So I went to watch the fight with my friends Tracy and Lauren Saturday, and we went to this place called The Blur Lounge.... sounds classy right? Maybe some yuppies sipping on martinis, a couple of businessmen telling dirty jokes, some blonde, ice queen nursing a Manhattan? No.The Blur Lounge was in fact a sketched out hip hop dance club...with live DJ (barely live)...who oddly enough was a portly middle aged guy with a curly mullet and a cigarette hanging out of his mouth. (I bet it wasn't even menthol) Now we could have realized that this was not the optimal location to watch a boxing match and gone somewhere else, but the long and short of it was that Buffalo Wild Wings had standing room only and we sure as hell weren’t going to stand up the whole time. We should have stood up the whole time…
So we managed to watch twelve rounds of muted championship boxing in between the ass shaking of women in unduly small shorts, and the blaring sound of Sir Mixalot assaulting our senses. By the way before I go any further, I know at least two or three of you reading this are thinking “…but I like Sir Mixalot.” That’s perfectly fine, but I want you to try to reconcile this anomalous concurrence in your mind: Two top notch pugilists battling it out in the fight slated to “save boxing” to the backdrop of “I like big butts”. Are you picturing that yet? Need I say more?
The security guy (who may or may not have been drinking on the job...correction: who was clearly drunk on the job) was yelling things like "in your face!" and "What happened there??" when our boxer was losing.... All I could do is ignore the vitriolic taunts of the drunken security guard who undoubtedly only breaks up the fights he starts, and gaze longingly through the glass at the reserved diners next door eating their raw fish.
Of course if the clearly visible patrons of the sushi bar next-door were all right with the ass bumping beats and seizure inducing dance lights, then we were bound to bite the bullet! Waaaaait a minute hold on...THE SUSHI BAR NEXT DOOR?? ... the sushi bar next door. There was a glass paned wooden door separating the two buildings, which was really just one building, (the sushi joint), attached to a warehouse chock full of gyrating hoods (the place where I was sitting with shot nerves)
After the ordeal was over, and it was an ordeal, I was headed out for therapy, but then I remembered that there weren't late night therapy places yet, so we just went to another bar...a sports bar. I had a beer an 8-dollar steak and a brand new nervous tic. The fight sucked, the music sucked, the steak sucked, the drunk guy prattling on about the weatherman in what must have been roughly half human words... well he made the most sense of the whole evening.