Craig and I were sitting on the corner of the bar sluffing White Russians and black coffee. Craig was telling me about some friends of his in high school who constructed a Ouji Board out of a coffee table and named it "La Mesa". Everyone had an appropriately named and reserved spot at La Mesa. They carried it around in their trunk. At some point La Mesa decided it wanted Craig to have a spot at the table. His name was "the Wizard of Wit". Craig has the best stories.

Paul came up to the bar and stood next to me. There were three girls around the corner from us and Paul started chatting one of them up about her sequin Annie Oakly bag. Craig and I joined the conversation briefly but quickly got on the topic of a van I saw on eBay once. It was McDonalds themed and had a light-up boarder of all the McDonalds characters going around the inside. Mood lighting for child molestation.

When we revisited the conversation they were discussing gen x and gen y. I contributed a bit untill the lady asked if Craig and I were Paul's lackys. I prefer to think of myself as "bad cop", but whatever. She wasn't malicious about it. For the record, though, they're MY lackeys. I turned back to Craig again and we discussed how certain managers at work co-opt phrases like "sea change" from Craig. We decided that he would stop using "yes" to answer affirmatively and start saying "robble robble".

Back to Paul and the girl. She was an English/PR major and Paul was asking her about books that everyone should read. It was here that met the girl's friend. I didn't catch any of their names but this girl was like a cross between Maude Lebowski and Cruella DeVille. She had severe eye makeup and a generally pissy air about her, suggesting that at some point sand entered her vagina and she has not been sucessful in extacting it.

She attempted to make Paul look stupid and suceeded in embarassing everyone, especially herself. She said her favorite book was "Bastard out of Carolina", widely regarded as a feminist/lesbian book which I'm sure has merit and was never intended as a pseudo-intellectual device to make men who try to talk women in bars seem stupid. I have no problem with someone saying their favorite book is "Bastard out of Carolina" or "The Vagina Monologes" or "Mein Kamf" or whatever, but I cannot fucking stand it when people try to come off as superior because of it. If I were a little more intoxicated I would've mentioned that my favorite book is the Forum section of Penthouse.

At some point the subject of Milwaukee came up and the girl with sand in her vagina lamented how Milwaukee used to be cool but now it's being overrun with posers and yuppies and what-not. I remember going through that "I hate everyone who exists in the real world" phase when I was 15. I personally got over thinking I was better than everyone with different priorities than me, but what do I know? I'm probably part of the bourgeois capitalist poser movement.

Eventually the girls left to go to some bar in Riverwest. Our party had petered out during the conversation. Craig was the last to go at about 1:45. Paul was possibly a little drunk and wanted to go to the bar to find the girl. They had gotten along well. I was still sober so I told Paul that I would drive. We got the bar around 2am and I found parking a few blocks away. It was pissing rain and we walked quickly into the bar.

It was a small place. A DJ was playing but the music was so loud I couldn't distinguish anything. People were dancing. I should mention here that I was still sober. Stone cold. Paul offered me a drink and I told him to go chat up his girl. They left somewhere and I stood there looking at the floor, looking at the celing, looking at the lightning through the window. Paul returned and said I should go talk to the bitch girl since she was sitting alone, no doubt thinking about how much she hated everyone and how the world was overrun by yuppies and people who liked to have fun.

I should mention here that Paul was not trying to set me up with this girl. Hell, she probably had fangs in her vagina. He just knows how fucking charming and entertaining I am and he probably felt bad that Morticia Adams was sitting around looking mean while her friends were having fun. So I followed Paul over. He bent down and started talking to her. I heard my name, then a lot of garble covered by the horrible music, then "he can get stuff off high shelves" then a lot of garble again. He left. I looked at her and said "I have no idea what he just said to you", then I turned around and stared at the celing some more. It was fine because I didn't want to talk to her and she didn't want to talk to me.

Bar time came and went. I took Paul and his new lady friend home and drove myself home. The garbage truck came at 5 am again.

All in all, it was a pretty fun night. The moral of the story here is that it's fine to be into whatever you're into as long as you aren't a judgemental, shallow twat to people because you think they fit into some stereotype. Just sit at home and Rage Against the Machine quietly.