And this post is dedicated to Laurie, because it ties in so neatly with her last post:
I was bad last night.
I admit it.
I didn’t even have the intentions of being bad.
I didn’t even dress for being bad!!
Which made it worse, because now in all the pictures of me being bad . . . I look like I should be raking my yard.
Well, that’s not entirely true.
Southern Belles do not exit the house without proper attire and makeup.
But it was, like, standard grocery shopping clothes.
Not going out clothes.
Slinky black slit neck top.
Perfect fit, boot cut jeans.
Black leather, pointy heeled boots.
Silver dangling earrings.
No jacket or cute little accessories.
Just black top, jeans, boots.
Woo hoo, boys hang on to your hats.
I pick Matt and Crystal up and we head to the bar.
We’re supposed to meet Becca there with others before she leaves to go back home to North Carolina.
However, per usual, there’s a hiccup.
Becca’s “other” friends don’t want to go where we want to go.
They want to go (no offense, because I love these places, too, but NOT last night) to the cute little yuppie bars and have hotties in suits hit on them.
Normally, I’m down.
Last night, I was exhausted from a week with family, moving of furniture, drama from friends and in need of low keyedness.
Matt, Crystal and I decide we’re going where we want.
They show up - they show up.
They don’t - who cares.
The bar (how scary is this - but fun at the same time) is in a bowling alley.
This allows us to cover all our bases:
Bowling lanes - in case we feel athletic.
TV’s - so we can watch our college football games.
Great music - need I explain?
Pool tables - so I can humiliate myself.
Foosball (sp??) tables - so I can watch Matt humiliate himself.
Snack bar that serves ACTUALLY really damn good food - so we can get our eat on.
Karaoke - in case we get REALLY drunk and imagine ourselves to be William Hung.
And most importantly - THE BAR!!!
We are the ONLY people in the bar area.
Everyone else is bowling.
This only makes things better.
I make fast friends with the handsome, older man bartender.
A - because he hates OU as much as I do.
B - because he’s a cutie.
C - because making friends with the bartender is ALWAYS a good idea.
We are already having a hell of a good time when in walks another bar/bowling alley employee.
Handsome enough guy.
This bothers NONE of the other employees.
Apparently drinking on the job is encouraged.
Plus - he’s been off the clock for a while.
I should preface this.
Matt and Crystal introduced me to others in college with the following:
“This is our friend, Meghan. She will offend you.”
Uh huh. That’s me. It’s okay, I embrace it.
I got this tag line because I don’t back down.
I don’t filter my thoughts before they trickle out of my mouth.
No topics are off limits.
And that makes other people uncomfortable.
Victor announces after mere seconds that he’s a nymphomaniac.
But that it’s okay because his girlfriend is, too, and therefore MOST of the time, his problem is handled.
We don’t know why he announces this.
But this launches a pretty tipsy Matt into a conversation about “sex furniture” that he discovered on the internet while at work the other day.
And Victor, of course, suddenly becomes our long lost best friend who is completely in-the-know about sex furniture.
Victor says something about not wanting to offend the ladies, nor wishing to make them blush.
Crystal shoots a bit of her Sex-On-the-Beach through her nose and then states through laughter:
“Very doubtful that you can get me to blush and I assure you Meg will never blush. She’s immune to offense.”
Victor takes this as a challenge.
He then, in great detail, begins to tell us what a burden it is to be “blessed” in the genitalia region.
He describes his length.
I, God save me and teach me to back down and NOT feel challenged when someone is challenging me, inform him that all the length in the world won’t help a man who has no girth.
Victor slams a coke can down on the bar and looks at me meaningfully.
“Nu uh. It’s getting deep in here, someone fetch me some waders.”
Victor starts to undo his belt.
Danny - the older man bartender - grabs his hand, looks at me and says: “He will show you. Look over there, notice a bar table is missing? Ask Victor what happened.”
Victor apparently had another doubting Thomas.
The owner’s female friend.
So he picked her up, plunked her on a bar table, and began to . . . mimic the act of sex.
I’m not believing it - but Danny and two of the kitchen girls assure me it’s true.
Matt is impressed.
Crystal is wondering.
I am a-feared.
Because Victor is showing a bit too much interest in me.
Brad and Scott show up.
Brad is gay - but for some reason is so touchy, feely on me that most people think we’re a couple.
But Victor is sharp.
“Meg, come back here behind the bar with me for a minute.”
I don’t know why I do it, but I do.
Yes, I know why.
Make friends with the employees.
Go behind the bar.
You’re practically GAU-REN-TEED free drinks.
Turns out the owner of the bar/bowling alley is gay.
And Brad’s just his type.
We dial up the owner.
Oh yes, folks, we did.
He shows up minutes later.
However, before he arrives. . . .
I inadvertently challenge Victor’s manhood again.
I still don’t know what I said.
But I was assured by both Brad and Matt that I did challenge him.
The next thing I know, I have been lifted off the barstool and am being bounced like a baby on Victor’s waist!
I’m screaming at him to put me down.
Matt and Scott are taking pictures.
Bar patrons (yes, the bar started to fill up - hilarity brings people in) are encouraging him.
I’m still screaming.
He finally sits me down ON TOP of the bar.
Then takes my hand and runs it . . . holy buddha. God save me, I blushed eight shades of red, snatched my hand back as quickly as possible and then very quietly exclaimed in a high voice to those around me that Victor is not a liar.
Danny - the bartender and Sean - the owner, pull me over to the other side of the bar and give me free drinks to calm my frayed nerves.
Remind me to be molested, shocked and appalled more often.
I like free drinks.
Before we even know what has happened . . . it’s well past closing time.
Everyone, save our group - which has rapidly expanded to 5 ladies, 12 men and then tack on the bar staff and the owner - has left.
Sean is serenading us on the karaoke machine.
I’m still drinking free drinks.
I’m dancing with the other bartender - Andy.
Victor has gone home to his girlfriend - who text mails me later to THANK ME for arousing him so much that she had the best sex of her life . . .. . . ummm . . . several questions:
How the bejeezus did he get my cell number? - answer: I left it at the bar on one of my trips to the bathroom, he called his phone and stored my number (all relayed to me by Sean - the owner)
What kind of relationship do they have that his live-in girlfriend of 5 years text mails me to THANK ME for arousing him? - answer: I thought it was a hoax, I thought it was him text mailing, so I called the number. She answered and thanked me in person. Umm, a very freaky relationship.
What did I do to arouse this man? - answer: Be me, of course. But on a serious note, I have NO idea what the hell that boy was jonesing over.
Anyway, the moral of this whole convoluted, makes no sense, whatthehellwasthispost post is:
Let boys touch you SEMI-inappropriately. But NOTHING that you wouldn’t tell your mother about. That is not allowed. Back rubs and shoulder rubs and the occasional ass slap are okay - and that is all I allowed. I assure you.
Make friends with the staff.
Especially the owner.
And before you know it - you have the run of the joint.
And free drinks.
And free passes to bowl whenever.
And a bevy of new friends.
Even if they are a bit . . . umm . . . yeah.