Let me back up.
I was supposed to go to a movie with Bree and Fire Faerie last night, but I was too tired. Movies just mostly wear me out. That's why I don't think of going to a movie as the first thing on the agenda. Even at home (in our BROKEN theatre downstairs - aarrrgh!) movies are so much of an energy investment that I always consider long and carefully. Manchurian Candidate made me sleepy. Sixth Sense gave me nightmares. Braveheart gave me a hangover. Four Weddings and Funeral made me question the state of my marriage. The third Matrix just pissed me off for a day or two.
You get the idea.
So, I was too tired to see a film. I just don't have that kind of time in the next few days to fret over the plot and characters who keep popping up in my head like errant, rabid prairie dogs.
I did, however, have the gumption to go drink. I was to meet them for a drink after. I was still undecided (which was where I'd left it) (Christ, I'm taking my time getting to the point) but at a quarter to nine I'd just fired up my laptop to let the muse decide for me. If it flowed, I'd stay in. If not, I'd go out. No big plans for the outing, just a restaurant bar for a martini or two; or, in the case of Aidan and company: a fire-fight in which our hero finally realizes that, yeah, this chick that likes him might be worth a little effort.
Fire Faerie had gone home sick - hadn't even made it through the movie. It doesn't sound like what we all had; we'll find out today I suppose. But at any rate, she was too ill to even finish Hitch, a cute film, which (and I quote Bree here) "I suppose I'll never see the fucking end to now." I told her that he gets the girl. It's a safe bet.
"So I'm going to Target since I've got the sitter." Speed Racer is reliving his college days with some old buddies up in the mountains for something like a week. (Bree is the best wife ever!) "I don't want to go home yet."
Aidan looked at me with his giant grey-green eyes, breathing hard, gun in hand, and waited. I looked at him.
"Well?" he said.
"Fuck it," I said, snapping down the laptop lid. "Kill 'em tomorrow. I'm still dressed. Come get me."
We drove to Boulder because the mall bars after nine-thirty is booooring. First we got off on the wrong exit (I was right, she wouldn't listen - but hey, she was driving, so who am I to complain?) and then we drove through a neighborhood to find the correct street. It reminded us of our youth, driving around looking for a party with cute guys. We found three twelve year olds playing basketball, but that wasn't quite the action we were after.
The Dark Horse was dead. We didn't even go in.
So we headed downtown. "To the pub, then," I said, shrugging. When in doubt, the pub is a safe bet.
It only took us, say forty-five minutes to find a parking spot. I won't bore you with the painful details, but in the end we found a completely George-worthy spot a mere storefront away from the pub.
We couldn't get in.
In ten years I've never stood in line at the Pub. I mean, fuckin' a. I knew the bouncer, of course.
"You guys just have a run-in with the fire dept?"
He nodded. "Two weeks ago."
But he let us in after a bit, didn't even make us pay the dollar cover.
It was a weird crowd. Couples, mostly. Many, many couples. It was apparently date night in Boulder. Bree and I agreed, "Ok, so we're dates." Which works because though we're not perfectly the same size, we're close enough to share clothes. There's no point to being in a lesbian couple without doubling your wardrobe.
There was a group of about five guys; none of these things is much like the others? Ok, I take some literary liberty, but they just didn't fit. I figure they were geek contractors, each from a different city, stuck together out on a Saturday night in leiu of their hotel room $5.99 Spice Channel. One of them had a turban, for crissake.
There was the guy, obviously on a first or second date, who'd just bought his shirt and put it on out straight of the package. I cringed, sure that there were still pins in the collar. We made fun of him for awhile, but he never noticed. We tried to get the other to go up to him and go, "Hey! I like your shirt! Is it new?"
The band was relentless in their last set. They'd pretty much run out of music by then, I guess, and had settled into some long, whiny geetar solos. They were good when they played actual songs, but the jam session ran a little long.
I asked for Bass. The bartender told me they were out, but brought me a "really good red ale" instead. WTF? First of all, Boulder's a beer drinking town. Tell me the name of the beer, and ask me if I'd like to try a swallow before pulling a pint. Second of all, Bass is... Bass. There's no replacement, not since 1777. (Yuh huh, look it up.) Jerry never would have pulled that shit on me, but Jerry was off. I gave it back and asked for a Stella instead.
I did an embarrassing double-take last night. This wasn't a mere glance. This was a guy walking by me; kinda tall and kinda close, who looked down at me and smiled and my double-take was a head-turning, spine-bent-back second look. Nearly a stare. I was sure I knew this guy from somewhere. Had he worked for PHF before? But then I realized he was a dead-on double for that cute Lithuwanian (that's not right, but eastern European) guy on ER. I mean, dude, it was so him. Fuckin' A.
If I'd had more time I mighta scammed him some more. He was looking back at me, too. Tall, but cuuuuute.
An aside, I think the sex hair is kickin' in. Oh, and I can't remember who, but somebody asked me what sex hair is. I gave her a description, but I thought of a better one. Sex hair is the kind of hair that gets in the way of the porn-star's face when she's going at it. Sex hair is the kind of hair he grabs hold of to steady himself. Lunatic, am I right?
Well, once he comes out of his sexual stupor he'll respond.
Bree's babysitter turned into a pumpkin at 11:30, so by 11:45 I was in my jammies giggling over "Lord of the G-string" with PHF. Now that's a funny fucking movie.
And yes, I think this post accurately portrays the tenor of my evening, as if you guys care. Now go do something with yourself, for crissake! Don't just sit there on the computer like a loser!