The Ramblings of Ridiculicious

International Humorist

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I was completely sober last night.  Now I know what a cold sweat is like. 

I brought two girlfriends with me to the first stop – a neighborhood mixer. We entered the cramped house and a short, fat gay guy walked right up to me and asked if I smoked. I looked down at my purse where my cigarettes were poking out. I was obligated to give him one.  I hate that shit. This gesture made him Velcro himself to me all night.

First conversation with him: “What kind of penises do you like?  Do you like them manscaped or not?”  Why do gay men think they can talk to me about sex?
“I like penises in general,” I said.  I hoped this  response would keep the door closed for more dick talk.  It didn’t. He apparently liked dicks short, fat and hairless. Swell.
“Hey, I left my, um, plate? In the kitchen.” I said.

In the kitchen, my first conversation was with a tall, hip man who said he had seen me around, "Are you a newscaster?" he asked me. Jesus. 

I moved on to two attractive guys who were in their early 20’s. I got giddy for a second. “Man, there is a shit load of alcohol here,” said one. The other guy adjusted his baseball hat and grinned at me.
“Kay, I have to pee.” I said.

My girlfriends were huddled around the drinks, pouring one after the other. So, I made my way to the food table and wondered how I could eat the whole table without notice and without also gaining weight. I ate two strawberries instead. A small child with an ugly, knitted hat tugged on my leg. I thought it was a cat at first. "Hi" I said. The thing looked up at me and smiled. "What's your name?" I asked. 
"Tree," it said. I unpeeled it from my leg and ran to the bathroom.

I took a deep breath and unzipped my pants. The bathroom door didn't close all the way and a guy with a full beard and "cool" glasses walked in on me mid-stream.  "Oh sorry," he said, I was just coming in to light up."  He stood there gaping. “You smoke?”
"Hey? Do you think you could get the fuck out of here?"  He apologized and closed the door way too slowly. 
I finished and went back out to the food table. I grabbed a brownie and gobbled it up.

I had a few more conversations about dogs (a safe topic for all audiences) and then asked my friends if we could go somewhere else. They were clearly irritated that I was disrupting their free drinking binge. "Where are we going to go?" they asked.  I wondered why it was always up to me to find entertainment for everyone.

We decided to go to the Northside Tavern - a bluesy dive bar on the other side of the city. My friends were already hammered and we had to stop and pee three times on the way there. It was 15 minute drive.  I've done this to people. 

When we got to the place, it was crowded and smoky and the most horrible white-bred blues band was playing. I wanted to find a dark corner to sit down and watch people, but my friends wouldn't let me, “Come dance. Come on!” they yelled
“Yeah. No,” I said.
“Come on!” they cheered, “You don’t have to drink to dance.”
“Look, I’m not white. I can’t dance to this.”  They didn’t hear me, but they finally decided to dance without me.

A drunken, hippie couple singled out my singleness: “Are you alone,” asked the woman part of the couple. I sensed the swinger in her. I told her my friends were dancing. “How come you’re not dancing?”
“I have no rhythm.” My pseudo honesty opened the floodgates.
“Well, I found my rhythm…” she slurred,  “…I was thrown to the wolves as a child, but somehow I made it."  She was apparently orphaned and had to live on the streets at age 14.  She looked like she had been orphaned and forced to live on the streets.  She had two children who were close to my age and she was only 48.  "I finally met the love of my life last year," she spat out, "Swami." She pointed to the old hippy with a Grateful Dead jacket and bells on his tennis shoes. "He's old. But he still gets it on."
"Awesome," I said.
"Come dance," she grabbed my hand.
"Yeah. No."
"Come on!" She insisted.  Her hippie husband sensed my allergic reaction to her touch and  finally pulled her away.

A handsome drunk man came up to me and asked if I wanted to dance. "Nope," I said.
"Come on!" he said tugging my hand. He would not take no for an answer.
I finally blurted out, "I had knee surgery yesterday."
"Can I get your number then?" he asked.
"I have four kids," I said.
He looked confused. "How old are you?"
"Old enough to have four kids."
He still looked confused. Then he grinned and said, "I don't care. I like kids."
Oh but you will care tomorrow morning when you sober up. “Hey. I don’t want to dance. I don’t want you to call me. Do I need to say something mean now?”
He shrugged his shoulders and skipped over to my friend who gladly took his hand and gyrated up against him for the next hour.

I finally had enough when a wasted ball of a mess of a couple fell on me whilst trying to fuck on the dance floor.  “Hey gotta go!” I announced to my friends.  On the way out the door, the hippie lady grabbed my hand and said: "Don't worry, you'll find your rhythm Baby."

I wanted to yell back, “When I find it, I’m still not gonna dance to a motherfucking white-bred blues band!”

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You're not a newscaster?


You need to go out sober more so you can write more entertaining stories like these.

I'm so far from a newscaster it's not even funny.

Bands like that just annoy the shit out of me. I had always heard that northside tavern was somewhat authentic.... But now that I think about it, the guy that told me that takes swing dancing lessons and sells appliances.

I've seen one or two good bands there. Not that night though. ick.

Funny stuff. Love the "Tree" girl. Congrats on staying sober.

"I had knee surgery yesterday."

This made me crack up unexpectedly hard. Way to think on your feet.

I don't want to hurt feelings. But then I was going to really hurt his feelings.

Great story, so well told.

I found staying sober relatively easy after the first few weeks but I had to trade in some of my friends for new ones.

I hear that. Life changing.

Ridiculiciouciousness, drop biscuiteater and pickup eqo.

Okay. You changer of identities you.

“Look, I’m not white. I can’t dance to this.” is WIN. Sorry your night wasn't so great a time, but you did a great job relating it.

Is WIN and acronym? I expect to have many more nights like this now that I'm sober. I forgot how stupid people were.

No, WIN is just win, but still great. But yeah, being the sober one in a pair/group/room of people can be such a drag.

This is some really good shit, seriously good.

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