The longest day of my fucking life.
It's been awhile since I've posted, and frankly, there are some of you who were on my friends list who I hate not, or who hate me. If you are one of them, please disregard this,and consider my post a reminder to delete me. :P Now,if you're not one of those people, on with the story...
As most of you know, I emcee trivia at various bars around here. I am not going to go into the specific details of this, because it would A. bore you, and B. not really make sense unless you have been to it. I've tried to explain it to people before and they are either too stupid, or don't care enough to understand. Anyway, the latter half of this story involves that line of work.
I'm going to back up and start my day from the beginning. So that you can fully appreciate where I am coming from, before I descend into a puddle of whiny bitchery. I AM a whiny bitch, but I am awesome. So that's ok. People have to expect this sort of behavior if they expect to be granted the honor of hanging out with me.
I had an early dentist's appointment. By early, I mean 2:30 in the afternoon, but I was up late the night before with someone, um, we will just say "Talking", Because that makes me sound like less of a man whore.
So I get to the dentists,and have to fill out a bunch of paper work. Updates to medical histories and a bunch of crap I really don't need to do. This already set me off on the wrong side of the bed on this day. It is asking a lot of me to have to write and be coherrent after being up all night "Talking." And then falling into a sleeping pill induced coma. I realize a lot of you are getting a weird vision of my personal life. I don't care. Just imagine the stuff I DON'T choose to share.
I fill out what may have been the application to Mensa as far as I was concerned,and hand it back to the nice lady behind the counter. By nice, I mean she had the demeanor of Whitney Houston after about four lines of coke,and twelve red bulls. We will call her sassy. I make a mental note to have as little to do with her after this as possible and return to my seat in the waiting room, which looked like Martha Stewart's version of a retirement home...only with pictures of little brats with perfect smiles all over the place.
The door to the actual rooms of torture and dentistry was open and through them I could see what looked to be a reasonably attractive assistant. Even in the red clown outfits they make them wear. I think they are supposed to look as unattractive as possible because it cuts down on the amount of banging incidents that occur between hygenists and patients while on the clock. Even in the clown suit though, she looks hot...untill she turns around.
This hygenists face looked like it had been in direct contact with twenty years of cigarette smoke,and then chewed on by hyenas. It was at this point that I decided to just stare at the wall, less I lose the coffee I had just drank, or be accosted by Bobby Brown's baby's mother again.
I finally get into the dentist's chair and he makes his little small talk. Asking me what I am doing now, and this and that. Then he asks me a question that I find sort of odd. He asks me where I am going to church. I am just here to get my wisdom teeth looked at, not to be converted into whatever cult he has recently joined.
Me: No, I am uh..looking for one.
Him: Have you tried (I will withhold the name, based on what I am going to say.)
Me: Uh yeah, I did.
Him: What did you think of it?
Now, this is where I have trouble. Because when someone asks me my opinion on something, it's difficult for me to hold back. This is due to a combination of me liking the way my own voice sounds,and my unwaivering belief that my opinion is more important that yours. I did go to this church for about a year and it was one of the most annoting periods of my recent life. I was sort of working there and had to be there, but most of the people in the positions of power had sort of that God complex that a lot of pastors do. He is a bit of a monster with a Napoleon complex.
Me: Muttering something incomprehensible. (It's better than my first thought to say "I'd rather you give me a root canal with a rusty dagger, than to go back to that place.")
Him: Not for you?
Me: Not so much.
So that was that crises averted. I mean, he IS going to be inside my mouth,with sharp objects. No need to bash his church as well. Long story short, I am going because I have a wisdom tooth coming in that is a bit crooked and bites my cheek everytime I try and chew. It's been this way for like two months. So he sees this and is fine with it. Allthough I have already told the crone hygenist it's been that way for two months, he doesn't know this apparently.
Him: I'm just gonna paint this real fast and you'll be fine.
Me: It's been like this for two months, it hurts.
Him: TWO MONTHS!? YOU DON'T SMOKE DO YOU!?
Me: Uh..yeah.
Him: If you didn't smoke I would say not to worry about it, but since you do, you must go get it looked at by an oral surgeon for a possible biopsy.
I know I don't need this biopsy and that I have this..on the inside of my cheek because I HAVE BEEN FREAKING biting it for two months, but because I smoke, I need a biopsy. Better safe than sorry, yes, but I just think this is a bit ridiculous. He also tells me that once I get this done, we will talk. Effectively telling me to go to the surgeon or don't come back. Maybe that's not what he meant, but that is what I was getting. Because when people are mean to me, I like to make them out to be even bigger jerks in my mind. It's fun.
So after all of this, I wasn't in a great mood,and I came to work in a foul mood as well.
I am going to recount a trivia from this week in a moment that was absolutely bizarre. I would hope that anyone that was at said trivia that is reading this will understand that I am not at all bashing my job. I do enjoy it and I do enjoy the place I was emceeing at on this particular night.
Let me speak for a moment about this. This...people not understanding that this is a job...thing. People ask me all the time what I "really do." No one can possibly fathom that I could do this and this alone. COULD I get another job that is 40 hours a week? Of course. Would I make about the same amount I do now working 8 hours a week? Yes again. My philosophy on life is to have as much playtime, while making as much money as possible. I realize some of you cannot do math, and what not, and will need to trust me on this fact. The single easiest way to get me to hate you, is to ask me what I really do.
I am not sure exactly how much I should post about this night in question because I don't want it to come back and bite me in any way. So I will just recount the facts that are important to this story. I am happy at this place, I like doing trivia there, and again, am not bashing the place I do trivia at on this day in any way, shape or form. Ok, let's go.
I get there and the plug for my amp in about ten or eleven feet up in the air. So I have to stand on a bar stool to plug it in. This is always a test of balance that I nearly fail on quite a regular basis, but I manage.
First thing I notice is a friend of mine bouncing into the bar. He's pleased because he has somehow gotten a waitress from another place I work at to agree to meet him here tonight for God knows what. I assume it's either drinking, or eating. Plus, I harassed this waitress to come up to the place as well, so I assume she will actually show up. In my highly egotistical mind, I assume that she must be showing up for me and not him. I reiterate again, I am awesome. So he's texting her,and she is texting back saying she is eating.
Me: Dude, I thought she was having dinner with you. WTF do you mean she's eating?
Him: That's what I thought, I'm not worried about it.
Me: Well this IS Brianna we're talking about. She's pretty shady. I wouldn't get your hopes up too high.
Him: I'm not worried about it.
When someone constantly says this, it typically means that they are, in fact, worried about it. I don't have the time or patience to try and sort this out and it's not my place to. He should really know better. So I go on about my business.
7:55... The bartender decides that he HAS to hear "One" by Metlicca at two million decibels. It's an 8 minute song and I start in five minutes. I'm not stressing. I can be 3 minutes late.
8:03...I start to talk and the next song comes on. I realize that this is not going to be my evening.
8:04...I try and play music from my PA as sort of a hint. It becomes a pissing contest of who can play their crappy music the loudest.
8:10.. After a round of me trying to overpower James Hetfield with my voice, one of the teams comes up and tells me that he cannot hear me..like at all. Luckily someone from the bar over hears this and turns the music down. crises averted. I cannot decide even now if the people at the bar were being assholes or if they just didn't realize what was going on. I think that the people at the bar told the tender to play the music. I know these people,and can only assume they were being assholes. But they are humorous, and I like them. So I decide I am okay with this.
8:15... I realize that I am 1/8 of the way through the evening. This makes me happy because I am exausted. I start to pick up the pace.
8:20... I realize I have picked up the pace too much and the game is going to end in ten minutes if I don't slow down.
8:25... A semi-attractive woman sits down at the table in front of my amp. I apologize to her for deafening her and she says it's a non-issue. She also later proved she knew the words to this song that I like and was playing that no one in America seems to know. This made me happy and I meant to tell her this. But I wasn't in a sociable mood, which is a shame.
8:30... 4 or so women waltz into the bar and take a seat at the table behind me. Typically this table stays empty because people are obviously intimidated by me. Not these four. They look very official. If, you know, looking official meant you just got off work at hooters. They are wearing really low cut tops, and black short shorts. One of them is carrying a huge box. I ignore them because they don't look to me like they are at all worth talking to.
8:37... The women with the huge box begin to answer questions amongst themselves that I am asking. They are getting some right that like..no one playing trivia is. This interests me and I start wondering what's in the box.
8:42... I am done with the first game of trivia and go outside to give myself further need of a biopsy. I come back in and start talking with the first girl that sat down and knew the song. Turns out she's getting ready to go into the Marines. I immediately disregard her as someone to hook up with. Nice girl, nice body, but she probably knows how to shoot a gun. I've had enough psycho exes to know that that is probably not a great combination.
8:55... I ask the box girls if they want to play trivia. The..leader tells me they can't. It's in a very official tone. By the way, the leader looks like she could have been the dental hygenist's sister. She has that same..recently chewed on quality to her face. The other three are all tens. The leader just looks a bit old and haggard. Like the hard as nails ex prostitute with the heart of gold in those 70's movies. I also should mention that the leader of this pack of women was wearing some sort of..red flashing heart around her neck. I nearly fell into a seizure several times throughout the evening, but I survived. Like X-tina, I'm a fighter.
For the first half of game two, nothing really eventful happened. I'm quite thrilled that it's almost time to leave and that I am surrounded by two tables filled with attractive women. Even if one is going to enlist in the service,and the others are here on some official stripper business. It is important to note at this point that when I run trivia, people can't just be shouting out the answers. Because it's not cool when teams are trying to play and write their answers down. So the rest of the night goes allright untill this event happens.
9:29...
Me: Who had a hit with "Born To Be Wild."
Drunk guy on balcony: STEPPENWOLF! WOOOOOO!
So I have a dilemma. I either scold him for shouting out the answers, or ignore him. I try and ignore people when they do this because by telling them not to shout out the answers, it's basically me drawing more attention to it. But then I hear whistling and cat calls, and I look up. THis is a good three minutes later and they are still on the balcony.
Drunk guy on balcony: STEPPENWOLF! OWWWWW!
Me: Allright, we're going to have a new question number two. Please don't shout out the answers.
So I ask another question, and it's fine for a second. Then next round...
Me: What color are superman's boots?
GuyOnBalcony: RED! WOOHOO!
Me: SIR! Please stop shouting out the answers, thank you!
At this point I'm getting pissed off and contemplating taking part in the first trivia related beating on record. I'm literally balling and unballing my fists. I don't get mad easily, but someone screwing up trivia and thereby my job, ticks me off.
then from behind me I hear the lone Box girl left at the table saying how unfortunate this situation is, and that she hates idiots like that.
For some reason this calmed me down. Plus, talking to the hot box girl took my mind off drunk moron on the top floor. SO I asked what they were doing, and told them they looked official. Turns out they are representing a popular alcoholic beverage. She had been filling out paperwork all night at the table beside me, so I guess she was new, and not yet jaded by the seedy world of alcohol modeling. So I thanked her for letting me vent and promised to drink the brand she represented from now on.
9:35... I start contemplating the good that Alcohol models everywhere do for this country. They talk disgruntled trivia people down from kicking someone's ass, they look nice, and they have little blinky heart things that cause seizures. People that have seizures easily shouldn't be in bars anyway.
9:45... the long awaited Brianna shows up. She's the waitress at anotrher place I do trivia at. The shady one. Now, I have never personally had any problems with this woman. But then, I have never attempted to date her. She is the type of person that can be really sweet, but there is an underlying venom to her, and if you push her too far, you're gonna regret it. I realized this early on, and so I just make with the niceties,and try and keep everything on a superficial basis. She bounces over to me.
Her: Sorry I am late.
Me: Don't apologize to me, I wasn't expecting you. Your date has been though.
Her: He's NOT my date. I am really sorry I gave him my number.
Me: He's a good guy, just weird...wait..I am hurt that you gave HIM your number and not me!
Her: Yeah, well I am really sorry I gave him my number, this is a mistake. Omgomgomgomgomg. Oh well, I'm gonna go mingle.
To my knowledge, she barely even talked to her "Date." Trivia ended 15 mins later, and she was on the phone and nowhere near her "Date." I go outside because I need a cigarette like whoah. Her and her "Date." Which apparently she decided to actually speak to come out.
Before it seems like I am putting this girl on blast, I do like her as a person a lot,and for all I know, it wasn't a date and the guy was mis-informed. But I still felt bad for him.
Her: Sorry to be one of THOSE girls, but I have to go now. Someone has been talking shit about me and I am gonna kick his ass.
Him: Oh, okay.
Me: Is your hair real? IS that a lift? (I learned this term from my ex. Brianna's hair looked totally different than usual.)
Her: Yeah it's my real hair! Feel!
I felt and it was the crustiest, hardest substance I had ever put my hand on. Nasa should be building the casings for missles out of this girl's hair.
Me: Why kick his ass? Just beat him to death with your helmet.
Anyway, at that point there was a bit more small talk. Mostly her and I talking. The guy she met and her weren't really..exchanging words at this point and then I said something to effect of.
Me: Yeah, just leave the poor guy here all lone!
Her: At least he has my number!
She did have a point. As soon as Brianna left, he did as well without really another word. My heart kinda goes out to him, but I was just ready to leave and go home and sleep. I ended up hanging out with the girl from the previous night and "talking" some more untill about 5 AM. But I slept eventually, and without even taking a sleeping pill!
I wish I could say that this story has a moral to it, or some great message. Something to be learned here that will not make you feel like you wasted 30 minutes out of your life reading about this little exploit. I think if there is anything I'd like to leave you with, it's that alcohol models will save the world one day.
As most of you know, I emcee trivia at various bars around here. I am not going to go into the specific details of this, because it would A. bore you, and B. not really make sense unless you have been to it. I've tried to explain it to people before and they are either too stupid, or don't care enough to understand. Anyway, the latter half of this story involves that line of work.
I'm going to back up and start my day from the beginning. So that you can fully appreciate where I am coming from, before I descend into a puddle of whiny bitchery. I AM a whiny bitch, but I am awesome. So that's ok. People have to expect this sort of behavior if they expect to be granted the honor of hanging out with me.
I had an early dentist's appointment. By early, I mean 2:30 in the afternoon, but I was up late the night before with someone, um, we will just say "Talking", Because that makes me sound like less of a man whore.
So I get to the dentists,and have to fill out a bunch of paper work. Updates to medical histories and a bunch of crap I really don't need to do. This already set me off on the wrong side of the bed on this day. It is asking a lot of me to have to write and be coherrent after being up all night "Talking." And then falling into a sleeping pill induced coma. I realize a lot of you are getting a weird vision of my personal life. I don't care. Just imagine the stuff I DON'T choose to share.
I fill out what may have been the application to Mensa as far as I was concerned,and hand it back to the nice lady behind the counter. By nice, I mean she had the demeanor of Whitney Houston after about four lines of coke,and twelve red bulls. We will call her sassy. I make a mental note to have as little to do with her after this as possible and return to my seat in the waiting room, which looked like Martha Stewart's version of a retirement home...only with pictures of little brats with perfect smiles all over the place.
The door to the actual rooms of torture and dentistry was open and through them I could see what looked to be a reasonably attractive assistant. Even in the red clown outfits they make them wear. I think they are supposed to look as unattractive as possible because it cuts down on the amount of banging incidents that occur between hygenists and patients while on the clock. Even in the clown suit though, she looks hot...untill she turns around.
This hygenists face looked like it had been in direct contact with twenty years of cigarette smoke,and then chewed on by hyenas. It was at this point that I decided to just stare at the wall, less I lose the coffee I had just drank, or be accosted by Bobby Brown's baby's mother again.
I finally get into the dentist's chair and he makes his little small talk. Asking me what I am doing now, and this and that. Then he asks me a question that I find sort of odd. He asks me where I am going to church. I am just here to get my wisdom teeth looked at, not to be converted into whatever cult he has recently joined.
Me: No, I am uh..looking for one.
Him: Have you tried (I will withhold the name, based on what I am going to say.)
Me: Uh yeah, I did.
Him: What did you think of it?
Now, this is where I have trouble. Because when someone asks me my opinion on something, it's difficult for me to hold back. This is due to a combination of me liking the way my own voice sounds,and my unwaivering belief that my opinion is more important that yours. I did go to this church for about a year and it was one of the most annoting periods of my recent life. I was sort of working there and had to be there, but most of the people in the positions of power had sort of that God complex that a lot of pastors do. He is a bit of a monster with a Napoleon complex.
Me: Muttering something incomprehensible. (It's better than my first thought to say "I'd rather you give me a root canal with a rusty dagger, than to go back to that place.")
Him: Not for you?
Me: Not so much.
So that was that crises averted. I mean, he IS going to be inside my mouth,with sharp objects. No need to bash his church as well. Long story short, I am going because I have a wisdom tooth coming in that is a bit crooked and bites my cheek everytime I try and chew. It's been this way for like two months. So he sees this and is fine with it. Allthough I have already told the crone hygenist it's been that way for two months, he doesn't know this apparently.
Him: I'm just gonna paint this real fast and you'll be fine.
Me: It's been like this for two months, it hurts.
Him: TWO MONTHS!? YOU DON'T SMOKE DO YOU!?
Me: Uh..yeah.
Him: If you didn't smoke I would say not to worry about it, but since you do, you must go get it looked at by an oral surgeon for a possible biopsy.
I know I don't need this biopsy and that I have this..on the inside of my cheek because I HAVE BEEN FREAKING biting it for two months, but because I smoke, I need a biopsy. Better safe than sorry, yes, but I just think this is a bit ridiculous. He also tells me that once I get this done, we will talk. Effectively telling me to go to the surgeon or don't come back. Maybe that's not what he meant, but that is what I was getting. Because when people are mean to me, I like to make them out to be even bigger jerks in my mind. It's fun.
So after all of this, I wasn't in a great mood,and I came to work in a foul mood as well.
I am going to recount a trivia from this week in a moment that was absolutely bizarre. I would hope that anyone that was at said trivia that is reading this will understand that I am not at all bashing my job. I do enjoy it and I do enjoy the place I was emceeing at on this particular night.
Let me speak for a moment about this. This...people not understanding that this is a job...thing. People ask me all the time what I "really do." No one can possibly fathom that I could do this and this alone. COULD I get another job that is 40 hours a week? Of course. Would I make about the same amount I do now working 8 hours a week? Yes again. My philosophy on life is to have as much playtime, while making as much money as possible. I realize some of you cannot do math, and what not, and will need to trust me on this fact. The single easiest way to get me to hate you, is to ask me what I really do.
I am not sure exactly how much I should post about this night in question because I don't want it to come back and bite me in any way. So I will just recount the facts that are important to this story. I am happy at this place, I like doing trivia there, and again, am not bashing the place I do trivia at on this day in any way, shape or form. Ok, let's go.
I get there and the plug for my amp in about ten or eleven feet up in the air. So I have to stand on a bar stool to plug it in. This is always a test of balance that I nearly fail on quite a regular basis, but I manage.
First thing I notice is a friend of mine bouncing into the bar. He's pleased because he has somehow gotten a waitress from another place I work at to agree to meet him here tonight for God knows what. I assume it's either drinking, or eating. Plus, I harassed this waitress to come up to the place as well, so I assume she will actually show up. In my highly egotistical mind, I assume that she must be showing up for me and not him. I reiterate again, I am awesome. So he's texting her,and she is texting back saying she is eating.
Me: Dude, I thought she was having dinner with you. WTF do you mean she's eating?
Him: That's what I thought, I'm not worried about it.
Me: Well this IS Brianna we're talking about. She's pretty shady. I wouldn't get your hopes up too high.
Him: I'm not worried about it.
When someone constantly says this, it typically means that they are, in fact, worried about it. I don't have the time or patience to try and sort this out and it's not my place to. He should really know better. So I go on about my business.
7:55... The bartender decides that he HAS to hear "One" by Metlicca at two million decibels. It's an 8 minute song and I start in five minutes. I'm not stressing. I can be 3 minutes late.
8:03...I start to talk and the next song comes on. I realize that this is not going to be my evening.
8:04...I try and play music from my PA as sort of a hint. It becomes a pissing contest of who can play their crappy music the loudest.
8:10.. After a round of me trying to overpower James Hetfield with my voice, one of the teams comes up and tells me that he cannot hear me..like at all. Luckily someone from the bar over hears this and turns the music down. crises averted. I cannot decide even now if the people at the bar were being assholes or if they just didn't realize what was going on. I think that the people at the bar told the tender to play the music. I know these people,and can only assume they were being assholes. But they are humorous, and I like them. So I decide I am okay with this.
8:15... I realize that I am 1/8 of the way through the evening. This makes me happy because I am exausted. I start to pick up the pace.
8:20... I realize I have picked up the pace too much and the game is going to end in ten minutes if I don't slow down.
8:25... A semi-attractive woman sits down at the table in front of my amp. I apologize to her for deafening her and she says it's a non-issue. She also later proved she knew the words to this song that I like and was playing that no one in America seems to know. This made me happy and I meant to tell her this. But I wasn't in a sociable mood, which is a shame.
8:30... 4 or so women waltz into the bar and take a seat at the table behind me. Typically this table stays empty because people are obviously intimidated by me. Not these four. They look very official. If, you know, looking official meant you just got off work at hooters. They are wearing really low cut tops, and black short shorts. One of them is carrying a huge box. I ignore them because they don't look to me like they are at all worth talking to.
8:37... The women with the huge box begin to answer questions amongst themselves that I am asking. They are getting some right that like..no one playing trivia is. This interests me and I start wondering what's in the box.
8:42... I am done with the first game of trivia and go outside to give myself further need of a biopsy. I come back in and start talking with the first girl that sat down and knew the song. Turns out she's getting ready to go into the Marines. I immediately disregard her as someone to hook up with. Nice girl, nice body, but she probably knows how to shoot a gun. I've had enough psycho exes to know that that is probably not a great combination.
8:55... I ask the box girls if they want to play trivia. The..leader tells me they can't. It's in a very official tone. By the way, the leader looks like she could have been the dental hygenist's sister. She has that same..recently chewed on quality to her face. The other three are all tens. The leader just looks a bit old and haggard. Like the hard as nails ex prostitute with the heart of gold in those 70's movies. I also should mention that the leader of this pack of women was wearing some sort of..red flashing heart around her neck. I nearly fell into a seizure several times throughout the evening, but I survived. Like X-tina, I'm a fighter.
For the first half of game two, nothing really eventful happened. I'm quite thrilled that it's almost time to leave and that I am surrounded by two tables filled with attractive women. Even if one is going to enlist in the service,and the others are here on some official stripper business. It is important to note at this point that when I run trivia, people can't just be shouting out the answers. Because it's not cool when teams are trying to play and write their answers down. So the rest of the night goes allright untill this event happens.
9:29...
Me: Who had a hit with "Born To Be Wild."
Drunk guy on balcony: STEPPENWOLF! WOOOOOO!
So I have a dilemma. I either scold him for shouting out the answers, or ignore him. I try and ignore people when they do this because by telling them not to shout out the answers, it's basically me drawing more attention to it. But then I hear whistling and cat calls, and I look up. THis is a good three minutes later and they are still on the balcony.
Drunk guy on balcony: STEPPENWOLF! OWWWWW!
Me: Allright, we're going to have a new question number two. Please don't shout out the answers.
So I ask another question, and it's fine for a second. Then next round...
Me: What color are superman's boots?
GuyOnBalcony: RED! WOOHOO!
Me: SIR! Please stop shouting out the answers, thank you!
At this point I'm getting pissed off and contemplating taking part in the first trivia related beating on record. I'm literally balling and unballing my fists. I don't get mad easily, but someone screwing up trivia and thereby my job, ticks me off.
then from behind me I hear the lone Box girl left at the table saying how unfortunate this situation is, and that she hates idiots like that.
For some reason this calmed me down. Plus, talking to the hot box girl took my mind off drunk moron on the top floor. SO I asked what they were doing, and told them they looked official. Turns out they are representing a popular alcoholic beverage. She had been filling out paperwork all night at the table beside me, so I guess she was new, and not yet jaded by the seedy world of alcohol modeling. So I thanked her for letting me vent and promised to drink the brand she represented from now on.
9:35... I start contemplating the good that Alcohol models everywhere do for this country. They talk disgruntled trivia people down from kicking someone's ass, they look nice, and they have little blinky heart things that cause seizures. People that have seizures easily shouldn't be in bars anyway.
9:45... the long awaited Brianna shows up. She's the waitress at anotrher place I do trivia at. The shady one. Now, I have never personally had any problems with this woman. But then, I have never attempted to date her. She is the type of person that can be really sweet, but there is an underlying venom to her, and if you push her too far, you're gonna regret it. I realized this early on, and so I just make with the niceties,and try and keep everything on a superficial basis. She bounces over to me.
Her: Sorry I am late.
Me: Don't apologize to me, I wasn't expecting you. Your date has been though.
Her: He's NOT my date. I am really sorry I gave him my number.
Me: He's a good guy, just weird...wait..I am hurt that you gave HIM your number and not me!
Her: Yeah, well I am really sorry I gave him my number, this is a mistake. Omgomgomgomgomg. Oh well, I'm gonna go mingle.
To my knowledge, she barely even talked to her "Date." Trivia ended 15 mins later, and she was on the phone and nowhere near her "Date." I go outside because I need a cigarette like whoah. Her and her "Date." Which apparently she decided to actually speak to come out.
Before it seems like I am putting this girl on blast, I do like her as a person a lot,and for all I know, it wasn't a date and the guy was mis-informed. But I still felt bad for him.
Her: Sorry to be one of THOSE girls, but I have to go now. Someone has been talking shit about me and I am gonna kick his ass.
Him: Oh, okay.
Me: Is your hair real? IS that a lift? (I learned this term from my ex. Brianna's hair looked totally different than usual.)
Her: Yeah it's my real hair! Feel!
I felt and it was the crustiest, hardest substance I had ever put my hand on. Nasa should be building the casings for missles out of this girl's hair.
Me: Why kick his ass? Just beat him to death with your helmet.
Anyway, at that point there was a bit more small talk. Mostly her and I talking. The guy she met and her weren't really..exchanging words at this point and then I said something to effect of.
Me: Yeah, just leave the poor guy here all lone!
Her: At least he has my number!
She did have a point. As soon as Brianna left, he did as well without really another word. My heart kinda goes out to him, but I was just ready to leave and go home and sleep. I ended up hanging out with the girl from the previous night and "talking" some more untill about 5 AM. But I slept eventually, and without even taking a sleeping pill!
I wish I could say that this story has a moral to it, or some great message. Something to be learned here that will not make you feel like you wasted 30 minutes out of your life reading about this little exploit. I think if there is anything I'd like to leave you with, it's that alcohol models will save the world one day.