DumbFunnery

Adventures in Studly-ness!

Recently, for the first time I went to a bar and got a girls number. And I did it with jazz hands.

I work with a group of guys who are around my age and have also just started here. This has provided us with good reason to chat at work, and we grab lunch once a week or so.

On February 5th we decided to paint the town red. Another co-worker recommended we go to a bar in downtown Houston – Rocbar. Girls who work there dress in a lovely way (read: slutty), and they have, apparently, rock music.

The three other new guys came over and we played XBOX and three of us had two beers a piece. Then we piled into a car and picked up the fifth guy (the bar recommendation guy). The five of us, piled into a sedan, were ready for an adventure.

Before we had left my apartment I used the bathroom because when I drink any liquid I get a mean case of what doctors call ‘grandpa bladder.’ It’s a burden I bear.

The bar was maybe 35 minutes away and oh my Lord you’ve got to be kidding I have to pee again. I make a comment. The driver, D, looks at me in a – ‘you’re f-ing kidding me?’ way. I’m afraid not.

In my defense we drove from my apartment to get the fifth guy, so really it’d been a good 40 minutes since I’d last peed. That’s some bladder!

*

Once at the bar we started drinking. Gulp, gulp, gulp, down goes the liquid confidence.

We went to an outside patio type area and they had big swings, like you’d have on a big front porch. I sat down and start swinging around side-to-side, because that’s fun. I got the feeling I was ‘cramping the fellas style’ so I calmed down my five year old desire to play on a swing set.

Eventually two of the five guys went off and started chatting with girls. What a concept. Myself and the remaining two stood around, talked, and did laps around the bar like it was a middle school dance (‘hahahha! oh man look J’s talking with that girl!!! Duuuude, I wonder if he’ll get her number!!!’).

The two guys would re-join us periodically and we’d talk nonsense.

*

The liquid confidence finally entered my bloodstream and my mind went from ‘well she’s very pretty and aw shucks’ to ‘ehhh why not.’ Yeah, that’s right, the charm was on full blast.

I walked up to a group of girls and basically shouted at them (I’d been drinking, it was loud in the bar, but still I feel a bit awkward about my starting this conversation by yelling in their faces). I told them I was new to Houston, I’d just moved there, and what’s the best place to eat. I said this because it was true, and I love a good place to eat.

They weren’t having it. One of the girls semi-answered me so I looped around to hear her better. She told me a boring chain restaurant recommendation (seriously, that’s boring). I could tell they weren’t enjoying me, so I moved on.

Surprisingly, I didn’t care at all.

*

I headed outside and sat down on a swing, talking to two of my friends. I noticed that across the patio a girl was sitting on a swing, doing basically what I’d been doing when I first sat down. That was all the green light I needed.

(I actually met up with the girl one time, and since then nada – so this story comes from her since I was too boozy to remember. And I’m writing this now because had I written it when she and I were still talking, I would’ve felt like this was a bit odd. I don’t know dating etiquette, but I feel like blogging about a girl you’ve just met is not kosher.)

Apparently, I walked up, hands spread out like I’m semi going for a hug, semi doing jazz hands. I said ‘hey!!!’ very happily and then bam started talking. I didn’t introduce myself. I told her I’d just moved to Houston and what’s the best part about Houston. It turned out she was from northern California (where I’d moved from).

Within five minutes of meeting her I told her about my grandpa bladder.

I also talked to her about my job (which is probably fairly boring to most people).

All in all, I was a real charmer.

I ended the conversation by telling her that my grandpa bladder was acting up, and a fella’s gotta do what a fella’s gotta do. I said let me give you my number, she said no let me give you my number. Tricky.

*

Wish me luck tomorrow night. Hopefully there will be less jazz hands.

I mean, really – who starts a conversation with jazz hands?

Copyright 2010 Brad Stanley