Last Post?

That last post was done on Sunday morning at 4:00 am and it was lame.

Friday night at the bar was a little different from the usual hang out and chat Fridays. Almost as soon as I walked in the door the old roommate and I were paired up to play pool against two other regulars, one being the weird/obnoxious/loud/annoying kid that lives across the street from me (I call him kid even though he’s as old as I am). Kid is not the most mature of individuals. Besides still living with his parents he might be considered a little slow, not due to any major defects but more so from his educational background or lack there of. Kid isn’t that well off financially, not that I’m putting him down for that as I don’t judge people in that way, but it comes into play in this weekend recap. Overall Kid is a decent guy with good intentions.

So the Old Roommate and I are playing pool on Friday night. Old Roommate is a decent shot whereas I suck ass since I rarely play. But for some reason we were able to hold our own after starting out slowly. A guy and his girlfriend showed up and we ended up playing them for a couple hours. The girlfriend was pretty hot and she had an awesome personality returning all of our barbs with one of her own. I made sure to check out the abundant cleavage when she was shooting, being careful to avoid detection by the boyfriend.

Around 11:00 the following took place at the bar while Old Roommate and I were still shooting.

Bartender: Hey Kid, I dare you to go over and kiss B to the…

Bar Reg #1: Hell, I’ll even give you $5.

Bar Reg #2: I’ve got $3 to put in the pot.

Bartender: Come Kid, I dare you. I’ll give you another $5.

Bar Reg #3: I’ll put in $3, that puts the pot at $16.

I’m back by the pool table sitting down drinking beer since we lost the table and some other people are playing. Then I feel a tap on my shoulder. Last time that happened it was the bitch who moved out on me while I was at work handing me $200 that she owed me. This tap on the shoulder did not turn out in the same fashion. As I turned my head I see Kid standing unusually close to me. Then I feel my arms being locked up behind my chair. Kid grabs my face and plants a wet stubbly five second kiss on me right there with the whole bar watching, laughing and howling. I tried to get free with all my strength but I was locked in pretty well. When he was finished he ran off leaving me wiping my lips with anything I could get my hands on. Is it really worth $16 to kiss another man? He later offered me $5 for it and I initially took it but later I gave it back to him as he needs it more than I. I did get a free pitcher of beer for it from the instigator but let me tell you, it certainly wasn’t worth it.

But wait, the story continues. Saturday I was sitting at the bar watching college football with the gang (Kid included). The bartender from Friday walks over and tells a recap of the story to the people who weren’t there to witness it. Everyone’s laughing at me and giving me shit when the bartender decides to take it one notch further.

Bartender: Hey Kid, how much would you need to give B to the… a blow job?

Kid: Shit, I’d want at least $100 for that!

The bar erupts in laughter and within 30 seconds the bartender has collected the required $100. Immediately thoughts of being held down with Kid doing the nasty to me flash through my head. Of course nothing happened, but what the hell? $16 to kiss another man and $100 to go down on him? My new name for him is Cash Whore.

Later that night working the door I fucked up on the register. The regular cashier girl must have been in the bathroom or something and I was manning her spot. For some reason I punched in the $3 key by mistake and, not knowing how to clear it out, rang it through. This was easily fixed by ringing up $5 on the next person who walked in to total the required $8 cover charge. But as the night went on I started to wonder if I had punched the $3 key or the $30 key which is right next to it (the registers must be from 1920 or something like that, they’re ancient). I couldn’t believe how much of a fuss the manager and cashier girl had over this mistake. At the end of the night all they’d have to do is look at the tape and see whatever number I actually did hit (since the cover charge was $8 it would be the only entry with a “3” in it) and make a note that it was a mistake. I mean, in the 100 times more complex world of accounting all you have to do is a journal entry to fix a mistake. In the end everything balanced out correctly.

Sunday morning I was up till 4:00am posting the previous post. As I re-read it today all I can think of is where the hell did all that shit come from? I don’t even remember writing about the kiss so I guess I wrote about it twice. Deal with it. And what’s all that crap about dating and how I think it might actually work out? Could that have been any more sappy? And who wants to hear about working the door of some small show lounge? Just freaking lame if you ask me.

11:00 Sunday morning I forced myself out of bed for the Packer game. The game sucked but everyone still had fun. I must have still been feeling the effects from Sunday morning because at 5:00 I was back home drunk texting Red. I remember one text came in something like “are you drunk?” to which I answered “not really.” Yeah right. I slept from 5:00 till 10:30, thought about getting up but just rolled over and went back to sleep. I woke up at 2:30 and thought fuck, now the bar is closed, rolled over and went back to sleep. 7:30 I woke up 15 minutes before my alarm was set to go off and had to count on my fingers the number of hours I had just slept. 14 and a half hours of pretty much continuous sleep. I usually go to bed pretty early on Sundays, not really by choice but more by necessity, and I generally sleep a good amount of time, but 14.5 hours waking up only twice just to roll over and fall back to sleep? I didn’t even think that was possible.

I battled with a chili dog today. I won with only minor casualties. Except I wasn’t aware of the fact that we were going to battle again three hours later. As you can guess, the chili dog lit my ass up, literally.

I think I’m going to stop posting crap to this for a while. It really hasn’t brought me that much pleasure lately and its kind of a pain in the butt to keep writing about my lame existence and making it sound somewhat interesting. Besides, how many people look this up on purpose and actually find it entertaining on some level or another? Feel free to voice your opinions/requests and I’ll take them into consideration in determining whether “The Gravitation To The Corner Bar” will continue on or die by the roadside.