Yes kids, it’s the day after Superbowl Sunday and if’n you’re a football nut you’re either stoked because the Giants pulled the rug out from under the Patriots or bummed and depressed to the point of needing psychiatric help and a lollipop.
Sorry boys.
It’s kinda cool that the Mannings rock balls like they do with Peyton being a superhero in the likes of Aquaman around these parts.
I’m not a huge Pro ball fan at all.
College ball is a different story, can’t pull me away from the TV on Saturday all fall.
I pulled for the Patriots for one reason: The boy.
I knew if they didn’t win that the boy would need a visit to the shrink this morning and a mild sedative.
Not to worry. Dr. Mayhem said it appears that he will only need the meds for the next week or so and he’ll be ok.
It’s over. Put on your big boy panties and go on.
Enough of that.
So, me and Big T have found a new watering hole/dive to kick it in.
It’s less than a 2 minute drive from our palace.
This is a definite plus, because after I’ve drinkin ungodly amounts of alcohol, being chauffered too far makes one feel the need to yack…
It’s a cool little place we found a few weeks ago, quite by accident.
They gots the karaoke and not one of the singers sucks balls!!
Yes, friends, if you go to karaoke at the wrong place you might suffer bleeding ear syndrome.
Anyhooodle, it’s called “My Place”… cute name, huh??
I try explaining that to my BFF who was coming to meet us there..
Holly: “So, where ya gonna be?”
Me: “My place.”
Holly: “But I thought we were goin out.”
Me: “We are, you dork.”
Holly: “But you said you’re gonna be at your place.”
Me: “No, I said I was gonna be at My Place.”
Holly: “Ok, tell me where the hell I’m supposed to meet you dammit!!”
Me: “At My Place. I’ll be at My Place for fuck sake!!!”
Holly: “Ok, I’m on my way. We’ll pick you up.”
Me: “Gonna be kinda hard to do since I’m not gonna be home.”
Bless her heart. She’s my best friend, but soooo easily confused.
Reminds me of that super swell Abbott & Costello thing “Who’s on First”…
So, we finally get it all straight and make it there.
We get out cozy little spot in the corner. It’s set up just about like a living room would be.
Finally get my beer from the beer nazi. The Bitch…
We were sharing the corner with “Bob” and another couple.
Bob is an older gentleman who we’ve seen dancing every weekend we’ve went there.
Bob can dance. Bob was having trouble finding someone who could remain standing up straight as he twirled them around the dance floor.
Bob = good dancer
Assorted partners = not so much
Now, Diva knows how to get out there and shake what her mama gave her.
For a white girl, I’m loaded down with Rhythm.
Yes, I can line dance, but I’d rather be dancin freestyle to somethin with a wicked beat and strobe lights.
Not sure where it came from.
Maybe my mom was foolin around, cuz my daddy certainly hasn’t got a drop of ass shakin in him. Never has.
So, Bob decides its my turn.
Too late, Bob, old pal. I’m already drunk.
Bob still grabs my hand and off we go. Fine. His fault if I yack on his shoe.
I didn’t spew my brew, but I was dizzy and glad it was over, and as an added bonus, I danced well.
Bob was impressed. I fear he’ll drag me often.
Anyways, I was sitting there trying to compose and breathe, when some old boy jumps up and starts singin “I Likes It, I Loves It” by Tim McGraw.
This song sends my alcohol soaked brain in to flash back city.
I used to run around at this place called Cotton Eyed Joe.
It’s a saloon type place, only bigger. The DJ sits in the cab of a semi. Very cool.
So, they line dance at this place. Alot. To everything.
Ever seen an old boy with a belt buckle bigger than a dinner plate bust a line dance move to Outcast “The Way You Move”?
Humorous, unless you’re drunk as a skunk, then it’s knee slapping hilarity at its finest.
There is this dance. The Barn Dance.
This is where you find a partner and go to the dance floor. Two rings are formed, men on the outside, ladies on the inside….
The outside ring moves one way, the inside ring moves the opposite way. The partner switch is on.
It’s a twisty turny dance. Which we have already established is a bad thing when I’ve had a few.
So, about half way through this dance, I look at my current partner as he spins me back in.
I’m green.
I’m gonna yack.
He grabs be by the hand a runs me to the women’s bathroom and shoves me in.
I didn’t yack on his shoes. He was lucky.
And a gentleman to shove me in the bathroom like that.
Hit me up.. I’m shamelessly whoring my bloggie!!
