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Weekend With Friends in Nac Part IV

Issue Date: Thursday, Feb. 16, 2006

Holy Crap! It’s Thursday already?

Well, this time two weeks (and 14 pages) ago I was all anxious about not having packed yet for our little trip into East Texas. And I still haven’t finished the damn recap.

Ok, to bring you up to speed, parts one, two and three are…
Here: Part I
Here: Part II
And
Here: Part III

And my brain is… here. and also stuck looping the song “Secretly” by Skunk Anansie off of the Cruel Intentions soundtrack.

::sigh::

So, where were we? Ah yes, eight messages on my phone during dinner right? Right.

So we ate, drank, smoked and all was merry. Dinner was about two hours so we started rounding up checks and coats and spouses around 9 o’clock or so, to head to the bar.

The bar I speak of is one I have mentioned before.

Once or twice.

Jitterbugs, a place that my little rowdy group of friends practically lived at when their doors were open (from Wednesday to Saturday, College night on Thursday) when we were in college. The owners all knew us by name and the girls in the crew were allowed to go upstairs to the offices to pee as opposed to using the crowded cat-fight bathrooms on the main floor.

Hell, D’Wayne worked the door for two years at least.

It was our bad-bar (tm Weetabix). People got tore up, dancing was mandatory, gallons of sweat were earned on the hardwood floor, friendships were made, relationships were lost, millions of cigarettes were smoked, bottles were broken and used as weapons*, it was the launching place for the midnight riders (usually naked) and a good time was had by all.

The thing that I was looking the most forward to; second to seeing my friends and kissing their faces; was going to Jitterbugs. I wanted to make some new memories there that included Mister and that did not include the phrase, “Happy New Year!!!!...” [look over to see husband (at the time) open mouth kissing another woman… well at least he wasn’t having his way with her right there**.] “Welllllll, fuck.”

I knew that we would all have a great time. I wanted to dance with my friends and Mister and D’Wayne, but I was very concerned about the recognizability factor. And that is so a word… shut it. The recognizability factor greatly increases when person, animal and toile plates; for example; are in their natural setting.

I would notice a cheetah or say a water buffalo quicker on the plains of the Serengeti than say, in an Eddie Bauer store. I would notice a toile plate in my mother’s china cabinet or on a plate stand in her dining room quicker than I would notice one say serving a giant sloppy joe to a hungry OTR traveler at Rip Griffin’s truck stop. Same with me stepping a coquettishly shod boot into the front door of Jitterbugs, someone was bound to notice. It was my preferred natural setting while I lived there. Well, there or at the aptly named Sports Shack on North Street for happy hour… every freaking day.

So I got a bit nervous when Tim and LuLu’s suburban came to a halt and Jay and I quickly stopped with the chitlin jokes*** and we all got out of the truck, made sure we had our IDs and money and lipsticks and cameras ready and started toward the front door.

I let the rest of the pack go ahead and I hung back, hiding behind my very large husband.

We all got our IDs swiped and bought a “membership” to the bar, meaning that Nacogdoches county is partly dry and you have to buy a “membership” or pay a cover to drink hard liquor.

While the tiny little thing in jeans so low I could see her pubis printed out our receipts I felt someone looking at me. I burrowed deeper into Mister’s armpit and stole a glance at the person that was trying to figure out who I was.

Oh, no big deal, it was the son of the ex-sheriff who used to work with my ex-brother in law.

Warning, DANGER, DANGER Will Robinson, DANGER!

Jay told me on the way over to the bar (between chitlin jokes) that his neighbor had invited us over for later. He was having a party and wanted us to come over after we left the bar.

Just a bit of back story so I won’t loose anyone new, my ex-husband (cleverly named X in this here journal) was a police officer in Nacogdoches. Since I left, he’s been promoted to detective. (I wonder if he can detect the difference between his ass and a hole in the ground by now.)

Jay’s neighbor, let’s call him… oh, say, Eric, was having a party and Eric happens to be a cop. Jay told Eric, “Hey man, I have X’s ex-wife in town, I am sure she’s not going to want to come over and hang out with a bunch of cops.” Eric replied, “Shit Jay, have her come on by, none of us like (my X’s last name) anyway.”

I am sure my eyes were HUGE when Jay was telling me this, and Jay loves to pull my chain so I am sure he was really enjoying the reaction.

I had narrowly escaped going to a party that evening after the bar. A house full of cops. But yet I run right into a deputy sheriff (who knows if he still is in that profession or not) as soon as I walk into the door of Jitterbugs.

Sweet.

I got my little wristbandy thing that let people know I was over 21 and could legally drink (HA HA HA HA ha hah heh he… ahem sorry.) and I scuttled into the bar fast. Who knew I could scuttle? I passed Mister and J.Wo and Jay and Glo and I stopped and just turned in a circle looking for a place to hide. Well, hell, Dierks Bentley was in town over at the Expo Center and the bar was deserted. It was only 9 pm and his concert wouldn’t end for a few hours.

I must have been twirling around (fast – like cheetah – so no one will recognize the whirling dervish… see? S-M-R-T.) because Mister walked over and asked if I had brought any of my anxiety medication with me. Negatory big guy. And then he said the words I will always love him for, “Here is your drink, let me light you a smoke.”

Then Jay walked over and said, “Hey Sue Mamma… you’ve been made by (blah dee blah (a local Judge’s son)).” “Fuck. Really?” “Yeah, he said hi.”

I blew that one off because the snitch that I was worried about, the guy at the front door, would have probably already called X on the bat phone and told him I was in town.

Mister suggested that I take off my glasses. I wouldn’t be able to see anyone, so I did and the anxiety over who was there and who was going to spoil my night or bring drama was reduced… GREATLY. In all the pictures I am Squinty McTinyEye but I am smiling like a loon.

We had a great time, everyone danced, I got to dance with D’Wayne (a waltz Trixie, eat your heart out) and things were so relaxed and calm, I forgot where we were for most of the night. It was just a big place with loud ass music and my friends.

Jitterbugs

*Oh Lord, no… not by me. I don’t get into that redneck girl fighting girl thing.
**It is the little things that I’m most thankful for… really. ::snort::
***Yeah, we stopped… for about seven minutes. Jay and I have been beating this dead horse (quick, give me a stick) of a joke for seriously for over fifteen years. It all started at a restaurant in Jasper, TX. I pulled something foreign out of my meal and we dubbed it Sir Chitlin, “Nasty little suckers, but their coats are worth a fortune.” And every movie, book, television show or celebrity since the 1950’s has been subject to a chitlin joke. Leave it to Beaver became Leave it to Chitlin, Sir Mix-a-Lot became Sir Mix-a-Chitlin, St. Elmo’s Fire became St. Elmo’s Chitlin, Sixteen Candles became Sixteen Chitlins… y’all get it. For extra credit let’s see if someone can leave one in the comments section that we haven’t exploited yet.

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To understand this dear reward (above) at all, you must hie thee on and read gatsby’s grape ape entry and my comments.

And because of said comments he sent me my very own dream turtle in an email titled wee gift with these words attached, “my purple monkey is booked solid so i ordered you a tangerine turtle. hope he proves helpful.”

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