An Ode to Irresponsibility, 4 Rusty

Dear Reader (all three of you),

Sometimes I have the best of intentions to drink like a grown-up only to stagger home six hours later pondering what went wrong. Last night, after finishing responsible drinking at one lovely Village bar for a much needed girl's night-I was walking merrily home, arms linked with my great friend Susan when she suggests that we go to just one more bar before heading home.

"No, no," I protest, "I must go home and do my homework, clean the pigsty, wake up refreshed and bright for a new day."

To which Susan replies, "O.k."

We walk a few steps further, I turn and look back at the bar with its warm, glowing lights and say, "well just one more" (See! she twisted my arm, I swear!) and off we go for the night.

Saddled up at the next bar, heady on conversations about boys and love and life we start to notice two dudes staring at us. Dear Reader, I promise you these aren't the kind of dudes you want staring at you. So I whisper to Susan to not look at them at all so as not to encourage what would obviously be the worst interaction of the night. So we don't. We continue our heady conversation of boys and love and life and while we are just getting into the meat and potatoes of the point one dude staggers over and not so subtly smidges right on into Susan.

Oh no. Not good.

This is his opener:

"Are you girls from New York?"
(Seriously? Seriously?)

"No, no we aren't from New York"
(We can't even lie about this, our drunk drawls coming out of the bottom of our wine glasses.)

"I'm Rusty and I'm a drummer"

Hmmmm.....this is where I go, "But I've known a lot of drummers and you don't look like a drummer." I repeat this for effect.

Rusty assures us he is only in this suit (I will admit a disheveled suit!) because he came straight from his day job.

So we head straight into lying. Susan is in fashion design although she can't sew, but man is she a good drawerer. I burst out giggling never to return. Rusty undeterred by obvious lies and a good deal of my asshole laughing persists.

"What kind of music do you like?"

Susan goes first. Rusty responds that he likes, "grunge, Led Zeppelin (o.k. we are doing o.k at this point) and Foo Fighters! Oh! And I like new stuff too, like Fall Out Boy."

Fall out Boy? This 30 something man loves the eye make-up wearing, tight pant cramming, Ashlee Simpson canoodling, fake band member Pete Wentz? And readily admits it! Seriously? Seriously?

Dear Sir. I insist. You are no drummer. And you think we are 21.

We slam back the rest of our wine and God bless her, Susan takes my uncontrollable laughing self out of the bar (to the next bar).

I would on a normal day feel bad about laughing in this guy's face- but he committed what I find to be the most egregious bar sin. If two girls are deep in conversation, not looking at you, not even giving you the slightest hint that we are looking at you, and you do not look like an exact replica of Adrian Brody or Joaquin Phoenix or even Shia LaBeouf do not come over and interrupt our conversation and saddle in and think you are just what we need for the eve.
You are not. You are annoying. Please go away. Right now.

I will wax poetic about the #1 bar sin on another day, when I sit on a much higher moral perch, not having woken up with a teeny little headache and absolutely nothing accomplished other than being absolutely irresponsible, again.

Coming up soon, 30 days of sobriety- Stay tuned.