Avoiding the Monday Morning Number Crunch

Numbers...on a Monday? I suppose I'll write first, instead.

I'll start with last Thursday night. Banana Man (if you recall - my friend who drives a Banana Boat and enjoys the occasional dress-up in a Banana Suit) and I decided to do happy hour in West Hollywood. Bright idea, we thought. Brilliant. We chose the West Hollywood Standard Hotel, a location on our lists of LA To-Dos (we both really do have lists, by the way). Anyway, this plan fell apart before we could even put it into action. A few things:
1. Banana Man parked his boat so far away that he ended up back in his neighborhood parking zone - he was able to use his permit to park.
2. Valet was 8 bucks an hour.
3. Happy Hour was ruined because....the Standard in Hollywood has no happy hour. I guess this is the most important point here.

So, we wound up across the street at a little shack called Cabo Cantina. For those of you in Arizona, this is just like Dos Gringos - literally. A little shack with good tacos and two-for-one margs that bring back memories of crazy nights in Tijuana...if you have those memories. This was one of several places along our little section of the Sunset Strip that we figured we could get into trouble that night. A Mexican Shack, and just down the way, a restaurant that is literally a train caboose (forget the name) - but with a sign outside advertising the "Best Hot Dogs in LA!" (Damn, they smelled good.) And, further west on the strip, a cowboy's dream: Saddle Ranch.

After eating at the Shack..er, Cabo, we walked down to Saddle Ranch, passing Jon Lovitz on the way, standing beside his beautiful black Mercedes. We entered the Ranch through velvet curtains and I entered cautiously, pushing just my arm through first, wondering if someone was going to smack me in the face upon entry, since you can't see through. After entering said Ranch, Banana Man and I looked at each other with glee - this was our dream: a rugged ranch, complete with hokey chandeliers, a true log cabin feel, and a mechanical bull in the middle of the room.

We sat outside. Our server shows up with crazy slanted eyes and a hat down low, a devious grin.

"So...when do people get on that bull?" I say.

"Oh, in about an hour or so. Once people get drunk, it goes non-stop all night." he says.

"Okay."

He shows up with shots for us.

"I buy my tables SHOTS!" he says, proudly. We drank them, promptly.

About 15 or 20 minutes goes by and our server stops by again.

"What else do you guys want to drink?" he says. I am sipping my wine at a snail's pace. "If you're going to ride the bull, we've got to get you another drink."

"No, I don't think I'm going to ride the bull tonight," I protest.

"They all say that," he said, giving me a knowing look.

I never did ride that bull, that crazy bull. But I think Banana Man and I appreciated the attentive service from our server...and I have no doubt we'll be back to the Ranch on a Friday or Saturday night, perhaps for Banana's birthday party.