Return to Lubbock

Friday night Contrary and I head to Cricket's, as usual. Is there any other place to go on Friday night? Is there any other place to go in Lubbock? Yeah, I'm not proud when one of the waitresses walks by and comments that I'm drinking my "usual." Dude, stop laughing. I'm not an alcoholic. Okay, well, at least I'm a functioning alcoholic.

Contrary and I open the discussion for the night: what do we hate? Those Paris Hilton skirts. The one that look like tennis skirts and barely cover your ass. And hey, if you actually HAVE an ass, like me, you can't wear them at all. And speaking Paris Hilton, why do guys like her? Don't answer that. She annoys me. Can I add that to Gigi's Things That Bug Me list?

Oh God. It's Super Conservative Boy's roommate, Dr. Arrogance. Heee. He totally freaks out when he sees me, and then spends the next four hours (okay, it's probably like 20 minutes, but the drinks are flowing pretty freely and my concept of time is completely shot) telling me that he's in love with me. Oh, Dr. Arrogance, you'll have to take a number and get in line!

It turns out SCB and Dr. A are having an after-party. Woo! Bring it on! We end up at their house and SCB looks frightened. Apparently, since we had this, uh, fling? and he's totally freaked out that I'm at his house. I guess I should inform SCB that I'm not here for him. I'm here for the booze! I fix a drink and proceed to lead the dance party —er, I mean, we start "breakin' it down", according to Ashton—in the living room. It's impressive, let me tell you.

Dammit, Contrary and Ashton are making me go home. We go back to her place and she makes the most delicious grilled cheese ever! Okay, well, maybe that's the drunk talking but this sandwich is good. And then I'm blissfully sliding into sleep on the couch...

"Good morning!" Contrary is awake, brewing coffee and making blueberry muffins.

Fast forward through the recovery process to seven p.m. Time to get drunk again. Thank God! I've been waiting all day. The party is being held in Contrary's honor but her boss's husband is also having his cop friends over for his birthday. Law students, cops, random girls like me, and what's this? Irish boys. Contrary's friend has brought boys from Ireland to the party. Who takes a trip to the U.S. and makes sure to stop in Lubbock ? Apparently these boys do.

The weirdo combination of people and party events means that Ashton asks again when we're going to break it down, I get asked out by a cop, have a conversation with a wee young thing in his first year of law school, take a swing at a piñata, drink approximately 42 margaritas, and then head downtown with Contrary's friend Charlize and her Irish friends.

They want to go home and get their kilts. Of course we have to ask the vital question: do you wear anything under those? They threaten to show us. And then this weird discussion about circumcision ensues. I haven't seen one of those! We establish that most men in the U.S. have been circumcised and the Irish boys are only too happy to volunteer that they are not. Oooh boy. We haven't even made it to the bar yet.

Down in the Depot District, we end up at The Library because, well, why not? It's full of college kids in our favorite skirts, boys in my favorite trucker hats and then in the bathroom? Passed out girls. Excellent! Mental note, girls: please do not ever leave me in the bathroom to die. If I don't come back, for the LOVE OF GOD, please come to check on me!

I digress. One particular Irish boy we'll call Lucky (since he got to hang with me) wants to dance, and he's not taking no for an answer. So we shake our groove things (er, break it down) out on the dance floor that we have, well, created. I say created because there is no one else dancing. They just look at us like we're completely nuts. What is wrong with the Lubbockites this evening? Have they no skills?

Back at the table, we cannot get Lucky to shut up. The boy can talk. And talk. And talk. And oh yeah, make fun of me. Except he keeps saying that I'm the loud one. Excuse me, but I cannot get a word in edgewise here. I ask him to educate me further on English sayings, since I learned a few in Austria but still can't follow him. And then Charlize requests that I tell my Dubya story because it's just so damn good. The short version of the Dubya story? Shakira gets drunk. Shakira flips off the governor’s mansion while yelling obscenities. Shakira narrowly avoids jail. Just ask Gigi. She was there.

Lucky loves this story. Lucky loves the fact that I hate Dubya. Lucky. Will. Not. Stop. Talking. The Irish boys cap their night with straight shots of whiskey. I simply cannot partake and down another Dos Equis instead. Hey, I'll stick with my heritage!

-Shakira 05.10.04