Bleh.

Look outside. See that gray murky haze? The sopping wet ground? The mist hinging all around each breath? That's how I feel this morning. In other words, it's perfect weather for a Monday.

The weekend was eventful and filled with such highlights as lots of birthday cake with my mom and a little off-track betting with Photogal. The most impressive feat, though, would have to be the $22-to-get-free-frinks-at-a-friend's-birthday-party held in this awful awful bar. Rudy went with me and mentioned he thought the bar we were going to was a gay club and we decided that would be a-ok since most of the attendees were sure to be younger Depaul students. I just didn't want to walk into some sports-themed nightmare.

Which is, of course, exactly what the bar was. Or, as Rudy put it, "This place is about as opposite of a gay bar as a bar can get!"

First, it must be said, that I handled myself really well. No fights, no snide comments to the boys that all looked alike or the girls that seemed incapable of actually finding a shirt that reached past their belly-button and no sneering at the DJ. Okay, I lied, I did sneer at the DJ but it was only because his musical selections started off horrendously and went downhill from there. Also, I am pleased to see that white, drunk, early-twentysomething boys and girls still can't dance but insist on trying. I especially like the hands-on-the-knees-slight-crouching dance that seems to be really popular even though the only place it actually ever looks good is in a hip-hop video...for a second...with good lighting.

Anyway, the bottom line is that I was able to behave myself. Why? Well, when I went to this event I knew the chances of it being in some frat-bar were pretty good and I do have a rule that when I enter someone else's territory I realize that their rules apply. In other words, I play by your rules on your turf and expect you to play on my rules on my turf. This is why I get upset at some dude with a baseball cap screaming the lyrics to a song a band is playing at Double Door but I can handle the same dude screaming lyrics to "American Pie" at a sports bar.

So there you have. A little proof that Tankboy can indeed handle a touch of yuppie diversity training without completely losing his mind.

Yay for me!

P.S. I’ve gotten lots of responses to my cowbell request so keep ‘em coming!