Monday night with 29-95.
So, this Houston website 29-95.com had a little shindig at The Cellar Bar. 5o cent Lone Stars, they say. Starts at 7.
Well, I’m not one of those cats that goes all the way home, showers, and changes into street clothes. I’ll just show up and do my thing. Sometimes I’m glad I’m not a butcher.
So I showed up at about 5:15 with R.T. Martinez right behind me. I pulled into the parking lot, and saw something odd. All of these scantily-clad women started walking into the place.
“Over here, dumbass!”, Martinez yells. Turns out that the bar I’m going to shares a parking lot with The Diamond Club, a gentleman’s establishment. Since there were no cars in the parking lot, and I didn’t have enough meth or prescription medications on hand for a budget-minded evening at a tiddy bar, I chose to back up my car into an empty parking spot in the then-empty Cellar Bar parking lot.
The Cellar Bar wasn’t open yet, so we went across the street to The Velvet Melvin to kick back one or two before the Cellar Bar opened.
There was some kind of fashion shoot going on when I got back to the Cellar Bar. I’m not sure why they chose this particular establishment. I’m guessing it had something to do with the mirrored wall. Maybe they were going for some sort of Debbie Harry/Enter The Dragon thing. I walked in between the photographer and his subject on accident, and he was very polite about it.
I offered to strip down to my Homer Simpson underwear to help out, and he politely refused. He offered me his card, and I politely refused.
I hung out with the 29-95 crew for a while. What a great bunch of people! I drank 50 cent beers, made some new friends, and had a fantastic time.
The National Beer of Texas.
Then it was time to go. Everyone I had met that evening was on the back patio I had backed up to before. The difference was, now the parking lot was full of cars, and there was no way to get my giant boat of a car out of there without some serious engineering skills, or some kind of crane/hoist contraption.
I went to the patio and asked Joe Mathlete for a hand. He was happy to oblige, under the condition that I would agree to accompany The Mathletes on the hurdy-gurdy at their next show.
Joe Mathlete’s expertise, expounded by a team of engineering gurus on the Cellar Bar patio, assisted with an inch-by-inch extraction of my boat-car from the premises.