The other night magic happened. A group of women came to see me at my bar after going to a benefit party for the local women clinic. Needless to say they were in a sisterhood Oprahish mood, sort of bonding as women and such. How they needed to get together more for girls nights, how much men suck and are sooo stupid. Blah blah, crap shit crap shit.
I was enjoying a vodka and Coke, a slow bar besides the Oprah chicks and I was kicking back watching some reruns of UFC. The only attention I got was a request to change the channel, which I ignored. Piss off fuckers, it’s my bar. I assumed my night was going to go down hill from there. Then from left field, or should I say the side door a random Spanish mariachi type band came strolling through. Is this a dream? I pinched myself. Nope it was real! Six of them in total, dressed to the nines in matching outfits. They strummed away, jumping up and down clicking their heels and serenading the ladies in the way only Latin men can.
All of the sudden the women bonding came to an end as the Spanish band wrangled the fun out of the women. In no time the guys had them dancing, smiling and more importantly buying more drinks and paying attention to me. MY buddy Al, a retired yacht guy strolled in, his hair slicked back with greasy kid stuff and his wallet opened to fund the ladies, the mariachis and me. We sat back and watched as the night slowly turned in to PG 13 drunken debauchery.
I wish I could say I got laid, it turned in to a wet t-shirt contest or a midget came in a really g t things wild. Alas, dancing Oprah chicks, Latin musicians and a greasy haired yachty was all the night had in store. I was cool with that.
Who knew a bunch of Spanish guys in matching out fits could be so much damn fun.
