We get out of the jeep, adjust our lipstick, and adjust our hair. Maybe if we get lucky we can dance the night away with some prince charming who happens to be in this town at this club (fat chance). At best we can hope for cheap drinks, faces cuter with beer goggles on, and cheap slutty sex with some squid. Ah the possibilities. Wait, rewind, lets back up ½ to the local tavern, I havent finished with the full on description yet….
Let me tell you some more about the local tavern we were previously at. We share the barstools, with the bar stool regulars, a motley assortment of townies some resembling Norm from Cheers others resembling your local computer geek. Sailors never sit at the bar, these seats are strictly reserved for the townies. The bar is decorated with various mirrors, local artists gloomy artwork, beer cans from foreign lands, and music posters. On the other side of the bar is two pool tables, always taken by sailors who keep to that side of the bar. There is a band warming up on stage, a local band, whose members appear in their 30s and don tattoos, thick glasses, and Ramoans style hair cuts. Kathleen complains that when the band plays its too loud to talk. I actually like local bands, and notice one of the musicians to be an old friend of mine. I run up and give him a hug. I think to myself, finally someone cool here to talk too. “Your going to watch us play” he asks, I nod, and hope to myself we aren’t headed dancing once the live music begins.
Okay, now cut to back at the dance club, we walk to the guy checkin Ids, Im embarrassed to see that he recognizes me with a wink and doesn’t need to see my ID. Now I feel like a regular…. I could die a thousand deaths…. The DJ is blasting 50 cent and so far the dance floor is empty except for one drunk older lady sporting glowing rave toys. The bar is dark, girls with tight tee shirts scramble to keep up with drink orders at the bar. Navy memorabilia line the walls, pictures of squids, plaques with squid awards, ship photos, sub mariner relics. Ah a safe haven for sailors.... oie wey. As we walk in, its like the music comes to a screetching stop and all eyes are on us. The sailors gaze at us between puff of their cigarettes. The local girls snicker and glare, upset by more competition. Kathleen recognizes a table full of townies and drops her purse on the table, staking a claim. I follow cautiously. Im wishing for a big joint at this point. Ah yes, it would be great to be stoned now. The big biker at the table greets Kathleen with a hug, I see he is wearing colors for the Banditos biker gang. Kathleen scans the scene, “its dead here” she says. I realize for club time its still early, only 10:00. “Im sure it will pick up" I say. "Hes cute" Kathleen gasps, while nonchelantly pointing at some guy bending over the pool table in tight wrangler jeans "nice ass". "Wrangler butts drive me nuts" I reply wryly.
“Lets Dance” Kathleen says as a new song starts, its “Its raining Men” by the Weathergirls. Though not drunk enough to really cut lose, I oblige thinking what they heck. Its always fun to make a fool of yourself. Plus, like Booger says in Risky Business “Sometimes you gotta say what the Fuck, if you cant say it, you cant do it!"
---Will continue the adventures in redneck land in another post....
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"The mark of an immature man is that he would die knobly for a cause. The mark of a mature man is that he would live humbly for one" - Catcher in the Rye -WARNING WRITER SPELLING CHALLENGED! But Sometimes you have to say "what the fuck!"
Friday, May 28, 2004
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