- July 28th, 2007
I accidentally went out the other night. Figured I'd leave the house for a couple of hours, talk to my friend, listen to some music.. you know, the usual Friday night activities. I put on some pants, made sure my hair wasn't poking straight up, and drove to DJ's house.
Most of you don't know DJ. He's my main man on this coast. The Number 2 to my Dr. Evil. He's a good deal shorter than me, wears glasses. Cool guy, you'll like him. Anyways. My night began around 8:00 pm. I gave DJ a call and asked if I could come over, he said yeah, so I started up yon chariot and drove my ass over.
I pull up to DJ's house and put my truck in park. I notice DJ and his wife Lisa standing by the street, talking to their new across-the-street neighbors. I step out of the truck, and am promptly introduced to Burt and Tammy. Tammy looks like a hot girl ate another hot girl in an attempt to gain her power, but all she gained was the weight. Naturally, her less-than-sunny demeanor didn't earn her any favor with me, but I really don't know her or even plan to, so what do I care? Anyways, Burt is a far more relevant character in this story. He's from Key West and every aspect of his character screams this. Another cool guy, if not a little off-kilter.
Anyways. We stood at the side of the road, by the garbage cans, drinking beer ala King of the Hill. Every now and then one of us would say "Yup." Occasionally an "mm-hmm" would escape someone's lips. In any case, when night fell and the mosquitoes came out, it was suggested that we go into Burt's house to grab another beer and escape the wrath of the skeeters. So we go into Burt's place, grab our beer, and make our way out the back door and on to the porch. For the most part, the wives stuck together, talking, and ultimately making their way inside. Myself, DJ, and Burt remained outside, telling dirty jokes and generally cutting up. It was nice!
Then Burt asks, "Do you guys wanna take a ride up to the store so I can buy some cigarettes?" Having nothing better to do, and figuring the trip would take about five minutes, we don't say anything to the wives, and make our way over to Tammy's Scion (henceforth known as "The Milk Truck").
He turns in the direction of the store, but rather than making a right into the parking lot, he makes a left at the nearby intersection. He then says "You guys wanna go to the Stern House and get a beer?" Being that by the time this question was asked, we were there, and having been to (and enjoyed) the Stern House in the past, we figured, what the hell, it's Friday! We made no protest, parked, and found that the place was closed. "Aww shoot." was my reaction, and we got back into the milk truck, presumably headed to the store for real this time. He drives straight, and again, instead of turning right into the parking lot of the store, he turns left. DJ and I exchange a concerned look and politely ask, "Dude, where the hell are you going?"
"Aww, man!! We're going to The Oasis! It's just up the road! We're gonna have ONE beer! It'll be fun!" Mm. Fun indeed. Well, again, I figured "Fuck it. It's Friday, I'm already out, and it's not like I have any say in the matter at this point." So we get to the Oasis, and are immediately greeted by a sound similar to a man being beaten with a guitar. Trying to figure out why anyone would allow this person to sing on a stage, I look up and see the reason, and it put a big ol' smile back on my face.
"KARAOKE FRI-SAT - 10:00-1:00"
I check my watch. It's Friday night at 10:30.
We go inside and are greeted by none other than Randy, DJ's crazy old redneck father in law. Funny guy if you can tolerate him. We mosey on over to his booth and grab a seat. As is the norm, I use this opportunity to check for single hot girls, but the only girl to pop out at me is a cute blonde chick flipping through one of the Karaoke song listings with her friend. I make a mental note of this, order a drink, and join in the conversation. I don't remember at this point what we were talking about, but knowing Randy, it was probably something racist. (As I said, redneck. I didn't mean it in the good way, yeech!)
So we carry on drinking and telling lies for a while. Not long after I came in, I put my name on the singing list, so we had to at least wait for my turn. Being that I was fairly drunk at this point, my attention span for things that did not interest me was nonexistant, so I spent the next little while cheering on those with the sand to sing, and doing the eyes thing with the cute blonde girl I mentioned previously. She was doing the eyes thing back, so it's cool. Even DJ noticed and said "Dude, that blonde chick is totally checking you out!" "I know!" I replied, and smiled. It was beginning to look like a good night after all!
Ultimately, my name was called, and I could no longer be bothered with pre-flirting. It was showtime! I casually made my way up to the stage in the corner, thanked the Karaoke dude, grabbed the mic, and waited. Karaoke dude did the CD shuffle, and before long, the familiar bass line starting off "Crush" by DMB began to play all around me. I then did what came naturally when I hear this song, and began to sing my ass off.
Before this night, I was under the impression that I sang this song well. I mean, whenever I would play it in my car with the volume way up and the windows down, I could've sworn I sounded exactly like Dave Matthews himself! Come to find out, however, that I don't sound like Dave Matthews. As a result, my normally beautiful, powerful voice came out sounding like a wispy disaster. I didn't exactly care. And I did better on the latter half of the song! But I didn't really expect to go up there and sound like Pavarotti. I was a semi-drunk dude who felt like singing, and damned if I wasn't in the place to do it! I finished up, all smiles, and came offstage to the cheering of my friends! Well, okay, the cheering of DJ. Still! I sang in public! You ever do that, fucker?
Sorry. No, I'm good. I just need a moment. *takes sip of water* Ahh.. that's better. What is this, Evian? Oh, tap? Hey, I'll take it, I'm no snob. Thanks. *Takes another sip* Okay, where was I? Oh yeah..
At this point, I'm feeling good. I've had a few beers, I'm out, laughing with my friends in a pretty fun place, and to top it off, I got to do a "HEYLOOKATMEEE!" thing in public without fear of admonishment! I sat back down and had another beer. Resuming my previous activities, I continue ignoring the conversation around me for the most part, in favor of watching the cute blonde girl get up on stage and sing thet one song by Jewel. You know? The one where she has the eggs and makes 'em into a smiley face? Yeah, that song. Anyways, she sang the hell out of it. She did a really good job, so color me impressed. She's hot AND she sings? I gotta get me some of that. She finishes, and she and her friend step outside. At this point, it's now or never. I finish my beer, tell my companions I'll be right back, and step outside.
Making like I'm trying simply to get away from the smoke and noise, I step into the outdoor seating area. I take a deep, rejuvenating breath of fresh air, and ask the two ladies if I may join them. They agreed, and I pulled up a chair. This felt almost too easy. I gave them my name, and they gave me their names, and conversation just sorta happened.
Now that I could get a good look at her, the blonde chick was actually quite attractive. She looked kinda like Cameron Diaz if she had a nice sized ass. She was from the same town in New York that Frank and Bit are from, and I asked if she knew 'em. She just kinda looked at me, and I started laughing. I realized then that it was much like saying to someone, "Where you from? California? You know a guy named Jeff?" We laughed, and the night went on.
The fact that she was from New York worked in my favor, being that at least half of the best friends I've had in life are from that state, and as a result, I know all the right buttons to push when gently making fun of a New Yorker. Any time I'd rile her up, I'd just put up my hands and say "Okay, it's cool! Just please don't stab me!" Because as we all know, New Yorkers all carry knives to shank people with. Well, as it turns out, she did have a knife. I didn't really believe her until she pullet it out to show me, at which point, I naturally raied my hands again and informed her that I didn't have any money. She chuckled and said not to worry, and that my name wasn't on that knife. Two other names were, but not mine. Following the natural progression of conversation, I asked her about who's names were on the knife. I didn't think that that would be the conversational downfall, but go figure.
As it so happens, she only just moved down from NY about 3 months ago. She had just broken it off with her boyfriend because apparently, he's been cheating on her with his baby's momma for the past eight years. He got the baby's momma pregnant again a few months back, and that was when all was revealed. Naturally, she revealed way more than this brief summary does (between bouts of tears), but I'm not in the business of displaying a stranger's pain for the world to see. More detail isn't really relevant to this story anyway. What's listed above and her repeatedly saying "I would only want to kill her so he'd be stuck raising two kids he doesn't want." I couldn't blame her, really, although I'd want to mutilate the guy a little, too (try raising two kids with only 4 fingers between your hands, fucker!). I told her that, which evoked a chuckle, but didn't really help her feel any better. It was around this point in the evening that I decided it wouldn't be prudent to ask this girl for her phone number. She's not ready for a relationship at this point, and I got the impression a brief triste was out of the question at the moment, so I continued being my usual sweet-to-everyone self, and ultimately she was sober enough to drive she and her friend home. We said our goodbyes, she said "Maybe I'll see you here again!" "Perhaps you will." We smiled, and I bid her adieu. I lingered for a moment, and went back inside.
DJ sees me and says, "Dude, where did you go? I was looking for you!" I told him I was outside talking to the blonde chick, which evoked a, "Wha-? Reeeeally?" I gave him the short, short version of what went on.. just enough to explain why I didn't have another phone number to add to my contacts list. We sit around, shooting the shit for a while longer, and at around 1:00 it's agreed that it's time to go.
We make our way to the Milk Truck, pausing only to pee in the parking lot (reason I love being a man #728). We pile in to the car, and the events of the evening just kind of hit us. A little over three hours ago, we left Burt's house to get cigarettes without telling anybody. After a brief "Oh shit!" moment shared by the two married men in the car (and a brief spell of me bragging about singlehood), we head in the direction of home. Heading north on US1, we come to the street we would have to turn on to go home. Burt keeps going straight. DJ and I exchange another look, and ask again, "Dude, where the hell are you going?" Burt responds, "Aww, MAN!! I know this tiki bar we can go to, and have just ONE BEER. It's the tiki bar, you know the tiki bar? Tiki bar!!" I noticed it wasn't phrased in the form of a question, and although I felt bad for DJ because of the chewing-out he was likely to receive upon returning home, but figured that the time it takes to drink one beer wouldn't make much difference. I didn't consider Burt's alcohol level upon getting into the car.. I guess I assumed that because I was only slightly buzzed at this point, the other guys were, too. I assumed wrong. Burt, thinking it was just funny as hell and laughing like a madman, decided that the best way to get to the tiki bar was fast and stupid. Going easily 20 miles over the speed limit and blasting through two red lights (my buttcheeks were so clenched up I could've crushed coal into diamonds), I just sat there, praying for a cop to pull us over. Go figure this was the one fucking hour Martin County sheriffs decide to not be on US1.
We make it to the tiki bar unscathed, and found a spot right by the front toor. The place was still jamming, and interestingly enough, full of similarly-aged people to us! I was actually delighted to find this out, as I've been living under the impression that twentysomethings to not exist in this county. I was pleased to be proven wrong, and when my butt loosened-up enough, I grabbed a stool and scoped out the scene. Nobody appeared to be single in the immediate vicinity, so I just sat there, polished off my final beer of the evening, and quietly thanked God when the bouncers came around shouting "If you don't have a tab, get out!" Didn't have to tell me twice. I hobbled over to the Milk Truck, and was greatly annoyed at the cop parked out in front, both for not being there thirty minutes before, and for the fact that he was shining that bright-ass light right in my face. I grimaced and resisted the urge to call the cop a fucker (though I do think I said "AH! WHAT THE FUCK?!?"), and when the doors were unlocked, I was happier than I ever have been to see DJ in the driver's seat, having gotten the keys fron Burt. This time, with DJ at the helm, we finally went home.
We said our goodbyes to Burt and walked over to DJ's house. We sat down in a couple of lawn chairs and talked about the events of the night. He was worried about going back inside, knowing he did a no-no, even if it wasn't his fault. I assure him he has nothing to worry about, as both he and I were taken hostage and had no choice in the matter. I was his witness, and Lisa thinks I'm just the bee's knees, so he had nothing to fear. With this, I made my departure, stopping only to get a fattening, greasy, but drunkalicious dinner at McDonald's, found my bedroom, and was asleep before my head hit the pillow.
So there you have it. My accidental night of random kinda glory. It may not sound like much, but damned if that wasn't an interesting night! Although I went into the evening having absolutely no idea that all this was going to happen, I'm really glad it did. I need to get out more, and now I know a couple of places to go. I just need to secure DJ as my wingman a bit more frequently, and soon enough I'll be up to my elbows in the hotness.