The downward spiral continues...
I had one discreet thought as I left that excuse for a fashion show…I need a pint. Now for those of you that don’t know me, I’m a Guinness drinker. I don’t fuck around with domestic beers, or pilsners or ales or redheads…just the dark stuff. That tends to present a problem because if you aren’t in a British or Irish bar your chances of getting a decent pint are pretty slim.
This was the backdrop of my quest to find a pint. I traveled about 5 blocks before I saw people collecting around what appeared to be a local waterhole. I decided to make a stand. As I entered I noticed a foosball table and a deer hunting video game and in the corner was the ubiquitous jukebox. Behind the bar is a really sexy Asian woman…with green eyes (this is going to take cracker jack timing Wang!). There are maybe 4 other patrons in this establishment and let me tell you the phrase “tub of pain” was coined in this place. I was the only person not drinking hard alcohol straight up. These guys were a little loud and were missing teeth and make political statements…and by that I don’t mean statements about the president or our government…but rather the state of drinking and intoxication here in the
I sauntered up to the bar and ordered my first pint of Guinness. I always order my pint like I’m James Bond or some shit. Like there is a roomful of Russian Spies that has bugged the entire bar just to learn my predilections (look it up). She’s friendly, she makes eye contact… when I mention that I am a filmmaker and hand her a postcard about tomorrow’s screening, she reads it intently as if she was trying to memorize the information on the back. The drunk guys were getting a little more rowdy as someone opined “I need to get home to my wife”… wife? These guys have wives? How is this possible? How is it that fat, old white men who don’t understand the salient aspects of dental hygiene let along verb conjugation…are finding some variation of true love…baffling I tell you….baffling.
I decided that the jukebox was the place to make the real stand so I popped up off my stool and walked towards it. I watched the bartender eye me in the reflection of the jukebox (that’s cool motherfucker move #6 BTW). I insert $5 and get to selecting songs. I get like a billion songs. I’m not kidding.. the screen said 36 selections… so I began to load them up.
And then things started to get weird…
Hey… I had money in that jukebox
Well I just put $5 in the thing… I thought all these songs were mine.
Now this is an amusing conversation because he’s drunk. I could tell him that the Geico Cavemen came in here and played a bunch of shit when he was in the shit-er and he wouldn’t be able to argue differently. But I decide to be nice…
I’ll tell you what…I’ve got another 28 songs left to choose. Why don’t you pick four or five to make it even.
That only seemed to partially satisfy him. He seems like he wants to protest more, but he doesn’t. I was on my way back to my stool that one of my songs began to play. The song was “Over the Hills…” by Zeppelin. Yet another drunk white guy (funny how there are always a lot of them) says to me, and I quote “what does a big dreaded black dude know about Led Zeppelin?
What? Jimmy Paige’s riffs are less tasty to me because I’m a black guy? What are you talking about?
DRUNK MAN #2
I’m just saying I’ve never seen a black guy play Led Zeppelin on a jukebox. Are you from
..no, I’m not making that shit up. This is a real conversation you are reading. This is yet another example of how the media fucks shit up. Now I probably don’t need to ask Grizzly Adams over here how many black guys he has spent a wide variety of time with; I don’t need to find out if he has some close friends that are black…because I am reasonably sure that this guy has a huge Lynyrd Skynyrd collection and voted for Bush in the last two elections…(ha, ha…like he votes….he votes for Johnny Walker).
No, I’m from Philly. And classic rock is tasty even if you are from Mars…
My answer seem to perplex him because he just shakes his head and continues drinking. It is at this point that I realize that I need to get the fuck out of Dodge. These guys are like anti-pussy and that’s not going to work for me. So what are my choices? Or I should say, what are my chances…with the bartender.
Now for you men out there that aren’t in the game (and for all you women you just proclaimed “..he said game, he’s a player” you need to do some deep introspection – if you don’t call men and you expect to go on successive dates before you are able to decide that he’s not the guy for you….then you are playing games also…you just think it’s traditional dating…which is also a game…but whatever) roping a bartender is about as doable as bullshitting the entire assembly of The United Nations when you’ve been out all night drinking. Sure, you can speak and crack a few jokes… but these people see a lot of material. You’ll definitely say something stupid if you continue to speak.
And then the amazing happened… she tugged on my dreads as she walked past me to clear some empty glasses off of a table. Now, that might not mean much to you as a non-dread…but it speaks volumes. I’ve been a dread for more than 12 years (that means I have dreadlocks white people) and it’s pretty rare for someone who doesn’t know you to touch them in an affectionate manner…it’s also a very dangerous move. I, particularly, have been known to react badly when someone treats my dreads like it’s the “please touch museum”. But now she has moved away… doing something else. I tried to memorize her dexterity and floor walking patters as she moved behind the bar. I had fantasizes of her and I together forever… me coming home before her and making her dinner and then rubbing her feet as she told me about her day….but I’m a bit of a romantic
Next thing I know we are playing foosball. Now I don’t know what you know about foosball but it’s serious business. I’ve seen all out brawls commence due to the outcome of a foosball game and it really isn’t something to be taken lightly. That being stated I proceeded to whip her ass in foosball. Now I know there are men out there that feel that that is not the correct approach when playing with a woman that you plan to climb on top of at some point (what, you want something more “romantic”…something with more love and care and affection utilized in it?....it’s a fuckin’ blog…c’mon now!) but let’s be honest shall we. If you are letting her win just to get her in bed…she’s going to see through your game and call you on that kind of shit if a real relationship should manifest (a real relationship…what’s that??) I prefer to beat the pants off of her and get her used to the idea that the winner gets what ever the winner wants. I’ll spur her to be more competitive and to talk shit when she beats you. Anyway.. I wound up letting her win because she has no defense and her goalie has a hamstring injury, or is blind or has no fingers… either way I had to give up a few wins.
So now she likes me…at least that’s what I think. So I am, you know…flirting.. making subtle references to her and I and places to go afterwards. And then more customers (read alcoholics) enter the bar. She runs away to serve them…and I hate all of them. I hope they choke and die so I can get back to my kind of sorta date.
And then John Lee Hooker came on the jukebox. She stopped pouring a drink and looked right at me… “did you play this?”
Of course I said… how can you go wrong with a good boogie from John Lee Hooker. She smiled in a sexy manner and finished serving the drinks….oh, I think it’s on.
Then these two dude come in, they’re loud and looking to drink. One is a fine artist and then I found out that little miss bartender is into glass blowing (so what you are saying is that you have really strong lips?).. but he appears to be moving in for the kill. Tipping a lot, making cursory references to how cute she is. But whatever, this is amateur shit.. he’s going to try to have a real conversation at some point if he plans to leave with her.. and I’m already there (punk motherfuckers are ruining the game).
This dude and his friend hop on the video game with the plastic shotguns and I opt to take a piss. When I return I see that they are on a turkey hunt.. with shotties…
“I’m sorry… are you shooting
“It’s not my game” ( pointing to his friend).. “it’s his game.. he just can’t get past this level”
BAR DUDE #2
“Whatever, fuck you!”
“But c’mon…shooting turkeys with a shotgun.. where’s the sport in it?.
“It’s hard to shoot them”
“Yeah it’s about as hard as Cumming on the center of a fat girl’s back”
Both of the dudes erupt in laughter and the bartender is not amused at my comment (hey, I’ll take good comedy over sex any day of the week… I never moved in with a bad comedian…just cause he was willing to tell me a joke…..) (yes, you are supposed to finish that analogy)
“You’re fucking me up!”
“I’ll tell you what’s fucking you up…that sorry excuse for a shooting stance. Are you killing fowl or writing your name in the snow?”
“Fowl…what are you an English major”
“Don’t get mad because you went to public school and had to eat shitty lunches everyday”
BAR DUDE #2
“Ok, let me try…you suck”
“Maybe you should just get the
BAR DUDE #1
"Dude what is your problem?”
“My problem is that the spray vicinity of the kill zone on a shottie is like 8 feet. I don’t know what’s worse…that the A.I. of the Turkeys that allows them to still play peek-a-boo with a dude who has reduced most of his friends to feathers and blood in a mere fraction of a second…or that fact that it, on average, takes you three shots to kill a turkey that runs in a circle”
BAR DUDE #2
“You are pretty bad dude”
BAR DUDE #1
“ok… I think it’s time to put up or shut up…because there is a lot of shit talking in here from person’s reluctant to play the game”
What I look like, Michael Vick?
The whole bar laughed at that one.
BAR DUDE #1
“then how about some foosball…and you can play with your friend behind the bar.
It was at that moment that I looked over at her. She had disliked this dude and the entire conversation from jump. She wanted to beat his ass…and wanted me to initiate it.
“You are on cowboy”
Let me tell you something….this guy was fucking unconscious with his foosball play. I had decided to play defense and goalie because green-eyes appeared to have some hand-eye coordination problems (and I really hope that gets corrected by the time she’s got my dick in her hand). The problem was we couldn’t get any offensive going. This guy was taking 4-6 shots at the goal every time he got on our side of the field.
I gave up two quick goals
“What the fuck dude?”
“Hey, why don’t you try clearing the ball instead of letting him practice his shooting technique on my defenders”
At just that moment there was a turnover. She blocked his soft pass and was setting up a dish of her own.. and then she missed the handle for her next row of players… so not only was she out of position, but she had all her front line with their feet in the air. He unloaded this back shot from deep in his secondary…and he scored.. Fuck!
This motherfucker is like Pele…only he’s white and has a drinking problem (well for all I know Pele was a fuckin’ alkie).
It 3-0 and it’s not looking good. I feel the pressure of coaching now. The only way to get back in this is for me to go on offense. But green-eyes can’t even point out defense in a line-up let alone spell it….so there can be no changes.
We lose 5-0 and man does he rub my face in it.
BAR DUDE #1
“How’s that humble pie?”
“Whatever motherfucker. The sun shines on a dog’s ass every now and again so …”
BAR DUDE #2
“Sound like somebody’s needs another ass kicking?”
“From what you and Mr. Goodwrench over there?” (That’s a “The Limey” reference”)
We run it back and it’s even worse. Dude’s got hella back spin, the fucking foosball is changing direction.. I think I even saw one of the little guys on the field start to break-dance when he scored.
We lost 5-1…and she was not amused. Although losing made her and I comrades. I joked that we need to get some practices in , because these guys are beat-able. It was all going really well… till the bar closed.
I played it by the book. I waited till they were settling up and then went to the pisser. Now I know most of you men wouldn’t let her out of your site…if you knew another man was angling to sleep with her… but these guys are drunk and have no game. If I give him an opportunity to hit on her with me not around… she’ll won’t worry about showing me her “true color” or the “darker side of her personality”.. so it will be a quick conversation because they both will want to end it before I leave the bathroom.
When I exit the pisser…they are no where to be seen. It’s just her and me.. and she’s dimming the lights….I should write a fucking book!
We exit the bar and I’m about to make my move…and then this crazy white guy shows up.
CRAZY WHITE MAN
“hey dawg…how you livin’?”
CRAZY WHITE MAN
“Look, I’m not even gonna bullshit you… I need some money to get high. Can you help a brother out.”
Now, normally…when a white guys call himself a brother.. I gotta set him straight. But this is
CRAZY WHITE MAN
“C’mon fam’….I tryin’ to be on the level with my shit.
“What’s your poison?
CRAZY WHITE MAN
"Man.. I need to get some buds.. I can’t fuckin’ take it”
“Oh, well you need to holler at ya boy”
CRAZY WHITE MAN
“well damn…dog. Why don’t you just go with me and we can really get this party started”
“C’mon Homie.. I’m not tryin’ to meet Sookie or his people.. but you can go get some shit and come back.
I gave him a dub and he ran off.
And then she was standing there.. staring at me. Unamused (damn this weed habit!).
She said we’d talk later and hopped in a taxi and jetted. Yeah.. it fucked me up too.