Holy Crap. I think I have recovered from Labor Day. I want to thank Jon and Cindy for taking me out Sunday on my quest to emulsify my liver.

Here’s how the day went down. Saturday night Jon and Cindy asked me if I wanted to go out to the Denver Grand Prix, because Jon’s neighbor was bouncing an after-race party in Writer’s Square downtown. Why would a habitual third wheel turn that down?

The party started at 6pm so we met up at 1:00 in hopes that we could see part of the race from outside the track. It was no different than peeping in windows like when I was a, uh, moving on. We could see a little bit of the track but nothing great, especially because we were chased away from the fence by a Staff Security dude trying to keep us away from the action.

Anyway, Jon is part owner of a liquor store and saw his Coors rep outside the track. She happened to have 3 extra tickets with staging area passes, so not only did we get in, we got to see the cars up-close and personal. Long story short, cars raced and I tippled Coors Light. Next stop–Josephina’s.

We went to Josephina’s for a bite to eat, more drinks and more merriment. Josephina’s is a great barstaurant that is the home of great Italian food, Santana cover bands and a Zena-like bartender that I used to drool over last year. I found out the next day I had left my check card here. Will someone please hurry and invent the subcutaneous rechargeable cash chip so I stop doing this? People chatted and I sucked down G&T’s. We did a car bomb to make us feel happy. Next stop–Sid’s gig.

Sid gave us VIP wristbands that gave us entry into, well, I don’t know what. I think I remember him saying we could have the bands, but he couldn’t let us in the VIP section. I was grateful for getting the wristband since he could have told me to shove it. There was a band there doing something and people milling about doing other things. Sid had one of the bartenders take care of us, and I thought she was pretty hot. I also thought I was a college kid who could drink all he wanted and not pay for it, though, so what the fuck do I know? The yet-to-be-determined-as-hot bartender started us off with shots and drinks that tasted like Hawaiian Tropic suntan lotion with a spritz of turpentine. They were good. After enjoying the band we did a round of Go-Fast and [insert name of alcohol here] to make us feel happier. Next stop–Goosetown.

The Goosetown bar is a bar that reminds me of my old haunt in Nashville called Jonathan’s. It changed its name before I left that city and have since obliterated the brain cells containing said name so I can’t remember it. I can’t remember much of anything I did before I moved out here anyway so no big whoop. Anyway, I got a beer and sat in a booth. Cindy and Jon were in a good mood so they ordered another round shots. I’m not sure, but I think they were sober and laughing at me. I sucked down the shot, not once, but twice if you know what I mean. My eyes watered and my head started throbbing. I determined that my outer-self looked a lot cooler to my drunken inner-self than to others within eyeshot of me. After that shot I felt…nothing. Nothing at all. Next stop–The Couch.

Anyway, this is going on way too long and I don’t remember enough to finish the story. Click on the link below to check out all the pics.

Share This