mychai's Diaryland Diary ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- JP Becomes a functioning member of the night life. Ok... A few 'housekeeping' notes. If you scan your little eyes down to the bottom of thise here frame, you will see I added a few things. One is a banner ad for my boyUncle Bob. I think I have mentioned him before. He usually updates twice a day, so go read his stuff. He's one cool cat. The other thing is for a webring I joined. I have to get the message out, so I decided to join a webring so more people will read about my life and get excited about making their's much more interesting. Because, I may seem all kewl and neat and stuff. But really, I'm not. I went out last night because I was one sick mofo at hanging around the empty, lonely apartment. I decided to give my good friend Leslie a call. You know... Leslie, the girl I dated for a few weeks who is now married. But we are still friends and all. Anyway, we sat out on her back porch for a good two hours just talking about all kinds of stuff. Normally I wouldn't have called her to keep me occupied, but she had a Pampered Chef party and I bought $55 worth of Pampered Chef and I had to go pick it up. Really... Honestly... I'm not gay, though I was the only guy at the Pampered Chef party. Anyway, we talked for a long while until I decided to leave. More like she threw my sad ass out. When I was going to her house, I passed by a new bar. So, I thought I would go just to see what it was like. The following are from notes I scribbled on a napkin after I had consumed several pints of beer. The bar's name is T.P.'s. If you are from around here, you know that there are several "T.P.'s" in the area. They are known for not being party bars but hang-out bars, my kind-o-place. I hate loud music and strobe lights and fake smoke when I want to sit and enjoy a beer. Makes me drop to the floor in convulsions. It's a dreaded disease known as "JP's Attempt at Dancing"-itis. Stem cell research should hopefully find a cure. Anyway, I sat at the bar and drank a beer or two before I started to become an active member of the bar's social scene. I ended up sitting next to two guys named Mike. Let me tell you this: When you are drinking and you want to meet some new people and have a good laugh or two, hang around two people with the same name. It makes things MUCH simpler! So, we were scoping out the two chicks playing pool who were all over each other. None of us dared get up. Because it woulda shown. Also at the bar was a guy and a guitar. Like, together. Like, the guy was playing the guitar. And the guitar had an amp. As in, he was the "live music" for the night. Damn, that was hard to describe. Anyway, he was playing away. And he wasn't too bad at all. And he kept things pretty quiet so you could hear someone talking and you wouldn't have to shout. World record for number of "ands" in a paragraph. Anyway, there was this blond chick sitting at the end of the bar. By her build -- and seeing how her chin barely made it to the bar -- I could tell she was a short girl. I have it for short girls. They do it for me. She was blond, pretty, and quite feisty, as most short girls are. But she had a guy sitting with her. So, I admired from a distance. Had she brunette hair, I woulda said to myself "I could take the guy, because she is a short brunette chick." But she was blonde and looked a lot like Pamela Anderson Lee, minus all of the fake crap. And as I was noticing her, I noticed she was noticing me. So, when The Guy got up for a potty break, the girl went to see Live Music Guy up close. He was playing Garth Brooks' "The Dance." By this time, I had already drunk 4 pints of beer. When I drink beer, I am a LOT more confident. Without beer, I am a HUGE wuss and I usually talk myself out of approaching a girl and end up regretting it for the rest of the day. So, I walked up to her and got her attention by tapping on her shoulder. She spun around and looked at me like I was the Sasquatch or something. She had the widest, must startled look in her eyes. "Wanna dance?" I said. "Uhh... Like how?" She asked. "Umm... I dunno. Normal dancing, I suppose." So, we proceeded to dance. And we were the only people in the WHOLE BAR that was dancing. And if she weren't as drunk as she was, I think I may have enjoyed it a bit more. I literally had to keep her from falling a time or two. But it looked like I was dipping her. You know... when you dance, you "dip" the girl. Everyone in the bar thought I had class. Anyway, she said she was glad that I asked her to dance. Or, as she put it, "I um glah youuuu assed meeeee to dains." And her name was Carrie. So, that was my extent of picking up chicks at a bar. Not bad, eh? Considering I hardly ever go to bars because most have loud music and required dancing. Plus, the only thing worse than my dancing is my ability to pick up chicks. I told Mike (see how much easier it is to tell the story???) that I would be back next Saturday night. They said they are regulars on Saturday and they would catch me next time. That's kewl speak for, "Yeah! I hope to see you next week." Hmmm... I also scribbled some more notes about the bar. Supposedly, at the time of writing, I was impressed by the fact that they had roasted peanuts to eat and you could toss the shells on the floor. It's that bit of rebelion left over from living at home for 18 years: "Don't throw food on the floor!" Ha! Screw that. And at the time, I thought a certain sign on the wall was funny. It read, "No one is listening util you FART!" 10:20 a.m. - 2001-08-19 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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