Last night, I forgot the cardinal rule of sports bars: Do not, I repeat DO NOT, make eye contact with anyone of the opposite gender if you wish to remain unhitupon. After going to see a (free) play with Heidi and two of her previous coworkers, we decided to stop for a drink but we didn't want to stay downtown because A) we didn't want our cars broken into and B) we weren't in the mood to get assraped.
So we went to some place called Cadillac Jack's, where we could NOT ONLY get a drink or two (ok or three), but we could also partake in some cheese fries or chicken wings or the like as well as some girly conversation (boys, bras, bajengas, etc). WHICH WE DID.
OK, now. Men, I have a question. Or two. Not sure yet. Where did you learn to hit on women? I mostly mean you, guy who shimmied past our table like a go-go dancer. I mean, I like the Counting Crows, too, but it's not really a shake your tailfeather kind of song. It was a little weird, is what I'm saying. Also, Guy Who is Getting Married in 2008 . . . I get that you were playing wingman for your friends. I get that it was my fault that you approached our table. After all, I made eye contact. We thought we were rid of you and your friends, too, but then you decided to sit at the table behind us and lean into our conversation, each time putting your arms around Bree and Tamara, both of whom had their backs to you so you're lucky they didn't elbow you in the face in fright.
Guy: So what do you guys do?
Bree: I'm a social worker.
Tamara: I interview drug addicts.
Jennie's Brain: Your job is boring. Lie.
Me: I'm a stewardess.
Guy: Oh, really?
Me: Well, flight attendant would be more politically correct, I guess.
Guy: So, you like serve people coffee and water and stuff?
Me: Yes, that is an important part of my job.
Me: Yeah, and it's really hard to do in high heels.
Guy: And turbulence.
Guy: OK, then.
Then he left us alone! Ok, only for a couple minutes but a very nice couple of minutes. This was the first time I'd met Bree and Tamara, and I'd already told them I work for an orthodontist, so they were a bit confused.
Bree: Wait, are you really a stewardess?
Me: Haha, no.
Bree: Oh, god, ok. I didn't think so.
Tamara: I was gonna say, you'd be pretty busy.
Bree: I wish I could just make shit up like that.
Me: It is a gift.
Tamara: So what airline do you fly?
Heidi: Where's your home base?
Heidi: How did September 11th make you feel, being a stewardess?
Me: Well, I was still in stewardess college at the time.
Bree: You had to go to stewardess college?
Me: Of course. It's tough, too. Very competitive.
Heidi: Have you ever had Paris Hilton on a flight, flashing her vajayjay everywhere?
Me: No, those flights? The ones from like LA or New York or international flights? You have to work your way up to those and I'm not there yet. Obviously, I'm still stuck in Cincinnati.
Bree: Wow. I don't know how you're doing this. If I tried to lie I'd be all "Um, I . . . um, hahaha!"
Me: Hmm. You could be a Bavarian Chocolate Specialist.
Bree: Oh my god.
I think I'm totally ready to be a professional wedding crasher. What kind of dental do you get with that, I wonder.