i've been spending a lot of time at burrito union lately. two meals in two days. now the rockstar and i will get stupid over a couple of ginger margaritas. we are barely past the salted rim when she tells me that her cat is named "parker" formerly a tribute to parker posey. now, in honor of parker lewis can't lose. i scribble "parker lewis can't lose" on the back of my checkbook. i can't remember anything about this show other than that i loved it with the force of a thousand teen beat magazines.
from there, the night takes us to the twins bar. the last time i was there, a guy got tasared. this time we have been promised prizes, free champagne and karoake. with great gusto, the woman passing out leis makes the joke about "gettin' lei'd. har har." that joke sunk with the love boat.
an added bonus is video footage of spangled blue hairs cha-cha-ing and flailing around at the new year's eve party at the DECC. this is playing on at least three screens at the twins bar.
"i could watch this all night," i say as the footage cuts away from people doing the hustle to boogie wonderland.
"i wonder if the people at the DECC are watching 'new year's eve at twins bar' right now?" chuck asks.
the rockstar spots a celebrity. i bring him back to our table. he says "you aren't going to put this on the internet, are you?" i say "actually, yes."
he leaves our table, then the bar, soonafter i introduce him to the co-founder of perfect duluth day.
at midnight people makeout with their makeout partner.
"oh, my," chuck says. "it's only 12:20."
long after the karoake books have been collected, and the pencil pried from my front teeth, i coax the dj into letting me sing. i hate picking songs under duress: it always results in "let's hear it for the boy." god i'm sick of that song. i take the stage, belt out this 20-year-old footloose classic. a woman interlopes on my spotlight. at first i'm annoyed. then i go with it.
later she causes a stir on the dance floor, repeatedly, quickly, and dexterously dropping it, popping it and parking it like its hot. jcrew waxes hysteric about being assaulted, visually, by this woman's exposed bathroom parts.
"eyes on the prize," i remind chuck as we dance to chuck's favorite song. but really, i can't stop watching either.
jcrew and moptop, who have been standing in the wind trying to retrieve a cab for 15 minutes, come back to chuck's to wait out the ride in the warm glow of the wii. but before we can get the plastic off the new nunchuck, their ride whisks them away.
i do not let on that i am preheating the oven for our emergency pizza. i'm afraid there is not enough to go around, and even if there were i'm not up for sharing.
chuck challenges me to a wii boxing match and levels me in three punches. we play again, he levels me in two. not bad, considering he stared at the wii box like it was an exposed human brain before remembering how it worked.
despite what i look like, i woke up feeling just fine. thanks, 2008!