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Between Families Between Families
reviews: 5
ratings: 8 (avg rating 4.75)

Wednesday, December 31, 2008

Where'd the monkeys in my hair go?

I promise I will post Wednesdays' Weirdos again next week, but the pictures for this week got trapped on my camera with a dead battery. Sorry. I suck.

Instead I'll tell you a drinking story.

We were in St. Louis visiting for the holidays and a rare opportunity to get annihilated with my girlfriends presented itself.

I started out with two beers while I was waiting for the girls with Rob's friends. Then, when we got to the fancy-pants bar I switched to whiskey on the rocks.

I'm at sea level so I think I can drink like a champ. Hmmm.

After about three of these and I-don't-remember-how-many shots, I switched back to beer. Damn, I'm bright.

At some point in the evening I realize that we're in a bar that used to be my favorite bar in the whole world. It was called Tangerine then. They had Go Go dancers on the bar and let you climb on it and had hand shaped chairs so your butt got held. They had trucker night where you got your drinks in mugs. They had a night where you could play horseshoes with toilet seats in the street tournament style. They gave you martinis with plastic monkeys in the drinks. It was a delightful place to spend my teens.

I realize this and immediately begin telling a guy on crutches how sad it is that you can't climb on the bar anymore.

He does not feel sorry for me. I notice why and convince him that I will teach him to ski.

Then I decide I must tell everyone in the bar, including people I went to high school with but who never spoke to me then, (they were smart and have gotten too nice in their old age,) all about the wonders that used to be Tangerine.

I think I'm saying, "This used to be my favorite bar. They had Go Go dancers on the bar and let you on it. They had trucker night where you got your drinks in mugs. They had a night where you could play horseshoes with toilet seats in the street tournament style. They gave you martinis with plastic monkeys in the drinks."

What I really said was, "they won't letmeonthebar. ash-0les. Could climb? Where monkeys? My hair had monkeys. You're so nice. I always think younice. I setyou up. Single? horshoes and toilet seats. Skiing's my favorite."

I got a friend request from one of them. I can't believe it. He really is a nice guy and always was, I was just really shy in high school. Weird, I know.

At some point, we left. I remember no valet, but apparently there was one. I could've exposed myself, or punched him in the nose, or promised him my first born and I'd have no idea.

I had established the goal before the whiskey, much like the cart before the horse thingy, never a good idea. I'd decided we should go to Uncle Bill's for breakfast by 4 or so a.m.

I'm spoiled by no smoking anywhere in doors in Colorado and this is a midwest breakfast place that's open 24/7 so its ventilated with extra smoke just to help keep nicotine levels high for folks. I wanted to vomit the whole time. It was rough.

So at some point I established an excuse to go to the car. Don't worry, I did not drive.

My excuse, which turned out to be true, was that I couldn't figure out what I'd done with my phone. Let me be more specific, my work phone. Realizing this would be bad, I went to check if it might be in the car.

I get to the parking lot. I look around. I realize I do not remember arriving. I realize I don't know what the car looks like. I am determined not to go back inside yet. Somehow there's some weird sense of pride in there.

Sooooo, I begin peering into windows, car after car, hoping the inside of one will look familiar.

Eventually one does.

I have keys in my hands.

I look at the keys.

I look at the door.

There is no slot for the key in the door that I see. There is no remote on the keys that I can operate. I pout and eye the ground thinking it looks like a good place to take a nap. But the car would be better.

I look at the keys.

I look at the car.

I think for a while.

No idea.

I walk back into Uncle Bills, set the keys in front of Christine, and say "I can't do it," and put my head down on the table.

Sometime later she takes pity on me and brings me to where Rob's staying and I pass out on the couch holding his hand.

I can't believe these people still talk to me.

6 comments:

PPP said...

Well, the good news is that you did not curse out the valet... or any of my fancy pants friends... The bad news, oh wait... It was a fucking fantastically fun night!

PPP said...

Oh wait... no, you did cuss out a dude who complimented my cute stylish boots. Just remembered that one

Silly Swedish Skier Says So said...

PPP- So I made it through, not cussing at the shaggy long haired dude who told me all about skiing the "black diamonds" and his dead wife, AND through the guy who wouldn't stop hitting on me even though I told him I was married, but I cussed out the guy who complimented your boots?

I think you're makin' shit up.

PPP said...

This would be at Uncle Bills... The fisrt two douchebags were at the first bar. And you cussed at him FOR complimenting my most favoritest boots

Anonymous said...

You've got the nicest friends!!!
Thank goodness!!
MOM

Kelly said...

That is a beautiful story, indeed.
"they won't letmeonthebar. ash-0les. Could climb? Where monkeys? My hair had monkeys. You're so nice. I always think younice. I setyou up. Single? horshoes and toilet seats. Skiing's my favorite."

I thought that made perfect sense, but then, I'm kinda fried right now.