*sigh*

When will I learn? When, praytell?

I went out and raged like the filthy animal that I am last night. Dragged my new work friend down with me. Bombed might just sum it all up.

A. called me and apologized for missing my birthday drinks on Saturday, natch, only AFTER I had to tell him that he's been cut off all week. *Boys*. Trying to get back in my good graces, he asked me to go out for drinks. I explained that I only had $1.50 to my name, but he ignored it.

On my way out the door, I invited the work friend to come along and that's the end (or the beginning) of the story.

We hit some yuppie bar mid-town and cozied up to the bar and some beers. Friend hit the bourbon, which is really not a good idea for friend - but great entertainment for others! A. complained of stomach pains - he thinks he has an ulcer - so I gave him a pack of Tums and silently hoped he'd just drink up and get through it.

That's pretty much what happened. We all got drunk. The three of us smoked 4 and 1/2 packs of cigarettes. I woke up this morning, vocal chords silenced from the tobacco-induced Hiroshima that went off my throat.

Some sailors came in - it's Fleet Week. This was not a good development. A. dared me to yell "Go ARMY!" and you know if there's a dare on the table...so I stood on my chair and yelled it. Not much of a reaction but I'm pretty sure I didn't make any friends.

Meanwhile, friend is loudly talking about how ridiculous they look in their sailor suits and we are convinced that they wear these *solely* to pick up chicks, which frankly is offensive that these men think this ploy is going to WORK.

So she confronts them on this. They tell us that, allegedly, it's "strongly suggested" that they wear these uniforms in port, but they acknowledge that it helps them "get chicks." Interesting. We thank them for their honesty. They are dismissed.

They are dismissed because we are staring opened-mouthed at what appears to be a re-enactment of The Accused with sailors instead of townies and no pin ball machine in sight! These yuppie chicks are being hoisted up by these men and really - it was quite a spectacle. I cannot describe it.

Meanwhile, A. is over the hump and we are really just having quite a raucous time. The DJ is playing some crazy tunes and we are screaming along with the tracks, as only drunken people can do so well.

At one point, A. is stoking my hair and face saying "you're so prettyyyyyyyy," and friend announces, "you know, you're like a babydoll. That's what I think of when I look at you, sometimes your eyelashes flip open and shut just like a babydoll. We could sell you on QVC!!!"

I may have spit my beer out at this point.

And then this girl that A. is dumping tracks him down and says she's on her way. He prepares us to meet her by telling us that his friends have nicknamed her Powers, as in Austin. Teeth issues.

Friend and I think this is just awful, particularly when she shows up and she is perfectly nice and adorable. Very conversational, although very touchy and constantly ducking the smoke.

She kept trying to smooch A. and he was facing me making eyes for me to help him. Then he's smooching my cheek trying to get away from her. I am swatting him like a pesky fly at this point to stay out this shitshow of a situation. At one point he physically manuevers Powers to the other side of me, so I am right in the middle of them.

But I am really trying to ignore them because Friend has pin-pointed the "object of her ridicule" (I swear she called him that) and she's staring him down.

Of course the guy comes over. This huge, beefy piece of eye candy - you know the type: flesh biscuit in an A/X tight t-shirt gripping his overdeveloped pecs, perfect head of thick not-too-long-not-too-short hair, about as smart as a box of rocks.

Think, Rocky.

"Uh, you lookin' at me," he says.

"Yes," friend answers. "Do you realize how stupid you look dancing there by yourself? Are you thinking that's going to pick up chicks or WHAT because you look like a loser."

OMG. I just lost it. I couldn't even look at the guy. And he didn't know what was up. But he just stood there as friend really broke it down for him. She told him, that he was the object of her ridicule. He appeared confused.

It was during this time that I heard bits and pieces...

"We're journalist working on a story about male-female interaction at bars...does this tight shirt, stand alone/dance alone act EVER work for you..."

"I'm just here to have a good time, not pick up girls."

Yada yada yada.

"Okay, I like you William, we're not really journalists. We just wanted to know what your point was in the whole dancing alone. Look at these pecs! PG - feel them," I look next to me and see Friend feeling up the beefcake. I am TEARING. "See, don't you feel objectified and isn't that why you wore that shirt anyway? We're not really objectifiying you, just pointing it out, which technically also means we *are* objectifying you..."

"Ummm, does that mean you ain't reporters?"

Oh, William. I am falling off my stool at this point. And then I hear friend say:

"Come Here Bitch! William, you're my Bitch."

Oh. MY. God. This also grabbed A.'s attention. He nearly fell down. And William was still confused. Poor William. Just "Dancin' in the Dark."

William is going to make some shallow girl a very happy woman.

Soon friend had to leave. And then A. and I broke out some old school dance moves and cleared out a section of the bar to the tune of some Neil Diamond. I whirled into William and was surprised he was still around, but I gave him a big HELLO!

We left soon after, with A. dumping out his wallet and giving me all of his cash so I could get home.

So I woke up late this morning, with $4 bucks more than I had yesterday. But I left my voice with Neil Diamond.

You win some you lose some.

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