OK, so it seems that I might have come across as a tad grouchy in that last post. Humble apologies. I blame the fact that I'd been in isolation for many weeks and had not yet re-adjusted to the complexities and demands of human society. Also that I hadn't yet gone out. All month. However! The following night (Saturday) my brother and I went down to Ol'Zan's (the bar) to meet our uncle, Mark, for a few beers. It was interesting, to say the least. This bar has been the site of some really heinous debauchery, and not all of it committed by me. (It was the location of one of the two frail excuses for barfights I've ever been in. The other one was just up the street.) Luckily, almost no one I knew was there that night. The main notable feature was a guy who arrived at the bar wearing a ... oh, how can I describe this adequately ... well, you remember those satin jackets that were big in the '80s? Puffy, but sleek? Well, this guy had a blue one of those, only, emblazoned on the back of it, REALLY BIG, was - you guessed it - VIAGRA. Yep, dude was wearing a Viagra team jacket. How ballsy do you have to be to strut casually into a bar wearing something like that? Yeah, I know. But last week's visit was nothing compared to tonight's - for tonight, Ol' Zan's had karaoke. Oh yes. It is true.
(pause for deep breath)
First, we went to the birthday party of the new girlfriend of my uncle's best pal. She was turning 24. I was disqualified from making jokes about this, even though the age difference here was WAY broader than anything I have ever personally experienced. You know who you are. Anyway. Dudes were watching football, etc. There wasn't a lot going on. We drank a beer, made an effort, did a shot of Canadian whiskey in the kitchen out of a shot glass shaped like a tiny tiny beer barrel. Then someone started talking about what was in store at Ol'Zan's that night. All you need to know is that the words "midget" and "karaoke" were linked in the description. SOLD.
It turns out that on alternating Saturdays, midgets and people with developmental disabilities flock to Colorado City's one and only hot, happening nightlife spot to sing the classics of the country and western genre. Either that, or every single dude at the party AND at the bar had instructions to tell me the same damn story. But considering the enthusiasm with which half the party followed us to the bar, I think midgets were a realistic and expected part of everybody's agenda.
Alas, the bar was free of anyone shorter than, um, me. But there was indeed karaoke. A guy who had been in my class in school and then my brother's class did a couple of Garth songs. He turns out to be dating someone in the class ahead of me, a semi-babe he NEVER could've scored while in school. Props for hanging around until the right moment, I guess. There's no smoking allowed in bars in Pueblo County anymore, but half the people at the bar were puffing away anyhow, and the bartender (girl I fought with in that not-really-a-bar-fight) kept bringing fresh ashtrays. Someone told me that when the sheriff comes in, the whole place goes speakeasy - people hold their breath, the barkeep sprays Fabreze around and everyone with an ashtray hides it, quick as you can say $5000 fine. Ah, community. It's a beautiful thing.
Anyway. I'd like to describe all the folks there and how hilarious the entire evening was, but I'm not sure I can do it yet without feeling exploitative. Or exploitive. So I'll wait, but they'll show up somewhere, because they and the whole scene were amazing. One dude (who told me I was "hardcore" and "hard to figure out" because I didn't want, more than anything else in the world, a man who would just take care of me - "it doesn't even seem like you WANT to change," he wailed) kept asking me why I was smiling. It took a while, but I finally figured it out: it's because I DON'T LIVE HERE. :)