A Message From Atop the Bar

Tonight I am off work, and I have plans.  More often than not, I call my friends and they have already planned my evening.  Tonight is no different.  They have decided that we are going to a bar downtown.  It’s within walking distance of the bestie’s apartment and it’s a somewhat seedy, hipster / gay, fairly popular place to get completely knackered.  Tonight will be interesting though, as Wednesday night there is referred to as “Techno Dance Night” and things tend to get a little wild – to put it mildly.  Just imagine rush-hour traffic without the cars, where everyone’s drunk, and that’s what it’s like.

The last time I went on a Wednesday, I woke up with an epic hangover – the kind that makes you feel as if you were put into a barrel and pushed down several flights of stairs.  That morning (by “morning” I do mean 2pm) a friend was showing me photos that he had taken the night before.  I stopped at a picture of a few guys dancing on the bar.  It was a somewhat blurry photo (he had certainly gotten his drink on that night), and I asked him who they were.  “Well, the boy on the right – that’s Chris, the middle one is my friend Keith,” and as he pointed to the third boy, who was shirtless, he said, “and that’s you.”  Oh dear…

Just then, a moment of clarity took place.  When I awoke shortly before, I became aware of an itch around my midsection.  I reached into my blue and yellow Express briefs and pulled out a dollar bill.  It had undoubtedly been inserted there while I was doin’ my thing above the crowd.

DISCLAIMER:  Don’t get me wrong – I’m not a terribly constant party animal, a drunk, or a drug addict.  I don’t do this often.  However, I wholeheartedly believe that there is no shame – NO SHAME – in letting loose from time to time.  Do what you’re going to do, and keep in mind that worrying about what other people think has never done any good for anyone.  Anyone who has ever lived in the wealthier part of the suburbs and gotten the hell outta’ there (and I have) will agree with me.  Cruel Intentions is a great movie, until you’ve lived it (but that’s a story for another time).

So, as I’m sitting here with my laptop, sipping on the finest Chardonnay that $12.99 can buy, I wish you all a happy and pleasantly eventful Wednesday evening.  Mine certainly will be – of this much I’m sure.

Meeting New People (…sort of) – GRINDR

Let me start by saying that if you don’t know what the grindr app is, do yourself a favor and google it.

For me this app is just a cure for boredom.  If I’ve got it open on my phone, chances are that I’m waiting in line at the grocery store.  I don’t, and wouldn’t expect anyone to take this app seriously (unless, of course, random sex is serious business for you, in which case you better log off wordpress and get cracking).  With profile names like “iBottom” and “Married Dad” it’s not hard to see why.

A little snippet of entertainment from a friend. I think Married Dad may have touched a nerve.

I have found that most of the profiles on grindr are or are a mixture of the following:

The Professional

This is the boy who is here to hook up, and he’s got it down to a science.  This is not his first rodeo, and it certainly won’t be his last.  Following a carefully perfected formula, he can crank em out at a pace that would make Gene Simmons look virtuous.  When two Professionals encounter each other, it’s a good chance there will be action in the time it takes to say “Ew.”

The Ninja

If you’ve ever received a message from someone who stated clearly on their profile that they were “NOT HERE TO HOOK UP” and then opened the message to find a picture of their gentleman’s area, you’ve been a victim of The Ninja.

The Mystery Torso

Similar to The Professional, the mystery torso often has one of two reasons for hiding his face.  He either a) has the good sense to keep from broadcasting his promiscuity to the world, or b) it’s ugly.  I think straight boys call that second one a “butter face.”

In this case mystery is a bad thing.

The Relentless

This is the one that does not know when to quit.  For whatever reason, this guy feels the need to carpet bomb grindr profiles in the hopes that someone will be horny or desperate enough to strike up a “conversation.”  How can you tell if you might be acting a bit like The Relentless?  If you were wondering, you probably are.

If I don't respond the first five times, you probably are not going to have much luck on the sixth.

I have made this bad habit of taking screenshots on grindr and sending them to people.  Perhaps I’ll start posting some on here.  That reminds me, I’ve got something really urgent to take care of…

On Car Repairs and Saving Money

So last week I had an axle replaced on my car. Yay. This week a soft but persistent scraping noise has developed, and today copious amounts of mystery fluid came leaking from somewhere in that general area. Dirty jokes aside, it was starting to piss me off.

Upon backing my car out of the driveway and immediately noticing a giant dark smudge, further investigation revealed that fluid had been slung everywhere.  My face at this moment was that of a car lover who was beginning to hate cars.

It’s an odd relationship – me and the automobile.  I love driving.  I have a problem, however.  Apparently driving does not like me.  I have a superpower of sorts.  All I have to do is lay eyes on a vehicle, take the keys in my hand, and hit the unlock button to cause a litany of unpleasant and undoubtedly expensive malfunctions.

My current car is a Honda.  It’s Japanese – reliable, a great car (winking face).  Since I have owned it, I have replaced enough parts to constitute, well, all of them.   It’s not a new car, but it’s not that old either – 6 years in fact.

To reduce the resulting financial hemorrhage, I do some work myself.  The other day the light bulb that illuminates the fuel gauge burnt out.  It’s a $1.99 bulb – no biggie – 30 minutes or so and the dashboard was apart.  I swapped out the bulb and managed to save $70.  Rock on.

My proud grin vanished, however, when I switched the lights on.  Things were much darker than I was expecting, as I had managed to short out half of the neighboring bulbs during my repair efforts (one of which lit up the speedometer).  Apparently reassembling things exactly the way you found them can cause problems such as these.

So while driving that night, my speed was determined through guesstimation.  After offering to the nice officer my superhuman power as an excuse as to why I was speeding, and passing the resulting field sobriety test, I received a lovely greeting card.  Total cost – $145.00.