Labor Day Weekend Recap
Friday – Our Table in the High School Cafeteria
Friday night a bunch of us went to Liqor Lounge (or however they spell it) and Belmar, then ended up at an all-night taqueria we don’t normally frequent.
We took a table for nine in the middle of the room. We couldn’t help but notice the trio of well-endowed women who entered shortly afterwards, as they kept circling our table as if it was on the route of a blonde-club-hoochie parade.
This is the way I remember it. A few of our companions were discussing the trio of women, who were standing close enough to us that we could see their underwear labels. I wasn’t paying much attention, though, because I was busy shoveling my food down my throat. Someone at our table said, “How much?” loud enough for everyone to hear. A while after that, the three girl-women went around to the other side of the table and, after a drunken while, told us all in general, “More than you can afford.”
Not one to ignore such a gauntlet-dropping, Cathy said, “I think we can come up with more than $500.”
There was a dead silence. You could have heard someone chewing a quesadilla. (It was either me you heard chewing, or Tad, who was sitting next to me.) Then the oldest of the three drunken well-endowed women slurred something like, “You guys need to grow up,” at all of us. I considered her words carefully as I took a sip of water. She was probably right. Their wisdom imparted, they slunk away.
Next thing I know, our friend Rick is saying, “Hey, man, you’re standing a little too close,” to some guy who looks like a skinny version of Charlie Sheen. And this guy is standing pretty close indeed to our table. He’s just there, hovering over us like a ghost in Harry Potter’s Great Hall, except that his head is still attached and it features a determined grimace instead of a jovial British smile.
After some posturing, this guy indicates that he’s there to defend the honor of his friends, who are apparently the three implant women. Rick and Mike tell him to go sit down because they don’t want any trouble. But the guy can’t sit down, you see, because the three boobie women are watching him, and the future of his sex life depends upon some display of foolhardy bravery. I can tell by his face and posture that he’s scared pissless, but trying to do what he thinks is right.
Nothing happened. Mike entertained us in the extreme with his Eastwood-esque offering of two options – that the guy continue to pick a fight and get his ass kicked, or that he go sit down. As the only mom in the group, I tried to be the voice of reason, but the guy took advantage of my rationality by pointing at me and telling Mike, “What if I were to start talking shit about HER??” And, as we all know, it isn’t proper to point at people, especially if they’re from the ghetto.
There was almost a fight – there was a throwing down of a chair – but the tiny lady cop on the premises managed to force everyone to sit down. The three women-girls came by several more times to tell us to grow up. After forever, we paid our bill and left.
Later, Mike was upset that no one had “backed [him] up.” But, as I told him, he hadn’t needed backing up. He had it all under fear-inspiring control. It would have been insulting for the rest of us to do anything other than watch.
Later, Cathy said that she was embarassed over the whole thing – that she was thirty now and that was too old to be getting into fights. I agreed. But she pointed out that those women had pushed her buttons by casting aspersions on our collective net worth. And that was true, too. It isn’t proper to make assumptions about people’s salaries. Especially if those people are from the ghetto.
I hope that guy got rewarded for his courage that night. I hope those women encounter suitably grown-up implant admirers on their future nights out.
Saturday – At the Bookstore
I went to Borders with my friend Tad. A man walking towards me looked familiar. Like an actor. No… like my brother. “Gwen,” said my brother Erik. “Erik,” said me. We hugged. My brother looks like a younger, thinner, lighter-haired Ben Affleck with glasses.
He took us to where my dad and my niece were intently perusing mangas. Heedless of the shy-looking Asian guy in the aisle with them, I bellowed, “Excuse me – you people need to clear the premises.” The shy stranger looked up, startled. “Oh, I don’t mean you – I mean them,” I said, pushing past him to hug my dad.
We proceeded to hold a mini family reunion right there. (Although we live about five miles apart, half my infrequent meetings with my dad are coincidental ones, at various trendy spots inside the Loop.) I learned that my niece is an Inuyasha fan. I confessed my ignorance of all serious animes besides The Big O, about which there was no manga on the shelves.
We yakked and yakked. Then my dad and them left. The shy stranger, who’d never left, told me that The Big O books were availabe at the Borders in Meyerland. I thanked him. We went away.
I recalled aloud the way the guy had been scared by my joke, and laughed. Tad said I’d been a little rude. “He must have liked it, though,” I pouted. “He stayed to hear our whole conversation and then told me where to find the books I wanted.”
“Probably just because he saw that I was Asian, so he knew you were cool,” said Tad, for whom it always gotta be an Asian thang.
“Yeah – he probably thought I was mean, and then saw me with you, and then heard me talk about the Big O, and then he was like, ‘Oh, man – I’ve got to impress that big sexy mean girl who likes Asians. I want to be her slave!'” I said. With that, Tad learned his lesson and changed the subject.
I went to the Info desk and asked them if they’d be selling a certain book in a month’s time. They said, “I’ve never heard of that book in my life.” Only mildly sad and embarassed, I got the necessary information to send them a review copy and schedule a reading.
Then we went upstairs to find a place to sit while flipping through books we wouldn’t buy. There were no more chairs. Tad plopped himself down on the floor in front of the big, sunny window. After arranging my skirt, I followed suit. I read Nina Marie Martinez’s rather amusing Caramba: A Tale Told in Turns of the Card. I plan to go back and read subsequent bits at a time until it comes out in paperback. I regretted missing her Nuestra Palabra reading a few months back.
About an hour later, I looked up and noticed that several other people had joined us on the floor by the window. We must have looked temptingly content.
Sunday – Super Awesome Fun
Sunday me, my good friend Tad, and our friends Rick, Hoa, Dave, and Cyra Fairbanks went tubing on the Guadalupe River.
Oh, my god, it was one of the funnest things I’ve done all year long. There is hardly anything more relaxing that floating in a big innertube down a river in the sun. Especially if you’re linked by feet, hands, and ropes to friends and a beer cooler in their own respective tubes. The extreme relaxation was broken up by moments of intense excitement caused by rapids, some of which unmanned Tad’s and Cyra’s tubes, some of which stranded me on the rocks until I learned to be brave and cast myself into faster waters. Also, in addition to the relaxation and excitement, there was titillation in the form of women baring theirs for jello shots. (People, the Guadalupe River is no place for children.) Add to all this an ambulance, wading sheriffs, a fleet of affable rednecks, and delicious chili dogs, and you have the makings of a perfect Day Before Labor Day.
This entry is already too long, so I won’t say anything more about it. Thanks to Cyra for suggesting the trip, and thanks to Tad for convincing me to go.
