Deb returned home, but my dad stayed with us, and we felt that a ripening experience in Ripple would be a quick shot at the Alley Cat Lounge. I always loved the Cat. I maybe or maybe didn't play pool there with several bands over the years...
Saturday night, Whitney Houston had just been pronounced dead--no real surprise to us--and some big, loud, weepy girl at the Cat (also drunk and stupid) went up to my dad and asked if he was a Republican. My dad, meekly, answered, "Um, no, I'm not a Republican," (fibber) to which she said, "Good, because if you were I'd punch you in the face."
She continued walking around the bar crying, so I had to make fun of her, just a wee bit. I said, "Oh, are you all right?" to which she replied, "No. Ronald Regan killed Whitney Houston, and if I find any Republicans here tonight (shew, I was safe) I'll f*@#ing punch them in the face."
We left the Cat pretty quickly. It was getting weird earlier than I remember back in my days. We walked down the alley (you see the significance here) to the Vogue Nightclub. My favorite place on earth next to my very own family room.
Our entire bunch: Jason, Angie, Nick, Tyler, Lauren, my dad and I got jiggy with it for hours. We all knocked back some tasty beverages, and none of us were feeling any pain...until the next morning.
Chocolate milk definitely cures a hang-over.
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