On R-Dogg's insistence, I have to write this about last night. What terrifies me is that I will be labeled a pig or perhaps a sexist and while that label is interesting, it's also very frustration. I try and write about what happens to me and my friends in the most honest way possible. Sometimes I get labeled things, and I suppose that's okay.
For the past couple of nights, R-Dogg's been my major wingman. In fact we've traded off the role, happy to assist each other. R-Dogg's been coaxing me into having a date with the Ladyvader, which may or may not happen tomorrow. Either way, we went out this evening with the intention of talking to some fine young ladies. Just a little 21st century courting.
Our first stop was a classy Hartford pizzeria, where we ate a light snack and drank some excellent beer. I identified with the bartender immediately who seemed really nice. She laughed at all my jokes, which is a good sign. R-Dogg was put off by her for some strange reason. I insisted we have another drink at the bar, and he allowed me to, but he kept telling me we needed to back off and go meet our friends at another bar. I kept trying with the bartender, but R-Dogg pulled out the nuclear option. He said "Brett, dude, we need to fucking leave." R-Dogg doesn't swear often, so when he does it's a big deal.
We went out to other bars and continued drinking while R-Dogg became an excellent DD. The major problem with most Hartford bars is that they are too jammed with people and way too noisy. No way of meeting a nice girl in a bar in Hartford. So I drank with my friends (I somehow ended up with a Jagermeister t-shirt) while R-Dogg covered my wing. I'm pretty sure he was desperate to find a replacement for the bartender. I just wouldn't shut up about her. I kept calling her "my future wife" or conversely "my future ex-wife" depending on my blood alcohol level.
Finally, my friends agreed to go back and get pizza at 1am. So I had a shot. I galloped back to the bar with R-Dogg and strode in. She gave me a curious look, remembering me from earlier. But apparently, beer goggles work the opposite way for me. Clarity took form and I saw what my wingman was saying. I ejected quickly, ate some pizza, and we all went home. So R-Dogg and I are even now. Maybe one day we can have the glorious Big Red vs. Humpback Pizza Bartender fight. God I need to find a good girl.
Okay R-Dogg there, I wrote while I was semi-inebriated. Can I go to bed now please?
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