Girls Just Wanna Have Fun (or, Musings on a Bar Crawl)

I spent Friday night on a bar crawl with Erika. Erika is a woman who could have fun in a ditch, and despite her being from rural Virginia, it’s not the type of fun you skeezers are thinking it is. Erika is always up for almost anything, which makes her my polar opposite, as if it isn’t in my Franklin Covey I probably won’t show up for it. She knows this and loves me anyway. She also tries to overlook the fact that I’m clearly out of her twenty something demographic, would voluntarily sing along to a Dick Marx song on 107.3, and that I give her my “when I was your age,” speech at least twice every time I see her before taking my teeth out for the night.

Deflowered, Metro style

I asked Erika to call a cab ten minutes prior to me leaving the house. A perfectly scheduled Yellow Cab would enable us to be on time for the FREE WINE tasting. (See, my neuroses are not all for naught.)

The cab never came. If we can just get to a major street, there will be tons of cabs. We convinced ourselves it was a truth just as Nick told himself Jess couldn’t be that stupid.

We made it to the main road. And behold. There were strollers. There were cars. There were minivans! There were no cabs, yellow or otherwise. Since getting into the back of unmarked townie vans wasn’t cool now that we were out of college, that clearly left us with only one choice: Please sweet Lord. Not the Metrobus.

I have mentioned my fear of the Metrobus before, a dread so debilitating that I have been prevented from stepping foot on one for the entire six+ years I have lived in the DC area. I fear not their maniacal drivers or their Mach 3 speeds. I sweat and stutter, however, when I think of boarding the bus without the correct change and then not knowing what to do with the five I do have and then me holding up the party when I ask if this one really does go to Upper Georgetown? and then the regulars coming home from a double shift starting to huff and I’M TRYING PEOPLE, JUST LIKE I DID LAST WEEK ON MY FIRST TRIP TO THE NEW LAUNDROMAT WHEN THE FRONT LOAD WASHER OPENED MID CYCLE, and then SOME ONE-EYED MAN WITH NO TONGUE THROWS AN OPEN BOTTLE OF MADDOG AT ME . . .

Nothing so dramatic happened and I hardly slipped on my sweat rings as I stepped off the bus. I then proceeded to approach the free wine tasting as only Kris would: by pouring taster glasses into one, fat real glass and hoarding other tasters in the corner. I’m nothing if not classy.

No one said E was for Desperate

Erika is effervescently single right now and is loving every minute of it. But up for most new things, she likes to date even if it only adds a new friend to her already overflowing collection. One of said friends heard from her mom of an eligible bachelor without children or bad music tastes. Score.

Did they mention that he was young? Successful? Without offensive piercings or Mad Cow?

They put the pressure on. What did she think? Maybe give him a shot?

Sounds like a winner. Until someone finally disclosed that this great guy only had a few years to live, which is not reason to disqualify, but then they confessed that they really just wanted to get him married off before he died.

Erika and I will be going out solo for a little while longer.

Narcissus

I started talking to a guy on the bar crawl who was wearing a woman’s nametag:

Yes, he’s that guy: I’m totally celebrating. I just signed a book deal for 100 grand! I’m the only one who knows anything about this topic in like the freakin’ universe. So I go in, and like totally dictate the terms to these guys, and basically blow them away.

Which is what I am wishing I could do to myself at this very moment. He keeps talking while I wonder if the cats are having more fun licking themselves or possibly choking on clumps of their own hair.

Yes, this guy gets even better: DC’s ok. I live in Memphis. But I pretty much have traveled to every major American city.

(Watch the male Chia head! Give it beer and it grows!)

I’m pretty sure at this point Erika slinked off with a tall tale about needing to volunteer for Unicef or reapply her leprosy cream or some other awesome excuse.

Kris, in blatant attempt to top his ridiculousness: I haven’t traveled much in the Americas. Most of my time has been spent touring the cities of Europe. On my bedazzled llama.

Robotic, socially-neutered male continues without a beat: Well, I actually own property in most American cities . . .

Insert Kris attempting to lick self or fake a hairball. Ugh. Almost makes you want to get engaged to Michael Bolton.