Proud Mary - I Love You!

So my sister-in-law graduated from nursing school last night. Evidently this school is something akin to Hitler's Concentration Camps and getting through it is a miracle (getting through it with your marriage intact is like the immaculate conception), instead of a tattoo, you will forever bear the emotional scars of Abu Ghraib pyramid sessions. This was made very evident by the first nursing graduate who got up to "speak". I use the term speak loosely because it was more like squeaking out a barely intelligible word or two in between sobs. I mean, seriously, chicky... You're graduating, not giving a eulogy. It's even more unsettling that this emotionally unbalanced woman may one day be tasked with saving my life. If she's crying because she's graduating, what's going to happen if she sees my half split open body and brains seeping out of the side of my head from a horrible car crash with a semi-truck??

Thankfully, that part of the evening didn't last long.

We then end up at some hillbilly bar in Bum Fuck Egypt. I swear, I have never seen so many rusty pick-up trucks with over-sized wheels (with Confederate Flags in the windows, no doubt) packed into one parking lot. Compared with those and the occasional early 90's beater sedans, my brother's black Subaru STI, sparkling clean and sporty, looked quite out of place. As did all of us who still had all of our teeth in tact.

As the nurses pile into the bar with their cute little nurse hats, there was many a call for the need for CPR by the locals (whom you couldn't pay me all the money in the world to put my mouth on). This made me infinitely glad that I choose to fix computers instead of people, because I would have left most of those morons laying on the street dying... Regardless of the fact that it took about 15 minutes to get a drink, causing us all to wise up and double fist, the bartender was a nice guy with several facial piercings who took to calling me "love".

We were accompanied by my mother and my sister-in-law's gay boyfriend who, as it turns out, was my boyfriend for a short period of time in 7th grade. After many accusations of turning him gay and discussions of the dorky photo of the two of us, I was well into my third or fourth vodka tonic. Things started getting interesting when I was having a discussion with a chubby bearded guy at the bar who was somehow part of this nursing graduate party. I remember him bitching about the bartender and me loudly exclaiming that the bartender was awesome and busting his ass to do his job that night, to which chubby beard guy looked a bit embarrassed and scolded me for announcing his displeasure so loudly. It was quite evident that me and this guy were going to clash and, being the instigator that I am, I of course took it to the next level by letting the bartender know, in front of chubby guy, how awesome he was.

It was soon revealed by SIL's gay boyfriend that chubby guy and I were going to clash because of our political views. That's when he started trying to argue politics with me. Knowing better, I just continually taunted him with the fact that I would PWN him in any argument, instead of actually saying anything political. He kept trying to actually argue with me and the SIL stepped in. It was one of those scenes that was completely amusing, but might look like an actual heated argument to an outsider. That's when the pussy whipping started. His wife came over in a fury and dragged him away from the conversation. I chuckled to myself as they sat in a corner and "talked" for an extended period of time. Needless to say, he didn't talk to me for the rest of the night and even abandoned his beer instead of coming near me to collect it. His wife also refused to engage in conversation with me and pretty much shunned any attempt I made at being cool with her, as if I wanted to hook up with her man-boob husband (admitted my him, I don't want to seem like a total asshole here)... (actually, he seemed like a pretty nice guy, despite our differences of opinion and I would have gladly engaged in a political discussion with him under different circumstances and relished in owning his ass).

Then the dancing started... Fortunately, I can handle my liquor and never got drunk enough to actually repeat my last failed attempt at dancing. All I remember from that time was ending up in a headlock by some guy who had the unfortunate desire to engage me in some sort of swing dance maneuver. It was followed by an annoyed glare from him at my inability to twirl around on a dance floor while drunk, lack or rhythm and complete clumsiness and the statement "I'm not supposed to be choking you". No shit, Sherlock. Ever since then, I have preemptively refused to dance, for any reason whatsoever. Even when hot guys ask. Though, I did engage in singing a horrible rendition of some Hootie and The Blowfish song, thankfully not on a microphone.

Things start getting a little fuzzy at this point. One of my SIL's reads my blog and I remember, distinctly, mentioning several times that I was going to put whatever funny thing that was just said or occurred in my blog and how epic it was going to be... Regrettably, I don't actually remember any of those funny things. I do remember where I got the title for this post, and only because my SIL posted it on my wall. It was, however, one of those things you just had to be there for. It involved horribly loud singing on our part to the Proud Mary song which was met with irked gazes from some hot bald guy and his friend. I also distinctly remember being very loud. Actually, it may be more that I know my volume levels are directly proportional to my blood-alcohol level and because everything was fairly fuzzy at this point, I must have been really loud.

Now things really get blurry... I remember having a conversation about sex with one of the gay guys (who happened to be bald) and another guy (who, I remember thinking was pretty damn hot and told me I had a nice smile, which I evidently took as an offer to buy me a drink and took him up on it, much to his dismay). Something about "throwing her legs over your shoulders". I remember being accused by the bald gay guy of thinking he (the gay guy) was hot and being "moist" in his presence. And I remember me and the bald gay guy scoping out some dude in a flannel and a hat (that may or may not have had a John Deere logo on it).

We were discussing whether or not he'd be good in bed. I pointed out the fact that he was a redneck, as obviously indicated by his flannel shirt (which was not being worn in the ever-popular "grunge" style). Gay guy stated that he was good looking (he was) and could probably go home with anyone he wanted in this bar. To which I pointed out that most of the "regulars" in this particular bar were probably toothless trailer trash. He said something about toothless being a benefit and we kind of left it at that. This conversation prompted the next memorable scene.

As we are leaving the bar, I approach Mr. Flannel Shirt with a mischievous grin on my face and proceed to explain, rather poorly, that me and the gay guy were talking about his "abilities" in "certain situations". (Now, I feel the need to reiterate that I just said "gay friend" to a dude in a flannel in a redneck bar) He was smiling, but there was a gleam in his eyes that indicated trouble. Being the badass that I am, I totally ignored this and continued to prod him about how he felt about said abilities. To which he responded "ask her" and pointed to the stereotypical redneck, straw-haired, nasty toothed (ok, I am assuming on that one, because believe me, she wasn't smiling), muffin-topped chick. Rather than leave well enough alone and make a dignified exit, I proceed to go over to her, put my arm around her and explain the conversation me and my "gay friend" had... Trailer-trash was not amused. With a homicidal look in her eye, she ordered me to "get the fuck out of here". I didn't need to be told twice. With the same mischievous grin on my face, I walked ran out of the bar.

We proceeded to cause more drunken mayhem at Kings. There was talk of nipples and being stabbed twice. These might be very painful memories for some (aka my brother/chauffeur, who doesn't drink), so I will not reopen old wounds. Let's just say, despite pissing off at least 2 women, I managed to get through the night with my awesome face still intact.