Girls walk into a bar.
The night is young, my vision is clearer than it will be, my friends are still coherent, I remember my last name at this point, and no one is crying or throwing up yet; so far, so good.
Wait, did I just step on glass and did someone just spill their drink on me? It's only 10 p.m. What the hell? I'm not drunk enough for this.
Of course, the only open spot at the bar was next to "dude alone at bar." I wait for lady bartender to come to me but she’s busy adjusting her shirt in front of all the guys.
He stares, then looks away, stares again then looks away. I watch in the corner of my eye but have no intention of looking because I know if I do, I'm screwed.
Would this bartender hurry up? Seriously lady, stop serving all the guys.
(Please don't say anything to me, please don't say anything to me.)
"Hi, I’m mike."
Jessica, be polite. He is asking where my friends are and where I’m sitting. Is it rude to scream “what? I can’t hear you, the music is too loud” while pointing at my ear and shaking one finger?
Lady bartender finally gets to me. I wanted vodka with my soda but whatever. I should of had "dude alone at bar" order it for me and then run.
30 minutes pass and it's that time where I have to use the bathroom.
Line: out the door.
The men's bathroom looks so inviting. There's no one in a line, or even inside. I stare in as the door opens and closes practically in slow motion while guys look at the pitiful line I'm in and laugh to themselves after being done in one minute.
Why do five girls have to go in the bathroom at once?
Finally, I get in. Why are public restrooms always so wet?
Now I’m waiting again while girl putting mascara on hovers over the only sink laughing uncontrollably and spilling the contents in her purse everywhere as she tells me she wants to fuck her boyfriends’ friend, “but shhhh don't tell anyone.” Who are you again?
15 minutes later.
I order another drink, this time ten stools away from "dude alone at bar." Finally, a guy is bartending. Of course he got to me quick and made it strong. Sexism is alive and well.
I will probably be on the floor after this but oh well, here's to Courtney Love.
Sitting with friends I notice a group of guys who are playing "stare but don't look obvious" with us. Not too bad, they look pretty good: no missing teeth and they have shoes on so they pass the preliminary test.
(Note to self, whatever you do, don’t make eye contact with creepy friend who is staring.)
Opps. I hate myself.
Five minutes later they walk over. I need to wear my glasses more often, only one of the five is decent.
Oh well. The Conversation is doable; I think I laughed a little but creepy friend is creepin’. Is that his foot on my leg? Is that his hand on my lower back?
Insert funny jokes and lies about professions here. "What are you guys doing after this?"
Oh, that question (deer in headlights look). I take another drink and turn it over to friend #1 who is really drunk.
I don't know what she said but she laughed like a little school girl so I think they got the hint.
"Can I get your number?" Wink.
"Sure can’t.” Smile.
He laughs at least.
It's almost 2 a.m. The drunk keep getting drunker. It’s like the Thriller video. There's “dude alone at bar.” Accidental eye contact again. I don't like myself when I drink.
Why do drunk girls request so much Britney Spears?
Three times they played her. Three times I shot myself in my head.
Girls leave bar.