There was a Flash Flood advisory from 8:30 am 'til 9:30 am on Saturday, the day of our performance. The rain didn't stop. The Farm at Shady Lane Flooded. A cold front came gliding in. It said 41 and felt like 36. Things were going to start freezing that night. After much debate, we had to cancel the performance. Postpone was the word floating around. Postpone.
Well, there was very little to do after that, besides drink.
I was in shock for a few hours. We walked around. We sang songs. We saw a movie. Did I mention we drank?
We decided that it was in all of our best interest to have a night on the town,
Specifically in a fabulous little town called Gruene.
Gruene Hall was littered with locals. For Real Texans. Listening to Country, Listening to the Big Blue Hearts.
I, of course, just after arrival, made acquaintance with what were most likely the only people from the Netherlands in the state of Texas.
They lied to me about being Meteorologists.
We laughed about the weather.
Then I decked them.
No, I didn't.
We blamed the Front. Damn you Front.
It was a little anti-climactic, that conversation, I wish they had blamed The Wrath of God. Or Karma.
Somewhere in there, while the band played, a Woman with a Belly Button piercing and a Cowboy Hat hopped a table and started smacking her ass, stripper style. The local Sheriff gently escorted her down. There was some speculation as to whether she was a professional or not.
As for me, (how do you say Sore Thumb in Spanish?)I was shaking my tail feather for a
while, alone, as two of my companions swooned over the band. I am repelled and repulsed by men with Musical Instruments, so I stuck to the Foreigners asking me if I had any opinions as to why everyone here looked so funny. And no you can't take a picture of me.
After a while, after looking at people holding beer bottles in koozies they brought with them, I sat down to scrawl out a few notes on paper.
An entire family took notice of me, in my Fluffy White New York Half Hat, writing furiously on a napkin, and began to tap each other on the shoulder and look at me.
I ignored it at first, until they started pointing, and then I felt I should tell someone in my party, just in case we were in for an ambush.
Not too long after that the woman, who it was pointed out to me was wearing a Blue Track Suit and had no right to make fun of anyone, went off to dance with her Husband. Leaving her CellPhone on the Table.
Tall Nancy and I left the table to go to the Bathroom. Inside in line, Tall Nancy notified me that my friend with the Track Suit was there with us. I was ready. When Track Suit came out of her stall she made a comment about tall people and said that present company was excluded. Looking at Nancy. I was starting to feel like this wasn't just about me...
Then I looked at her and told her that I thought she left her CellPhone on the table.
I have a history with this, I know what I am doing.
She said thank you and then, "What language were you writing in?"
"Oh. English I just have really bad handwriting."
"Humpf, we thought you were from a foreign country."
"I see, Is it the hat?"
"Huh?!? Maybe."
She stumbled out very soon after. Probably to tell her family that I was, seemingly, an American.
Nancy and I exchanged a glance.
Just then, the Stripper walked in. I proceeded to ask her if she thought I looked like I was from a foreign country.
She said yes, like I was from Alaska.
I told her that I was sorry the sheriff put the kibosh on her foot work.
She said she liked me.
When Nancy and I exited the bathroom we decided we wanted someone to teach us to Two Step. I had passed words earlier with two fence salesmen from the Neighborhood, Mike and Eric. They directed me to a guy named Garth.
Garth was a registered nurse who paraded me around the dance floor as I watched my feet and the rest of the dance hall smile with what I wish to remember as affection for the "foreigner" as she learned the societal mores of their Land.
When Garth and I were done, everyone stood around and talked. They asked me if life really was better in New York.
I think my heartbroke. I tried, in what way I could, to explain New York.
They asked if you had to walk down a flight of stairs to get to all the cafes. They asked about the elevators. They wanted to know, most desperately, where the Lone Man Playing the Saxophone in the Window lived.
I told him my neighbor is an Argentinian Architect with a lot of girlfriends and that I really didn't know.
They couldn't understand how I had no control over the heat in the winter.
When I tried to explain the art of opening the windows to survive, I realized we had reached an impasse.
We are separated in so many ways. It's not just Mexicans who live across a border.
When I finally went back to the table. The guys from the Netherlands were still there. They said something about the Freezing Rain. I told them they weren't real Meteorologists and to leave me alone. They asked me which way was Mexico.
At the table,I picked up my pen again. The woman in the Blue Track Suit was still dancing with her husband. I put my CellPhone down next to hers. I looked around the bar.
I put my pen back down and went to join everyone back on the dance floor.
I heard outside, that it was still raining.
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