Indian Food and Hanging Out In Bergen Fricken County
But first, Happy Birthday to one of my favorite people, my friend Paul, who turns Really Old today. Just kidding.
So last night I successfully badgered Mike into taking me out for Indian food. It's always quite a production because other than Girlie and Steve, none of my friends like Indian food. Mike kind of just tolerates it. Geo eats it about once a year, normally on special occasions. So we hit up our favorite joint, gorged ourselves, had a minor verbal skirmish with one of the new waiters (so I'll probably have Indian spit in my Indian food next time) and then met up with our friend Pam at some bar on Route 4 called Fire Waters. Mike didn't want to go, because he said he didn't like the crowd there. But my idiot self had never been there so we checked it out. The night just kind of spiralled down from there, as we went to places that were progressively worse.
After Fire Waters we went to some club in a Ramada of all fucking things, that had the audacity to call itself Studio 4. Alluding, I assume, to the "legendary" Studio 54, which really no club located in a fricken hotel should ever aspire to be. It's like a Hyundai aspiring to be a Porsche. When we walked in Mike and I were immediately overwhelmed and not a little blinded by the multitude of medallions that shone on us from all sides. Mike said it was like everyone went there instead of to Belmar because it was raining. He did not say it in a complimentary tone and being that I'm not a native of New Jersey, I didn't automatically understand the derogatory nature of the comment. Until of course, I had a look around the club and then the light bulb flashed. Cut-off shirts, over-styled hair, massive quantities of bling and really thick South Jersey trailer park accents ruled the day. And that was just the MEN.
We quickly jumped ship and headed over to some other random bar, which only had about 3 people in it so instantly I was happier. There's nothing better than empty bar stools and a whole crapload of liquor. Except maybe empty barstools, a whole crapload of liquor and tables filled with food.
Some notes from the night:
1. I told Mike J the story of how my other friend Mike got pantsed while he was talking to me. The situation was especially comedic because Mike C was on his way to the shower at the time and had his hands full of beauty products. So after it happened, there was this prolonged pause as he decided in agony how best to cover his nakedness. Oh and that it was happening in front of his friend's girl and like 10 of his boys. Mike J responded that he'd never been pantsed, but he had been "ice-tead." Dirty mind that I have, I thought that was another term for "teabagging." And I giggled. But then he explained that what happened was he walked out of the bathroom, dripping wet from his shower, and his roommates threw an entire canister of powdered iced tea mix on him. So he had to go shower again. The idea of him getting tea-bagged made me laugh. The real story of what his roommates did made me laugh hysterically.
2. I was reminded of why I am so selective about my female friends, it's because some women are just so damn cunty sometimes. Pam introduced me to the manager at Fire Waters, who was one of her friends. He had been talking to a couple of girls earlier, so they were still standing by the side. When I said hello to him, they were in the circle we inadvertently formed so I said hello and smiled at them as well. They in turn, just stared me down. No smile, no hello, just unrepentant cuntiness. I don't understand women sometimes. It would never occur to me to just stand there and glare at a woman who was being cordial, for no reason.
Me: What fucking skanks.
Mike: Did you tell them that?
Me: No. Because unlike them, I actually have a bit of class. You know, when I'm not talking about vomit and butt sex.
I shouldn't have been surprised though. One of the girls was wearing a miniskirt with the phrase "Find happiness in..." and a picture of a palm tree or some shit ON HER ASS. Anyone that wears clothing telling you to find happiness in her ass is clearly going to have confidence issues.
3. I love meeting people who blatantly lie about things like what they do for a living or the experiences they've had. Instead of just accepting their lies and moving on, I like to delve deeper and ask intricate questions as if my interest in the subject matter is all-consuming. I like to see how far they'll go with their fabrications. So the whole time they're scrambling to come up with plausible lies in response to my probes, and I'm trying not to laugh. Is that wrong?
4. There was a guy at Studio 4 who had spiky blonde hair (when the hell did that come back in style), a white button-down shirt with NO sleeves and about 5 choker medallions. He was like a living tribute to everything that is wrong with New Jersey. Besides you know, the landfills and the mafia.
5. Some chick grabbed my ass. I thought it was an accident at first, but later on she tried to pick up Pam "for her friend" who I think was supposed to be a guy. Or a girl who looked like a guy.
6. You know you drank a lot when you pee the next morning and it smells like tequila. And tabasco sauce. I love prairie fires. Although you can't do them with the "good" tequila, you can only do them with the crappy ones. Puts hair on your chest.
7. I've already had my adult time this week (I like that phrase, makes it seem like I'm going to swingers clubs instead of to crappy bars in Bergen County) so if any of my friends are reading this and we had tentative plans for the weekend, I'm flaking. Just so you know.