Acceptable

Brought to you by Psycho Suzi’s.

Last Wednesday I met GrassMaster for drinks and dinner at Psycho Suzi’s, www.psychosuzis.com, my new favorite tiki bar (and the only one I’ve ever actually visited). I strongly urge you to visit the web site; while you can’t get the full flavor online, you can at least get a taste.

I hadn’t seen GM in far too long, so we spent a couple hours whooping it up over tater tots, deviled eggs, incredible gourmet pizza, and drinks with names like Walking Dead. This something everyone ought to do at least once a month. From the carpeting that looks like a log cabin’s plank flooring to the multiply pierced/tattooed/dyed servers, Suzi’s is an Experience. The menu will make you laugh out loud, and the drinks are strong enough to set up echoing giggles for the rest of the evening.

A Walking Dead, like all Psycho Suzi’s cocktails, comes in a groovy, tacky tiki tumbler that makes you want to sing “I Want a Head Like the Heads You See on Easter Island.” Its alcoholic strength is illustrated by a tiki man in stage 2 of intoxication. In stage 1, Tiki Man stands quietly in his tropical shorts holding his mug of grog. In stage 2, he’s shaking his tiki groove thang and waving his mug. In stage 3, the strategically placed mug covers for the fact that he’s now waving the shorts overhead. Ah, good times.

I only had one Walking Dead with my meal, so I didn’t think I was too drunk when GM and I hit the chicks’ room on the way out. (I’m not being cute here, for once; the restroom choices are “chicks” and “dicks.”) There was graffiti on the chalkboard in there bearing my name and making reference to some rather personal facts about me, almost as if someone knew I was coming. I didn’t think that was too surprising; I am, after all, a world-famous blogger. But then as I dried my hands, a cute young thing turned from the mirror and gave me the once-over.

“Girl to girl,” she said, “you are acceptable.”

“Why . . . thank you,” I replied. Nice to know I meet the high standards of Psycho Suzi’s clientele. I heard a muffled giggle from behind a closed stall door, almost as if someone was eavesdropping. The truth is, though, I was looking pretty fine that day in my satiny skirt and sky-blue sweater.

But I wasn’t going to get off the hook that easily.

“Do you find me acceptable?” my new friend asked.

What do you say to someone who has just paid you such a gracious compliment? I said, “Um, sure!”

“Oh good! Then I can go in here,” she smiled, and ducked into an empty stall.

O . . . kay.

GM and I waited until we were safely outside to burst out laughing, and then the analysis began. First of all, we verified that I was indeed acceptable, and that GM was, too. That established, we began to parse the meaning of “acceptable.” Acceptable to whom? For what? In what context? And most importantly, did I just blow my chance to get picked up in a gritty urban tiki bar chicks’ room? I mean, I’d generally prefer to get picked up by someone from the other bathroom, but the young lady was pretty acceptable herself.

While GrassMaster and I did not solve all the mysteries of acceptability that night, we did determine that Psycho Suzi’s is the coolest hangout ever. Too bad it’s 20 miles from Sensational Acres. Riding the bus that far for tiki drinks is not quite acceptable, no matter how crispy the tater tots are.

Today around the world: August 24 is National Flag Day in Kazakstan and Liberia.