Mardi Gras

I should have brought my tape recorder with me.

NOTE: Dylan and Cabbie don't get to read this one.

St. Louis's Mardi Gras grand parade was Saturday, and I went down to the parade and other festivities with my friend Nataly (Not Not the Dirty Sanchez). After drinking for several hours, we found ourselves at the bar of a crappy little hole in the wall, and I wound up talking to the dude next to me and giving him directions to places while Nat was talking to others. I must admit that I felt a little dirty just talking to this guy--TOTAL hoosier-looking guy with few teeth, multiple neck tatoos, and a general meth- and porn-addicted look about him. Meanwhile, his wife was standing behind me gently slapping my inner thigh with a very thin strand of beads. However, I didn't feel it because, well, because I'd been drinking for several hours. As he and I turn around to talk to her, she coyly asks what's wrong with me that I didn't say anything about her slapping my thigh with beads. For whatever reason (read: hours of alcohol) and not at all expecting her to believe me, I proceeded to tell her that I have some nerve damage below the waist ("It's a neuropathy!") and as a consequence don't feel much in my legs.

Here is where I wish I had a recording. The dude looks at my friend Nat and says "You guys look like you'd be fun to party with." I respond by naively saying "Yeah, man, we're totally cool to party with," thinking that, at most, this will obligate me to have another beer or two at the bar with the guy (who was entertaining my drunk ass). Due to noise and intoxication, I couldn't hear him for a sentence or two, so I just nodded my head and said "Yeah, sure" while I ordered us a round. Then, I realized that he was telling me about swingers, more specifically the other swingers in his and his wife's swingers club whom he is supposed to meet at some other bar--and whom I have just agreed to "meet" with my friend Nat.

Yes, that's right. For the first time in my life, I was propositioned by swingers. Moreover, not only did I unknowingly agree to participate, I committed my friend Nataly to it without her consent.

I wish I could write how I got out of going to the other bar to "meet" their friends, but for the life of my I don't remember. I will swear on a stack of Bibles that we did not go. As they were leaving, the wife (who was prettier than I would have thought a swinger wife would have a right to be), grabbed ahold of me from behind and, when I jumped up a bit, said "Nerve damage, my ass."

A brand new sentence

The other day, my friend Fred said the following sentence to me:

"Twenty years from now, kids will be fucking monkeys through glory holes left and right."

I'm quite certain that, when he said it, it was the first time that these particular words had been strung together to form that sentence.

Happy Black History Month

In honor of Black History Month (and with sympathetic apologies to Academy Award winner Morgan Freeman), I’d like to share my Top 5 Things I Love About Black People:

5. The phrase “I heard that.”

As those who know me are aware, I have long used the statement “Fair enough” as an all purpose response to nearly anything people throw at me. Black people get to use this phrase in a similar fashion.

4. The phrase “You [or I] know that’s right.”

See above.

3. Their tireless efforts at showing the rest of what's cool (or what will be cool in 2 years).

Thank you, black people.

2. The term “African-American,” the term that no black people use.

Only white people and talking heads use the term. I think somebody (Cornel West?) made up this term just so black people could watch white people pause uncomfortably while they think “Should I say ‘black’ or ‘African American’”?

1. The fact that they haven’t joined forces with American Indians and overthrown the country.

Seriously. Lord knows they’re probably entitled.

PROTEST

J'accuse!

Although I gladly welcome all of the new contributors to this blog, I cannot help but note that they are people (as opposed to being Not someone, e.g., Not Erik Estrada and Not Larry Wilcox). All contributors to this blog should be Not someone.