I really should expect it by now. I'm just a magnet for crazy people. Maybe I should just get a cat and stop going out. But then I'd have nothing to write about here. Plus, I don't like cats.
Friday night:
I was pumped. Jess was visiting, and I was bringing her to my go-to dive bar, Max Fish. Josh Hartnett, hipsters, psychics — I'm telling you, this place has it all.
We met these guys. For purposes of this blog post, their names were Justin and Matt. They were too short to date, but they were entertaining so we moved bars and went to Spitzers with them.
Everyone was ordering drinks when a crazy came out of no where.
Crazy [takes scarf off, ties it around head]: You're cute. I want to go jihad on your ass.
Me: [no response, looked at Jess for assistance]
Crazy: Do you think I look like a terrorist?
Me [still looking at Jess for assistance]: No.
Matt [to the rescue]: Hi. You should come get a drink.
Crazy [leaving, still wearing head scarf]: You're beautiful. I'll see you around.
Then, the proposal man walked in. He looked at me, but didn't really say anything to me.
Proposal man [drunkenly, to friend, while staring at me]: Dude. Why is she talking to the shortest guys in here?
The shortest guys in there took offense and suggested we relocate. On our way to open seats by the window, proposal man tried to tap me on the shoulder, but missed.
Proposal man [almost falling off bar stool]: I want to marry you.
Me: I have to go.
We sat down and had a normal conversation with J&M, while this random guy was lurking behind us, not talking to anyone. J&M left after M offered to take me to the planetarium and I declined.
Lurker came up to us and tried to talk. He was drunk to the point where I couldn't figure out what he was saying. I almost felt bad.
