Today is the real date of the wonder twins, Katie and Hope’s birthday, however, like Monday federal holidays, the occasion was marked Saturday night. The plan for the party was to meet at Katie’s apartment and then go out to the Reston Town Center for a pseudo bar crawl. I have to hand it to Miss Flynn, she always throws a good party. Per the usual, snacks, cocktails and goodie bags complete with airplane bottles were in abundance. The Bermans were in attendance, which while not a surprise was certainly a pleasant event. The pre-crawl gathering party lasted longer than we expected and we all got a little drunker than we had planned. We did manage to motivate ourselves out to Reston and hit Clyde’s first. Seeing as her birthday coincides with Mardi Gras, Katie and Hope wore beads and offered the other partygoers the opportunity to do them a favor or sacrifice a bit of dignity for a string. At Clyde’s, this offer was extended to the general public.
Knowing that Rio Grande Café would be closing earlier than most other bars in the area and that they have brain-freezingly delicious swirl margaritas available, we headed there next. Those who were not wasted when we left the apartment were surely on their way to it as we went into Rio Grande. I partook in my favorite Mexican restaurant drink combo: A shot of tequila followed by a Negra Modelo (which, if you have not done this fine 1-2 punch, you certainly should. Something about the Negra Modelo refreshes the taste of the tequila with every sip). After taking my shot, however, the bartender comes to me with a second shot, apologized and said that they always serve house tequila in a double shot and she had shortchanged me. I would have never known the difference, but I took the shot anyway.
Rio Grande started showing signs of closure, so we went next door to Bistro Bistro, a eurotrash pocket in an otherwise suburban haven. Mickey and I arrived a little later than the majority of the party as he had a margarita to finish. We got in to Bistro Bistro and within seconds, Russell, one of the party attendees pulls me aside and tells me that much to his surprise, the manager pulled him aside after Mick and I walked in, asked if we were with his group and then told him that Mickey had had too much to drink and would not be served. Sure he was drunk, but he wasn’t making a scene…how did they know? Russell suggested that I not offer to buy Mickey any drinks and since I had no idea how to breach the subject with him, I figured I’d just let it go and see what happened from there.
Our time spent in Bistro Bistro was not unlike any other time spent at the third bar close to closing after a houseparty. Mickey did, however, innocently go to the bar about 10-15 minutes into our being there and ask for a drink. He was offered a “pop”. He came back to our table, slumped on the stool and exclaimed that he had been cut off. Russell and I looked at each other uncomfortably and told him not to worry, that we’d all be leaving soon enough. Mick was dissatisfied.
The party got motivated to leave shortly thereafter anyway, with Mickey muttering about getting cut off the whole time. As we were walking out the door, Mick yells, “THIS PLACE FUCKING SUCKS” at the top of his lungs, getting a sharp look of horror from the waitress who was leaving at the same time. Steps further, on the sidewalk, he shouts again, “THIS PLACE FUCKING SUCKS” and then began pointing at his crotch repeatedly, alternating fingers. The rest of our group now sees this and nearly falls to the ground laughing. We said our goodbyes, hugged our hugs, and went our separate ways towards our cars. One more time for the west coast, “THIS PLACE FUCKING SUUUUUUCKS!!!” Mickey decides that he is going to go back into Bistro Bistro and give them a piece of his mind. I reminded him that while I am sober enough to drive, a breathalyzer may not agree with me, and that we did not need any more attention drawn to us. He said that I could park out front and wait for him so that we could get away instantly. Fortunately, I managed to convince him that this was not a good idea.
No need to worry, we got home safe. Sunday was a lazy, hungover day, but at around 3:00, we got motivated to go to the Potomac Yards Clusterfuck, as I was out of toothpaste and needed some groceries. I could go on and on about Potomac Yards, but the only thing to know is that going there at 3pm on a Sunday is just not done. I should have known better. Believe it or not, though, we got all of the errands I needed to do done and done fast (“then ‘twere well, it would be done quickly” **). We were just heading to the checkout at Target when the announcement came over the PA “To better server our customers, all extra personnel please report to the checkout lanes”. We managed to walk right up to an opening lane and were done checking out in less than a minute. Same at Shoppers. And Giant. It was stunning. Screw snowboarding on the Olympics. Potomac Yards on a Sunday is a sport, goddamit.
So that was my weekend. My alarm clock has somehow found itself on a Christian radio station, and I awoke to someone talking about something to do with the evils of something. I think today is going to be strange.