Last night's "party" was thankfully dull. I drove out to the westernmost suburbs of the city. We had dinner in a nearly deserted, garishly lit former Pizza Hut-cum- Mediterranean restaurant.
Lisa's ex husband sat at the head of the table and performed like the diva he is.
Lots of gesticulating hands.
There was an inordinate amount of talk about hysterectomies and melon ballers at the dinner table...not the type of thing one wants to hear while eating grape leaves.
Despite that, it was nice enough.
Then we were coerced into going to the casino.
I don't know if you've ever been to a suburban casino bar on a Saturday night, but you truly owe it to yourself.
It was like walking into a low budget David Lynch movie.
I'm talking 70 year old women in pink plastic barrettes doing the "Boot Scootin' Boogie,"
The morbidly obese pantomiming Clarence Carter's classic "Strokin',"
Midgets doing the "Electric Slide,"
And one tall skinny 60 something who did nothing but twirl in the center of the dance floor...for a good hour straight...sometimes without music.
The birthday girl had 10 long island iced teas, and her gay ex-husband won a thousand dollars.
I, however, had the unhappy job of entertaining her current boyfriend, the librarian, as he bombarded me with round after round of random trivia.
Anyway, here's dear old Clarence himself. If you can imagine this video recast by David Lynch, you might be half way there.
No, you really aren't the nicest person you know. - One thing that a young child I was blessed with was self-consciousness, and too much of it at that. Growing up I felt awkward, uncorridinated and ugl...