Recessions: The Wrath of Kong!

Recessions is pretty much the cosmic opposite of our "Bar O," Off the Record. Both are in the basement of DC hotels, but that's about it. Whereas the latter is quiet, ornate, overpriced, and peppered with a handful of gray-haired patrons, Recessions is Your Dad's basement gameroom chock-full of yuppies swiggin' cheap beer and weilding chalked-up pool cues. Which is to say, awesome.

Possibly the Perfect Happy Hour Bar, Recessions has $4 "King Kong" drafts, half-priced apps, ample seating, an eclectic jukebox, well-worn dartboards, and a couple of pool tables. It is frequented by a host of young professionals and a handful of regulars, yet never feels too crowded or cramped. Our A-to-Z group had a good showing, and proceeded to take full advantage of the King Kongs. Which naturally led to several memorable King Kongversations. We discovered that the only acceptable movie for dudes to cry over is "The Neverending Story," specifically where (SPOILER ALERT!) Artax the horse drowns in a swamp. We learned that one of our regulars used to scream at the TV (while crying), "get out of the [censored] mud you [censored] horse!" We also discussed where we fell on the ability-interest scale, which, unlike multiple facebook quizes/applications, was a great exercise in self awareness.

Speaking of self-discovery, several of us were excited to learn that kissing large mirrors makes for great/awkward photo ops. I'll protect the identity of those who underwent such practice, and provide this picture as an example: Anyway, the night raged on, and the place grew ever emptier. But our crowd stayed strong, selecting a series of jukebox gems, playing competitive pool, and teaching each other the "butterfly" dance move. Except for Joey and Hilary, who left at 10:30pm so they could catch the 10:50 showing of poorly reviewed, box-office dud, "The Orphan." Hope that turned out well for you.

Around midnight, we decided for a change of pace. Double feature! We rounded the corner (in more ways than one) and headed to Rumors for a late-night dance party. I can't say for sure, but can only assume the 5 other people in the bar were quite impressed with our moves. So much so that they cleared out to give us room to groove. We line danced. We funky chickened. We reversed wormed. We (ok, I) hurt our backs and pulled some hammies. Tuckered out, we headed across the street for some delicious Julia's Empanadas, the snack of champions. Was a great night, and things continue to look promising as we near the alphabet's end.

All-star of the night: The woman at Recessions, who calls herself "Fredi Krugar" and carries a calling card in conformity therewith, who baffled many of us with her "Reserved & Private" placard at a table near ours, and spent the evening working furiously on stacks of papers. Laced with King Kong courage, I decided to make friends with her. I discovered she brought the placard herself, because it allows her to focus on writing "material." Seems she's a stand-up comediane, specializing in adult-themed humor at private parties and corporate events. She invited me to her party in West Virginia, where the food will include "BBQ" and "drinks" and the activities will include "outdoor stuff" and "naked hot tub." She told me she is scared of only three things: 1) people without the confidence to do stand up comedy (she pointed to me as an example); 2) bats (because one once chased a moth up her skirt, inducing her to scream "there's a bat on my cat!"; and 3) one-legged men, because she often dreams that a one-legged man will bed her mother, then kill her with his stump. I wish I could make this stuff up. I am sure Fredi's doctor at the insane asylum would concur.