DailyAfirmation (dailyafirmation) wrote,

A dog in a china shop, and Van's birthday at dancing...

I drove to Replacements, Ltd. this afternoon, and picked up some Christmas gifts for my sister and her husband. I love that this place is:
  • Gay-owned
  • The owners have a "hallway of fame," where they have newspaper clippings, awards, and letters about the positive impact and contribution they are making to their community
  • The owners are raising two adopted, twin brothers, and there are newspaper stories about them in said hallway
  • It is a "Well-behaved Pets Are Welcome" store (I mean, it would appear that even well-behaved large pets with long potentially-wagging tails are allowed in what amounts to one, colossal china shop)
  • They have outrageously priced things in there that make me thankful that I'm not into material things any more (e.g., a manger, and I mean the stable part only &mash; not the figures — for $4999.00)
  • They have year-in-a-glance calendars that they give away free every December, which is pretty much the only time I go there.
There was the most adorable little black (well-behaved, of course) poodle sitting on one of the stools in front of the cash registers. So cute!

I wanted to be back to Raleigh by 5:30, but it didn't happen. I hit the quagmire that is I-40 at rush hour at close to 6:00.

Robert and I had dinner at K&W, stopped by the Harris Teeter to pick up a cake for Van's birthday tonight, and then stopped by The Borough for a gift certificate for him.

At the bar in The Borough, it was a cross-location déjà vu, with "Barnabas" from Flex, and two guys who are usually at Helios in there. "Barnabas," I think his real name is Terry, had ordered a burger and fries, and he was served while I waited for Liz to process my gift certificate. He proceeded to grab the pepper, unscrew the lid, and drop huge blobs of it in various spots on the fries.

Halfway to Flex, I realized that I forgot to put on my "dancing shoes." This translates as: I forgot to take off my white tennis shoes and put on my black ones. The white ones squeak.

We arrived at Flex at just before 9:00, and there were several dancers already there. Yay!  It was a festive night, with lots of dancers and a good number of bar patrons.

A few, presumably straight, girls came in late, and drunk. One — with pants that were too small, a shirt that was too tight and short, and flab hanging out from under said shirt and lapping over said pants — insisted on trying to dance. Fortunately, she had the good sense not to do it while we were line dancing, but instead dragged various people out there during the two-step songs, very few of which any of us do.

She took this tall guy out there, and was man-handling him into two-stepping, and when he just didn't get it, she actually got down on her knees on the floor in front of him, and pulled each of his legs out while she yelled one-two, one; one-two, one. Or maybe it was quick-quick, slow; quick-quick slow. I don't know.

What I do know was that it was quite the scene, and I couldn't help wondering what would happen to a couple of homos if they did the same thing in a straight bar. But I bitterly digress...

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