This post is brought to you on behalf of the hungover and sleep deprived (aka MYSELF (grammatical mishap there…I know. Stop cringing and read on)).
This will be a two-part post (say that 5 times fast!). Mostly because they’re related… somewhat. So, if you get bored. Stop reading (and recognize yourself as tasteless and lacking humor).
We went to trivia last night and drank too much. It happens (probably shouldn’t mid-week…but whatevs), right?
Honestly, I spent more time doodling on my paper than I did investing my intellect in our team’s success. However, I did know the answer to one question concerning a video game I was onceuponatime addicted to.
In Mario Kart, what weapon is used to shrink your opponent so that you could flatten them with your car?
If you know me at all, you would semi-understand the workings of my mind and how that question inspired this rambling.
The answer (of course) is a lightning bolt.
This launched me into a full-on mind explosion of need for these things to exist and function in real-time.
I experience at least 10 encounters with the inanity (that’s definitely a word) of the human race on a daily basis. Do you know how amazing it would be to have the power to shrink and squash stupid?
I’m going to go ahead and talk about one particular shining example that makes this need justifiable (notice the rock solid transition).
Last night, we’re hanging out at our high-top table talking about life and speculating on the probability of intoxication when we were approached by 2 individuals of the opposite sex.
They offer to buy a bucket of beer. We accept.
This was our first mistake.
They seemed harmless enough. They were moderately interesting and weren’t trying to touch me. We’re 2 for 2 at this point.
One of them, we’ll call him Adam (because that was his name), took a particular interest in my well-being and happiness.
Noted, appreciated, unnecessary.
Annoying? Yeah. That too.
He wanted to know about my life, he wanted to know where I worked, he wanted to know if he could get me another drink. And another. And another.
In man speak this translates to “How many more beers do I need to buy you before you’ll agree to accept my room key?”
About a jillion, Adam. A jillion.
His incessant questioning then turned into insecurity. Am I bothering you? Do you think I’m annoying? Do you want me to go away?
I’ve known you for an hour, dude. It’s a little early for me to be soothing your ego. Also, you’ll notice that I’ve begun drawing circles on my bar napkin and averting eye contact. I think we both know this conversation is over.
Did my lack of attention or willingness to converse deter him? No. No it did not. Actually, it was at about this time that he decided his hands belonged on me.
Have you lost your everloving mind my friend?!
Right here is where it needs to happen. Where is this fucking lightning bolt?
MY bubble. MY body. MY right to slap the shit out of you.
Or zap you with excessive amounts of electrical energy and back over you with my SUV.
There have been very few instances where I am open to letting a stranger touch me in a bar. Actually, relatively recently I allowed a guy to put his hands in my pockets. And then I was super trashy and made out with him. In my defense, there was tequila involved and he had really pretty teeth.
The difference here is that I was taking part in what was happening there. Unwanted groping literally makes me want to kill and/or dismember the individual in my personal space.
Upon our departure his friend approached me. He told me that he really appreciates and respects my attitude. He says it makes guys work a little harder.
Insert dead-pan face here.
I don’t want you to try harder. I want you to get the hell out of my personal space. And eyesight, for that matter. Please move.
I am going to stay perpetually single for the sole purpose of blogging.
You can’t make this shit up.