I have vague memories of a bit in an episode of The Simpsons where Bart touches something and then gets shocked or something like that. Then he touches the item again, and thus gets shocked again and so on and so on. (I know, because of my bad memory my point is already starting to fall apart and I am barely two sentences in!) As long as the end results are more comical than tragic we love to laugh at this inability to learn from past mistakes, particularly when it is demonstrated by one of our friends. Well my friends, prepare for a chuckle or two as I share with you my harrowing tale of last Sunday night and boy is it a doozy.
I have blogged about Drunk Girl before (here) but since I am writing this at the office I cannot track down what I might have called her in the post therefore we will just refer to her as Drunk Girl, the nom de guerre by which I identify her at work.
Drunk Girl – Episode I ended with Drunk Girl having walked out of the Kelvin Arms after giving me a stern verbal spanking about being a buzz kill and how being out with me was like being out with her grandpa. Fun and exciting stuff which lead me to dub Drunk Girl a F-ing Psycho on the internet and think I was done with her. I could not have been more wrong. A week and some change later after what henceforth shall be known as the Kelvin Krash, I got a call from Drunk Girl which began with the phrase, “I must have behaved badly since you haven’t called me.” I quietly thought to myself, “Hell yeah you did you f-ing psycho,” but since I am a boy and Drunk Girl is acceptably cute I said something to the effect of, “Well, badly isn’t the word I would use.” (In fact this took place the Sunday after APCB Beerfest 3 at which I finally met the paragon of the Houston blogging community and Dolcefino-bane, Pete.) Since I was just waking up from a night of beer-fueled debauchery (read sitting around and drinking with friends) I told Drunk Girl I would call her later when I was feeling somewhat closer to human. To make a long story short we ended up hanging out at Rudz for several hours while having lunch and one or two rounds of the booze. After which we swung by the grocery store and then I had some car trouble. I eventually got her home and got the car to the shop. It wasn’t a completely wretched experience, in fact it was a fairly pleasant and low-key afternoon.
We began talking a bit more regularly after that, about two or three times a week. I would try to get her to go out and do something normal, like go ice skating or catch a movie, however due to her schedule she doesn’t really have much time for anything besides work and the booze. Then she told me she was getting into an AA program and attending meetings. I thought this was awesome news and tried not to be snarky about how long it would stick in the back of my head. I should have given into the snark as it took her just over a week to skydive off the wagon. She spent one weekend visiting her parents in Austin and their neighbors had a party which, as most parties since your last birthday at Chuck-E-Cheese, involved a bit of the booze. For Drunk Girl this meant enough booze to pass out on one of the couches and then spend most of Sunday sleeping it off.
That was two Sunday’s ago. We talked during the week but since I was headed to Austin for the weekend we decided not to make any firm plans but if I got back in to Houston in time we would go and get dinner. The weekend pretty much went to plan, which was to spend the majority of the weekend playing Shadowrun in a geek celebration of Kyle’s birthday. Some of you may remember Kyle, father of Noah the self-proclaimed Cutest Baby in the World™, from the epic I wrote about his wedding (here). We’ll skip all that since there is a write-up of the entire weekend in the works and fast-forward to Sunday morning. (Fast-forward he says with no detectable irony while typing the second page of set-up for the story.) Drunk Girl called me Sunday morning and appeared to be somewhat eager to discuss our plans. Since we were not done with the adventure I told her I was not certain what time I would be back in town and that I would call her around 6pm so we could decide what we want to do. Then she called me around 4pm. Since we were in the process of packing the car to head home I told her I thought she should go eat and maybe we could get together later.
Then she called about 30 minutes after that wondering why I hadn’t called her yet. We had almost the exact same conversation with the one minor exception of me explaining to her that we had, in fact, just gone over all this. This should have been my signal to bail from the evening right there. I should have waited an acceptable amount of time and then called her back and told her that something had come up and I was not going to be able to get into town until WAY late.
About 30 minutes later my phone rang again. It was Drunk Girl. She wanted to know where to hang out while she was waiting for me. I told her to go to Downing Street, which didn’t work for her, so I suggested Rudz as she had mentioned liking it. This lead to a discussion that I never quite got a hold of but ended in her being pissed because I was giving “retarded” directions. I will admit to giving retarded directions since I know how to get to Rudz but can’t really give directions there and I could not get Drunk Girl to tell me where she was. She decided to go somewhere else and hung up the phone. We stopped in College Station (I went to CS to car pool with Abe, Rob, and Chris) and I hopped in my car, gassed it up, and headed to Houston.
During the 90 minute drive from College Station to Houston Drunk Girl called me five or so times. At one point we talked, got off the phone, and before I could even put it down she was calling again. This time she was straight forward and just asked if I was trying to avoid her. Of course I told her I wasn’t because, well, I wasn’t trying to avoid her. We agreed to meet at Taco Milagro (that’s where the Devil lives) and then go out for some dinner.
I finally made it to Houston, dropped my stuff off at the house, and headed over to Taco Milagro around 9:30. She had met up with someone there at the bar and they were chatting when I came in. She introduced us, although I have completely forgotten his name, and we sat and watched the end of the Raiders-Eagles game. She claimed to no longer be hungry so I suggested we hit Downing Street for another round or two before calling it a night. This is where things really started to go wrong. She didn’t want to go to Downing Street because it is, in her words, a poser bar. Everyone who goes in there is just a poser. When I jokingly protested that while it might be true for many of the people in there, and it is, it was certainly not true for me. Of course I was wrong and I am actually a poser and Drunk Girl had no compunction about informing me of my poserness. That was the first salvo of the evening.
Once we were actually in Downing and I had beer and cigar in hand and settled at one of the tables she launched the next broadside of the evening. We were chatting about nothing in particular and then out of the blue she says, “Mister and you with the comments lately.” Of course she is referring to the infantile joy I get out of the double-entendre however I had not upped the ante on them recently, I guess she was just sober enough to remember them now. (Baa-Zing!) “I am not your girl. I’m nobody’s girl,” she said, stumbling into a diatribe about how I was making these comments to her to tell her I was sexually interested in her and she made it plain that she was not interested in me in that way. While this was a little disappointing, hell, who am I kidding, it is still a little disappointing, c’est la vie and all that. Then she veers into crazy land saying things like, “Have you ever even had sex? I mean and didn’t have to pay for it,” and, “Are you sure you’re not barking up the wrong tree?” and, “Sometimes you just have to go out there and get the sex,” and, “You’re one of those guys that tries to hook up with everyone you meet.” The insanity was coming so fast I didn’t even have time to react to the you’re still a virgin accusation before I was being called gay. She ended this salvo with, “You’re basically just a pussy. You sit around and wait for someone to fall in love with the big pussy, which is you.” To a certain extant she is right. I have WAY misread situations before and therefore I am a little slow on the uptake when a woman is expressing interest in me, as some of you well know. At this point I almost asked if she was pissed at me because I had not tried to actually hook it up with her yet, however as I am not one to get into screaming matches in public, let alone places I am known and would like to return to, I let it go.
Once that was done she decided we needed to go and sit with the bartenders from Taco Milagro. Now I pretty much hate just walking up to someone I don’t know in a bar and invading their space. When I am in a bar with my friends I really want to be left the hell alone unless you happen to know me or one of my friends. I do not go to bars to have strange drunk girls cutting in on my after work relaxation time. She got all pissed at me because I was hesitant to go over there, however I let myself be brow beat into it. We were there for maybe ten minutes before they bailed and there I was, stuck with Drunk Girl alone.
Now she decided she was really hungry again and that we needed to get some food right then. I was pretty much tired of her crap and told her, in no uncertain terms that I wanted to finish my cigar and finish my beer. After that was done I was going to reassess my desire for another beer. Quite frankly I was not that hungry anymore and I just wanted her to go the hell away. While she was in the bathroom I ordered myself another Guinness and when she got back she was pissed. This time she lit into me about pushing her around and basically being a jerk. She had the waitress bring us some nuts which she sat there and ate, telling me I could not have any since I was not hungry (I did not want any, anyways) and then she started to lecture me on how bad nuts are for you. At some point she decided the thing to do was to chew the nuts up into a paste and then spit them out onto her napkin. Apparently if you get enough booze into someone they start acting like a three year old. I had enough of this and told her that if she was hungry we could go get some food after I finished my beer. I then proceeded to down my fresh pint of Guinness in one pull. (When push comes to shove I can pack the Guinness down like nobodies business.) This elicited some comment from her along the lines of, “Do you think that’s hot?” Of course I don’t you dumb blonde, but like hell I am going to waste that nectar of life we mortals call Guinness.
On the way to the car it became apparent that she was far too drunk to drive. She could barely walk straight even with my assistance. So I ended up driving us to La Tapatia. On the way over there she was asking what we were doing and I was never able to get it clear on whether she meant what we were going to do or if she was being drunkstential.
You know what? I am starting to get tired of telling this tale so I am going to rush through the end of the evening.
She decided she wanted a margarita and I jokingly suggested that wasn’t she wasn’t allowed to have one. That might have been the wrong idea as the next thing she said was, “So you can go out and eat half the city and I can’t have one drink?” Great. Now she’s calling me fat. The meal was pretty miserable and ended with her trying to get me to walk out on the tab. Now that is a classy move. There has only been one time in my life where I wanted to walk out on the tab and I was convinced that it was a dick move.
Once we were back in the car and headed to my house to call it a night she passed out and drooled all over my arm. Then she was a pain to get out of the car, but at least she did not lean the seat back this time. The night ended with her passed out in my bed. Again.
Monday morning came extra special early as she had to be at work at 7:00. This means we had to wake up around 5:30 to get her to her car and give her time to get ready for work. Once we were in the car and headed back to where we had left her ride she asked if she had done something to piss me off. At first I told her no but after thinking about it for a minute I decided I was tired of being nice to her. I told her that she had really pissed me off last night and when she asked I told her that she had been bitchy to me all night and called me gay, fat, and a pussy. She gave me the sullen five-year-old sorry and then nothing else was said until we got to her car at which point she said thanks and took off.
I haven’t heard from her since and I don’t think I will ever hear from her again but if I do I am split between just not answering the phone or answering the phone and letting her have both barrels. I don’t need this kind of crap in my life.
Oh yeah, in the comments on my last post about Drunk Girl (who I just noticed I outed in my first post as Becky; oh well, I am not going to go back and change this now) Diana followed up my Minnie Driver quote with, “Don’t rush to judgment until all the facts are in.” Well D, I think all the facts are in and what we have here is a:
Thanks Minnie. I love you.