Bergman, Sara, Alex and I eat dinner at joe schmo's. I start out with $1.50 PBR's with my turkey sammage. It's fucking game time.
We meet Lane, Skye, Jud, and Jud's buddy Dustin at Sandbar, one of my favorite watering holes in Lawrence. We have proven, multiple times, that it is impossible for us to drink there in a constructive manner.
First round of drinks for me: skinny pirate. This is the second time I've met Dustin, and it's been driving me absolutely insane trying to figure out who he looks like. Stay tuned.
Lane makes it clear that the techno ball is NOT coming out tonight (foreshadowing.)
Second round of drinks: skinny pirate. Make that a double. And a shark attack. The pilot just turned on the fasten seat belt light.
Jud, Bergman, Skye, Sara and Alex go play darts. Lane, Dustin, and I take the jukebox hostage. I am disappointed that there is no Wu-Tang among the selections. There is, however, Apache by the Sugarhill Gang. You better believe that is getting played, and quick.
Third round of drinks: two double skinny pirates and a shark attack. Hey, if I'm going up to the bar, I might as well maximize my trip, right?
I jokingly brag to Dustin that I have a pretty bad-ass dance for Apache. He tells me to prove it. I tell him I will if it plays again that night...(foreshadowing.) He also has a Wu-Tang background set for his phone. Word up.
Bergman wanders over from the dart board with darts in hand. He offers me three chances to hit the board from where I stand by the bar (about 25 feet, a couple of stairs, and a doorway stand between me and the dart board.) $100 a throw. Forgetting about the time when I was 17 and a carney took $180 from me, 5 bucks at a time, I am ready to accept. The bartender, sensing what was going on, assures us that won't be necessary. Would the bar be liable if I plugged an innocent patron in the forehead with a dart? C'mon, I was three-time all state. I can put those darts wherever I want. I'll make it rain in here.
Next round of tasties: two double skinny pirates, a shark attack, and a beer. It's a slippery downhill slope, friends...and I'm on a double black diamond tonight.
I play The Macarena on the jukebox, then immediately announce to the entire bar when it comes on that it was Lane who played it. Everyone turns on him. I start a "It's all your fault!" chant, which is always fun. I am delighted by this, as it is precisely the kind of stunt that Lane would pull on me. I am running around the bar now, telling any stranger that would listen that I "out-Laned Lane." Sara, Alex, and Skye stand on their bench and dance to some dumb Hurricane theme song that sucks. They give you directions on the TV screen on how the moves go, but that shit is harder than Dance Dance Revolution.
Shazam! I finally realize who Dustin reminds me of: Billy Madison's third grade buddy, the one who pees his pants on the field trip. Now all I have to do is make it through the night without pointing at him and yelling "You had an accident? What's that supposed to- GOOO!!!!"
Apache comes on again, somehow. I turn on Dustin, "What the fuck! Are you kidding me?" He reminds me that I am the one who re-played it. Bergman and I dance Apache. Video is taken....as is my self-respect.
We discover that Jud currently has a challenge going where he must get laid before his roommate. He tells us any help is welcome, and he, um, won't be too picky tonight. Not 3 minutes later I plop myself down at a table of about 8 moms, out celebrating one of the ladies' 38th birthday. My opening line: "Raise your hand if you want to be shamelessly flirted with by a guy at least 12 years younger than any of you!" The two ladies nearest me raise their hands. Gaaaaame oooooooon!!!! Inside my head, Wayne and Garth are dragging the hockey net into the street.
A few minutes later Lane and Jud wander by and try to inject themselves into the group. Not right now, chief. I'm in the fuckin' zone. Then I remember I am only doing this to get Jud laid, and my girlfriend is less than 20 feet away. I let Jud take over.
Behind the bar is a surfboard with three shot glasses glued to it. Apparently they are called "shot-skis." Lane, Bergman, and I do one of those. And another. And another. I'm now drinking vodka beers for the first time since freshman year, on top of everything else.
Skye's purse is starting to rattle on the table a little bit. Could that be.....techno ball? I thought that wasn't coming out tonight? I just lost a buck. To myself.
I participate minimally in techno ball. Between our group and all the randoms that want a part of the madness, things are in good hands. I begin unabashedly hitting on less fortunate looking girls, as Jud has not fared so well with the table of Cougars.
Lane exacts his revenge for the Macarena incident when, introducing ourselves to some randoms, he says his name is Adam Banks. Now anybody who has grown up with me, drank with me, hell- people who have no idea who I am but have read this blog- everyone knows my fake name is Adam Banks. I am caught completely off guard, and in no state of mind to be making up names on the spot. I stammer and mumble for a bit before saying my name is Chip. The ladies aren't buying that shit, and I strike out looking. Ballgame. Lane is pleased.
Now things get interesting. I begin talking to a girl. A little hazy now, but I think her name is Lauren. She is not good-looking. She is only an inch shorter than me, and she's got me by 25-30 pounds, easy. I would say that when she was getting ready to go out tonight, she smeared makeup all over a shovel, lit her face on fire, and then put out the fire by beating herself in the face with the makeup-covered shovel. Needless to say, I am hitting on her for Jud's sake. She is getting a little aggressive. She smells my fake interest like a shark smells blood in the water, which is ironic because I am desparately trying to bury my face in my fifth shark attack at the moment.
Sara tells Lauren that I have a girlfriend, and that she is standing very close to me. Lauren is not happy. She turns to me and says, "Don't make me angry. You wouldn't like me...if I was angry." At least that's what I think she says, because I can only picture her as the Incredible Hulk at this point. Things are escalating quickly. I mean, really getting out of hand fast. I figure that before I see a man on fire, and Brick kills a guy with a trident, and Ron Burgundy advises me to stay with a relative or lay low in a safehouse of some sort, that we better get out of there. Too late: Alex is pissed. While this is a worse alternative for my short-term future, this is a much, much safer alternative for my long-term physical health. At least if it came down to it, I could beat Alex in a fistfight. I cannot say the same about Lauren.
Once home, Sara has to be carried in to our apartment from the car. Alex and I have our first 'domestic dispute' since moving in together. I fire up the playstation (hey, I had a big series against the Braves, and Dontrielle was pitching!) and have a one-man slumber party in the Fortress of Solitude.
Upon further review:
Even if you're only hitting on: a) much older ladies, b) mediocre-looking girls, or c) a possible transvestite with anger management issues; and even if you're only doing it on behalf of a buddy who needs to win a bet, it's probably not a great idea to do it while your girlfriend is present.
People HATE the Macarena (unless it's a wedding, I guess, because the dance floor is always packed when that song comes on.) The backlash against Lane when people thought he played that song was shockingly severe.
I wish I would've had Dustin going up to girls and asking, "Miss Vaughn, do you like anyone from class, like, more than a friend?" And then the girl would've looked at him all weird and I could've screamed, "YOU BLEW IT!" Man I love Billy Madison.
Dontrielle owns the Braves. The next day I thought I remembered being pissed because I gave up a 9th inning homer to lose the game, but I went back and checked stats, and the D-Train through a 3-hit shutout. Whoops.
Lane's reasoning for why our tabs were so huge at the end of the night: "They charge extra for your babysitting fee and your cougar license."
Sara does a pretty good Lauren impression:
We still can't drink responsibly at Sandbar.
