Getting in Touch with My Inner Misogynist

Due to circumstances beyond my control, I had no choice but to spend my quiet evening alone with drunk people. This could have gone down one of two ways: 1) At my house, directly outside my bedroom door, with nowhere for the noise to go but into my ears. Someone probably would have seen Salazar and, being intrigued by the fact that I have a pet snake, would have insisted on taking him out for some drunken snake ogling. Eventually, people would have passed out on various living room furniture items, no doubt having to move important things of ours in the process. 2) At the SigEp house, where I could expect to put a reasonable distance between the drunken noise and me (and also free up my bed for someone). I chose option 2, which helped me discover why I sometimes hate females.

I arrived to overhear a group of smokers talk about streaking to the quad and getting overly enthusiastic when someone named Lynn arrived. At first I thought this might be short for Lindsey, but she later said it was her name. Anyway, when I say "group of smokers," I mostly mean "drunk bitches I don't know."

I went outside to the fire when they decided to burn a couch (it was warm), and the Blonde One was smashing beer bottles on the concrete because apparently that seemed like a good idea. She was wearing heeled sandals. This will matter later.

The Shouldn't Be Naked One was in her bra. Apparently, she was losing a game of Strip Don't Make Bad Decisions. Lynn just kept hitting on Robert and/or trying to stroke his ego, I imagine because there was a big burning couch getting in the way of her trying to stroke anything else. OK, I could be stretching here - but I had to go for the good joke, and she was stroking his ego a bit.

I played the role of silent observer, much like a reaper on Dead Like Me: I'm not there to get involved, just to watch and snark. I made the comment to Robert that if I ever got that drunk that he should take me out and shoot me. But it got worse.

We went inside, and that's when I discovered there was a game of Strip Flip Cup, which they tried to rope me into playing, but I refused because 1) Hell no! and 2) I wasn't wearing a bra. However, for my own benefit, I thought it'd be good if I at least observed these shenanigans. You know, like those "Don't Follow Me" prisoners who came to your elementary school.

The Shouldn't Be Naked One ended up in her panties, which is a sight I'd like to forget as soon as humanly possible. Lynn kept trying to be nonchalant about hitting on Robert, and the Blonde One soon had a blood-soaked foot and shoe. It's amazing how perceptive you are when you're the only sober one. It must work in the way that blind people have enhanced other senses: Everyone else's perceptions go way down, and mine go way up. It's quite interesting.

The Blonde One was amused, saying she had no idea how the cut happened because she didn't feel it.

Here's a thought. Now, I'm not a genius, although I'm pretty damn close. Perhaps it occurred during the bottle-smashing. If I were her, I would think twice before wearing strappy sandals and smashing beer bottles on concrete. It just seems like that kind of behavior might lead to...I don't know...SHARDS OF GLASS GETTING STUCK IN YOUR FOOT!

I would like to add that Robert said he'd never seen these chicks before, which made me so completely disgusted that they would put themselves in such a stupid, compromised position that I couldn't watch anymore. My give a damn was more than busted, as was my ability to feign interest. I retired to Robert's room for some television and blogging (I started this last night).

I'm not sure what happened next, but I imagine it went something like this: One of them probably acted like she was too drunk/tired/stupid to drive so she could stay over, and I'm sure seeing what a catastrophe that would have been, as they had already proven themselves unworthy of being able to handle a can of beer without throwing it on one another, one of the sober brothers was commissioned to drive them as far away as possible...or at least home. I do know they got a ride home, because a serene calm and quiet came over the house circa 5 a.m. And I was happy again, and free to fall asleep to Dead Like Me, after Robert vented about having to take care of drunk bitches.

The moral of the story: Know your fucking limit, and stick to it. Don't make an ass of yourself, and sure as hell don't let yourself end up naked or almost naked around complete strangers. I saw more of that chick's not-so-goodies that I'm amazed I didn't wake up screaming, "For the love of God and all that is holy, put some pants on!" Yes, this chick took off her BRA before she took off her PANTS! Who does that?

It's people like this who give women a bad name. Sure, I drink. I don't run around in my underwear with beer dripping off of my bare breasts, talking far too loudly because it's oh-so-obvious that I'm too drunk to function. I don't smash beer bottles on the concrete in sandals and then wonder why my foot is a lovely shade of blood red. Hell, I don't even touch Robert in public. So I'm three-up on these winners, these fine X-X chromosome combos.

So, in conclusion, moments like last night make me realize that I do have a superiority complex, although I think it's warranted when faced with instances. I think if Lindsey, Amber, and Khall (who is link-free) had been around, there would have been a collective head explosion.

Credit where credit is due: JR, you were right. You're always right. So I guess that makes me...not as right. Let's not get carried away here.