When we last left our story, we were headed to see Parsifal, who resides outside of

The B.O.B.

The Bob is a 77,000 sq ft building that houses a bunch of stuff.  Here's the list from their website:

Judsons Steakhouse, Gills Blue Crab Lounge, Monkey Bar Resto Lounge, Eve Lounge
Crush Nightclub, Bobarinos, Dr. Grins Comedy Club, B.O.B.'s Brewery <-- they brew too!
Gilmore Collection Catering.

There's not many clubs that have a downloadable directory so you can find what floor your thing is on.

So, we head out post-2300 to The Bob.  It may have been later than that.

We get to the door, please let them have food.  We get carded and tagged like baby cockatiels.

"Are any kitchens open"?

"No."

Crud.  That's not what I said though.

I'm nothing if not stubborn and determined, so in we went!   We went up a floor to a quieter section of the hubbub and I got one of Bob's own beers.

The tap was labelled Rye.  But I don't see that listed on their website.

At this point, I'm not taking notes.  I hear thump-thump-thump coming from Crush on the first level and I'm swaying to the euro-Trance/House remixes.  It's a beer, we're sitting on a faux leather club chair in an empty part of the complex and Life Is Good.  If I had a cigarette and if Grand Rapids allowed smoking indoors, I would have been quite happy.  Jon, nice couch, beer and cigarette.  Life is Good.

In time, the restroom calls and I ask the worker that's in there who has food in the area. Sometimes there's a hot dog vendor out on the corner (she points out the window). Cool, we'll look for them.  I'll ditch the bun and eat the dog, no problem!

I come out and Jon has gotten asked about his shoes.  Again.  Whether it was honest interest or a clever opener (I suspect the last from his description of it ;) ), travelers that like to chat would be well-advised to wear Vibram Five Finger shoes.

We walk around more - it's a very cool club concept!  I know Jon's not Of The Dancing Tribe, so we're not going to go to Crush, which is OK at this time.  Plus, we see the people coming out of there. Most of them are heavily intoxicated, more so than I am at this point, and they're swaying on high heels, clutching onto each other and handrails trying to hobble up the steps to the restroom.

Dancing there, at this time, on this day may not be fun.

Anyone who has met me face to face knows I don't blend.  In The Bob, I *really* don't blend.  Everyone has blonde or black hair.  Everyone has very straight hair with chunky highlights. Everyone is wearing heels.  Everyone has very tight things on.  Everyone probably has their highlight person high up on their cell phone list.

I have teal hair, a Woot shirt with a rabbit eating another rabbit and a gaggle of bunnies looking at him in horror, a teal dotted skirt on and my Vibrams.  And my huge Timbuk2 messenger slung on my back like some odd punk-meets-50's-housewife combination that was beamed in the middle of the club.

No one's right or wrong here, and I'm pretty accepting of different looks - it sort of goes With The Thing.  But I'm starting to feel like a stranger in a strange land, and I hadn't had enough beer for that.

I like it there though.  A few ladies seemed to be not having the best time due to a lot of drinking, but mostly everyone's smashed and happy.  A nice combination.  Any other night or earlier on that night, the stars may have aligned for a more tribal-feeling experience.

I decide I must have some sort of fruity drink.  Don't ask me why, every once in awhile I have to indulge my inner woman with a fruity frozen whats-it.  It was tasty, they do know how to make their drinks.

We're leaving, and I ask - hey, what's a food place that *is opening and actually serving food* time of night.  Then I have to appendix "That isn't a chain" since we don't want to experience chains when we travel.

A destination is given to us, and we head off into the late late night.  Jon pretty sober, me not as much.