Ricky Bobby, Ricky Bobby

Last night I was on 6th Street with Mandi and her friends Amy, Becky, and Brenna, who had come up from her hometown to see the show this weekend. The show went really well, by the way. We had decent-sized crowds both nights and everyone seemed to enjoy it. As much as I liked working on the show and as happy as I am to have more stage management experience on my resume, I'm glad it's over. That's 12+ hours a week that will be free now that weren't free before and I can do a lot with 12 hours. Even if what I choose to do with said hours is bake cookies and watch reruns of Grey's.

Anyway, last night we went up to 6th Street. I didn't get there until 12:30, but then I rapidly made up for lost time and had a couple of Jager bomb-esque shots (they weren't Jager bombs, I don't know what they were, but they were big stupid shots of the Jager bomb variety) and then I had a couple of beers and then I wanted a rum and Coke but someone ordered another beer for me accidentally so I ended up with the beer plus the rum and Coke, and then I had the presence of mind to stop drinking so I could actually drive home. Sometimes I'm reasonable. Sometimes...Anyway, we had a great time dancing and drinking at Darwin's (which you may remember as the bar where Jenny once infamously tried to shove a dollar coin into the quarter slot on a video game and then berated the poor bartender for having a broken game) and then we went to some bar in a basement that played great music and had cool lighting and served reasonably priced drinks, which is really all you need in a 6th Street bar, and then we went back to Darwin's.
By the time we left Darwin's for the second time, everyone was in various stages of drunk. I was my favorite sort of buzzed: drunk enough that I can enjoy being around other drunk people and laugh at drunken antics, but sober enough that I'm still perfectly capable of believably pretending that I haven't had a drink all evening, should such a need arise. Mandi was dancing in the street with her boyfriend, Brenna was drunk-dialing an ex, and Amy was supporting herself on the light post. So Becky and I, who were the most sober ones by far, were chatting when up strolled this strange little blonde guy. He sidled up to Becky and said, "So can I go inside?" and gestured to the bar. Becky just shrugged and said, "You can try, but it's closed," and then we ignored him. Imagine our surprise when, five minutes later, we realized he was still standing there, just awkwardly staring at us. By that time we were trying to get our group organized so we could head home, so we were talking about who was riding in which car. And creepy blonde guy took it upon himself to say to Becky-and this is a direct quote-"Do you have room for me in your car, Ricky Bobby, Ricky Bobby?" And he said it in a weird accent that I think was supposed to sound British but I'm really not sure. Becky, without skipping a beat, responded, "No, my car is full, Ricky Bobby, Ricky Bobby." I died. I'm still laughing about it almost 24 hours later. I suppose you really had to be there to understand why it was so funny, but it was hysterical. Why Ricky Bobby? What could he possibly have meant by that?

Then we went back to Mandi's apartment and Brenna collapsed on the living room floor, and we left Amy sleeping in the truck because it was just easier, and Mandi prayed very intently about the state of her bathroom plumbing, and I lost my ring in the couch cushions and while unearthing it I found a remote control that Mandi and Jason have never seen before in their lives, a Lion King Gameboy cartridge circa 1995, and a pair of panties that Mandi swears can't possibly be hers. We were fascinated and horrified all at once.

All in all it was a fun-albeit ridiculous-night. And now I suppose I should go to bed or work on lecture planning for the class I'm teaching on Tuesday or something else productive.