![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
Biker Rally & Pride Parade
Jun. 5th, 2005 08:15 pmLast night I went up to 6th Street (the main bar-type drag here... think a mini-bourbon street with less awful smell, fewer people, and no flashing) to meet a friend of Lauren's and her girlfriends for a night of moving and shaking... or imbibing and grooving... something to do with alcohol and music, truly.
I used to be a whisky girl, once upon a time. It was a challenge to see exactly why my friends drank it straight. It was an effort to reach that golden moment of inebriation without the uncomfortable side effects of too much sugar or melted ice. I liked it, for a while.
But a boy who drank his chilled vodka like it was water lured me to his camp. It really does taste better that way - goes down easier if you buy yourself a semi-decent bottle, chill it to frosted temperatures, and sip it like wine, drawing air through your teeth as you go. I loved my frozen-raspberry vodka.
Now we're in Texas, I seem to be segueing into Tequila. I've had good tequila on occasion, and truly, the only way to drink it is straight. Don't muddy with triple sec or strawberries or other fripperies. Of course, in this town, I've asked for shots and found they sting my eyes and make me grind my teeth and suck the lime all the harder after. But, last night, tequila was my friend. Badly mixed margaritas were not, but they kept the tide going.
From 11 - 2 we wandered from bar to dance club to tattoo parlor (all conveniently located within a few blocks of each other). I didn't find the perfect bar. I didn't fall in love with the perfect tattoo artist (although the piercer certainly made a good argument for a nape piercing... but ... ). The real attraction was outside: the largest motorcycle rally in Texas occurred at the same time as Gay Pride weekend in Austin. And everybody seemed to come together in the blocked-off streets. Imagine you're immersed in the sound of belligerently loud engines and more leather than should be permitted on a balmy Saturday night. Throw in pairs of girls walking by hand in hand every so often, mixed liberally with women who've seen more road and trail dirt and still have their fuzzy hair and fuzzy boots to match, and you'll have a reasonable mental picture.
Finally, top the night off with my two saviors: Neil and Tyler. Neil, who gallantly hopped in the car at 2:30 to come pick me up, because everyone else on the streets had hailed the cabs I'd called before I could get to them, and Tyler who stayed on the phone with me and let me ramble on about people smell and goofy theories until Neil's little black car arrived on the scene.
I used to be a whisky girl, once upon a time. It was a challenge to see exactly why my friends drank it straight. It was an effort to reach that golden moment of inebriation without the uncomfortable side effects of too much sugar or melted ice. I liked it, for a while.
But a boy who drank his chilled vodka like it was water lured me to his camp. It really does taste better that way - goes down easier if you buy yourself a semi-decent bottle, chill it to frosted temperatures, and sip it like wine, drawing air through your teeth as you go. I loved my frozen-raspberry vodka.
Now we're in Texas, I seem to be segueing into Tequila. I've had good tequila on occasion, and truly, the only way to drink it is straight. Don't muddy with triple sec or strawberries or other fripperies. Of course, in this town, I've asked for shots and found they sting my eyes and make me grind my teeth and suck the lime all the harder after. But, last night, tequila was my friend. Badly mixed margaritas were not, but they kept the tide going.
From 11 - 2 we wandered from bar to dance club to tattoo parlor (all conveniently located within a few blocks of each other). I didn't find the perfect bar. I didn't fall in love with the perfect tattoo artist (although the piercer certainly made a good argument for a nape piercing... but ... ). The real attraction was outside: the largest motorcycle rally in Texas occurred at the same time as Gay Pride weekend in Austin. And everybody seemed to come together in the blocked-off streets. Imagine you're immersed in the sound of belligerently loud engines and more leather than should be permitted on a balmy Saturday night. Throw in pairs of girls walking by hand in hand every so often, mixed liberally with women who've seen more road and trail dirt and still have their fuzzy hair and fuzzy boots to match, and you'll have a reasonable mental picture.
Finally, top the night off with my two saviors: Neil and Tyler. Neil, who gallantly hopped in the car at 2:30 to come pick me up, because everyone else on the streets had hailed the cabs I'd called before I could get to them, and Tyler who stayed on the phone with me and let me ramble on about people smell and goofy theories until Neil's little black car arrived on the scene.
