A weekend many weekends ago
Son of a gun.
I’m so far behind now I don’t know if I’ll be able to catch up.
But I’ll try. For the sake of the memories, I’ll try my best.
So here’s what happened, as best I can remember:
On Saturday my buddy tim showed up for his visit.
We ate a lot, and drank a lot, and saw a lot of concerts, and then he went home.
The end.
Just kidding.
He did show up on Saturday. And we hung out for a bit, and introduced tim to MK, and then headed down to San Antonio to see a concert by Alejandro Escovedo. We stopped in New Braunfels and ate at Rudys, which has quickly become my favorite BBQ joint. MMM….we stuffed our bellies full. Turkey and brisket and some pickles. Yum. Great great food. It was so good. I swear. I could eat there every day I think. After stuffing our bellies, we loaded the wonder truck back up and made our way to SA. The show started at 9, and Alejandro was expected to be on stage before 10. Tix were not available in advance. We got there just before 10. and there was a sign on the door that said “sold out”.
And sold out sucks. We drove over an hour to get there, and now it was sold out. To make things worse there were at least 3 other concerts that night that would have been good, and were closer. This was not making me happy. Tim ignored the sign and went on inside. The guy told him it was sold out. Tim did some smooth talking, and just like that, we were in. Score!! And it was really good. Mary got carded at the bar though, and didn’t have her ID. She tried to order a wine and a diet coke. So she just got the soda. But no problem. I was behind her in line. When I stepped up to the counter I ordered a wine and Lone Star. And I wasn’t even carded. I’m so old. The show was good. Mary faded about halfway thru and sat in a booth. We got home around 1.30 or so. And Saturday came to an end.
Sunday was a big day. Full of excitement. We started out the day by driving thru the hill country a bit. Tim had rented a convertible for his trip out here, so we were anxious to take the car out on the road. It was a sunny day and the views were perfect. I think we took some cool pictures. Maybe one day we’ll figure out how to upload more pics. Driving back we passed by the infamous Devil’s Backbone Tavern.
‘There’s the Devil’s Backbone Tavern” I said.
Tim slammed on the brakes and jerked the car around to the right just in time to get the car into the Backbone’s parking lot.
‘Guess we’re going in there now huh’ I say.
It’s not yet noon, but we can drink beer anytime we want.
There are more cars in the parking lot than usual. I have been told that this is a “day bar”.
We go into the tavern just in front of 3 bikers.
There is a sign out front that says “Help Wanted”.
The time is 11.50.
“I can’t serve you beer for 10 more minutes” say the bartender lady.
Apparently we can’t drink any time we want.
I remember now that TX has laws about drinking beer before 12 on Sunday.
So we wait.
And suddenly we are like the hardcore regulars—the ones that line up waiting for the door to open. We’re so cool.
We check out the jukebox and the back room which I want to turn into a TX dancehall. The bartender says that her watch says 12 even thought the clock on the wall says 11.57.
We only have to wait 7 minutes.
Life is good.
Tim is hungry so he asks if they serve any food.
I tell him I don’t think so.
He asks the bartender and she says that they have chips.
We have several beers and some corn chips.
We play 2 games of TX shuffleboard.
Midway through the second game I decide that I should apply for a job here.
I ask if they are actually hiring, or if it’s an old sign.
She says yeah, they’re just needing people to work a couple shifts here and there. Sounds good to me. They have nothing on draft, and no food. Just cans or bottles and chips. Fun. And I’d have enough stories to last a life time. I have to apply.
I ask if they hire only gals, or guys and gals. She says they hire anybody.
I don’t really believe her, but I get an application anyway.
Easiest application I’ve ever seen.
1 page. Just the front. Not even front and back like those 1 page pink and white applications. It doesn’t even ask about convictions.
Basically it asks for my name and address and most recent job and if I have bar experience. Unfortunately I don’t. I have no idea what else on the application could make one applicant more desirable then another. I should have lied and said I worked at a bar in college. But I didn’t. Mary applies to. If either of us get I imagine it will be her. And then I’ll be mad. I want that job. It’s a been over a week now and we still haven’t heard anything. I want to go up there and hang out. But it’s weird---most jobs if you are trying to get them, you don’t go and drink beer in front of your prospective employer. It feels weird to go do that here. But I want the job. Wish me luck.
**(i realize now that i already told the job story. but i typed it all out again so i'm leaving it here. a couple details are a little different. sorry for the duplication though).
We left the Backbone and decided we needed some real food, so we hit up Inoz brew and chew. Mmm…cheesy fries. For the first time ever though, I couldn’t finish cheesy fries. It was too much ranch. The ranch hurt my tummy. So sad.
After Inoz we came home to rest. It was only 2pm, and we already done more than mary I usually do in 2 full days. But we had lots more to do. Chicken Shit Sunday was calling.
Chicken Shit Sundays is truly one of the funnest experiences one can have. Every Sunday at a little bar called Ginny’s Little Longhorn Saloon, they have an event called Chicken Shit Sundays. From 4-8 they have great music, usually by awesome Dale Watson, and they have free chili dogs, and they have chicken shit bingo. It should actually be called chicken shit lottery or chicken shit bingo, but I don’t argue with them. In the middle of this bar, which is not by any means a large bar, there is a giant chicken coop. And on the floor of the coop are numbers. Approximately 50 or so. And you buy a number for $2, and if the chicken shits on your number you win $100. I can’t really describe how fun it is. And it’s free to get into Ginnys, and you can bring your own liquor. There is NOTHING not to like about the place.
So we get there and meet some other friends there too.
It is packed out.
We leave our bourbon in the car.
We get a Lone Star and a chili dog instantly.
Free chili dogs taste good.
Even if they are really really close to the chicken coop.
The place is so full you can hardly move.
So we stand right next to the chili dogs.
I need another fun.
Free chili dogs taste good.
One of the country ladies that works there comes by soliciting donations for the band. I don’t often tip bands. For one thing, I don’t often like most bands, and for another thing, I’m totally not rollin in the dough anymore. But Dale is good. Actually Dale is great. I always tip for Dale. So I reach into my pocket for a couple dollars. My hands are full though, so the redneck lady offers to hold my plate for me. She’ll hold the plate if it means the band gets more money. That’s what I figure at least. Partially true perhaps, but the lady is also apparently hungry. She takes a bite of my chili dog before giving me back my plate.
“thanks honey” she says.
No problem. I say, laughing.
And I finish eating my chili dog.
Now, I’m usually a bit of a germophobe
If some random person would eat some food off of my plate, I would almost certainly not finish eating it—especially if it were free.
I don’t know if it’s my new laid back lifestyle, or if Ginny’s just brings out the best in me, but I didn’t even think about. It seemed like maybe rednecky waitresses routinely eat chili dogs off of other people’s plates.
So I ate it.
I was hungry.
She was too apparently.
It’s all good at Ginnys.
We didn’t win the Chicken Shit Bingo.
I’ve never won.
One girl there that was friends with our friends said she won the first time she ever played. So she never played anymore.
One night I was there and this old cowboy won.
They usually interview the winner a couple minutes after they win.
When they interviewed the cowboy they asked him what he was going to do with the money. He said he was giving it all back to Ginny—free drinks for everyone.
There was wild applause.
The old cowboy was awesome.
I wish I could win and do that.
But if I won, I’d keep the money. I don’t work much.
We didn’t stick around to find out what the winner planned to do w/ the money this time.
Our friends wanted to roll to another bar, so we did.
I kinda wish we had stayed at Chicken Shit, but it was really really packed there so I didn’t mind.
We drank at the other bar, and then came back home.
At home we decided to go see RM and see if he would make us some of his famous margaritas. He did. They were awesome. We were drunk.
He made shrimp cocktails for us.
He also fired up the grill. At 8pm.
We drank all the margaritas, and some beer, and just when we were about ready to leave, he pulled the food off the grill---chicken and beef strips and sausage.
Holy crap.
Good stuff.
Those margaritas though were so good though. Best I’ve ever had. We drank lots.
RM told insane stories that night. I was so tired and drunk that I couldn’t even follow them. Tim passed out on the couch w/ the Deuce for a bit. I started to fall asleep on the other couch. I decided it was time to go home.
The day was full of fun.
One of the great days.
We lived it up as best we could.
And we were exhausted so we went to sleep.
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