I go out all the time. I'm the drunken king. I'm super cool. I am in a perpetual state of bar-hopping coolness. I cannot be contained. I am a boozing, dancing, juggernaught of raw awesomeness.
I cannot be stopped and if you attempt it, I will eat your entire head.
This is what I thought to myself on Friday night sitting amongst strangers in a booth located in what had to have been the darkest pub in the state of Massachusetts. Three sheets to the wind, the only thought I could muster - aside from the logistics of eating an entire head - was that I would give my entire kingdom for a flashlight. And I wasn't hoping for a flashlight in some twirly-glo-stick-rave kind of way... I just couldn't see.
I was blind.
I heard voices and all the bodies in the joint created enough heat for me to sense they were there, but I saw no faces.
Everyone was a reaper of death.
Alright, not everyone was a reaper of death. I bet not even half of them were reapers of death.
The point is, for three hours I was given all the beer I could drink for $10. I don't even like beer, but you offer endless amounts of anything to me at a discount price, you'd better believe I'll eat it up like waffles.* Whatever the discount, I'll adopt it.
Love it.
Raise it from a pup.
Treat it like it sprung from my loins and never tell it who it's natural father is.
So there's all this free beer needing a good home, scared in the darkness that is this bombshelter of a tavern and so pardon me if I felt compelled to take action.
But all joking aside, that action got me blotto; got everyone blotto. I assume it did, I can't say for sure because, as mentioned before, it was dark and I was unable to see anything. A lot gets muddled when you subtract the ability to see faces. I began searching for a well-lit place somewhere inside the bar.
Odd thoughts began swirling.
Drunk thoughts.
I don't share any specific expertise on flowers or even particularly like them, but at that moment, searching through the barroom abyss for a patch if brightness, it occurred to me that delivering flowers might be a better way to meet girls than both grocery stores and coffee houses combined. In general, most guys - nay most people - just need some sort of introductory statement; a reason to approach their object-of-fancy. Delivering flowers not only gives the deliverer an appropriate reason to approach this person, but it sends the deliverer directly to their home with flowers already in hand. If the situation is suitable, the action of delivering the flowers can transform into a makeshift first date. Flower deliveries only happen during business hours, so there is no pressure to have dinner. Everything is lunch or coffee.
Easy. **
And don't forget, often times flowers are sent in either apology or condolence and if the card attached to most bouquees indicates either of these, you've already got an opening conversation and a springboard toward a romantic future.
I came up with this while drunk. Surprised?
When I get like I got on Friday, my brain seperates into three distinct personalities, all of whom become extremely chatty.
It always starts with Pete.
Pete is the rowdiest of my inner voices. He's always convincing me to continue taking whatever actions got me to a state in which I find myself carrying on a three-way conversation with myself. Pete is also almost always the voice apologizing for throwing up everywhere.***
Then there's Henry. Henry is the victim. Henry never wants to get drunk, rarely even wants to drink. But there he is, arm-in-arm with Pete singing Irish shanties from the sea. Henry is always trying to appear sober despite having Yuengling spilled down his shirt front.
Then there's me. And on Friday night, all I really wanted was for Pete to stop talking so I could better concentrate on the sports scores flashing on the television (mostly because it was the only beacon of light in the entire joint).
Like moths to a flame, the three of us wafted through the dark throngs of sweaty bodies and dashed to the bar.
I say "dashed", but I bet it was more of a "saunter".
It worked out nicely because now Pete was near the beer and Henry could see better. This allowed him to "study body language". This is what happens when I drink too much; I drink and Henry picks an activity to perfect in his drunken state. Friday, Henry was going to learn all there was to know about reading body language, an art far more romantically effective than delivering flowers.
Little known fact: body language is impossible to read drunk and ensconced in darkness. Looking around, the follwing thoughts struck me:
1. If I occupy the same general area as a girl and at no point in the span of, let's say an hour, does that girl even glance momentarily in my direction (despite looking everywhere else), she's doing that on purpose, right? And if she is doing that on purpose, is it because she's got the hots for me or because she fears vomiting in her own mouth upon gazing at me for too long?
2. If a girl touches you gently, or crosses her legs and leans toward you, that's good. But what if a guy does those things to you? (That's Pete's question, as both those things happened to him Friday).
3. If a girl notices me noticing her and then proceeds to fiddle with her hair slightly, is that a knee-jerk reaction born from becoming conscious to the fact that I've noticed her and her hope that I find her appealing
- or -
Is she shifting her hair in front of her face so as to insure that my eyes never again pierce the atmospheric layer hanging just beyond her lashes?
4. Where exactly is the line between extroverted and overbearing?
This last question is particularly puzzling when you consider the things I saw once I was amidst the neon glow of the bar. A movie came out last year called 'Derailed', and in this film there is a pickup line used by the leading man after sidling up to a bar next to the leading lady. He wagers her $20 that he can kiss her without ever touching her mouth.
In real life, I've got to assume that the woman would be creeped out by this proposal, mumble something along the lines of, "I'm sure you can", and scamper away from the bar incredulously describing this short interaction to her friends later. But this isn't real life, this is a movie... well, technically this is my blog, but my blog is discussing a movie and the female lead in this movie accepts his offer. The male character leans in close, directly in front of her face. Pauses. The audience wonders how he will pull this off.
Turns out he doesn't. He leans in the rest of the way and kisses her full on the mouth. The woman pulls away pleased but confused. The man smiles confidently, paws at his glass and says, "best twenty dollars I ever spent."
Now first of all, does that count as prostitution? And could this possibly work for anyone who doesn't happen to be Orlando Bloom or Clive Owen? Again, where is the line between confidence and cockiness? I ask because a lot of people probably saw that film and many of them were probably just as impressed with this scene as I was and have since tried variations of it in poorly lit cavebars across the U.S. themselves.
So there I was with Pete and Hank (that's what Pete calls Henry when Pete gets really wasted) when I notice an attractive Asian gal standing nearby. And just as the girl notices me and fiddles with her hair, some gearhead slides next to her and offers to buy her a beer.
Okay... A) beers are free tonight, idiot and B) if the guy had taken a second to look down he would have noticed her 3/4-filled beer already sitting there. The girl sternly- but-politely lifts her cup to illustrate the reason she doesn't want what he's offering. But like something out of the afore mentioned movie, the gearhead grabs her drink, gulps it down quick as a blink and offers again to get her another beer...
Whoa, that's bold.
And I imagine if George Clooney or Jake Gylenhaal pulled that crap with Jennifer Aniston or Scarlett Johansson or whoever, it would have been a great scene.**** But the gearhead was a far cry from Clooney and the Asian girl wasn't having it. She didn't even bother putting her hair in front of her atmospheric eyelash layer, she just smiled tightly and said, "That's nice. That's real nice." She walked away and the gearhead showed no visible signs of remorse.
What the hell kind of way to act is that?
But the madness didnd't stop there.
A pretty brunette was dancing in a triangle with her two less attractive friends. Like a puma poncing from the darkness, some chucklehead grabs the brunette and begins what I suppose can be interpreted as dancing (although I would label it "aggrivated assault").
This is not unusual. What is unusual is that before the girl can turn around and get a proper look at her assailant, this chucklehead divebombs both his hands into the girl's brown mane of hair and begins mussing and toussling it like he was shaking a snowglobe.
Like a big brother noogying his younger brother.
Locks of hair are flying every which way; crazy-style. I had never seen anything like this in a public place. Why would someone go gonzo upon a girl's hair like that? He wasn't hurting her, but he was severely messing up this girl's 'do.
The brunette finally turns fully around to face this wierdo and says that not only doesn't she like having her hair played with ("played with" being an epic understatement) but she also cited her two unattractive friends being left alone as the final reason for cutting the dance short, which is funny only because stranger-to -stranger noogying seemed like a good enough reason to cut the dance short.
Don't get me wrong, I love messing up people's hair. I think it's a dynamite way to spend an afternoon. Matter fact... hold on.
. . .
There.
I just got up, and noogyed my roomate. She laughed. Then I laughed. We clinked our wine glasses and shared one last giggle over the entire ordeal.
Noogies are fine if you are comfortable with the person, but it just seems retarded to try it out on someone's who's name you haven't yet learned.
Look, I called myself a "boozing, dancing, juggernaught of raw awesomeness" earlier and I meant it. I'm not one to make excuses, but even juggernaughts have needs and I want to air them out.
Top 4 Juggernaught Needs (in no particular order)
1. If you like me, look at me and stop playing with your hair. If you don't like me, keep doing exactly what you've been doing 'cause it totally works.
2. Never trust your flower delivery person. Their hearts are filled with shenanigans.
3. Dear Hollywood,
Stop allowing your attractive actors to do such smooth things to your attractive actresses in your movies... it's confusing the gearheads.
4. If you own a bar and there aren't any lights to turn off come closing time - it's too dark in your bar and it's causing people with several personalities intermingling amongst one another the inability to find their friends.
Your dark shadow hole is causing people to stumble home alone...
and helpless...
and unstoppable.
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* God forbid it should be waffles being discounted.
** Although I suppose you'd have to work for a fairly understanding boss who wouldn't mind you taking an hour or two each shift to date flower recipients.
*** It should also be noted that the whole flower delivery ploy was Pete's concoction.
**** Or if not a great scene, at least a well-lit scene.
GETTIN' THE FULL EFFECT: Although this is Reggie, this was not the Reggie