I have learned a few things recently. For instance, eating leftovers from Thanksgiving after the new year is a bad idea. Sure, it may taste good enough when it’s going down, but coming out is a differnet story. I also wouldn’t recommend eating pizza rolls as soon as they come out of the microwave, no matter how hungry you are. But the most important thing I’ve learned is to never give you phone number to women when you meet them at a bar.
Women are crazy. Even if they seem normal and down to Earth when you first meet them, there is a 95% chance that they are geniunelly off their rocker. This is why when I go out I don’t give my number out. In fact, with the help and guidance of fellow ManWholer Brendan Galella, I don’t even give my real name out anymore. This can be fun and entertaining at the same time.
I recall a few months ago, Brendan and myself strolled down to a local area bar and mingled for an hour or so. One chick, who was definetly a little out of place and very drunk, started convo with us. We fed into it because she was way to drunk not to mess with. After introductions, my name being Josh and his being Steve, we start talking about where we were from. Brendan was quick to tell the older lady that his was a business consultant from Colorado visiting
This would be a great slogan for pubic hair medication too.
Tampa for work-related things. She turns to me and says, “And you just look like an asshole so you must be from Boston.” (ManWhole and it’s affiliates have nothing against anyone from Boston, for the record. Well, except New Kids on the Block and Dane Cook, obviously.) “Yes. Yes I am from Boston. I work in a shipyard for minimum wage,” I replied. We spent the next few minutes B.S.ing her, making no sense whatsoever. She was too drunk to understand what we were saying anyways which made for a couple laughs. These events take place anytime we are out and about. But you have to be careful when constructing lies, because every once in a while somebody will pull your card and ask, “What’s ya major dude?”
This past week we ventured into a bar right down the street from Brendan’s house. We were accompanied by his friend. I honestly can’t remember his name, but he was introduced to me as the Guy On The Couch (GOTC), so that’s what we will call him. We spent quite a bit of time outside talking to random people. Brendan was trying to get them digits from one lady who was, ironically, wearing a Boston Red Sox hat. Jokingly, GOTC was gay and couldn’t stop commenting on his gorgeous hands. My skull cap was somehow mistaken for a head tattoo by a Irish folk singer. We took the party inside and hung out for a few. We had a bet going as to where the location of Calgary, Canada, was in relation to the U.S. An older lady, dressed in a pirate outfit, informed us that Calgary was located north of the state of Montana. Brendan won the bet and made no attempt at letting GOTC and myself off the hook without announcing to the entire bar that he had won. The pirate lady thought it was funny.
It’s almost last call, and the three of us were back outside. We start talking about random things. For reason GOTC mentioned Denver, Colorado, in some part of the conversation. The pirate lady was about 20 feet away from us when she turns to me and says, “I really like you skull cap.” A little surprised I reply, “OK, thanks.” She then says, “You guys are funny. Where are you from?” GOTC say he was from Mongolia. Brendan kept it real and said he was Yonkers and moved to Tampa. I said, with the idea from GOTC, that I was from Denver. Her face turned from happy to serious. She walks over to me and says, “Are you really from Denver?”
You thought I was lying? Here's proof.
I was born in New Jersey (Where we don’t pump gas, but we pump fists!) and moved to Florida at a young age. I’ve never been to Colorado. Never even been close to it. “Hell yeah I’m from Denver,” I replied to her inquiry. “Me too,” states pirate lady. I should have stopped there and called it, but no, I had to keep going. “Are you fimilar with the (so-n-so) Mountains?” she askes. “Hell yeah, that’s where I grew up,” says the guy who can’t remember the name of the mountains. “Do you know where the (something) district is?” she askes. “Yup. My grandfather lives up there,” I say digging the hole deeper. She returns with, “Oh my gosh, I used run a small deli up there. Do you remember (something) deli?” I played it safe on this one saying, “No, I don’t remember that place.” The questions keep firing, and the lies keep piling. She mentions her love for my skull cap again and gives me a high five. She tells us that she usually crochets her own hats. Brendan was nice enough to tell her that I do as well. She thought that was cool then askes, “Do you snowboard?” I’ve never ever seen a real snowboard but answer her by saying, “Uh yeah, who doesn’t snowboard?”
She then procedes to inform us that she has been snowboarding for 27 years. She taught her kids how to snowboard. She even taught her husband how to snowboard when she was pregnant with one of them to which Brendan says, “Safety second!” Then she brings out the torpedo when she askes me, “What do you ride?” I tried dodging the question because I know absolutly nothing about snowboarding. My “friends” were nice enough to not let me get off track. Again she askes, “So seriously, what do you ride?” I said, “A five-a-half foot one.” BOOM! That was the bomb that blew my game up. She laughs at me, then when she saw I wasn’t joking she says, “You don’t snowboard, do you.” With my tail between my legs I said, “No. I’ve never been snowboarding before.” She was genuienlly upset when she asked, “So you lied to me?” My story had been blown to pieces and I said, “Yes. I’m a liar.” We wrapped up the then awkward conversation after Brendan was awesome enough to suggest we have a Crochet-off competition to see who can make the best hat.
I had a pony tail that night.
The entire way back to Brendan’s was full of, “Have you seen Good Will Hunting when the guy with the pony tail gets served by Matt Damon? You totally got Good-Will-Hunted. She so just Good-Will-Hunted your ass. I’ve never seen anyone get Good-Will-Hunted like you just did. Holy shit!” I had nothing to say. I kept my head down in self-disgust.
But I can’t go out like this. She also informed us that she was a bar tender at that same bar on Friday nights. The only way I can redeem myself is to follow through with the Crochet-off challenge in hopes of not being considered a fraud. I need help people. I have no idea how to crochet. If anyone has any tips or methods you can teach me, please leave a comment below. Ironically, learning to crochet will make me feel like a man again. Please help.
