First, let me start by saying: if you are offended by anything I may say in this post, if you THINK you MIGHT be offended by anything I MIGHT be about to say...walk away.
Why?
Because IDGAF.
What is IDGAF? Well for one thing, it's an acronym I don't suggest trying to type while drunk. As I am. Currently. My backspace key has never seen so much work.
It's the I Don't Give A Fuck defense.
Case in point. Tonight, once again, I've been accused of playah-tendencies. Now, let's be clear: I do not consider myself a playah. I, perhaps, in comparison to several friends, may be considered for playah-hood - but to me, I do not qualify.
However, in a moment of drunken honesty, I will admit that I do have tendencies towards the playah-persuasion.
First: I have to say, bravo to Blockheads, a tex-mex dive here in NY. While I fully and wholeheartedly applaud their $3 plain margarita special, which is every night of the week all night...I give a standing fucking ovation to their new Grande and, very specifically, Mega versions of the drink. $9, and after the first I had quite the buzz.
After two, well...that's the subject of tonight's (this morning?) post.
What defines playahood? Is it simply the ability to transcend your natural fears and, with no intention of actuallly following through (unless it's THAT easy) talking up some random chick and getting play from it? I mean, if that's all it is, well...I guess I should get my membership card register, right?
Because after a drink (or two, or three), well...the good ol' IDGAF starts kicking in, and woe behold anyone nearby.
For example. A waterbug/beetle/flying cockroach decided to pay a visit to a couple sitting near our table. The girl - young 20s, blond, freckled - exactly NOT my type - decided she no longer wanted to sit near her date, until said bug disappeared. She got up, and stood near our table.
Well, being the intoxicated gentleman I am (and immersed fully in IDGAF mode), I invited her to sit.
It didn't take much effort at all to find out that she's here from Florida, where she works, and who her date was. As, I should mention, the poor schmuck sat there at their table waiting for her to come back. I don't apologize for it; she came to us, I invited her to sit, she sat. He's lucky she's not my type or I'd have made out with her out of spite, but whatever.
She eventually went back, and the poor fool got up and left to go use the restroom. Which was, in my eyes, a moment to find out what was really going on.
They were, indeed, on a date. He was a co-worker. She wasn't sure it was a good idea, but fuck-all if she wasn't on the date anyway. A friend in the group did seem interested, so...do I encourage him, or ignore the chippie and move on?
Anyone who knows me, knows I couldn't resist.
Guy comes back. I had to get involved, find out what was going in - so I ask him, point blank - what's the deal, why hasn't he kissed her yet? He admitted (why the fuck he's even talkiing to me and not trying to kick my ass, I'm not sure yet, but that's what IDGAF attitude gets you) that they did kiss, lightly, TWO DAYS AGO, but he's not sure now.
Are you fucking kidding me?
The girl asks my friend if he could take a picture, and nice that he is he obliges. They take a nice generic photo of themselves.
Fuck that shit.
Of course I get up like I'm Martin Scorcese and it's "no, no, no...that's not acceptable!" I pose them, making them actually (gods forbid) TOUCH each other to take a photo. Lean in, hug her, put your arm around her you yutz!
Here's the amazing part. They listen, and do what I say. Click, click, photo done. A few minutes later, you can't pry their lips apart.
Why the fuck did they need my intervention? Geez, if you're that hot for her....they spent way too much time caressing faces, touching hair...
Look dickwad. If she's letting you put your grimy, sweaty hand on her face and lean in close to talk to her...you need to shut the fuck up at this point and just go for yours.
If she pulls away, you misread the signs and well, sucks to be you - but at least now you know.
Here, she OBVIOUSLY wanted it (although I should mention, I did ask while dumbass was in the restroom -and she admitted she was annoyed he hadn't made a move yet). And yet...I still feel like anyone with an outie, rather than an innie, had a pretty good shot.
Too bad I'm not into blondes.
Our waitress on the other hand...yowza. Obviously had a man, obviously knew how to flirt just enough...loved it.
God I needed a night like tonight!
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2 comments:
"What defines playahood? Is it simply the ability to transcend your natural fears and, with no intention of actuallly following through (unless it's THAT easy) talking up some random chick and getting play from it? I mean, if that's all it is, well...I guess I should get my membership card register, right?"
I find it interesting that this is your definition of "playahood". There appears to be a chasm in the male and female POV of douchebagdom, aka, playahood.
A douchebag/playa would've gotten some of that while boy toy was in the bathroom yanking his yodel.
And then, fast forward to a time when he's finally gotten sex from her, said douchebag would've done a 180 and start spouting prose on how he does care, but he's not ready to be serious but would like to keep it going (translation: i'd like to keep fucking you). Did I mention, mr. playa has a girlfriend?
So then yes, while it is the IDGAF syndrome, it is in conjuction with the BIASB (because i'm a selfish bastard) disorder due to the ITPTHARR (i'm too pussy to have a real relationship) disease.
Shall I send you the application?
First: I can't believe I got called out for drunken blogging, which incidently should probably be illegal. Half (most!) of the crap I wrote doesn't even make sense, but oh well.
But on playahood...hmm. I'm gonna have to soberly think on that one, because this needs further explanation, methinks.
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