Sunday, April 4, 2010

Day 93 - Tijuana Hooker Battles and Sacks of Chicken Assholes

Saturday, April 3rd, 2010

Some notes: Sailor Tod is now officially to be known as Dread Pirate Todd. Not because Todd did dreadful things with which to earn a Dreadful name, but because he thinks "Dread Pirate" sounds awesome, and I agree.

Besides, Dread Pirate Roberts has done way too much damage to the "Dread Pirate" moniker, what with his airy-fairy English accent and taste for black silk clothes. Why they don't call him Effeminate Pirate Roberts is beyond me.

We need someone with more class (and drinking ability) to take the name. Todd is the best choice. Having established this, let us proceeded to the events of Saturday evening as I recall them.

The night started late. I didn't even arrive at Jack's until after 10 p.m. Sugi was to have met me there with her sister, her sister's husband and his brother, but at the last minute they all canceled.

Having driven to the bar, I found myself sitting in my truck at the Happi House parking lot, listening to the end of How Soon is Now? by The Smiths play on 92.3 FM.

As the last notes played on the radio, Ras Dank rode by out of the blue with a big smile and a wave. Seeing Dank ride across the street to the bar brought me out of my musical reverie (memories of Catherine and the Boulder, Colorado club called Ground Zero at the forefront of my thoughts) and hastened my exit from my truck.

I didn't even look at The Rock this time, though I was parked right next to it. I suppose that if The Rock had legs I'd surely invite it inside. Alas, this can not be (we think The Rock is more or less bonded to the asphalt of the parking lot — it won't budge in the slightest when tested).

The air was cold. I could feel heat escaping from my freshly shaved scalp so I threw the hood of my black Jack's Bar & Lounge hoodie up to keep warm. I recall how soft the hood felt against the skin of my head and how this led to hope I'd find a woman, hopefully no more than buzzed, with a pair of warm hands and a desire to place them both on my head.

Drunk female attention is one thing, full faculty/minimally buzzed attention is another, and I much prefer the later, thank you very much. A pair of warm women's hands on my head on a cold night is nothing short of divine (you thought, perhaps, that I prefer beard attention? I don't mind it, but it's not at the top of my list.).

But wishes should never go half-formed in one's mind. Otherwise you'll get more than you ask for, as I was about to learn.

Travis was sitting on a bar stool at the door, checking IDs. I watched him more than I watched for traffic as I walked across the street, a short burst of adrenaline flowing through my veins as I battled down the worry feeling I always (always) get before I step into the bar. I shit you not it's like showing up for my first day of Junior High all over again every single time.

Inside the bar, DJ Traps was in full command of the sound system. It was Traps birthday last night and I'm sad to say it was kind of a slow night. I'm blaming Easter.

Ed and Wes were at the corner of the bar and Ed very kindly purchased for me a pitcher of beer with which to start my night. Jordan served it up while Tall Nicole worked the opposite half of the bar. Wes left to go out back and smoke, while Ed and I chatted as best we could over Traps' turntable ministrations.

Spike's Story:

A man we'll call Spike was nice enough to relate a tale to myself, ACME, Tempe and Ras Dank out on the back patio. His story was about getting robbed by a hooker, then robbing her right back. I should like to point out that, Tempe's claims to the contrary, the hooker was not in fact a transvestite.

His story begins in San Diego. As Spike tells it...

I was working in San Diego for a time. One night, a friend of mine who was in SEAL training called me up and said "Let's go down to TJ and get laid." I said OK so we headed on down there.

We got into town and went into a bar on Revolution Street. Pretty soon this nice looking lady walked up to me and we got down to business. She took me into the storage room and gave me a blowjob with a condom on, which was bullshit but hey I guess it's safe, right?

So as she's doing her thing I notice her hands are rifling through my pants pockets. I push her back and say "wait a minute!" and she says "no hablo Ingles" and I was like "you habloed just fine back in the bar. Now where's my money?"

So I hold her back with one hand as she tries to get past me and through the door, and I'm going through her purse and checking her bra and I find my $300 wad of cash. She yells for help (Ayudame, Ayudame!) and I can hear people banging on the door and things aren't looking good.

So I push her back, yank up my jeans, put my cash in my pocket and throw open the door. They stumble in and I jump past them out the door and into the bar. I yell at my friends to get the hell out of here and I run outside and up Revolution Street.

Half a block down I realized my dick was hanging out so I pulled off the condom and finished doing up my pants.

Further down I looked back and my friends are outside, and those assholes are pointing at me and the bar guys start chasing me!

Luckily a cab pulls up and I jump in and tell him I want to go right to the border. I take out my wad of cash and start counting it up and I've got $450 dollars.

The pain from laughing at that story was a good one. And yes, Dear Reader, if you did your maths you know that Spike made $150 dollars for a brief blowjob and a cardio workout.

Somehow or another the talk of hookers gave way to talk of mooseknuckles. Tempe has a Druid on World of Warcraft named Mooseknuckle.

A slow night means the back patio gets closed up early so before long we all had to make our way back inside. I kept looking around for the big weightlifter looking dude (I could see him playing beer pong earlier when I was outside) but he was nowhere to be found. That boy was massively muscled.

I met a nice couple named Suzanna and Jaime (i.e., himay, Dear Reader). They like to go to different bars and restaurants and really enjoyed being at Jack's. Jaime stopped me as I went to the bar to order more beer and asked if "you guys sell the black hoodies." I told him I didn't work at Jack's, but that Ras Dank, Nicole or Jordan could easily sell him one from their on-hand stock.

This was a great segway into pointing out that Tall Nicole is featured in several of Aimee B's works on the wall. Suzanna in particular was impressed by Aimee's work and we had a nice, shout-at-each-other conversation after that (the music was that loud).

Outside in the cold, I met a defense attorney who wishes to be known as Smash. Smash coined the term "Bald Brethren" to denote those of us who have shaved heads. Now "shaved' is way better than "bald", but I guess Smash is just big on alliteration.

Anyway, Smash introduced me to his two buddies and taught me something about Brightline law and how it relates to previous precedents and court rulings when a prosecutor decides to bring a case to court with the intent of getting a new precedent established. In most cases the idea is to push for an appeal through the appellate courts and the California Supreme court until a favorable ruling is achieved.

Back inside, Smash ordered me a beer (thanks, man) and we talked some about the bar. I excused myself after a bit and found Joaquin sitting at Table 4. I sat down to his left at Table 3 and Joaquin kindly introduced me to his brothers and his sister, and I found myself looking past him towards the beautiful ladies playing beer pong and sporting brand new Jack's Bar themed wife beaters. One woman had hers in her pocket and it looked like a bar rag on a bartender. Asian women just fill out wife beaters better than white women, that's all I'm sayin.

By now (if you're still reading and haven't gotten up to go watch TV or make some food) you've probably forgotten all about my half-made wish comment at the start. To wit: I wanted to find a woman with warm hands who would put them on my head and things would be all hunky-dory.

Instead, I ran into a short blond New Yorker with a taste for beards and a penchant for pointing out that I must, "...obviously have a receding hairline and a bald spot so that's why you shave your head and let your beard grow out because you're compensating."

What a great opening line! I can't wait to inseminate you and have sarcastic little babies together! (Not.)

In a heartbeat Drunk Blond New Yorker shifted gears from psychoanalyzing me to criticizing herself as her hands ran through my beard and she proceeded to compain about how she used to be blond and thin with big boobs and now she's got a fat ass, is over thirty and still single.

Fortunately, DBNW had a wing man whom I've met before: Taylor, aka WKRP, lives up the street, wears glasses, is married and is an all around cool person (she's writing a book with a cool plot idea, but I'll say no more about that).

Taylor ushered DBNW out of my face and back in the bar (to hit on Smashe's buddies and Joaquin's brothers) but otherwise stayed outside to finish her cigarette. Taylor and I got to talking and had a nice conversation about Cincinnati.

As I mentioned before, Travis was on the door and before long he and Taylor were traiding Flying Pig chilli recipe stories and what it's like to order a Sack of Chicken Assholes and have the folks at White Castle totally respond to that as though you'd said "I'd like an order of chicken rings please."

The time came for the bar to close, so I went out back to say goodbye to the ever beautiful Tall Nicole, said so long to Joaquin and Smash, did the same with Traps (I'm such an asshole for not saying "Happy Birthday" to him :sigh:) and went out front...

...only to be accosted by DBNW again. Taylor quietly mouthed "I'm sorry" over DBNW's shoulder as DBNW kept trying to unzip my hoodie "just two inches please, can I just open it two inches please?" and rub her hands all over my chest.

Once they were successfully moving in the right direction down the street, I excused myself and headed for my truck.

Later at iHop I ran into them both again. About that time I noticed how Taylor's reflection in the glass of the windows made her appear to look exactly like Tilda Swinton as she chatted with her friend. I couldn't tell if DBNW was listening or not. She seemed to spend half her time eating and the other half laid over sideways in the booth.  

In closing, I hope you, Dear Reader, will not think too poorly of DBNW. We all have our nights and tonight was hers.

Be safe! Thank you for reading! See you Sunday at Jack's!

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