Tuesday, June 08, 2004

You Are A Cruel and Vengeful God, But Not Without an Innate and Admirable Sense of Comical Irony.

Disclaimer: Chalk all factual errors up to either artistic-interpretation or artistic-intoxication, as the case may be. Thank you. -Mgmt.

So, in a move of parliamentary procedure, I now suspend the rules to allow me to talk about my personal life, since last night turned into an Emmy-winning episode of the sitcom that is my life. That I consider the Emmys about as legitimate an award as the Grammys, the People's Choice Awards or the Soul Train Music Awards is beside the point.

Now, what I should do is write it out as an actual script, which really only works if you know the characters, which is why I get confused every time I see a rerun of Just Shoot Me, since I never watched it the first time around. So, it's unfortunate that it can't stand on the merits of the dialogue alone, but the last scene is absolutely hysterical after the deflation of Dan The Man's ego is turned on its ear, suddenly becoming ridiculous in a Seinfeld "Dolores!" kind of way.

So, in order to make things clear, we have myself, who is known at the bar as Mickey or Herb, neither of which is my real name; Bob the forty-something laid-off married guy wearing a Metallica t-shirt; English Jon, who manages to somehow pick up all the women his mother has ever tried to set me up with, since I seem to be the Rhoda to English Jon's Mary Richards; Stephanie the new waitress; Trish the bartender; Dan The Man, who looks just like the bald guy from Mr. Show and knows even more about horror films than I do; and then we have the Object of Dan's Affection and the Guy She Walked In With. There's a few other characters, but they really don't function as such, since they don't have any funny lines.

So there we all are at the bar, seated around our regular corner: (from left) Dan The Man, English Jon, Bob, and myself. Levels of intoxication: (from left) Two sheets to the wind, one sheet to the wind, soaked to the gills, one sheet to the wind. Dan The Man is rather taken by a girl at a nearby table, that she is sitting with the guy she walked in with is of no import to Dan. He (Dan) contemplates his move while continuing to drink (his first mistake); that he's planning to put the mack on this already-accompanied girl are mistakes two and three; two being obvious and three being the fact that he used the phrase "put the mack on" in the year 2004.

This, of course, sets our Comedy of Errors in motion as Bob points out the new waitress, who has apparently been looking in our direction. Bob assumes she's looking at him, Dan The Man assumes she's looking at him, and I assume she's looking at English Jon, citing the example of the redheaded British girl from a few weeks prior who must have been absolutely insane for pursuing an already-accompanied English Jon that night rather than pursuing a very single me, who had enlisted the assistance of English Jon's mother to guide her toward the brilliant healing light of all that is holy, also known as myself. I point out the insanity of this British girl, to which English Jon responds that she is his new girlfriend. Oops.

So Dan The Man -despite protests from myself and English Jon, who believe it's foolish to chase after an accompanied girl, going so far as to call Dan The Man an idiot- concocts whatever master plan of separating the girl from the guy she's with and goes about his attack. Bob, meanwhile, goes to talk to the new waitress, despite the fact that he's married, taking with him the confidential knowledge of my actual first name that I'd only told him moments before. English Jon, who also knows my first name, buys shots of Tequila Rose for himself and Bob, which -by law- means the shot defaults to me.

So there's Bob over yonder and Trish the bartender walks over with my third Long Island of the night and asks why Bob's over there talking to the waitress. English Jon says Bob thinks she fancies him and Trish says, "No, she likes Mickey." I immediately let out a slight shriek and nearly choke to death on my Long Island which I'd been drinking at the time. This puts one of my already-active neuroses into overdrive and all of a sudden I've turned into Richard Lewis's worst nightmare.

A Brief Rundown of My Neuroses, as applicable to the situation at hand:
(1) Women are not attracted to me. Those who are must be crazy.
*** Corrolary: All women are crazy, but not all women are attracted to me.
(2) When confronted with a situation such as this, I begin stuttering and acting aloof, like virtually any Hugh Grant Character, but not in a cute, funny or charming kind of way.
(3) This waitress looks a great deal like the girl I took to my friend Jessica's wedding. That did not end well. By such association, this is the neurosis that has taken over my brain, saying, "Flee! Run like the wind!"

As such, you can imagine what happens when Bob goes to the restroom and she (the waitress) comes over to talk to me. I'm actually not sure if that high-pitched whine was the air-conditioner or me, but my capacity for conversation at the time was quite impaired, though it may have been the fact that I had just managed to consume a twelve-ounce Long Island Iced Tea in about thirty seconds. To say that I was brief or curt doesn't do either term justice, since I believe my replies to her queries were fractions of words, the remainder of my brain flashing warning-lights and telling me to scramble the bombers.

Might I add that Bob told her my real name, which she uses to address me, at which point the now-drunk English Jon yells, "Tom! His name is Tom!" for everyone to hear. I let out another shriek as the well-kept five-year secret of my real name is no longer a mystery, and I'm expecting to see on the bar's marquee,

50 Cent Tacos!
Mickey's Name Is Tom! Mystery Solved!
Thursday Karaoke

Not shockingly, the waitress has had enough of me, and goes back to her seat to talk to one of the other waitresses. Bob, who went to talk to the bar-manager goes back to keep talking to her, which is clearly annoying her. English Jon, who was at least as intoxicated as myself at this point, slurs, "Wha' the fuck are you doing?!" At this point I'm finally getting past the whole stuttering thing and inform him that I've been on three dates in four years, of which only one went remotely well, until you factor in that she moved to Florida the following week. Of course, English Jon has heard me complain about all of this before.

English Jon says I should write her a note, and so I scribble out the only kind of note I'm remotely capable of writing at that point, as my brain has reverted to the fourth-grade level. The note says something along the lines of: Would you like to come back over? (check box) Yes/No." English Jon is appalled by this horrific display of how bad I am with women, and grabs a napkin and pen, then starts scribbling out a note. I spend the next ten minutes editing and recopying the note, going so far as to add a slight against Bob for good measure. The note meets with English Jon's approval and is given to Trish the bartender to act as courier, which she covertly did for English Jon when he slipped the British girl a note while he was at the bar with his then-girlfriend a few weeks prior.

So the note is received and immediately a response is written, given to Trish and delivered. The gist of the note states that I was less than attentive, but she'll be heading over shortly. I let English Jon and Trish read the note, since they've already read the first one anyway, and we all come to the conclusion that it's not an overly bad note to get, per se. Mind you, I'm rather drunk at this point, and so it's only when I read the note that I actually get this girl's name, since I missed it when she was actually talking to me, as all I heard at that moment were the shrieking violins from the movie Psycho.

Given the intervening moment, I notice that Dan The Man has given up on his quest for the girl at the nearby table, being unable to get her away from the guy she came in with and finally taking the advice of English Jon and myself to quit trying, and is leaving with a small pizza. Dan The Man is completely hammered and is going to be carried aloft to his home across the street by the beer-fairies; that he was able to cross the four lanes of Route 34 and make it safely home is either a genuine miracle or proof of the benevolence of the beer-fairies.

The waitress comes back over and we chat briefly and go back to her table, as she didn't want to leave the other waitress with Bob, who immediately starts grilling me with trivia questions about Metallica, which I could answer in my sleep. I get roped into karaoke at the Cantina the following night; the Cantina being the hangout for eveyrone from my high school that I didn't like.

Finally, we're all on our way out the door and the waitress asks where Dan The Man went. English Jon says, "He got fed up with trying to separate that girl from her boyfriend. I mean, you just don't hit on a girl in front of her boyfriend! So we finally convinced him to just give up and quit trying."

The waitress says, "Oh, that guy was her brother, not her boyfriend."

AIM: therbmcc71

No comments: