Writer's Block: The Last Time I Surprised Myself
Last night I happened to surprise myself by some how managing to get two numbers in one night. Twas interesting I suppose since I go to the bar I go to not for the meeting of the ladies, but rather it is close to home, the beer is cheap, it is fun most nights, and the vast majority of people who are there are nice and wonderfully hard working people. It is wonderfully small and I do not get weird stares when I show up with a book on the history of rave and dance culture, or James Joyce, or with my PSP and sit and read The Importance of Being Ernest or whatever. I show up in my black and white cow-punk shirt, jeans, 'hawk up, and just sit at the bar with my buddy Tony and Bar Buddy Bryan. Tonz got trashed and Bryan took him home, came back and we shot some pool. After that most of the people had left and it was just down to us, the jukebox and Holly. People, the usual super late night people who closed up the restuarants around the area. Some of the weirder usuals were in, weird because I have not met them before I slowed the amount I went into the bar from every fucking night to just a few days every two weeks. Anyway, like I said, I don't go here for the amount of babes here; there are really only the bartenders, who are nice to talk to on the rougher days, the friends, the quiet-most-people-leave-me-to-my-own-shit atmosphere, and on Friday and Saturday nights there is the music. Last night, however, was weird in that there were a couple of girls that came in, not too bad looking, but not super models. Better than the average that comes in there... *shudder* but I am losing track. So I go to piss and as I walk by one of the two asks to rub my freshly shaved side of my head and commented that it was, "A massage therapist's dream." So I went to piss and came back and talked to them for a while, saw the younger one up at the jukebox asking for music help. I, being the semi-drunken jackass at this point in the night (and knowing the jukebox fairly well), go to help her fill up the song set. I keep talking to them and asking about them and trading stories and such, the massage therapist says that she is turning 30 (I still don't believe it but whatever) and gives me her number and asks for mine as well. The other one, not to be outdone apparently, also gives me her number. So now I sit here and wonder where the fuck did that guy come from that did that shit. I am not suave, nor am I smooth as glass. I'm a retard when it comes to picking up women at all, it isn't my thing. I'd rather shoot billiards with a few friends than try to pick up women in a bar, it is just a sleazy thing to do. But somehow, by just being me, I walked out with two new phone numbers I cannot decide if I should call or not.