Well, picking up where we left off, I closed up my blog, changed up, put on some make up and bumped my ends (for those non-hairstyling people, "Bumping ends" means that I curled the ends and roots of my hair with a curling iron to give it more volume). Get your minds out of the gutter you dirty birds! My friend Heidi will no doubt give me a "dirty" for that one, but, my intentions weren't dirty in the least. Hey, I wanted great hair, give me a break!
Laurie and I jumped in our cars and headed up to Red Rock Station. It took me a few minutes to find Kay and when we did, she informed us that our table at The Yardhouse wouldn't be ready for another hour, so off to the sports bar we went and ordered our first round of drinks. Laurie went with red wine, Kay went with some sort of Raspberry Vodka/Sprite concoction and I ordered my Malibu Madras.
As we found a table, Kay let me know that we'd be joined by her friends Lee and Jeremy, two young men who are close friends with her fiancée. As Kay described her friend Lee as a "walking tardy" (where have I heard that phrase before? Oh yeah, that's me...), her phone rang and believe it or not, Lee was on time. I giggled a bit as a young, beatnik goateed, black rim glasses wearing, 22 year-old, dashed up the steps and flopped down beside Kay, Laurie and me. As I watched him, I couldn't help but think he reminded me of someone, but couldn't put my finger on it...I settled for a very sort of beatnik goateed Sean Lennon/quasi Maynard G. Krebs. Cute. Ok, when you're my age, any young man who's 16 years your junior at first glance is going to be "cute", and you remind yourself that your nephew is the exact same age. Kay, earlier in the week, had described Lee as a guy that, "if you're having a bad day, he walks in the room and you completely forget about it." Ok, now I could sign up for that, I have lots that I'd like to forget about. As Kay had promised, he was charming right from the start.
Just as Lee had ordered his first drink, Kay's buzzing coaster from The Yardhouse went off, our table was ready. We walked down to the restaurant and as we arrived at the hostess stand, we were immediately whisked off to our table.
The area we were seated in was very beautiful, as it was an outdoor veranda filled with misters and ceiling fans gently sending a cool breeze over the well dressed, well coiffed patrons; each sipping beer from a menu which contained 200 different kinds of beers, ales, ciders and other brewed finery.
But, unfortunately, Laurie didn't look comfortable, so a glass of wine, a glass of water and an hour later, bidding us all a great night, she left us to go home to rest (she volunteers and had worked all day). Replacing Laurie at the table was Lee's cousin Jeremy, who just happens to be Kay's fiancées best man for their wedding coming up. So, it became more of a "family" affair.
When I was handed the menu, my brain was already close to fried. I was outside. This was enough to send me into sensory overload, but then being saddled with a menu who's first two entire pages were nothing but different sorts of beers, I felt lost. I searched the menu for anything that looked familiar. I had remembered my WoW pal Stephen mentioning a beer called "Smithwicks". It was on there, along with unique named beers such as "Moose Drool" and a plethora of other oddly monikered brews that would send any ad person running for cover. How in hell do you market "Moose Drool"? Anyhow, beer really doesn't appeal to me much, so eventually, my eyes found what seemed an appropriate choice since I had drank it before...cider. At first, I ordered a Raspberry Cider and ewww...no. It was pretty gross, so I talked to our server, Michael, and he promptly changed out my Raspberry Cider for a Pear flavored one. Much better.
After we had received our first round, we ordered some snacky foods to make sure we weren't going to go three sheets to the wind too early on. It was 9pm, Vegas doesn't even begin to come out to play until 11:30pm or midnight, so Lee gnoshed on an Ahi Tuna Sandwich, Kay on Chicken Lettuce Wraps and me (since I had just finished eating dinner an hour earlier) Spinach Artichoke dip. Jeremy opted for soda pop all night...he had gone out Friday night and got himself firmly plastered, so he was using Saturday to recover. Poor kid. I felt bad for him, but he was great company, so I figured he was going to be ok.
We were gnoshing and drinking happily for a while. The cooled desert air was wonderful, the company was terrific and I just sat happily listening to a group of young people (I was the oldest one there) chat the evening away while I glanced to neighboring tables. One table housed a virtual male smörgåsbord. There were guys of every make and model sitting there, all of them around my age, some cute, some not-so-cute, with not a single one of them turning a favorable eye at me. Depressed about it (remembering the days when men would make fools of themselves to come over to say "hi" to me), I refocused my attention back to our table and the conversation there. The table on the other side of us was filled with Indian (and I do mean from India) doctors who were kvetching about medicare, insurance, their wives and kids. One of the doctors, believe it or not, had actually gone to Texas A&M, which makes its home where? Bryan/College Station, where the entirety of my Dad's family lives. They were making Aggie jokes on the poor doctor (who was dressed remarkably like the ex in a bright yellow Polo shirt and sans wedding band, oh like you think I'm NOT going to check? Please...), but hearing them bag on Agg's, I butted in and lent my moral support to the guy. He flashed a smile at me and I promptly turned back around to my table. Good thing too. Not but two hours later, what word comes out of his mouth? WIFE. Oh yeah, that was a HELL NO, I should have been tipped off by the yellow polo shirt. The term "sack of shit" came to mind. He could smile and make eyes at me all he wanted, but I didn't care, I refocused my attention back to the table I was sitting at again, regretting I had helped the guy out.
At about 11:30, after having several brews apiece and a couple of shots, we decided to change locales to the Chicago Brewing Company. After arriving there, I was seated directly in front of the taps at the upstairs bar to the welcome sight of a very attractive bartender. Yeah, all night long, since starting at The Yardhouse my eyes were having a field day with plethora of eyegasm inducing finery, but when we got to the Chicago Brewing Company, my heart sank. The whole bar was filled (from my 38 year-old view) with young people who could have been 12 or fresh out of diapers. There wasn't anyone in my age range to be found, much to my chagrin. But the best thing of it all, I got to hang out with Kay, talk a while and be entertained by the ever-so-charming, beatnik goatee wearing 22 year-old that made me rethink the term "cougar". NO NO NO. Not going there...don't even think it, NO. Kay ribbed me, saying, "You should go for it." Then there was more shaking of the head NO. Nephew = 22. NO. Kay asked how long it had been since I had, well, you know.... and I had to honestly reply that it had been close to two years. Yeah. She left me with few reasons to say no to a youngster who would be more than aptly therapeutic. The kicker is...the guy actually asked me out.
I sat there shocked, going, "Excuse me?" I have image issues, I have an overwhelming amount of luggage that would make the hardiest blanche, and there's this kid and he's all kinds of gung-ho over me. Yeah. I didn't get it either. Shhh, stop cheering you there in the back...LOL. I had been talking about cooking and he promptly asked me on a date so that I could cook for him! I'm sorry, but that's not a date. You don't ask someone out so THEY can do the work...but he was awfully charming and I mulled over the fact I do eat alone all the time...
Ok, I'm just going to leave y'all in suspense as to what my reply was. Nope, not telling. Just laugh with me over the fact that I DID go outside, I was around people, I laughed and drank and had a WONDERFUL time. Even down to forgetting all the bad things happening to me courtesy of a 22 year-old beatnik goateed young man. Offer for a date or no, I had fun.
And that's what counts.