El Dilector Turns the Big 3-4

Oh goodness, kids. You would think that turning 34 would have slowed El Dilector down a bit. Not the case. I think, perhaps, he's sped up. I digress. Our night begins at Kenichi, where I belatedly join the crew after my hair appointment. Yes, I have returned to my hairdresser in Austin. What can I say? She's fabulous and it gives me a good excuse to go party like a rock star. I digress yet again, but the point is my hair is smokin' hot.

There are several regulars in attendance. You'll be happy to know that GB is there and we get to sit together. Whee! I begin boozing while the crew finishes their sushi. The best thing that happens here is the delivery of fried ice cream to the birthday boy. This fried ice cream is very special because it is shaped like, well, a penis. There are also some balls. It's deliciously disgusting and El D is delighted.

"Everyone should have a piece of my cock!" he proclaims loudly and passes it around the table. Boots declines to take part in this. Buzzkill!

We decide to move on, as El Dilector says he's gotta find some chicks. We arrive at the Belmont, where we hang outside and wait for the magic to happen. Ha, wouldn't you konw it--Bro's groupies are there! I swear one of these chicks has a homing device on him.

Dancer and I have a mini-dance-off. He's brought his new man, who says he's an actual hip-hop dancer. Like, in real life. He's my hero! Dancer and his friend sort of fight over the privilege of dancing with me. This is fun! Dancer also tells me that he needs my boobies. For what, I am not sure. But I think this means they are good boobs.

And hey, what's this? Blast from the past, kiddos. MackTate's little bro is hanging with us tonight. Thus, MiniMack is born unto Gorgeous and Sassy. MiniMack claims we have met before.

He eyes me critically. "Do you really like football?"

"Oh, yeah, that would be why I don't remember. I'm sure I was three sheets to the wind and screaming at the TV," I say. "Holiday Bowl, circa 2002? Chris Simms was losing the game for us."

"And Big Guy was outside trying to dig a street sign out of the yard."

"Oh. Yeah. I think that was the pole for the Festivus Party."

Aaaaand El Dilector's ready to move. Next bar! (I guess I shouldn't complain. I'm not trapped at Molotov like usual.) So we're on to Key Bar. We alight on some sort of stone patio seat in the middle of which is a fire and some hot coals. Considering it's like 65 degrees, it seems a bit unnecessary. I mean, where was this thing on Christmas when I was freezing? Sigh. Bro sits cross-legged and mildly wonders if his pants will catch on fire. Will that make him a liar? I am not sure. The vodka and wine are permeating my thought process.

Bro and El Dilector discuss El Dilector's method of finding ladies to take home at After-Party Time. According to Bro, who I think knows better, it goes something like this:

El D: Hey, bitch! Want to come party with me? What? No? You're a bitch anyway! What about your friend? I guess she's a bitch too!

El Dilector protests that calling girls bitches is inappropriate and he would never do so. As he says this, he leans forward with a precariously perched cigarette.

"Hey, don't ash in my purse," I tell him.

UrbanCool stands up for El Dilector, saying something about how El D is very suave with the ladies. This is news to Bro and me. I suppose this is in contrast to UrbanCool's track record: he a story about his finest moment. "So I'm talking to two hot chicks and I have to stealth puke into a cup," he says. We all groan. That's pretty disgusting.

El Dilector decides he's going to get trannies. I'm not sure where this came from, but it's in my notes and should be attributed to the birthday boy. I, of course, am not done with my drink so I tell him I'll meet him. Because where else is the place to get trannies but Molotov? So that's where he heads, with GB and some of the other crew.

UrbanCool, Bro and I hang back. You know how each Dark Side of Drunk spirals into incoherence at some point? Here's where my dance with said incoherence starts. UrbanCool, Bro and I decided we don't want to go to Molotov, so we stumble to J. Black's which I insist on calling Jack Black's. This cracks Bro up to no end.

Here's what I think happens: the three of us sit at one side of the oval bar and UrbanCool buys us a round, and we check out the girl across the way. We've decided she's a man. And we dicuss this loudly.

Next we're stumbling over to Molotov after all. I have lost UrbanCool at this point. Upstairs, I manage to procure yet another vodka. Yes, I defnitely need more drink. This is evidenced by my superior dancing skills, which involve GB picking me up and swinging me around. In my mind's eye, we look like Patrick Swayze and Jennifer Gray in Dirty Dancing. No one puts Baby in a corner!

In reality, I manage to kick some dude in the shoulder not once, not twice, but three times. I apologize to him and his friend. His friend is very tall, and very bald. In my drunken brilliance, I'm telling him just how tall he is, when Bro and GB come to collect me for After Party.

Standard After Party antics ensue: I bitch about how El D has nothing to drink, time confuses me and we all troop through the hallways of his building in search of said drink and more parties. There is also a photo of the books in his apartment, which for some reason I find fascinating. Oh, perhaps because I am totally wrecked and it's 3:39 a.m.

I participate, barefoot, in said wanderings up to an apartment. Thus, I'm pretty sure I now have hepatitis. There's some guy in a bed in the living room and he's seriously not moving, like, at all. And then some girl is straddling him.

I turn to Bro. "Is that guy dead?

Bro peers at him. "Yes, I think he is."

"Okay, this is totally creeping me out. I have to leave."

Bro and I return to El Dilector's followed shortly by GB and El D. GB keeps throwing a set of five dice and telling Bro and I we are playing a game. I think maybe it's poker, but it doesn't make sense to me. Bro keeps saying, "F the fuck why?"

F the fuck why, indeed. I gotta roll out. Happy birthday, El D!

-Shakira 03.09.09