And then I got called a fat chick

Picture this, I show up at a bar around 8:00 p.m. on a Friday night when a lot of boys have been drinking for about 7 hours.  It was the Friday before New Years, Iowa State played a bowl game at 2:30 and Iowa was set to kick off (how's that for football talk?) at 9:00 p.m. I walked into The Ridgemont and it smelled like everyone in the place had taken a bath in stale beer.  I found my friends Ben and Jeff, and expressed my concern.  Jeff claimed that it was one 'acquaintance' in particular that may have hit his limit hours prior, and also suggested that I stay away from him. Stumbleina, as I will call him, was not coherently able to express his age or the approximate number of drinks he had consumed.  This is okay with me...no judgements, but he looked awfully huggy.  This I am not as okay with.  I minded my own business for awhile, until Stumbleina came our way.  I kept out of it until I heard him say this to Jeff, 'Yeah, Iiihhmm pretty drunk, but I'm sschhhur I could still pull a fat chick toniiight.' I chuckled to myself, but THEN, he turned to me, attempted a stink eye wink, and toasted to me!  I looked at Stumbleina and nicely asked, 'Wait a minute, did you just say that you could pull home a fat chick tonight, and then turn to me and cheers me?'  Stumbelina had no clue about the lethal combination of attempted speech and action that he had just committed.  He slurred his way out of it, and I took off, without slapping him in the face, might I add!  Here's to self improvement in 2012! Go me.

I got hit on at the laundromat

After all that cynicism, it's true. You can meet people at the laundromat.  I was just sitting in a plastic chair paroosing emails on my phone and thinking to myself, 'huh, doing your laundry in a public place is kind of uncomfortable. Pretty much every stranger here probably has some idea of the kind of underwear I'm wearing right now.' As that thought exited my sweaty head (I had a big night, gym, laundry and dishes), I felt the presence of someone over my shoulder.  'Wanna play pool?' Huh? Someone couldn't possibly be talking to me.  I turned around, and Austin repeated the question. I responded with, 'eh, I really don't play', 'Well, do you want to?', he responded.  'Eh, er, well' I was trying to come up with some reason why I shouldn't. He came back with, 'It's gotta be better than playing solitaire on your phone.'  Touche, Austin. Touche.  So I caved.  Austin asked the typical questions: name, what do you do, where are you from, why are you so sweaty, you know, just regular stuff.  So I played along, taking a break to get my clothes out of the wash to transfer into the dryer.  As I hung up my delicates (you know, the stuff you claim shrinks in the dryer), he watched.  Asking questions like, 'you don't dry your jeans?' as I hung my skinny jeans on a hanger.  I responded with, 'well, if I did, I'd never make it back in them'.  This seemed to end the question and answer session of the laundry monitoring.  

I returned to the game of pool, which, btw I had managed to make the first ball of the game in, stripes...with absolutely no skill involved, just luck.  I really (really) suck at pool.  Eventually I lost the game, but in the sometimes painful process, learned some exciting facts.  Austin is self employed, an entrepreneur of sorts. He repairs windshield cracks, and does other odd car related handy jobs.  Like buffing headlight covers when they yellow and get scratched up.  He noticed I drive a Grand Prix, which wasn't a difficult observation because it was the only car left in the parking lot, and mentioned that someday I would likely need this service because Grand Prixs are famous for getting yellowed headlights that need buffing.  Such a problem had never registered with me.  Oh well.  Austin was not doing laundry, btw...he just goes there to pick up chicks?  I have no idea.  Anyway, it was time for Austin to be on his way, so he gave me a card, in case the inevitable happens...you know, a chipped windshield, or foggy headlights. As he was leaving, he quipped, 'give me a call if you need your headlights buffed!' 'Er, ok...?'  Then he clarified that he was meaning the ones on my car.  Good thing, because I already had my shirt off. 

So that was fun.  P.S. Austin was wearing a gold band.  The lady working at Dud's N Suds said it was on his right hand, but I didn't notice that part.  She said he was flirting with me.  Huh, I hadn't noticed.