Monday, March 9, 2009
Skit Kicker Bar
A couple of weekends ago my friend Lisa and I headed for the town of Cave Creek. We had a couple of functions up there to attend. One was a retirement party for a co-worker and the other was a conference. I wasn't really invited to attend the conference but I'm more than willing to crash a conference.
The retirement party was first on the hit parade. This was a prime opportunity for me to say something completely inappropriate and I totally nailed it. Lisa ought to know by now that she can't take me anywhere.
We were standing with Michael and his partner, (I think his name was Tony but after a couple of glasses of wine I didn't pay much attention. I'm going to call him Tony. He looked like a Tony to me.), a couple that I don't know who they were, (with my luck probably some state senator and his wife), Lisa and I. I had just found out that Tony was from a small town in Eastern Washington and that we were both alumni from Washington State University. WooHoo!
Somehow, we got on the subject of the school logo. Don't ask me why or how or maybe it was just me. I pipped up with: "I love the school and the logo so much I had it tattooed to my hip" while pointing at my ass. Yep, way too much information.
Another glass of not very good wine later the I called one of the state legislators a bastard. NOT to his face. Thank God! He wasn't there or I might have. I did say it in front of the director of our agency though, right after she was thanking me for providing an answer to the bastard's trick reference question. What he really wanted was to prove that we were worthless as an information source. Proved him wrong, the bastard! Whoops! Don't mess with me when it comes to gathering information! I'm just warning.
After the party we had a couple of hours to kill. So what are two city women in a ranch town to do? Why, go to the local shit kicker bar, of course. Did you know that there are grades of shit kicker bars? Me neither. Come to find out, this bar is considered a mild form of the genre. Across the street is the REAL shit kicker bar. Lisa was taking pity on me. Or maybe on herself. God only knows what I would have said or done at a REAL shit kicker bar. Have any of you been to a REAL shit kicker bar as opposed to a less than real one? Could I have gotten into some trouble at one?
Check out the boots nailed to the ceiling beams. Cave Creek is a cowboy/girl (let's be PC) town. A little more red wine later (do you see a pattern here?) I convinced with the two guys singing on stage to sing something besides country songs. (leaving me at the table by myself while you go to the bathroom, Lisa, is just not a very good idea. Just an FYI) They seemed happy to comply since Lisa and I were the only ones paying them any attention. I'm pretty sure that if they had sung too many rock songs the locals would have revolted. We left before that happened.
The conference was less than stellar. Crappy martini, nasty veggie meal and boring speaker. Yawn!
This weekend was so much quieter. Did a little cooking, paperwork, shopping and painting. Hope your weekend went well.