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Enter the absinthe.
Getting back to the motel after foolishly trying to buy some beer at a
7-11 with out of state licenses, fortified with Fran’s hamburgers, the
motel party began. The night would take on drastically new dimensions
with the introduction of the absinthe. I did my best to handle the
first shot, and then let the three absinthe novices take their best
shots at the mind-bending licorice liquor. They held up admirably,
lasting longer than the Johnny Cash special on the PBS telethon, nearly
finishing the bottle by the time OLIVER STONE started to warp the
conversation and the mini-fridge ran out of Lone Star beer. Damage
done, it was time to head into town and hit 6th Street.
Our night on the town
started at Ocean’s 11, Austin’s tiki bar, placating Donnetta’s fierce
allegiance against beer, some giant concoction of rum was served in a
giant flaming bowl complete with plastic neon monkeys hanging on the
edge, trying not to drown. I ordered a calming gin and tonic, and it
glowed under the lights. Heading out, we passed some bikers in matching
sporty outfits, one looked to be packing a few too many extra saddlebag
pounds. I’m not sure if Donnie was deft enough to snap a subtle
picture, but before we knew it, we were caught up in the outdoor
backdrop of some outdoor performance at a club on the corner of the
road. Complete with fire, water and smoke effects, we watched the
revelry with amusement and intrigue. The show ended all too soon, but
Donnie got some sweet shots that time.
Moving along from street
art to body art, we hit a tattoo parlor and watched some blonde get her
back midsection filled in. Jodie and Donnetta couldn’t decide on a
matching design, but I did find an M&M’s and Jesus tattoo that
incorporated M&M’s ‘Melts in your mouth, not in your wounds’ motto.
Sensing the very real possibility of some bad judgment to be made, I
scurried us up to the next bar. The night started becoming a blur – the
crowds, music and beer made all the edges around town just a little
fuzzy. Hopping from one place to the next, I got tired of having to
decide which place to go, so I threw down the gauntlet and enforced a
strict next door policy. Leaving one bar, we’d head next door to catch
the next buzz. One place freaked Donnie and I out at the bathroom when
there were two pairs of shoes in one stall. There’s only two things
that come from Texas, and there weren’t no horns in there. We headed
next door, and I didn’t realize I had walked into Maggie Mae’s until it
was too late – I saw cowboy hats everywhere – and the threesome followed
me in with their eyes rolling. I reassured them one beer and then next
door. There was a country band playing, and Jodie pointed out to me
after I was halfway through the dollar Coors Light bottle that the bar
had no roof.
Excited by the dollar
bottles, Donnie and I started putting back the beers and our attentions
soon were focused on the band: Dean Seltzer and the Redneck Mothers. A
rockin' outfit who were singin' some of their original songs when we
walked in, now started doing a few country tinged covers, I think
perhaps a Creedance, I’m sure ‘Honky Tonk Blues’ was done. Our bottles
were thrust towards the starry sky, clanging during the chorus, clanging
during the endings, clanging during the opening verses. They also did a
sweet version of the Devil went down to Georgia, substituting Texas for
Georgia, and featured some of the meanest fiddling I’ve ever been a
witness to. Things got slow like again, as Dean broke back into his own
bag of tricks, giving us time to relax before he broke out the big
guns. Baby faced Dean ripped into a song about a treacherous woman, the
chorus mentioning something about ‘a dirty whore bitch’ who had done him
wrong. It got a big rise out of the four of us, and the cheering became
ecstatic. It was the verse where Dean sang, ‘Get your head out of your
ass and your ass out of here’ that drew the wildest cheers, mostly from
me. The humble Texas women standing on my right, clad in a loud western
shirt and big white hat, looked disapprovingly at me and told me, “You
don’t have to cheer so much in front of your date like that”. I told
her that Jodie understood, and all four of us felt the same way. I
didn’t see the lady again after that, but I was also too busy deciding
which Redneck Mother t-shirt to buy. My choices – ‘GOD BLESS AMERICA,
PASS THE AMMO’ in big bold letters across the back, or the Texas flag
with ‘Lovin’ you is the dumbest thing I’ve ever f#%kin done’. I chose
the latter.
The night began to spin
madly out of control after leaving Dean behind, with a couple of new
stomping grounds hit – sweet bars with lots of character and even more
stories. When the night finally culminated back at the Austin Motel –
it was the scrap metal mariachi band across from the room – lit up like
an understated Christmas tree – that greeted me and gently soothed my
soul.
The final few hours of
darkness came and went, and soon enough we scrambled out to catch up
with Becky and Matt, whom we coaxed into staying in the same
neighborhood, but at the upscale Hotel San Jose almost next door. We
caught another spectacular Guero’s meal, and laughed until we cried,
recounting KCAI stories about the oddest collection of misfits and
castoffs the world can probably assemble. It was then we headed to the
State Capital to see the Burning Bush and receive word George Bush has
sex with farm animals.
A few hours later, and we
were all stowed away on our own airplanes, dispersed across the US to
live to fight another day.
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