You know what’s crazy? I’ll tell you what’s crazy.
The crazy girl dancing like she was at a Grateful Dead show.
Blond hair whipping, eyes staring into nothing. She twirled around and around, clumsily, stumbling like the floor was a six inch balance beam and the Olympic judges were watching.
The dance floor absorbed her frenetic presence as she merged like the tide with other couples.
Using her own gravitational force she spun across the dance floor infiltrating the space of others, some of whom were repulsed and backed away and others who smiled and let the zombie dradel girl spin aimlessly, harmlessly through their planetary existence.
Was she on acid or Ecstasy or mushrooms? It was hard to know. She was melodic and peaceful and dancing with apparitions only she could see. She wore high heels and clumped around the dance floor with the precision of a farmer cultivating crops. It was strident, like a 6 cylinder car driving on a fouled plug.
At least twice bar security whispered something in her ear. I couldn’t tell what was said.
Whatever it was, she never deviated from her course. Like the Titanic, she was steering straight into impending doom.
Perhaps her entertainment value outweighed her potential for hurting herself or others, and the bar allowed her to continue on. She was the slow motion train wreck you simply have to watch.
Perhaps they let her dance because there were other distractions, other idiots to be concerned about like lighting a sparkler at a gas pump.
There was the dude who was obvioulsy excited to be him.
He wore a tight fitting shirt to show case his biceps. And his fruit loop friend kept lifting the front of his t shirt to show us his six pack stomach.
The dude let girls rub it like it was an epidermal chia pet. He smiled like the proud owner of a shiny penny. He looked like an extra from a Jersey Shore episode.
Suddenly the Grateful Dead girl is on the floor, seated smiling into space. She is putting on her high heels which had blown off like a big rig retread on the highway.
This oddity is made only stranger by the dude who jumps down onto the dance floor beside her and begins doing one arm push ups. His shirt is on, only because the bouncers have asked him twice to re-clothe himself.
And there it is; Grateful Dead girl struggling to put high heels on and Dude doing one arm push ups.
If there was a tip jar on the floor, I might have thrown in a few bucks.
That’s if I had 2 dollars left. I didn’t. I blew my last 2 dollar bills in the men’s room with the bathroom attendant.
Bathroom attendant? Who the hell thought that was a good idea? I hate bathroom attendants who hand you a paper towel and expect a tip for that. It’s one thing in a 5 star hotel. It’s another thing in a loser night spot in the suburbs.
The guy is less bathroom attendant and more peeping tom. Buddy I’m working over here. take your paper towel and tip jug and get out of here. It’s Music City. You wanna make some money, grab a guitar and slap a few chords down.
Doesn’t this guy think I could put my hand in front of the motion activated box and wait for a paper towel to be dispensed. It ain’t exactly brain surgery.
For two bucks I want this guy to floss my damn teeth.
All in all, an interesting night. I could have stayed home, watched a recorded DVR of something lame on NBC.
Instead I got a heaping pile of dancing and orbiting and peeping all under one roof.
Life is crazy.