The Divine Secrets of a Southern Diva

So, my quiet weekend I planned? Wasn’t so quiet.

My darling friend Kristen called me Friday afternoon asking if we’d attend a party with her. In Missouri City. Full of people none of us knew. She met a guy she likes hanging out with and he was hosting this soiree.  But she didn’t know anyone so she wanted us to go to. She rarely asks us to do stuff like that so we went to support our girl.

This party was supposed to be a block party called “Rock The House” and some some upcoming “band” playing that was supposed to have a song or something on the Nick and Norah’s Infinite Playlist soundtrack. So it sounded promising.

Party started at 7.  We did NOT want to be the first people there so we had dinner at Pappasito’s first. Well, we had a little food with some billy-bad-ass margaritas. By the time we left, Kristen and I were on the road to serious drunk-assedness. Mike was driving and sober, as usual. We leave the great city of Houston and venture out to Missouri City.

And venture we did.

Y’all. I forgot that lil ol’ Missouri City was in the middle of bumfuck nowhere. And fuckin’ Mapquest sent us there on the scariest route possible. We ended up on some dark, desolate road that only had some weird little airport for crop dusters or some shit on it. Seriously, it was the type of road urban legends happen on. Any moment I fully expected a light in the distance to show up while a dude with a hook hand and peg leg starts beating on the roof of the car trying to get in. It was fucking freaky.

We finally get there around 10.  And guess what? Party was over.  We are trying not to laugh as we walk up to his house. There were still a few stragglers there, but the street was quiet as church.  Did I tell y’all this was supposed to be a block party? Yeah. Called Rock The House? Yeah.

We go in to this pretty brick suburban home and walk into a time warp. Sort of. Kip Winger was blasting from the iPod and middle-aged people were rockin’ out. Like, all 6 of them. Literally, rocking out. Homeboy who owned the house was throwing up the rocker symbol and singing. (By the way, he was wearing a “Rock the House” concert Tee. Pure awesome.)

It was like being at a party with my parents friends, only instead of Motown it was hair bands. It was weird, because there like 10-15 years older than me which really isn’t all that much- but oh, my damn. The two women there were total cougars. Well, one was and the other was sort of a wannabe cougar.  The actual cougar had long, blond, permed hair and a dress cut down to THERE. I saw underboob. Expensive underboob.  It was awesome. Wannabe didn’t look all cougar’d up, but she was trolling for some young peen for sure.  Those two were dancing in kitchen like they were in a music video and trying to flirt with “the band”. It was awesome wrapped up in awesome and tied with an awesome bow.

There was also some older dude who was so shitfaced that he kept telling us he was on his way out. He was still there when we left 2 hours later. He also had his hand on my ass twice and kept telling Mike “Oh Mike don’t like me” and thinking he was funny. He was looking for some poon while his wife was at home four blocks away.

Then there was the guy born in New Jersey in a town near Mike’s. he was going on and on asking Mike about places there. Places that don’t exist anymore. Because homefry moved from there in the 80′s or some shit. At one point he says, “Well it was there 30 years ago.” Mike’s response: “I’m not 30 years old yet.”

FACE old dude.

Now, for “the band”. It consisted of two little children/boy dudes. They just turned 21. They hangin’ with the old folks. They were a bazillion sheets to the wind. The cougars were nearly molesting them AND I never fully got this MTV movie story so I’m thinking its false.

So we got even more shit faced, made a lot of eyes at each other and stayed a couple of hours. It was fun in a weird time-warp kinda way. I mean, everyone was nice it was just totally bizarre.

We leave and successfully avoid scary urban legend road and make it home. Kristen and I then decide we are starving. So, back in the car and off to Jack In The Box where we drove Mike even crazier. I don’t know what all we said to the drive in lady, but I do know that Kristen announced that she wasn’t wearing a bra to everyone working that night. That’s my girl!

And to end this stunningly descriptive blog, I leave you with a photo taken by my very good friend Neal at Austin City Limits this weekend:

There are just things you never, ever do. I don’t want to see that much of any dude who isn’t about to slip me some hot Italian sausage, you know what I’m sayin’? GAH. I don’t even know what to do with this. Just enjoy it’s glory.

Stabbing myself in the eyeballs-
Ali