The Double Drunk Bus?

Oh my, did we have an interesting evening last night. The cast of Characters?

G. Monkey- The possessor of 3/4 of my brain, fashion goddess, and all around swell gal.

The P'fessor- One of approximately 3214 Erics we know. Smart, but has a very very wrong sense of humor. He was our photodocumentary dude.

Miss Love- Her husband owns the club G. Monkey's husband works for, is a hoot AND a holler, and is a local DJ to boot. (which is pertinent later)

Guido- doorman at the club, and all around designated driver extrordinaire

Me- Teh hawtness.

So the evening starts by G. Monkey calling me to say, Um.... I accidentally put my hand through the kitchen window, and I'm running a little bit late. I couldn't get my finger to stop bleeding. (It was only a flesh wound, and her kitchen windows are evil bastards) She didn't need stitches, but she still wanted to go out, so three cheers for the walking wounded!

First we needed to find her something appropriately slutty, yet still adorable for the evening. After an hour and change at Burlington, this mission was accomplished, plus a few more outfits for work/summer. (I got lucky, and reworked an old shirt of mine that had a hideous neckline ruffle, and worked perfectly for the evening. No shopping for me.) We raced back to my place, straightened her gorgeously supercurly hair, tarted her up, tarted me up, and raced to the club so we could meet up with the professor and miss love and Guido.

Our theme this evening? Bars we've never been to.

The first stop?

Low Places. A country line dance bar, in the basement of a hotel. Now, a bit of backstory. My ONLY goal tonight (aside from having a great time) was to have SOMEONE. ANYONE hit on me. Because I have been feeling like a fat, pathetic, unemployed loooooooooooooooozer lately. And I? Was looking really cute. We walk in, I in my mexican lampshade skirt, G. Monkey lookin' a bit like stevie nicks in her hankerchief hem skirt, Miss love looks normal and the professor's wearing as close to a suit as he'll ever get. (Guido went upstairs to the sports bar to do his chillin') we walk in, and all eyes snap to us. If this was a movie, the BG music would have scratched, and stopped. Heh. Yeah. that good.

So we waited in line, the only urban foo's in the midst of cowboy hats, boots, and more fringe than you can shake a stick at. We snag our drinks and look for a place to sit (there are, of course, none), but I do get my wish. Immediately upon coming to a full stop near the DJ booth, a guy named Matt came over and began to chat me up. And he wasn't a troglodyte. Sweet. We had a great time at Low Places, and will e back. Who knows, I may even attempt to partake in the NASCAR of dancing. (which would be a hoot, because I can't even do the electric slide...)

Also, at this time, I should warn you that I started this blog entry about 6 hours ago. In the intervening time, I've cooked dinner for my parents, aunt, uncle, and brother, and have very nearly singlehandedly polished off a bottle of my "Papa Joe's" homemade niagra apple wine. I take no responsibility for any spelling, punctuation, or grammatical errors from here on out, because I? Am really fuzzed around the edges.

After we had our picture taken with the guy in the biggest cowboy hat in the joint, we fled for a little bar called Tails. If the York Hardware bar is the poor man's Coyote Ugly, Tails is the welfare recipient's Hardware Bar. It's supposed to be a place where cute girls in tight outfits will occasionally jump on top of the bar, and dance on the handy affixed poles. When we were there? Gangsta rap (which I don't mind), and a lot of really skeevy guys hoping to see some tails. There were maybe 7 girls in the joint, 1 was working, and three of those were in our party. So... uh... Bleagh. Tails was a bust. We got a photo of us smacking our own rears, in front of the sign and headed off to the Travelodge.

I used to game right down the street from the Travelodge, but was never old enough to drink there back then. So I'd never been in it. Apparently Saturday night is Karaoke night. Heh. Heh. Heh. Actually the singers weren't bad, but the crowd was... interesting. Also: there was an Edgar Winter Wannabe dancing to the rap version of "It takes two". Quite possibly the funniest thing of the evening. Heh.

From the Travelodge, we went to the Tally Ho, our conservative town's (almost) one and (almost) only gay club. We KNEW they'd have good dance music, and Miss Love really wanted to get out and shake her ass. And she did. Had there been more people on the dance floor (besides Miss Love, and the really cute couple) I'd have probably shaken my own thing too. (Though really? I haven't danced in nearly 3 years. Don't know why. I guess I just get way too self conscious.) The place was dead, so we decided to head to my favorite bar, the Shamrock.

Now, the Shamrock, as I've mentioned before, has the shuffle bowling, but since it was very nearly 1:35, and almost last call, we didn't bother with shuffle bowling. Instead, we went straight for the 60 cent pabst drafts. (No, that's not a typo.) That draft, I believe, was my undoing. For I was really good all night long (being broke will do that) and had club soda at most of our stops. I had a draft beer at Tails, and a bottle of beer at the Ho, but this little 10 oz pabst must have been skunked, because this morning? Was not pleasant. But that's later.

We got to enjoy some more really good (surprisingly) Karoke, closed the bar, and had our pictures taken outside, punching each other, in homage to what usually happens at that bar. (At least once a week, someone leaves bleeding. Huzzah.)

After that, I went to G. Monkey's house, where we snacked on chicken and french fries, and tried to watch Meet the Fockers. I passed out about halfway through, and woke up when it was light out (unusual. I have a really, really hard time sleeping in unfamiliar places, but I was exhausted.) I woke up this morning with a godawful headache, and struggled to keep my excedrin down on the ride back home. (G. Monkey drove me to the shindig, so she had to drive me home again.) I won the battle in the car, but lost at my house. Mercifully, my family and relatives had gone out to sightsee by the time I got home, so I got to take a nice, long nap. (Unfortunately, I fell asleep through most of "Bringing up Baby" and a really good "Midsomer Murders"- and yes, I find Inspector Barnaby absolutely adorable. Thank you Biography Channel for giving me marathons of Poirot and Midsomer on back to back weekends.)

Which brings us to the picnic, and the wine, and to this.

The end...