Names Shmames

7 Sep

We recently went out for Bakers birthday!  The drinking started at the beach bar in the early afternoon.  We had to request more soda for our drinks because they were that strong.  We were happy to get our moneys worth but damn, it wasn’t 5 o’clock anywhere.

There was a 3rd grader at the table behind us that was far too loud.  My first thought was she is going to be even more annoying as she gets older.  She was the youngest person at their table, thus probably the dumbest.  But she was dominating the conversation like she owned the fucking place.  If that was me, my parents would have been like “pipe down with your pre-adolescent bull shit.”  The little girl commanded the attention of the table like it was the state of the union address.  She then confidently said “Not that it would ever happen, like ever, but would you rather die by drowning or get eaten by a shark?”  First of all, it could happen. Florida is practically the capitol of unprovoked shark attacks.  Second of all, what kind of question is that? Aren’t you just a sadistic, little 7 year old? I don’t consider this to be appropriate lunch conversation. Third of all, DROWN! Duh.

We attempt to continue drinking at dinner, but that is a bust because they are out of House Margaritas? How does that even happen?

After dinner we hit up our favorite waterfront bar to meet up with more friends. We notice a random guy sitting alone on the corner of the deck.  We make up a story that he is a writer.  He keeps looking at us, probably wondering why we keep looking at him.  We are convinced that we just became characters in his novel.  I am drunk.  My friend dares me to go ask him why he is there alone.

5 minutes later he is coming with us to play pool at the next destination.  I’d like the record to show that I did NOT invite him.  In his words, he “overheard us talking about leaving” and wanted to come with us because he wasn’t a local. According to him, he was a fourth grade teacher.  Coincidentally, one of my friends is also a teacher.  They talked. Multiple red flags were raised. He was a weird one.  His name was Amun, “like the sun god”.  We asked him how old he was.  His response? “Do you know how old our Lord Jesus Christ was when he died? I’m that age.”  That at least answers the question of why he is there alone.  I think he had some sort of God complex.  Eventually, Baker started interrogating him about being a teacher. She told him not to bullshit her.  Not even God could help him. He got scared and left.

I go to the jukebox to play music.  I couldn’t get my bill into the machine, mostly because I wouldn’t put my drink down to straighten the crumpled dollar. A random guy, comes over and offers to help.  It goes right in.  Drunk.  He returns to whatever he was doing and I play Britney Spears and Bob Marley.  Can you dig it?

His friend approaches me and I introduce myself.  He says “I’m Luke, we’ve met before.” I argue  “no, I don’t remember you. I think you are thinking of someone else.” He continues to argue with me saying I have a face he couldn’t forget. Awkward.

Then he says “you were wearing a peach dress.”  Creepy. And awkward.

I’m still momentarily baffled because I have always thought that dress was orange. He knows my wardrobe better than I do.

Baker walks over and I introduce him “Baker, this is Lance.”  He corrects me, his name is Luke. Awkward.  I still don’t remember him.  He reminds me that the night I met him, I was way more interested in his friend.  Wow, Lance sure does know how to keep a conversation awkward.

The night I met him was the night I felt like a slutty cinderella.  There was a nice guy and a cute guy.  Guess which one he is.

Anyway, it turns out he is friends with the jukebox helper, Marcus.  Marcus confesses to Baker and I that he “has to be honest, he just got out of prison.”  Oh, fabulous!   Don’t only rapists and pedophiles have to be up front about that kind of thing? Clearly, we need to find new places to hang out.

Lance invites us to his beach house that is not far from there that is stocked with rum. Marcus will also be accompanying us.  Beach house? Sounds fancy.  Rum? Sounds like fun. I ask him what his name is again.  I’m way past beer goggles at this point.  I’m just straight up fucking blind. Then, I ask Baker if she is willing to go.  She agrees. Only because she is drunk. He gives us the address.  Baker says “Marcus, we will meet you at the gas station to pick up some cola to mix with the rum.”  He corrects her, his name is Maurice. Whoops.

We get to the gas station which looks shady as hell. But I guess all gas stations look shady at 3 in the morning.  She opens the car door and tells me she will be right back.  I tell her I want to come with her.  She says no, stay here and keep the doors locked.  Which is pretty much what every person says right before something horrific happens.

A couple minutes later she comes back to the car with a 2 liter of cola with a frustrated look on her face. Apparently, Lance made a comment that it was a lot of soda for his amount of rum.  She is pissed because she felt we shouldn’t even go if the rum is that limited. I agree but it’s too late now…we bought the soda.

Just because the town has ‘beach’ in the name does not mean the house is literally on the beach. I got shafted.  The house was poorly decorated and smelled like the 1950’s.

The four of us took a lot of group selfie pictures.  All of which confirm that I drank too much.  None of which I wish to share.

Around 5 a.m. Lance/Luke and I went into his kitchen to put the rum back in the fridge.  There was old, rotting corn on the stove.  It was definitely time to go. Baker had also had enough of her conversation with the felon, who she found out had a couple kids that he really loves.  Whatever.

We say our goodbyes and hightail it outta there.

The next day Lance text messages me multiple times. I do not respond.  The day after that he calls me multiple times.  I do not answer.  The third day he sends me a text that says “Are you not interested in talking to me?”.   What gave it away?  Was it the fact that I’m not talking to you?

Idiot.

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One Response to “Names Shmames”

  1. mike on bike July 1, 2014 at 3:17 am #

    Your post inspires and frightens me in equal measure. Bitchy gold.

Bitch about it!

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