Digby's Tale

by Digby

Jim, Randy, and I started out in the afternoon. The Urban Iditarod, a race with shopping carts was busted by the police, and we got tired of waiting for the Brides of March, a group of males and females barhopping in full wedding dresses for kicks and material protest. So instead we hit a sports bar in the yuppie Cow Hollow area. Nothing is more pleasurable than a beer on a warm sunny afternoon. I had two.

We had to get to my place, to meet the rest of the guys for the bachelor party. As we waited for the bus, we hit another bar. While I was pissing, they ordered me a PBR. Bastards! I gulped down the tasteless, crappy PBR, when the bus ambled up the street. We ran out and grabbed it, drunk already and the sun was far from setting. I suppose we should have stayed on that bus, but Jim’s future brother-in-law suggested we stop off at John Lee Hooker’s place, The Boom Boom Room. It was dead, but the bartender was cute. She told me her parents paid her rent. Must be nice. A gin and ginger later and we were back on the bus.

At my place, we took showers and dressed up. I in my wisdom, took a half hit of ecstasy, to keep me going. I suppose espresso would have worked fine. No strip clubs for this bachelor party. Jim wasn’t into it, and, really, over-priced drinks and blueballs? Oh boy! All the guys arrived and we went to dinner at Puerta Allegra, a Mexican joint with good margaritas. Carne Asada and a gold margarita warm the soul and prepare the body. We then took a leisurely stroll across the street to the Casanova bar. The bar has nude pictures of women on black velvet paintings. Very classy. A friend bought me a drink. I requested a Fernet Branca with a ginger back. The bartender rolled her eyes. Too many hipsters have ordered that concoction.

A friend was DJing at an underground club in the SOMA area. We hit that about 9:30 to catch his early set. We were quite in our cups. The place was an artist’s house. His sculptures were everywhere. Obviously Burning Man was his influence. The dance floor even had its own pole. We drank their cheap drinks and shot the shit. It wasn’t too crowded at all due to the early hour. We grew bored and decided to hit the El Rio in the Outer Mission. We took a drunk girl with us. She told us a story about her friend’s dog. The story that had little point. The punk band was great. Someone bought me a dry gin martini. We slam danced for a while. The girl spanked Jim, the short-lived bachelor. We took pictures. Things get a little hazy here.

We ended up next door at a dive with a karaoke machine. I sang Play That Funky Music White Boy, and, God forgive me, Bohemian Rhapsody. My voice is pleasant but not that strong. By that time it was kaput. An old man barfly gave me the thumbs up, so I bought him a drink. Shots of Jagermiester were passed around. The old guy took my shot, but I didn’t care too much.

We went back to the underground club and drank more for no apparent reason. I remember Jim dancing on the pole.