What the fuck, chick?

July 14th, 2009

OK. So of course some random shit has to happen to me at the bar last night, when I was just standing there minding my bitchy, bitchy business. Why is it me who is always targeted by the crazies? We don’t know. It’s a mystery.

From time to time we get some random tourists in the bar. By three signs do we know them:

They ask for Bud Light. (No AB products at all are available at the bar, and we like it that way because we’re snobs.)
They try to pay with a debit card, credit card, or any form of legal tender other than cash money. (That’s when Matt/Eric sends them to the skeevy gas station for cash.)
They ask what the drink specials are. (There are no drink specials, everything is fucking cheap, and really strong.)

So two tourist girls walk in last night and sit down next to us at the bar. They’re not wearing all black, which is a strong indicator that something hilarious is going to happen, but not a certain indicator. So we knew to watch carefully. They then asked what the drink specials were. *sigh* and then when they heard there were no drink specials, they both wanted a Bud Light. *sigh again*. Then they finally ordered some PBR or something, and sat there being trampy and talking nonsense. Other than Hotpants and I rolling our eyes a little bit, I mostly ignored them, because they were ridiculous. Hotpants was trying to convince a friend of ours to try to get both of their numbers, I think there might have been some casual betting on that likelihood. But mostly we were busy with our own business. But then after 15 or 20 minutes, brunette tourist grabs my arm. I am not a fan of being grabbed by random strange chicks, as hot as that may sound. “Hey” she slurs at me. “I really need to introduce myself to you by name.”

I think “Whaaa?” and stare at her blankly.

“What’s your name?” she asks. I tell her. “Well, I needed to introduce myself to you, because I am sitting here, and I think you hate me.”

I think “Whaaa?” and stare at her blankly.

I then assure her that I rarely hate people I don’t know and pat her on the arm, hoping she will fuck right off again to hobag land, or wherever she came from. But no such luck. After now being assured that I do not, in fact, hate her, we’re apparently besties. Now she has to explain that she thought I was looking at her funny (maybe I was, but not for long) and that I was talking about her (maybe I was, but not in a very intent way). So she thought that once I got to know her personally this would change? I don’t know. Drunk girls are weird. So she wants to go to the bathroom. I REALLY really want to her to go to the bathroom too. Firstly because she would then be gone from my immediate presence, and secondly because she needs to experience the bathroom at this bar in order to be sure she doesn’t really want to be here. But she won’t go. She just wants more reassurance that I don’t hate her. But at this point I am starting to. Then blonde tourist with the ponytail interrupts us, and urges brunette tourist to go to the bathroom already, because “Jason” is on his way, he called and he’s on his way to pick them up, and it’s rude to keep him waiting. Brunette is all Wah wah you hate me! and blondie is all wah wah, stop making Jason wait for us. Finally the girl fucks off to the bathroom, comes back, slurs at me some more, and then leaves. Well, I think she leaves. No. In 15 minutes or so she’s back. With Jason. Jason is wearing a knee-length white tshirt with, I shit you not, some kind of bedazzling all down the front. Dooooouuche! So he fucks off back outside, and then – for some reason this is the funniest part of the story to me – the brunette is standing there again, talking about how her friend told her that everyone at this bar hated her, and why would her friend do that? I replied something about meh, you know drunk girls. Then she starts lambasting our friend Jeremy for “whispering” about her. Jeremy replies firmly that he was not whispering. She tells him it’s mean to whisper about her, just because she’s not from there. Jeremy replies again, most emphatically, that he was not whispering about her. I am afraid he’s going to start talking some shit right to her face at that point. But then Eric delivers her three shots in plastic glasses, which distracts her. So then she’s standing there talking to me about how that girls is her best friend, no matter what kind of shit she talks, and she loves that girl 4-evah! then she looks down at the three shots, declares “I’m making mine bigger!” and pours some alcohol off the top of each of the other two shots into her own cup!Then she toddles off merrily on her way.

Fucking drunk girls, seriously.

Music : Peggy Lee - Black Coffee

Filed under: friends o' mine, out and about | Comments (3)

3 Responses to “What the fuck, chick?”

Dim Reaper on July 14, 2009 3:06 pm
What can you say? Mentalists are universal and can crop up at any time. However, you do seem to be one of those people that is a kind of reverse Bermuda Triangle concerning mentalists – instead of disappearing they seem to appear in your location with statistically unfeasible regularity. I have exactly the problem which is why I tend to avoid travelling by bus or train.

On the Mentalist front:

http://uk.movies.yahoo.com/13072009/5/naked-man-casino-terminator-0.html

This story was worth todays blog post all to itself. Brilliant!
KBO on July 14, 2009 7:05 pm
There are few situations that make the bile rise more quickly in my throat that when a drunk chick whines “You hate meeeeeeee.” No, I don’t hate you, I hate the idea of you and I don’t want you to sully the air I breathe let alone entertain the ridiculous notion that we are somehow contemporaries. Get bent, woo girls.
jenipants on July 19, 2009 10:47 am
LOL, this was similar to how my night turned out last night. We had a “wedding celebration” party at the house last night, which decided to proceed into “Kids’ night at the bar” where all of the “cousins” and their others went out. Drunk girls were laughed at, drinks were had, weird guys danced up on our persons. The night ended with a lost cousin, a police report, and then finding said cousin and waiting for his dad to pick his wasted ass up.
I’m having to re-convince myself that I voluntarily married into this family and this isn’t some sort of indentured servitude :P