going to the ghetto and we're gonna get married...

the following is a true story. the names have not been changed to protect the innocent (or anyone for that matter) ...

apparently a buddy of ours plays blues every monday night at this bar on "the eastside," so being the daring (and quite strapping if i may say so myself) young lads and lasses that we are we headed on over. now, "the eastside" is pretty much exactly what it sounds like. the ghetto. certainly not a place for white ass mexican chicks like me.

the bar is a hardcore dive. complete with no a/c and a b.y.o.your beverage of choice policy. stereotypically filled with old southern black men smoking their swisher sweets, drinking bottles of booze wrapped in paper bags, reminiscing about the days of yore. ok no bags, but you get the idea. (i'd also like to note that they had free chicken and dumplings for any and all, as well as signs advertising "gizzards $3.00")

you can imagine how @ home we tall white kids felt. especially after we tried to pay for our beers with a credit card (fuckin' yuppies).

so we find a table and across it, 1 seat down from me was this true southern blues man. he looked kinda like this:

ok not really. but wouldn't that be awesome if he did? the real guy was totally what you'd picture a 50 year old blues fan to look like, complete with the hat and all. but minus the 500 lbs. (feel free to picture the above dude if you'd rather) anyway, in front of him on the table was this garage sale find goblet with hand painted flowers on it. and in it was a cell phone, a lighter, a half smoked swisher, and a bag of peanuts. after speculating about whether or not the glass was there already or if he brought his own pimp cup along for the ride, i decided to ask.

the following are his and my conversations from throughout the gloriously surreal evening at tc's ...

me: so was that glass here or did you bring it with you?
dude: (this is to be read in a deep, gravely, southern black man voice) ma name is glass man. i take a glass with me evrawhere i go. diffrent one each nyght.
me: really?
glass man: had a glass in my hand since i was 5 years old.
me: wow. that's awesome.
glass man: what's your name?
me: sara.
glass man: nice to meecha.
me: yeah you too.
glass man: i got good news fo ya.
me: oh yeah? what's that?
glass man: you're better lookin' then ma girlfrend.

...

glassman: (you'd better still be in biggot mode reading this with the right voice) so you come here evry monday nyght or this your first time?
me: this is my first time, seth is a buddy of ours.
glass man: you comin' back next week?
me: i'm not sure yet, maybe. we'll have to see.
glass man: well, i sure hope you do, cuz baby you got a million dolla' smile.

...

me: it was nice meeting you glass man.
glass man: yea, you too. you comin' back next monday?
me: maybe
glass man: well, i hope to see ya and i'll tell you why.
me: why?
glass man: cuz i'm a good-lookin' black man, and i wanna marry you.

score!