Somewhere around 4:15am on Saturday, I wondered if I was ever going to step out of Hopper’s Nighthawks painting and head for home. I was supposed to be at the Cinema Bar but sometime during the night I got side-tracked...
Mike Stinson was dressed in a brown suit – a suit! With a tie and everything! - and talking to me about how he was trying to lose weight. And I could swear he told me he has cut his beer drinking back from 24 cans per day to a mere six.
Twenty-four beers a day? Is that really what he said? Tell me I was too tipsy and/or too tired to hear him correctly.
When I asked him why he was so duded up for the night he said he just felt like dressing up. “I guess I’m a little over-dressed for this place.” He said.
“Ah, that just means you look better than everyone else here,” was my reply.
The bartender from that other bar – let’s call him Thomas, with a distinctly Latin accent on the name (although he’s not Latino, but just go with me on this one) – was there and was trying to pick up on me…which would have been annoying enough on its own since I’d already told him about The Old Man, but the kicker is that he had tried to pick up on Dr. Niece – who was with me at the Cinema Bar – like two weeks ago.
Eew…
Then there was the fifty year-old, bleached-blonde woman with the face of well-travelled road who was basically trying to pick up on anybody who would have her. She kept telling us she was fifty, as if this fact was just unfathomable because she looked so fabulous…which…um…well, let’s just say it was entirely believable.
I think she finally ended up going home with the owner of the Cinema Bar, but I’d like to think I am not remembering that correctly because I’d rather hold good thoughts for the owner of the Cinema Bar. After all, he continually lets us stay at the bar post-closing.
I told Stinson that if his bass-player/friend Joaquin Phoenix was a bad, bad man to Dr. Niece, “I will fuck him up.”
Mike Stinson was dressed in a brown suit – a suit! With a tie and everything! - and talking to me about how he was trying to lose weight. And I could swear he told me he has cut his beer drinking back from 24 cans per day to a mere six.
Twenty-four beers a day? Is that really what he said? Tell me I was too tipsy and/or too tired to hear him correctly.
When I asked him why he was so duded up for the night he said he just felt like dressing up. “I guess I’m a little over-dressed for this place.” He said.
“Ah, that just means you look better than everyone else here,” was my reply.
The bartender from that other bar – let’s call him Thomas, with a distinctly Latin accent on the name (although he’s not Latino, but just go with me on this one) – was there and was trying to pick up on me…which would have been annoying enough on its own since I’d already told him about The Old Man, but the kicker is that he had tried to pick up on Dr. Niece – who was with me at the Cinema Bar – like two weeks ago.
Eew…
Then there was the fifty year-old, bleached-blonde woman with the face of well-travelled road who was basically trying to pick up on anybody who would have her. She kept telling us she was fifty, as if this fact was just unfathomable because she looked so fabulous…which…um…well, let’s just say it was entirely believable.
I think she finally ended up going home with the owner of the Cinema Bar, but I’d like to think I am not remembering that correctly because I’d rather hold good thoughts for the owner of the Cinema Bar. After all, he continually lets us stay at the bar post-closing.
I told Stinson that if his bass-player/friend Joaquin Phoenix was a bad, bad man to Dr. Niece, “I will fuck him up.”
He is not really Joaquin Phoenix, of course, but he looks like a pre-mental-breakdown Joaquin Phoenix…or as I told him Friday night, “You have Joaquin-face.” Don’t ask…I was drunk. I don’t remember his real name, except that he has two first names. Like his last name could also be a first name.
His Indian name will be “Two First Names”.
I had to stay at the bar so late, you see, because Dr. Niece and Joaquin were getting along famously. There was no exchange of bodily fluids, but there was some smooching. There was a text message on the way home. There was a voicemail message left at 1:30 the next day which was, presumably, when the man woke up since we were at the bar until 5am. So I, being the Good Aunt that I am, had to keep all the other weirdoes, wackadoos, nut-jobs and drunks entertained while this budding romance had time to blossom in the background.
And if anyone can keep the weirdoes, wackadoos, nut-jobs and drunks entertained, it is the ikss.
I woke up three hours later in Dr. Niece’s bedroom. Wide awake. Like, bouncing-off-the-walls-awake. Like, I’ve-never-done-cocaine-but-if-I-did-I-have-the-feeling-it-would-feel-something-like-this awake.
Dr. Niece and I were supposed to go to the LA Times Festival of Books on Saturday, but seeing as Dr. Niece was not exactly coherent and most likely would not be for at least five more hours, I just made the long drive back down to the OC and home.
Saturday night was spent with more family, just hanging out and playing with my little great nephew until my babbling in tongues made it fairly clear that I was too tired to continue communing with normal people and I headed for bed. Dr. Niece spent the night at my place this time.
On Sunday, The Old Man finally joined the party and we all headed to Laguna Beach for a most yummy brunch on one of the most beautiful days ever. The rest of the day was spent at home with The Old Man.
*ahem*
Somewhere, in the midst of all the alcohol and copious amounts of brunch-foods, I lost 1.5 lbs.
I have no idea just how that happened, but my theory is that God is rewarding me for entertaining the weirdoes, wackadoos, nut-jobs and drunks so that Dr. Niece could get her flirt on. She needed that.
And how was your weekend?
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