hola, senorita.

(... te amo, frederico)

wednesday night, i was excited. he and i decided to do something, but had no real plans. i had a "few minutes" during work, so i did some research. the first thing that pulled up on the online westword was a live show at the walnut room, with frederico ambuele, who looked, and sounded, like a latin hipster. what i knew at this point was: a, i LOVE live music. b, i LOVE the walnut room, with all my heart. c, what's not to love about a crooning latin hipster in skinny jeans? answer: nothing. sold.

he said yes, so i bought tickets.

around 7:30pm, i threw my freshly-washed hair into a stylish updo complete with a peacock pin, threw on a corduroy shirt dress, and fun boots, and drew on some extra black eyeliner, and drove my lil self over to the walnut room. i think i even pre-partied with an NA beer and a rod y gab pandora station... i was in the mood for a fun wednesday night.

arriving, i was early (shock, i know!) or he was later than my late (actually, that's what really happened, and he had reason to be late. i never do). i sat at the bar, holding my purse and trying to not look awkward. which is not easy for me, since i don't normally frequent bars, sitting as a single lady with no drink and a short dress, on a wednesday night.

he arrived, we went into the venue and found a corner by the bar and huge trash can. he moved the can, we ordered a delicious pizza with walnuts and pesto (thanks to the suggestion of the adorably cute mini bartender) and got ready to enjoy the night.

we waited, ate, and watched people. lots of different walks of life show up to the walnut room, in the middle of the denver ghetto, for a latin loungey performance. the opening band was a woman playing a double bass, wearing bright blue tights, with yeti-like hair and "stylish" yet useless, hipster black-rimmed glasses, and a man "playing" a metronome and a computer. i thought this was the highlight of the evening until he whispered in my ear...

"look at that pirate over there."

i turned around, and looked. i saw a man with scraggly, long hair and a bald spot, a ratty old tshirt and old jeans. i could only imagine that's who he was talking about. i turned back around to him, and said, "why is he a pirate?"

"look at his boots."

i turned again, and looked down, but he had moved just enough out of view that i couldn't see his feet.

"i can't see. is he wearing pirate boots? why is he a pirate?"

he didn't tell me, he laughed and told me to just look when he comes around again. dejected, i let it go and kept the pirate in mind. frederico was on his way up, anyway.

a few minutes later, the tallest, skinniest, biggest haired man that was a mix of (we decided) john mayer and beck, came on and started crooning away, playing some classical and flamenco guitar, singing bilingually. his bandmate played a keyboard with a long tube he kept blowing in, creating a french, accordion-like sound that made he and i feel like we were in an underground, french hipster lounge in europe. as the tall, lanky frederico sang swanky, loungey ballads to the crowd, i caught sight of the modern day pirate.

he walked solidly into view, and i immediately looked down at his feet.
he had a legitimate, 100% genuine peg leg.

like a pirate. a real pirate.

the loudest laugh of astonishment escaped my mouth and i buried my face into his shoulder, for at least a minute until my surprised laughter subsided.

after that, all i could see were pirates: the longer, lankier, hairier photographer walking around looked like he was ready to hoist the sails or scrub the deck; the scruffy, long-haired man wearing a knit cap reminded me of smee, from peter pan; and of course, the peg-legged man walking around looked like the captain of the motley crewed, latin pirate ship.

it was a good night.  every time i hear classical guitar paired with sassy drums and an accordion, i will now think of hipster pirates.