Hope That’s Working Out for You
Last night MyTodd™ called me at 3:30 or so to see what I was doing for dinner. “Looking for it” was the only correct answer, since I had not eaten lunch and was just that moment pondering whether to have a very very late lunch, or just give the whole thing up for a bad business and eat a very early dinner when I got home. He suggested that he come pick me up at 5:00 p.m. and we go tool around town and find some food to eat, and I found myself inclined to acquiesce to that proposal. We ended up at Tucker’s in Soulard, and though I had promised that I was hungry enough to eat anywhere, I was disappointed that the menu seemed to be “Meat”, “Meat with a Side of Meat” ,”Red Meat with a Meaty Sauce” and “Meat Medley.” I settled on a burger, and he got a steak. OMG, someone should remind me that a Quarter Pounder is actually only 4oz, because this burger was 9oz. That was a lot of meat. It was tasty, but I don’t eat red meat that often, so it was a heavy meal.
Anyway, we had a nice time, catching up on our respective weekend activities. We sat right in front of the window, one floor up overlooking the sidewalk below which was really nice and vaguely European in feel. That part of the city has lots of random men in black leather coats walking around, and according to MyTodd™ most of them were Armenian mob bosses and their bodyguards. So we ate meat, people-watched and gossiped. It was quiet in the restaurant, because it was still pretty early. The bar was a little busier, I suppose with happy-hour style people. When we were almost done with our dinner we were interrupted by a loud voice coming from the other side of the room. “SORRY!” the voice proclaimed. Turning our heads we were startled by the appearance of a disheveled late-30-something woman with spiky hair and smeared eye makeup. “I’m sorry! My friend just died. A good friend.” she slurred, lurching toward the stairs down to the bar. The woman was wearing some kind of age-inappropriate miniskirt and heels, neither of which looked like they were going to serve her well for an evening of drunken lurching.
“I’m sorry, sorry to ruin your dinner.”
Which, she hadn’t until she started caterwauling just then. We hadn’t even known she was there. When we left soon after, MyTodd™ noted that she seemed to be controlling her grief by hanging/rubbing on all available men in the bar area, and we hoped that was working out for her. We figured she was Soulard’s answer to South Grand’s answer to Jan Terri. SG Jan Terri has appeared on the scene lately, working a very questionable hairstyle which is part Flock of Seagulls and part Jonas Bros. She’s also consistently working some kind of faux drunkenness scheme where she stumbles around the bar acting way drunker than she is, perhaps attempting to entice someone to try to take advantage of her inebriation and feel her up or something. We’d been watching her and her also-questionably-coiffed friend work their magic for a few weeks, observing from afar and commentating in ways funny only to us, as we are wont to do. Seriously though, she’s a hot, hot mess. At one point she stumbled across the bar and literally fell into a chair (which, those chairs are not remarkably sturdy) then pretended to lay there semi-passed-out. And it was like… 9 p.m.
Dear SG Jan Terri: not even *I* am that drunk by 9 p.m.
Then several Fridays ago I was in the bathroom at the bar when she came in to join me. (If you know the enchanting mystery of that bar’s ladies’ bathroom layout you will understand why you don’t want to be in there for any amount of time with drunken strangers.) Luckily I was finishing up, just washing my hands when she flopped noisily in.
“Hi! Oh my gosh your hair is really pretty!” she said, and then she did something that is Really Not OK – she stuck both her hands in my hair. Ugh. I know my hair is six miles wide and somewhat of an attractive nuisance, but unless you know me at least a little, let’s try asking permission before we touch any part of my person, or invade my body bubble, OK?
“Oh my gosh, I am not supposed to touch people when I am drunk, I forgot! My friends tell me not to!” she slurred, and then fumbled her way over to the toilet. Assuming that her friends said that more often in reference to her crotch-grabbing random passers-by rather than her feeling up other women’s hair, I nevertheless fled. Anyway, if she wanted to sit on the toilet choking to death on her own vomit I really didn’t want to be the primary witness.
But overall the whole faux-inebriated “Take advantage of my drunken defenselessness!” thing pushes a lot of my buttons. Namely:
- If you’re out on your own don’t get so drunk you can’t take care of yourself.
- Don’t put yourself in a position where strangers can easily take advantage of you.
- Don’t perpetuate that myth that girls just need to be drunk enough to admit they want it, by acting like drunk = getting your random stranger horny on.
- Don’t be so damn desperate for attention. It’s just… irritating with a side salad of sad.
- Don’t make a spectacle of yourself on a regular basis.
- Don’t be that chick. Just don’t.
I am sure we will see more of SGJT in the coming weeks, but I don’t think we will be going back to Tucker’s anytime soon to see drunken-dead-friend lady. Hope all that worked out for her.
Filed under: anti-socialism, friends o' mine, out and about | Comments (5)5 Responses to “Hope That’s Working Out for You”
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*shudder*
*back and forth rocking like the experiment monkey with the wire mother*