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A Fun Night Out
A Fun Night Out
So the opera isn't everyone's taste (including my wife), but for all those visions of stuffed shirts and crabby blue-haired old ladies, I promise there are sites to see. My latest trip to the opera was last week with a friend I've not known too long. Turns out her husband doesn't care for the opera anymore than dry root canal surgery and my wife being totally ADD means we were in a good match-up for a night out(she can't sit through the most popular of operas without starting up conversation reserved for long car rides with small kids "Is it almost over, I gotta pee, I'm hungry, the guy next to me is hogging the arm-rest, how much longer" ).
I arrived a little early and quickly located a bar outside the civic center in a tent near the box office. The usual fanfare of quartets were playing, and grandmas were complaining, while older men were busy ogling younger girls in the ubiquitous "little black dress" (the dude that invented them should win a Nobel prize of some sort). I “sauntered” into the bar/tent, dateless and asked the guy for a margarita. He picks up a pic-nic styled plastic see-thru cup and fills it 80% full of tequila as he says, “She’s not here yet, huh” and winks (he knows I’m straight enough to need a date for this event). I said, “No, and by the way that’s supposed to have some lime in it or something too”. He says, “You’re going to need it like this” as he splashes the margarita mix into the cup the remaining ounce it will hold and passes it too me. So for $6, I’ve juts bought $10 worth of tequila on ice and without having had dinner yet, I’m thinking I better nurse this sucker if I’m going to walk into the opera. Funny thing, you can’t really nurse tequila. It’s just not smooth enough to sip on like fresh tea or hot chocolate. So I end up spending the next 12 minutes throwing back hard sips until all four shots are rousing around in my belly and my brain is starting a fistfight with my morals about who’s ass in a little black dress needs to be groped… Refraining from any activity that will get me arrested, I manage to meet up with my friend and head inside thinking Score 1 for the opera, I got drunk on a cheap traveler’s tab of booze in a place I usually get ripped off much more money for just a sip of wine.
We have good seats, which means we’re also the youngest people by 4 presidents sitting in our area. As we enter our row, I let her proceed ahead of me partly because I’m a gentleman like that and partly because I see that Methuselah is sitting next to our two seats and I don’t want the tequila picking a fight with a biblical character for not sharing the arm rest (and I’m afraid of old people dandruff ‒ just creeps me out). We settle in and the show starts. 17 minutes into the opera there is a guy in the row in front of us losing his f-ing mind! He can’t sit still. He’s bored. He’s watching the lights from the over hangs, he’s looking around at the crowd, he’s stretching, yawning, dropping his program and making a general quiet ruckus. I’m thinking he’s in bad shape as there are 2 hours and 40 minutes to go, so he’s going to “pop” (the tequila is thinking we can take him if he doesn’t settle down). It’s so bad, that I actually start giggling out loud about the guy after another minute or so. I thought for sure he would disappear after the first act and he got a chance to run for it, but he was a trooper and came back for 2 more acts.
So the opera is over at this point and my friend has parked on the opposite side of the civic center from me and we agree that I will walk her to her car and she’ll drive me around to mine. We get into her car and I feel a strong urge to roll the window down, like a dog died in the car or something. Perhaps sensing the distress in my breathing patterns, she says “Does it smell like a dog died in here?”.
“That’s because my dog died in here.”
(ok, ok, ok you sick bastard don’t make a joke, she’s probably sensitive about the dog so just grin and nod no matter what she says)
She tells me the dog was one of those follow you around everywhere dogs and he slipped in and out of doorways often unnoticed. On this particular occasion, he went unnoticed for 8 hours. (Good, I got through that without making fun of her)
She tells me, “I don’t think I killed him though.” (Oh shit, she’s gonna softball a one liner at me any minute now)
She asks, “Do you know why I don’t think I killed him?”
“Cause it helps you to sleep better at night?” (Oh damn, that wasn’t polite, can I still be drunk?)
She proceeds to beat me with her sequined purse.
Turns out, in her defense, the were some very, very, valid arguments that the dog died of a heart-attack and was left in the car because he couldn’t pull the usual jump in and out on his own routine.
I’d tell you more at this point, but I’d have to bore you with details of dinner at a gay restaurant with all gay patrons (and lesbian if you must differ), being discriminated against because my ass is exit only, some flirting, groping, kissing, and long ass driving home…… so I’ll bite my own lip on this and let you go on to better blogs….
All in all, a wonderful night though.
10/17/2005 6:07 pm
LOL... that's great! I never thought a dead dog could be so funny.|
10/17/2005 8:01 pm
"“That’s because my dog died in here.” |
5. "Oh? Does your car have the same affect on humans?"
4. "Must've been from fright considering the way you are driving."
3. "Must've been from pleasure if your right hand was doing to him what you're doing to me."
2. "Just like the diva on that aria in the 2nd act!"
1. "Too bad you didn't purchase a RONCO sexyfitwoman rack. Dead doggie deoderizer was included in the deal."
10/18/2005 11:43 am
titsandtires...... Thanks! You're our biggest fan (our only fan) lol|
5. The car almost had that affect on me
4. Which is still not as bad as Tif (damn! she hit me)
3. no comment
2. You reveal yourself sir by knowig such terms.
1. As was a solar powere difibulator.