Fair Blog

This last Friday night I went out drinking. When I got my bottles in the car and headed out, I didn't know that David Lynch had taken over as the creator of Maya for the evening. Anyway, the names have obviously been changed to protect these poor, hapless specimens.

J-Bird has been my friend since freshman year in high school. He's the guy who made me watch "Super", (mangina movie #1; watch it, I dare you!), and was surprised I didn't think it was a good movie. "It's not a mangina movie," he now tells me every time I see him, hehehe.

J-Bird's brother, Mr. A, is a little younger, more secure, and has a better head on his shoulders all around. He is currently shacking up with a woman he met online from South America, Ms. G. Ms. G is not that annoying; she's actually a nice change of pace from the usual California girls.

Recently, J-Bird inherited a house from his family. He had little choice but to allow this chick, Sonia, to move in. Sonia's dad called J-Bird's dad after Sonia had to leave her other place and so the arrangement was out of J-Bird's hands. Sonia has a great body and plays it cool, but everyone I know who has had extended interactions with her comments on how crazy she is. She used to do some heavy duty drugs and now has prescription pills to keep her on a semi-even keel.

A few weeks ago, I went over to J-Bird's place for drinks and Sonia was all over me: she hoed it up, tagged along with me wherever I went, laughed at every half-witted thing I said, etc. In conversation, she found ways to tell me that she was single, didn't have STDs, and a whole bunch of other come-fuck-me hints. I didn't bite, of course. With everything I had already known about her, and everything I learn here on the forums, Sonia had to pass by the most formidable series of guards before I'd start seriously considering more than a ready-made acquaintance.

Anyway, last Friday night rolls around, and the cast of characters was all there: J-Bird, Mr. A, Ms. G, Sonia, and me. When I arrived there was talk of going to some bar to celebrate some cokehead douchebag's birthday. I drank my first scotch on the rocks and braced myself for the local bar scene, a sad hell of desperation and headache-inducing colognes.

All of a sudden, this fat &sweaty yee-hawing pile of dumb crashed through J-Bird's door and barreled towards us in the backyard. This guy was a classic stereotype of white trash, only with half the IQ and twice the perspiration. I'll call him NMG for "No man's glands".

NMG was so shit blathering stupid that I assumed he was drunk, but when he had crashed out of the scene to take a shower I learned that wasn't the case; he was just naturally stupid. It was seriously kind of scary being around him. It was like being around a wild animal, an insecure pit bull with poorly-spelled tattoos.

Sonia had told me that she was single and had broken up with her boyfriend, and Sonia seems pretty and stable enough to at least hold some kind of conversation, but I learned that NMG was Sonia's ex and now they were back together. This surprised everyone, but I thanked my lucky stars I didn't hook up with Sonia if her partner selection process was so damned broken. If I'm going to send my sperm into war, I at least want to go against some real competition.

After his shower, NMG looked just as sweaty as before, and I was still in a state of disbelief that this guy was really this dumb.

So, we packed into two cars and drove to the local convenience store to get some accouterments on our way to the bar. I was alone in my car and the rest of the crew went in Sonia's car, but when we got to the store Mr. A and Ms. G escaped the cloud of dumb in Sonia's car and decided to ride with me. Once inside, they stated flatly that they couldn't take how dumb that guy was, and they didn't even really want to go to the bar, but all three of us had some kind of morbid curiosity about it: we wanted to see NMG have a go at the bar situation. How would this decorticated mammal handle himself in the wild? How would people react to him? We had to see.

On the way to the bar Mr. A, Ms. G and I all commented on how Sonia could do better, even if she was a pill-popping maniac. She is pretty by all normal standards. Not too terribly annoying or stupid or anything. Why in the hell did she allow herself to be with this brain-lacking beast? We couldn't figure it out, but he does have stable employment as a construction worker of some kind - I didn't ask for details.

We arrived at the bar and I already had a nice buzz going, so I took a table and let the others mingle. The people who had come for the douchebag cokehead's birthday party were either people I didn't know or people I wish I could forget.

A few moments later, it was just me and Ms. G at the table. Communication was difficult because her accent, though charming at less cacophonous venues, was now in steep competition with the blasting hip hop booming throughout the pub, (it's an Irish pub, but I doubt the bar has played a U2 song in seven years, let alone actual Irish folk music). Ms. G was talking to me about Yoga, meditation, and ended up telling me about her weak ass muscles and about how she wanted to learn from someone who knew what they were doing, aka me. She said that when we returned to J-Bird's place that we'd make arrangements for me to show her some ass stretches and meditation exercises.

Ms. G has notoriously wants to hop on every cock she can whenever she comes to our neck of the woods. She has hit on J-Bird and almost turned the brothers against one another. Now, she was chameleon-ing her way into my existence. My only hope was to invite Mr. A along to learn some Yoga too to keep her honest, and so I nodded in agreement and went about my evening.

Well, soon enough NMG was laughed out of the bar after he tried to say he knew certain people at the cokehead's party. No one owned up to knowing him if they did, and I suppose the effect was so dishonoring that we now were going to leave for another bar. It turned out to be a restaurant too, and we got a table. NMG proceeded to order a lot of mixed drinks with all sorts of strange specifications. The waiter got a kick out of him, but everyone seemed to go through the same process with NMG: disbelief, and then pity. He's so stupid that you can't really dislike him. It's just sad. All one can do is say to themselves, "Wow, I'm glad I'm not that guy." What remained continuously surprising is that Sonia didn't notice that she was defiling herself by being with him. She played the girlfriend as if he was a fully-fledged member of the species.

By the time I had finished my beer and french fries, NMG had passed out in his chair. He was now a grunting and groaning pile of half-sleeping dumb. We paid our check and went back to J-Birds.

J-Bird had another unsuccessful night of cock-blocking others. I suppose that somewhere along the way the PUA tactic of negging one's opponent worked for him, but unconscious of the mechanics of the lever, J-Bird's game has deteriorated into a sad, insecure pantomime. Under all his asshole scaffolding is just a pussy-begging wretch. Whenever he sees me having any sort of meaningful discourse with a female he tries to neg me too, and that would piss me off if I couldn't deflect him so easily. The only danger is making him so pissy and downtrodden that he goes into one of his depressed bitch-spirals and makes the evening hell for everyone else. It is by walking these perilous tightropes that I have come to appreciate drinking alone more and more.

The ride back to J-Bird's place was filled with the continuing theme of the evening. Mr. A, Ms. G and me saying what we couldn't say in front of NMG: how we couldn't believe he was really that stupid; how we couldn't believe that Sonia put up with him. We arrived back at the house and I made sure Mr. A had my number. When he and Ms. G were together I told him that she wanted to see some Yoga and that they should call me to make arrangements.

Sonia put NMG to bed like a toddler and made her way into J-Bird's room with us who were wrapping up the evening by catching each other up on all the shenanigans. By some twist of fate and words, Sonia laid her neurosis out: even though she's of sound enough of mind and body to have better sperm fighting their way through her lower torso, she thinks she's stupid and undeserving. She also said she doesn't like going more than a few days without sex. I didn't know what to make of it, really. This woman must have the cheapest pussy in Southern California for what her looks and intellect could normally afford her.

Today I got plenty of good signals from girls at college, all much better looking and seemingly stable than Sonia or Ms. G. And still I go along ghosting. I'm in a warm blanket of observing people, and I lack the desire to put myself into the psychodramatic world of modern sex relationshits. Too many charades, too many facades, too many games, too much time, too many liabilities. Not enough return for the investments. They're always better in imagination anyway. The Buddha became enlightened when he realized that the nature of reality is sorrow, but we become free when we can laugh at it anyway. Life is a tragic comedy, no?