So there I was, running late. I had plans I had really been looking forward to taking part in. They involved music, alcohol, and spending time with my best friend people watching (ie judging everyone in sight indiscriminately with no set criteria, rules, or sense of fair play). I had been asked a particularly asinine question just before I left work for the day. The answer, then definition, and then flowcharting had taken more time than I expected. It’s hard being what I am. I won’t tell you what exactly that is but suffice it to say that I am vitally important, smarter than everyone, and I frequently have bizarre and outlandish things happen to me. They ALWAYS happen to ME by the way. Nothing ever happens around me that I could say I observed and then report on. Noooo! I must be the center figure in every story I write, just like in life where I am the true centre of the universe and things revolve around me. *hair toss*
So anyway I was meeting my fellow wench at a bar. I knew she would be there wenching it up while I was delayed. No worries about her. I made sure my white high heels and matching 80’s accessories were perfect and that my banana clip was mostly straight. I had some trouble managing my leopard print skirt. Damn pleather - so cheap, so sticky, so sexy (just like myself really). My bangs were an awesome sight, so shellacked they could double as armour in Iraq (God bless all the soldiers, including the ones who call me for recruitment even though I’m lying a big fat lie about that). I get out of the cab, the driver had insisted on telling me about his last fare. James Woods, Timothy Hutton and Robert Palmer (back from the grave) had been on their way to a poker/play/bake convention at a local casino hosted by a magical lawyer. Apparently I’m the dead ringer for the muse of BullSh*t in his country. Cool, huh ?
I needed a drink. I made my way past the bouncer, but the damn idiot made me take off five pounds of jewellery and used a Sharpie on my white heels cause he said they were tacky. Doesn’t he know who I am ??!! I left the equivalent of 5700 Barbie dream homes at the coat / tacky check. I moved in to find Brain Droppings. I spied her chatting up some unfortunate stump of a man with a dead squirrel on his head and a cubic zirconium the size of St. Pierre on his right earlobe. She was putting all her best moves on him, I could tell by the curl of her lip as she played hard to get and that slightly glazed look in her eyes. Being as I was 50 feet away and there were about 200 people in between us this was quite a feat on my part. She was bringing her ‘A’ game for sure. The midget she was beguiling seemed to be somewhat immune to her so called charms, he seemed to be perturbed by something in his drink, or maybe it was a lack of something...looked like lime.
I pushed my way past the gyrating patrons, the intellectuals (who I had to correct on their translation of a Latin phrase. They were not impressed, but really it’s important that everyone knows that it’s “Beware the Unwashed” not “Wash in cold water and check for colour fastness”), the jocks (I assume that’s what they were with the baseball bats) the Socs, the Greasers and everyone else who makes up a good range of archetypes who I make fit whatever story I want to make up.
I stopped to exchange pleasantries with the Girl Who Hates me. I told her she was failing my class and according to the campus nurse she had a raging case of VD. I stopped and checked in with my fan club, via text, cell and email because I can’t go too long without being validated.
The hobbit who was chatting up the BFF (even though I profess to have no friends) seemed to resolve its issue with the beverage of choice I had to pass him to meet up with Brain Droppings. I towered over him. I could see a bald spot shining like moonlight on the water through a comb over / transplant mess. He looked up at me.
“You’re really tall” he said in an expositional manner.
“You found your way out of Mordor” I said snarkily “With lime no less. No scurvy for you.”
“Better too much lime than too little fashion sense and an affinity for plastic clothing and Aquanet hairspray,” he said bitchily.
Satisfied with our encounter we both left the scene of the crime (although there was no actual crime committed as I always exaggerate and make shit up willy nilly in a haphazard and totally transparent manner and usually over use italics to boot)
I gyrated over to Brain Droppings via Platinum Blonde, letting my 80’s hair band groupie out to play. That was really odd considering we were in a piano bar but I rarely let a small thing like reality get in my way. I passed Gabriel Byrne buying drinks for the Stations of the Cross as I did so. They were doing shots called “Stigmatas”.
I came face to face with my friend. I bought her a drink at her insistence and then she told me she never liked me anyway and that she masturbates to Elton John. I said it’s gonna be a long long time before I meet you for a drink again.