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“I like my women like I like my drinks.”

“Full of alcohol.”

Last night, I went to a dance club for BG’s birthday party [short for “birthday girl”]—first time I’ve ever been to one. I know, scary, but true… Some of us stayed until closing and I had a lot of fun there, but part of me is seriously disgusted after experiencing first-hand what women have to deal with when they go out to party on the weekends.

There were so many times when we were walking around that guys asked the girls to stop, sit down and talk, have a drink… my friends were obviously smart enough not to. Still, it was strange to see them going around together as sort of a support network, helping each other avoid any guys who thought they might get lucky with one or more of them. Or maybe it wasn’t seeing the network that was so strange—it was the necessity of having one.

Towards the end of the night (i.e., 1:00 in the morning), people started to leave and I became BG’s official protector. It isn’t hard for me to switch into “Big Brother” mode—I tend to be protective of my friends as it is. I also tend to be a people-watcher when I’m in the middle of a large group, but this time, I was doing it out of caution, not curiosity.

Unfortunately, there were several times that required said caution. One guy started hitting on BG while they were sitting at the bar, so I kept my hand on the small of her back to make sure they both knew I was there. If he thought that meant we were a couple, made life easier for me. Thankfully, it didn’t take long for him to lose interest, though that probably had more to do with her sudden loss of conversational skills than anything I did.

Later on that night, I was sitting in a tall chair and BG was leaning back between my legs, talking to a friend she’d recognized while we were there. Some guy walked up and started whispering into their ears. When he asked them out loud if they were sober… well, they weren’t. Then he asked if I was. Mind you, I don’t drink, but BG turned her head and mouthed the words, “Say no,” so I shook my hand to signify “sorta.” He started whispering into the friend’s ear again and she said something to the effect of “No, I don’t want to go and meet your friend.”

I figured I needed to do something. I moved my hand up to his shoulder and gave him a slow shove (dunno if that’s how people shove when they’re drunk, but that’s what I was aiming for). “Dude, she doesn’t want to go, just leave her alone.” He looked at me, then started to walk away. As he did, he was saying I needed to chill out and reached out to pat me on the cheek.

I’m not sure why that pissed me off so much, but I snapped my hand around to grab his wrist and glared at him. It took a second for him to respond, but he did: “Shake your head. Shake your fucking head.” I wonder what he might have done if I hadn’t done anything—it would have been a little strange to get into a fight with a drunk guy the first time I’d ever been to a club like that—but I figured it’d be a lot easier to do what he said. I shook my head, let go of his wrist and he walked away. Once again, “girls go through that all the time when they go out.”

It was easy to see why—there were plenty of women (with states of sobriety equal to or worse than BG’s) bumping and grinding and making out with random guys on the dance floor. If you’re looking for action and acting like an asshole works, why not, right? Don’t worry about me, I’m too much of a nice guy—I could never bring myself to do something like that. Being nice isn’t a bad thing, of course, and I think that’s why being at the club felt so disturbing at times…

I’m afraid I’m not in a position to apologize to all women for all the assholes out there who are looking to take advantage of you on a regular basis, but at least I can take comfort in not being one of those assholes—I’m much better at gettin’ my groove on while playing the role of “Big Brother.” Anyone wanna dance?

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Fall isn’t just for leaves anymore

I was sitting in the family room trying to study (as per my usual routine nowadays) and not being terribly effective (as per my usual routine nowadays) when I heard a loud *WHUMP* on the roof. I figured that with the strong wind we’ve been having today, it was a really big branch that got blown off a tree.

I thought about getting up on the roof to check it out. Then I remembered that the wind was strong enough to blow really big branches off of trees and there were still really big branches hanging over the roof of the house, so it probably wouldn’t be in my best interest to get up on the roof and stand underneath them.

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Blathering Incarnate

I spent almost the entire day sitting in front of textbooks studying and it sucked. It’s one thing to study, but to devote over eight hours to it sans e-mail, coworkers, a water cooler… not even a pet gecko to talk to! I felt like bouncing off the walls a couple times… okay, a lot of times… but that’s what Spider Solitaire is for. To celebrate, I’m just going to babble for a while and see where I end up. Just because I can. (And for those of you who may be concerned, there were no drugs involved in this “Dramatization. Not an actual demonstration of Shawn’s intellectual capabilities.” It might seem like it—I can’t say, I haven’t written anything yet—but no need to hide the women and children. Just your pet geckos.)

Now it’s time to contemplate the existence of my can of Dr. Pepper. It’s in a pretty little can, it tastes… like Dr. Pepper… and it’s got caffeine in it. Shit. Maybe this babbling will be influenced by drugs. Well, tough noogies—I’m not going to head to the bathroom and toss my cookies just to make that earlier statement true. And I’m especially not going to toss my cookies because I haven’t eaten any since the middle of last week. And I don’t have any hidden away in my desk drawers to nibble on, either. The geckos already ate them.

Given the prevalence of hurricanes in the last couple weeks, I send out both hopes to the survivors and giggles to Scorpions, an 80’s heavy metal group that sang “Rock You Like A Hurricane.” I would just loooove to see rock stars getting thrown through all the windows in a huge glass skyscraper… But what would happen when you run out of musicians? Do you start making tiny instruments, taping them to arachnids and try smashing stuff up with those instead? They’d bounce off! Maybe if hurricanes were made up of fast-moving scorpions with plastic guitars attached, we’d all be better off.

I’m feeling kinda hungry. I’d say I have an empty stomach, but is it ever really empty? Wouldn’t that require a black hole in the pit of your gut or something? A pool of nothingness that would suck you into yourself—you’re sitting in the restaurant, your waitress brings your food, but you’re not there anymore and she’s pissed off because you ordered the biggest possible meal (not surprising, given the total vacuum inside of you) and she’s getting shafted for the tip! That’s it—if you ever have an empty stomach, stay home. Collapsing into your own pool of nothingness is just fine, but why bother someone else with your personal problems? Especially when the landlord comes by to demand the rent after three months and you haven’t been around to clean the dishes in the sink from your last meal… man, you’re being so self-centered by letting yourself get so hungry…

In closing, here’s a quote from my former roommate, John Sherck. We were talking about the bar exam, I said I hated essays and he was horrified! Me, who majored in both English and Philosophy! When I clarified that I meant legal essays, he sympathized—”You give them an artiste of words and they want a fucking dictionary.”