ba dum BLOGger has no "game" vol. 1

methinks it might be funny and entertaining to occasionally blog the trials and travails of me trying to pick up on chicks because the outcomes are decidedly tragic or, at the very least, disconcerting and unsettling. see, i am very bad at this sort of thing and lack (what the cool kids are calling it) "game." as always, i promise all these anecdotes will be true and contain nothing more than a smidgen of a modicum of hyperbole. because, as all blogga's know, you gots to have hyperbole.

so, i went down to the lbc this weekend to go on an overnight drunk with some chums o' mine and we ended up at this collegey type bar where one pal randomly ran into an old gal pal of his. somehow, i started chattin' it up and spittin' game at one of her very drunk friends (it must be noted i had an in since she was my friend's friend otherwise i would never have talked to her).

we all took a shot and my drunk girl (we'll call her "marty"... i know, sounds kinda' gay but this is the first name that popped into my head) knocked the glass out of my hand and she immediately picks up all the broken glass and hands them to me which slices up my finger and i start bleeding. i ignore this though and sally forth because i'm drunk as well and have my game face on. then, "marty" asks me if i smoke and i say "no" and she says "well, i'm going out to smoke and you should come with me anyway." now i'm starting to feel my oats and have a little pep in my step as i coolly look to my pals and say "catch ya' later, loooosersss. i'm going outside with my drunk lady "marty."

we get outside and "marty" imediately plops down on a bench, lights up a fag and engages in the art of conversation on her cell phone. so there i am; cold and drunk looking like a "dick for" with my hands in my pockets while "marty" is chewin' the fat with god knows who. then, she remembers i exist, calls me over, hands me the phone and tells me to ask for "larry." i oblige, of course, because i may be on the ropes but i'm feeling a rocky-esque comeback a brewin' in my loins. i say "hi, is larry there" to the response of "this is "dominos pizza," there's no one here by that name." "marty" cracks up at this, takes the phone back from me and continues on with her normal conversation. i really wish i had the creativity to make this up.

but wait, there's more! "marty" starts to make her way back to the bar, with me , dutifully following behind. she re-enters and the bouncer arm bars me and says "not so fast, my friend" (thank you, lee corso). "i was just in here" i say. "i was with the girl." "marty!" i call, "marty." she doesn't even flinch, she just keeps on keepin' on. "i don't remember a thing about you" says the bouncer. "not your face, not your shirt, not your shoes, nothing... get to the back of the line!" but i would not "get to the back of the line." what i wanted to do more than anything was call this bouncer a "racist" (because he happened to be black) and explain to him how i was better than him because i have a college degree and make my living by working 9 to 5 (thank you, dolly parton), monday through friday and get to spend my money on saturday nights as opposed to sitting outside of a bar at 1:30 in the a.m. and checking coeds' identification cards.

but i did not say or do this. i continued to stand outside, cold and drunk with my hands in my pockets like a "dick for." i was at a state of imbibery where i had no concept of time so this could have lasted anywhere between ten minutes to an hour; i have no clue. eventually closing time mercifully came and as everyone was pouring out of the bar i actually saw "marty" walk by with some dude but this was neither here nor there because all my carnal passions had shifted from my loins, to my belly and ultimately towards making a late night taco bell run. then, some big dude comes up to me and asks, "hey, have you seen "marty?" and i say "sure... i just saw her walk past with some dude." then, he gets in my face and says "watch it, that's my sister you're talking about." i wanted to say "what do you want from me? you want me to lie? you want me to tell you i just saw some dude carrying her to his '84 camaro like a six pack?" (i hope this visual translates because it's quite striking) but i did not say or do this. i found my friends, we went to t-bell and "89 cents is what we're gonna’ pay."

ba dum BLOG!!!