If I had to describe my game of late, I would compare myself to Wade Boggs. I'm knocking base hits all over the place. I've probably got a little more speed than Boggs, because I use my hustle to leg out some triples. Sure, I've been thrown out going for home, but I don't feel bad about that at all, because I have only been going up against All-Star pitching. For me, I'd rather hit a double off Justin Verlander than a home run against Kyle Davies.
So on Saturday, I went up to Chicago with some buddies. In the afternoon, we crashed a fantasy football draft, which, shockingly, is not a great place to meet women. After that, we crashed a wedding, which is a better spot to meet women, but we only went there for free booze and so we could get our buddy out of there. At this point, my buddy comes up with our mantra for the night, "Fuck it; it's guy's night." If a girl gave us the slightest pushback throughout the night, we simply stated, "Fuck it; it's guys' night" and went on our merry way.
After sprinting to make it on a train to take us into town, we decide to entertain the other people on the train by singing any song that my buddy had on his phone. Our singing was so fantastic that a 50 year old woman took videos of us and invited us to stay at one of her homes in New York City.
After leaving a crowd that absolutely loved us, we make it to the city and go to a party. Everything's going great, but I did make the mistake of leaving my friends alone for five minutes, and sure enough, one of the girls I knew comes up to me and suggests that I get my friends out of there, because they are throwing beer all over the place. Fuck it; it's guys' night.
We go to a bar, and we are all West Coast Dancing. I use my WCD to impress ladies, while my buddies are using their WCD to challenge people to "battle" them. I stop paying attention to them for five minutes while I seduce a lady with my sexy dance moves, and sure enough, they get kicked out of the bar for throwing beer all over the place. Fuck it; it's guys' night.
At the next bar, I let my idiot buddies do their thing while I go to pick up some women for everybody. I have a Harvard Fencing shirt on, so girls naturally assume that I went to Harvard. I do not steer them from this opinion. Because of the fact that they think that I'm a Harvard graduate, and therefore think I'm rich, I have a whole table of girls interested in me. They are about to head over to dance with my buddies until I actually point out who my buddies are. The ladies lost a lot of interest in dancing with my friends when I had to tell them, "Hey, you see the guy in the black wife beater who is sexually grinding on the big guy...yeah, those are my buddies." Who could have known that girls would not be interested in guys like that? Fuck it; it's guys' night.
It's 3 AM, we've been drinking for 14 hours, and most of the bars are closing. We are denied entrance into one bar, because my buddy is way too messed up to be allowed in the door. We move on when I pick up some girls sitting on a ledge. One of the girls is very attractive and friendly, we'll call her A. The other girl can barely stand or speak, we'll call her Bridget. So you all know which girl I went after...the hot one (You see what I did there? I zigged when you thought I was going to zag).
So we get a cab with these girls and head to the next bar. We exit the cab, and Bridget asks who we are, completely forgetting that we just shared a cab over there. No problems though, A and I head to the bar, and Bridget goes to sit in a booth by herself. Now things between A and me are going great. The only thing I remember talking about is fencing at Harvard, but I don't feel like a scumbag, because she brought it up. One thing I will never forget is how she was showing off her tremendous personality. I'm a gentleman, so that's what I really care about in girls, and this girl's personality was absolutely popping out of her shirt. She decided to constantly lean over just so everyone could get a great look at her personality. She was the Mother Teresa of that bar, because she was spreading joy to everyone.
So I'm sitting on a stool at the bar, and she must have decided that she couldn't hear me well enough, because she decided to straddle me on the stool. Things escalate, and we decide that it's time to leave the bar scene. Bridget stumbles up from out of nowhere to go with us. We get in a cab, and as I'm about to shut the door, Bridget mumbles, "The boy has to go." I decide to ignore it, because it was barely audible, and I'm thinking she will pass out before she is able to put together another sentence.
This was a mistake on my part. I underestimated Bridget. She says louder, "The boy has to go." I try to reason with her, and tell her that me and A are heading back together, so it's no big deal. Logic does not work for Bridget, and she starts repeatedly screaming at the top of her lungs, "THE BOY HAS TO GO, THE BOY HAS TO GO..." After about the fifth time, the cab driver tells me I need to get out, and I agree at that point that it's time to give up on this situation. It was bad enough exiting the cab with 50 people looking at me like I was some sort of sexual predator, but to top it off, I am immediately met by four security guards from the bar asking me what the problem is. They were looking to meat out on me, but despite drinking for over 15 straight hours, I quickly diffused the situation by calmly telling them what happened and heading on my merry way.
I met up with my buddies to update them on everything, and after they got done laughing at my failure, I was left with only thing to say, "Fuck it; it's guys' night."
P.S. This is all you need to know about college football for this season.