Where Did We Go And Why Didn't We Stop For Gas?

Discussed: Police with guns, tattoos, missing hats with buttons, a paperweight car, role playing games, and the need for a caretaker.

  Driftless Pony Club, The King Club

Friday was the last day I remember seeing my hat and was the most recent occasion I've had to laugh to the point of paralysis.  I'm not sure where the hat left me, as it is with girlfriends so it is with personal accessories entrusted to you in the throws of bar-hopping and beer-drinking, we just drifted apart.  Even closer to the personal, we likely parted company in a dark booth near the middle of the smokey Natt Spil.  So be it, I'll just have to lurk in the scene and pray for a happy intersection of destiny and the social contract regarding found items.  Fingers remain half-crossed as always.

Whatever becomes of my hat (and for that matter, my black track jacket) I can at least take comfort in not having been shot despite being within a first-down's distance of a gun discharging wildly in a crowd; or so Jeff reports based on the police searching for the shells.  Across the street from a shooting is good enough for my memoirs.  Unfortunately, there will be no photographic evidence of the hulking officer who directed me back into the bar I was being ushered out of for the sake of closing nor will I be able to offer a sideways glimpse of the assault rifle he sported.  In the interest of not producing a flash that might attract a bullet I put my camera back into my pocket and took a seat near the door.

  The Hat Party, The King Club

Sitting provides time for thinking and thinking (combined with an available Sharpie marker) leads to the fast-growth of a mustache and, by Nate's hands, a nice set of whiskers.  Lucky for me, and especially for Karl, the marker was no match for an evening of rest and a stiff scrubbing with a dark washcloth.  Emerging clean after a night running backwards and falling forwards is a pleasure that should be repeated in life as often as possible.  Restoring faith in the worth of restful darkness is not an easy task for people who enjoy their night counting up from 1 but by 5am you're rarely in a position to work for double digits without at least a refreshing application of deodorant and a new shirt.

I had both but neither proved persuasive enough to ensure the smooth starting of a '93 Camry with mileage equivalent to the age of the galaxy.  Until an elective operation can be scheduled and financed, I have a beautiful black parking spot holder with a dent in the driver's side door where I side-slammed into the handle in an effort to force the undisciplined door shut.  Ever since blacking out as a result of that hip-bruising maneuver, tough love has been avoided as a first course, and since kicking tires doesn't do much for me I can only hope that singing soft songs to my ignition system will prove fruitful.

If you going to put me to the same test of reliability I'm not sure I'd want to see the final report in regards to my skill at sustaining two nights of high energy entertaining; as a matter of preference I might not even wish to give it a try.  If Friday is inevitably the crazy girlfriend, Saturday is always the consoling platonic female friend who thinks it's cute that you can't wash that DPC tattoo off your arm and is willing to explain to you the concept of role playing games.  She is also the caretaker of your guilty conscience from the night before where you kissed girls with a politician's sense of obligation.

  Arron

Now, if only Saturday could rub my head for a bit and be sure to feed the cat before bed.

Comments

[Karl]

I will say this:

I only consented to your fucking up my face with a marker in the sense that I think punching people in the mouth is bad manners.

[Karl]

Actually, two more things:

One, it really wasn't that hard to get off;

and Two, I am well on my way to totally owning your Recent Comments sidebar.

[sleeve]

what the hell is in that closet behind you?

[thelizabeth]

Although we all hope for something more exciting and scandalous, I vote "gourd."

So Aaron, why the fuck do you have a gourd in your closet? Perv.

[ARRON]

Not my closet. Really.

[chromeeyes]

Like for serious man, you shoulda put the three painted boys picture up. I think that that one really said it best, and by it I mean ribaldry.

YO, OUT,
Chromeeyes

[ARON]

I was breaking with tradition and respecting the wishes of those who joined me in the performance art that was the afterbar and the grocery store parking lot.

This is a one time deal.