Miss Magoo stepped out Saturday night.
Coworker had a birthday, and all the cool kids were going. Met in nearby city at a chain eatery for a nosh and I indulged in a couple Modelo Especials. The great thing there was the company-- we yukked it up, and it was good to get a break from the painting and things I've been doing in the house. I also got to see a more relaxed side of co-workers who are generally more strait-laced. This was a lot of fun.
We went to the birthday girl's house and drank pom-tinis, then made for a nearby club. Driving my own car alone, I stopped at a record store to pick up the new Imogen Heap cd. Gas was low so I filled up rather than having to stop later. Then I made for the club where I was to join up with the progressive party.
I generally have remarkably good parking mojo, so on the rare occasions I don't magically get a whizz-bang parking space, I am truly surprised. Well, I pulled into this unfamiliar parking lot, and what do you know if there wasn't a sweet little parking space just for me and right in front of the club door? It was right next to the handi-capable parking spot, but I figured mebbe they wouldn't ding my door. *shrug*
I went in the door and had to pay a $5 cover charge in exchange for a coupon for 2 50 cent domestic beers. Um, okay. I convened with my gang and went over to the bar. I waited my turn and asked the bartender what type beer they had and he looked peeved. Gosh, I'm sorry for asking you to do your job, dude. If you had a menu up or even a blasted row of bottles of the available libations, I wouldn't trouble you. I quickly said *name of domestic beer I won't name here because prolly someone I know and respect likes it and, well, I don't.* and he gave me both my .50 beers at once. I took my beers to the table and said -- no one blunders quite like I do-- "I can't believe I'm drinking this shit" as I sat my two beers on the table amongst the beer bottles of all my friends, all of whom were drinking the same beer I'd just put on the table. Fortunately, the only two people who heard me over the blaring music thought it was hilarious, rather than insulting. Gee whiz.
Then I saw it, the mystic mirror cowskull spinning above the dance floor against the backdrop of a cowboys game on the large screen tv. This was well worth the trip and price of admission, bad beer and all. I giggled over it with the other girls, we snapped pics on our cell phones, and I said my goodnight to my friends, leaving my second beer to the custody of someone who wanted it.
I started my car and carefully backed out of my space, again marveling at my good parking fortune this night. That was when I saw the yellow diagonal lines of the no-parking area next to the handicapped parking.
*Whoopsie!* You can dress me up, but you can't take me anywhere.