Not so happy hour

I needed a week to recuperate. Vegas was that great. If you haven’t been, GO!!!!
I have a blog about my trip but I really need the photos (well the photos I can actually post without ruining my chances of ever running for public office….hahahahaha). However, Carrie B. and my camera seem to be behaving worse than the NY State Senate. I’m hoping these 2 will settle their differences soon so I can download my pictures and share.

In the meantime I have a bunch of little blogs I wish to post. Little stories or observations I’ve made. Sometimes I have a tendency to be overly verbose and I’m trying to streamline my thoughts.

Friday Night.

I went to happy hour with my good buddy Willie Burger (blog name and my personal nickname for him in life…hahaha). He travels a lot for work and recently decided NOT to be my neighbor (traitor) so we haven’t caught up in a while. While sitting at the bar of an establishment with a colorful name in NY’s Greenwich Village, we were annoyingly entertained by a very loud, very drunk (most likely high on something else) group of folks. They tried to engage us in their foolishness but we wanted noooo parts of that. They were annoying as hell and while yes it was a bar, obnoxious didn’t have to be on the bar tab. The foolishness was the least of my worries when “Happy Hour” morphed into “True Confessions”. The ringleader of the fooltastic shenanigans was grinding her booty on a dude she was with. She leans on the back of my barstool while still wiggling booty on dude to say:

Ooooh I know I shouldn’t be dancing on my cousin like this but umph look at him. He just got back from Iraq and he’s going back in a couple of weeks. We just umph showing him a good time. But damn look at him. Oooh yeah he’s going to be filet mignon tonight.

CHECK PLEASE! Almost instantly, my ears hurt, my eyes hurt, and that nice tingly alcohol induced feeling was gone. Talk about instant sobriety. By far that is the nastiest thing I have heard and witnessed. For the record, she and her cousin were getting it in like they were in some dark corner in a club. Before she revealed their shared genetic makeup, I kinda assumed she was giving the dude the business on the dance floor because she was going to give him the business in the bedroom (or wherever) later. But once she revealed her family ties with the person who was smacking her ass I was D-O-N-E. I couldn’t get out of there fast enough. And the chick tried to hug me when I left. Heffa please.

Where's Dave Chapelle when I need him??? This is a perfect example of "When Keeping it Real Goes Wrong". She didn't need to tell me that her dance partner was her cousin. She didn't need to tell me he was going to be "filet mignon" which apparently means she was gonna give him the biz (I don't see the correlation between meat and sex acts but whatev). She didn't need to grunt and moan as she danced with him. It's "Happy Hour" damnit but unfortunately I left disgusted.

Sidebar: why do people talk like this chick talk to me???