Marshall and I went out for drinks last night, which ended up being a really nice girl’s night out-type deal. We started out with Thai dinner up in Northwest, since we couldn’t figure out what we wanted. Thai always seems to sound good when you don’t really know what you want. Anyway, after powering through way, way too much food and glasses of fairly atrocious pinot gris that made Marshall remember why she doesn’t drink white wine, we drove over to “see” the apartment building that Tintin is salivating over. I have to remember to call the gal on Monday to arrange a time to go check the place out. Should be fun.
Anyway, we then tried to figure out what to do next. Our billowing bellies were not helping the cause, so we just decided to head over to one of our old standbys. We walked in and got a seat and made friends with the bartendress with a cast on. Ow.
We hadn’t been there long when the frat boy from hell came in and decided that we were cute and shouldn’t be sitting by ourselves. He was one of those guys you just try not to make eye contact with and hope they harass the next table over. Unfortunately, we weren’t so lucky last night. Instead, Mr. Wifebeater and Jeans came walking past our table, stopped, turned and looked us both up and down and got The Smile on his face. Sing it with me—the Smile. Ngh. So he came over and introduced himself. He shook both of our hands and demanded our names. He actually crouched down next to me and started playing the hem of my skirt before Marshall called him out on it. Either way, He was Eric and Marshall and I started making up last names. We actually did give him our real first names, but started making up the last ones as he was persistent. After we got through the weird introductions, he cocked his head to one side like a dog and started repeating my “last name” like it was the funniest thing he’d ever heard. He shook my hand again and then Marshall’s and we went around like this for a few minutes before Marshall made a crack about this turning into a UPS commercial. Well, then Eric launches into “UPS!” like it’s a soccer chant and starts whispering in my ear. Yeah, not kidding. Hand on the side of the face, into the hair, the whole nine. I’m literally trying to hide behind my hair and failing miserably. At one point, he inadvertently poked me in the eye, so at least then I could sort of fight back. Finally, he said, “If you say UPS, I’ll leave you alone.” OK! I said it, and followed it with, “You promised!” He left.
I turn to Marshall and we both froze until he walked out of the bar. “Is he gone?”
“Yep. Just sat back down with his friends. I think I just got more action from that than most first dates. Yikes.”
We immediately dissolved into giggles and needed another drink, stat. But, oh yes, he wasn’t done yet. He came back. This time, he seemed hell-bent on harassing Marshall about her sex life, which was fun for me to watch. We even got to invent boyfriends. Mine was Tim and hers was Nate. Either way, we fended him off for a while until his friend came over to rescue us. Problem was, his friend was cute, so we peppered him with questions. “Is he always like this?” “How do you put up with him?” “What the hell?” His friend was gracious and explained it thus: “Do you have one of those friends who is so off the wall that you don’t even have to do anything as long as you’re hanging out with them because they’re so entertaining?” Yeah, we’ve all got one of them.
Quote of the Day: “We'll make the same mistakes/I'll take the fall for you/I hope you need this now/Cause I know I still do.” Until the Day I Die, Story of the Year