Youth, poof

Friday night started pleasantly enough. I was in very good company right out of work...and the Flames were holding their own...and then the evening turned into one big mess after that.

Dinner didn't last very long but I suppose that's alright. It was nice enough just to even have the time to get together. Afterwards I headed for Daisy's place to catch the rest of the game. But by the time I had arrived the game was over and we had lost :( One of those few occasions where my iPod mini just doesn't do enough for me. No radio. Who ever thought I'd need radio?!

The Redhead had called inviting me and my crew (which would be Daisy, Flag-girl wasn't feeling well) to the Roadhouse. Good God, the Roadhouse. (Rumor has it the Roadhouse is the easiest place in the city to obtain crack cocaine...not that I would know first-hand.) They all know I hate that place, but I'm a trouper. Seeing as I was outnumbered I came with, but not without a bit of protesting.

The Roadhouse is in a dumpier part of downtown, in my opinion, and I figured I knew the way. Daisy wanted to drink so we took the train. Unfortunately, I got so carried away by the amusing antics of the Japanese exchange students in our train car that we missed the stop. Not that it mattered anyway 'cuz I was completely turned around (all I know, landmark-wise, is that the Roadhouse is right next to a traffic bridge) We wandered up and down the streets for a good hour before we finally stumbled upon the club. It was now 12:10.

What I didn't know, due to the Redhead's cell phone dying, was that Redhead ran into some people she didn't want to see and had already left by the time we got there. So there we were, wandering around with our feet sticking to the floor -- it's been so long since I've been to such a shoddy club and I don't miss it one bit -- with no Redhead in sight.

Oh, and my drink? Maybe a shot's worth of liquid in a glass full, and I do mean full, of ice.

I figured I wouldn't suffer too much since it's a top 40 type of bar. And I do enjoy my top 40. But did they play Golddigger? No. Did they play Feel Good Inc.? No. But they DID play Gasolina. Shock me shock me shock me!

After seeing too many barely-legal hoochies and poser boys, we decided to cut our losses and get out of there. I saw too many Lacoste shirts. And while they haven't turned me off from the brand (I still love that little alligator) it made me want to scratch my head over why anyone would want to wear such nice clothes to such a crappy bar.

1:15. More walking around trying to figure out where to go. I didn't want to pay anymore cover, the Roadhouse left a bad taste in my mouth. Daisy wanted another drink before last call. My feet hurt...shoes weren't really designed for downtown hiking...and I was still in my work clothes. Walked into Fuel with time for one last martini before closing time. Ah, the civilized culture of the fine martini.

I didn't intend to spend this whole post griping about the Roadhouse. In fact, Daisy and I had walked so much that night that it brought back so many memories of our "junior clubbing" days.

• Pre-loading on alcohol before heading out for the night. Students always find a way to save money. Big Slurpee cups full of alcohol for the walk to Metro. Drinking Sour Puss in the car right in front of the bar.
  
• The way a certain friend would dance after many drinks. (I think you know who you are, haha.)
  
• The old man and the cheesy line he gave Bizkette at the Turtle. Good old Purple Turtle.
  
• The British guys we met at Metro. My, uh, public exhibition at Metro. The many people from high school we used to see at Metro. (It's a wonder I never got caught.)
  
• Nachos without the "el grande."
  
• Daisy sticking her fingers in my post-bar dog and swiping the cheese sauce. Ugh, the things friends get away with. :)
  
• Ssoberr-girl and the cards she wrote up ahead of time -- with her name and number -- the very first time we went to the Turtle. Good God. Talk about expectations.
  
• The miraculously appearing lawn-toilet.
  
• Toothpicks.

Etcetera etcetera. So many memories. I guess I can't really hold it against the new generation for their junk bars and not knowing any better. Besides, do I really want them getting into the clubs that I love? No. Better keep them where they are.