Last night, a few friends and myself went up to Denver to celebrate someone's 21st trip around the sun. We had dinner at the world famous Casa Bonita, and followed that up with a couple clubs. I've never before felt so glad to not be a part of the club scene.
For purposes of security, I'm not going to reveal the name of the birthday boy. Instead, I'll use a clever pseudonym. He'll be referred to as Juan Feniston. The dinner at Casa Bonita was fun. I've always enjoyed eating Mexican food in a cave populated by divers and gorillas.
Next up, we headed off to a place called Club V. We were under the impression that Club V was, in fact, a dance club, and were dismayed to realize that it was run by a church, and expressly forbade alcohol, mid-drift shirts, and drama (I'm not making this up). I don't know what kind of 21st birthday parties you're used to, but alcohol-free nights are not a part of my previous experience in this area. Plus, we were all scared out of minds when we realized that we were in a not-so-classy part of Denver and we were the only people in the club who were let in without being frisked. (The bouncers actually said, "You guys don't look like the kind of people we'll be needing to frisk tonight. You can go on in.") If you ever have the opportunity to go out with your friends to a Christian club with no dancing, no alcohol, and no people, then by all means, skip it.
After we pulled ourselves away from the riotous good time that was Club V, we went looking for yet another club up in Denver called the Grizzly Rose. I didn't want to go because of the gay-ass name, and I further resisted going when I realized that it was a line dancing club. Not exactly my niche. If I have to hear "Friends in Low Places" one more time, I'm going to kick someone in the nose. Preferably Garth Brooks. Juan obviously hadn't had anything to drink since his single margarita at Casa Bonita, so we made up for that at the Grizzly Rose. He started off with a beer, and then had a sip of a double Crown. He was already a bit tipsy by this point, since the strongest thing he'd previously imbibed had been NyQuil. He was then handed a tequila shot, and after having the process explained to him three times, he took it. About a half an hour after that, he was given a Jack and ginger to sip, and everything went to hell. Apparently, Juan's limit is less than three drinks. He repeated himself over and over again, and began waving at everything female that registered in his field of vision. By the end of the night, Juan was running in circles backwards on the dance floor and prancing around like a fairy, all the while waving at everyone who looked at him like he was the Pope. I hope Juan learned his limit last night, but if he didn't, we got the whole thing on tape if he ever needs a reminder.
