Wanting to Give Wendy O. Williams a Run for Her Money

Well, if she was still alive . . .

The Raconteurs show did not start out well and maybe it was a sign of the overall tone of the evening to come. My BFF was told she had to check in her camera at the door. This is a total insano idea and on top of that she would have had to pay ten dollars to do it. So, she had to go home to drop off her camera and come back.

Part I of the debacle:
There’s a secret bathroom on the first floor of the concert venue the Riviera. It is very convenient and not nasty at all. Very spacious. I could take a nap in there. But, I don’t because I am a quick bathroom user. Keep this in mind as I proceed. The Raconteurs show is over and we are hanging out with one of our buddies who is a security guard named Godzilla. Can I just tell you how much I love nicknames? I wish I had one. It is because of Godzilla that I can use the secret bathroom because he has my back. So I am using the bathroom for a total of less than two minutes and my BFF is waiting outside of the door. I am washing my hands when I hear someone say the following:

Mystery Woman: Is that your friend in there?
BFF: Yes
Mystery Woman: Well, is she handicap because if she isn’t she is gonna be when she gets out of there.
BFF: Well, she’s only been in there for two minutes and you’ve been standing here for 30 seconds.

I open up the door, storm out and say, “So you are gonna make me handicap?” and walk away. I was pissed. I walk over to Godzilla and recount the happenings. He tells me, “Well, just because someone has a problem with eating too many Whoppers doesn’t make them handicapped.”

Part II of the debacle:
We head over to a local lounge with the hope that a good DJ is there. Well, the DJ was all right so we decided to not tear up the dance floor but sit down and watch the NFL network (which is awesome by the way). A little while later I hear one of the best songs of the 80s “I Can’t Wait” by Nu Shooz playing and hop up from my seat to go dance. There is no one dancing which is completely uncalled for given the excellent tunes, but that didn’t upset me. What upset me was that I saw an almost elderly lady wearing a pleather coat goofing on our dancing! Why? She was old, had no fashion sense, and was jealous of our sheer awesomeness. I was angry again. I was ready to unleash a whole world of pain onto her.

Part III of the debacle:
At another local joint we sit down after ordering some brews. We’re chatting and I am trying to decompress. My BFF and I are trying to swear off shots and have been pretty successful as of late, with the exception of a roofie incident earlier in the week. A dude comes up to our table and asks us if we like SoCo and lime, umm, well, twist our arms because SoCo and lime is a delicious intoxicating delicacy. Before he goes to order the shots, he asks if we could guard his Coors Light. Well, I suppose so even though it was a Coors Light. For some reason I thought it would be hilarious to place his beer on the seat next to mine as if it was one of our privileged guests. When he came back with the shots I told him that we had been taking really good care of his Coors Light. We did the shots and then he called us weirdos and walked away! Which really was fine because he was wearing this crazy European style button up shirt, but yet again I get feisty and leave myself my second voice memo of the evening. Weirdos, seriously. If he wanted to see weird I would have shown him weird in the form of a swift punching right to the gullet.

I don’t know why I had been so angry that evening, overall it ended up being a good night. As BFF said to me on NYE after I told a joker in a Rex Grossman jersey that he lost the game for us, “We really are too small to get into fights.” I have to remember that so I am not writing checks that I can’t cash.