Started that night clean and pure at the cafe I haunt, you know. Rapping with fellow queen called Eduardo - he part of the Fab Force Five. The group of artists and painters and writers that I had supposedly befriended from the cafe.
So, Eduardo and I are sitting there on the plush couches sipping coffee and gossiping like two giggling queens. He jets to rendezvous with a group of cyclist having some sort of bike party - that is tooling around downtown on their Schwinn's.
left alone, I start pounding back four beers - not all at once, dingdongs, one after the other - when another pal named Brandon scoots up - tall, gangly kid who is a whiz at designing webpages and he asks if I would like to check out a gallery that had just opened up. Sure, why not?
We both speed over to said gallery and it was a bust. Lame. Boring. Only four pieces were on exhibit and they all were mediocre at best. Good thing they had a buffet spread in which we both took full example of. Highlight of that venture was I mistakenly popped open one of the bottles of Chinese rice wines that were laying about. Ech! tasted like septic tank water filtered through a hobo's sock, I tell ya.
After scarfing down some much needed beef burritos - the taste of the rice wine lingered throughout the night and next day - Brandon and I stopped at the San Carlos gallery for an impromptu artist orgy hosted by another acquaintance named Robert. He hosts open-mike poetry slams at the cafe. Again, scoped out the art, raided the hors d'oeuvres table and shot over to the Tap in search of Eduardo.
Across the street from the bar is a little park usually camped by hobos and junkies, we found the Schwinn crowd circling around a tree in the dusk - much laughter and flashing of headlights.
Eduardo stood across the street in the doorway to the Tap and invited us in. The dive was packed as a live band wailed oldies and ranchero. Sitting in a booth was the Fab Force Five - Eduardo, Freddy, Curt, Cesar Ivan, and some Indian Girl. from India, you know.
Freddie was already plastered and spent much of the evening pawing at Brandon while Cesar drunkenly goosed all and sundry as the Indian Girl giggle snorted - seriously, it was heeheeSNORTheeheeSNORT - at these antics.
Curt had the idea to change venues and head over to that fucking high falootin queer joint The Briar Patch and we all did. Stumbling and causing all kinds of ruckus in the dark streets we until we entered that high society joint.
I was introduced to Cesar Ivan's girlfriend and she was an interesting person. An intellectual with a mind that perhaps I could relate too.
The gang bar hopped and drank and laughed. Until Cesar Ivan got too plastered and baptized everyone within striking distance with alcohol from his glass. Brandon - who was the most drenched in the spillings - said it was time to cut, being near 2am anyways and the bars were about to close. We tried to ditch these drunken shenanigans - but, Cesar Ivan followed us to Brendan's car where in a plea to come home with him for "Toasted bacon and sausage sandwiches" he flung off his vest and shirt and went into a loud, over-dramatic soliloquy about the transvestites that infested the Tap Bar.
Enough of that mess, Branden and I peeled out for pizza before being dropped off at my flat...
Fun night, never the less.