I think I met Jesus last night. He was a beautiful (and clean) homeless wanderer, and though his name wasn't actually Jesus, it was a biblical name that started with "J", and I accept him as my personal savior. This does NOT mean that I'm redeeming my Agnostic views for Christian ones, so don't start worrying that I'll be preaching religious crap on y'all.
I may have enough sordid material from last night's bar scene to be a whole chapter in the book of my crazy life, so I'll try to keep this as brief as possible. First off, I'll tell you what I learned today. Then I'll tell you how and why.
NEVER EVER go back to -x- Tavern (name held to protect the innocent, which is in this case surprisingly enough, me) ever, ever again!
So, where do I begin? It was (another) one of those nights when after arriving safely back home, I wanted to get on the floor and thank anyone and everyone that I survived and would be living to see another day.
The tavern seemed normal enough. It could have been any bar in any town on a Friday night. Dimmed lights, pool table in the back, small stage in the corner with a live band playing, and a long bar down one wall, behind which a tough-chick, tattood, cleavage bearing, loud mouth and short tempered bartender ignored me for as long as was unpolitely possible. When she finally did get my drinks, they were wrong and I had to just ball up and say, "Listen bitch, I fucking said Bushmills with Coke. With Coke damn it! Not Bushmills on ice. Now get yer perty little ass busy making what I asked for. And don't expect a tip."
Ok, you know all I really said was, "I don't think you heard me, but I said Bushmills with Coke. If you just give me a glass of Coke, I'll mix them myself." But I was thinking the fucking bitch part. Especially when she rolled her eyes and said, "I'll just make you a new one with Coke," like I was some whiney little child needing candy. Fucking bitch. Did I say that outloud?
The main reason I decided to go back to this Hell Hole (yes, I had been there once or twice before) was to check out a band I'd been wanting to see. So I'm standing there, totally enjoying myself, when Bozo the Hippy Clown wants me to dance with him. I told him I just wanted to watch the band, and then he grabs me. He grabbed my arms and starts pulling me! I was pissed and I pushed him off and gave him a "Listen mother fucker, I don't want to fucking dance with you," look but I'm sure it really looked more like, "No thanks, I'm busy right now." Then I ran like a little girl to the safety of my Colonel, who thankfully wasn't on stage yet. It was then that I realized I had abandoned my best friend's (who wasn't there yet) husband in the back over near where the killer clown was dancing maniacally with himself. I had to rescue him.
I found him trapped in retarded conversation with an strange couple, whom I was surprised to find out later had twin 2 year olds. They looked so much older than me that I instantly assumed they were one of those couples who's careers were really important and they waited too long to have kids so they adopted 2 at a time to catch up. That or fertility drugs. Wait, this story is about me. Anyway, while I'm talking to this woman about mothering stuff, Bozo pulls her out to dance. She is totally loving it, but not as much as her freaky ass, professional looking but definitely on some kind of drug husband who's about to ejaculate watching his wife dirty dancing with some dude. I mention this not because I find this unusual for this kind of scene, but because later that night, I found myself watching the same scene over and over and over again, but each time Bozo has another victim and he's right in front of me no matter where I try to hide.
Wow, this is getting long. I'll try to cut this short.
At some point in the evening I met the beautiful homeless stranger outside in front of the bar. We had some good conversation, but I left him to go inside and hear my favorite song. Later on I went outside for some fresh air, and here comes the hippy clown. Seriously, he paced around in front of me about 10 times before he started coming over to me, and I know he's going to ask me for a light. It's the usual pickup line in places like that. In 2 seconds I decide that I'm going to say no even though it was totally obvious that I did. Before he could even finish the word "do," my savior appears from nowhere with his lighter already lit, and cuts right between the clown and me. And then he walked away.
I was so relieved. This creep had been following me around all night. When he left the bar earlier, I laughed at myself for thinking he was probably a serial killer and I was his next victim. But when he returned, I was sure he'd just gone home to sharpen his knives for his next kill. A little while after that, I thought I was off the hook when some completely scary psycho chick came in that he took a liking to. Better that he cut up and eat this freak that, I'm serious, was talking complete and utter nonsense gibberish. I couldn't understand a word she said, and she said a lot. She wouldn't stop talking to me. She'd give me this serious look, blather some gibberish verbage, and 3 seconds later, give a head thrown back, toothy laugh. Over and over. Wait, I did understand something she said. She offered me 50 bucks if I'd do something, but I just couldn't understand what the something was. When I asked her to say it again, the offer had dropped to 40 bucks. When I still didn't understand what she wanted to pay me to do for her, the offer again dropped, this time to 20 bucks. I don't know which was worse, her talking to me, or the smelly clown who was dry humping her right in front of me while stepping on my feet.
Somewhere in the mess of all this, my fabulous amazing Lala arrives to claim Her husband that I've kidnapped. I decided soon after she got there, that I'm going to write a book about Her called, "My Keys Were in the Sugar." More on that later. So eventually She must brave the bartender, and even though all She wants is water, She politely stands there with cash in Her hand like a meaty bone, trying to get the bulldogs attention. It must have been 30 minutes later that I see Her (I've also decided after this next incident that when referring to Lala, a capital H is required) walk out the front door and disappear. Since freak clown is on the loose, I went looking for Her, but she was gone. Completely gone. A few minutes later, I see this Glorious Bitch best friend of mine trying to get in the front door with a giant cup of water from the restaurant next door. I can NOT contain my love, adoration and total respect for this Woman. I was super pissed when the bouncer wouldn't let Her in with it because I would have loved to see the bartenders face when She sat down at the bar with it. But I was impressed again when She told him why She did it and he took Her with him to the bar and got Her a bottle of water himself.
So there's a lot more, but my ass hurts from sitting here so long and I must go. I hope I gave a pretty good explanation as to why I won't be going back there. And I hope you can see how after a night like that, a near stranger lighting a cigarette for my stalker could seem like an angel from Heaven.
And I'd like to give Steph Lehman the credit for this image that shows exactly how I felt last night.
I heard today that the original title of Hitler's Mein Kampf was, "4 & 1/2 Year Struggle Against Lies, Stupidity and Cowardice." I still don't know for sure if this is true, but I wouldn't doubt it. I'm not a Hitler fan or foe to be quite honest, and I'm curious to read the book. I mean, the guy was fucked up but it is interesting and somewhat admirable how much influence he had.
