Soon, Jimmy takes off and the lights go off to provide the illusion of emptiness. Johnny Cash sings "When the Man Comes Around" though the stereo. As Lauren took off earlier, it's now me, Jake, and his illicit love hound, Susan. Susan and I begin discussing classic literature. Jake begins complaining about our discussion of classic literature, his specialty being alternative metal music recorded from 1998-2005.

Jake gets a call on his cell and says "Cool, I'll be here." When I ask him who's coming, he said "special guests." The guests, who were in the studio working on their new album, showed up and did a couple of shots. The guys were pumped and incredibly cool. After they left, I bailed for home and the comfort of my bed.
Centinel 3:36 PM #


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