Independence Day Fun

It’s Independence Day!  We shall celebrate our independence from the following: work, responsibility and sobriety.  Hence, the drinking shall commence on a sultry Thursday night—in where else?—the ATX.

El D, Puck and I sit at Jimmy’s Irish Lair and debate Facebook.  Good or evil?  I still vote evil and Puck says good things happen through Facebook.  He makes his case for it but all I hear is "blah, lifelong friends, blah."

I am focused on vodka Sprites.

"Fast Car" by Tracy Chapman comes on, and El D is whisked away to a memory of seventh grade.  "I used to listen to it on a mixtape on the school bus," he says, staring to the distant past at his adorable little self.  "I thought that someone understood my pain...imagine my face pressed against the window."

El D, Puck and I pause in the Facebook debate (if you could call it that) and imagine.  Poor little El D.

"Hey.  The Lair smells like cat pee," I say.

"Agreed," says El D. 

Time for a discussion of the term cougar.  An important question: can one be a cougar if she has not yet hit 40?  G$ thinks if you dip down into the decade below, cougarness can be had.  El D is definitely of the opinion there is an upper age limit.  After 40, he says, woman is no longer a cougar.

“Yeah, what happens then?” Puck, asks, interested despite himself.

“A saber tooth tiger.  EXTINCT!” El D says triumphantly, raising his glass.

There is a guy we’ll call Mullet Boy who keeps gazing at me across the bar.  Perhaps he is in his 20s and hopes I can be his cougar? Sorry, Mullet Boy.  No.  Not.  Happening. 

Alas, I do have to pee, which takes me nearer Mullet Boy than I’d like to be.  (This just in: bathroom at the Lair still has supermodel quality mirror.)

Back at the bar, I ask El Dilector: "Do you know what should become more commonplace?"

"No, what?"

"Teleportation,” I answer.  This cracks El Dilector up.  I think it would be wonderful.  Just think—back and forth from H-town to ATX in moments!  (But my civ pro professor first year was really concerned about determining jurisdiction when teleportation is used.  Hmmm.  It’s a thorny question.)

Back to the bar, where El D and Puck have gone to smoke.  Unfortunately, I am too busy thinking about teleportation and avoiding Mullet Boy’s loving stare to pay attention to who was sitting where, and I give away Puck’s stool.  When Puck comes back, he, um, forcibly takes it from the girl sitting there.  She and her crew retreat to a table in the corner, where they give Puck the evil eye, whisper and cast mean spells on him.

She does return to the bar to tell him one thing: “That’s not an appropriate way to talk to another human being.”

“Oh, sure,” Puck responds.  “Peace, love and all that shit.”

Heee!  This whole fight is my fault.  Well, not the whole fight. Puck IS being kind of a dick.  Oh well, apparently Puck is also celebrating his independence from niceties.

“Fourteen minutes until the witching hour!” El D declares.  “Let’s go somewhere else.”

Puck insists that we visit Pete’s Piano Bar or Dueling Pianos or Dueling Douchebags or whatever that place is called.  He knows a bartender and claims we will get free drinks.  Is it worth it?!

We begin the trek.  "Where are we walking? Egypt?” I ask.

"No, Pete's."

"That might be worse."

Aaaaaaaaand we arrive.  Aw, Pete's: a place where fat girls feel special. Puck gets us some free drinks but El Dilector is going to lose his shit if we stay here much longer listening to people try and sing while the piano players make them look like the fools they are.

Next stop: The Grüv.  WTF?  This place is a freakin’ madhouse.  But I do owe my fabulous profile pic to a guy moving through the crowd who lets me try on his glasses and take a picture. Thanks cool guy!

So there’s a drink, a stop in the bathroom, and next door to Lanai. It's kind of awesome!  (Even though it's 80 degrees.  There are fans and I'm not sweating.  I consider this a coup.)

"Go talk to those girls,” Puck says to El Dilector.

"Which ones?"

"Any of them."

How very discerning of you, Puck.  Lanai lasts not long enough, and it’s time to head back for After-Party.

Hum.  The only thing noteworthy about After-Party is that El Dilector and I both harass the same couple about their status.  Completely independently (see how I did that?) of each other—you know, inappropriate questions like, “Are you together?  Are you dating?  Are you exclusive?”

Oh yeah, and Puck makes some delicious garlic bread.

The next morning, as I watch TV in a shitty hotel room, I hear Mr. Rogers say: "You never know how much you can have on any given day."

Ain’t that the truth?

-Shakira 08.11.09