As this is the first post, I will explain the platform: We are not here to make men look stupid, they usually do a pretty good job of that on their own. We are actually appreciators of men, and we enjoy the abundant variety- tall, dark, handsome; short, red, awkward; straight; gay; successful; loser... they can all provide some sort of entertainment. We will not throw anyone under the bus by revealing his real name so instead we will use smurf references for easy understanding. That way you can keep up with the times we will undoubtedly accidentally run into the same smurf, as I did last night. Oh, and for the first few posts we will need to catch you up to the chaotic karma that is our life, so bear with us.
HANNA
I left work after a bit of a slow night and walked with another smurfette to the local drinking hole. No sooner had we started on our way when an older gentleman followed us, walking at an excellerated pace to catch up to our speedy gait. He reeked of booze and spoke in a thick accent, asking where we were headed and what we were up to. He told me that he was known all through our local area, to which I replied, "you must be very popular" and he agreed. Even old men can be tools. He then begged me to guess what he did for a living. As we were in a part of town rife with restaurants and bars, I suspected he sold meat or booze. Wrong. He told me to "think outside my American box" so I guessed that he sold obscure animals to the zoo. Wrong again. He bored us, but luckily we had arrived at the busy bar and could plan our escape. Wrong AGAIN. Now some of you are thinking, "he's just a drunk old man, tell him to piss off" and I should have but I couldn't when he wasn't being rude, just annoying. After we got our first bucket of delicious depressants he proceeded to tell me that he could grant wishes. Damn! A Genie! I should have asked for a million bucks in retrospect, but then again, I had just started drinking and I wasn't on any hallucinogenic drugs so naturally I wasn't biting.
I made a comment on an innocent bystander's spectacles, and he was quick to pick up on my genie dilemma. He looked as you would expect Where's Waldo to look after a business meeting and he attempted to step in and save me but to no avail. So his move was to start sharing blatantly all the things he was going to do to me when he "took me home to bone". Really? Grown men in pleated pants still say bone? I suggested that perhaps I know what he does before we go back to his place, and he told me he was an entrepreneur and that he was mayor of our little neighborhood of restaurants. Wow, a Genie and the Mayor in one night!? It must have been a full moon. He assured me that the right amount of money would buy you into any mayor seat (of that I have no doubt) and then wandered off with his enormously tall friend. Rude! At least I could have checked Government Official off my list of people to bone... then again...
The third man to attempt to hit on us was unbelievably tan. We're talking worse than Magda on 'There's Something About Mary'. And if you're wondering, yes, his hair gel was offensive too. He tried twice to chat us up, and on both occasions I confronted him about his possible addiction to sunlight and suggested he go on celebrity rehab with Dr. Drew. He was overshadowed only by another guy who seemed to be promoting my porcelain-ly challenged friend as a rockstar. Who cares? This guy proceeded to tell us that we were both beautiful. Thanks. And that he would buy us a drink if we could spell his name correctly. What's with all the F$@%ing guessing games at 1am? But in this case the joke was on Rumplestiltskin Smurf... he'd hit on me two weeks prior. Same lines, same challenge. Boring. Lucky for me, I did not have to remind him of this as last call was made at the bar, and smurfette and I made our escape.
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