I don't usually make a habit of going out during the week. I find that if I am not hungover or sleep deprived, I am a little more constructive, useful, friendly, and just overall better, when I get to work. It took a long time to learn this.
Last night, though, because JM didn't have "Little Man" and because she was stressed about spending the next year having painful work done on her teeth, to the tune of $8,000, we decided to "have a drink". Having a drink, more often than not, turns into several drinks. Several drinks turns into talking to strangers. Talking to strangers turns into…well…nothing…unless they're cute strangers. In any event, because we're cheap and because we like to be the prettiest girls in the bar, we went to Pete's. Pete's is the Weirdo Bar. It is the one place in town that you can see a cowboy, a Lil' Jon clone, and a surfer playing ping-pong together. Seriously. Ping-pong. It is one of the best places for people watching, cheap beer and meeting a gay boyfriend.
When we got there, it was still light outside. It was still warm and breezy and the sun was setting and the sky was turning pink, which clearly, was too romantic, so we thought we would go to a dirty bar with a bunch of crazy dudes. And by "a bunch of crazy dudes", I mean that when we walked in, I thought they might have been holding a conference. We were greated by their ringleader, Nick, who at 7pm was already slurring and having a tough time keeping his eyes open. First, he tried hitting on JM, then he tried hitting on me, then he tried hitting on me again, then he called JM a bitch, then he stole someone's bar stool and slid it up to my left and then he got angry because I told him that I thought he might need a nap, stormed out of the bar and made room for all of the other freaks to come and talk to me. And oh…they did…
There was aviator glasses guy. There was the guy who hates Michigan. There was the blonde guy whose line was "Think of a number between 1-10. Is it 7?" There was the guy with the matching plaid shorts and shirt set on. There was the guy who was dressed like a pimp. And then there was Richard.
Richard was Nick's friend who was quickly becoming as much of a weirdo as his friend. He hadn't spent too much time talking to us until he got tired of his 40-year-old sugar mama. Then he was my best friend.
To preface this conversation, I need to explain the conversation that happened 2 hours earlier.
Me: Oh. Cool. I went to high school there too?
Richard: I played baseball.
Me: Oh. Did you know _______? We graduated when you were a sophomore but…
Richard: Yeah, I know him. He's a tool.
Me: I know.
Notice how we had that conversation without actually knowing EACH OTHER. You see that? Okay…
TWO HOURS LATER
R: Oh my god! I can't believe its you!
Me: (looking around…behind me, under my barstool…) Huh?
R: What high school did you go to?
Me: Ummm…I just told you like an hour ago. _________.
R: Man, you used to talk to me every day in cooking class! Remember? You used to warn me about Kristy.
Me: Ummmm…no. That wasn't me. I don't know Kristy.
R: YES! Yes it was! I swear. Remember? You were like, my best friend.
Me: No…I promise. That wasn't me.
R: You look exactly the same! I can't believe this. I haven't seen you in 8 years!
Me: Right. Okay. Umm… You look exactly the same too!
By going along with this, I was fueling him, I realize…but…I thought that if I pretended to be who he already thought I was, he would eventually get tired of talking to me. Oh no. I kept pretending I was…whoever…and he kept right on talking. And talking. And talking.
What seemed like an eternity later, he finally left me alone. But I had to promise to go to my Ten Year Reunion with him. Oh, my…if only Kristy could see us now.