Weekend Kick-off

I’ve got a lot to update. I’ll start at the beginning.

Thursday night @ Vibe.

The usual suspects were out minus the troublemakers in New York and a couple of folks catching up on sleep. Killa B and I met there after a busy day of work and catching up with friends. I had come from having cocktails with a couple of Jr. High classmates and a long-time friend we shall refer to as Frank (which just happens to be the name of his alter-ego). The four of us (and two kids) sat at Chevy’s on the water’s edge and talked about old times over Fresh Mex and Margaritas. It was a nice mellow way to begin the evening. From there, I took Frank home and got busy running my miscellaneous errands. I had the weekend’s camping trip to pack the car for and a few loose ends to tie up before I could leave town. I’ve learned not to leave much for the morning of because the unforeseen events tend to take over. This trip was n exception, but that’s coming later.

I finally get to Vibe just before midnight and I belly up to the seemingly vacant bar on the ground level. The owner peers around the one other patron sitting there and says, with a sly grin on her face, “I have photos from the one-year anniversary party.”

“Am I in any of them?” I was suspicious.

“Yes.” She snickers. “Let me go get ‘em.” She went into a back room and came out with some card stock prints. I thumbed through them. I came to one of me, Alex and Martina and gasped. Then I put my head down on the bar and lost it. I’m between Alex and Martina and it looks like I am licking Arnold (Arnold and Webster are Martina’s boobs – they were named by some girlie boys at Ana and Ro’s Pink Party earlier that day – I swear I couldn’t make this shit up). It was the third photo I’d taken in that pose that day. The first two were with men. Oh, and the manwich! Ooooh. That may be a story for another time. Needless to say, the photo was hilarious. The bar owner watched my face when I came to it and got the best giggle I heard all night.

When Killa B arrived, we sat for a few quiet, calm minutes and just decompressed before heading upstairs to the dance floor. Frank was there well on his way to being wasted. I wasn’t worried though. I mean, the guy can drink and usually disappears before anything crazy happens. Besides, I was enjoying KB’s company and ringing in the weekend with some good music, friends and fun. Once I got into my groove on the floor, Frank and KB has some sort of mano a mano pissing contest. I left them to do what boys do. Next thing I know, KB is standing next to me saying, “You have to take him home.” I look over, and he’s slumped over the bar. “Great.” One of the guys in the club helped us get him down the stairs, but we ran into a hiccup trying to get him into the cab.

Frank was flailing around and fighting. He gets like that when people surround him, so I put myself between him and everyone else. I yelled for everybody to back off so I could calm him down. He was still shoving, and KB was uncomfortable watching me get pushed around. I wondered for a bit if we’d be able to get into the cab before the driver lost his patience and left us there. Finally, Frank relaxed and fell into the back seat of the cab. I folded his legs in and sat on his lap. I thought I’d wait for the right time to let KB know that Frank lived on the third floor of his elevator-less building. That time came swiftly. The look on KB’s face was classic (I’m laughing now just remembering it). The building manager was there after a few minutes of bumping around in the hallways, watching us lure Frank up the three and a half flights of stairs.

A drunk ain’t shit. That’s a saying for good reason.


Thanks for your help, Killa B. Thanks to the club folks for not throwing Frank out on the curb. Thanks to the cabbie for being patient, and thanks, Frank, for creating yet another funny story at your expense.