Stamped: June 22nd, 2006 | Toggle Similar
Tagged: around town, complaint dept., dress up, friends and losers.

Gianormous boobs, The Lord Xenu, Champagne and Inappropriate T-Shirts

See, this is what happens when I venture north of hipster land.  Last night I went to this fundraiser thing at a swank champagne bar north of Market.  My best friend and I thought it would be fun to dress up like Marina girls for the night (read four inch heels and flat ironed hair) and create some scandal, her with her lip ring and tattoos and me with my acid tongue.  It was an interesting night to say the least.

Most fascinating was the pack of weirdo guys there.  They were all very well dressed, (and coiffed) but they were lacking a certain "je ne c'est quoi", and by je ne c'est quoi I mean an ounce of normalcy.

First there was the the guy hitting on the poor girl in our party that henceforth will be referred to as Big Boob Girl.  She's a very lovely girl and I mean her no disrespect by reducing her to her chest size, I'm just completely fascinated by them.  THEY ARE HUGE. I even said to my close friend, who's a friend of hers, "Dude, seriously, can't she put those things away, they are distracting me and I don't even have a penis!".   Basically the guy hitting on her most definitely DID have a penis because literally his eyes didn't come off her chest for more than five seconds for the duration of their "conversation".  He was absolutely flagrant about it.  I stood there in awe of his shamelessness.  She however, seemed completely clueless, but I guess she's just had to get used to it.  Apparently a guy ran a stop sign the other day staring at her tits and rear ended someone in the process.  Ooops.  Either way guys, they're just boobs, while I may have been momentarily distracted, I certainly wasn't so magnetized that I couldn't look a sister in the eyes.

My favorite choad of the night was probably the anal sex t-shirt guy.  You're probably wondering what the hell THAT means.  Well I'll tell you, I don't really know.  All I remember was a short man in a suit with glasses coming up to my friend and I and insisting that he buy us the "blanc de blanc" even though we were drinking Maker's.   So he did and we chatted, and the next thing I know conversation has devolved to the point where he busts out with "And you know, all I want to do is make a t-shirt that says, Anal: It's not just for homosexuals".  Whoa, man. Whoa.  That's not even a third date confession, that's a "We're engaged and my continued attempts to poke you in the bum compel me to make a t-shirt" confession, and even then, it's fucking weird.

The next winner of the night was quite a prize.  I'm inclined to think he has some sort of learning disability or hearing problem but in actuality he's probably just weird.  I was sitting quietly, sipping my bubbly, when this dude comes over, points to the table where a brochure for palm readings is sitting and says "So you gonna give me a reading", and sticks out his palm.  "Umm. No. They're reading palms over there, it's a flyer." I say in my sweetest, fly the fuck out of here voice.  He continues yapping about past lives or some other nonsense and I immediately pull the "I'm gonna go have a cigarrette" getaway cause I'm pretty much assured no man in this crowd smokes.  Despite my EXPLICIT verbalization to the contrary he says, "Oh, you're gonna go get your future read? cool cool, tell me what they say.",  I stand there for a moment, a little confused and a lot annoyed and just reply, "Yeah I'll let you know how it goes".  The good news is that sarcasm is lost on a lot of West Coasters so I walked away from a happy man.  Happy but fucking CUCKOO.

Which brings me to the Lord God Xenu.  Supremely bored and enjoying the complete scandal that my smoking a cigarette is bringing to the Marina crowd, I am feeling a little sassy.  I'd seen him across the street all night standing in front of the ornate corner building that said "Scientology" in big gold letters.  He was handing out brochures and looking a little defeated.  He was by no means attractive but I found him intriguing nonetheless.  In a fit of curiosity I crossed the street.  You should have seen the look in his eyes when he realized I was coming to talk to HIM.  He's used to accosting people, not the other way around.  Cigarette in hand I walk over and say, "Okay, you've got until I finish this cigarrette to convince me that I don't need a vat of morphine during childbirth."  While I wasn't doing it to be cruel at all I felt more than a little bad as he bumbled and stuttered trying to figure out how to answer when the question deviates from the script.  Softening a little to his complete loss of articulation I continue with, "Why do you believe in this stuff, what does it mean to you?", sue me - I'm curious.  After about five minutes of hemming and hawing I got nothing but vague entreaties and passionless explanations.  The most amusing thing he said was, "So when I first heard about this I was like, these guys are fucking weird…".  Yeah? NO SHIT.  Thank you captain obvious.

Thus, ending my attempts at making interesting conversation with the opposite gender for the night.  I walked back into the bar, sat down and had an amazing conversation with my friends.  All the while though, you can be sure that the gianormous boobs were sticking out in my peripheral vision like a car accident on the side of the highway…god damn it.

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