Friday, June 29, 2007

Free boob job! Get your free boob job here!

Flipping through the local paper the other day I saw an add promoting the wonderfully educational program known as "Girls Gone Wild." A premise that is missed on me. Lots and lots of girls who are, I am assuming, wishful, and hopeful, that they are drunk thus they can't control their urge to flash their breaststeses at the camera and a guy has made gazillions from it, once again showing how wonderfully smart, and bright our young ladies are shown to be. Alrighty. Opps, soapbox moment.

Anyway, half of the ad was a huge promo stating that some lucky lady could win a free boob job! Now. "Free" and "Boob job" are two words (or three words. I guess it depends on how you take the word "job") that I think belong together. I'm also sure some lucky (or unlucky) lady will walk away with silicone disks in her chest (hopefully they will end up straight, pointy and perky) and she will call herself happy. (Or Bunny. Or Crystal Chandelier. Or Champagne Showers.)
But, this got me wondering what I would be willing to do to fix myself and then it go me to wonder what you all would do to fix yourselves.

Me, first.

The thought of sticking something unnatural, ala silicon, in my body isn't a pleasant thought. After watching several boob jobs being performed on health and science shows, Yawza! I don't really want my areola cut off and then stuffed like a Thanksgiving day turkey, but that's me. Doesn't mean I never would if the need so arises, just not my first choice. Maybe having the procedure through my belly button, but not stuffed like a bird.
Liposuction. Yeah. That looks painful. An instrument being jabbed and stabbed into my flesh. Hmm. I'll pass.
Basically I'm all for the non-evasive, non-pain filled procedures that won't cause me pain or any recovery time.

Here's my list:
Professional teeth whitening. I love those little stripes. I'm a big fan of my whitening toothpaste, all for the tarter control (which how much tarter does the mass public have on their teeth? I mean they are always improving the tarter control. Sheesh. Brush, people, brush.) but I would love to go and have it professionally done.

Lasik eye surgery. The thought of having a razor blade coming at my eyeball is a bit disconcerting. The fact that I would have to be awake during it makes me shake. The fact that I would be awake and thus would see the razor blade coming at my eyeball? That freaks me out. However, being able to see first thing in the morning is definitely something I didn't fully appreciate when it was possible to do so; you know, before Corporate America and the computer robbed me of that simple joy and pleasure. So if I have to endure a razor blade coming at my open eyeball so I can see when I stumble out of bed, then so be it.

Permanent hair removal. Everywhere but my head (the big one, not the little one) and my eyebrows. Why? I hate hair and I would like that five minutes back in the morning.

Yeah. That's pretty much it. I know, boring. But with my luck I would do something crazy and not look like myself or I would cause permanent damage to myself in some horrible and horrific way and be stuck with my vanity mistake forever. So, I'll stick with boring. How about you all?

Thursday, June 28, 2007

inner dork: all things food-ish

Yah! Yippee! Yah-who! Gather round boys and girls, it's time for another interesting edition of useless information! (...and the crowd goes wild!)

Did you know...

Carbonated water, with nothing else in it, can disolsve limestone, talc, and many other hard minerals. Coincidentally, carbonated water is the main ingredient in soda pop.
(Or just pop.)
(Or just soda.)
(Are you a pop, or a soda person?)

Coca-cola was originally green.
(Yeah, and it also cured headaches and tiredness in a most peculiar way.)

Seven percent of Americans eat McDonald's everyday.
(That's just icky.)

McDonald's in New Zealand serves apricot pies instead of cherry pies.
(What? No kiwi?)

Astronauts are not allowed to eat beans before they go into space because passing wind in a space suit damages it.
(Just take Bean-o and there will be no gas.)
(...and if a fart will damage a space suit I really have to question the integrity of the space suit.)

A full 7% of the entire Irish barley crop goes to the production of Guinness beer.
(And God bless.)

The liquid inside young coconuts can be used as a substitute for blood plasma in an emergency.
(I hear the vampires like the change in taste as well.)

Beer foam will go down if you lick your finger and then stick it in the beer.
(So will wiping sweat from your brow. I'm not saying this trick was used when I was first learning the waitressing biz, I'm just sayin' that's where I first heard about it.)

Nutmeg is extremely poisonous if injected intravenously.
(Other than a member of Motley Crue, who would do that?)
(Or know that?)

Chewing gum while peeling onions will keep you from crying.
(No it won't.)
(Neither will holding an unlit match in your mouth)
(A piece of bread in your mouth)
(Or anything else in your mouth.)
(If the onion is powerful, the tears will be plentiful.)
(Speaking of tears and onions: When I was in the restaurant biz I once chopped an onion that was so powerful I couldn't open my eyes for several minutes. The tears were just a streamin' down my face.)

Vikings used the skulls of their enemies as drinking vessels.
(Cheers to Erik!)
(And Lief!)
(And Thore!)
(And! I'm out of Viking names, so anyone Viking-ish, cheers to them!)

Until next week boys and girls!

Wednesday, June 27, 2007

the lobster song

It's an early inner dork.

No fear. There will be another one tomorrow. I know. You're all tingly with anticpation. Yes. That is what that tingle is.

The info is good and fun, but listen to the song. That's just pure, good, wholesome, uselessness info.

avoid the bisque

Monday, June 25, 2007

The power of words

Karl asked me to guest blog over at his place, so I did. (And I did feel special for being asked.) This is the post I wrote. I thought I would share.

We all know words have power. They invoke feelings, memories, images, thoughts. It can be everything from:

I love you. I like you. You disgust me. I hate you. A New York City taxi cab. Fenway Park. Hello. Ugh! I hate math! Strawberry Fields. Greece. Spaghetti sauce. Jelly Beans. Vagina. Penis. Fun parts. Condom.

Every single one of those can be connected to something and invoke a reaction from someone, somewhere. But what I have been finding more and more interesting is the power of words and how, we as a society are changing them and how we are making words more powerful or less powerful by the way we are changing them. I've thought about this for a long time and I've had numerous conversations with people about the topic, but when I really noticed a change within society was during the whole Imus hub-bub. (And no. This isn't going to be about him or what he said.) After he made his comment, and we know all to well what it was, society suddenly started referring to words such as "bitch" as "the b-word." Faggot became "the f-word." Slut became "the s-word." And of course the n-word has been around for sometime. But, by changing something and referring to a word by a letter and then adding "word" to it, are we making it more or less powerful? Are we adding to it or taking the power away from it? Most importantly, do we just look like idiots when we say it?

Words change and evolve over time. Fact of language. Faggot used to refer to fire kindling and later referred to the butt of a cigarette, it has evolved to mean homosexual. How a word goes from one to other, who knows. Slang, maybe? Bitch referred to a female dog, now it means an aggressive or bad-ass female, and it has a typically negative connotation. (Interesting.) I also can't help but wonder what other societies and countries must think of us, but that's a side note. Personally I have a very difficult time saying, nigger. Even during my African-American classes when it was appropriate to say during a discussion I had difficulty. Why? It's just one word. One simple word. What is the big deal? Well, society and my upbringing has taught me it is wrong and hurtful to use that word, therefore I don't. I don't say, bitch around those who I know would find it offensive and the same for the word, fuck. I don't call my gay friends, faggot. I refer to them as "my gays." But even gay has taken on a new meaning. Gay now refers to things that are queer. Queer now means: stupid, lame, dumb, idiotic. Remember when gay used to just mean, happy? And is the "f-word" now going to mean faggot and no longer mean, fuck? And is faggot going to be more offensive to say than the word fuck? Will "fuck" be all over TV and radio, but faggot will go back in the closet?

So, if I have a problem saying, "nigger" and I find saying "the n-word" to be ridiculous I guess I simply have to say, African-American, which perhaps is the point. But, to say "b-word," "s-word," and "f-word?" It just seems idiotic, stupid, and lame. In other words, it just seems queer.

Friday, June 22, 2007

always the safety girl

Last night I had an econ test.
A very icky econ test.
During the test it was apparent I needed a calculator.
Into my purse I go to fish out the digital-do-dad to help me complete my task.
Finding my calculator I pull it from my purse and place it on the table in front of me. I look down and discover that along with my digital do-hickey I also managed to pull out a condom. (Non-used.)
Always the safety girl.
Because everything is about economics when you come right down to it.
Even safe sex.

This public service announcement brought to you by the Federal Reserve and Trojan latex condoms with lubrication.

Thursday, June 21, 2007

inner dork: things that make you go, huh?

All things odd, fascinating, interesting, and that make you tilt your head to the side like my dog does when she is puzzled and cornfused.

Did you know...

Mosquito repellents do not repel. They hide you. (Na-na-na-na. You can't see me.) The spray blocks the mosquito's sensors so they do not know you are there.
(Bzz. Bzz. I can smell the blood, but I cannot see the blood. Bzz. I am so confused.)
(Side note: if you don't like spraying chemicals on you, such as OFF! attach a dryer sheet to a fan (using a clothespin and attaching the sheet to the outer plastic covering) and it naturally repels flys and all things which suck blood (or just suck) Honest. It totally works. Plus, no deadly chemicals on you. Ah. Nice.)

The holes in flyswatters are used to lower air resistance.
(...and that's why I prefer a rolled up newspaper.)

Scotch tape has been used as an anti-corrosive shield on the Goodyear Blimp.
(Wow. Don't know about you, but boy I feel safe knowing that. I mean Scotch tape holds all things that are strong and durable, like paper, so a flying object just makes sense.)

The side of a hammer is called a cheek.
(Which makes sense because it is next to the nose.)

The average woman consumes six pounds of lipstick in her lifetime.
(Burp. I wonder how much Lipsmacker the average women consumes?)
(And how much men consume)

Mixing Sani-Flush and Comet cleaners has been known to cause explosions.
(Raise your hand if you're thinking of testing this one out. C'mon. Limpy, Phollower I see the wheels a turnin'.)

People in China (So, Chinese people) sometimes use firecrackers around their homes as fire alarms.
(*Turns head to the side and says, "huh?"* Can someone explain that one to me?) Oooooooohhhhhhhhhhh. Duh. I was totally thinking burglar alarm. Duh. Okay. I got it. Fire would make it go Boom!) (Thanks) (Did I mention I just gradumated?) (And I'm off to grad school?) (Wish me luck.)

Some Eskimos have been known to use refrigerators to keep their food from freezing.
(Okay. Who is picturing a Frigidaire in a ice hut? Uh, who?)

A typical double mattress contains as many as two million house dust mites.
(So how many are in a non-typical mattress?)
(Oh. And ew.)

Wednesday, June 20, 2007

where all my brain cells went

The other day (actually about 9 months ago, but that's not the point of the story and I am feeling all comedian-like) I was listening to the radio and the DJ was talking about the Ramones and seeing them in concert. At the mention of "Ramones" and "concert" my mind wandered off, as it tends to do, and I got to thinking about how cool it would have been to see them in concert. (For those of you who don't know, a few of the Ramones are d-e-a-d. Some of you may argue that they were d-e-a-d to begin with, but keep it to yourself.) Okay. So, I was thinking, "Man. That would have been an awesome concert. Oh well." (I didn't say it was a deep thought I had. It was on the way to work, so it was a early, pre-morning-coffee thought.) Then the DJ mentioned Rage Against the Machine. Again, my mind wanders to, "Wow. Cool. Wish I would-have..." and it goes from there. Then the DJ mentioned Lollapalooza. Then he mentions 1996. Then my mind wanders back to 1996, (Not hard since in my head, for what ever reason, I believe it to be perpetually 1996.) and I realized I was there. Naw. Couldn't have been. Surely I would remember seeing The Ramones and Rage. Naw. That thought process continued for a few minutes. It continued until I remember what 1996 was like for me. It continues until I realize who I was dating and what 1996 was and what all of the Lollapalooza concerts were like for me.

Lollapalooza 1996 consisted of: My boyfriend who is now affectionately known as, Dip Shit, and he sold pot. Lots of pot. Lots and lots and lots of pot. Bricks. Bricks of pot. Pounds. Lots 'o pot. So I was stoned a lot. A LOT. If I wasn't at work or needing to do something productive there was a bowl in my hand and it wasn't of cereal. Well, maybe later in the day it contained cereal. Or brownie batter. Or ice cream. Or spaghetti sauce. Cheese. Something good that triggered the taste buds and never tasted so gooooooood. OKay, so that day (Lollapalooza) consisted of: he and I driving to the concert. Me, tucking an 1/8, it might have even been a 1/4, along the underwire of one boob and the pipe along the underwire of my other boob and then having him feel me up to see if he could feel or detect it. Nope.) (Good boobage.) I also remember making the comment that if they felt me up that good then they owed me something more than a beer. (Much like the airport security guard in Frankfurt). Into the concert we go. Smoke all of the pot and drink beer all day while sitting in a dirt-filled arena all while sitting in the hot, hot sun. Share and pass pot amongst the other concert goers, therefore smoking even more pot. Make numerous trips to the bathroom to pee. Have mad wild dirty (literally) drunken high sex at some point during the afternoon. Return home to take a shower. Go out later that night, and repeat all of the above.

...drift back to present day. Hmmm. Yep. Don't remember any of the bands that played that day, but it was an awesome concert.

Sometime I'll post about the many other concert going experiences. All good. I saw a bunch of up and coming bands when they truly rocked and were actually affordable to see.

Tuesday, June 19, 2007

just askin'

Does anyone else think, the new reality TV series, "Pirate Master" just sounds like a cheesy porno?

..Or just a porno?

my big, big day

Friday was my big, big day. My interview for grad school, duh. Don't you guys pay attention? Sheesh.
So, I took the day off work, something I never do, had a leisurely morning (what's that?) and then drove up to Medium State U (whoo-hoo!) Stopped at my friend's house (So cool. So married.) and then he went with me to show me where the office and buildings were located.
My big, big interview consisted of: "You have really impressive credentials and we are very happy to have you in our program. We look forward to you joining us in the fall." (Camera turns to focus on me looking like a drunk girl caught in the headlights of an oncoming car and suddenly realizes my mouth is agape. Shut mouth. Say, thank you and I'm looking forward to it as well.)
Twenty minutes later and I am told what classes I need to take (!) and that I need to talk to the Political Science department to register for two of them because pre-reqs are required, but they are waiving those for me. (Yippee!)
I walk over, register for my classes (13 credits this fall. Eck! Four grad and one undergrad (pre-req, not waived. Poop stain.) my friend gives me a tour of campus and I am off to look at housing.

The grad housing left me feeling dirty and needing a shower in a most desperate and not in a good fun way. More in a, holy hell! They expect me to live in this?!?!?! Type of way. One is about 460 sq ft (for a two-bedroom) and the entire thing is made from cement block (inside and out. Think GI Bill, post WWII, housing.) One is affectionately referred to as "the ant farm" cause that is what it resembles and pretty much how I felt after being inside. (Dirty and crawly.) After being really disappointed with all I decided to look at one that I had no desire to see. Of course. It is awesome. The biggest, cleanest, and when I saw the walk in closet in the master bedroom and I heard the angles sing. (Okay, the angels were me, but still.)

After walking around perusing the town and looking at places I could apply for employment come August, (bars, resturants, art stores, coffee shops, bars, bars, bars, coffee shops) I was feeling pretty good. A night of sitting on the porch drinking beer and talking about all things interesting, political, sexual, asinine, and worldly with my friend; I decided life is pretty good. (Then he told me his wife (who is in China) didn't know I would be staying the night and that he lied to her about me leaving and I was feeling awkward.) Several comments about getting naked and that I should stay in his bed because my room may be too hot, and I wasn't happy with the awkwardness.) (When I told him about my female lovin'- that probably didn't help the situation.)

I came home late Saturday afternoon and went to a family BBQ where no one asked me anything about my big, big weekend. (Whoo.) Wait, my sister-in-law asked me about the housing.(!) Yep. That was it. My mom asked me about my trip literally as I was leaving. (Special.) Not a word was asked until Monday afternoon when my mom called me at work. Aaaand I told her I felt about the lack of asking. She apologized and then asked me all kinds of things. Needless to say, (Why do we say that? If it's needless to say, then just leave it out of the sentence. Note to self.) I have gotten more kudos of awesomeness from all of you and from the people I work with than I have my family. (love, you) But, so it goes.
I go back up this Friday to look at a couple of apartments (hope, hope that they are awesome and what I want.) (Oh, because I am on the wait list for the grad housing where I heard the angels and the chances of me getting into them by August is slim to none.)
So, I have school all lined-up; now I just need shelter and a way to pay for the shelter and all the bills that come with the shelter and it will be all good. Between now and August 11th. That would be awesome.

Thursday, June 14, 2007

inner dork: lame duck

Whoo-hoo! Is it really time for another inner dork? You bet our lame duck president, it is!

Speaking of lame ducks, let me tell you how that phrase came about. (I know you're just dying to find out and be able to use it in a sentence later today.)

Did you know...

The term is used to describe an elected official who has been defeated, or by law cannot run again, or plans to retire thus their power has been diminished. The phrase apparently originated as slang on the London stock exchange, where it was used to describe a stock jobber or broker who could not make good on his losses and would "waddle out of the alley like a lame duck." (Those Brits, so clever!)

Abe Lincoln is sometimes credited with introducing the phrase to America. (Oh, good 'ol Abe. He was so honest.) When a defeated senator called on Lincoln and asked for a job s commissioner of Indian affairs, Lincoln was quoted as saying afterward, "I usually find that a Senator or Representative out of business is sort of a lame duck." (And sometimes to those who are still in office.) (*cough* Bush.)

Monday, June 11, 2007

I's got nothing

Or at least I feel like I have nothing to write about, hence the lack of writing.
Or, maybe I have too much to write about and I don't feel like taking the time to write it all out and explain.
I dunno.
It's definitely one of those.
So. I will give the Cliff notes version of what's up, what's new, what's old, and what's just generally been happening. Or not happening. That's for you to decide.

My "friend" Nick and I no longer talk to each other. Since my birthday disaster cry-fest where I was yelled at and belittled he never apologized nor has he tried to make contact with me. I called him after the incident and we talked for about 2.4 minutes. It is really interesting to see who your friends are in the end.

I finally downloaded the last of my pictures onto flickr. I hope to have the rest of Mykonos and NYC up for you all by the end of the week.

Because I know you're dying to see them.

Since returning from Greece I've been in a funk. Understandable, but blech.

I always knew I wanted to travel, but now I know that it is a need. I need to travel. It is a part of me. It is in me. It is not a want, but a need.

Therefore, I booked a trip to Budapest. I will be there the week of Thanksgiving. I booked it last week.

Mama was not thrilled about that news when I told her last night.

She'll get over it. Slowly, but she will.

The reason she wasn't happy is that her daughter (a.k.a. her only daughter. Her baby girl.) is moving away, thus the news that I wouldn't be home for a major holiday was not welcomed.

I go to my grad school interview with the director of the Public Policy program on Friday. Hopefully by then everything will be finalized and I can start to apply for housing and jobs.

I applied for scholarships and also tuition stipends. Cross fingers, pray to the gods, that those come through for me.

Because I have enough debt.

Between this job being over and grad school starting I will have less than two weeks to move, find a job, and start grad school.

That could be stressful if I let it be.

I am trying really hard not to let it be.

I really wish I wasn't taking classes this summer.

I am uberly burnt out on classes.

But I told them I would.

So. I am.

Although I love my job and the people I interact with everyday, it has become painfully obvious it is time to move on.

So, I am glad the job didn't come through for me.

Life is funny how it works out.

I've been getting regular updates from Mr. London.

I both love his emails.

And hate his emails.

I love hearing from him.

I hate that he loves it there.

This too shall pass.

(That I hate that he loves it there.)

After grad school I plan to join the Peace Corps.

Get back to me in two years, though. My life changes too quickly to really make that a firm commit.

After the 27 month minimum commitment I plan to work for the Peace Corps and eventually start my own organization.

I want to start an organization for women. Teaching them a trade or showing women that the skills they already have can make an income for themselves and for their families.

With the skills and income I hope to show that they then are a valuable contributor to the community and a vital part of the world and to their families, thus they are worth more than the cow on the hierarchy ladder.

I also would like to change the media images and messages women are shown and given here in the U.S. I think we are just as guilty of harming our women and causing permanent damage, we just do it in a much more subtle way.

I would like to start dating again.

Or at least have a boy toy.

But, I don't really want to commit the time and the amazing amounts of effort it takes to find someone who doesn't make me want to gouge my eyes out and kick myself in the head.

Plus, I will only be here for another two months.

Plus, the last couple relationships ended because of moves or transfers not coming through, ect. I don't need that drama a third time.

But, I would really like a summer fling.


Thursday, June 07, 2007

inner dork: hodge podge

Hey, you know what? It has been forever since I've had a good dorking. But that's another story for another day. In the meantime, how about some useless trivia!

Did you know...

The word "idiot" comes from Greek and it refers to the time when it was popular/required for all men to take one day out of the year and participate in politics. If someone didn't fulfill this requirement, he was an idiot.
(Hmmmm, I still think the original term is appropriate today.)

When a female rhinoceros is feeling in the mood, she'll ram her potential lover with her horn.
(Because she's horny!)

Ra was the sun god of ancient Egypt.
(All bow down. Actually worshipping the sun makes more sense to me than worshiping an invisible being. But's that's for another day as well.)

One in four women can't remember the names of their past lovers.
(Does it count if you didn't know their name to begin with?)

In ancient Japan, public contests were held to see who could fart the longest and loudest. Winners were held in great acclaim.
(Today that's just called Tuesday.)

One in six adults have admitted to having sex with someone simply because they were too embarrassed to say no.

The sound of E.T. walking was made by someone squishing her hands in jelly.
(K-Y or grape?)

Fifty-three percent of women prefer sex with the man on top.
(Wanna guess which percentage I am?) (Hint: Not the 53%.)

It was only after 440 C.E. that December 25 was celebrated as the birth date of Jesus.
(The first department store sale was held the following year.)

All organic compounds contain carbon.
(Which makes dating them SO much easier.)

It takes one fifteen-twenty year old tree to produce seven hundred paper grocery bags.
(Plastic it is.)

The poison arrow frog has enough poison to kill approximately twenty-two hundred people.
(Yaw-za! Frogs in trees, let them be.)

Whew! I feel good and dorked.

Wednesday, June 06, 2007

Um. So, yeah. See. The thing is...

Okay, so I gradumated, right? Just about three weeks ago I was completely finished with school, right? I got my big diploma and all of my debt compounded and consolidated for twenty years at a reasonable interest rate, right?


Oh, no. I really did gradumate. No need to go there. Whoa. Wanna talk about livid if that was a hoax.


Well, see, here’s the thing. I’m actually taking two classes right now. I know, I know. Believe me, my head is being examined.
Anyway, the reason for this sick and twisted masochistic behavior is because I applied to grad school. In my, you-would-have-to-be-complete-idiots-not-to-accept-and-be-completely-blessed-with-my-presance-and-glowing-(not-to-mention)-winning-personality letter. I told them I would take a couple of the undergrad pre-reqs that I haven’t taken. Thereby making it even harder for them to turn me down.
What are the pre-reqs? Macroeconomics and American National Government.
Oh yeah.
Who has two thumbs and knows how to have an awesome summer?
This girl!
So. I applied. I had to wait for my final transcript to arrive at the Biggish State University and wait...and wait...and... (Well, it wasn’t that bad as I was out of the country, but I wanted to be theatrical.) Last week I received word that they had received all of my shtuff. Yesterday I called and spoke with the department head to see if I had been accepted. He said he has accepted me into the program, buuuuuuut that ultimately it isn’t up to him. Buuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuut, he didn’t know why I would be turned down. Buuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuut, it will be about two more weeks before I know for sure.
What does this mean for me?
More stress and an uncertain future for a few more weeks. (But really, are any of our futures certain?) And when I am accepted I will be moving. Moving away to go to Biggish State University, which also means I will be leaving my job. Sad, but it’s time.
Oh. I suppose you all might want to know the program to which I have applied? Master’s in Public Policy. I pretty much plan to rule the world. Just lettin’ you all know ahead of time.

Tuesday, June 05, 2007

everything but nip

Conversation with someone in the office.

"I love it when you do that." He says with his eyes focused directly on my cleavage. I look down at my chest and discover I am showing everything but nip.

I immediately sit up straight in my office chair and laugh as I pull up my baby doll tank top. "I honestly had no idea I was doing that."

"You do that about three or four times a day. It's like they get to be too much for you and you just need to rest them on the desk."

"I'm not resting them on the desk. I'm thinking deep thoughts...and just being lazy all hunched over in my chair ."

"I never said I mind."

Today, same person, different conversation.

"I would just like to say how disappointed I am with your selection of tops today."

T-shirt, no cleve.

"I was going to wear a similar top as yesterday, and do the everything but nip bit again, but I decided I need to mix it up and keep it surprising."

"You just want to keep your adoring fans around you."

"Pretty much."

Monday, June 04, 2007

deep like a puddle

Saturday night I went out to dinner with a co-worker. It was a very nice dinner in an up-scale establishment. However, the night ended too early for me and I decided to hit a few bars on my way home for a few more cocktails.

Bar number one I've been to a few times, but apparently on Saturday night it turns into a dance club. A country dance club. A place where they take their yee-haws and line dancing seriously. I could not take it seriously. I could only sit at the bar and be embarrassed for those who were taking it seriously. One cocktail down and I was out the door.

Bar number two is a small (blue-collar, neighborhood) establishment. I walk in and find an empty spot at the bar and order a drink. In the course of sipping my beverage I take a gander around the place. I am one out of four females in the place. Two of the other females are the bartenders and the third woman is married and not on the slim or attractive side. I suddenly feel very watched. But, I can deal with this. Just let me drink my beverage and enjoy the night.




The man to my left moves a bar stool away from me as soon as I sit down (I must have cooties.) I turn and smile at him and I go back to my beverage. Several minutes later I still feel his eyes on me (creepy.) I again, turn and smile at him and go back to my beverage.
Several minutes later he turns to me and says, "I need to tell you that you are a very attractive woman and you have amazing eyebrows. But I have a girlfriend" Only he says it like this, "IneedtotellyouthatyouareaveryattractivewomanandyouhaveamazingeyebrowsbutIhaveagirlfriend." and then like Flash Gordon, he is gone (zoom!)

Um. Thanks.

Then I have a man to my right who is trying to make conversation with me. I am trying to ignore him. Why? Because the conversation is very one-sided (his) and he is drunk (very.)

New man to my left is also talking to me. Conversation is better, but still one-sided (his) and he is not drunk (yet.)

I now have my back to the drunk man, but he isn't getting my subtly as he keeps pinching my elbow and poking my arm (that's the way to make friends and influence people) to get me to turn back to him. I (politely) answer his questions then (subtly) turn my back on him.
New man is engaging me in conversation (his) and buying me drinks (yah!) Drunk man pinches my elbow one last time (it's like a bad tennis match) and asks if he can take me to dinner this week. I (politely) tell him no. He (drunkenly, complete with slurred and pronounced speech) asks why. I tell him because he is very (sloppy) drunk and chances are he won't remember who I am or that we even had this conversation in the morning, so thank you, but I am going to have to say no. He (slurriedly) refutes my claim that he won't remember this conversation in the morning, but doesn't refute the claim that he is drunk. He then continues to talk to me while my back is turned and I have stopped trying to be subtle. (Mean? Perhaps. But do you blame me?)

New guy is at least not drunk, but keeps pointing out how talkative he is and how he is ruling the conversation. Yet he doesn't let me get a word in nor does he offer any questions to me. In fact he didn't even ask me my name until we were hopping off our bar stools and walking out the door. After the bar closes I thank him for the drink and I shake his hand good-bye in the parking lot. (Polite.)

On my way home I stop at the local Gas and Sip for a greasy hot dog (Never, ever a good idea.) I notice one of the men outside the doors, as one of the gentleman I spoke to briefly in the bar (I would have liked to actually speak with him, but drunk man and talky man made that impossible.) As I get out of my car he asks if I am following him. I tell him I thought he was waiting for me. A few more flirts as I walk inside. I buy the (never, ever a good idea hot dog) and leave. A few more flirts later and I get in my car and I leave him with a wink and a smile as a good-bye.

That was the highlight of my evening.

God damn I miss Greece.