frens club meeting #1: orange

I just wrote a 1500+ word recap of about 20 minutes that took place last night, but I decided not to post it all here. You get the short version.

Last night, we were at a bar (Big 10 in Stadium Village). The bar happened to be located right in the middle of all the University of Minnesota dorms, so you can kind of imagine the biggest part of the clientèle. Aside from the middle-aged men that was grunting in the bathroom and sitting at the bar trying to be buddy-buddy with some 21 year old college frat boys, we were quite possibly the only ones in the building that remember when MTV actually showed music videos.

As we’re wont to do, we got a little rowdy with our stories and our phone calls to Cindi’s parents, but that’s what happens when you get FRENS CLUB together and then they leave their cell phone unattended at the table. We were discussing drink choices, because we like to spruce things up a bit instead of sticking to our regulars, when we saw what we thought was a shot infused with Hpnotiq (the most horrible thing in just about all the land). The fellas drinking this shot had been the butt of our jokes for quite a while, so I didn’t exactly want to ask what they were drinking, but I did it anyway. This ended up being the biggest mistake of the night.

I don’t really know what happened between that and him yelling at me about my hair, but apparently something set him off. I wish I could remember exactly what he said, but it all seemed so ridiculous and so completely unreal. It was something along the lines of “I hope you asked for a refund when went to get your hair cut like that.”

With hindsight being 20/20, I wouldn’t have responded, but let’s look at something here. I have a lot of built up rage and anger right now towards a couple of things, and I have yet to let it out anywhere. This frat boy just happened to be at the right place at the right time, or the wrong place at the wrong time, depending on how you look at it.

“Dude, really?” was the only thing I could answer with, because I was a bit stunned at this point.

“Yeah, really!”

“Well, I shaved it for charity. You feel pretty good about yourself now?”

“Yeah! I do! I hope it was worth it!”

“It absolutely was,” is how I responded, because, um, it absolutely was worth it.

“Maybe next time you should think about doing something else for charity instead.”

We went a few rounds of tossing verbal insults back and forth. His sucked really bad, considering the things he chose to attack in his little ego-boosting tirade. It made me a little sad that he was the one I was releasing my rage towards, because there wasn’t a single insult that 1) made sense and 2) insulted me. It was at least entertaining for a good six minutes.

But then he had to attack my Aquaman t-shirt.

“Your shirt says Aquaman, but it should say Aquawoman!” and boy, was he serious when he said it.

See, I’m good at making fun of people. I’m really good at it. When the person can’t come up with something to actually offend me with, it makes me feel a little on the sad side for them. I get that everyone has special needs, but maybe those kinds of folks shouldn’t be sitting at a bar drinking shots made out of Estrogen and talking about which “titty-bar” they’re going to visit as soon as they pay their tab.

After the stunning Aquaman/woman comment, the bartender told him to shut up and printed out their tab. We asked for our tab, too, because I was kind of convinced this guy wanted to actually fight me, and I didn’t want to have to was blood off of my Aquaman shirt.

The frat boys ended up getting a cab with the creepy old guy that was talking to them, and I feel 100% confident in saying they probably went to a horrible, horrible strip club, and are now trying to figure out why their balls itch so bad. We stayed around and finished our drinks, and headed down the street to invade another college-kid-infested location that had a menu with 101 different shots on the back.

Yes, this was the short version.

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