Saturday, October 25, 2008

Names

People in the Wild, Wild West, as you can imagine, have unusual names. They're not their given names of course, but rather the names that we've given them. You've already been introduced to a few: Chaparra, el Jefe, PYT, OMG, Poor Vieja, etc. But in reality, there are many, many more.
For example, last night in the Wild, Wild West I saw Mr.& Mrs. Domestic, as in Domestic Violence (no further explanation needed). There was also Mr.& Mrs. Rhythmless (a match made in heaven and right in front of our eyes too.)
There was Monica Lewinsky. She earned her name by being too much of everything, like the original Monica Lewinsky: too much hair, too much make-up, too much body, too much, or should I say too little, clothes. Imagine her parading around the dance floor bigger than almost everyone in the place. One night she even strolled in with a fur stole.
Mr.&Mrs Prissy are permanent fixtures at The End of The Line, when one or the other of them hasn't been prohibited from entering (usually cause they've had a fight). There's the mouse because she always stands in a dark corner, but gets asked to dance non-the-less.
There used to be the Vampire who earned his name by showing up all of a sudden around midnight. Spooky! Then he might lick your shoulder while dancing with you. Who knows, maybe he'll mysteriously re-appear one night about midnight!
Pittsburgh who got his name because he'd drive all the way in from Pittsburg (California that i) just to dance at The End of The Line!
There was also the Skank, the Whore, The Cat and the Little Cat (the Cat's younger and shorter brother). And let us not forget Mother Mary whose been going to the End of the Line (and sitting in the same seat) for more that 10 years.
"Doesn't anybody around here have a real name?" asked Chaparra one night. But why would they have real names, when the End of the Line isn't even a real place!

Sunday, October 12, 2008

Ranches

One night Chaparra, my sister and I arrived at the End of the Line early to find a prime parking space from which to sit and drink (don't tell anyone) while we watched to see who went in and how many were wearing hats. Actually, we always went early, at the crack of dawn, as Chaparra says. Sometimes it was still light out when we parked. We'd have to be careful when we raised our champagne glasses to toast some fine cowboy walking into the End of the Line. Lots of cop cars cruise the Mission. One night, as we sipped champagne, listening to the Mexican radio station, we started talking about dancing. "You know," I said,"we're just like the animals on the ranch when we're out there being maneuvered and shown off on the dancefloor. "Yeah," I continue,"You have your cows, your pigs and your horses being trotted across the floor under the control of the rooster (Chaparra's man came back from his ranch in Mexico sporting a rooster-like haircut, a tale hanging over his forehead). "What the hell!" we shouted, "how did this happen to us?" "We're city girls." "What are we doing in there being pranced across the floor (like the side trott), dancing to "La Vaca" (the cow) while listening to gritos (shouts) that sound like they're calling in the pigs from the hills."
Well, we must let that happen to us because these cowoys from the Wild, Wild West are so good looking. Then we started talking about these guys. "Who had the best teeth of all the guys you've dated?" asked my sister. MMMMmmmm, we all offered our conclusions. "What about the best nose?? And on and on. It was fun. Then my sister offered, "Well, although I've never dated him, John Travolta is my best over all man." "Oh yeah! Oh yeah!" Chaparra and I agreed. And he can dance too! Didn't you see him in Urban Cowboy-hat, boots, bulls, trucks, dancing, everything.
Then the car went quiet. My sister said, "Hey, everyone got quiet all of a sudden."
"Well, you went and mentioned John Travolta. What's left to say." We all nodded then went in to get pranced across the dancefloor like Sissy Spacek. We had a good time!

Trophies

There are all kinds of trophies. Trophies exist for winning all kinds of things. And what exactly is a trophy? A trophy is anything taken in competition, a prize. Something taken in victory, valor or by skill. Such as, a trophy wife. As you can imagine, in the Wild, Wild West there must be lots of trophies up for grabs. Who can drink the most, who can dance the best, who can wear the biggest belt buckle, who can carry (and maybe toss in the air)a woman across the dance floor best etc. But have you ever heard of a "trophy vieja?" Well, I have a friend, poor vieja, who has come to the conclusion that she is a trophy vieja.
One day poor vieja noticed that many of her male acquaintances had a common theme. They were like male peacocks who arrogantly strutted around with their feathers all aglow. They had names like "El Jefe," (the boss), "PYT," (pretty young thing), and "OMG," (Oh My God). And those are just a few of the many (although she's not bragging). "El Jefe" was a good dresser, good dancer, and fun to be with. But alas, as his name hints, he walked around like he was "the boss." Then "PYT" again was a good dancer, dresser and fun to be with. But alas, out on the dance floor he put on a big show that showed off his virility. "OMG" probably dressed the best, was fun to be with, and put on a show on the dance floor that rivaled "PYT's"!
Well, poor vieja began to wonder, and worry a little bit too, about why she attracted these pretty peacocks. Was there something wrong with her? Did she strut like a female peacock? Did she put on a show on the dance floor? Although she was considering wearing a big belt buckle, she hadn't as of yet. So, what was it that led her to believe that she was a trophy vieja? Well, these peacocks had certainly by definition, used their "skills" in "competition" for some kind of trophy. They and their big belt buckles, hats of various sizes and shapes (there's the large rim, the felt, the straw, the taco-which folds up on the sides like a taco, black, white, etc. adorned with various hatbands, signatures, scorpions, and even jewelry that glitters with the name of their home state in Mexico!) and fine clothing strutted around showing off their feathers. All they needed was their "trophy vieja" to make their picture complete. You ask why a trophy "vieja" instead of a trophy "chica?" Well think about it. What more can a man, who wants to show off his prize, have than a mature woman. A chica's just a girl. But a woman, now there's something to be proud of. He can show that he's "a real man."
Well, for the life of her, poor vieja could not figure out why she was the one, the one to be their trophy vieja. She stayed up nights, when she wasn't with one of the peacocks, trying to analyze herself. But she couldn't find any answers. She concluded that she'd just have to accept her fate and spend her days as the trophy vieja to virile, young trophies. OOOOooopps!!!!
I mean cowboys. I guess she's just good at what she does with her "skills" out on the dance floor! Maybe that's why she uses "Hotel California" (she's got a lot of pretty, pretty boys she calls "friends") as her ringtone for when these prize peacocks call. She philosophically sighs, poor vieja, as she reads the refrigerator magnet that her friend gave her which says, "Waiting for the right guy, meanwhile having a great time with the wrong ones!"

Saturday, October 4, 2008

Fairytale

Once upon a time, in a far off land called the Wild, Wild West, lived a young girl named Chaparra. Chaparra and her Girlfriend loved to go out dancing at the End of the Line. One night Chaparra’s Girlfriend met a young man named el Jefe. Chaparra’s Girlfriend tried to get rid of el Jefe because he was too young. But, alas, el Jefe would not leave, not peacefully, anyway.
Soon thereafter, el Jefe introduced Chaparra to an acquaintance of his, Joey. Joey was a few years older than el Jefe. Chaparra’s Girlfriend was envious of this. She thought, “How lucky Chaparra is to have an older man.” So Chaparra and her Girlfriend continued to go to the End of the Line and meet their men there-the Girlfriend’s young man and Chaparra’s older man.
This went on for a while until one night, after having free fish soup at The End of the Line (where sometimes the eye of the fish is staring at you), Chaparra and her girlfriend wanted to go dancing at another place, el Toro, also located in the Wild, Wild West, but a little further east and off of a different bus line.
El Toro, being located a little further east, was a little more civilized and they asked to see I.D.s before allowing the party to enter. The women were not requested to produce I.D.s, but the men were. The men didn’t care for that, but they couldn’t drink without showing their I.D.s.
Upon showing his I.D., the guard said to Joey, “You’re just a baby.” This statement worried Chaparra a little. But Joey played it off. However, Chaparra’s Girlfriend felt exposed now that the guard had seen the guy’s ages. She imagined the guard saying, “How nice of you boys to bring your grandmothers out.” But she quickly put that out of her mind.
It turns out that inside El Toro there were only five people: the four of them and Chaparra’s ex-boyfriend. Chaparra leaned across the table to her girlfriend and said, “I think Christ (the names have been changed to protect the innocent) is here.” Chaparra’s Girlfriend looked up and saw Christ walking towards their table. “Oh my god,” thought Chaparra’s Girlfriend, “There’s gonna be a showdown in the wild, wild west.” But, Chaparra’s ex-boyfriend, Christ, merely tipped his hat as he passed the table on the way to the men’s room. But he did have an angry walk.
After lots of great dancing the party left. Chaparra’s phone was ringing a lot that night. But, she ignored Christ.
One night Chaparra called her Girlfriend. Chaparra was breathing hard and talking in a whisper. She said, “ Oh my god! Joey came over and told me his back was sensitive because he just got a new tattoo. When he took off his shirt, he had his birth date tattooed across his back, 1983!” Poor Chaparra. But Chaparra’s Girlfriend was no longer envious of Chaparra and her “older” man. She told Chaparra, “If the police ever drive up and ask for I.D.s just tell them that the boys told us they were 41 and 42 and we believed them.” The End