Fo' Shizzy in the Hizzy

We begin our early evening (Happy Hour is early when you don't have to work!) at Crown and Anchor, with a pitcher of Celis White. We discuss the pure genuis of bringing the Celis brewery back to life.

"Before I knew it was back, I had a pint at Opal Divinie's and I thought I was just drinking off a REALLY old keg," I confess, taking a sip of my newest pint. Mmmm. Beer.

We're sitting inside Crown, enjoying the air conditioning, separated from the outside section by a floor-to-ceiling window. Big Guy observes how one particular loser on the other side is enjoying the view. I decide to put on lipstick and blot on a napkin. "Shall I hold it up to the window?" I ask, while Big Guy tries to give him the She's-With-Me stare.

We entertain ourselves for the next pitcher by making up fake numbers to give losers like the guy outside:

1-800-No-FN-Way
555-Whatever
1-888-Not-If-The-Success-of-the-Human-Race-Depended-On-It

We're next to the dart boards also, which attracts a rather electic crowd. Interesting Dart League conversation ensues:

"Got any shafts in the car?"

"Got off work at noon today, came here and drank three beers, went home, mowed my backyard and my front yard, passed out, came back here and said, 'Yeah! The weekend is ON!'"

The loser outside decides to get up and leave, but makes sure to spread-eagle himself against the glass so that I can't miss him. Big Guy and I dissolve into laughter.

"You really can't blame him," he tells me, looking down the front of my tanktop. "It's like staring into the sun! You know it's bad for you, but you just can't tear your eyes away!"

After we can't possibly choke down any more Celis White (word of advice: it's a ONE pitcher beer), we move on to Club deVille, where El Dilector meets us. One cocktail later, the phrase of the night has become "Fo' shizzle ma nizzle." And everything else we can insert a "z" in.

"Fo' shizzle bizzle dizzle ma nizzle," Big Guy says.

"What?" El Dilector asks.

"You mean, whi-zut," I say helpfully.

"More dri-zinks?" El Dilector offers.

J Hook Love puts in an appearance, roughly 16 drinks ahead of the rest of us. He promply orders a greyhound and a Heineken. "Better to have one waitin' gettin' warm than me waitin' gettin' parched," he observes. He goes on to educate the rest of us on drinking: Vodka = Vitamin B. "It's not too good for your bones but it's good for your soul. And it's clean burnin' fuel."

Inevitably El Dilector begins to call, "We go Irish bar now!" despite everyone's full beers. We move on to the Irish bar, or as Gigi affectionately refers to it, "Jimmy's Irish Lair." On the way, we pick up even more drunk friends, until it's a regular reunion among the barstools. Jimmy gives Big Guy an evaluative glance, decides he's all right and buys us a shot.

J Hook Love stumbles over, attempting to steal Big Guy's cigarettes. "You know, since you left, I'm the coolest guy in town. I didn't ask for it, but it's a job I have to do."

-Shakira 05.03.03