An October evening out

It’s now possible to sit outdoors for a happy hour without melting, this one with Julie and Penny at Lodge on the Desert. From 4-6 the bar menu and certain drinks are half price. I opted for the prickly pear mojito. I’m always on the lookout for a serviceable mojito, knowing full well that nothing will match the original concoction ( I drank quite a few) in Cuba, April 2002. Lodge on the Desert’s version was enough to make me happy, filmy pink in color with sprigs of real mint squished into the glass. Always a good sign.

The bar patio at the Lodge was lovely, bordered with sparkly lights, and seemed far away from surrounding city streets.  Enter the Centurians: a group of around 100 men, according to their website, who conduct support activities for Tucson’s St. Mary’s Hospital.

Without a civilizing woman in sight, the guys got louder and louder the more bottles of beer were carried out to them. Luckily, we ordered our appetizers while they were in the early stages of partying, or doing whatever they were doing to help out the hospital.

Slightly spicy chicken wings with thick homemade ranch dressing, chunky guacamole sans chips and shrimp cocktail soon appeared at our table. We had ordered a shrimp fritter appetizer, so our smiling server was kind enough to bring our second shrimp delight no charge. Yum.

“What,” Penny and I both frequently asked over the roar of the Centurians. Young Julie said she was able to shut out the noise, which impressed me as very Zen.

For those of you wondering what we talk about at our sporadic ventures to different Tucson restaurants, here goes: word game apps, other restaurants, cooking and grocery shopping and who goes alone or with a husband or partner (and what to do if a partner slips a liter coke bottle into the shopping cart). What activities each of us enjoyed sharing with said husband/partner required conversation.

As we mulled over such essential topics, the Centurian men finally retreated to the Palm Room for dinner. When their howling grew to a fever pitch, I figured a stripper or a woman emerging from a giant cake was the cause.

You know how women are always considered the big talkers? These guys were blabbing away, even before they reached their beer limit. I wonder what they were talking about.

When they got too drunk to formulate words, the wild rumpus began. I wonder if their wives and girlfriends showed up to drive them home.

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