Friday, September 3, 2010

Live Blog #8 - A Really, Really Live Blog - The Final Version

The Set-Up:  At Tierney’s once again, about to start the Live Blog, but we’re doing things a bit differently this time. I’ve posted a Facebook status asking for conversation topics. This could be fun, or it could hit the failblog with a loud smack. We’ll see. (The questions posted in Facebook are in bold, and the contributors have been given cute little anonymous names...)

Grieve Pushlett: “Selfishness.”

Me: “Hmmm. Not really sure what this word means. Everything I have ever done in my entire life has been completely selfless. Except for the times when I’m awake. (Hey, Suctionetta, can I get another beer over here?)

Havilland: “Everybody else is selfish. But not I.”

Blinda: “I know Havilland is telling the truth because she used to work for me. And she used to wear skirts this long.” (Fingers are held up that are about 2 millimeters apart.) “And then there’s the story about the turkey baster.”

Apiphany: “I don’t wanna talk about selfishness on a Friday night.”

Grieve Pushlett: “How people justify what they know is wrong, in life but I will be forgiven anyway.”

Me: “Is Grieve drunk?”

Blinda: “Because they’re selfish.”

Sage: “There’s two sides to every story.” (Well, yeah. The right side and the wrong side. Is Sage drunk?)

Apiphany: “I brought cards!”

Bettina Filler-Jerky: “Clowns.”

Me: “To the left of me, jokers to the right, here I am. Stuck in the middle with goo.”

Blinda: “Is somebody going to send them in now?”

Blinda: “I think a stripper clown would be good.” (Well, they actually had such on the second season of “Reaper”. Seriously.)

Lolo: “I know clowns scare people.”

Sage: “Why do some women have a fetish for clowns.” (I didn’t know about such a thing. I’m fairly sure that I don’t want to know any more.)

Pompous Roams: “Beer.”

Me: “I’m an expert. What question do you have?”

Sage: “All I know is that if anybody touches my beer, there’s gonna be a rumble.”

Lolo: “Woo-hoo, beer!”

Tex: “More, please.”

Me: “I’m thinking there won’t be much of meaty substance with this one.”

Bob Florist-toe: “ ‘How I lost my virginity’. And go…”

Me: “This is dangerous territory Mine took place on my parents’ waterbed, even though the activity was severely limited due to the AC unit being on the fritz and we didn‘t get very far. (OMG, my mom reads this blog. This is going to be an awkward Thanksgiving.)

Apiphany: “I’m not gonna touch that.”

Tex: “Let me assure you that no cattle were involved. No farm animals were harmed.”

Lolo: “I’m not gonna tell.”

Tex: “Per court order, I can’t talk about it. Those records are sealed.”

Sage: “It all started with a gag order.” Then he laughs maniacally. This makes me very scared.

Bonnie Borden Kegister: “How about ice cream?”

Me: “Ice cream is proof that there IS a higher power.”

Blinda: “We all scream about ice cream. Actually, we just scream. Life is hard. And then you die.”

Tex: “Refer to the previous post.”

Apipany: “Don’t get me wrong, I’ll eat it, but there are issues.” (The mind boggles, right?)

(Side Note:  Some of the folks at the table have started playing Spades. Immediately there is anger in the air and caustic discourse. I might lose these people. We’ll see.)

Pleaza Da FooFoo Spinach: “Marriage and Civil Partnership!”

Me: “It completely mystifies me that we are still having a debate about this. In the 21st century. Seriously?”

Blinda: “The House of Civil Partnership?” (Um, perhaps I need to speak more clearly. Or maybe Blinda needs to slow down with the raspberry vodka.)

Apiphany: “I believe in the sanctity of marriage. I just don’t know if I’m ever going to partake in it.” (I think Apiphany is watching a different program than we are.)

(Side Note: One of the servers just mentioned that one of our party has been cut off from further beer intake. We don’t know if he’s actually being serious, but everyone at the table feels guilty and pretends to study their shoes.)

Sage, quoting from a movie: “If you blow chunks and she comes back, she’s yours. If you spew and she bolts, it was never meant to be.” (Then Sage chuckles and babbles about “Wayne’s World”. I’ve never seen that one. And I feel cleaner for it.)

Grieve Plushett: “Clowns beer and lost my virginity and then ice cream, glad that wasn’t all in one.”

Me: Still thinking Grieve has tippled a bit. Or has some tremendous insight that has escaped the rest of us.

Blinda: “I lost my virginity to a beer-drinking clown while eating ice cream.”

Sage: “One clown says to the other, can I get a courtesy flush?”

Apiphany: “I had a dream. I could not see his face.”

Piza Bitsock: “Ham sandwich, ugly shoes and beards.”

Me: “That’s exactly what I said on my first same-sex date.”

Blinda: “Are we in Missouri?”

Apiphany: “Isn’t that what happened to Mama Cass?”

Sage: “Welcome to the cheap seats at Dodger’s Stadium. (Gotta love those Dodgers.)”

Tribeca Quartz: “LOL @ Steve… I’m sure Brian can blend it all nicely.”

Me:  Awww. Me loves Tribeca. We tight.

Tribeca Quartz: “To whit: If you could star in any action movie, which one would you choose?”

Me: “Action movie implies having to run around and do things. I’m really not invested in that. If I can just push a button, I’m all for it. Otherwise, just say no.”

Lolo: “Terminator.”

Apiphany: “Out of Bounds. I wanna be in a trunk with George Clooney.”

Blinda: “Die Hard. I just think it would be fun.”

Tex: “Gone in 60 Seconds.”

Blinda: “I used to date him, Gone in 60 seconds.”

Sage: “Under Siege with Steven Segall. The chef goes crazy and kills all the bad guys.”

Stranger passing by: “”Do you know where the bathroom is?”

Grieve Plushett: “Movie - One Million Years BC with Raquel Welch.”

Me: “So Grieve likes scantily-clad women running around wearing bits of fur and a nice suntan. Got it.”

Blinda: “I hope to be plasticized.” (Blinda has had a few cocktails.) “Wait, was the Geico caveman alive then?” (Blinda’s eyes roll back in her head at this thought. Apparently she finds him sexy. We all have special needs.) “I like hairy men. Just not the back.”

Tribeca Quartz: “Oooohh… Raquel Welch…” 

Me: “Tribeca does love the strong women who hunt and gather, and look sweaty yet sexy while doing so. This is admirable.”

Sage: “She had a pair of bongos that would go on for days. Hawt!” (I really don’t want to know any more about Sage’s infatuation with 60’s nymphets who dashed about while sporting pendulous body parts. Then Sage suddenly has to leave for the evening. I don’t even dare ask why he needs to be alone right now.)

Grieve Plushett: “You said action movie, LOL.”

Me: Yes, Tribeca did, Grieve. Don’t worry. You haven’t violated any laws or legal directives. Wait, let me qualify that. You haven’t acted illegally during this blog. What you do on your own time, well, that’s your own issue. I wasn’t there and can’t have your back.

Tribeca Quartz: “LOL! *ahem* Yes, I did.”

Me: Tribe, don’t encourage Grieve. He’s already having questionable fantasies about slinky female movie stars who stand on hilltops and vanquish dinosaurs. I really don’t think this is healthy. Then again, it’s all in the perspective, right?

Apiphany: “Non-virgin Clowns drinking beer selfishly?”

Me: I have a brief consultation with Apiphany, wherein I explain that she’s not really supposed to comment on the Facebook post. Because she’s sitting right here with us in Tierney’s. She’s supposed to make her comments to ME, and I will add them to the blog. Tiffany gives me a look that clearly explains it doesn’t matter what MY needs might be, she’s going to do what she wants, screw everybody.

Grieve Plushett: “Now that is an action movie.”

Me: He’s referring to Apiphany’s comment. In another dimensional plan, Grieve and Apiphany could get along famously. In this world, they will never speak to one another unless directed by authorities to do so.

Tribeca Quartz: “*scooping up a blowhorn* Aaaaannnndddd...ACTION!”

Me: First, Tribeca is really serious about this action stuff. She wants things to blow up, and she wants to catch the beautiful heroine as she tumbles out of a window and nearly plummets to her death. Second, have you noticed that all my counterparts here at Tierney’s have stopped responding? I’m really trying to keep them invested, but it’s a lot of work.

Havilland: “Talking to ppl while ur doing #2 in the other stall.”

Me: “Um, what?”

Apiphany: “I’m kind of busy right now.”

Apiphany: “This is really weird, but you look like Jeff Probst.”

Me: Why are none of my friends sober? And why won’t any of them help me with the response to Havilland’s comment. Come on, the girl was just here. Have you forgotten her that quickly?

Me, hours later: Anybody?

Me: Fine. Well, Havilland, I guess it’s up to me. Completely agree that people need to shut the hell up when finding themselves in communal stalls. People are occupied. Commentary is not necessary. If you really need to discourse while recycling, we probably don’t have much else in common. And really, I’m too tired to kill you. So just exit the building and never come back. Thank you.

Grieve Plushett: “Havilland, that is so wrong and so funny on every level. Men don’t talk, but we try to out noise each other, what the heck is there to talk about, do tell.”

Me: Havilland is no longer here. Let me speculate and theorize, from the male perspective. Yep, there seems to be some type of animalistic competition in the men’s room. The grunting and noxious explosions emitting from the stalls is akin to the shocking mustard-gas experiments in World War I. On a personal level, I really don’t understand why anyone speaks while in public facilities. Do your business and go.

Apiphany: “*CUT*! Tribeca, they gave me the wrong mike… helllpppp.”

Me: Translation - Apiphany does not do well when the spotlight is not on her. This makes her want to hurt people. Do not take this personally. Especially since she couldn’t care less what happens to you, as long as her own needs are met.

Havilland: “Paying for ur gas with $15 in pennies and nickels.”

Me (and have you noticed that my peeps around me at Tierney’s are no longer contributing ANYTHING?) : Havilland briefly referenced the above statement as she raced out the door so she couldn’t be associated with us in any way. Apparently she had a horrifying experience at a gas-purchasing establishment, and some trollop chose to pay for her wares with sticky coinage found in a couch. They were in line for hours while somebody used an abacus to complete the transaction.

Tribeca Quartz: “*scrambling and cursing* Good LORD, good help is hard to find!”

Me: By “help”, I believe Tribeca is referring to domestic nymphets that can descend upon her dwelling and make things nicely sapphic. But that’s just a guess.”

Crate Sodd: “Roller derby… kick some ass!”

Me: I knew Crate back in the day, when we attended a college smack in the midst of crazed conservatives who looked askance at anyone who dared to think in a progressive manner. Needles to say, we chafed under the yoke. But we bonded, and we survived.

  So the roller derby angle does not surprise me at all. The thought of Crate cheering on helmeted people as they skate in a circle and beat the hell out of each other seems somehow fitting.

Tribeca Quartz: “*running up to Apiphany with the proper mic and thrusting it at her* Here, here… take it and use it well.”

Me:  Tribeca, do you really think it’s a good idea to hand Apiphany a phallic object and encourage her to use it well?

Apiphany: “I’ll have a beer while I wait. OMG! There’s a clown behind that mirror. Eeek!”

Me: Trying a bit hard, aren’t we, Apip?

Grieve Plushett: “and two of them are heading to the bath room stall, wonder what clowns talk about together doing number 2. If there both girl clowns, and there are nothing but stalls, how do you know the other one is doing number 2 so you know you can talk to them? The questions of life?”

Me: This appears to be a sexual fantasy that I shouldn’t touch with a 10-foot pole. Although I have a feeling that somebody in this Live Blog believes that they have such a weapon. I hope the clowns are prepared.

Tribeca Quartz: “Hey, now, I’m just in charge of the sound equipment…”

Me: Doesn’t this sound like a guilty statement to everybody else? What is Tribeca trying to hide? Say, where was she on the night that thing happened? Hmmm.

Editor’s Note:  At this point I look up from my trusty netbook, and realize that nearly everyone has abandoned me. Some have sauntered off for the evening, others are being brazen hussies and trolling the bar for potential playmates. (And that’s just the guys.) Those who are still sitting at our special table are doing everything they can to look incredibly busy and occupied when I start with another round of “Okay, the next topic posted in Facebook is…” If I try to be obnoxious and make them pay attention, they all look at me as if my immediate death would still not be satisfactory punishment.

  My, how things twist in an evil way so quickly. This was all delightful fun a few hours ago. Everybody couldn’t wait to contribute a comment. Now there is hatred and dissatisfaction. (To be fair, Lolo and Tex really couldn’t hear what was going on, sitting way at the other end of the table and basically in another county.) Well, fine. Run off and play. I’ll just finish these on my own…

Ban Winter: “Where is Tierney’s Café & Tavern? (Or Cavern?)”


Tribeca Quartz: “Somewhere in Dallas, I’m guessing. I’m Mapquesting so I can go and crash the party.”

Me: Ban and Tribe: We’re actually in Lewisville, a wee bit to the northwest of Dallas. But if you’ve ever been to the DFW metroplex, town names actually mean very little. It’s really one big-ass, extremely spread-out gigantor mix of people. The only way you can possibly know that you’ve crossed a border is that the street signs look a little different or the police car in your rearview mirror suddenly has different colors. And come on down, Tribe. Even if you drive all the way from Canada, we’ll probably still be here. Some of us don’t understand that it’s time to go until they turn out the lights. It’s not unusual for us to still be sitting here in the morning, asking if anybody has seen our server lately..

Ban Winter: “Oh… I can’t, since I’m in New Yawk, but I will be there in spirit. Cheers!!!!”

Me: Thanks, Ban. In tribute to your support, I took the remains of someone’s Caribbean Madness salad, and used the pieces of fruit to create a cute little figurine that looks exactly like your profile pic. Sadly, your strawberry head fell off when someone bumped the table, but that happens a lot around here.

Soara Popespan: “I presume by now that Bri-Bri & Co. have by now come up with a lengthy list of topics, so I will just respond to Tribe’s question: I didn’t star in it, but I was invited to a corporate party at the president’s home in Beverly Hills one year and told we were to dress as our favorite actor.

  Monty Hall (Let’s Make a Deal) dropped by to say hello and to ‘judge’ the winner. I didn’t ‘win’. I dressed as Ripley from Aliens and proceeded to reenact the ‘meal scene’ by jumping up in the middle of dinner, grabbing my chest, flopping on the table and screaming while unzipping my flight suit (thank you Army/Navy surplus) and allowing the rubber alien attached to the t-shirt underneath to ‘pop out’. Half the people were laughing like crazy, the other half who had never seen the film were frantically dailling 911. It took a while to live that one down…”

Me: Um, there is silence at the table after having just read your words, as we now realize that anything we are doing at Tierney’s has suddenly become pointless and meaningless. Until just a few seconds ago, we were very satisfied with our lives, thinking they had some worth. Now we realize that they do not, because we have never had the joy of reenacting anything while using discount costumes.

  Even the time I dressed up as “Karen Silkwood” for Halloween can’t even begin to compare. Sigh.

Bewetta Flaylor:  “Why your Granny cannot live in your back yard in a tent!”

Me: Oh God. It’s Mom again with her incessant need to distance herself from her own mother. This has been an ongoing discussion, one of those extended, never-ending family discourses wherein everybody truly does love one another, but living arrangements are constantly brought up for review, fingers are pointed, and guilt is served in large, fat-dripping portions.

Soara Popespan: “Hmmm… I didn’t know Bri-Bri Had a 10-foot pole…”

Me: “Well, things just happen sometimes, so don’t be jealous. You can’t always get what you want. But if you try sometimes, you just might find, that somebody else will pick up the tab and your hangover in the morning will at least be financially-solvent….

And THAT, dear friends, seems as good a place as any to wrap things up. Thanks to everyone who participated. Truly. Can’t wait to do it again. I think…

1 comment:

  1. I dont know WHY I'm not going out and drinking with these people. They sound really cool. And hip-ster.