Monday, July 14, 2008

"When I get drunk I want to stick my hand up your dress." - A drinker's requiem.

Do you remember when I said I was not going to drink anymore? No, you probably don't . You hardly remember anything I have to say, because your life is so interesting with all the little debbie cakes and the showering you do everyday.

I wrote this even though I have to wake up in 5 hours to go to work. I will not sleep today. It won't matter because I am working customer service this week. For some reason customer service is slow. I was so bored today at work, and had so few customers, that I read 4 magazines. OK! Magazine, Scientific American, Scientific/America Mind, and a pro football preview magazine.

I am drinking again. Last night I went with out with x and his little brother which is a mistake. I must be a slow learner, because I made the same mistake twice last week.

I was driving to Whataburger for dinner when I got the call on my cell phone. I was startled by the ringing, because I don't get phone calls anymore. I get text messages. I set the text messaging alert to vibration on my phone. Now messaging me only sends me warm vibrations. But I got a call and my friend asked me if I wanted to go out drinking with him.
"I though you were going out of town." I managed to communicate into the speaker phone and drive at the same time.

Turns out he got shit faced last night and fell on his knee or something after trying to "grab tit" from one of his male friends so he decided to stay in town. X's little brother mentioned later why he likes to hang out with me, because his brother doesn't have gay tenancies around me. X indicated the reason why he never gets gay around me is that he thought I "might act on his overtures" which is really just his way of hoping I would, which will never happen, because if I were gay I would not be into chubby mexicans (ask my ex wife).

"Where do you want to go?" I ask him.

"Some place with a parking lot."

My friend really talks like that.

We decide to go "dive barring" because in his condition my friend can't walk around so we can't go to Mill Ave or Old Town Scottsdale.

Our first stop is the Palo Verde Lounge. Palo Verde is no longer just a dive bar, now it is a bar full of hipsters. A going away party for the only attractive bartender is in full swing. We get offered pizza but decline politely. I just had a whataburger and I was still full. It took a while to get a beer because the owner/barkeep was sloshed and chatting with his ex employee. He was sweaty drunk and wiped his brow a lot. The owner has a round belly and the medium long hair of a 16 year old dungeon master. Between every effort to pour a drink he paused to brush away at a few strands of hair, curling the stray unwashed hair behind his ear.

We ordered one small pitcher. I drank and the X-man drank, but our designated driver did not. DD did not like the bar and wanted to get out as soon as possible. He thought we might get shot, or attacked by someone. "Not at this bar full of posers." I said (perhaps too loudly) "but no one here will fuck us either." I said it loudly, purposefully. (You were eavesdropping, so you deserve it.)

The rest of our conversation consisted of various attempts to decide where to go next. We can't think of any place to go. All the cool places require X to walk, and he is still being a pussy -even though he has had half of a small pitcher so I believe he can walk.

"I just want to go somewhere I can stick my hand up a girl's dress." I say finally. That seems to bring about a resolution.

We end up deciding on Maloney's. Maloney's is a frat bar located next to ASU. I have not been to Maloney's in quite some time. Maloney's is full of sluts. Sure none of those sluts will fuck me, but at least I can stick my hand up a dress without having to explain anything.

Maloney's is dead because school is out. The bar is also undergoing a major remodel. The bathrooms are all outside in porta potties. But these are the nice porta potties that are like little trailers. They have 4 urinals and 4 stalls located under a roof. You have to climb stairs to go outside and climb another set of stairs to get inside. I laughed the whole time I was peeing because I knew X would just have to hold it while we we stayed here. When I suggested he buy "the big beer" he shot me back such a hurt look that you would have though I had just stuck my hand up his skirt.

The bouncers at Maloney's remain in cock blockery, snobby mode as they await the migration and seasonal return of their brethren. The check my i.d. I sigh deeply while all this goes on. "C'mon dude. I am like 40." I tell the guy who half heartily gives me the "just doing my job, man" routine.

A "big" girl sat next to X's little brother at the circular bar. Little brother promptly stood up and sat down at the booths behind us. I guess he did not want any one to know that he sometimes fat people get near him. He told me that you "can't trust fat chicks" that they are "always on the look out" and they will "take advantage of you any way they can," and that made my friend X think of the time I "made eye contact" with a fat girl, "remember how she took you home and raped you?"

"I told you not to make eye contact with her," explains X-man "but you did not believe me."

"I did believe you. People make mistakes. And sometimes those people pay for their mistakes by kissing a fat woman with a mustache."

We went looking for a bar called Hits. I am not sure such a bar exists. We ended up at the Red Owl instead, but that club has a five dollar cover charge for the white trash inside. As we exited the lobby refusing to pay we could overhear, "I've been thrown out of nicer clubs than this!" from the girls ahead of us in line.

"I am sure you have!" I shout back at four trash-sluts who can afford cover charges my friends and I can't.

Finally we end up at Groggies. I have a crush on the bartender there. She is not working tonight. Groggies is full of human waste. I am the second skinniest person in the bar (not including wait staff). All of the women are hard core beer drinkers who crush cans with an open fist after they finish drinking them. All of the women are over 200 lbs. Most over 3oo.

We order one giant pitcher of beer between us. It cost only 6 dollars. I tell little brother that I used to buy the same size beer for just $2.50 at Rowdy's. (Rowdy's is the best god damn bar ever. One day I will write about Rowdy's.)

The cute waitress stops by our table every three seconds. I think she is relieved to take our order. We look like the only "normal" people in the bar. I am sure we are the only men in this bar who have never been shot at. Never spent "hard time" time in prison. We look soft. But we don't buy beer from the pretty waitress. Little brother pours a glass from our pitcher. He decides he wants his first drink because, "he can't handle this atmosphere."

I go to the bathroom again. The best thing about Groggies is the saloon styled doors that lead to the stall of the men's room. I remember not making it to the stall after getting poisoned with tabasco in a "birthday drink surprise" from my favorite bartender.

I walk of out the men's room. There she is. I upset her the last time I saw her when I pretended not to know her by mouthing over and over to my friend that she didn't know me. This time I make eye contact with her and give her the Hey, I do know you, ..it's been a while how are you....?

She looks happy to see me. I ask her if she still works here and she says yeah. But then she adds that she is leaving in a month or so. She says she is about to finish her federal training. I ask her what she means by that and she answers that she is becoming a border agent for customs or the secret service or something like that. I am not exactly sure. I was a little drunk.

"So, are you doing this just so you can arrest mexicans? Because their are way too many mexicans." She laughs. "Yes, I guess that is why."

"I've got a few mexicans you can arrest right now." I point over at my two Mexican friends seated at our table. "You should check them out, I bet they are here... illegally." She laughs again. "That was funny." She said, like she was remembering why she liked talking to me. Because I am entertaining as hell is why, bitch.

I don't want to stay too long. She mentions her work schedule and I promise to come see her before she leaves. I tell her she should take me with her when the "feds" send to her to some god forsaken border town. She says she thinks that is a good idea. I wasn't so sure she meant it.

She introduces me to her "best friend." He is like 6 foot 5 and he grips my hand like a vice, like he actually needs to prove to me that he could kick my ass. I peer up at him by bending backwards as far as I can manage. "Nice to meet you!" I shout at him like some kind of bad "how is the air up there?" joke. I do that because I want him to understand that I know he is a freak. That normal people are not this tall.

He shakes my hand. His large hand engulfs mine and he smiles down at me, "nice to meet ya" he says like what he really means is "wow you have small hands dude." I pretend not to notice how hard he is squeezing. I turn around and notice she is gone. Oh, well. That chick is a fucking cock tease and we all know that. Even giraffe boy knows it. My look back at him conveys the message that when it comes to cock teases like her-he is no better off than me. He accepts my claim. My challenge.

I don't say good-bye to her. I just leave. We all head off to Mesa. RTO Sullivan's.

At Sullivan's the bouncer was black and I guess that is why he had such a good attitude when compared to the Maloney's guys. Maybe it has something to do with the fact that there is a fifty fifty chance we will have a black guy as president and when we do he will round up all the white guys and throw in concentration camps. Personally I applaud the move and it about time you white folk got what was coming to you. 200,ooo dead Filipinos mean nothing to you, so 180 million white folk shipped back to Ireland or where ever you are all from is good news to me. I could tell the bouncer got that about me as he casually undertook a glance at my i.d.

Sullivan's has hot waitstaff and even though the pretty blond with spiral hair was 30 she was a good thirty if you know what I mean. She had not let all the drinking she did leave her dehydrated and empty. She was flirty without coming on to us. Of course X- assumed she wanted him and maybe she did as little brother discovered she was totally pregnant once the lights came on and last call was announced. Our bartender told us all about the history of Mesa and RTo Sullivan and how it was named something else before it was named RTO which would have been interesting to me if she said it in the nude while lactating but barely kept my attention even when she was talking to me directly and staring into my eyes which is just a woman's way of making sure you are paying attention to what she is saying and I have always resented that kind of thing.

The rest of the night consisted of my friends drinking Jager shots and yelling at each other over who among them was the bigger fuck up. I just assumed it was me because I brought that shit on myself.

2 comments:

fro said...

you got what you deserved. i laugh at you.

Romius T. said...

indeed sir indeed i did. but you missed out by not answering his call. I mean lool at all the fun we had!