Ah, the good old days. This is literally he day after the last Valentine’s day I spent with the Red head from the Blow Job story. I worked a double at the group home of the autistic and poop flinging on Valentine’s Day, didn’t get so much as a page (yes, pagers were more popular than cell phones back in the day. Fuck you, I know I’m old) so I was irritated and lonely. I spent Valentine’s Day night with a Big Titted Skank from work driving around Boston looking for coworkers to party with and eventually end up in a townie bar with BTS, then back to her apartment where nothing happens. I’m not sure if nothing happens because she’s not interested or because I’m oblivious. Either way, I went home shaking my head and frustrated.
The next day I worked the evening shift with the poop flingers and didn’t hear from the RedHead at all that day. This was fine since I had made plans to go out with a loser friend of mine, The Game, and his roommate, Object of a lifetime’s Venom. A little background. The Game has earned his name not because he’s an influential west coast rapper but because I once set him up with an interview for the company I worked with at the time where he told the recruiter in the interview that ‘he knows what he has to do, he knows how to play the game…’, and never could figure out why he didn’t get the job. Object of Lifetime of Venom got his nickname because he went to high school with my brother and claimed to be friends with my brother. This is relevant because a) like most older brothers mine abused the shit out of me, and b) He remembered OoLoV as a Douche who he and his friends used to beat up. Fast forward, he now works at Sam Goody at 28 and thinks he’s cool. Fuck him, I hated him before I saw all his piercings (including the tongue stud, how punk), tattoos and gray teeth. Someone must be the target for all those years of abuse and beatings, guess who volunteered…
I leave right from work and head to the bachelor pad and get greeted at the door with a beer. I inhale it while I wait the bitches to make themselves pretty and inhale another beer on the walk to the car, as I’m driving, I don’t want to get behind the wheel with a beer in hand, that would be wrong.
We go to one of the most notorious meat markets in Providence at the time, mainly because they have $1.50 rolling rocks, which speaks to my liver and my wallet at the same time. This is a rare and joyous occasion. It’s not only ladies night but also retro 80’s night, where they are playing classic alternative music. We’ve been coming here to play pool and hang out with some of the girls I work with because The Game has a crush on one of them. For some reason, they decide they aren’t going out with us, their loss. I for some reason offer to buy the first round and head to the bar. The joint is packed and the line is deep, thankfully I’m 6’ 2” and an asshole so I push my way through. As I hit the bar I have a blonde who is nearly at eye level with me right behind me. I decide to be a gentleman and let her in front of me, I don’t like the guys I’m with so why should I hustle back to them with beer that I bought for them?
She makes eye contact and smiles at me. I say something witty like I’ll see her later on the dance floor. Yes, at 22 I am that type of player. Not really, I have no clue what I’m doing but I can pretend. She walks away smiling, 250 people in the bar tonight I doubt I’ll remember what she looks like.
I order my round, 3 beers, $5 including my very generous 50 cent tip and head back to meet the crew. They’re off to the side of the dance floor scoping out a number of hunnies who are also standing off to the side of the dance floor, almost drunk enough to start dancing. As I join them and distribute the beverages I realize its not only the Blonde from the bar but she’s part of a group of all very attractive blondes and one very ethnic Indian girl, also very hot. I interrupt their conversation to hear them calling dibs on which ones they are going to make runs at. To me this is comical. The Game is a bit of a mess, he’s a man-child in ways most adults can’t comprehend. He tries to impress girls with his comic collection and his encyclopedic knowledge of Depeche Mode. He was 1 accounting credit shy of graduating high school but he was too lazy to follow through and go to summer school. He’s a special type of fuck up. The only reason I hang out with him at this point is because we have the same sick sense of humor and he’s pretty much game for anything. He’s as fearless as he is retarded but he’s not exactly a prize. He predictably decides that the Indian Girl is the target just because she’s the only one that isn’t Blonde and hot. This is 100% predictable, even if she was 250 pounds and black, she was different which would make her his target. OoLoV is a mess in his own right. He’s the text book example of the record store burnout, only without the classic good looks. To hear these guys try to dictate the night to these young ladies is ludicrous. Then I hear the best part, OoLoV calls the tall one I talked to at the bar, though she stands a good 4 inches over him.
This strikes a nerve with me. Here is a shithead who reminds me of all that was wrong and abusive in my childhood, at least at the hands of my brother and we have both selected the same piece of pink beaver as our target for the evening. Dogs will hunt motherfucker, game on. You shall pay for the sins of all that have come before you, all that karate you took can’t prepare you for the ass kicking you’re about to take from an anger that has festered for more than 20 years. My brother and I share the same genes, I’m not allowed to hate him, but guess what? You only want to be my brother, so be prepared to take the abuse that I can’t inflict on him.
I let him have first crack at her just because I had a feeling. He ran with it like he was a retard going for a cookie, no game, nothing subtle or even remotely clever. He was as effective as a bunt when you’re down 6 late in the game. She looked upon him with a repulsion that you’d feel towards a skid row bum, or someone you’re married to. Not that I’m jaded. After he gets the initial brush off I decide to make a run at her because I have nothing to lose and everything to prove. We make awkward banter but I’m doing ok, she hasn’t dismissed me and seems to be tolerant of my stupidity, things are looking up. I some how manage to start dancing with her (white guy dancing, whatever you are picturing in your mind’s eye isn’t nearly as ridiculous as what really happened) when they start playing Dexy’s Midnight Runners- ‘Come on Eileen’. An evil glint comes to my eye and I bet her the next round that the next song is Violent Femmes ‘Blister in the Sun’. She laughs at me and says you’re on.
Side note, she probably thought I was mildly cute and vaguely entertaining at this point but making such a bold declaration made me appear to borderline crazy, which only intrigued her. She couldn’t contain herself to prove that I was crazy so she could get rid of me. What she didn’t know was me and The Game had made ourselves regulars here and we learned that the DJ, though damn good, had a habit of playing songs based on their beats per minute which also gave him a predictable tendency of playing the same groupings of songs. Every time I went there he always played Come on Eileen, and every time he always followed it with Blister in the Sun. In the course of our awkward conversation I had learned she was from out of town and had never been to this club before. Like shooting retards in a barrel…
As we are dancing (too comically for your feeble mind to imagine) to Dexy’s and the song is winding down, the strumming of the acoustic guitar sound of the Femmes kick in and her jaw drops.
Tall Hottie: Oh my god, how did you know?
Me: Do not question the wisdom of a Jedi….
I do tell her that the bet was ill won and explain to her why but it doesn’t matter, at this moment, I experience the first of what will soon be a long list of the Drunken Make Outs at the Bar. My main goal for the evening was to cock block that retard but this is one upmanship that can’t be quantified in my mind. At no point the fact that I have a bitch of a girlfriend who’s waiting to kill me has crossed my mind. I’m shocked by my insensitivity towards the ones who love and care for me. I’m not sure but this may become a running theme in my life.
We are drunk and making out for all to see, and this only irks OoLoV. Not only did he lose, but so publicly. For some reason I feel no sympathy. By the time last call rolls around , I’m hooking up, The Game ran into the wall that is his personality and OoLoV has struck out like a little Leaguer against Pedro Martinez. Not only has the bitch struck out, but Pedro is taunting him from the mound as he walks away by making out with the trophy. We all sort of stumble out of the club and try to determine how to end the night. As we are trying to break it up the 6 or so women have a complete inability to wave down a cab to get their drunken asses back to one of the sisters apartment/safe house. Let’s guess who overplayed his hand into the nice guy zone and then finds his 1994 Nissan Sentra SE-R (black) packed to the roof with hotties as a chauffeur?
I leave her on the curb with the genius twins as I drive her sisters and god knows who else to an undisclosed location somewhere on the East side of Providence. I manage to find my way out and back to pick up my crew and her and bring them back to the secret apartment. We arrive in one piece, hang in the after party and eventually let the after party wind down. Me and my boys find ourselves in the kitchen at 4AM chatting away with the tall hottie. OoLoV makes his last ditch run at the Tall Hottie and I just have to laugh. One would think that he was paying attention on the ride over where I told her that he was a impotent midget with bad teeth (for some reason he took offense and this was a point of contention for at least a few days before I didn’t care) he gets shot down. I find myself in the same room with her and we start the drunken make out again. She asks me for my number and I give her my pager.
Me: You’re not going to call….
Hot Tall Skank: No, I promise, I’m going call…
Me: Sure you are, it was very nice to meet you…
Sure enough, the next evening she rings me. Even my defeatist attitude can’t overcome myself….
