Saturday, November 13, 2004

Give me my f*ckin' drinks

San Francisco has not been treating me well lately.

Last night Cohen and I go to this place called Club Six . We had both been there before an had an okay time, but the one thing we remembered is that the drinks were tiny and overpriced. Oh well, we were in again and were thirsty.

I go up to the bartender, some grungy looking guy, and order two Jack and Cokes. He takes out too small plastic cups, fills them to the brim with ice and does a simultaneous coke and jack pour. It is at this point we know we are being ripped off more. We are talking 3/4s of a shot of Jack here. What the fuck is that going to do for me .... nothing.

Anyhow, I am not one to not except fate and as he sets the drinks in front of us he says "Fourteen dollars". FOURTEEN DOLLARS. There is more alcohol in my piss at this point from my preparty drinks than there is in those two Jack and Cokes.

I say "Fourteen dollars" and give him a raised eyebrow looking. At the same time I was reaching in my pocket for the cash to pay. At this point I was going to pay anyhow.

So what does "Grungy" do -- he takes the two drinks, throws them in the trash and walks away. Once again (if you read my last entry) I was speechless. I turn to Matt and say "Did you see that?" ... We both shared a confused look and decided that it was time to go downstairs and get drinks there.

The rest of the night we drank 2$ Pabst Blue Ribbons.


Sunday, November 07, 2004

Who does that ...

Okay I have a strange story that I have been meaning to tell the world (or just my few friends who read this).

Three weekends ago I was with some buddies at a bar in San Francisco, Eastside West. Its an okay bar, always pretty crowded with a super tiny dance floor, lots of cushy tables and a backroom to go back to when the front room gets too crowded. The mix of people is the normal for the Union, Fillmore, area; lots of twentysomethings running around, boozing up and generally having a good time.

I was having a good time too. At the time (well currently actually) I was still transitioning from being with my girlfriend of two years to not being with her (we decided to split up). I in no way want a relationship and frankly don't even think about hooking up (crazy isn't it -- am I even male -- do i have a penis??).

Which is one of the reasons why when the two girls across the way on the dance floor motioned at my friend and I to come and dance, I waved at them no and continued to sip my Captain Morgan and coke. I like Captain and Coke. The spicy rum and the coke tastes good on my tongue. I don't like being pestered by girls over and over again to dance after I initially say no. This is an important fact for the remainder of the story.

So Sean and I turn away from the dance floor. Matt and Kunal have come back and we are all standing around, I'm sipping my Captain and they are drinking their drinks. It's fun -- I'm having a good time. Being with the boys is always good.

That is when the girl that asked to dance comes around with her little sidekick. She was not a completely unattractive girl. Now I do not know what that translates too, but whatever. She starts kinda slapping my arm saying, "Come on, dance. Why don't you want to dance."

I said, "I really don't want to dance." I sip my rum and coke. It's good. I used to drink them in college like they were well, just cokes.

As I am sipping she says something along the lines of "I am going to rip your short off unless you dance."

No your not. No one does that. Although that is something that maybe in some instances a guy would want to hear, this was not one of them. I thought nothing of it, said "Yeah right" and sipped my drink.

The pyscho, no thats too harsh, even that it fits, grabs the ends of one of my favorite striped shirts and pulls outwards and up. I kid you not she ripped the shirt clean in half up to the second button from the top. Four buttons went flying out into the bar, falling to the floor amongst my friends and me.

I was aghast and speechless. Who does that. My friends are cracking up. The operative thing for me to say would have been "bitch", but for some reason the words evaded me. I don't know how, but she was suddenly gone from sight. I am sure she said something else unintelligent. My friends picked up my buttons for me and then we all laughed (me still in shock of such a crazy event) that my happy trail was now visible for all to see.

For the remainder of the night I walked around with one hand pinning my shirt together at the bottom and the other holding my Captain and Coke. About 20 minutes to a half hour later we saw the girl again.

She walks up and says "You hate me, I'm sorry, you hate me".

No I don't hate you, its cool, I just think you are crazy. I said somehting like that. She is holding a glass of champagne and says, "Will it make it better if I pour my champagne on my head. I'll pour it all over."

"I'll pour it all over" -- something else most men might not mind hearing. However I was indifferent and sipped my Rum and Coke (because it is good). I said "whatever" and kept drinking.

My friend Mr. Cohen however was not indifferent and piped it with one word -- "Yes".

And yes she did. This crazy girl takes her glass of champagne, tilts her head back and dumps it all over her face, forehead and hair. Not just dumped it on her, but relished in it. Matt and I pretty much went hysterical for a few minutes and then we left the bar with everyone -- but not before I finished my Captian and Coke.

Moral of the story -- if a girl asks you to dance, maybe you should dance (actually that is not the moral(-- but if you say no, like I usually do, be prepared to expect the unexpected.

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