It all started with an innocuous little e-mail; "Hey, let's go to the Cha Cha Lounge on Friday." I said yes and spent the rest of the week in rabid anticipation for the $2 cans of Hamms and the better-than-average bar burritos promised therein. In the meantime, I worked, I saw a Thursday Night Football Game, I went shopping at the Nordstrom Rack for the Employees-Only House Party (where they give Employees-Only a 33% discount as opposed to merely the regular 20), I went shopping at the Nordstrom where they had for Three Days Only, for Employees-Only, a 40% discount on New Balance shoes (they were already on sale, down to $99.90 from $125, so I bought two of the exact same pairs for less than it would've been to purchase one at regular price), and I talked much shit about the Cougars for the upcoming Apple Cup. As it stands, the Cha Cha Lounge is still the highlight of my weekend. Though, who knows what today could bring?
Atmosphere plays a big part in all of this. It's like a soft chair you flop into, or like the memory-foam inside my new shoes that engulfs my foot in satisfying comfort. The Cha Cha, as Pete predicted, is My Kind Of Place. Is it the music? Well of course that's always important, in most any social gathering place, you've got to have the right tunes to set the mood adrift in a sea of useless phrases. Is it the beer selection? While I'll admit, there are two ways to go on this one - giant selection of high-quality brews, or ample amounts of cheap alternatives - it's sometimes nice to have the cheap alternatives. In an economy so blah blah blah and with times as blah blah blah as they are, it's nice to go somewhere and not have to spend blah blah blah all over your mother's face. The presence of Hamms - something you're truly fortunate to find even in the most respected supermarket's beer section - kicks that up about five extra notches. Any fuck can go any where and get PBR for cheaper than your average whore, but it takes a Cha Cha to get you that which you crave and that which you cannot get anywhere else.
Speaking of which, did you even know they MADE Mork & Mindy trading cards? I feel bad because I don't even know anyone I can trade with. You remember when trading cards were actually that: you'd have a double of something and your friend would have something that you needed ... so you'd TRADE cards? And then somewhere along the way - the advent of the Beckett, most likely - trading cards turned into a lucrative 401k of sorts for money-grubbing kids and pedophiles alike. It stopped being all about trying to complete your collection of 1989 NFL Pro Set and it turned into hoarding all the rookie cards in any given class and throwing the rest into the trash heap, for those so inclined to still keep trash heaps.
Where was I going with this? Oh yeah, Mork & Mindy trading cards, Desert Storm trading cards, cigarettes, and tiny mini-sombreros. You can find these and a whole lot more in the vending machine by the bathrooms; but watch out because the fucking thing don't take no fucking quarters. And double watch out because certain things, like tiny mini-sombreros will get caught up in there, forcing Pete to buy a pack of cigarettes to try and dislodge the mini-sombrero. What do you do if you're two guys, one who doesn't smoke and one who has an annual smoking "problem"? You go outside on the rear smoking-area next to the camouflage netted chain-link fence and you suck down those narcotics of destruction with various other drunks and stoners who say they will but in the end won't share their homemade joints and the like.
The next day I'd probably rather forget, though there were many games of beer pong and one game of soda pong with Devin. There was something on the television we were all interested in, but for the life of me I can't remember what it was. There was a game of Kings that I was pretty excited about, including a few new rules that beat the hell all out of "To The Left" and "To The Right".
First of all, drawing a 2 means Two To You, as in, giving two drinks to Mark Ian Sloane. Drawing a 3 is Three To Me, as in, damn, I gotta drink 3 drinks. 4 is duh, 5 is Five In The Sky! That's where, when you draw the 5 and immediately put your hand in the air. The last person to raise his hand has to drink, Mark Ian Sloane. 6 is duh, 7 is apparently some awesome game called Fuck It. That's where you go around in a circle, counting numbers. Only, when you get to a 7, a multiple of 7, something that has 7 in it, or something that's a double-number like 11, 22, 33, etc., you have to say "Fuck It" instead of that number. AND, when you get to that Fuck It, you reverse directions. For example, if you said 6, and I said Fuck It, you would say 8 and it would go that way until the next Fuck It reversed course. Para example:
1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, Fuck It
8, 9, 10, Fuck It
12, 13, Fuck It
15, 16, Fuck It
18, 19, 20, Fuck It
23, 24, 25, 26, Fuck It
29, 30, etc.
We got as high as 24 before someone mistakenly thought that was a multiple of 7. It wasn't me.
I think 8 was catagories, 9 is obviously Rhyme, 10 is I Never, Jack is Thumbmaster, and Queen, well that's Questions. This one's kinda fun too, though I feel a lot of people were confused by this turn of events. All you do for Questions is look at someone and ask them a really bitchy question, like, "Why are you so ugly?" Then, if they asked you that, you'd have to look at someone and ask them a different bitchy question, "Why are your arms so hairy?" and the like. Whoever messes it up by taking too long to think of a question has to drink. King are Make a Rule, Aces are waterfalls, and that's the end.
Anyway, yeah, OK, I'm home now, time to go to work.