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Showing posts with label Dancing on Bars. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Dancing on Bars. Show all posts

Thursday, July 24, 2008

Drunk Girl



My first year out of college, I had the pleasure of taking up a guest bartending job at a popular midtown bar. Not only did the bartending experience give me great insight into the world of making Malibu Baybreezes …but it also taught me very invaluable lessons about the natural habits of drunk women.

It was like watching gorillas in their natural habitat, untouched by mankind and running wild. It wasn’t the men per say that were running around like frat boys, but more so the women, dressed in a 3 dollar tops, carrying 300 dollar handbags.

And who can blame them?

Women have to have JOBS now AND be EDUCATED. I don’t know who made these rules, but clearly having to be educated and employed are causing huge problems in the female society, mainly involving sobriety.What happened to the good old days when women couldn’t vote? I bet those women were sober.

Around 3:45am every weekend at the end of my shift, it became inevitable that some chic was going to be the last one left in the bar , still trying to pick the bartender. Normally she would be eyeing me as though I was the only thing standing between her and the scruffy faced McGee to my right.

He’s all yours.” I used to whisper into their diamond clad ears and walk away.

She would sit, legs sprawled across her bar stool. Trying to remember her Ex’s cell number. You could hear her mumbling something along the lines of, “978-6..978-5….no, fuck, mother fucker…

And do you know who that girl is?

Yes you do.

She is ‘Drunk Girl’.

All of you know Drunk Girl. In fact, most of you have been Drunk Girl at one point or another.
Drunk Girl is the girl sitting in the corner of the bar waving her arms around, telling a story to…well… to no one.

She is wearing a tank top that is always about to reveal her left boob and some sort of Mardi Gras beads around her neck. Where did she get the Mardi Gras beads? Who knows! Why is she wearing them? Who cares! She has squinty eyes and believes the mascara running down her face is giving her a smoldering, sexy look. She thinks she is sexy. Actually, she thinks she is dead sexy. You always catch her trying to balance her head on her hand in a playful come-hither way and in reality she looks more like a toddler who fell asleep taking a shit.

Drunk Girl always has a million of glasses around her, yet has no fucking idea which cup she has been drinking out of. Her shit is everywhere…keys, cell phone, money, wallet, it’s all scattered either beneath her stool, in her lap, or on the bar. She can’t keep track of anything, but she will become violent if you try and touch any of it.

Drunk Girl has an obsession with her cell phone and is always shouting something like, “BUT I JUSH WANTS TO MAKE A PONE CHALL!”

Drunk Girl normally has a posse of friends surrounding her with some sorority chic explaining, “Kelly Cat! Totally listen to me for one sec…He totally wants to talk to you, but he is like going to go home with Jenny cause like you’re like a mess, but like don’t think he doesn’t like LIKE you like that because maybe he does like you LIKE THAT but just not right now…” Which as we know, makes PERFECT sense to Drunk Girl. Who is still trying to figure out what the hell the 978 number is.

Drunk Girl will sit there, clutching her cell phone, staring at everyone as though they all just spoke to her in Swahili yelling, “BUT I JUSH WANTS TO MAKE A PONE CHALL!”

Drunk Girl will then try and leave the bar and will wave cabs down the in the middle of the street like she is Matador in front of some Goddamn bulls. She always has on one shoe, the other shoe is always either broken or off in the street, about two inches away from being hit by a few yellow cabs.

When Drunk Girl comes to the bar, the shit show officially begins. And no matter how drunk YOU are, you always look at Drunk Girl and go, “Wow, I will never look as drunk as her,” as you hop off the bar in your mini skirt and go outside to catch a cab.

Wednesday, February 27, 2008

College Drinking And Express Pants

I know this bitch...she slept with myboyfriend in 2001...so smashed her fucking grapes


A friend of mine was recently reminiscing over how in college we used to live right across the street from a bar....as opposed to now how we….well, live across the street from four bars. But it is not the same I tell ya! Not the same at all!

For starters, the first college bar I ever went to, I almost got arrested at. (Hi Mom and Dad!)
And that is why it is so precious and special in my memories. It was a Mexican place that served 19 dollar burritos and 2 dollar drafts….I don’t know why or how things like that work, I just know it makes them even more magical, because you can only afford the side-plate of refried beans, so no one ever has enough money to both eat AND drink….so we just drank and would have seven of us share the garden salad appetizer.
Brilliant.

Made with pride and love...and a whole lotta dog meat


The night of the almost-arrest occurred like most others…it was 2001 and I had just walked out of my dorm room in boot cut black pants and a fluorescent Express tank top. It was all the rage. I was fairly obsessed with 112's Peaches & Cream and was banking on hearing that and Train’s Drops of Jupiter (the remix) that night. When I smiled at the ID Checker that night I handed over my fake Maryland ID with a 555 Street Lane address and about 5000 fucking emblems on it that stated, ‘This Is Not A Real ID’.

Good thing the 70-something lady in the smock dress who just moved to America last week was the one checking my ID.

About an hour or so into the evening I was on my fourth, Malibu-Baybreeze-Candy-Cotton-Blue-Serpent drink when out of nowhere about seven cops bum rushed the front door. Well like most normal, underage, college students we stopped mid-grind on the dance floor to start screaming. Yes. Screaming. You would have thought the building was being attacked by a sea monster the way the shrieks were coming out…and that was just from the guys. In a mad panic we all started trying to make our way out of every exit that we possibly could. I remember vividly throwing my fake ID to the ground, which was now literally covered in fake ID’s. About a hundred Joses Moses from California titled the ground.
Amongst all the commotion I remember my friend Molly grabbing me by the hand and pushing me out through one of the exits. Being that I am little I rely on tall people to save me in situations, as normally I just sit there helpless and cry calling out for my Papi.
Just then two cops spotted us and started shouting, ‘YOU COME BACK HERE RIGHT NOW, HEY, SOMEONE GRAB THOSE LADIES RUNNING DOWN THE STREET…IN…WHAT ARE THOSE…BOOT CUT BLACK PANTS?...AND A NEON TOP?..."

Molly and I and about four other girls just keep booking it back to our dormitory, along with hundreds of other kids all trying to squeeze out every exit possible. The best part though was that Blu Cantrell was still blasting outside the Mexican doors, and the old lady who checked my ID just kept saying to the officers , “BUT WE SERVE BURRITOS!”

Now I still to this do not understand her explanation to the cops, but I do know whenever I get in trouble now, or have to explain my drinking to anyone over the age of 20, I just like to turn to them and say, “But we serve burritos!”

Tuesday, October 9, 2007

I am Getting Old, I Might Die Soon

The last time I visited a well known WJ, or whore-joint as it is known to the Bible followers, I was halfway through my Corona when I looked around and thought, “Wow, I look pretty…mature…for this crowd.” Every girl in there was wearing her sorority t-shirt and daring her Delta-Gamma-UV-Ray sisters to hop on the bar with her to perform that dance routine they learned to Christina Agulera’s Diiirty. All I could think was, “You will never be able to dance in those shoes! You need good comfort shoes… with insoles like mine! And why are your jeans so tight! Those are some damn tight jeans ladies!”

When did I get old? When did this happen? It was like one day I was dancing on the bar drinking Malibu Baybreezes and the next minute I am in Aerosols shoe store going, “Do these brown sneakers come with support insoles?”
In Case you were wondering how I pick up all the men...
I turn 26 in two weeks and I have to say I have taken stock in my life, separated things that matter and don’t matter…for instance:

Things that Matter- Men that know what a UTI is and how to proceed with caution.
Things that Don’t Matter- Body Glitter.

See how I carefully sorted out the meaning in life right there? I realize in my 26 years on this planet I have learned a few things I would like to pass on to my children, or to someone else’s children like maybe some random grocery store children. Things like, how to use a counter top overhang to open a beer bottle or how to take a really good MySpace picture of yourself. And one day, one of those grocery store kids will look back and think … “Damn…that lady was hot.” And then I will know I have done my job.