Is It a Mugby? No one knows

And, another installment of Going Out With El Dilector – How Is No One Dead Yet? begins.

El D has had his eyes dilated, which translates to many, many misunderstandings because he can’t text properly.  I arrive with a salad for dinner (yes, this will prove to be an excellent base for drinking my weight in wine and vodka) and no wine as I had promised.  Why, you ask?  Because I had a conversation with him via phone in which he informed me he had wine, GB had vodka, and Milly had more wine.  However, he blames our misunderstanding on the dilated-inablity-to-text issue.

Thus, I walk ten miles through the snow uphill both directions for wine.  Not really, but I am wearing cute shoes as opposed to walking shoes.  I re-enter the apartment feeling a bit disheveled and with blisters on my toes.

Bro shakes his head.  “Dude, you made your SISTER walk to the store?”

El Dilector claims he was “entertaining.”

Subsequently, I witness two more conversations regarding misunderstandings between El D and other people.  Hmmm….what is the common denominator here?  Could it be…El D??

I digress. 

It’s time to dive into a huge glass of wine in order to make up for lost store-walking time!

We are discussing our options, as El D put out a red alert on Facebook a week ago that the roof at Molotov’s will be closed for a month.  I ask if he’s still going there and slumming it downstairs instead. 

“Yeah…” he says, stroking his chin thoughtfully.  “I like to go for the last 20 minutes, you know, sweep up.”  By this I believe he means take home the easy girls.  (Wait, aren’t the ones with El D ALWAYS the easy ones?)

He and I launch into a dance routine where we mime “sweepin’ it up” with imaginary brooms.  This delights us—as well as El D’s friend CutiePie—to no end.  The drinks are definitely kicking in.

CutiePie beckons at me as I cross the room a few minutes later.  “Vodka shots!” 

As I consider, El D throws one back and then appears to choke with disgust.

“I’m going to decline,” I respond, sloshing more wine into my glass.  It stands to reason in my tipsy state that if I worked so hard to obtain said wine, I should perhaps, you know, drink it ALL.

The natives are restless and we decide to head out.  We have chosen the Key Bar as our first destination, and a group rolls out.  GB says he’s not coming because he partied too hard the night before.  What-ever, GB!  Read your Facebook reminders and know that if I’m coming to town, you should save it up for me.

At the bar, El Dilector lets me text message for him since he still cannot see.  You all know how much I enjoy this—sending messages on his behalf—but I am a real loser when it comes to iPhone skills.  Thus, my skills combined with his inability means fun messages for all receipients.  He dictates missives such as: “Yo [insert name here] mutha fucka what up?  Come to Key Bar.”  I type things like “boobs” just to mess with him.

Then I am informed that GB did not go home and sleep, but instead is at El Dilector’s place.  I whip out my own cell phone and type: “Please do not drink my wine, bitch.  Love you.”

And then I hear El Dilector talking about putting his seed in someone.  Bro, Milly and I are appropriately disgusted. 

When he decides he wants to leave minutes later—doesn’t he always?—I help Bro and Milly with their pitcher of beer by drinking directly out of with a straw.  Back in high school, we were sure this got us drunk quicker.  Wheee!

Oh God, now what’s happening?  A guy with a handlebar moustache kisses my hand and says his name iss Cowboy.

Bro snorts with derision.  “Creative.  I am going to start wearing a fireman hat and calling myself ‘Fireman.’”

On my other side, I hear: “I had sex with her!  Wait a minute.  No, I didn’t.”  (Yes, that’s El Dilector—still not seeing all that well.)

As I’m recording this in my journal, I look up at a guy with a huge bar code on his shirt.  This makes me giggle uncontrollably.  He looks offended and says something rude.  Whatever, dude.  Bar code?  You really didn’t expect to get laughed at?  And I’m pretty sure he’s friends with Cowboy, so those dudes are completely out of luck when it comes to scoring the ladies.

El D is really into some googly-eyed girl.  He says she’s a “minx.”

Bro and I debate the spelling of minx.  He says it has a Y.  I say, “No, that’s LYNX.”  He admits that I’m right, and then we both wonder what exactly a minx is, and if that’s what El Dilector really means.

Also up for debate: what is a Mugby?  It's in my notes but we don't remember from last time. Yes, the vodka following the wine has certainly done its job.

We head next to the Tiniest Little Bar in Texas.  It also has the Tiniest Little Crowd, meaning that there is no one there.  Well, except for us.  This, of course, does not comport with El Dilector’s plan to sweep up ANYTHING, and he loudly calls for us to go somewhere else.  Bro is annoyed.  Are we not entertaining enough??! 

Milly buys us shots (yay!) and text messages for El D.  I believe she is attempting to help with a Virtual Sweep via text.

As the little hand nears the two, we head back to El D’s place. 

And, basically, I know not what happens here.  I am pretty sure GB did not drink all my wine, so I attempt to drink more, because that would make sense. 

Lights out, kiddos.  See you after finals!

-Shakira 04.19.09