A L O U E T T E on Old Orchard Beach Minutes from downtown Portland A four-seasons hotel on Maine’s most beautiful beach Alouette Sunrise Suites • 91 East Grand Avenue • Old Orchard Beach, Maine For Reservations Call Toll Free 800-565-4151 • www.alouettebeachresort.com 68 p o r t l a n d monthly magazine Portland after dark courtesy bartender at tequila frogs doom. Meaghan cackles. Stephan whoops. My traitor husband smiles. “I hate this–AHHH!” Side to side, I’m flopping like Raggedy Ann, white-knuckling the entire way. My company shrieks with laughter, squealing with every twist and turn. Oh, boy, what fun. Look at that, we nearly died. The cars come to a slow, dramatic halt, and my hair looks like I’ve just left a Quiet Riot concert. “One more time?” “How about a shot?” Strangeland T equila Frogs is next on the list. It’s closing in on 8 p.m. but the bar is mostly empty, so we don’t waste much time. After requesting four shots of tequila and housing an order of chips and salsa, it’s time to roll. We’ve got moles to whack and prizes to win, and Stephan has been pretty cocky about his gaming skills. The arcade is by far the busiest area in Old Orchard. It’s an equalizing zone where grown men can be Evil Knievel on a sta- Bottoms Up tionary crotch rocket while 10-year-olds become pinball wizards. After a brief game of Whac-A-Mole (that Stephan unashamedly cheats at), we make our way to the Skee-ball ramps. Here we all thrive. Among the dings, whistles, lights, and bells, the tickets pile up earning us one bouncy ball, 15 erasers, and a duck whis- tle for, well, duck whistling. We march on, satisfied with our bounty and ready to mix and mingle. The Night is Young The street energy has picked up, and crowds begin to form in front of the bars along E. Grand Avenue. Music from the deck of Weekend at Bernie’s lures us in, and, although no one among the patrons is actually dancing, there’s a general consen- sus on the floor that “No Diggity” is a great dance song. We take to the deck for a bit of fresh air, our giant, aluminum Budweiser bottles in tow. No sooner do we score the perfect table does a group of middle-aged women sad- dle up next to us–one clearly tipsier than the others. “The kids call me Mama Kath.” She scans our foursome. “I can’t find my hus- band.” Her friends mouth apologies over her shoulders while coaxing her back to the corner, but Mama Kath is content right where she is. Looks like we’ve made a new friend. The bartender approaches with a tray of Jell-O shots. “We’re going to do Jell-O shots,” I tell Kath. “Would you all like one as well?” “I’ve no idea what that is.”