Crazy Eyes

This might have been my longest time in between entries since I started back in 2005, and there is only one thing that could get me motivated to start writing again . . . Making fun of someone!  It's one of the major flaws of bloggers; the fact that we observe people, make mental notes of all the crap they tell us, and mentally construct blog posts where we will make fun of them at a later date.  But as Crazy Eyes (the subject of this post) cornered me at the bar when I was all alone with no escape, I knew she secured herself a blog post in the very near future.

Crazy Eyes is a barfly.  There's just no nicer way to say it.  She works at the bar where my buddy, Southie, has bar tended every Friday night for the last 13 years, and I'm pretty sure Crazy Eyes hasn't missed a Friday in all those years.  I had nothing going on last night so I figured I would go visit Southie who ended up being quite busy in there so he wasn't able to hang out with me much.  Ordinarily being alone at a bar isn't a big deal, but on this warm Chicago nigh, Crazy Eyes sucked onto me like a barnacle and wouldn't let go.

She looks like the big sister on "South Park."  It was driving me nuts trying to think who she looks like, and it suddenly hit me that she looks like a cartoon character designed to be obnoxious, and she succeeds towards those ends without even trying or having the benefit of writers and artists.  There is something in those eyes that can be quite maddening too.  They have an intense look in them, and her eye balls seem to dart around like a lizard at nothing in particular.  You just can't help but get caught up in those crazy eyes while she rambles and spits on you.

That's right.  She spits when she talks.  This has got to be her worst quality.  I remember at one point rolling down the sleeves of my sweatshirt so at least my forearms would be protected from the saliva shower I was enduring.  You would think that she would see the pattern of everyone wiping their faces when they talk to her, and this would tip her off that maybe she was spitting a touch to much.  Perhaps it's that slobbery quality of her voice and the loss of her faculties due to the extreme amounts of booze she ingests that makes her lose control of her spit.  Which reminds me . . . 

She drinks like a fish.  If you have been around this blog for more than a few posts, it's pretty clear that I have a similar problem.  Hell, I even shocked myself to find that some of the highest subjects tagged have been "drinking," "bars," and "the bar."  However, I like to think that I can be an entertaining and intellectual drunk.  Poor Crazy Eyes just gets lit up like a Christmas tree and has even less interesting things to say.  She told me all about her spin classes and her roommate who likes Japanimation a little too much, and I had nowhere to go until more friends arrived.  I just listened, watched those crazy eyes, and got sprayed with the spit.  Oh yeah . . . 

. . . Her mouth isn't the only thing that sprays.  I hate to say it, but I know at least three guys who have said "what the hell," and took her home after last call.  I guess ladies who drink like animals and wear lingerie and garter belts in public aren't that hard to bed.  But my one buddy said that she squirted all over his sheets.  He told me this happened every time they got down, and he said "I just didn't have enough linen to keep fuckin' that broad."

Sorry.  That was crude, but it was funny and just couldn't be left out.  

How about you, Seven Readers, do you have anyone brutal in your life that you would like to talk about in the comments today?

Dr. Bill

I met a guy named Doctor Bill last night at a fundraiser, and he sucked. Actually, Bill wasn't his real name, but it was Doctor and then his first name- and that's how he introduces himself and others introduce him to others. Again, he sucks.

The doctor was introduced to me by a ladyfriend who's friend organized the fundraiser. This friend actually brought this nimrod from across the bar, and said, "Have you two met Dr. Bill?" Now, the ladyfriend and I are new in our relationship, where talking to each other is still very exciting, and getting stuck with this d-bag was not a place we wanted anything to do with. Let me just tell you, oh my seven readers, this butthole just talked and talked without taking a breath, and let me just tell you about what he looked like.

He was a man of around 5'6" in height, he had a big belly, a shirt and tie with his pants jacked up above his navel and his cell phone fastened to his belt (I hate that move). I think I asked him what he did for a living, and then he pretty much talked "at" us for the next half hour. He is a, and I'm going to change the name of this too, Meccaphysiologist, and he believes that we can control the universe, kind of like Obi-Wan Kenobi in Star Wars. Because he finds that most anyone would agree that the universe was created by something we can't fully understand through science, and because things in the world like the atom are perfect - not accidental but designed a certain way, he thinks that nothing in the world is coincidence. He goes as far as to say that every time you hope someone will call you on the phone, and then they do, that you actually willed them to call. He then told two very boring stories about needing people to call him because he didn't have their number, so he'd say, "Jill, call me. Jill, call me" for around 5 minutes, and they called! Wow! Is that how he meets women? He does Jedi mind tricks on them? He was chatting some up later . . .

I asked him if he thought that maybe I had an impact on the Northwestern VS Michigan State game because right when I turned the game on, The Wildcats stopped doing anything right. This happens to me a lot, so I asked if maybe I'm a jinks. He could not confirm or deny that, but he did say that if I live my life thinking things like I'm a jinks, then it will be more likely to come true. That's kind of true, actually . . .

Ladyfriend does not have the patience, poker face, active listening skills, or general interest in weirdos that I possess, so he was distancing himself from her and zeroing in on me. Right when I thought he might invite me to a seminar or throw me into the back of an unmarked van, I said, "You know, Dr. Bill, I think I might mosey on over to the other end of the room and try out some of those meatballs I've been hearing about." Ladyfriend met me over by the meatballs, and we both fell out laughing. I still plan on paying back her friend for sticking us with that odd duck, but at least I got a blog post out of it.

How about you all, Seven Readers? Can you tell us about a time you got caught talking to someone God awful?