TequilaCon 09: Saturday – Giant Vaginas, Martyrs, Mysterious Stairways, and Dragons!

Saturday

NOTE: lots of the photos in this post are clickable so you can see bigger versions. If you hover over the photo and it shows a Flickr address in your status bar, you should be able to click it.

So I woke up at around 7am, thanks to the brighter-than-hell New Mexico sun blaring in through my hotel room window, thanks to me opening the drapes the day before and forgetting to close them before going to bed. I promptly got up, remedied the problem, and went back to sleep until 9:30 or so.

By then, everybody had already had breakfast, because they’re all inconsiderate that way and couldn’t wait. Got up, threw on some shorts and flip flops and went outside to make out, only to discover it was in the 50s outside. But I’m hardcore like that, so I smoked, anyway. Plus, I was too lazy to go back to my room and throw on long sleeves.

It was decided while out at the Hilton’s smoker’s paradise that a group of us (Poppy, Dawg, Diana, Sarah, and me) would venture forth to the Historic District for the day. I went up and quickly showered, then came back downstairs and we were off.

First stop: the Georgia O’Keefe museum.

We all paid our $8 admission fee, and that’s when a security person told Dawg he couldn’t enter the museum with his backpack. Something about how they were worried he’d bump into the artwork with his pack and damage it. What a load of bullshit. Plenty of women were present with larger purses than Dawg’s backpack and THEY were allowed in.

Wisely, Dawg told them to fuck off because he wasn’t going to leave his backpack under their care…he had several pounds of heroine in his pack and didn’t trust them with it. I didn’t blame him. So Dawg waited outside while we wandered the museum, looking at  paintings of giant vaginas.

We weren’t allowed to take photos in the museum, but I’ve closely approximated what the bulk of the paintings looked like, just for Dawg’s benefit:

Now THAT’S art, baby. Nothing like lots and lots of giant vaginas. I love Georgia O’Keefe, even if she did screw Dawg out of $8.

The museum isn’t that big, only took about 25 minutes before the ladies came and pulled me away from one of the paintings I was licking. Then we wandered down to the historic square of Santa Fe. The square was full of artists and musicians and street food vendors and people walking dogs. Very artsy community, Santa Fe.

I grabbed a hot dog for breakfast and we walked around to some of the shops.

After a bit, Ren showed up to join us. And he brought my camera, too, which I’d inadvertently left behind the night before at the Santa Fe Brewing Company. Yay, Ren!

That’s Ren and Dawg, discussing F-stops or apertures or quantum mechanics. Whatever it was, I didn’t understand it. No matter, we all went off to go to the Cross of the Martyrs, which is located on this HUGE fucking mountain, which required yet MORE walking. I tried arguing that if you’ve seen one cross, you’ve seen them all, but Dawg wouldn’t hear of it. So we all went to be martyrs.

It was about a 4- or 5-block walk to the Cross…to the base of the hill, anyway. Then, it was a long winding path, consisting of graduated brick paths and occasional stairs, all of it leading up to a most fantastic view of Santa Fe.

We were up there for a while, admiring the view and taking lots of photos, and Twittering, of course. This was probably also the time that I acquired a deadly dose of ultraviolet radiation, for which I am still paying dearly. My face, ears, arms…are all molting and have been since Sunday. Being at a much higher elevation than usual – 7,000 ft. above sea level – you’re also that much closer to the sun.

And I almost always forget petty little things like sunscreen. So be it.

We made our way back down the hill and to the square once again.

We went to the Five and Dime store again to get some sunscreen for The Poppy and Carmex for Ren’s delicate lips. Then a few of us grabbed a chile relleno burrito from a cart – YUM! – and waited on Robin to get there, her body renewed from her spa treatment. Sarah grabbed some ice cream. Robin did, too, when she arrived.

By  now, it was mid-afternoon, so we set off for the Loretto Chapel, home of the Mysterious Stairway.

This stairway is technically architecturally impossible. There’s no center support and architects and scholars still don’t know how it was built. By the way, it was built by this mysterious stranger – alone – in only 6 months, using nothing but a hammer, saw, nails, and a carpenter square. Very, very cool. And the banister is a lot of fun to slide down.

We all ooh’d and ahh’d inside the chapel, because it’s positively gorgeous. Then most of us headed back to the hotel because it was 4pm and TequilaCon started at 6. Ren and Sarah went on to San Miguel, though, because they’re really pious like that. And it’s supposed to be the oldest church in the country, blah blah blah.

TequilaCon

I took a short 45-minute nap to charge the batteries. We all gathered down at Smoker’s Paradise around 5:30 to set off for The Pink Adobe for TequilaCon, only about an 8-minute walk from the hotel. The air was abuzz with excitement and we were all being called by the siren known as Jenny.

Actually, Jenny and the gang arranged for our own private room in the Pink Adobe, in a subsection of the bar/restaurant known as The Dragon Room. Very cool upstairs apartment with our own bathroom facilities, tables, and a sweet balcony.

We were greeted upstairs by Jenny, Vahid, Dave, Brandon, and some others who were already there.

This was our balcony view, right across the street. As it happens, it’s San Miguel, which is the church most of us skipped to prep for TequilaCon. I have yet to look at anyone else’s TequilaCon recaps or most of the other photos, so I’m sure Ren and others got great shots inside the church. Still, it was nice having God watch over us as we all got plowed.

Soon, the room was amassed with old and new friends. Our waitress, Jessica, handled all of us very handily, mostly delivering the signature Black Dragon drinks, of which I had 3. Or 7.

The Black Dragon contains:

• Silver tequila
• Cassis
• Cointreau
• Lime juice

And, as many of us TequilaConners will  profess, it is DELICIOUS. And deceptively strong. By the end of the night, many of us, including Dawg (who is like the mountain that the Cross of the Martyrs sits upon, but with legs) were feeling little or no pain.

There’s Marty and Reba (aka Mrs. Scooter Sunday). How Marty scored such a woman was the subject of much discussion and scrutiny. But she apparently likes him, so whatever.

Big surprise of the evening was having Dustin show up. He wasn’t supposed to be there, but Dave arranged for it stealthily and if you could have only seen the look on Jenny’s face…

Last year, Brandon couldn’t make it because he was in rehab or some such shit that TequilaConners frown upon. So there were a bunch of cutout heads of Brandon on wooden sticks. Many of us posed with Brandon last year and missed him dearly. We were all missing Dustin when he just popped into our private room and the cheers were deafening.

So there were pre-prepared cutouts of Dustin handy. You can hardly tell which ones are fake and which is real. Really, the only way you COULD tell was by the tater tots on the real Dustin’s breath.

Our waitress, Jessica, was incredible. She was the only one we had, and she served all of us – I don’t know, 40 or 50 of us? – flawlessly. Drinks AND food. And the food was incredible. I had the Green Chile Stew at the recommendation of Ren and a few others.

That glass on the left there was for something called “water.” Yeah, I don’t think any of them were used.

Robin and Ren, who actually wore long pants for the event.

Then, another big surprise. Mr. Tequila showed up…the same night Dustin came. What a pleasant happenstance! There’s Colleen, aka Communicatrix with him, in awe.

And in a rare move for the weekend, Rachel showed off her tits. Again.

Another tradition of TequilaCon is the Tattoo Booth, where you pick out one or a few temporary tattoos and have someone – usually the swarthy Vahid – apply them somewhere on your body. If you’re a girl, he’ll put them on your boobs, your legs, your arms, your ass…wherever. If you’re a guy, you’re lucky he’ll put them on your arm.

Here was mine:

It says “Dead or Alive” and it’s pretty much the tattoo I’ve always imagined myself getting. And at this point, it’s little more than a smattering of bright orange specks on my arm.

There was a very moving toast by Jenny, who gave a touching shout-out to our beloved Lisa aka Clusterfook. Some New Mexico dust flew into my eye at that moment, so I wasn’t crying or anything.

I tried to mingle as much as I could, meeting lots of new people whose names mostly already escape me. I’ll be refreshing my memories with the final attendee spreadsheet that Jenny provided a few days back via email.

Dawg and Wayne out on the balcony.

Lots more photos available in my full TequilaCon Flickr set.

And there’s also a TequilaCon’09 Flickr group, with lots more photos.

When 11 o’clock drew nigh, it was time to think about letting waitress Jessica take a breather. I was pleased to see that my bill was only $67, half what it was last year. And unlike last year, while I was pleasantly buzzing away, I wasn’t stumbling and falling down drunk.

Once our bills were all paid, a large group of us wandered down the street a few blocks to the Catamount, which was still open.

As we approached 1 o’clock in the morning, it was time to depart the Catamount and go our separate ways. So we all hugged goodbye and the Hiltonites walked (or stumbled) back to the hotel.

Dawg and Poppy went to bed, as did Robin and Rachel. Wayne and Ren decided they weren’t tired yet, so they joined me in Diana’s and Sarah’s hotel room, which was conveniently located two doors down from me.

We sat up till past 4am, talking and laughing and getting our next-door  neighbors pissed off. Really, someone came and knocked on Diana’s door and complained. We really weren’t being loud, either.

To the soundtrack of Hall & Oates, we talked a great number of things, while rennaissance man Wayne rearranged Diana’s and my chakras or some such thing. It was amazing. Now I’m supposed to spend 5 minutes a day imagining healing colors like red, orange, and yellow. I think it was just an excuse for Wayne to get his hands on me.

Then he worked on Diana’s blog while still drunk. Incredible.

And our little Sarah crashed a while because she had to leave at an ungodly hour to go back to California. Something about college the next day…

We split up between 4 and 4:30am. And that was Day 2 of my TequilaCon trip. Unlike most of the other folks attending this year, I wasn’t leaving New Mexico on Sunday, though. I was heading down to my old hometown, Alamogordo, for a few days.

Poppy and Dawg stayed an extra day in Santa Fe, but the bulk of the people left Santa Fe on Sunday.

And once again, I’ll have to post more of my NM recap tomorrow. This was already long enough, don’t you think?

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