So I had my first real outing since, hell, since I got knocked up, I think. I went out for some drinks with Sarah and 2 of her friends to a nice karaoke bar in Worthington. I decided against wearing my usual frump-wear and stuff myself into something nice (with the exception of my grannie panties and mommy bra, those are standard). It was an ordeal trying to get ready since I haven’t fixed my hair since what seems like high school prom and the screaming baby sort of put a kink in anything I was trying to accomplish, but I did my best and even managed to tote the baby, carrier and diaper bag down the stairs without toppling off my high heeled witchy-poo boots and killing us all. I was sort of proud of that, none of us dying that early in the evening.
Anyway, the whole point of this blog is to let everyone know something very important. It’s that women fresh off the mommy train shouldn’t be allowed to go out in public and talk to strangers. I suppose some women still managed to make it through pregnancy with their brain to mouth filter still intact, but I was not so fortunate, I found out. I stuck my foot in my mouth so many times last night I have scuff marks on my tongue. I will give you the first example: I went out to the “banishment room” where all the smokers go outside to commiserate and give oncologists reason to stay in business, taking Sarah with me and lo and behold, there sits the only halfie I have ever seen. (Half-ie: *noun*; person who is missing half their body, usually the lower half). So the guy was in a wheel chair, all legless and everything, and I am trying my damndest to be unaffected by it. He was on his cell phone, obviously arguing with someone when we went out there and shortly after his conversation ended, he looks at us and questions us why women are so “difficult”. I counter with, “difficult how? Difficult to bed? Difficult to deal with? Difficult to understand? Explain.” (Sarah later informed me how it was probably insulting to him to insinuate he’d ever be able to “bed” anyone without the assistant of a nurse aide, but I am confident in my giving him the benefit of the doubt). I decided that I am queen of advice and told him “women like men who are assholes so you should slap your bitch up a little bit, otherwise she’ll walk all over you” Mistake number 2, bringing up walking. Maybe his girlfriend is in a wheelchair too. Perhaps I should have said roll you over or something… We chatted a bit more and then there was a lapse in our conversation and the only thing I could think to do is to turn to Sarah and start chirping about how cute her shoes were… and then start flashing my shoes about, saying how cute THEY were. He pissedly rolled away and completely ignored me when I called after him, “good luck with your lady troubles!” Christ, I’m a fool. I may as well just have walked out there, took one look at him and proceeded to talk about legs: How great it is to have them. How much I love to walk and stand up and stuff. How much better shoes fit over feet instead of stumps or whatever… how much I liked Lieutenant Dan in Forest Gump. legs legs legs, feet, shoes, dancing, etc. Hank said he would have felt compelled to just ask him how he got that way. I’m not that brave and worked out several scenarios for the future, should I ever meet another halfie and want to get that awkwardness out of the way. I will say, Hey, I was born without hair. Is there anything you were born without? Or, “hey! I once got my fingernail ripped off. Have you ever had anything torn from your body?” That should take care of any awkwardness, don’t you think. *sheesh* I will go to hell.
Situation 2: Sarah and I decided that all the guys looked like puppy-frat boys in the bar so the only man that was even worthy of ANY interest was a guy who was wearing sort of a casual suit. We decided we liked distinguished gentlemen, since he had quite a bit of gray hair. So later, chatting again, in the smokers den, a puppy who we were chatting with called us old and told us to go hang out with the old guy in the suit since he was more our age. So, before the little fucker got his first black eye of the evening, I decided it was a champion idea and went over to the “distinguished guy” and Sarah and I started talking to him. Mistake. As conversations usually go, he asked me “what I do”, and do save face, wanting to seem mature and not at all “college drop-out-y” or “frumpy mom lady” I told him I was an aspiring writer (sort of true). He then wanted to know what I write, and again, trying to save face by not telling him my main writing gig was my MySpace page blog, I said I write comedy. *ahem* so he then says, “Comedy, huh? So tell me a joke!”… Um, I said comedy writer not a joke writer, but even so, regardless of how untrue it was, I countered with the lamest Finding Nemo analogy about the clown fish not knowing any jokes. He decided that since I knew no jokes, he was going to have to show me how un-funny I was and tell a horrid stream of gay jokes, racist jokes and then a bunch of testicle jokes and then berate me by repeatedly reminding me that I didn’t know any jokes! What kind of comedy writer doesn’t know any jokes he kept saying. I could only counter with, “well, data processor (which was what he did, I guess), tell me some fucking data!” He couldn’t. He was a frat boy in wolfs clothing. So now I can’t lie to people because I suck at it. I just wanted to seem successful and mature and accomplished but in a bar, very few people see “stay at home mommy-hood” as success. I love my life. I love my family and am particularly proud of my success, but in a drunken girls night out, a little bit of respect goes a long way. So I lied and it blew up in my face.
Moral of the story: Don’t drink and do anything. Sit at home with your kids and get drunk. Don’t talk to anyone. Unplug your phone so you don’t randomly call some amputee and hurt his feelings by saying something stupid (although I’m sure I was much more aware of my every foot reference than he was… maybe). And definitely don’t walk down the stairs in heels carrying your baby. Just because I did it once doesn’t mean YOU can do it too. I mean, if I got drunk and toppled off a cliff, would you too? I mean, REALLY….
10/24/2007 10:01:00 PM