A Mormon Walks Into a Gay Bar: Redux

Saturday was my friend Smo's birthday. She turned 30, and she wasn't very happy about it. I personally don't see what the big deal is with turning 30. I've done it. It wasn't painful at all. In fact, I was eager to turn 30. I felt like I was leaving immaturity and stupid youth behind...and that was a good thing.

Anyway, we decided that for her 30th, she needed to ring it in proper, so we made plans for an outing. I was to be the DD (designated driver). I haven't come to a point where I can think about the work Christmas party without shuddering. Besides, being the DD does have it's pluses. You get to remember everything that happened, plus it affords you the opportunity to embellish a little. It's not like anyone else is going to know better.

Tweener and J came to my house. From there, I drove to Belton to Smo's house. We hit crappy weather at the Grandview Triangle, but the PT didn't waiver. We picked Smo up, and decided to eat in Belton because everyone was starving. Smo selected a Mexican restaurant by the name of Guichos. Without going into the full review I will Yelp about later, I will say that it was the most disturbing Mexican food I had. My enchilada tasted like a pot roast. And my burrito had peas and carrots in it. The rice looked like Chinese fried rice. At least they didn't fook up the tamale. That would have been tragic.

Towards the end of dinner, karaoke started in the bar part, and we got to listen to some howlings from what looked like the residents of the local trailer park. Dinner and a show!!

Smo got to wear the big sombrero and the complimentary birthday tequila shot. Lots of pictures, and we were off to our night's big adventure. By then, a lot of snow had fallen, but once we got to the Grandview Triangle, the roads were clear again. Wet, but clear.

We went to The Drop. Tweener had visited once before and raved about the place. The place was crowded, and we did have to wait for a table, but the wait was well worth it. Being full of bad Mexican food, we didn't order any eats, but we had beverages. I sampled a tasty bellini, my compadres had martinis, shots, and Woodchuck. I observed some plates being carried to tables, and the bruschetta looked awesome. Tweener says it's the best she's ever had.

The clientele of The Drop consisted mostly of the mature crowd. By mature, I don't mean those who rock the AARP cards. I mean those who like to go out to socialize over drinks, and not get loud and falling down drunk (Westport, anyone?). Tony would refer to these people as hipster wannabes. If going out and acting like an adult instead a drunken Leawood skankmuffin, then you can call me Hipster.

Like I said, it was insanely busy. I do plan on going back for lunch sometime when they are not so busy.

By the end of our stay at The Drop, Smo is squinting and two sheets to the wind. This after two martinis, two shots, in addition to the tequila shot at dinner, and a weak frozen strawberry margarita.

Lightweight.

Moving on, our next and final stop would be Tootsies. I'd been to this place once before, so I kind of knew what to expect. Smo, on the other hand, had never been.

Tootsies is a predominantly lesbian bar, but there was huge number of inner city folk who were not gay, so I was puzzled. But not alarmed. In fact, I kind of thought it spoke something of the establishment itself saying that everyone was accepted, no matter who you were.

Immediately upon arriving, we make a beeline to the bathroom. Considering the amount of women there, I was somewhat surprised there wasn't a line that wrapped all the way around the building. As I was waiting for the others, four girls approached. Actually, it was three girls, carrying a fourth, who could not stand up on her own steam. They announced she was going to throw up, and I stood back to give them a wide berth.

You know, if you are at a bar, with friends, and one of those friends becomes so impaired that they can't even hold their head upright, you'd take them home, right? Not these girls. I would spot them a few more time later that night, dragging their semi-conscious friend around the bar. Just because girlfriend was almost comatose, didn't mean everyone else's fun had to be infringed upon. Nope. They just drug her around like a Coach purse.

As an added bonus, they had a drag queen show, which wasn't anymore impressive as the first one I saw. I was standing next to one guy who almost had a coronary. Apparently, he had never seen drag queens either.

J and I get overheated in the stuffy place and decide to go outside for fresh air. While we are out there, a bouncer pops out of the building, carrying the drunk girl we had seen earlier. Behind him, one of the girl's friends is following hot on his heels, harping about how they were not ready to leave.

"It doesn't matter, you are done for the evening" he announces before depositing passed out girl in the back seat of a car.

Back inside, people are dancing to a lot of hip-hop music I haven't heard before. One girl, with the biggest ghetto booty in the history of ghetto booties, is shaking her rump on the floor. Ordinarily, that would not warrant a second look from most people. What did it was the fact that this girl was wearing a dress that just sort of hung on her, allowing her flat, long, horribly wrong breasticles to flop out of the top of her dress. Repeatedly. At one point, she gets on her hands and knees and makes her butt dance, one cheek at a time. I'm pretty confident she was a stripper.

I understand the difference between men and women and their center of gravity. Men's allows them thrust their hips from front to back, but they can't shake their hips from side to side the way women can. Women, however, cannot do that thrusting motion the way men can. What I don't understand is how some women (predominantly featured in hip-hop videos), do that booty shake. White women cannot replicate this. I've seen them try. They fail miserably. I've been known to thrown down on the dance floor, but I can't shake my butt like that, even though I have the junk in the trunk that would qualify. I want to learn to shake my booty. Does the Communiversity offer classes in this??

A few hours at Tootsies, and we are ready to call it a night. I deliver Tweener to her home. Smo to hers (but not before plowing through some serious snow to get to her house). J rides home with me and naps on the sofa before she goes home.

Smo's 30th birthday was a big success, and I hope it showed her that just because you turn 30, it doesn't mean you become old and start yelling at kids who walk on your lawn. Reaching your 30's is like passing a threshold where you don't have to care about impressing others. You're comfortable in your own skin, your own life. Established. Experiences with friends and family have more meaning. You're more relaxed and content.

At least, that's how I felt when I turned 30. Maybe I'm just the lone dissenter.

Women are like fine wine. We just get better with age. Anyone that says differently is a dumbass.