Saturday, February 13, 2010

Defenders of the Universe

The last few days has felt like a couple weeks. I've been keeping busy and I keep losing track of what day it even is - it's Saturday and I have to work tonight.

Tuesday I went out with Miss L and we were joined later by Miss JR and we consumed drinks galore. And whiskey. Wednesday I went to breakfast with Miss L and I got a call to do another workshop on comics! Hooray! I didn't do much else that day, though. Thursday is when things started to get really busy. I had some great company for coffee/lunch for him/breakfast for me. I then went to the Brewery with Miss A, where I tried the delicious bourbon smoked porter. Mmmmm. Then we went to the Hangar for some sustenance before I went to participate in the dramatic reading of chapter 2 of Going Rogue. After that, things got... interesting.

Defending the Universe: Part I

After losing a game of pool, Miss K and I walked down the hill to the Alaskan to enjoy some open mic magic. OK, a lot of times it really sucks, but sometimes it is magical. When we arrived the music was performed by a guy from Homer who always rocks it, this woman in town who is sort of strange but undeniably talented, and another guy who was putting some energy and talent into some sweet guitar riffs. Miss A wandered in at this point and was super intoxicated, black out drunk, and behaving in a fashion more accepted at the Imperial than at the Alaskan. I shrugged my shoulders and suggested to all the bartenders within a stumble from us not to serve her. She's a happy and lively drunk, a lot of energy, a lot of boobs. Oh well, people just smile and chuckle. Except my new ARCH NEMESIS, whose name I don't know.

This guy got up on stage and took the mic. He held no instrument and he had a mischievous look to him at best. He started doing stand up comedy. BAD stand up comedy. My criticisms are as follows: Know your audience - when you are in a room full of liberal white people, maybe your routine should not be black stereotypes, even if you are black. How would we know whether to laugh or not - one one hand, racial stereotypes are pretty low brow, on the other hand, will we look like a bunch of white assholes if we don't laugh? Laughter as affirmative action. Check. Second part of the routine was bringing up Tiger Woods. My initial complaint is that I was tired of hearing about his drama two months ago. The second complaint is that I expect a segue from topic to topic - black stereotypes to Tiger Woods? I don't get it! Tiger Woods is whiter than I am, playing pro golf, living in a gated community in Florida with his Norwegian wife. During this act, the only person drunk enough to laugh was Miss A - upset that he wasn't the center of attention, he adjusts his "routine" and starts mocking her, while she obliviously laughs and feeds into his routine. When he attempted to lead the audience in chanting "Ho!" I had had enough. Not only is he mocking someone who cannot defend herself, he is being slanderous and sexist. I walked up to the stage and I suggested that he stick to his routine and not mock someone defenseless to his disrespectful jokes. Then he cried out, "Oh, looks like we have an ACTIVIST in the house!" (As if it were a bad thing!) I walked away from the stage, middle finger held high, and I dragged Miss A out of the bar.

I tucked Miss A in when we got back to my place and Miss J, Miss B and I stayed up later, Miss B and I eventually rather drunkenly painting with acrylics on canvas.

Friday I managed to stay relatively busy as well, taking advantage of the good weather and heading to Sandy Beach with Miss B, her friend Mr. B and their friend's dog, Dumpy. Dumpy is the world's dumbest, fattest pug - which, of course, means that I find him to be extremely charming. We had a great time on the beach, went to lunch at the Island Pub and then headed back downtown where I decided to get domestic and make some soup from scratch (with beer based broth!) and do tons of dishes. I tried to have people over to help eat the soup but the company turned out to be only Miss P and Miss J. Miss J and I primped and then hit the town, hoping for an exciting night. We had no such luck.

Defending the Universe: Part II

It was a quiet night downtown and Miss J and I found ourselves having a drink at each bar and looking further for the best place to settle down and spend our time. We eventually decided on the Rendezvous, but encountered my ARCH NEMESIS during our time at the Alaskan. Just as we were finishing our drinks (and after Miss J and I attracted all sorts of attention for being tattooed and pierced "freaks") I was setting my glass on the bar leaning across a stool and past a beam - to better balance myself at this angle, I stuck one of my legs out behind me. Mr. Arch Nemesis walked behind me, nay, into my leg at this time. I turned in surprise and found myself faced with an angry and irrational arch nemesis all up in my grill accusing me of trying to trip him. I had had about 4 margaritas at this time and was not about to take shit from the arch nemesis like that, so I explained rather loudly and with sufficient sass that he had run into my leg and that I had done nothing malicious. Jumping in, to the rescue, Miss J got all up in his grill and faced with two of us, apparently, he decided to quit being a douchebag. At least for now.

Defending the Universe: Part III

Though it took place before the second run in with the ARCH NEMESIS, this story is probably the least exciting. After placing orders at the bar at the Imperial a large guy walked up behind us and barked an order at the bartender: "J├Ągerbomb. Diet [and] Crown. Cran, uh, vodka!" There was a pause, he was done. As a fellow bartender and with a little tequila in me, I interjected, "And he meant to add a please." Then he added a very exaggerated "please" to his order and patronizingly asked Miss J and I our ages. Miss J, having a great sense of humor, piped in with a superbly bubbly "I'm 19!" While I looked at him rather indignantly and thanked him for thinking I must be so young (he assumed 21 - an insult) and informed him that I had breached my mid-twenties thank-you-very-much. Like age has anything to do with it, as a bartender, I like the courtesy of a please and thank you.

Don't call us super heroes, no need to thank us, we're just good people, defending the universe. You know how it is.

No comments: