Tantrum Warehouse
Tact Free Since 2003

Day Three, Part Deux

Ok, it was only the second inning when the husband screamed FUCKITY FUCK FUCK FUCK YOU DUMBASS MOTHER FUCKER!!!!!!!!!!

Do we take baseball too seriously at my house? Maybe we need to find Jesus or something. We are starting to get as scary as those people who speak in tongues.

A sample conversation (from earlier today)

A: "Joe Morgan was on ESPN radio talking about how this Yankees team is different than other teams because they just don't have plate discipline. I see that with Soriano, is there anything that he doesn't swing at?"

J: "That is ok Pedro is too much of a prima donna to handle it once they start hitting off of him. His ego is too big."

A: "That is true but Clemens is that way too. You have to be to be a power pitcher."

J: "Yea. But Pedro is a bitch. Hey, I heard Kerry Wood talking about adding a change up. Did you hear the entire national league just shudder at once?"

A: "Yes. That would make him just unfucking belie . . .”

(interrupted by two-run homerun by Jason Veritek)

J: (screaming and gesturing wildly with beer bottle): "FUUUUUUUUUUCK!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! GODDAMN ITTTTT!!!!!"

(three seconds later when Enrique Wilson has throwing error scoring one)


Ok and so far, the MVP for Boston is Joe Torre. Because he started Enrique Wilson at third instead of Gold Glover Aaron Boone.

As my crazy cult sister would say, “J is being tested by the Baby Jesus today.”

I am not really over the Cubs thing yet. I am in the acceptance phase. But next year? When Wood and Prior both have changeups? And Corey Patterson is back in the line up? Those goddamn Marlins are going to get MOWED down like that bitches they are.

Maybe I am not over it at all.

So back to my trip.

Day Three, Part Deux

After the wedding we meet Billy at a bar downtown called the Mustang Club. Shannon’s band was playing and J wanted to see a lot of his old buddies. When we got there Billy was wasted out of his mind. I guess his girlfriend of three years broke up with him and he was drowning his sorrows. Of course he was drowning them in Smirnoff Ice so maybe he was just trying to rot them out.

Loved this bar. Just a relaxed fun place. Of course it’s the gayest bar in town, a fact which J somehow did not notice.

Top Ten Reasons This Was Obviously A Gay Bar:

10. Marilyn Monroe poster next to the porn machine.

9. Shirtless male bartenders but female bartenders have crew cuts.

8. Nude pictures of women in women’s bathroom.

7. Construction worker and Cowboy playing pool in the corner and admiring the selection of “new blood”.

6. HIV testing advertisements everywhere.

5. Photograph of two nude men embracing titled “Young Love” hanging over the bar.

4. Burlesque revue called “Sunday Girls” made up of men (which J actually thought were women—even better).

3. Rainbow striped toilet seat in bathroom.

2. Drag queen bouncer.

1. It’s called the MUSTANG CLUB.

Anyway. Love Billy. He and I got wasted. Shirtless male bartender either just wanted to get my husband laid or just likes girls because he poured me some serious drinks. Billy wouldn’t say much about the breakup but he did leer at me and say:

Billy: “So I hear you like (insert shared last name here)s?”

A: “Maybe it isn’t universal to all (insert last name again)s.”

Billy: “I bet we can fix that tonight.”

Just love fucking Billy. I meant fucking as an adjective. I didn’t actually fuck Billy. Because we’re cousins now and not from Kentucky. Oh, and I am MARRIED.

This girl Emily told me she loved my new haircut, which was a tremendous help because I am still not so sure. She said that she wanted one like it but was afraid because she has wavy hair. Since I too suffer with wavy hair we spent the better part of ten minutes yelling back and forth about straightening creams and flat irons. Sometimes I love being girly.

Oh and another girl told me that my earrings were “bitchin’.” I haven’t got a compliment like that since the seventh grade.

**Ok J is yelling so loud he is losing his voice. Also, his voice is higher than mine.**

The band was actually pretty good. And they played the best fucking cover EVER. “Thank You For Being a Friend” the theme from the GOLDEN GIRLS. Punk rock style. Billy jumps up and skips his drunk ass on stage to sing along with that one.

Also, Billy lived up to his reputation as a lady’s man. Despite my rejection (whole heartedly supported by the husband) he had about seventeen other girls throwing themselves at him. One girl in particular was persistent. She couldn’t have been of age, but honestly these places never card women. Actually, do any bars card women? At any rate she was like 19, 20 and just throwing everything she had at him. Rubbing his thigh, putting her breasts in his face. I was waiting for her to rip her top off and do the hula honestly.

Just a tip, don’t waste this much energy on a drunk guy. Even if you do manage to bag him, how good is he going to be? All of us who have sex with drunk men can line up and testify. Go home; watch “Good Times” much more satisfying.

At any rate, the best part about this girl is her sister used to date Billy. And the sister is a WIGGING. I don’t know if it was jealousy. Or the shame that her sister was trying to convince her ex-boyfriend to fuck her in the bathroom of a gay bar. Either one is understandable. The ex-girlfriend’s friend is dating Shannon so she went to him to complain, his only comment, “good, I don’t have to worry about getting his ass home then.”

I met a girl from Seattle. She complimented my breasts but I don’t think she was gay. I think she knew that my top just made them look hotter than they actually are. It’s a good top that way. Optical boob illusions are definitely my friend.

So I was smashed, the poor husband sober. He thought he would score for sure. Because I am every cliché about a drunk blond you have ever heard. He always wants to be the Designated because I am so dirty when we get home. However, despite his whining and pleas (and if you are reading this, SHUT UP, you did whine) I was way more interested in going to sleep.

I bet he never wants to drive again.

Damn it.

I have heard the term “pity fuck” is there such a thing as “ride insurance fuck?”

There is now.

8:19 p.m. :: comment ::
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