One In A Million

Much like regret and emergency contraception, tacos also make a great morning-after treat. This story is about one of those mornings.



When I was 19, my older cousin Jen came to stay at my apartment in Ft Worth for a few days. I had recently broken up with my first serious boyfriend, so I welcomed the distraction. She knew a guy from her high school in Oklahoma who had moved to Austin, and it was decided that we should road trip down there on Valentines weekend.



We got to his apartment and set about making plans for the evening, and most importantly to my underage self, acquiring alcohol. As the evening wore on, it was decided that we'd head to the downtown/6th Street area and meet up with some of this guy's friends. I felt like a bit of a hindrance, being the only underage member of the group, and being sans fake ID. Everyone assured me that we could find bars that would accomodate, and they promised not to ditch me.



At some point, we went to the now-defunct Liberty Lunch Cafe to meet up with additional friends whose band was playing that night. We missed the friend's band, but did catch part of Dexter Freebish, a band that I was quite disappointed to learn went on to become mainstream Top 40-radio mom rock.



Once everybody was assembled, we hit 6th Street. I was having a blast hanging out with the cool older kids. Unfortunately, the bars that would let me in were few and far between. We ended up at a blacklit cavern of a club called Planet Austin. I was sneaking sips of beer between passes by the bouncer, and my cousin, who was becoming quite tipsy, had started flirting in earnest with her high school friend. Aha. So THAT was the purpose of this trip. The majority of the goup had no interest in visiting anyplace with the word "club" in the name of it (and who can blame them), so there was only one other guy with us at this point. He was one of the band guys, the drummer I believe, and whether he was simply playing wing man or genuinely wanted to hang out, I'll never know. Either way, he was extremely nice to me, introduced me to Killians (not necessarily a redeeming quality, but it was the first time I had tried it, and we discussed it at length.) And he also got on the dance floor and did The Lawnmower at one point, which inexplicably impressed me to no end. (Even then my standards were shockingly low.)



Eventually the night was over, and we all went our separate ways, with plans to meet for breakfast in the morning. My cousin stayed in this guy's room, which, even at that point, took me by surprise. (I was also shockingly naive, apparently.) I slept on the couch with his spaztastic dog. Once everybody was up and around the next day, we left for breakfast. My cousin's friend was raving about this place the entire way there, with good reason. I have since seen it featured on the Food Channel, Travel Channel and the like. Juan In A Million. Check it out if you're ever in Austin.



At the time though, I was far less concerned with the food than I was with my hangover, and more than that, working up the courage to ask Drummer Boy for his phone number. In fact, I barely remember what I ate. Huevos rancheros, I believe. My cousin and I were headed back to Ft Worth directly from the restaurant, so time was of the essence. It also didn't help that 6 of this guy's closest friends were there. So I pulled out all the stops, looked him straight in the eye, and said: "I'm thinking about moving to Austin. Any suggestions?"



This wasn't a total fabrication. Every teenager in Texas, ever, has thought about moving to Austin at some point. To my surprise, rather than responding with a simple "Sure, here's my info, give me a call sometime", he started asking what kinds of places I'd be interested in. I had to think fast. So I described my apartment at the time. Small, cheap, not that nice. He said, "That sounds a lot like my place. You guys should come check it out on your way out of town and maybe visit the leasing office."



So we did. It wasn't a shithole, but it was definitely in a sketchier neighborhood than even I lived in at the time. And we still had three other people in tow. He showed us around, and showed us some of his artwork. I desperately wanted even 30 seconds alone with him just so I wouldn't make an ass of myself publicly. I never got the chance. He walked us out to the parking lot and looked right at me as we all said our goodbyes. I went home with an apartment complex brochure and no phone number. When I got there though, my ex-boyfriend was waiting for me. We got back together that night.