At 36 I have lost my desire to spend Friday nights in a crowded bar filled with drunkards who step on my feet, spill their drinks on me, and slur their words. I spent plenty of my younger years dealing with such shenanigans, and even being one of those lame ass drunkards. In my old age, it’s just gotten lame and I find the allure of my couch far too appealing to pass up sometimes. Dragging myself to a bar on a Friday night is difficult. I work all week, and I get tired. Lame? Probably, but I have something even lamer to share with you.
This is about as lame as lame gets…
This past Friday night I made plans to go out with my friends. I even managed to coerce Jewcy Bits into attending. She, in turn, coerced her boyfriend and his brother, Corey Hart, to come along. Why do we call him Corey Hart? Easy: because he fucking wore his sunglasses in the bar. At night-time. And it was dark. It was pretty hilarious when Jewcy Bits would introduce him to people and she’d say, “Have you met Corey Hart?” Comedy. At one point, I think she even called him the white Stevie Wonder. Even more hilarious.
Yes, he was lame. But I have something lamer…
I was the first one on the scene arriving 30 minutes before anyone else. The thought of walking into the bar on my own gives me anxiety. Instead, I sat in my car in the parking lot waiting for everyone else. While there, I listened to an audio book. That’s right people. I hid in my car in the parking lot.
I am even lamer than Corey Hart.
