Before we left the house for the night of festivities on Thursday, I explained to Justin about my “Anti-Boy Goggles”.
There is a difference in how guys treat me on nights out when I wear my usual glasses versus the contact lenses. Not that I often get hit on–I mean, what guys in their right mind hit on a flat-chested plain looking girl with glasses–but I feel like I go under the radar with the glasses. It’s like a cloaking device. Without it, suddenly people start to notice that I am around.Â Totally the Superman/Clark Kent thing.Â Glasses on, you’re gone.Â Glasses off, you’re here. Â It doesn’t matter how cool my glasses look, it repels unwanted attention, and for me, that is quite awesome.Â Ahh…the good life of us 4-eye freaks.
But anyway. We went to dinner at a sports bar called the Whiskey Girl. I came back from the last trip to the restroom to this question from Justin.
“Did you get hit on on your way back from the restroom?”
I looked at him. “By what, the door?”
Justin’s Match Day celebration was at this chic lounge in Downtown SD.Â The bar area was mostly occupied by Justin’s peers. We pulled some trendy bar stools away from the bar so we could sit while Justin and his friends socialized. Originally, Olaina was standing facing us lazy folks who sat down and the bar. Three “kids” rowdily and noisily yapping behind Olaina and started to back up into her.Â Well, this Queen Bitch kept leaning into this guy and he kept stepping back.Â Mind you, the bar was not empty but it wasn’t THAT crowded. After Olaina got bumped into a few times by these inconsiderate fools, she moved over to get out of their way.
Somehow, that stepping away was perceived as an invitation for them to mad rush the bar, squishing themselves by us.Â At that point, Olaina had already sat down with her back to the bar.Â And of course, these guys would be standing, once again, right behind her.Â We made a point to drag her chair away from those guys. And once again, they seemed to think that was an invitation to take up more space.
Somehow, not a minute later, the Queen Bitch started to back into Olaina with her massive purse, tapping her in the head, as she continued to yap and squeal to the other boys.
Olaina had it. She grabbed the girl’s purse forcefully and said calmly, “Honey, your purse keeps hitting me in the head. Can you please keep this closer to you or move away?”
The Queen Bitch snatched her purse away and in a huff spewed “Oh. Sor-ry.” Then she turned back to her little cronies with her panties in a twist–obviously bitching about this lady who told her she can’t do what she wanted.Â Another friend of theirs, as if on cue, came to fetch the Queen Bitch away to go sit somewhere else almost immediately.
At this point, we also decided to remove ourselves to the couch to further watch people. We came to a conclusion that people are that inconsiderate because of the generations. I mean, I think we, in our 30s, were the oldest people in the damn place.
“See, that kind of inconsideration is sooo Generation Y,” I said.
Olaina actually said, “More like Generation ME”, but what I heard she said was, “More like Generation Meathead.”
Well, either one of those statements still defines that generation.
Later on, we told Justin of what would have gone down with the Queen Bitch and her big ass purse.
“Oh, I was so close to just slap her,” Olaina said. “But I don’t want to ruin your party.”
Justin said, “I would totally have your back in that fight.Â And so would [his other med school friend].”
Since I’m not usually the clubbing crowd, going to that chic lounge was almost a lesson in anthropology. There were tons of “characters” that come out at night, it seems. Olaina and I, having had nothing else better to do, made our observations of the species.
First, there was this skinny lady with that leathery looking skin from too much sun, wet-and-crimped looking blond hair, black mini dress and 5-inch heels. We agreed that she stepped out of her time machine for a drink before returning to the high class call girl circle of the late 90s.
Then there was this, to put delicately, big boned girl who went crazy at Torrid, the plus size version of punk-goth Hot Topic, with low cut t-shirt than cling to her massive buxom and skirt way too short of her built. Oh, and the fish net stocking too. She decided to sit with her other mini-skirt wearing friends on the leather couches. Too short skirt on too big girl who doesn’t know how to sit properly in that situation equals a very sad and disturbing scene for the rest of us at the bar who happened to look that way.
Then there was his skinny overly-tanned to orange perfection girl (What’s up with the maximum fake bake in this place? I mean, it’s San-fucking-Diego, people. Go get some real sun.) in these tight, white pants and that long sleeve, tie-at-the-chest bright turquoise number, showing off her abs.Â Excellent abs to her credit, by the way.Â Still, I’m sorry but honey, you’ve missed the exit for South Beach by some thousands miles.
Well, at the end of the night, where we were standing by the bar, Olaina pointed out to Justin the abs-licious Miami Vice who happened to stand right in front of Massive Mall Goth. I was sitting down and I didn’t quite see MV. So when she started to gesture that direction, I thought she was pointing out MMG.
Olaina: Did you see her?
Justin: Who? The girl with the belly?
Me: That one over there, the beastly one in short skirt? Wait, which one are you talking about, Olaina?
Olaina: I was pointing out the one with the Belly.
Justin: And I was looking at the Beast.
Me: Belly and the Beast! This place has ’em all!
Last night, we went to dinner at Ritual Tavern, a gastro pub and restaurant. We were there at dusk so as the sun was setting, our corner was slowly getting darker. Olaina ordered the special of seabass and fennel reduction with, as we found out later, baby purple potatoes. In the dim light, Olaina couldn’t tell what those orbs on her plate were. She cut into one to figure out what it was. But of course, being the purple potato, it still looked like an unidentified black round thing.
She lifted her fork toward Justin, “Honey, is this a date?”
I chimed in, “I would be if I wasn’t here.”