Milkshake Supercluster

March 13, 2004

When Virgo suggested we meet for milkshakes, I didn't have a clue where to go.

"There's a place on St. Mark’s,” she said. “The Milkshake Factory' or something like that. I’ll meet you at seven-thirty."

She arrived early and called to tell me more precisely where it was.

"It's called The Milkshake Company, not Factory."

"I'll be there in like five minutes."

We sat under the stark white light and sipped our drinks through cartoonishly fat straws, talking about all sorts of things -- Mexican tree-houses mostly -- until Virgo slipped back in her chair and patted her belly saying, "I don't think I can finish."

My shake, on the other hand, was long gone.

"Wanna go for a drink?" I asked.

"What kind of a drink goes with a milkshake?"

"I dunno. Rum?"

Virgo scrunched her nose, no.

"Vodka? Vodka goes with everything."

As we walked to "Three of Cups," it occurred to me that it was Thursday, which meant that my friend Gina would be bartending. A nice coincidence. The place was empty, so Gina was happy to see us. Once Virgo and Gina introduced themselves to each other (because I'm so bad with that sort of thing), Gina asked what we wanted.

"We just had milkshakes," Virgo told her. "What goes with a milkshake?"

"White Russian?" Gina suggested. "Bailey's?"

"Ugh." Virgo said. "No more milk."

"I don't know," said Gina, "Vodka?"

"See?" I said.

I had myself a Jameson's because...well...because that goes with everything too.

After about an hour, my friend George sauntered in, obviously messed up on something. I won't speculate on what exactly -- it could've been any number of things -- but whatever the case, he was as loopy as ever. He almost didn't see me, but Gina pointed out that I was there, which caused him to stand up and sway over to where Virgo and I sat. He reached into his breast pocket and pulled out his cell phone, then held it up to his eye and pretended to take our picture.

"I got my three megapixel camera here and I'm gonna take yer picture and put it on the internet," he said about my tendency to do exactly that. Then he sat down at the bar.

Virgo looked at me and mouthed something like, "How do you know that guy?"

"I'll fill you in later," I said.

George leaned back in his seat, shook his long bangs from his eyes, and asked, "So what's the deal? Have you guys been out all night or what?"

It was only about nine o'clock at that point, so I wasn't sure how to answer the question, but I didn't have time to anyway before he asked: "Are you guys on a date?"

Virgo and I just looked at each other and shook our heads, no.

"Yes, you are," said George. "You're on a date." Then he tapped Virgo on the shoulder and said, "Watch this guy. He's weird with his dates and stuff."

Who knows what that was supposed to mean?

It wasn't long before Virgo and I put our coats on to leave. Gina leaned over from behind the bar and apologized for pointing me out to George.

"Don't worry about it."

I mean, we were sitting right next to him; he would've seen us eventually. And if he wasn't so whacked out, it might've even been nice to say hello.

"Watch out, he's gonna write about you," George called out to Virgo as we left. Then said to me, "Am I gonna read about this tomorrow on the internet?"

I don't know, George, are you?