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A Blizzard of Fun
Saturday night:
El Dilector and I cruise over to Cecilia's to check out the scene. There is not much going on there except for snowboarders. Blah. We go upstairs to Liquid Lounge and discover the default setting on cocktails is tall. We like this very much, and I proceed to help El D choose ladies.
We are entertained by watching a group of white people attempt to dance. After a while, El Dilector notices the two girls across the bar are checking him out. I stop by on my way to the bathroom.
"Ladies, he's free, and he's my brother, not my boyfriend, so you can totally go for it!"
On my way back from the bathroom, I am accosted by one Mr. EmCee, who bestows upon me the gift of his demo CD. The memory is hazy but I do believe he winks and tells me that not just anyone gets a copy of his precious musical magic.
Back at my stool, I inform El Dilector that the blonde likes him. He goes over to seal the deal.
Just minutes later, he comes back and wonders where his drink is.
I explain that it's gone. (Most likely because he drank it.)
The verdict with his admirer is that he's too drunk to make sense, so it's time to leave. I am disappointed, as the clock has just struck the witching hour.
It turns out Mr. EmCee has decided that I am pretty. Or that he likes my butt. One of the two, I guess, or both. As I try to leave the bar he asks if I have a phone number.
I shake my head.
"No phone?" Mr. EmCee looks perplexed.
In response, I wiggle my left hand at him.
"Is that a marriage ring?"
I consider this and nod.
Tuesday night:
The crowd at Cecilia's is way too young. In fact, I breeze in right past a girl who has just had her ID taken up by the bouncer. She's pleading with him to return it. I snicker to myself, which is Exhibit X in a long line of evidence that I am indeed as old as the hills. After one tall vodka drink each for El Dilector and me, we head back up to Liquid Lounge for some real entertainment.
El Dilector has decided that Liquid Lounge reminds him of Molotov. Thus, he loves it and would like to marry it.
We take our seats at the bar, order our talls and proceed down drunken lane. As I mentioned before, I am seated next to Snoopy Sam, who wants to know what I'm writing and why, and thus the notes become coded. In my drunken state, I do indeed think, "I will never be able to figure out what this says," but continue in code anyway.
Thus, here is what I have, and what I can remember about why I wrote it:
We watch this guy hit on three Asian girls in a row, who happen to be seated in reverse cuteness: C, B, A. Unfortunately, the guy is next to C, when El Dilector and I think he really should be hitting on A.
I watch the bartender rock out to "Smells Like Teen Spirit" and notice she has no idea what the lyrics are. This is because she is 12, and that song came out when she was an embryo.
The ULLR festival is going on at the time, and there are no fewer than ten guys in the bar with big foam ULLR hats. Basically, they look very silly and drunk.
Then there is a 21-year-old who is requesting Jager, and the bartender is out. So instead, the Birthday Girl, El Dilector, me and this dude El D has befriended all do some sort of Granny Smith Apple shot. This is where things get very confusing.
"Remember second stage" is something that El Dilector and I trying to remember, but I obviously don't remember.
Then there is something about baby girls and T-Rexes. I think this means a group of girls were dancing with funny short arms. White people dancing to Kanye West is funny stuff. I know that much.
Mr. EmCee comes back to check on his CD.
"Did you listen to it?"
"Nope. I don't have a CD player."
"Do you have a computer?"
"No."
"Do you have a car?"
"No."
Basically, I'm off the grid, dude. He appears not to believe me. I really don't have any of these things in Breckenridge, so I'm not lying.
Suddenly I turn to El D and say, "I have to go."
There's a short walk home in a blizzard, and I fall into bed after texting El Dilector something to the effect of: "Make sure safe home."
-Shakira 02.01.09
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