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The Fun Night Out

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Saturday didn’t fit into any categories, but it sure was a good time.   By Hannah Wallace   I always liked the part in this Tomato Nation post about describing different nights out; I like to categorize things like that: The crazy night out where you go to eight different places on Main Street; the […]

October 5, 2009





Saturday didn’t fit into any categories, but it sure was a good time.

 

By Hannah Wallace

 

I always liked the part in this Tomato Nation post about describing different nights out; I like to categorize things like that: The crazy night out where you go to eight different places on Main Street; the anticlimactic night out where you get all dressed up and then your ride ditches you so instead you play Mario Kart in your booty jeans; the “Surprise: Crazy!” night out where you start off ordering pizza at 7 p.m. in your pajamas and end up at Wal-Mart at 1 a.m. buying supplies so you can stage a Tolkien battle with lawn ornaments on the front yard of your high school economics teacher (…never happened). Saturday was one of those nights that needs a category.

 

“Huh, cleaned eight apartments, made potato salad, kicked the crap out of somebody? Sounds like a good Saturday to me.”

After a relaxing day in which we opened the windows in the house to enjoy the breeze while we watched college football and occasionally did housework, we grabbed dinner at Joey D’s then headed to the Hi-Way to meet a few friends and watch the Auburn game. Within moments of our arrival, the day went from “relaxing” to “what is UP with humanity?!” I’d unintentionally grabbed a spot next to  a drunk lady who immediately launched into a monologue about her day (cleaned eight apartments, got trashed, made potato salad), and then she tried to get my phone number so she could call me when her annoying neighbor gets arrested. Then she saw she had a voicemail and forgot to get my number, then announced that she couldn’t drink anymore and proceeded to pour her beer INTO my glass and oh god I don’t need Chlamydia in my Bud Light thankyouverymuch.

 

“Cheers? Oh god no, don’t go in there. Seriously.”

Turns out, my Hi-Way write-up from last week was well received—got an awesome response from CL in which, among much flattery, Cooper Levey-Baker made clear his opinion of Bradenton’s Cheers on 14th Street. Equally flattering, Big J’s mom and sister, both Hi-Way employees, were so excited they had Big J read it over the phone, then bring a printout copy with him Saturday night (not so much wi-fi at the Hi-Way). In a conversation recommending some bars in Oneco and discussing the finer points of keeping riff-raff out of the Hi-Way (“Those biker guys come in here, I told them they have to turn their colors inside out.”), Big J’s sister upheld the assessment of Cheers: "You really don’t wanna go in there." Aw, darn it, now you people are kind of making me curious …

 

“I bet my roommate that it was domestic violence, but then she said, ‘Why would the state troopers be there for domestic violence?’ and I was like, ‘Damn,’ and I had to give her $20. Bradenton scares me.”

Eventually, all the Hi-Way regulars left, then even our random group of kickball friends took off to get dinner, and Little J, Big J, CCB and I sat chatting with Big J’s sister well past the 9:30 p.m. closing time. Just the five of us, we thought, but at some point a woman had materialized at the other end of the bar, drinking a Budweiser despite looking a bit like a dowdy librarian. She jumped into our conversation and described her hobby of watching the cop cars gather at the home across the street. She explained that she was new to town and had tried to get a drink at La Cuernavaca before wandering next door to the Hi-Way. She had seriously thrown on a flower-print dress and a cardigan and gone wandering 15th Street for nightlife. I believe they call that cajones. I guess we should’ve told her about Cheers.

 

ME (texting): Wow, you know it was a good night when you wake up and there’s hair in the bath tub.

BIG J: OMG WHAT DID U DO 2 MY HEAD?!!!

At 10:30, we headed home for Rock Band with Big J and Little J. Big J—drunk on nothing but Diet Pepsi—decided he wanted me to bust out the electric clippers and trim his hair, even though A) there are no outlets in the bathroom so the clippers have to be plugged into an extension cord in the next room, and B) the lights don’t work in the bathroom, either, so this would have to be done by candlelight. Also, it’s midnight, on a Saturday. Bless his heart, he’s so tolerant. Can’t wait to see what he looks like in the daylight.

 

Next weekend? Hockey tournament in Ellenton. Completely different kind of craziness.