I apologize, my young, free-spirited, reader, for allowing you to wallow in Winter Break Boredom. So in a feeble attempt to shake your shackles of boredom, I offer to you yet another humble note expressing my recent adventures (if you can call my equally boring life that).
I hate to say, but I've seen it brewing over the last few years. I'm talking of course, about this fading novelty that we once valued Christmas with. Now don't let me knock you, if you still love these holidays driven by family time (blegh), slow, dreadful dinners, and last, but not least, gift-giving. You know when we used to love toys? Whether it was a Lego set, or action figure, or a paintball gun that we looked forward to maybe getting, very few things of reasonable cost get me excited anymore. And don't take this to be a snobbish remark, but it's just that there are few material things I really care for anymore. Instead of toys, I ask for practical things (god forbid), from socks to cocktail sets (didn't get this because my dad thinks I'm becoming an alcoholic), to tools. While all these things are fine and dandy, I think we can all agree that the best gift might be cold hard cash. Especially in times of economic recession. Well that's true, and one can use cash towards fulfilling their personal wants, but mine now mostly include travel. "Momma, I wanna go to Whistler. Momma, I wanna go to Vancouver. But Mommaaa, sorority gentlemen don't make shit... So, howz abouts you kick me a little dinero, to, you know, fund my drinking adventures in places that are only marginally if not objectively sweeter than Seattle?" But it's not the gifts that even bore me, and call me selfish, but it's my theory, that spending family time has become, and will only continue to become, of the utmost bore. You and I both ought to know by now, my number one method of combatting boredom. Liquor. And lots of it. But this only scratches the surface. Look, I just say it's my number one, and preferred method. If you don't know me so well, let me tell you I also read (books, not just fantasy stats online), and watch the TV thing, as well as surf the Internet. Which, sadly, can also be excruciatingly boring. And although I have little in the way of philosophical jargon to offer at the moment, I'll just relate a short story of a night out I shared with my friend Jeff (36 year-old, white, male, likes to drink*).
So this is actually the second night on Waikiki, but it's more interesting than the first where we drank enough tequila, beer, and God knows wheat else to make him yak, and me laugh. Anyway, we start out at Senor Frog's. Awful awful place, I don't recommend. Music was too loud, and the Dos Equis were $6 a piece. We end up at a neat bar called Duke's. Drinking beers and having two (their limit on shooters) Jeagers, was about the right amount of liquid courage to ask the bartender about the girls across the bar (I know, I'm a joke, bare with me). But come on, I'm a bar scene newb, and Jeff observed that one girl, who had been shooting ME, yeah, me, some looks. I made contact once, mutual smile, but leading up to all this, we had been watching a Douchius Maximus hit on her, with her sister nearby. This fuckin guy had a tight green polo with designs on the exposed part of his popped collar. *Shudder* So I'm like, "Hey Ricki (bartender), you know how old those two are?"
Ricki: "The one on the left is 28, her sister's 25"
Neat, neat, I thinks to meself, "Would you ask 'em if they'd like to get a table with us?"
Sonuvabitch Ricki goes over, chats to them about something or other, comes back, and replies, "They said if you two had any balls you'd ask them yourselves."
I almost made a scene swinging myself (and my balls) outta my seat, and around the bar into prime mack position. Oh, it should also be noted that I was putting myself (and yes, my cojones) on the line here for the sheer novelty of the thing, and also with the hopes of living a cool story to share with you all. Warning: it's not that cool. These sisters were not my type. And by not my type, I mean over weight. Okay, so maybe usually not my type ;) But moving on, by this point, another brolo (Bro in a polo), was sitting next to the younger, slightly more attractive young woman. And in a dash of uber douchiness, and in fact, putting myself at physical risk (he was huge), I leaned against the bar betwixt him and her, with my back to him. Don't ask me where this rude amount of boldness comes from (they did, however serve hard A on ice... not sure how that's so different from shots...). So I'm chatting to the one, and then the other, usual stuff, where you from? how long you staying? do you smoke ganja-buddha? whad'you think about my tan... Blacked out. I come out momentarily to find myself sucking down a drink the bartender gave them for free, and eating their waffle fries. So the humble observer has effectively become the loathesome D-Bag, that just about everyone should hate. How the older sister's number found its way into my phone is still a mystery. Although I can guess it was something along the lines of, "Oh, you're leaving monday? Well shit in my shoes, and call me a bastard, we oughta go out tomorrow! What's your number?!"
Just trying to be realistic; I'd like to think it went smoother than that. Blacked out again. End up at some weakass bar with some jerkoff we met at Duke's, who we thought was cool. Don't know why, but I ended up sucking down two mind erasers here to re-black. Called some Samoan I didn't know "Brodda." Somewhere thereafter we got denied from some club that required pants, not really important. Guess we ended up at The Shack... The rest of the night is according to what Jeff recounted to me the next day.
Our taxi driver was apparently Korean. I repeatedly asked him how goes things in Japan. Jeff tells me he's from Korea. I tell Jeff, "Fuck you," and then to driver, "So how's Japan?" I guess I also jumped out of the cab at my house only giving him a five, leaving Jeff the rest to pay. Fuck it, right?
So when I say Da Heat Iz On, I mean, thank goodness Christmas is over, and it's about fuckin time we can concentrate on the potentially mo' betta holiday that is New Year's. Between now and then, ladies and gentlemen. Tha. Heat. Is. On. Happy Holidays.
*If you like to drink, chances are, we can be excellent friends
I hate to say, but I've seen it brewing over the last few years. I'm talking of course, about this fading novelty that we once valued Christmas with. Now don't let me knock you, if you still love these holidays driven by family time (blegh), slow, dreadful dinners, and last, but not least, gift-giving. You know when we used to love toys? Whether it was a Lego set, or action figure, or a paintball gun that we looked forward to maybe getting, very few things of reasonable cost get me excited anymore. And don't take this to be a snobbish remark, but it's just that there are few material things I really care for anymore. Instead of toys, I ask for practical things (god forbid), from socks to cocktail sets (didn't get this because my dad thinks I'm becoming an alcoholic), to tools. While all these things are fine and dandy, I think we can all agree that the best gift might be cold hard cash. Especially in times of economic recession. Well that's true, and one can use cash towards fulfilling their personal wants, but mine now mostly include travel. "Momma, I wanna go to Whistler. Momma, I wanna go to Vancouver. But Mommaaa, sorority gentlemen don't make shit... So, howz abouts you kick me a little dinero, to, you know, fund my drinking adventures in places that are only marginally if not objectively sweeter than Seattle?" But it's not the gifts that even bore me, and call me selfish, but it's my theory, that spending family time has become, and will only continue to become, of the utmost bore. You and I both ought to know by now, my number one method of combatting boredom. Liquor. And lots of it. But this only scratches the surface. Look, I just say it's my number one, and preferred method. If you don't know me so well, let me tell you I also read (books, not just fantasy stats online), and watch the TV thing, as well as surf the Internet. Which, sadly, can also be excruciatingly boring. And although I have little in the way of philosophical jargon to offer at the moment, I'll just relate a short story of a night out I shared with my friend Jeff (36 year-old, white, male, likes to drink*).
So this is actually the second night on Waikiki, but it's more interesting than the first where we drank enough tequila, beer, and God knows wheat else to make him yak, and me laugh. Anyway, we start out at Senor Frog's. Awful awful place, I don't recommend. Music was too loud, and the Dos Equis were $6 a piece. We end up at a neat bar called Duke's. Drinking beers and having two (their limit on shooters) Jeagers, was about the right amount of liquid courage to ask the bartender about the girls across the bar (I know, I'm a joke, bare with me). But come on, I'm a bar scene newb, and Jeff observed that one girl, who had been shooting ME, yeah, me, some looks. I made contact once, mutual smile, but leading up to all this, we had been watching a Douchius Maximus hit on her, with her sister nearby. This fuckin guy had a tight green polo with designs on the exposed part of his popped collar. *Shudder* So I'm like, "Hey Ricki (bartender), you know how old those two are?"
Ricki: "The one on the left is 28, her sister's 25"
Neat, neat, I thinks to meself, "Would you ask 'em if they'd like to get a table with us?"
Sonuvabitch Ricki goes over, chats to them about something or other, comes back, and replies, "They said if you two had any balls you'd ask them yourselves."
I almost made a scene swinging myself (and my balls) outta my seat, and around the bar into prime mack position. Oh, it should also be noted that I was putting myself (and yes, my cojones) on the line here for the sheer novelty of the thing, and also with the hopes of living a cool story to share with you all. Warning: it's not that cool. These sisters were not my type. And by not my type, I mean over weight. Okay, so maybe usually not my type ;) But moving on, by this point, another brolo (Bro in a polo), was sitting next to the younger, slightly more attractive young woman. And in a dash of uber douchiness, and in fact, putting myself at physical risk (he was huge), I leaned against the bar betwixt him and her, with my back to him. Don't ask me where this rude amount of boldness comes from (they did, however serve hard A on ice... not sure how that's so different from shots...). So I'm chatting to the one, and then the other, usual stuff, where you from? how long you staying? do you smoke ganja-buddha? whad'you think about my tan... Blacked out. I come out momentarily to find myself sucking down a drink the bartender gave them for free, and eating their waffle fries. So the humble observer has effectively become the loathesome D-Bag, that just about everyone should hate. How the older sister's number found its way into my phone is still a mystery. Although I can guess it was something along the lines of, "Oh, you're leaving monday? Well shit in my shoes, and call me a bastard, we oughta go out tomorrow! What's your number?!"
Just trying to be realistic; I'd like to think it went smoother than that. Blacked out again. End up at some weakass bar with some jerkoff we met at Duke's, who we thought was cool. Don't know why, but I ended up sucking down two mind erasers here to re-black. Called some Samoan I didn't know "Brodda." Somewhere thereafter we got denied from some club that required pants, not really important. Guess we ended up at The Shack... The rest of the night is according to what Jeff recounted to me the next day.
Our taxi driver was apparently Korean. I repeatedly asked him how goes things in Japan. Jeff tells me he's from Korea. I tell Jeff, "Fuck you," and then to driver, "So how's Japan?" I guess I also jumped out of the cab at my house only giving him a five, leaving Jeff the rest to pay. Fuck it, right?
So when I say Da Heat Iz On, I mean, thank goodness Christmas is over, and it's about fuckin time we can concentrate on the potentially mo' betta holiday that is New Year's. Between now and then, ladies and gentlemen. Tha. Heat. Is. On. Happy Holidays.
*If you like to drink, chances are, we can be excellent friends
See? He knows what to do post-Christmas
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