Screw the damn reports, the phone’s ringing off the hook and it’s much easier to stop blogging to deal with it than to get out of the filing forms.
At the bar on Friday, we had the usual complement of what we like to call, “drunk white girls,” upon whom the bar business heavily relies, and they were doing what drunk white girls do, which is to say: They were all dancing with each other. ‘Cause that’s how you know a white girl is drunk. Once she starts dancing BY HERSELF, it’s time to take her home.
Unfortunately, one of the bar patrons of the male persuasion was apparently unfamiliar with the ways of the Drunk White Girl (heyyallus americanus) and he thought he would try to get in on some of that… and they turned on him.
The first I knew of this, I heard one of the girls yell, “We jush wanna dansh by ourSHELVESH!” And I looked at Chuckweasel and he looked at me, ’cause he knew what was about to happen. And he sighs and says, “You better go,” AND IT WAS ON, BITCHES!
I danced over to the girls and made sure they were okay, then made Evil Faces at the boy-person until he wandered away. Then the girls decided to leave, and damn if Boyfriend didn’t think he was gonna FOLLOW them! But some more Evil Faces from That Mean White Girl by the door (namely, me) changed his mind for him!
I’m actually kinda sad he didn’t start nothin’, seeing as how I’d been wantin’ to kick somebody’s ass all week. And it should be easier when the kick-ee is drunk, right?
So anyway, because all this happened while I was reading The Memoirs of Cleopatra I have given myself a new title: Thea Maenadi, the Patron Goddess of Drunk White Girls. I think that’s the right translation.
And no, it’s not racist, it’s just that drunk black girls and drunk Latinas can generally solve their own problems without my help! And we have yet to have an Asian girl come into the bar, so I don’t know if they’re gonna need my services.