Sour Grapes

I was in no shape for any challenge on Sunday. I spent my birthday on Friday with Urban Melissa and her friend Guatemala (a very pleasant, funny, loud and large woman about whom I will write in the near future) and Saturday attended a party at my friend Z.B.'s. Z.B. is Polish, as were most of the guests, and eastern Europeans can drink like nobody I've ever seen.

Hence, I spent most of Sunday on my bed trying to stop the room from spinning. When watching a baseball game presents too much of an intellectual challenge, you know you're not going to be good for much.

So, I stayed inside until evening, at which time I headed to Nick's.

I took my seat between Drinking Buddy and two twenty-somethings. Drinking Buddy was arguing the merits of Chicago vs. New York. He had already had a few.

"Why do people say LIKE all the time?" he asked me, an obvious reference to the girls sitting on my immediate left. "That's so, like, fucking stupid."

He said this loud enough for them to hear. They apparently didn't, or were unaware that they were the reference. I was getting uncomfortable.

"Listen to that shit. Fucking cunts. They're so stupid."

D.B. had definitely had a few. And was veering toward the Dark Side.

He turned his attention to the patron on his right and I started chatting up the two girls. They were dancers. One was from Iowa.

"Why do we care about them?" DB turned to me, "...it's because of what's between their legs. I'm not jealous of you, David, what bothers me doesn't bother you. Stupid bitches. Like, like like. Shut up, shut up, shut up. I'll help you, David, here, I'll help you."

He turned to the girls and offered to buy them shots. The bartender poured a round and we drank up. D.B. introduced himself and asked their names. His tone was supercilious and slightly mocking. Eventally, he turned away, leaving me to chat with one of the girls.

After about 20 minutes a guy showed up and joined them, at which point the girl I was conversing with excused herself and left. D.B. shot me a knowing glance. We did another shot.

After I left, I wondered about the source of D.B.'s resentment toward the fairer sex. There are guys who, when a date is not going well and her interest is flagging, will preemptively sabotage the situation. They will make a crude sexual joke or do something otherwise offensive as a way of protecting their egos from the sting of an impending rejection. D.B. takes it one step further---his pre-emptive offensive is unleashed prior to the first meeting.

Yes, women seem wicked when you're unwanted but, you know what? It's his own damn fault. You can dismiss the flirtatious banter of barroom courtship as phony, vapid, glib and insincere and you wouldn't always be wrong but don't be surprised if you find that nobody lets you join in any of their reindeer games.