Posted by todd
Thu, 13 Oct 2005 21:24:00 GMT
Charity. Not an ex-girlfriend.(although I try)
An important activity when traveling is to sample the local flavor. In particular, the local flavor of beer.
Luckily Charity and I have a long history of drinking copious amounts of alcohol together. Together we set out to see who went blind first.
After giving me a couple hours head start by attending a family dinner, she showed up at the bar I'd found. Brewski's, which as you can tell by the name, is a classy little joint, and is near the Arkansas college campus. Really, how wrong can you go with a name like Brewski's?
The reader may have noticed that I like weird people... and my friends... it was like a weirdo convention had descended on us. Either that, or I think shit's funny when I'm drunk.
Whatever.
A few warmup weirdo's, and it was pro time. Let me tell you folks, these boys didn't screw around, and I'm pretty sure I've got a chunk of a BBQ sammich lodged in my heart from laughing so hard.
We were sitting at a table right next to the sidewalk, for maximum hilarity, when a guy walked by looking pretty angry/scary. He had a roll of duct tape in his hand, and it appeared he was ready to beat someone with it. After he walked past once, he turned around and walked up to us. It was a bit intimidating at first, especially given the first words out of his mouth.
(In my best southern redneck accent) "Hey, you wanna make a quick three dollars?".
I couldn't make this shit up. He *actually* said that.
Me (dumbfounded): Naah, I'm good. (as
THIS popped into my head)
DuctMan: Cmon, three dollars, it'l only take a minute.
Me (somewhat afraid to ask): What do you want me to do?
DuctMan: Ah got ah torn rotator cuff and ah need someone to tape me up.
*blink*....*blink*...
Now, in hindsight, I *never* should have passed up the chance to duct tape a hillbilly, but I told him I didn't want to hurt him any more and declined. (Also, I feel somewhat bad about this now because he was probably in pain, but hey, WHO SAYS THAT!)
DuctMan (walking into the bar to ask someone else): Naah, you won't hurt me more, less yer real mad at me.
Charity and I sort of stared at each other for a minute while the guy went around the bar asking other people and eventually found a girl who said she'd do it. He wasn't kidding. He took off his jacket said, "ya just go round mah shoulder, then round mah chest.. then back over mah shoulder. do that three four times". She accidentally taped his skin, but he said that was ok and put on his jacket and left.
At least he didn't have a toothache, or need a physical.
Next, a man who looked a LOT like Dee Snyder walked out. (Dee pictured below for anyone who has forgotten all that is Twisted Sister)
Dee went and got on this crazy looking motorcycle that I'm *pretty* sure he built himself. He was wearing a lot of tight leather, so Charity and I were already laughing pretty hysterically when something happened that I still haven't quite recovered from seeing.
I'd looked away for a minute, and Charity says "Oh nuh uh." Yuh huh.
A woman no less than 65 years old, I'm presuming his mother, walked out and proceeded to put on a pair of huge biker goggles. She climbed on the back of the bike and sat there for a while while Dee backed the bike up across 2 lanes of traffic and took off with her.
I decided that if one more thing happened, I was moving there just for the humor value. Luckily that was it for the strange ones.
It's a sign of the times people... tight leather is coming back. I for one won't be missing the boat this time.
Posted in Girlfriends | Tags arkansas, charity, drinking, duct tape, future ex-wife, rednecks, wedding | 14 comments | no trackbacks
Posted by todd
Sat, 08 Oct 2005 16:42:00 GMT
Part 1 in a multipart series.
I'd never been to Arkansas. It's shocking, given how culturally diverse and metropolitan the state is known to be. There is a first time for everything.
Hello from Eureka Springs, Arkansas! Population 2,032. Don't you wonder how often they update that sign?
Now, a valid question would be "Todd, why the hell are you in Arkansas?". In fact I asked myself that very question as I was driving past the 47th group of cows on the way from the airport to the town. The closest airport was 50 miles.
The answer is simple, a hot girl asked me to come.
The trip was made largely to hang out with my old roommate, who is a bridesmaid in the wedding. Her now ex-boyfriend/date turned out to be pre-occupied with...well.. being married with 2 kids that she didn't know about, so I volunteered to stand in. (Oh yeah! She found this out using Google, which returned his home phone number, which in turn was answered by his wife. Sounds familiar eh?)
This is where being single really has it's benefits. See, I might be a busy guy.. not having time for all this "cleaning", and "doing laundry" stuff, but you have to have your priorities straight. A gathering full of women dressed to kill and drinking heavily, where I share a room with a bridesmaid?
I've had worse weekend plans.
So after sprinting across the Houston Airport to make a connection, I hit the ground in Fayetville, Arkansas. Brides Maid was off at the rehearsal dinner, so I drove into town and went exploring. Donning the local attire (Jeans and a baseball hat), it was pretty easy to blend in, and the locals seemed pretty talkative.
Christ there's only 2000 of them, they better be up for making new friends.
The first two bars I went into were nice, but fairly emtpy. Actually they may have been full, it was difficult to tell through the smoke. It was clear that I had not found the right place... in a new town, you have to find the locals.
It was like a game of Where's Waldo, but with long hair and beards. Leather was also very popular.
Anyway. Having traveled alone before, I knew the secret to becoming a local in 2 hours flat: Make friends with the bartenders, preferably female ones.
Luckily, this is a skill of mine.
See, a bartender is just doing their job. They don't really want to be there. They want to be somewhere else... generally, at another bar full of crazy service industry people. This is the bar you must find.
Seems easy right? Well, it can be, but there are a few rules to keep in mind.
#1: Make sure the bartender *really* likes you. These people are paid to be nice. They are
not paid to send some asshole to their favorite bar. Read them wrong and you might wind up in a place that favors leather chaps.
#2: Get multiple opinions. You need a sample size greater than 1. Look, everyone has a favorite bar... but some people have really poor taste. You want to bar hop to a few places, and ideally have two unrelated bartenders (difficult in Eureka), tell you the same thing.
After a few hours, I divined that "Chelsea's" was the place I needed to be. Walking in, it reminded me of a place called the "Copper Coin" where I went to college, but with even more hicks. A folk band was playing, so Michelobe Light in hand, sat down at a table and watched the crowd.
It only took a few minutes and the rest of the table was overtaken by various oddballs, including Kathy. Kathy was older, and a librarian. Can you imagine a less interesting job than being a librarian in a town that size? Still, she was entertaining to talk to.
Turns out, tonight was the FIRST time she had seen the destruction of New Orleans on television. She didn't have one, and apparently didn't get out much. WHY she didn't get out much I'm not sure, because when we started talking about storms it became clear that there was little difference between being out, or in, where she lived.
We talked about ice storms, and I swear she actually said this: "Losing electricity would be bad for me, since I only have electric heat. I use one of those plug in heaters. I guess one good thing would be that the pipes wouldn't freeze. I just carry in water."
.......
........
.........
YOU WHAT!
The woman had no running water in her house.
At that point I stopped asking questions, and went off to find Brides Maid. The rest of the evening was pretty uneventful.
Next up: Tie hunting. More Locals. Tips for Airline CEO's.
Posted in Travel | Tags arkansas, being a local, charity, drinking, weddings | 7 comments | no trackbacks
Posted by todd
Tue, 13 Sep 2005 19:28:00 GMT
AKA: Not getting any, got one, and got them all over my floor.
So, Gun Girl is officially gone.. Probably for good. That's life.
I'm officially Bachelor Todd again! This isn't really a good thing for me, nor what I wanted, but at least my stories will get more interesting again. It's all about YOU isn't it! You self serving bastards.
Like any real guy knows, after a breakup there are three things you must immediately do to get back into the swing of things.
1. Get blind drunk. When you can't move the next day due to a crushing hangover, you won't think about her as much.
2. Get pimped out and go hit on women. Even if they shoot you down, it gets you back into the game. This is a work in progress, and given the state of my haircut, I'm confident I'll get shot down.
3. Rent a Saxophone. Ok fine.. #3 isn't standard, but screw you it's my story.
Step 1 was easily accomplished, twice actually. Night 1 with my bartender friends, who fed me entirely too much Sambuca.(note: bartenders will hurt you if they know you live next door and aren't driving anywhere) Night 2 was with my friends that own/work for adult oriented companies (Welcome to San Diego). With those guys, their entire life is basically a big party, which really makes it hard for me to compete. After about 5 rounds of shots, my better judgment got to me and I retreated home, not to leave the couch until Monday.
Step 2, as I said, is a work in progress.
Let me walk you through the thought process that caused Step 3:
- Being single, I don't have much else to do. (10 hours/day on the computer is enough)
- It's healthier than drinking.
- It has lots of buttons on it, making it the closest instrument to a keyboard.. well, other than a keyboard. I type absurdly fast so it's sort of natural.
- At the very least I can squeal back at the bums when they bother me at night.
- A secret: I played Cello for many years growing up, even for the junior philharmonic a bit... until I quit during my death metal days. (Metallica stole that shit from ME!)
After spending an hour or so in the parking garage, I could play notes confidently enough that the cat wouldn't throw himself out the window. Don't get me wrong, I'm TERRIBLE... but at least now it doesn't just screech.
Now all I need is a blues song, and I'll be all set.. Lets try that.
The Bachelor Blues:
My baby done left me on Thursday.
(dun dun dun duh duh!)
She said she just needed to think.
(dun dun dun duh duh!)
My living room floor is all littered with socks,
and the laundry turned all my shirts pink.
The kitchen still smells like a fireplace.
(dun dun dun duh duh!)
I can't even look at the sink.
(dun dun dun duh duh!)
The bums are outside, playing ride sally ride,
so I guess that I'd better go drink.
I've got the.....
no lovin...
burnt oven...
not scrubbin...
bum buggin...
I got the bachelor blues.
Well Tonya served me up a strong one,
(dun dun dun duh duh!)
For good measure she had one herself.
(dun dun dun duh duh!)
Some scary lady, had her good eye on me,
but beside her I looked like an elf.
I've got the blues... I've got the bachelor blues.
-T-Bone
(Ok, so there should probably be at least one more verse, but I'm lazy.. So you make it up)
Posted in Girlfriends | Tags bastards, blues, breakups, drinking, gun girl | 15 comments | no trackbacks
Posted by todd
Fri, 12 Aug 2005 17:40:00 GMT
Last night I fell through a wormhole or something, and wound up being the designated driver.
Actually, let me rephrase that. Last night I was the designated drunk driver (DDD).
It would have been difficult to convince, say, a police officer of the fact. Nevertheless I was the only person capable of driving anywhere. The night had gone tequila, and I was only drinking beer.
In a mark of wisdom, or at least old age, I saw what was coming so I bowed out of the "one round of shots before we go". "One and out" is a game everyone has played... You know the one where you are having one more drink and then going home like a good citizen, only to find yourself sleeping in a ditch several hours later? Good times... Good times.
One and out of course turned into two. Then we attempted to leave, and I drove the now inebriated co-worker to his house, while Gun girl rolled around in the back of my jeep giggling, you know... two shots of tequila style.
At this point it could have been ok. A woman with two shots in her is a good time waiting to happen, but the gods were not looking out for my interests and we wound up in his backyard with them "sampling" fancy tequila. Sampling needs more description.
An interesting thing happens when you drink with people who are connoisseurs of a certain alcohol... They tend to put the drink in a very small glass (which is secretly a shot glass, but much fancier), and then "sample" several different kinds. Of course, what this really means is that my girlfriend and co-worker each consumed about 5 shots of tequila in short order. Fancy or not, that's trouble.
The girl managed to maintain somewhat, opting to play in the sprinklers in her dress rather than taking it off, not that co-worker would have minded. Eventually a neighbor came out and told us to be quiet, which was my only chance to exit before the sun came up, so we left.
Now, unlike with 2 shots, a woman with more than 5 shots in her isn't really good for much. She's a happy drunk though so no biggie, we'll just go home and go to bed. Right?
2 miles after I get onto the highway (the 5, north).. The girl points out that I'm going south. I'm new in town, and have the navigational abilities of a football, so when she stood by her story amid questions, I decided I must have screwed up, and turned around.
In hindsight, taking directions from a plastered woman was a bad idea, even if she had lived in San Diego her entire life. So in about 2 seconds I realized I had been going the right way in the first place, and eventually made it to her house.
Drunk girl doesn't remember the ride home, or most likely the many fun things she suggested we do when we got home. I'll bet she remembers barfing in her bathroom though.
Wouldn't it be great if they packaged alcohol by how sick you want to be afterwards?
"I'd like a bottle of scotch please, mildly retarded size".
Posted in Girlfriends | Tags alcohol, chelsea, drinking, drunk girls, gun girl, tequila | 10 comments | no trackbacks
Dee went and got on this crazy looking motorcycle that I'm *pretty* sure he built himself. He was wearing a lot of tight leather, so Charity and I were already laughing pretty hysterically when something happened that I still haven't quite recovered from seeing.
