So I was having drinks with Batman the other night, and it occurred to me that I say a lot of things that very few people have a chance to say. (Like I was having drinks with Batman, or my new favorite, “Can I borrow your rooster?”)
The best part of it all is that I get to be around people who do not call the nut wagon to come and shake me out of my tree when I say things like this.
I’m so used to bumbling along in my happily jumbled world with friends who appreciate my clinical quirkiness and general oddity (World’s Worst Vaudeville Act) That I sometimes forget that there are people who don’t quite get it. By “It'” I mean staying in the center and coloring in the lines is not as much fun as leaking out and moving to the left.
Batman and I were at a new bar downtown. Now my hometown used to pride itself on not being Dallas. We don’t have to be polished and trendy and we don’t have to try too hard. This bar is very close to trying to hard. There is a speakeasy entrance, with a password and you can go to a bar under the bar. Well I love a theme as much as the next person, probably more so I truly enjoyed the decor and dimness (World’s Worst Law Firm.)
I did not enjoy the waiter’s slight sneer of derision as I asked if they had any vodka based specials. He looked over his hipster glasses, down his nose over his over-fully coiffed beard and explained that it is difficult to craft a new beverage when using a clear, flavorless liquor. I think Batman could sense that I was about to get radical and grab His Royal Haughtiness by the pristine white waiter’s apron and explain to him that in some parts of the civilized world creative is not marred by the expected, or at the very least, in keeping with the speakeasy theme requested they NOT clean the bathtub before they make the next batch of vodka because he asked if there was anything with a vodka base.
Snippy Waiter said they had a Moscow Mule, which has vodka and ginger beer and something lemony. I thought it tasted like a Gingerbread Man’s Icy Bathtub, which I also totally would have ordered.
One of the reasons for our outing other than my Alleged BF cancelled another date and my friends are awesome and know that leaving Writer Chick stewing in her own rage on a Saturday night is a sure recipe for disaster and no one can afford the bail money, is that Batman is about six months out of a toxicity. In keeping with the theme of mocking those who are too uppity for their own, or anyone else’s good, I had printed out and edited a piece of writing combined by his own personal Absence of All That is Good and Holy. I gave it to him along with his choice of writing utensil and let him rip it apart.
After all of that was finished, we retired to a neighborhood dive via fast food hamburgers. Because it’s not Dallas and we can do what we want.