The entirety of my week involved basically two things: whining to and about the bartender and an all out ground assault on my liver led by my superior officer, General Vicodin Jim.
The bartender is still quite peeved at me. I'm probably doing little to help the situation by goading him with text messages that read things like "Sometimes it seems like hurting me is a sport for you" and "Don't you think it's a double standard that I can leave your bar with any girl I want, but I leave with one boy and you get all pissed?" For his part, sometimes he lets me bait him and sometimes he ignores me entirely. Vicodin Jim says that the good news is he's stopped bitching about me and doesn't mention me at all anymore, but the bad news is he estimates I'll be banned from Tai's for another month. The last communication was last night. I was out with Vicodin Jim and his new girly interest Hot Heather and one of the places we hit up was a late night hardcore punk rock bar called The Exit. I sent a friendly text to barkeep about how funny Jim was being telling everyone at Exit what a great big rockstar he is. From the message I got back I learned that following your punk friend into a punk bar when you are not a punk yourself makes you a poser, or as he oh-so-subliminally put it "POS -U- ER".
Vicodin Jim is alive and well (for now) and completely without so much as a nickel. This is indirectly because of his irrepressibly obnoxious bad-news roommate Jimmy O. Jimmy O is 20 years old, completely immature and somewhat of a drug addict. To support that little hobby, he frequently steals things from Jim. He also has a bunch of little druggie-obnoxious friends just like him who also like to steal things from Jim. Jimmy O had decided to hold an impromptu tattoo party on Tuesday night and somewhere between the time Jim went to bed and the time he woke up, one of Jimmy O's little hooligans had absconded with his wallet. And then went out and bought enough cartons of cigarettes to nearly wipe Jim out. So while he's waiting on replacement cards and getting everything settled, I told him I'd get his back. So far this has involved the purchase of massive quantities of alcohol, a midnight Burger King run, three dinners, four packs of cigarettes, cab fare and a new set of strings for his guitar. In return he lets me whine incessantly about the bartender and never complains or tells me to shut up. Although he did balk when I told him the bartender was the hottest guy EV-ER.
Jim has a wonderful new non-agenda, mind-fuck-free little vixen named Hot Heather. I met her Wednesday night at the Mutiny. The three of us, along with New Kid, his roommate and his ex-girlfriend sat around having a nice low key evening, drinking and watching a show about horror movies on tv. Later Jim wanted to go to another bar, and we all got up to leave. Until he happened to mention in passing that the bartender was up there, which was the whole reason he wanted to go in the first place. I told them they could go on ahead, but that I didn't think it was a good idea for me to join them. Jim tried to downplay the potential for drama, but I insisted that he text the bartender and tell him I was part of the entourage. When the message came back "WHY ARE YOU TRYING TO FUCK UP MY NIGHT?" he had to admit I had a point. They went out, I went home.
Thursday, there was basically uneventful drinking at Mutiny, except that Jim struck up a conversation with a guy in a hardcore band called Thirteen and a Half and was immediately asked to join the band. Also the bitch Jenny was up at Tai's with some of Jim's stuff, and he desperately wanted to go get it/pick a fight with her gaggle of boys she'd brought with her, so I took Jim and Hardcore Guy over to Tai's and dropped them off (around the corner so as not to enrage the bartender). Then I went home to my sweet sweet bed.
Friday, Jim elected to spend the evening with me because he felt bad that I had to cut out twice in the last two nights due to the bartender thing. We had dinner at my new favorite place to eat, Kitsch'n, and shot the shit for a while. Then we called Hot Heather up and told her to meet us at Mutiny. Heather and I talked. And talked. And talked and talked and talked and talked and talked. The talking continued after the bar closed, where we moved the whole conversation over to Underbar without missing a beat. Around 3 a.m., I figured that catching a few z's was probably in my best interest as I had promised to drive Jim out the suburbs for a show he was playing the next day. I headed for home; they headed for Tai's. Apparently at Tai's, Jim found my brother and the two proceeded to get belligerently drunk. I was assured a good time was had by all.
Saturday I woke up just in time to pick up Jim and go to the suburbs for his gig. The band du jour was really his solo/concept project, with Jimmy O playing bass and another kid named Steve on drums. We had several errands to run - Jimmy didn't even have his bass, we had to go pick that up, and Jim had his guitar, but no strings on it, so we had to stop by Sam Ash. That led to the first thing he did that day that impressed me, as he proceeded to first string, and then tune, by ear mind you, his guitar in my car as we were driving down the street. We got to the gig and listened to a couple of other bands play before it was their turn. Now, I've heard some of Jim's album work before. He is extremely talented, and I knew this. But I had never seen him play live. I was floored. The kid is amazing. He is awesome. He has so much stage presence there's barely room for anyone else on stage. He is funny and energetic and on pitch. He whipped his guitar around. He played it behind his back. He set it down entirely and started break dancing. It was such a far cry from the brooding, morose mother fucker I hang out with. If I didn't see it with my own eyes, I'd never have believed it. And the music is good, I mean REALLY good. It's stuff people who like music would actually buy. Wow. Just...wow.
On Sunday, Jim called in the afternoon and we grabbed a bite before heading out to Underbar and drinking ourselves silly until close at 4 a.m. Which brings us up to yesterday's "I'm too tired to post" post, so now you're all caught up. If you even stuck with it this far, which is doubtful.
My predictions for week four:
- The bartender will continue to cherish the vendetta building inside him. I will make it easy for him by texting "I still can't believe you called me a poser you dick!" tonight when I get home from work.
- Jim will get his credit cards back. Jimmy O will resume stealing his shit.
- Work will not make the slightest bit of sense. I will be too tired to care.
- Nudist midgets will move in next door.
- I will take another bath. Maybe two.