Monday, February 09, 2004

I've Lost My Cellphone

I'm pretty sure I know where it is, but I'll be goddamned if I've got the energy to go get it. So if you want to call me, call the home number-405-843-7024.

So, the Sausage Queen:

While out purchasing large quantities of nitrous with Daud and Diablo (on Friday), they noticed the marquee of the Coit's said (rather cryptically) "Hot Dog Schwabs." Now, as this is right down from the strip of gay bars (and the gay hotel), this took on all sorts of weird significance. Getting swabbed by a hot dog? WTF? I had to burst their bubble and tell them Schwabs is a meat purveyor here in the city. Then we started hitting the nitrous and it all gets echoey and fuzzy.

Fast forward to Saturday night, where Daud had a hankerin' for coffee with Kahlua and live jazz. Now, there's only one place in town that fulfills both of those requirements, and also has the most elaborate women's restroom ever. Yes, within 15 minutes of the topic being broached, we were comfortably ensconced in Dooley's Tower Club, sucking down Kahlua'd coffee (daud) and gin and tonics (diablo and me). I went out to call John again (who never did show up, the bastard), and came face to face with a really cute, fairly intoxicated young lady with a penchant for flirting. It was her 22nd birthday, and her name guessed it...Schwab. Lacy Schwab, to be precise. So we chatted a bit in the hallway, while waiting on her boy to do his business, then I bid her adieu.

She came in a few seconds later, strangely enough without her beau, and I waved. She came over, was introduced to daud and diablo, and then in turn introduced us to HER parents, who were pretty non-plussed, I think, at the company their daughter was apparently keeping. No one's going to confuse any of us for senate staffers.

Which I guess makes Lacy a Sausage Princess, although I'm not sure how these things work. As we were leaving, coincidental with THEIR leaving, Diablo very magnanimously bummed a cigarette from Lacy (only Diablo can make you feel like giving him a cigarette is a favor to YOU), which provoked a strange attack from ANOTHER sausage princess. Something along the lines of "get away from her, you freak," or more generally "don't talk to my sister, you don't know us."

But he did! He rounded on her and very politely explained that yes, in fact, he did know them, named her (Lacy), her parents, and then pointed out that it was, in fact, Lacy's birthday. Then we left, leaving a very cute, albeit arrogant, young lady with her mouth hanging open.

Hot Dog Schwab, indeed.


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