Drunken Bitches

So, tonight I went to a Marc Broussard concert at The Avalon in Hollywood. It was a fan-fucking-tastic show, as always - seriously, go see him if you can. The only problem was that, at the end Marc came out and did a song with only keyboard and bass as an encore. He did "You Don't Know Me" and...well I wish I could tell you the other song but it was hard to hear over the gaggle of stupid drunken bitches who had migrated their way behind me.

They were "woo"ing, yelling out stupid things, and talking very loudly to each other while everyone else was quietly listening to the beautiful voice of Mr. Broussard. One of them bumped into me once or twice but, after turning around and shushing them (it didn't work for long), she started bumping into the girl next to me. We looked at each other at one point and just shook our heads in sadness and shared exasperation. Those drunken bitches kept saying "He's my boyfriend" and "He's so hot" and blah blah blah. At one point, Marc came a grabbed the hands of two or three girls in the very front. This whipped the soused sows into a frenzy, reaching out their hands and wooing and kicking up their overall obnoxiousness to an 11.

After the show was over, the girl who was next to me and I started talking about them (they rushed the stage after we moved). She was Amazonian like me and I'm sure the drunken bitches heard us, but I really don't care.

Now, I don't care if you're drunk and enjoying a concert but for the love of all that's holy, have some damn sense about it. Those bitches were surely there to sign up on the groupie list but, as a potential groupie, don't you think the artist would prefer you stuff an apple in it when he's singing? If it wasn't for the little girl I let stand next to me (it was an all ages show and my friend and I got to be in the very front), I would've yicked them in the throat Matrix style. But that would send the wrong message to America's youth so I contained myself. My fellow Amazon complemented me on my restraint. Because really, I did want to kick all their asses, just on GP.

There was really no point to this. I just really needed to get it off my chest.

P.S. What I really wish would've happened is Marc come over and take the little girl's hand, that way when those bitches tried to bum rush, I could elbow whoever hard in the gut and play it off as protecting the girl. She gets to have a super-awesome concert memory and I could've shut them up. That there is what they call a win-win situation.

Bite-Sized Boys and The Amazons They Love...

Forgive me if this is long and somewhat rambling, but that's just how my brain is working today.

So, I went out to eat at this restaurant by my house with one of my sisters and a friend Saturday night. It just opened not too long ago and my sister and I gave it a try, discovering, to our delight, that it was muy tasty. When we were there that first time about 6 or so weeks ago, the waiter we had was this super-friendly, enjoyable, and slightly height-challenged guy (much superior to this other guy who's get a little too flustered when it's busy in there/is not quite as attentive as he should be).

Anyway, on Saturday night we went in and ended up sitting at one of the tables assigned to the new girl (or else they just sicked her on us regardless since we eat there fairly regularly now...I couldn't quite tell). She gave us our drinks and took our order and disappeared for awhile. Our original Little Waiter Boy walked by to clean the table so I smiled at him and waved, just because I'm friendly like that.

He just smiled back a little - you know, when someone you don't know smiles at you and you're acknowledging their presence - and then came to a screeching halt before he got past the booth, took a step back and said, "Oh hey! I didn't recognize you at first." (I'm pretty sure I had braids the first time I went in - now I'm rocking the psuedo-fro.) He has his arm out and then says, "Gimme a hug, girl." So I do, as I am a fan of hugs.

He then proceeds to share that he has an audition the next day for a gay man role but doesn't know how he's going to do it - totally flaming vs. straight, repressed southern closet gay. I make a suggestion to play it as a normal dude with slight flaming tendencies (since you don't see that guy very often in things). He says that it's a good idea and jokes that if he gets the part I should get royalties or a fee. For the rest of the night, he randomly stops by to check on us/chat awhile. He even cleared our Miso bowls and made sure our food got sent out to us when it was taking too long. It was like we had two waiters.

During this whole bit, my friend was amazed that he kept coming by so much. I was slightly less amazed as I realized this waiter is the latest in a string of bite-sized boys who seem to be gravitating toward me. It's not like he's a legal midget or anything - I'd peg him somewhere between 5'6 and 5'8 (I never actually stood next to him so I can't be sure). But I'm pushing 6'0. So, to me, he's bite-sized. He's also Southern, which is a reoccurring trait amongst the bite-sized bits who seem to love me so.

I'm starting to worry because I'd prefer to date a guy that I don't have to bend over to hug. I hesitate to say it out loud lest it become a self-fulfilling prophecy, but I fear that the only men I'll be able to date will be shorter than me.

I know, I know. It's vain and shallow...but I don't like feeling like I tower over the guy who's supposed to get in bar fights over me. Admittedly it's just bullshit childhood baggage, but that baggage has my name and address on it and it ain't getting lost at the airport.

This is something I'll get over, I suppose. Dating a guy shorter than I am isn't that a big deal. I mean, I've done it before and it worked out fine. And, quite frankly, it's something I'll have to do considering just how small a dating pool I have to work with - especially since all the guys my height or taller seem to be looking for bite-sized girls. It's just dismaying is all. I'd like to be the short(er) one for a change.

I'd like to feel like the delicate mother fucking flower I am.

F*ck Off

I'm at the Silver Lake Coffee Shop, looking forward to a little morning pick-me-up and a little personal peace-and-quiet time, when I hear an annoyingly snide voice in my ear quip "a soy chai?! god, that's such a chick drink!" I turn around to see what damn fool is bothering me before I've had my caffeine injection for the day, and oh if it isn't Mr. Emo, Too Cool for School, Tattoos On My Biceps, Rings In My Lip and oh god is that your EYELID?! guy. Unsure of exactly how to respond since I have ruled out bashing his face in with my wallet, I simply raise an eyebrow in his general direction. "I'm off coffee." That should do it, mission accompli....
"That's retarded, why would you go off coffee just to switch to another type of caffeinated stimulant?" Shit. Not only did I just unintentionally initiate conversation, but he's right. And he's a pompous ass. Caffeinated Stimulant? Gimme a break. I realize he wasn't hitting on me, but can I please just order a god damn drink without comments from the peanut gallery! Fuck.
And if that indeed was a misguided attempt at hitting on me (though I'm disinclined to believe anyone really thinks that the Insult Tactic works, especially at 8:00 am), then throw in the towel dude, you failed.