Holy Shit. That’s really all I have to say about this weekend.
Friday night, I deemed the “Night of Not Giving a Shit.” I wore some ridiculous outfit that I care to never speak of again, but let’s just say it included a wifebeater. This violates all my fashion rules, but it was fucking hot out and really, I just don’t care anymore. It was a pretty uneventful night out with the girls in Adam’s Morgan. Though, some guy did buy all of us shots, and I said, “You’re not from here, are you?” He said, “Nope. I live in Texas. How did you know? My cowboy boots?” No, but thanks for pointing them out because now I just got misty….down there. But I told him, “Because a guy here would never buy a random girl a drink.” He said, “Really?” Yeah dude, really.
I went home first, because, well, I hate Adam’s Morgan. If I wanted to be immersed in the type of crowd that frequents Adam’s Morgan, I would just find a way to go back to college. Ugh. I was happy to hear the Queen of Quantity say, “I’m fine with never going there again.”
Saturday night, as the contrarian, I deemed it the “Night of Giving a Shit” and dressed appropriately for a “couple drinks” at Chi-Cha with The Queen of Quantity. (You know a “couple drinks” means I got annihilated, right?) During the course of the evening, I developed a line to use on the guys that is so stupid but seemed to work. It rivals my prior use of the line, “Is your name Mike?” Let me rewind for a second, okay?
The year is 1992. The bar is in back country Connecticut, a watering hole where the yuppie kids go to get bombed. My friend Michelle and I go with a bunch of guy friends, and the place is packed. Michelle sees a guy she likes, and wants me to get him for her. I say, “Okay, I will.” I walk over, no clue what I’m going to say, then it hits me. “Are you Mike?” He says, “No.” I say, “Sorry about that. You look just like this guy I know named Mike.” Lie lie big fat lie. Then he says, “Well, my brother is named Mike…” And there you have it. Michelle pops by, I introduce them, and off they go. Except that she lost his interest, came back to me, and wanted to return the favor. I really wasn’t interested, but she liked the game, so I picked some guy out of the crowd. Michelle saunters up and says, “Is your name Mike?” He says, “Yeah.” And she ran away. So, maybe using the name Mike wasn’t the best among this crowd, all born in 1972 or 1973 when Mike was the most popular name.
Back to present day. My new line yielded all sorts of responses. It’s simple. The Queen of Quantity is going to be mad at me, cause she doesn’t want you bitches running up and down U Street using this line, okay? But the rest of the story falls flat if you don’t know the line. We have a patent pending in D.C., but the rest of you can use it in other parts of the country, and do report back on how it works? But you in D.C.? Off limits until our patent with the Patent & Trademark Shack Expires on July 31, 2006.
“Are you in a band?”
It’s soooooo stupid, but it works. The first guys we talked to started telling us they live in Philadelphia and were only here for the weekend. I told the Queen of Quantity what they were saying because she couldn’t hear them and she said, “Philly’s not that far.” My response was, “Not for you! You got guys in every neighborhood, you need to branch out. I got nothing. Let me start with someone on 18th Street!”
But, the responses we heard were quite funny and ran the gamut of possibilities:
“No, why? Do I look like I am?”
“That’s funny, people always ask me that.”
“My friend already told me you girls were saying that.” (Oops.)
I saw some guy walk in and asked the QofQ if he was in a band. After assessing his orange sweater vest and pink polo shirt underneath, she said, “NO, and he never was.” Good lookin’ out QofQ. I had goggles o’ beer by that hour.
It’s the best line ever. Our problems are solved. I will use that line until I’m dead. Or the rest of you start macking on my lines, then I’ll have to create another.
We left Chi Cha, popped into Stetsons where the QofQ got her ass grabbed by another girl, then went into Local 16. Somehow, we ended up attached at the hip with these guys we started calling, “the band.” That mere statement made a couple stupid girls all giddy with excitement. One asked the other, “They are in the band? Ohmigod!” I didn’t know they made people this dumb anymore. And where were they hearing a band anyway? No band plays at Local 16. Christ. Go back to Frederick, Maryland, okay? (Please. If you live in Frederick, no need to send me emails. That is what we call ‘tongue in cheek.’ A joke.)
Leaving Local 16, on the way to Cafe St. Ex for some fried chickpea goodness, some guys jump onto us and introduce themselves. Then one put his arm around me and said, “My bad, gotta walk on the outside.” I said, “What are you doing?” He said, “I’m yo man now.” I said, “Yeah, well my man cleaned my kitchen today and I know it wasn’t you!” He said, “Yeah, I may not clean your kitchen but I’ll flush yo pipes.” Then he turned back to his friend, currently hitting on the QofQ and said, “Man! Stay on the outside of the girl!” I said, “What is he, in training?” That took care of them. Off we went on our merry way. This could have been the end of a perfectly acceptable and hilarious evening. But. No.
Cafe St. Ex. QofQ and I get some beers, are joined by “the band” (oh great) and we head downstairs. We somehow had an entourage of people following us, who maybe thought we were following “the band?” After a few short minutes in that dungeon downstairs, we decide to go back up to the bar. As we’re walking toward the stairs, some girl backs into the QofQ and knocks her drink all over her. The QofQ just shrugs, walks by, up the stairs, making a left at the landing. I’m behind her. I get to the landing, where I’m about to also turn left, out of sight of the drunk girl, and go back to the bar. Then, you heard it. The kind of thing that reminds you of the whole place stopping, the music coming to a halt, the needle off the record. It was so loud and so mean, that you couldn’t have not heard it. And it was her boyfriend who said it.
The Queen of Quantity stops and says, “Did they just call me a slut?” I turn and look at them, as she’s out of eyeshot, and the guy waves me off as if to just get rid of me. I took a quick inventory of the situation. I quietly apologized to my Yuengling, acknowledging all the great nights we’ve had together since I moved to D.C. and took this locally (well, Philly) brewed beer under my wing. I said, “Sorry Yuengling. Tonight you will service me in a way that won’t involve being routed through my liver.”
I turned around, watching him at the bottom of the stairs, and tossed my very full beer all over him. It was like watching it in slo-mo. I could hear the Bionic Woman music in the background as everything went slllloooowww. My aim was better than a Briana Banks money shot. The beer hit his bald head and drenched him. I looked back at the QofQ as if to apologize for being so rash, and she bust out laughing and said, “Run!” He attempted throw beer back at us, but gravity and my uncanny ability to fun like FloJo in 4 inch heels were not helping his cause. We get back upstairs safely at the bar, and await their arrival back at the main bar. A few minutes pass, and no sign of baldy and the slut puppy. We tell the bartender (and the two men who we think are the manager and owner) what happened. I admitted that I threw my beer at them and the Manager said, “I would have done the same thing. At least you didn’t throw a punch. That would have been bad, and I thank you for not doing that.”
Then, baldy and the slut puppy come upstairs and sit a few seats away from us. I pointed them out to the Manager. He watches them, and the girl keeps saying, “There’s that slut” and looking at poor Queen of Quantity. From her: “I’m not a slut!” We know!!
So, the Manager asks them why they keep saying what they are saying, and an argument ensues. The Manager says he doesn’t want anyone in his bar who is going to be mean to other patrons. They get up and start heading for the now locked front door, and the girl says “I’ll call anyone I want a slut!” Then, the Manager yells to the bouncer, “I DON’T WANT TO EVER SEE HER FACE IN HERE AGAIN!!!”
Fucking awesome. Of course the whole time this was happening, the annoying “band” were yapping in our ear, despite me telling them to shut up.
On our walk home, the Queen of Quantity said, “Those people can’t live around here. No one in our neighborhood could be that mean to a neighbor.” I had to agree. I’m starting to despise the fact that I live in a neighborhood with nightlife heavily trafficked by non D.C. residents. I’m sorry to say it, but the people who don’t live here are the ones who come stumbling out of the bars at 3 a.m., screaming and smashing beer bottles, then driving off to somewhere else. It’s another thing I’ve grown to hate. But in the spirit of being balanced, I’ll show my love for something else: Cafe St. Ex. Oh how you will be getting all my drinking dollars from here on out.
Dear Cafe St. Ex: It’s not just your fried chickpeas, it’s your fabulous management that will ensure I will come back over and over and over. Love, Velvet
i think A-Team is more your theme music.
you know, Alcohol-Team.
That was a lot of action for one weekend. Does time stop for you?
How about “Love, American Style?”
BOOOOOO the Virginia reference.
It sounds like you totally rocked the DC bars this weekend – that is like, a full inventory over there! If it makes you feel better, as a DC resident, I have never been to any of those bars, not that I wouldn’t want to go. And, in addition, I’m not one of those people anyway, even if I were treading on your ‘turf. 🙂
Yes NotCarrie! Time stops. When I’m hungover, the minutes..drag…by…
Cube, Love American Style? I was thinking of that tinny tick tick tick they used to play when the bionic woman went into slow mo. Jamie Summers baby.
I66 – I KNEW you were going to say something. Unfortunately, I think it’s a general fact that the people who don’t have to live here don’t care if they cause a ruckus when the bars close. And all their cars have MD and VA plates. Every Last One. But I love you! And I know you’re not noisy and disrespectful. It’s a neighborhood thing. People always behave when they are at home, but when they aren’t? Not so much.
DCOE – I was a busy bitch, that’s for sure. You can come out with us. But don’t call my friend a slut, okay? Cause we’ll douse you with beer.
Who the hell calls people “sluts” anymore?!? The frigid, 7th graders, and the mentally unhinged. I prefer “asshole”. Its simple and unisex.
Whoa. You had a crazy girl night! Good job with the tossing of the beer. I would have done the same!
Velvet I love you!
And that’s all I’m going to say today.
I chose Wonderland over St. Ex on Saturday night and thought I’d made the right decision, but apparently not. I would have been thrilled with the beer bitch-slap. Thrilled. Good on you, Velvet!
And I’m totally going to burgle the “Are you in a band?” opening line, so thanks in advance for that gem.
Apparently, you missed the guy at Local 16 on Saturday night who was telling girls that he was in the Israeli secret service. He was a little…bosomy.
I heart you, Velvet.
I mourn the Yuengling, too.
Oh. My. GAWD. Absolute craziness! You’re my new hero for actually chucking a beer in someone’s face–something I’ve wanted to do on numerous occasions but have been too much of a pacifist (read: big fat chicken) to seriously contemplate.
I’m in for the next U Street bar crawl…I lurve having so many watering holes within stumbling distance, even if the “bridge and tunnel” crowd wrecks the fun sometimes. 😉
wow– and to think i almost ended up at saint ex saturday night. you are one dangerous minx…
My preferred tactic when some drunk knocks into me and blames me is to respond in French sounding gibberish. It confuses the shit out of drunks.
I have stood up once or twice in my life to stare people down, but I don’t like it. I would rather just walk away. It makes me look like a meathead and I just don’t need more of that.
I would have liked to have seen that beer though.
AND VIRGINIA SUCKS! That’s why they have to come to DC or Maryland to party.
La Whisky – I was telling a friend about it yesterday and I said, there are basically a few things that cross the line, and slut is one of them. Even bitch would have been more acceptable, but he still would have been at the receiving end of my beer.
Crazy Girl – I thought we were headed for a brawl. And I was ready! I would have posted my bruises (if there were any..she was tiny and I could have kicked her ass. Easy.)
Rosie – I love when you come out of the lurking to comment! We’ve got a D.C. blogger running loose over there in England. Look out for Law-Rah!
FreckledK – Some girl rallied behind us during it all and slurred, “I don’t care what they did, I got your back.” Too funny. Everyone loves a fight.
KM – Huh?
Siryn – I know – Poor Yuengling! Sometimes I am shocked at my boldness, but, if there’s one thing I’ve said it’s that I’m a really good friend. No one is going to defame my friend.
BJ – The U Street Crawl is good, but too obvious for the young’uns from other places. I do like the more local places that don’t get infiltrated with people who don’t give a shit about smashing bottles in the street cause, “hey man, I don’t have to clean it up.”
Double 0 – I was there quite late though. All this happened from like 1:30 – 3:00.
Chuckles – You can’t go through life getting bullied. I know there’s all that stuff about “being careful” etc., and I know my limits and I can size up an opponent. I can figure out who is going to pull a knife on me deeming a fight not worth it, and who is just a yappy, parentally subsidized bitch from some suburb who wants to start a little trouble.
I’m with you, St. Ex rocks. I’m happy to fork over my money to them 2-3 times a week for alcohol. It’s even better during the week when it’s not packed with dipshits from other states.
Child, going out with you sounds like it should be an Olympic sport ; )
1. The right kind of girl can look totally HOT in a wife-beater.
2. Women don’t need to use cheesy pickup lines.
3. I once lived in Fredneck. Represent!
4. I have met Brianna Banks. Represent!
5. What’s the male-to-female version of “Are you in a band?” I need a new line.
Mmmmmm… St. Ex’s burgers.
Velvet, despite having never met you, I always have your back in a barfight. To wit, whenever I see a catfight break out on the Eastern seaboard, I will inquire if either of the parties has an internet alter-ego by the name of “Velvet” and choose sides accordingly.
C-S, I think you should try, “Hey… aren’t you in a reality show?” Please let me know if you get any results.
Talk about wild times at the Velvet Corral! Remind to never get on your bad side.
P.S. I had never seen a Briana Banks money shot before…
Aziz – I’m becoming a regular. When will the chick peas return?
Serena – My body feels like it’s been through the Olympics. Runnin in heels is bad on the feet.
Cosmic Shambles – Let me guess. You met her at the Ritz when she stripped there? Yeah. I was there. I also got kicked out that night. Oops. But I have the pictures to prove it. And I have one with her, so nah nah. I don’t know what the male-female equiv. is but if it helps, I’ll tell every girl, “Hey, there’s lots more hot guys in B’more.” That will send them your way, out of my playing field.
Chico’s Bail Bonds – (shh…he lives in BALTIMORE! The best line of all would really be…”hey, you have a full set of chompers!”) Okay, that was bad.
V: Close! I met her in Fell’s Point. A buddy pointed her out to me and she said that she was dancing at the RITZ. But since I do not frequent such establishments (cough-cough) it looks like I missed all the fun! On a side note, it’s funny how porn stars look just like regular people (well, except for the inflated boobies and big pee-pees.)
Anyway, I would love to hear your story from that night!
Chico: Sounds good… but then won’t I get shot down for implying that I watch reality TV? Heck, I’ll try it anyway.
Raincover – I find that hard to believe. For, I’ve lived my entire life around the Briana Banks money shot.
Cosmic – Interesting. Yeah, it’s a good story…basically a bunch of people were taking pictures so I did too. But the bartender was pissed at my friend because she “wasn’t drinking fast enough” and seats at the bar are apparently reserved for serious drinkers. So the bartender shot off her yappy mouth, and the bouncer came over and first, grabbed my camera, then booted us. Lucky I have a fierce grip, and I retained the camera and all pics. I got some gooooood ones too. I’ve been thrown out of one bar, and it’s a strip bar in B’more. How low can you go?
Alas – that’s the thing about St. Ex. As soon as something good pops up on the menu, it goes away. Ditto for Bar Pilar, who seems to be completely overhauling their menu in favor of something more “up-market.” Allah forbid that there be a reasonably-priced yet comfortable eatery in the neighborhood…
Aziz, will you ask me if I’m in a band on July 31, 2006, when Velvet’s patent expires, also known as *CHICO’S BIRTHDAY*??? I assume that everyone plans to come to Miami for said event.
C-S: you bring up an excellent point, but I would hope that if you do it in a vague, uncertain way, your potential prey will sense that you are “in the know” without being so uncouth that reality t.v. dominates your life. Of course, if the woman is truly a Baltimore beauty, maybe you could simply try, “Didn’t I see you on Springer in ’96?”
Aziz – Did you really say Allah forbid? Oh my. I’m not sure what to do with that one.
Chico’s Bail Bonds – Someone above already said they are going to break my patent and use the line. Damn! I shall never reveal my gold again. And “Baltimore Beauty” is an oxymoron. Heh. Where is Cosmic to slap me around now?
Bustin’ on Baltimore again? This coming from the girl who may have to move all the way to Phoenix just to find a man!
You have to append that sentence to add “who is not an asshole.”
And Phoenix is looking more and more like a distinct reality, instead of just a possibility.
I’m so naÃ¯ve, I thought Briana Banks was a basketball player. Stupid me, should have known. Thank God the front of her site is safe for work.
If you were a guy, I’d say you had balls, but that not being the case, let’s just call it chutzpa! Just be careful…
I like your pick up line. Seeing that I’m in MO, I don’t think we’ll have any competition, not like I could compete w/ the glorious ms. Velvet though! I’ll let you know if I catch any good bites 🙂
How come my weekends are like yours? Yours are always entertaining & full of adventure.
Me – I got a bug bite from trimming branches in my hard. Oh joy.
u r my f-ing hero…and what a great blog for procrastination techniques…linked
Hey, hey, hey!!!! Baltimore Beauty is NOT an oxymoron! (So says the woman who happens to be one.)
Velvet, you rock: someday I aspire to having the balls to throw a drink on someone who insults me. It will be better than Dynasty reruns.
Just be careful; I don’t want anyone waiting up for you in a deserted alley at the end of the night.
Oh, and yes, I am telling all my single friends to use the “are you in a band?” line. Thanks!
I wish I had the cajones to throw a whole beer. I’ve only been able to pour one down a girl’s asscrack because she kept “accidentally” knocking into me with her elbows.
But I have perfected the really innocent “who DID that?” look for when they turn around.
Toya in the house! Represent.
Hi Velvet. I got linked to your site from El Guapo and spent the last couple days reading the whole archive. Quite a ride.
I was at a Superbowl party at Dream and some guy walked right behind my seat and poured his beer down the back of my shirt. So I chucked mine (it was one of those plastic bottles). It really is amazing how alcohol can destroy your ability to do just about anything but leave your beer tossing accuracy unimpeded. Right in the back of the head. I got kicked out but it was so completely worth it.