Well, That Was a First

After work yesterday, I went to Preservation Pub to meet Lydia, a good friend from college whom I've unfortunately lost touch with during the past few years, despite the fact that we're both still living in Knoxville. Pitiful.

Apparently, there was some kind of benefit going on at Pres. Pub (Relay for Life, maybe?), so the place was pretty crowded, and there was a Hootie-ish band playing up on the stage. I arrived before Lydia did, so I squeezed up to the bar to get a beer, like you often have to do when every seat at the bar is occupied.

I didn't pay much attention to the people on either side of me, mainly because I was keeping one eye on the door (for Lydia) and one eye on the bartender (for attention). However, the chick to my right certainly noticed me.

I believe her name was "Mel," and she immediately asked me if I was there alone. No, I replied, I'm meeting a friend. Mel was slurring pretty badly, and at first I thought she was just wasted. However, it also crossed my mind that she might have been foreign, which would have explained her slow-paced, somewhat garbled speech. Where are you from, I asked, out of sheer curiosity and not at all realizing that I was appearing "interested." Turns out, she's from Louisiana, has lived in Knoxville for eight years, lives in an apartment that overlooks the river, lives alone (emphasis), and doesn't mind living alone, because she doesn't have to put up with anyone's .... (I didn't catch that last part; it was too garbled.)

Clearly, Mel was quite a talker. It also became clear that Mel was hitting on me, so I told her I had to go find my friend and made a getaway. Shortly thereafter, Lydia arrived and all was forgotten.

That is, until Mel made her way over to our table a little later. I wanted to meet your friend, she said. So, I obligingly introduced her to Lydia. Mel continuously referred to the fact that Lydia and I were on a "date," despite the fact that I insisted that we were just old friends. She also told Lydia that I seemed like an "amazing person," and that I had a "beautiful aura." Riiiiight.

Lydia, always the epitome of cool, knew exactly what to do and quickly pulled out her phone, explaining that she needed to make a reservation for our impending dinner "date." I guess she wanted to make it clear to Mel that she had no intention of giving me up without a fight. Luckily, Mel took the hint and skedaddled.

I have to say, I've been hit on by a few men at bars in my day, but never by a woman. I guess there's a first time for everything.

I called Philly on the way home to tell her about Mel, and also to get reassurance that I don't give off a lesbian "vibe." (Not that there's anything wrong with that vibe, it's just not the one I'm aiming for.) Philly, of course, took full advantage of the situation by calling me at work this morning to let me know that some woman named Mel called the house looking for me. Very funny, Mother.

It's Not Bracket Science

Um, okay. There has been a request for me to do a big ole bracket post. (Thanks, E!) Unfortunately, I have neither the time nor the qualifications to take on such an endeavor. As such, I will do a teeny-tiny post.

I picked Louisville to win it all for one reason, and one reason alone: Rick Pitino. I think he's sexy. As long as he is coaching there, I will always pick Louisville to win.

Venting

When I get married, if I ever find out that my husband is referring to me as "the wife" to his friends and coworkers, I may very well have to start referring to him as "the ex-husband."

Is it so hard to say my wife?

That is all.

Who Drinks on a Monday?*

After work yesterday I met my friend Bert** for a couple of beers at Union Jack's, which is one of my favorite Knoxville bars for the sole reason that it's open late on Christmas Eve. I've never actually gone there on Christmas Eve, but it's definitely on my list of things to do.

What I love about Bert is that something like 95% of people who meet him are just a little bit afraid of him. Think Steve Buscemi's character in Billy Madison. You just know he has a hit list somewhere, and you're praying that you're not on it.

In reality, Bert is one of the nicest people I've ever met, and once I got to know him I realized just how ridiculous it is that at one point I was almost positive that it was actually him who shot JFK and not that Lee Harvey Oswald guy. (Never mind the fact that Bert was 18 years away from even being born when that happened.) Now, it's an endless source of entertainment for me to give him shit about his scary demeanor, knowing full well that he would never hurt a fly.

In fact, just last night he told me that, unlike most of his bloodthirsty hunting friends (including LaToya's husband Zed), Bert has only killed one animal in his life, and that was when he accidentally ran over a squirrel with his car. In Bert's words, "I felt really bad that he [the squirrel] was lying there in pain, so I ran over him again to put him out of his misery." I'm not sure this would hold up in court, but it sounded good to me.

After letting Bert beat me in both darts and pool (riiiiight), I figured it was time to call it a night, but not before I made a quick stop at the grocery store for some essentials (namely, toilet paper). Note to self: Going to the grocery store with a three-beer buzz is not the most productive use of my time or money. I did manage to get the TP, but I also came home with a frozen pizza, a can of Pringles, some honey roasted cashews, and more beer. Too bad I had to consume all of that by myself when I got home.***



*And especially on the Monday before St. Patrick's Day? Me, apparently.
**He hates that I call him that on here. Which just makes me want to do it more. Bert, Bert, Bert.
***No, I didn't eat all of that food. Just a little of each item. What can I say, I like finger foods. Think Cher in Mermaids.

Did You Know...

that the Chief Justice of the Tennessee Supreme Court is in the movie The People vs. Larry Flynt?

I had no idea!

I was watching that movie last night (for the first time ever), and during one of the courtroom scenes, I looked at the judge and thought, is that Justice Holder? I've never met her in person, but I've seen her picture on the Tennessee Supreme Court website, and the judge on the screen look awfully familiar.

Since I don't have Internet at home, I couldn't Google it to see if I was right, so I had to wait (for what felt like an eternity) for the credits to start rolling to confirm.

And sure enough, there was her name, Janice Holder!

I always thought Justice Holder was pretty cool anyway, just 'cause she's on our Supreme Court and all, but now I have a whole new respect for her. Jan is totally the man.

Addicted

Sorry for not posting sooner, but I started reading A Tree Grows in Brooklyn on Sunday (which I'd never read before), and I literally can't put it down. I'm so tied up in turn-of-the-century Brooklyn that I've barely been able to concentrate on my work during the past two days, and I had to force myself out of my apartment last night to go to my little brother's baseball game.

And speaking of my brother's baseball game, can I just say that, having grown up in a fairly baseball-free environment, I find it very disconcerting when my dad yells various comments about "stroking it" to the middle school-aged players. Like, "Way to stroke it, Joey!" I know that's probably a normal thing to yell to a baseball player, but all I can think about is Clarence Carter. I be strokin'.

Clarence Carter's classic song lyrics and my father's voice do not need to be in my head at the same time.

I did, however, love it when he yelled "where's Ray Charles when you need him" to the umpire. You tell 'em, Pops! Forget the game, I think heckling should be a sport.

After the game was over at 9:30, I raced back home and read 'til I couldn't stay awake any longer. Now I'm anxiously awaiting the end of the work day so I can go home and finish reading about Francie Nolan!

Very Early Morning

Last night (well, this morning, actually) was a little more eventful than I had planned. At about 4:00 a.m., I awoke to the sound of tapping on my sliding glass door. And there's only one person that could have been: Bud. Great, I thought, this is just what I need. Bud showing up drunk.

After a quick peek to confirm that The Tapper was, in fact, Bud, I took the stick out of the door (my high tech security system) and slid open the glass. Always the very picture of hospitality, I believe the first words out of my mouth were "I don't want you here."

Now, before you go thinking that I'm a total bitch (debatable), let me explain. Bud has been showing up at my apartment, drunk, in the middle of the night for years. Much less so in recent years, since I entered the Real World and he began working weekend nights, but it's still not entirely out of the question, especially when he knows for a fact that I'm single.

Also, last night/this morning, he was carrying something in his hand, which I mistakenly thought was a partially consumed six-pack of beer. Have you not had ENOUGH, I thought. What he was actually carrying was some sort of machine that he uses to do "breathing treatments," because poor Bud suffers from severe asthma. "I'm so sorry to wake you up; I know you have to work tomorrow, but I really need you; I think I'm having a panic attack," he said.

As it turned out, Bud was having a panic attack, and if you've ever had one, then you know how terrifying they can be. He told me that he had almost gone to the ER because "he thought he was dying" (sure sign of a panic attack), but then he decided to just come over to my place, as I (unfortunately) have become somewhat of a expert on the phenomenon, having suffered numerous panic attacks myself. Also, he knew that I would have the good drugs. (I'm kidding; Bud hates taking any kind of medication.)

Along with thinking that you're dying, another symptom of a panic attack is feeling like you can't breathe. That's scary for anyone, but I would imagine that it's even worse for someone who has asthma and for whom not being able to breathe is a real possibility. I felt so bad for Bud, knowing that he probably felt like he was actually suffocating.

I finally got him calmed down, assuring him that his health was fine and that his poor brain was just in overdrive. We also had a good laugh, which I think helped to get his mind off the attack. He was telling me that, when his panic attack had started, he began thinking that his "neighbors below me" had poisoned him. Still half asleep, I thought he said that "his neighbor's bologna had poisoned him," and my immediate response was, "why in the hell were you eating your neighbor's bologna???" Hehehe. (I mean, who would eat their own bologna, much less anyone else's?) (Oh, and in case you're wondering why Bud would think that his downstairs neighbors were poisoning him, apparently they smoke a lot of weed, and Bud was convinced that he was getting "poisoned" by all of the smoke. No, it doesn't make any sense, but when you're having a panic attack, you don't exactly think logically.)

Honestly, I'm kind of glad that I've experienced a few panic attacks and can be there to help someone else who's going through one of these awful episodes. Although I do wish that Bud would have had his attack at a reasonable hour.

By the time I got him tucked in on the couch, it was about 5:45 a.m., which gave me a little over an hour before I had to start getting ready for work. Needless to say, I'm a little drowsy at the office today.