In celebration of our individual portions of Pilcrow turning out to our liking, Leah, Momma’s Boy and I treated ourselves to dinner at Tallulah yesterday evening. I recommend. More in-depth restaurant review in a day or two.
Right now, I have to tell you about the hours after dinner.
The three of us lingered over the very delicious meal, and a nice lady walked past with her boyfriend and stopped to chat with us. Her boyfriend left her with us (I don’t understand that part) and she proceeded to explain to us that she teaches second grade on the south side, just filed a police report on Friday against a parent and that her nickname is “Roadhouse”. This was a very small freckled, sweet-faced woman– Roadhouse?? Really? Truly. A friend came to retrieve her eventually and referred to her as “ninety pounds of barfight“.
So that was weird.
Anyway, then we headed to catch Jazz Ken playing at the new Julius Meinl, where Dondi and Ted were last spotted. But, we missed Ted, Dondi and the jazz. We chatted with Ken for a bit, then headed to a former-dive nearby.
The bar was a welcome hideout last night, as much of the neighborhood was overtaken with drunken revelry from the German Mayfest hoe-down. I made the mistake of saying this to the bartender– ah, it’s so nice to enjoy the quiet in here!— and right on cue, the drunken revelry found us fast.
Remember the Party Boy guy from Jackass? Yes, well, his disciples are the folks I’m talking about here. Not just people dancing around. Nay. I’m talking about a group of guys dancing in identical pelvis-first jumping as Party Boy, and doing so on the backs of our bar chairs. We tried to ignore. We tried to dissuade. We tried to really kvetch out. But no. There’s only so assertive we could be when we’re all howling with laughter. I had tears streaming more than once, especially when Momma’s Boy leaned towards me and said “His butt’s on me! He’s rubbing his butt on me!” and later when he brushed a different dancer aside saying “Guy, your wiener is way too close to me!” This wasn’t just a second, either! No. At one point, we remarked at how drunk these guys were “and it’s not even midnight”, and we were laughing and laughing and all of a sudden we realized it was almost three in the morning and these guys still were bouncing around the bar, uncha–uncha club-goer style.
You know, maybe this would be best with photos.
Here we see Momma’s Boy shoulder (lower right corner) and Leah’s elbow (lower left corner) shortly after the initial approach.
We certainly had a nice laugh, and these guys seemed to enjoy the audience. But, something a little on the remarkable side happened– their dancing was contagious. Everyone in the bar, save for us and one old guy at the end of the bar, was eventually dancing. So, in that sense, I suppose I have to hand it to the party boys for being able to so successfully tapping into their joy and stirring people to dance with them. But, still, we’re talking about bad-male-stripper-to-bad-80’s-hairband, grinding all over the bar, our chairs, Momma’s Boy’s elbow, Leah’s, uh, entire self. So, you know. Good times.
We did decide, in the end, that if this truly was a bachelor party in progress, that we should try to find this wedding, as it’s sure to be a hilarious and crash-worthy one.