Like Fonzie - Part III

I hope no one has been holding their breath for this, last installment on my epic, Like Fonzie. . For those that missed (or want/need a refresher) the first two installments are here. Part 2. Part 1.

Xana-freaking-du! We were in. First thought. Where are the women? The Patio (which is also the pool, a.k.a. Urban Oasis) was packed - with men. Men of all shapes and sizes. Young, old, hip, not so hip. I'd guestimate that 80% of Dragonfly's clientele on this Friday had a penis. The few females that were in attendance were of the younger variety. Looking for love and or money would be my guess. Many were balloon smugglers (if you dig that reference) - quintessential Dallas. Everyone was dressed to kill, mainly in black, which was sort of strange considering they were all around what is basically a pool. A cool pool, with big ass beach balls lazily floating about - but still, a pool. My lovely Bride and I walked over to the small Urban Oasis Bar and ordered up dos (literally) XX. The friendly barkeep informed us that it would be $10. Math ain't my strong suit, but I believe that would make them $5 buckaroos a pop which is pretty steep. If that price wasn't bad enough, he proceeded to pour our beers into plastic cups. Excuse me?

You Dear Reader, are probably quicker than I, and realize that the Dragonfly, in all of its Coolsville glory, is still just a bar, and the patio of it is around the ZaZa's Urban Oasis, which is Coolsville lingo for pool. Thus, universal pool rules apply (no running, no diving in the shallow end, no urinating, no open sores) meaning NO glass. It made sense. Still seemed pretty strange. But I could dig it. It was actually pretty funny the more I thought about it. All the Prada people drinking fancy ZaZa drinks - drinks that had to cost a lot more than my $5 beer. Fancy Martinis. Nice wine. ALL in plastic cups. In the spirit of things, I used one of my Oklahoma tricks to make the beer a bit better. I asked the bartender for some olives to make an Oklahoma martini. I'd care to wager that I might have been the first such person to do so at ZaZa based on the look he gave me. But, hey, Stu tip - Beer and green olives, especially if its swill beer, is damn dog good. Try it sometime. Libations in hand, we decided to find a standing room only (it was very crowded) spot on the side to watch the people. Alas, this proved to be quite boring. People were milling around, seeing and trying to be seen, simply put: being cool. None of which looked like that much fun. My Lovely Bride and I tried to get into the spirit of things, but, after our beers decided that we'd much rather retire for the evening. On the way out of Dragonfly we passed one of their big funky glass containers with complimentary candy. Care to guess the type of candy? Dum Dums. Based on what I saw, and in my humble opinion - indeed.

Saturday morning arrived el crudo. We both drank more than we usually do on Friday, and thus, didn't feel peachy keen. Starting your weekend on a hang over isn't smart, or fun. We both decided to stay in bed and rest. Carter read, and ate room service (crab cake eggs benedict or some such crazy designer food). I watched Master and Commander on my iBook. After we both were somewhat right, we decided to start our days.

What does any good couple do on a romantic weekend getaway? Getaway from each other! Carter spent the afternoon at the ZaSpa. I exercised and then did my one man version of a Pub Crawl around Uptown, watching College Football at the various stops. Pretty mundane, but VERY nice. We met back up around 3:00pm and went to the Urban Oasis, which lived up to the name on this fine Saturday. It was glorious. So glorious, I didn't mind paying $5 for a plastic cup of beer. The bartender loaded me up with olives like I was a regular. I listened to music while I drank my beer, and watched the beach balls float lazily around the pool. It was glorious.

After the Urban Oasis we retired to our room and chilled until some friends showed up for dinner. The most exciting part of this was me cutting myself shaving. Not sure if I'm mildly hemophiliac and or had drunk so much my blood was thin...but I bled like a stuck pig. I'm taking, buy me a cigarette and cauterize the cut kind of bleeding. There wasn't a styptic stick in the shag bag, so I had to make due with a piece of toilet paper in the affected area. Talk about looking cool!

After the friend arrived we headed out of Coolsville to hit an old haunt from back in the day, Toys Cafe. Our waiter, Ache (hooked on phonics spelling, as in my back aches...) was quite friendly and we soon had drinks and appetizers on our table. I love spicy food. Crazy for it. I've seen on FoodTV that being into spicy food is sort of like being a crack head. You eat something spicy, burns like hell, your body then releases endorphines, you feel good. Next time, you need a bit more spice to get the same effect, repeat, etc. My spice vice is as such: if it were crack, I'd have no teeth by now. I'm addicted. That being said, it is harder than you might think to get something ordered super fiery at most restaurants. When you ask them to make it really spicy, the server generally will nod and smile and then bring you a moderately spiced plate. More than likely they get a lot of people in their restaurant that cock of the walk it - talking smack, about how hot they like it, then cry it is to hot, and send the plate back. Over the years, I've tried many methods to get a super hot order - trying to prove that I truly do want my food insanely hot. Usually I say really hot, and then give them a verbal waiver that I won't send it back, and or complain. The point of telling you that, is this: When I did the above with Ache, he asked me if I wanted it Thai hot. That was a new one for me, but I figured that meant HOT, I was in like Flynn.

Sweet Mother of Goodness. It was the hottest thing I believe I've ever ingested. It was glorious. If you like spicy food, next time you are in a Thai restaurant order it Thai hot. You will be pleased. Another funny thing about ordering something fiercely hot, it that the server will watch you eat it from their wait station. I guess they are on stand by to dial 911? After a few bites, with no drink of water (water just spreads the burn), Ache gave me an approving smile and nod. I might not be like Fonzie in Coolsville, but by golly, I'd be one cool gringo in Bangkok! As he cleared our table, Ache told me he was impressed (being a white boy and all) with my ability to handle the spice. He went on to say that he eats every meal as such, even breakfast. Sweet mother of goodness, Ache must shit fire. As we bid Ache farewell, one of our dinner companions commented on my ability to remember Ache's name throughout the dinner. I just nodded, smiling on the inside, because the way I retained his name was be association. What did I associate it with? Dare to guess? Billy Ray Cyrus. You know, Achey Breaky Heart. As we exited the restaurant and prepared to return to Coolsville, I'd wager a case of my favorite Demon Malt that I was the only Cat in a 10 mile radius, and certainly all of Coolsville, who had thought of Billy Ray Cyrus that evening. I was most certainly the only one with a piece of TP stuck to his face.

It was only 10 in the PM and I was already fading fast. I was ready for bed. But, we had guests, so we took them 'around' the line into Coolsville and let them see for themselves Dragonfly. It wasn't as busy on Saturday, but still prety full. Same assortment of people as Friday night. We stood around for a few minutes, observing pretty much a carbon copy of the previous...before bugging out and hitting our room. As we sat around and contemplated what we should do, never deciding to do anything, I went to open our window to get some fresh air. As I looked down, I saw a young lady telling two guys that she would meet them somewhere. They had obviously just left Dragonfly, having parked off street vs. paying the $18 for valet. The Boys drove off and she ran around her car, and promptly squatted like a dog and started urinating. We're on the 2nd floor, and she's pretty much directly below me, ass exposed, river of urine trailing down the street. Lovely, and quite funny (to me anyway.) Since the window is open, I decide to let her know she's being watched by talking to her. She looks up, a bit embarrassed as she pulls up her panties, and says, "When you gotta go, you gotta go." I agreed with her, and then said, "What? No number 2?" (I actually didn't say that, but said it to the group in the room after the fact to great delight, if only I was quicker in real time.) Alas, that was the highlight of our Saturday night. Our friends soon split, and we were in bed, and asleep by 11:15. Saturday night - yeah Boy! PARTY.

Sunday morning coming down was pretty uneventful. We slept until nearly 8am (which is late by our standards,) and then just did our own things until check-out which was Gary Cooper time. I worked out, Carter read her book. Uneventful, yet, relaxing. Our departure from Coolsville was pretty smooth. Valet brought our car up (nearly $50 in parking fees), and gave us a bottle of ZaZa water (I'm guessing it was spring water, with a ZaZa logo, then again, they might have been filling it up at the taps inside,) and we were off, up McKinney Ave. out of Coolsville, back to our lives.

After the dust settled from the weekend, and the Amex bill arrived...I can say that it was a fun weekend. Nice to get away with my Lovely Bride for a few days. I might not be Like Fonzie in Coolsville, but, after seeing for myself, I'm confident that's not such a bad thing. Not to judge those that do that sort of thing - each is own, chase your own rainbow, I'm all about that. The point - I'm quite happy being who I am, where I am. Damn lucky in fact, which to me is pretty damn cool.

Until I BLOG again...Try an Oklahoma Martini