History of the Viking Women
Source: Reprint from Mise En Scene
Author: Snax
A true Viking Women Expedition is never planned. It can simply start when a couple of the girls meet up for drinks, or even accidentally turn up at the same bar. Something seems to click, perhaps chemistry between the women present. And then we're off, for a rampage through the bars! This event is not a "trolling" expedition, but there is some kind of energy about it that often draws others in. Nor is it a drunk fest, although one of the things that defines a true Viking Women is the ability to pace and endure several hours of drinking. Not on a regular basis, mind you....Nowadays, I can barely drink a third drink whether it's happy hour or a night out.
Quite some time back, I cocktailed and bartended at the Ale House, a British pub in Houston. Several of the other women were either Irish and Scottish, and those women could throwdown. I worked with them during the Friday 10-7 shift. There was Aveen, the full-figured blond Scotswoman, whose wrath I anticipated whenever I was instructed to water down her white wine spritzers. This was per her husband's instructions prior to collecting her from the pub. He always knew that if it was past nine o'clock and she hadn't made it home, then she was drinking at the pub. We counted the minutes until he would come to collect her before her belligerence would start a bar fight. She had quite a fiery temper when she was drunk, which seemed to be the norm for all the British women in our group.
Then there was Angela, a tall and slender brunette Irishwoman who could drink like a fish and was always a lot of fun. She was the day manager but also booked the bands who would play on the weekends, and therefore she was instrumental in my immersion in the Houston music scene. Angela's eccentric Irish friend, Marion, would often drink with us, but never eat. I never quite understood why she didn't like to eat in front of people. One night she literally snuck out of a bathroom window at a restaurant and walked home. We were left sitting at the table wondering where she was. The next morning Marion woke up with a half-eaten block of cheese in her bed. Apparently she had stopped at a 7-11 on the way home and bought some cheddar.
Our most memorable expedition was after a particularly busy Friday lunch/happy hour, and I had been indoctrinated into their 3 pm white wine spritzer break. Once 7 o'clock hit, we headed out to the beer garden and drank more spritzers. One of the other gals picked us up and we were off to Lola's for more drinks, until Aveen started yelling, "Bloody Frogs!" at a couple of French guys who were (unsuccessfully) trying to pick up on Angela and I. Poor guys were no match for Aveen. From there, I recall going over to JR's on Pacific Street, in the thick of the Montrose gay clubs. Miraculously, Aveen was well-behaved - she never became confrontational with the gay men we encountered. We rounded out the night by going to a local late night Mexican restaurant, where Aveen proceeded to harass the waiter for margaritas, even though it was afterhours. No mas! We managed to stumble back to Angela's apartment, where I slept curled up on the couch.
Author: Snax
A true Viking Women Expedition is never planned. It can simply start when a couple of the girls meet up for drinks, or even accidentally turn up at the same bar. Something seems to click, perhaps chemistry between the women present. And then we're off, for a rampage through the bars! This event is not a "trolling" expedition, but there is some kind of energy about it that often draws others in. Nor is it a drunk fest, although one of the things that defines a true Viking Women is the ability to pace and endure several hours of drinking. Not on a regular basis, mind you....Nowadays, I can barely drink a third drink whether it's happy hour or a night out.
Quite some time back, I cocktailed and bartended at the Ale House, a British pub in Houston. Several of the other women were either Irish and Scottish, and those women could throwdown. I worked with them during the Friday 10-7 shift. There was Aveen, the full-figured blond Scotswoman, whose wrath I anticipated whenever I was instructed to water down her white wine spritzers. This was per her husband's instructions prior to collecting her from the pub. He always knew that if it was past nine o'clock and she hadn't made it home, then she was drinking at the pub. We counted the minutes until he would come to collect her before her belligerence would start a bar fight. She had quite a fiery temper when she was drunk, which seemed to be the norm for all the British women in our group.
Then there was Angela, a tall and slender brunette Irishwoman who could drink like a fish and was always a lot of fun. She was the day manager but also booked the bands who would play on the weekends, and therefore she was instrumental in my immersion in the Houston music scene. Angela's eccentric Irish friend, Marion, would often drink with us, but never eat. I never quite understood why she didn't like to eat in front of people. One night she literally snuck out of a bathroom window at a restaurant and walked home. We were left sitting at the table wondering where she was. The next morning Marion woke up with a half-eaten block of cheese in her bed. Apparently she had stopped at a 7-11 on the way home and bought some cheddar.
Our most memorable expedition was after a particularly busy Friday lunch/happy hour, and I had been indoctrinated into their 3 pm white wine spritzer break. Once 7 o'clock hit, we headed out to the beer garden and drank more spritzers. One of the other gals picked us up and we were off to Lola's for more drinks, until Aveen started yelling, "Bloody Frogs!" at a couple of French guys who were (unsuccessfully) trying to pick up on Angela and I. Poor guys were no match for Aveen. From there, I recall going over to JR's on Pacific Street, in the thick of the Montrose gay clubs. Miraculously, Aveen was well-behaved - she never became confrontational with the gay men we encountered. We rounded out the night by going to a local late night Mexican restaurant, where Aveen proceeded to harass the waiter for margaritas, even though it was afterhours. No mas! We managed to stumble back to Angela's apartment, where I slept curled up on the couch.
posted by snax @ 11:27 PM
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