April 7, 2009

the poor man's chris brown-- but he wouldn't have beat me.

so, i know, you're shocked. two posts in one day, can it be? absolutely.

i am having a self-mandated slow day at the office today, ahhh thank you. and no, jackass, i don't use a ghostwriter. (see the last entry about never finding anyone quite as good as me . . . wasn't that a trina or incubus song? please advise.)

either way, i've read that hemingway and jason schwartzmann (jewish spelling so it doesn't count) used to carry little notebooks to jot down ideas so they could remember to address them (i'm sure you're all going to tell me how your favorite indie deadbeat elliot smith wanna-be does it too, but i only concern myself with greatness here, thus the references above). it probably comes as no surprise to you, dear readers, that as i become more and more prolific, intelligent, and hilarious in my writing that i am experiencing the same thing occurring in my day-to-day (you can throw a big 'thank you' to jesus on that one) so i have decided to jot in blog form, as often as possible. am i comparing myself to hemingway and wes anderson's image of 'max fischer'. . . ? would i be so brazen? abso-fucking-lutely, except i have better hair, am not a closeted homosexual and therefore have no odd desire to never provide you with any type of ending and am not jewish--whew, so, in a way, i'm better.

speaking of better, and chris brown in general, allow me to regale you with the story of last saturday night's adventures. i know you're thinking there is no way any raleigh story will be as funny as this is about to be, but, shut the fuck up, and continue hanging on to my every word. i decided to go out, meet up with an absolute favorite of mine . . . complete with porcelain skin and a bitchin' (yes, i said it) wardrobe along with a friend of hers from asspen (typo and it stays, TYMK) . . . (by asspen, i later found out that meant 'south carolina'). ill cut right through our encounter with the carolina fan who went to appalachain (that occurrence is the same the world over, and does not need to be given another thought, although, i will say, homeboy . . . who of course was wearing a carolina blue lacoste, did almost get in my face to question my alma mater[a public ivy, to be specific] after i initially questioned his 'tried and true' fandom. sadly, to his dismay, i did not attend the school he was hoping--what seemed to be some twangy version of the words 'central carolina community college' --nor was it my fault that he felt like an idiot after claiming he worked at mellow mushroom and brought home $70,000 a year. someone needs to learn their numbers . . . but, if the above facts are true, hook me up with a job at MM . . . i'll even not shower and smoke 'reefer' to look the part. LMK, my resume will be waiting) --truth.

so, the three of us, who are, i (do not) hate to say, totally adorable travel throughout the capital city. the scene at the bar where we ended up (after an unsuccessful attempt to scheme cover fees) . . . we quickly scanned, got dranks and after seeing the "array" on the dance floor, settled into a cozy booth to plan our next move, if any. it is a constant battle being so dynamic in a town like so totally the opposite. the town is great, but i mean, how many times can one truly 'blame it on the alcohol' before running into someone you've already danced with and/or went to elementary school with? exactly. not long. that being said, i will continue.

the conversation is animated, lively, eye-opening and attractive . . . a complete contrast to the surroundings. the first fellow we encountered was what my co-worker continually repeats (applicable or not), an "enigma wrapped in a riddle." (first off, that saying sounds so yes homo its not even funny and second, i mean, just say homeboy was odd, but, alas . . . ) the gentleman, with whom i did not speak, was about 8 feet tall, substantially built, in a beautiful seersucker (you could tell it was either brand new or freshly pressed) blazer, african american and alone.

now, theres your first red flag, my small little delights of fluffy white clouds. trust me, no guy comes to a bar alone unless he's bad news. you know who went to bars alone? jeffrey dahmer, that's who. regardless of if that is true, you don't want to have to question if someone is alone doesn't have any friends because they are all hanging as skin coats in his hall closet. anyway, he was nice enough to talk to, i suppose, but here is where my interaction with him ends. no, not because i was blackout drunk, but because i was . . . dared . . . questioned . . . inquired out of a slight tinge of boredom . . . (?) to go have a seat with a table of what appeared to be nicely dressed handsome young men. the allure of candlelight and free shots lures me, plus the fact that i needed to give magic johnson (or whomever the tallest, most impeccably dressed black man is these days--k. fed? barack obama? michelle obama? whatever, haters--) my side of the both to stretch out and continue to bore the shit out of my friends.

i saunter over (this is starting to sound like erotic fiction, but, don't get mixed up, it's not (yet) . . . aha!) sit down, and see what i'm working with. not to channel cher horowitz, but mother of heavens above, i am encountered with a total group of five monets. decent from far, but a disaster up close. i didn't know that it was possible to compile a group like this, and one had just left to get drinks-- six monets in one grouping-- it seemed too easy! being the saint of raleigh that i am, however, and continually trying to be the best person people expect me to be, i decided to stay and at the very minimum talk about myself and hear how good looking i am. while that part never disappoints, these boys/children did. i'm not even joking calling them children . . . literally, two were nineteen and had snuck in to the shittiest bar in raleigh. i mean, dont get me wrong, i like the thrill of illegally being places as much as the next idiot, but, damn, sneak into something worth it . . . like, for example stool pigeons or lucky b's or, if you're feeling especially gutsy, the bassment. whatever-- different strokes. right?

i come to find out that these boys are from elon-- a very sub-par school for people that want to get out of raleigh, can afford an extremely overpriced private, 'christian-based' education (should education be in sarcastic quotes, too?) but couldn't get into unc/state/duke/ecu, whatever. i shouldn't judge, at least they will (hopefully) have a degree after they're finished, which is a requirement of mine, as we all know. either way, the most 'notable' of the group were the following three, which i will describe in list form, as to make the most of the online format of this entry.

1. the "friend" of my friends. you all know 'that guy' i'm talking about. he went to high school in raleigh (?) and knows all your good friends, except, you. what's worse this boy was a total, idk how to describe it, it was so odd. normal looking neck and face matched with the body of john candy. i was so fooled and . . . stunned. if i wasn't in a guinness record fight for most grouped monets in one sitting, then surely i could have won with this outlandish body/proportion/mistake that was trying to impress me with tales of my friends i knew weren't true. how did i know they were tall tales? simple, i asked them throughout our conversation. this boy literally, it was like, idk even how i can go on, in drama club but wearing stripes and trying to be trendy, all of which were discounted because of the at the bar he was at, the group he was with, etc. i just don't get it. please tell me if any of you have ever run into him before, i would say 'know someone like him' but i really can say with complete certainty he is the only kind of person like that in existence.

2. the chin. i use this moniker because i can honestly not remember much else, nor have i seen anyone like this not on late night television before. you all know the type. totally looks like he rolled out of foster's, or would desperately like to roll in but can't. he's with a group of monets, and is, in fact, the most unattractive of them all. oh, don't get me wrong. he's totes got the manchild, itb attitude which i love to hate/hate to love, and the lacoste, and the khaki shorts and sperry's but . . . after all he's a recent elon graduate. idk, i just feel like that totally keeps you from ever being cool. if i'm wrong, please LMK. anyway, i didn't interact much with him . . . i let my friends take care of that, but apparently he got a little snippy about being a high school graduate (keep in mind, if you didn't know, he's twenty-six and still lamenting the fact he didn't get some shitty social chair position of an even shittier fraternity at his alma mater, so he tries to relive it in raleigh on a nightly basis) from bishop england/english/i don't fucking care, in charleston. i hate to break it to him, i could give a fuck where you went to high school. do i go around telling everyone that i was voted funnest/funniest ever? ok, probably not a good example, because i do, only when i'm drunk (shut up). anyway, he was just generally unimpressive.

3. the raleigh chris brown; by raleigh, i mean elon. i have dubbed him as such because he was african american, kind of adorable (in a 'i want to nurse you and cradle you to sleep' kind of way . . . he was 19) and looked like he could crip walk and might even beat me. whatever. totes fine and welcome. now, as i began to talk to this child more and more i realize the following: (a) he has just been dumped by his girlfriend of three years who was cheating on him while she was at UVA; (b) he has never tasted the delicious nectar known as jager; (c) he's waiting for 'the one' in the biblical sense; and (d) he hasn't read "the shack"-- and those are not listed in order of importance. i will further this outline style and respond to these points below:

(a) okay, let's get to the obvious. homegirl got smart. he's at elon and she's at uva. high school sweethearts? kewl! damn. thomas jefferson started uva, right? correct me if i'm wrong on this one. who started elon? obvi they weren't in love so don't yell at me for being a heartless bitch. all i'm saying to homegirl is this: 'you go on,' and i'm sure she will . . . unless maybe he was at elon on a basketball or track scholarship or something, either way, move on. second, i'm sorry that she got caught--and thereby ruined this young man's life. and why was his life ruined? because he had a group of throwbacks trying to get him laid by sitting in the back bar of a cougar hangout with seventies music while drinking bud light. great idea! (this is when you find new friends).

(b) no jager? i obviously fixed that immediately. i knew this young, innocent lad would never be the same after having a sip of jager but i couldn't help myself. if it turns out that he becomes a raging alcoholic because of that one jagerbomb, then he was headed there anyway, right? do we agree? it was embarrassing how he took literally 4 minutes to drink it, but, baby steps, baby steps.

(c) virgin? can he drive? i hate to bring up clueless again but no way do you allow your friends to rag on you about this. be proud. wear a cross, put a promise ring on a chain, tell me you're a eunuch, or thinking about devoting your life to god but do not, under pain of death, let john candy make fun of you for this personal choice. i mean really, john candy? with his small cameo in home alone 2? bitch please. he should have pistol-whipped that idiot. now that would have been hot.

(d) "the shack," being the most amazing book ever, is one of my favorite things to talk about post-jager. if i can help you see your life is not that shitty and that you should yes, buy me another drink because it's all a part of the plan, then fine, so be it. you're welcome.

in rehashing the night, and as soon as it turned 1:45 (and the fact that my favorite friend had to remind me its not always a good idea to have afterparties . . . so sue me! i'm an r. kelly fan through and through) we hit the road, jack. literally. chris brown thanked me profusely and started crying, it was amazing. if that wasn't a calling to continue my charity work (but not sleep with it) then i don't know what is. for now, raleigh will still have the saint that is me, and you're welcome.

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