Latest Article|September 3, 2020|Free::
Making Grown Men Cry Since 1992
Me and my high-heeled, lipstick-brandishing gang— Bonnie Ann Clyde, Cutie-Pie á la Mode, Kitty Katmandu and the Midwest Maven—set out to paint the town of Las Cruces red and cover it in sequins a few nights ago. Ah, nothing like a girls-night-out. We ate, we drank, we drank some more, and somewhere along the way, we conquered. The night started out good at the St. Clair Bistro where we ordered the ’98 DH Lescombes Cabernet Sauvignon and the ’05 Mademoiselle Sauvignon Blanc. We ordered a little food, but that’s not important. The wines were pretty good, with the cab being the star of the evening. The tannins had aged nicely to create a velvety vino with touches of cherry and espresso. The Sauvignon Blanc performed slightly poorer. It was a little too green for my taste. Our cute little server, Erin, put up with our shenanigans and even convinced me to try the Bellissimo (a sparkling Muscat)—not too shabby. Cutie, Kitty and I still went with the Lescombes Brut, but the Bellissimo went over well with the Maven and Bonnie.Things could’ve have gotten bad when Kitty and I found ourselves on our own as we made our way to Hurricane Alley, but we kept it together and behaved like the ladies we are. We did our best to provoke the band, Cinna the Poet, but they took our hi-jinks rather well. They were a band suffering from multiple personality disorder; they played every genre they had heard in the 20-something years they’ve been on this planet. As singer Josh put it, “If you don’t like the song we’re playing, just stick around for a minute. The next one will be different.” My favorite quote from these guys? “This song is a love song. It’s called ‘I Don’t Know CPR.’” Things didn’t get ugly until the next morning when I woke up and realized that I was an adult with adult things to do, and my head and feet hurt. That’s OK. My brief and much-needed escape from reality was worth the minor hangover and blisters.