Posts Tagged ‘beer’

The High Life

Thursday, April 30th, 2009

Marga and I were at dinner the other night. We got to discussing our guys. We both expressed how much we dislike when we’re at a bar or party with a guy and they just leave you because they’re always, always the center of attention. I thought maybe I was just socially awkward, but it made me feel better knowing that Marga despised that too. We are one in the same.

So fast forward to the next night. I had bought Zack a ticket to see a band. He came to Baton Rouge, we head over to the venue, meet up with his friends. Zack goes to get drinks and I ask him to grab me a Miller Light. I’m not much of a beer drinker, but we’re trying to cut back on spending lots of moula. So instead of my normal gin and tonic, I went for a beer. He gets the drinks; the first band starts and eventually finishes up. He askes if I want another drink and i said yes, can you get me another beer. He says he’ll go get it if I hold our spots.

I talk to Zack’s friends, whom I do enjoy very much. But…I’m not the most interesting person and sometimes run out of things to talk about. So I start to people watch and realize that it’s been about twenty minutes since Zack went to get more beer…yet no sign of Zack. 

So, I think to myself. F this. I’m going to go get my own drink. Who needs a man? Surely not me. So I walk up to the bar and as I’m pulling my card out to pay, Zack grabs my arm and tells me that he got my beer already. 

Really? You got my beer already? Because I had been saving our nice little spot on the balcony for 20 minutes and you were no where to be found.

So I got to take my beer from his hand. I first look at his half drank beer and think to myself…geez, thanks for leaving me for twenty minutes while you enjoy your beer and let mine get hot. Then, I look at my beer.

He got me a Miller High Life.

Thoughts started bouncing back and forth in my head. Are you kidding me?! Really?! You got me a High Life- the crappiest of all beers- even worse than Schlitz?!? 

So I question his choice of beer…well ‘interrogate’ is more appropriate. And he says it was cheap. Cheap? Wrong answer, babe.

I bought him the ticket to get into the music venue and he can’t even get me a Miller Light like I wanted. Every sip I took of the High Life, I held my breath. Ugh. 

I’m certain about one thing…I surely wasn’t living the high life that night.

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Shrilla!

Monday, September 22nd, 2008

It’s a month away from Halloween, but there were loads of shrills last night. After we finished watching the football game last night, Will’s friends were heading over to a local dive. Wanting to get to know his friends, I was all about the idea. His friends are pretty rad as far as I know. I was sitting in the “church pew” with Marga, Mick, and Will and his boys having a fine time. 

This obnoxiously loud girl walks up and in her valley girl pitched voice is more than overly excited to see Will. I continue carrying on a conversation with Marga and Mick, though we find it impossible to concentrate because of the shrilling voice blasting from this girl’s mouth. So as I look over at the awkward exchange of gestures between Will and his friend, Shrilla’s hand motions successfully knocked over two freshly ordered bottles of beer. Right into my lap…and all over my bag that I bought in NYC. Sadface.

Trying to be a team player, I go to the restroom to wash off a bit. I hate bar restrooms. I’m sure it looked as if I had pissed all over myself because beer was running down my legs. I wash my arms and legs off, sit back down in the church pew and never really get an apology from Shrilla. Will apologized a bunch, but it really wasn’t his fault. 

I pick up where I left off with Marga and Mick in our conversation and they suggest walking over to another bar across the street because by that point, we had started comparing the girl’s voice to a miter saw and she just kept on talking…and talking…and talking. I wanted to leave the first bar 99.9% because my ear drums were bleeding and .1% because I was hoping the other dive had an automatic dryer that I could use so that I didn’t have to sit in a wet skirt and underwear for the rest of the night. I tell Will where we’re heading. He was going to hang out with his friends for a little while longer, which was cool.

Somewhere along the way, on the walk across the street, we pick up a guy named Rainwater, who Marga and I had met once before. [Sidenote: Rainwater is his real name.] As we’re waiting for Marga and Mick to catch up, Rainwater asks me what my full name is…which contains a name that is obviously from German decent (and not half as cool as Rainwater). He then precedes to ask me if I am Jewish. I’m not really sure if he was joking or not.

We make it across the street. We hung out for a bit; Will came finally to take me home.

What a night!

If I ever see Shrilla again, I will empty out the nearest beer bottle and shove it in her mouth. Though I’m sure a high pitch sound like that can break glass.

“It’s close To Midnight and Something Evil’s Lurking in The [bar].
Under The [neon] light, you See A Sight That Almost Stops Your Heart.
You Try To Scream, But Terror Takes The Sound Before You Make It.
You Start To Freeze, As Horror Looks You Right Between The Eyes,
You’re Paralyzed…This is Shrilla!”

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Support Our Troops

Sunday, September 7th, 2008

As most of you know, i’m very obsessed with 80s music. So I admit…I do enjoy seeing the molly ringwalds, even if they are playing at the cheesiest place in baton rouge…the varsity.

I was at the varsity recently…looking all cute in my little plaid jumper and fedora. I was walking to the bar and my beer bottle slipped out of my hand (it was empty and plastic), however my smooth moves gracefully saved it from letting it hit the floor. And that’s when it began. This dark haired, scruffy, good-looking, but young-looking guy saw it and was impressed with my moves. 

And then spent the rest of the night telling me how his friends bet him to get me to do things, like taking pictures with nothing but my hat on. No. So I just kept brushing the guy off. As my friend and I were leaving the bar, I see him once again and bid him adieu. He precedes to say…”i’ll give you $1,000 if you make out with me”. And seemingly almost on cue with me yelling “No i will not make out with you” IN HIS FACE it felt like the whole place heard me and he walked away with his head down in shame.

On to the next night–2 of my girls and i were at dinner and i was filling one of them in on how i told the guy i didn’t want to make out with him and they both mentioned how he told them he had just gotten back from Iraq. and as soon as they said that, it dawned on me…I knew the guy. From years ago.

Freshman year of college, I had the biggest crush on him. I was dating one of his friends during the period Iknew him which was about 8 years or so ago. He worked at the little domino’s on campus (which I don’t think exists anymore) with some of the other guys in their group. I kept thinking to myself that the guy looked like the guy I knew, but I knew he was in iraq. But apparently, he’s back.

And now I feel horrible for yelling at him. He obviously didn’t recognize me either, but I mean…I feel like I owe him a salute.

So he gets a bloggie written about him where I admit that I was kind of mean.

And if I ever run into him again, I will buy him a beer and re-hash the story of how T-sno threw a wad of pizza dough the size of a human head at him, he ducked and it almost hit me…and maybe I’ll even let him wear my fedora.

If he’s lucky.

—

Update: After I had written this in another blog, I emailed him to see if he was back from Iraq and he said he had not yet returned. I’m not sure if I believe him though.

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