Monday, July 10, 2006

Time for a vacation?

Things have definitely been crazy this past week. The kids showed up for summer school. I apparently got rid of the latest moocher. Oh, and there was lots of time hanging out with my bar friend -- who will now be known by the name of Grasshopper. (I discussed this with her last week.) Perhaps too much time with Grasshopper. We now complete each other's thoughts. Guys are starting to make cracks like, "You two should get married."

I think I went out last Wednesday. It's kind of hazy. The days have all started to run together.

I know that I went out Thursday. Grasshopper unfortunately had befriended the Queen of queens before I arrived. He seemed OK at first but with each drink he became more flamboyant and more obnoxious. We became angry because he kept running all of the straight men out of the place. Oh yeah, and then there was his constant whining about how we should buy him drinks. Huh? When he managed to con a friend into showing up, he then complained about how skimpy he thought the shot was. He made comments about Grasshopper's split ends and ones about how I needed a pedicure. Like we didn't know these things. He didn't like our fashion sense either. (We had come straight from work. We both work with children. Sorry but when I'm working with kids there is a limit on how dressed up I get.) Once he left, Grasshopper quickly turned to me and asked, "Didn't you want to ask him why he had not bothered to invest in some Proactiv?" I howled because I thought that I was the only one who had noticed his skin.

Friday night found Grasshopper and I out once more. I was in a foul mood -- surfing the crimson wave and all. But it was one of our fave bands playing, The Mundaze. They inspire folks to dance. Unfortunately they inspired this one woman into continuously dancing her way back into my lap. Things almost got real ugly. People asked if I wanted to put my foot up her nether regions. I couldn't have if I had really wanted to because she was too damn close. Then there was the guy who joined the three women on the dance floor. Grasshopper said, "Umm. That's not dancing. That's called a seizure." The worst of them all was the guy I dubbed "Herman Munster." Yes, he was that scary. And then he kept trying to grope Grasshopper. She finally had to take him outside so she could have a little chat with him. We finished the evening with the Russians.

The Russian guy had seemed promising since he could follow directions. He remembered Grasshopper's name when he called her on Saturday. He also remembered to call after 11 a.m. He could not understand how to keep his hands to himself though. I don't think I'll be hearing much about him in the future.

Sunday it was back to Beckett's. This time to watch the World Cup finals. I have never seen the place so packed ever. Luckily I was in a much better mood. Or maybe it was the Chimay I was sipping while I chatted with this Irish couple.

All I know is that I may wait until Thursday night before I go out again.

"It is not my fault that the stupid woman insists upon staying out until the wee hours of the morning. I expect my breakfast at 6 a.m. regardless and will stare at you like this until you comply."

"I like it when she goes out. Then she won't bother me. Like when she insisted on taking this photo of me."

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