December 7th 2012
Here’s what happened.
I was lookin good.
Hair slicked back in classic bobby-pinned style sipping (chugging) my freshly purchased beverage in the far corner of the bar.
This makes me sound like a cowboy doesn’t it? Alright listen I was pretty much just jiving along to a few Chris Brown remixes that resulted in sporadic splashes of vodka that danced out of my cup and onto my body. Which, I really… didn’t hate.
I was currently immersed in a miniature family reunion in a lower east side establishment called “Hotel Chantelle” with my Korean cousin who flew in from LA and watched in awe as she rallied her local Asian friends to join us in a uniform pack. And lo’ and behold a fleet of them obediently arrived precisely on cue. Peace signs, sparkly eyes, bowl of noodles and all. It would be an understatement to say that they travel in herds. And tonight? Well…tonight I was one of the gang.
P.O.A (Pack of Asians) and I shimmied over to the dance floor and while the P.O.A. men broke out their most insatiable break dancing moves, (whilst terrifying and casually taking out two waitresses) the female P.O.A’s preciously bopped along to classic lyrics such as “To the sweat drop down my balls. (MY BALLS) All these bitches crawl! (CRAWL) Oh skeet skeet mother fucker, Oh skeet skeet Goddamn OH GODDAMN” throwing our hands up jovial celebration in honor of such original, thought-provoking poetry from Lil’ jon himself.
Eventually we decided it was best to invest in a round of straight shots of vodka to the face and before I knew it 8 glasses were
And 8 glasses were
And 8 shots were taken, completely forgetting about the absolute necessity of a chaser. Rookie Mistake. ROOKIE MISTAKE!!
And after a series of unattractive faces all attempting to translate to “WHERE WHAT THE FUCK WHERE THE FUCK IS THE CRANBERRY JUICE?!?!”
There was a tap on my shoulder and there stood a member of our very own P.O.A. crowd. He looked at me. And then looked down (eyes up buddy) And then looked back up (there you go) and said.
“You…you are…you are a unicorn…”
Perhaps one day, just one, I’ll get a “Hey! How’s it goin?”
My track record
“Listen I don’t say this about most people” he continued, “but really, I mean it, you really really are a unicorn.”
Oh you really mean it? I see. Well that clears everything up! After tipping the bottle upwards once or thrice I explained to P.O.A member that it wasn’t that I didn’t appreciate his genuine clarifications, I just truly had no idea what the hell was going on. Is it my polish nose? My small hands? The fact that I was late? Because NOAH WASN’T CLEAR ABOUT WHEN THE FUCKING BOAT WAS LEAVING. And just to be clear, if I were to be a unicorn, I’d want to be like a limited edition unicorn that instead of sporting the average twirly stick via forehead, I’d like mine to be a bomb pop
just to add a splash of American pride and offer a tasty treat for the neighborhood kiddies.
Disturbed by my unwarranted tangent P.O.A member explained to me that twasn’t my polish nose or small hands, but rather that he found me to be “one of a kind” and he had never met anyone that had looked (or behaved) quite.like.me before and by unicorn he really just meant that I was
“A mystical creature.”
Ah…Now normally I wouldn’t have such a casual reaction when someone describes me as a “creature.” Or a mystical one at that! But bizarrely enough this round about compliment sparked an insatiable urge within me to look around the premises and create a list outlining the plethora of other mystical creatures that were currently in my vicinity. You may recognize them as the neighborhood schlore or perhaps the local creep bomb. But maybe we can also see them as something else. Something mystical. Yet, something accurate. Let me explain.
6 Mystical Creatures We See At The Bar
(quick shout out to the “Mythical Creatures Guide” website that was miraculously available for me to write this post. I don’t know who created it this but…keep…it…up…?)
1. The grinding skank pot on the dance floor a.k.a.
The Abagoochie is described as “dry-land piranha” lurking in the dark that’s on a constant vendetta for love, affection and food. You know this girl. You’ve seen this abagoochie. (And she’s seen you too) Dropping down and getting her eagle on whilst simultaneously making eye contact with the most booze-filled, beer-goggle satisfying male on the premises. Male Abagoochies are equally as treacherous but taken less seriously since these species never exceeds 3 ft and never weigh over 35 pounds.
2. The oversized man in the corner sporting hawk eyes and double fisting a two tecantes a.k.a.
You know big foot. You’ve seen him. (That being said, I suggest you tell everyone you know. And make a ridiculous profit.) And he’s seen you too. (Run) When he’s not roaming the Himalayan off-roads he’s standing bar side at the local pub sporting common character qualities that include barreling through a herd of abagoochies whilst relaying messages such as “LAAADDDDIIIESSSSSSSS!!!!!!! WASSSSUUPPPPP!!!!!!” Or picking a fight with someone far more intelligent than himself. But hey, maybe we should give big foot a break. But only because he’s about to break your boyfriend/and or male friend too. Fair is fair.
3. The non-gender specific character who comes over to say hey and then…never…leaves. a.k.a.
The Human Hovercraft
This is how it starts. You walk into the bar, right? And you see hovercraft and you say “Hey! How’s it going!” And then they get a crazy look in their eyes. And they’re excited. And they pummel every and any soul in their path to get to you. And so they finally get to you. And you’re talking. And you’re talking…and you’re talking…and… you’re…talk………………………ing…
And then you want to bounce.
And they don’t give a shit. So you drop lines such as “Hey! I’m going to run to the bathroom” and they say GREAT I NEED TO USE THE BATHROOM TOO. Fuck. So then after the party of 2 bathroom visit you say “Yeah I’m gonna go…catch up with my friends…but I’ll see you later!” And then they say GREAT I LOVE NEW FRIENDS. And so then you start doing rude shit like make a complete 180 and begin talking to SOMEONE ELSE COMPLETELY. And suddenly you feel
something…no…someone… …over your shoulder and then you hear HAHAHAHAHAHAHA…and it’s not coming from the person you told the joke to… but rather…hovercraft, who in no way shape or form was invited to partake in this banter. Other characteristics of the hovercraft include:
1. Finding you no matter how deep in the depths of the dance floor you are
2. Texting you within 37 seconds of separation with things such as WHERE DID U GO? WHERE ARE U? DID U LEAVE?
3. Inflicting the same discomfort on all of your friends.
Don’t be a hovercraft. Don’t do it. Don’t.
4. He’s the local hipster who seemingly doesn’t give a fuck…but really kind of does. a.k.a.
The Bray Road Beast
Somewhere in the sea of backward caps, spandex forever 21 dresses and HEY MAN I GOT US A ROUND OF PICKLE BACKS GET UP HERE!
There he is.
Sporting either a vintage graphic tee or homemade cardigan….Potentially both. His hair is a bit unkempt…but you like it. You exchange banter about the flooded bar, he says something witty and enlightening involving cats. You chuckle nonchalantly. He mentions his love for crafting genuine pieces of carpentry with his own bare hands which only makes sense since one of the well-known characteristics of the Bray Wolf Beast are their opposable thumbs. Typical typical. You invite him to the dance floor to join you and your friends and that…is when shit goes terribly awry. One second he’s the cool suave guy at the bar. The next he’s the rhythymless monster on the dance floor trying…so hard…to sing along to the latest jams but…just…can’t. It’s painful. So painful. Somewhere Ke$ha is crying tears of glitter in embarrassment while the 40 year old local behind him is crying regular tears for being periodically elbowed in the face with bray beast force. Bray beast closes his eyes and holds up his drink ready to cheers with his new-found group of friends. And when he opens them….everyone is gone. Yeahh fuck that shit.
5. She’s pissed, she’s confused. She’s pissed and confused! Ladies and gentleman the girl who screams non-sensical things a.k.a.
Now listen. Not every banshee starts at a banshee. Sometimes it’s a progressive thing. Most times they start looking fresh and particularly clean with their gal pals but CAREFUL. ONE rip in their Tory Burch stocking, ONE misconstrued text, ONE COMMENT about the absurdity about the real house wives of Atlanta and you’ve unleashed the wrath of the bar banshee coming to a casual club near you. How do you spot her, you say? Emotional crying, unwarranted violence, rude comments to the bartender, bouncer, man in a plaid shirt and beyond. Don’t be fooled by her charming good looks, there’s nothing but crazy under that flat ironed hairdo and ridiculously sequined tank.
6. She’s a hyper wasian with questionable dance moves. Periodically found in a herd of Asians. And will most likely write a blog post about you a.k.a.
You spot her from across the way. Her hair is pinned back in classic bobby-pinned style. She sort of looks like a cowboy. But you let it slide. You walk over to her and introduce yourself. You ask her what her name is. She says “Olive!” but the music is a little loud so you ask her again “HELEN?” No. Olive. “HOLLY?” No…Olive. “ALLEN?” She gives up and says yes.
You tell Allen she looks nice and begin to say “Allen you are…you are a unicorn.” She grabs the nearest bottle of grey goose and takes a swig and asks you wtf do you mean. Goes on a scary tangent about bomb pops and Noah’s ark. Something about small hands. Something else about feeding neighborhood kiddies.
And so you explain to Allen that no no what you meant was that twasn’t her polish nose or small hands, but rather that you found her to be “one of a kind” and that you had never met anyone that looked (or behaved) quite.like.her before and by unicorn you really just meant that she was “A mystical creature.”
She’s concerned that you’ve called her a creature but quickly embraces it, furthermore she begins rambling about a list and pointing to various characters at the bar and comparing them to other “mystical creatures.” And in that moment you’ve decided that you’ve never met anyone quite so awesome….
Or who talks so fucking much.