Monday, January 24, 2011

my latest tawdry affair.... and The Superdouche

Oh, Monday.

Lovely little weekend we just had, eh?

Actually, Sunday was pretty lovely. Manfriend and I spent the majority of the day lying in bed, drinking mango mimosas and watching season two of Veronica Mars in our unmentionables. And just so you know, when I say 'the majority of the day,' I mean from three in the afternoon until we went to bed around eleven. That's eight hours. 

However, before the little bed soiree, we ended up at B-Dubs around noon, day drinking, which gets me SO excited, and watching hockey. I've recently discovered how fucking much I enjoy watching hockey.

The reasoning for this adoration is two-fold:

First of all, the way these men skate, weaving in and out and creating plays is downright beautiful. They just glide back and forth so quickly, and it leads me to think about how much trouble I have just standing up on skates, while they're taking all these awesome risks with it, and I absolutely love watching it.

WAYYY more importantly, the fights. I get a legitimate kick out of watching grown-ass men force one another into the glass at full speed and then throw their gloves down and start beating the ever-loving shit out of each other. Yesterday, my favorite player Dan Carcillo got into an altercation and I'm pretty sure he fucking spit out a tooth after he beat the piss out of some guy on the other team. His jersey was covered in blood. And no one broke it up until someone fell down. I'm personally nonviolent, but watching others duke it out in the heat of the moment? Yes, please.

So, we were meeting up with a friend of Manfriend's from his old job, who is painfully underage, but really, at this point anyone I meet who is underage is painfully so. This friend brought a person along whom I can only describe as The Superdouche.

I've never actually met anyone like The Superdouche in real space in time, though I've always heard rumors that people like him existed. He comes in, sauntering like he just had a threesome with the Oleson Twins, introduces himself as "Zach's best friend" without bothering to mention his given name and immediately makes it clear he'll be sitting with us, taking up space at a restaurant, watching a game he "doesn't give a shit about," while ordering nothing but water.

Without. Ordering. Anything. But. Water.

Ok, whatever, I'm often without fundage, I understand wanting to hang out with your friends but not being able to afford a single beer, even a Miller High Life; I've been there. But to fucking complain about your water being empty for fifteen minutes to a waitress that doesn't stand to make a dime off of you? Get a quarter and call someone who cares, dude. She's not fucking obligated to you at all. AT ALL. I speak for all members of the service industry who have ever had to deal with a fucking broke ass loser who acts entitled to being waited on hand and foot when I say:



The Superdouche kept bringing up rugby and how awesome he is at it and how he plays "Pro" rugby. Right. I just wanted to be all "Oh really, why don't you move to New Goddamn Zealand where people actually watch/play/care about that sport?" No offense to rugby players, I know it's intense and brutal and challenging and all that shit, but seriously, don't talk my ear off about it when I'm trying to watch a bunch of guys slam into each other on purpose on ICE while chasing a little black disc around, because I'm a little busy, here.

Anyway, The Superdouche also had the double diamond studs going on in this ears and a shitty arm tattoo. In all honestly as soon as I saw the earrings I probably didn't even give him a chance, and that was before a solid stream of bullshit was directed at me for the next three hours. 

At one point, in an attempt to look important the Superdouche pointed out all the people he knew in the restaurant, including a blonde hostess he went to high school with, whom he described as "fat." Which, one more Woodchuck and I probably would have stumbled over the whole "Isn't that the pot calling the kettle black?" saying. Because friends, The Superdouche DEFINITELY isn't hitting the gym on the daily. Although he'd like everyone to believe he does. The Superdouche is unemployed and lives with his mother because, obviously. Oh, and by the way, blonde hostess, you are NOT fat.

The Superdouche must be incredibly popular despite my assessment, because he couldn't manage to put his phone down the entire three hours that he was sharing my air. Sharing. My. Air.

Anyway. it was an educational experience for me, which I got through partially because of this prior purchase, waiting in the car for me:

Um, if you've never smelled this scent, then you've never experienced real lust. I think Manfriend is just waiting to walk in on me making sweet, sweet love to a candle, realize it completely meets all my physical and emotional needs, and kick him to the curb.

Don't worry Manfriend, you probably give better backrubs. Although, Candle may be a better listener, he never interrupts. Have I mentioned that he smells like everything I've ever wanted in life, COMBINED?

XO Sare.

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