Gun-slinger fantasies, much?
From the outside, the place looked much like a warehouse. There were huge open garages on either side, if I remember correctly, and finally saw other people. I had wondered a few times since entering the gate whether we would wander this estate all night in search of a non-existent party. Upon entering the door I can't really say I was surprised, because I really didn't have any expectations going in. For most of my approximately six years with my husband, he has worked on rich men's toys, and I guess I'm jaded now. It looked like the set of a western inside. Everthing was warm yellow-brown wood from top to bottom. The room itself was pretty large, I'm no good with distances, maybe fifty feet by fifty feet, with a huge bar along one wall, a pool table in one corner and tables and chairs scattered all over. The walls were unfinished wood and scattered around were lots of mounted stuffed animals, mostly deer, but there was one thing I think was some kind of giant antelope or wildebeast. There was an honest-to-God saloon door on one side that went outside. Party music blared and maybe fifty or seventy-five people milled around.
There was only one restroom. One. Dude practically has his own principality, builds his own private bar, yet only gives it one bathroom. Whatever. I can only chalk that up to him having a penis and therefore the ability to walk right out his fancy saloon doors and pee in the bushes without removing any clothing. So as me and the birthday boy's wife are waiting in line with several "helmet-lickers" (a term I learned last night which means the driver-stalking groupies) who do I see behind the bar yukking it up with friends? Jr, himself. He is attractive in person, but I wouldn't call him handsome. Tall, but not super tall, broad-ish shoulders, omnipresent baseball cap. Up to that point I didn't even know if he was in attendance at his own party. It wouldn't have surprised me if he had been holed up in his room playing video games or getting his helmet licked. Anyway, he then proceeded to head towards the bathroom, look right at me, then cut right ahead and go in. I didn't mind, really. It's his bathroom. The funny thing was this petite girl, who I had earlier pegged as a total stalkie followed behind him in to the bathroom and he then picked her up and gently tossed her out. Heh.
These are not the droivers you are looking forThe B-day boy's wife had mentioned to me when we spotted him that it is a big no-no to acknowledge him or pester him at these things. One is never invited back if that happens. I didn't dare, more for the potential embarrassment of being called out than Jr's personal disapproval. B-day boy's dad and gf, though they were also told this, did not really get it. Well, the gf didn't. She waited near him and stared at him with her camera in hand. I was aghast. Me and the wife stood apart from her and pretended we didn't know her. Thankfully, it seems Jr is used to this and very artfully moves among his friends who seem to be constantly aware of him. They crowd around and pull him away from unwanteds skillfully and usually without them even knowing. Case in point, Schmave (names have been changed or obscured to protect the innocent, aka, me).
I had met this guy for the first time that night, and up until then, had been a pleasant, friendly guy. He had generously bought drinks, laughed at some of my jokes, I approved. Once he started acting like a tool, this regard disintegrated quickly. He had tried to catch Jr's eye further down the bar, when that didn't work he returned defeated. I explained to him the mandate told to me earlier about not hassling our host if we ever wanted to come back. He chose to patently ignore my advice, nay plea to stfu and be cool. While mingling, Jr had made his rounds and was talking to group a few feet away. When he had walk past us, Schmave had stuck out his hand and attempted to talk to him. Mortified, I was. What a friggin TOURIST, I thought. Of course, I had been more subtly following his actions myself, just keeping a low-pro. He then proceeded to stare at Jr from over shoulder with his lips twitching, anxiously awaiting for the slightest indication his eyes or attention might turn Schmave's way. It was at that point I decided it was time for us to go before I committed an act of violence upon Schmave's person.
Coincidentally, the guy in the orange fleece who I had vaguely recognized at that bar also showed up at principality of Earnhardt. It was Robby Gordon. He has a cutish face, but is otherwise unexceptional. I heard someone call him a
pud, which amused me. I was surprised to see he showed up sans posse or groupies. Maybe he was trolling for Jr's castoffs, I don't know. Speaking of, I saw one guy wearing a tshirt that said "I take sloppy seconds". Nice. Way to be upfront about things.
Edit: It has been suggested that I was perhaps too harsh on "Schmave". Let it be known that I did not, at any point make my aggravation known to him. Nobody puts the passive in passive-aggressive like me, baby. I believe my negative feelings toward him at the time are more a reflection of my own neuroses than anything else.
