Adventures In CollegeTown, Part II
I spent most of my Saturday day, huddled amongst bed sheets and pillows, nursing a hangover. For some reason, two movie channels that I am not supposed to have appeared mysteriously on my cable and the day was spent watching movies on the tele. I eventually dragged forth in enough time to head to the x-super hot roommate's house warming bonanza.
This is a night started innocently enough, a house warming party in suburbia and a chance to chase away the previous night�s misgivings in a binge of free beer and bread.
Such things are not always for me and even the presence of the super hot roommate at her sex toys could placate the wanderlust that sometimes claims my soul. Once again, my weekend was in jeopardy of quickly sliding toward mediocrity. Whilst I did have the poet and sister unit to keep me company, her shin-dig was not exactly a star-studded event. Despite the desperate need for a night of rest and relaxation, I donned my intelligence cap and crept into the night.
The best damn bar in the world is always a good stand by, and in this instance, merely a prelude of things to come. When faces, specific curves of the body and drunken proclamations become commonplace to me, then you are, by definition, a local. Misgivings aside, I was fed food and alcohol and sent on my merry way and thrust into a brand new atmosphere.
The Time Out Lounge is one of those out of the places that you might not ever look twice at. Hell, most people wouldn�t even look once at it, for that matter. The vinyl railing at the bar was cracked in a spider web of lines, these I traced with a finger as I pondered the strange set of events that brought me here. Swirling the contents of a concoction I normally don't ingest, I spun in circles sweeping the room and taking in my surroundings. The bar itself was illusively spacious; pool tables in the middle of the room, booths lining the walls and much higher ceilings than I am accustom to in a drinking den most folks would call 'a dive'. One of the bartenders later confided that this was a slow night, adding to the airy feel. With very few bodies in which to hide amongst, the saving grace of the night was a mirror that ran the entire length of the bar. For a watcher such as myself, this was a god sent (if you buy into such things) and the cronies that brought me to this locale served as enough entertainment and distraction as to not look the part of the social inept persona that I carry with me. I surveyed the tattooed punksters, the 80's rejects and local drunkards to my hearts content, but my attention continued to fall upon the curious couple directly to my left. While they were close enough to touch, they were far enough away that their conversations were muted by the jukebox and were mostly unintelligible. I figured them first to be a couple, thus the initial classification, but something about their posturing was all wrong. Old flames, casual acquaintances, good friends, coworkers or just randomly met souls? The more I watched, the more curious I became and the more I observed of them, I realized that I too was being watched. As the night trudged on, liquid courage and unbridled curiosity finally got the better of me. Could I, dearest of diaries, let a cute girl that had given me the once over, more than once over and such a puzzling coupling sidle away into the warm night with my normal non-indulgence of conversation with random strangers? Normally the answer would be, 'why yes you would'. Tonight was different (for many unexplained and still puzzling reasons), so I swallowed back my shyness, found a momentary opening and pushed the panic back down with a PBR burp: "SAY, that's a cool phone!"
God, I'm so lame.
The conversation rolled over me so quickly I was caught off guard, actual conception of expectations was exceeded in a mind-numbing statement, "well we are writers too!" I was so swept away with finding kindred spirits in such an odd locale, that last call came and went and when I finally paused to leave, the bar was well lit and empty. Never in my travels through life have I ever found a drug that can roll my mind the way intelligence can and getting a double barrel blasts from two minds instead of one left me reeling. How distracted was I? Once I was able to correctly ascertain the relationship between the two, I forgot to do the normal drunken manly things one would expect from the not so fairer sex. I didn't check out her backside until I was outside the bar, had to flip a bitch in the parking lot to offer up my number to both of them for after hours excursions and I'll be fuckered if I spent more time listening to both of them that commonplace details were forgotten; I can't even remember the color of her eyes! After descending into the night, on wings of rubber and a chariot of high-grade plastic mesh, my good friend JP asked, 'DUDE! What was that all about?' To which I honestly replied, 'I'm not really sure man, but I am hoping that it might make a good story'."
After hour commenced with colorful characters sporting funny names; Jimmy the Crypt Killer, Whitey and the Drunken Indian. We drove in circles for what seemed like hours, pausing at dark house after dark house until we finally located a suitable place to drown our early morning sorrows. Somehow my drunken colleague and I bummed the last beer out of every six-pack, twelve-pack and cube we happened across, none of which were given up without some serious hob-knobbery. It seems that beer is more valuable than money at 3AM on a Sunday morning. How we convinced these poor sods to fork over the last brew in their possessions is beyond me, but our pockets were soon lined and we slowly filtered through the masses. A strange menagerie was before us, everything from reject jocks, to patchouli stinking hippies meandered past. A pair of butch-dike lesbians, some teenagers past curfew a mohawk sporting punkster who looked fresh from a rumble with a pack of mods and an odd fellow named Ian pimping a checkered sport coat and too bushy sideburns, all stopped for idle chit chat. Eventually as all thinks become extinct and this party�s supply of alcohol did so as well. Only when the Drunken Indian boasted it was time to start checking stray bottles and engage in a game of clean up, did we actually proclaim it a night. More drunken boasts and words of love and honor were heaped upon me before I quietly slid away into empty streets and angled my white horse towards home.
Contentment surely graced my features as I tumbled into my bed, fully clothed from head to toe and even forgetting to ditch my smudged spectacles before sleep overwhelmed me. Or more precisely that alcohol finally had its way and put me down for good. Even with two full days remaining on my holiday weekend, I had doubts that the inebriated gods that watch over my collegetown could provide a bounty such as this to reap. Tomorrow is another day and the only way to find out if the gods smiled upon me again was to recoup and reload and begin the journey all over again.
**Editors Note: I didn�t top this night, but will of course, keep you posted
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