Unleashed: The True Story of a Recovering Serial Monogamist

The Weirdos Come Out With The Rain


Instead of earthworms, the thunderclouds exhume the jerks and the freaks are summoned from the dirt and the pits of despair. Avert your eyes… It’s going to get ugly.


Kay and I went out last night on our weekly ritual of hottie-hunting. We were especially geeked for this particular outing because I was headed out of the country for three weeks. I was feeling pretty naughty so I wore sexier makeup than usual. However, what we failed to notice was that the cards were clearly stacked against us: (1) the weather wasn’t cooperative; and (2) I had forgotten my driver’s license at home. Fortunately I had another form of ID, but that wasn’t enough to negate what should have been big, red, flashing, neon, warning signs.


After eating dinner and waiting for the dreary rain to stop, we checked out the nearby basement club. The two other nights we had been there had seen little success. I thought it’d be the charmed third time, but no. I couldn’t have been more wrong. Most of the people there were already coupled up and then Kay and I saw, at the same time, Creepy Hat Guy (CHG).


Quick history: We had met CHG another night when he was out with friends. We got late night food with them, but he ended up pushing his legs against Kay’s under the table and generally being an all-around Olympic-level drunk and asshole. We have since spotted him at almost every place we have frequented in that city. Hence, his given title and the reason we (try so very badly to) avoid him like the plague.


Upon spotting him, Kay and I decided that we needed to leave immediately and we headed down the street to another local bar. Not ten minutes later, we see Creepy Hat Guy. He had followed us!!! Slightly unnerving.


We made attempts to shrug him off by going to the back bar, but he followed us AGAIN. It almost got to the point where I suggested we go to the ladies room and hide, but in spite of the trouble, we started our rounds to see if there were any guys worthy of our attention. Not really. There was this immensely tall guy (at least 6’4″), but his face was nothing to write home about. He leaned against me while I was walking by as if to start talking, and I just smiled, put my hand up, and said, no. Never broke my stride.


[I always know what type of mood I’m in based on my reactions to people. I knew then that it’d be an interesting night. You might think that I would just be in one particular mood some day or evening, but I’m just not that simple.]


We took a spot at the bar rail and people-watched, one of our favorite pastimes. Lately, I’ve realized lately that one of the best parts about being leggy with a C-cup (but more so, confident) is that you can pick and choose who you hang out with and talk to… This, again, may seem basic, but trust me, I was a slow learner for whatever reason (could be that I was a late bloomer). I’m sure making up for that!


At some point, Ian (a.k.a. Hairguy) approaches. He’s cute (though, as his namesake indicates, in need of a serious haircut) and built. He’s in! He’s chatting up both of us and trying to get a vibe as to which of us he wants to try and get. Again, let me repeat, he’s in. And then…




He ruined it – completely f*&%ed it up. The man cock-blocked himself. Out of the blue, after some innocuous questions about what we do for a living, my answer of “attorney for small companies” crashed us headfirst, with no seatbelts, through the windshield, into an onslaught of a godforsaken political and constitutional law conversation. Did I mention we were in a bar? At 12:30 in the morning?? I may be a lawyer who loves to argue, but I was definitely NOT drinking enough for this particular conversation.


[Note to men: This is a huge no-no. Do not, I repeat, DO NOT talk hard-core politics to complete strangers! Come to think of it, don’t even attempt it with the soft-core politics. You’re just not good enough and we don’t want to hear it.]


Poor Kay was barraged with questions about the definitions of “liberal” and “conservative,” and looked like she had encountered her own personal hell of a intelligence pop quiz. Personally, I’m not entirely sure what the hell happened except that Hairguy went from ‘in like Flynn’ to OUT in the time it takes for an airbag to deploy. The silver lining? While Hairguy was jabbering about health care, CHG came our way and (thank goodness) kept walking. Oh, the small miracles…


In the midst of our “conversation,” Hairguy reached behind us, grabbed his beer and took a sip. Only it wasn’t his beer. He stopped and apologized for drinking our beer; that’s when Kay and I realized… It wasn’t ours either. You should have seen the realization and revulsion crawl across his face when we both said, “That’s not our beer.”


I don’t think I’ve ever laughed so hard in my entire life.


Eventually Hairguy took a breath, saw the damage, and went his own way (but not until after a random sweaty guy got awfully close to dripping on Hairguy and me). Mentally exhausted, Kay and I took seats at an open table and another small miracle occurred: a chance at redemption for the evening in the form of two new guys. Again, CHG passed by behind them (cue Twilight Zone music)…


We decided to dance with the boys but even that didn’t last long because Hairguy came back and starting dancing. Surprisingly, he wasn’t that that bad. But as people tend to get tired when drunk, he soon went home. But the night gets better – wait for it…


Less than five minutes later, some freak started literally rubbing against Kay’s ass, and if that wasn’t enough, he legitimately started freaking on her (Urban Dictionary defines “freaking” as “obscene dancing which simulates sex by the grinding the of the genitalia with suggestive sounds/movements, often done to pop or hip hop or rap music.”). There is NO amount of alcohol in the world that makes that okay.


I’d had enough. These lunatics had crossed the line. I had been rained on, my night out ruined, left my license at home, I wasn’t even buzzed, we’d been followed all night by a creep, we were forced to listen to someone harangue us with politics for thirty minutes (a challenge even when they share similar beliefs), and now this ASSHOLE was freaking my friend. Just as Kay was trying to inch away, I turned to glare at him and shoved him hard. Seriously, there must have been a look of danger on my face because he immediately and repeatedly started apologizing.


There are times when you need to know to admit defeat and call it a night. Night-MARE was more like it. I am sad to say that there was almost nothing of redeeming value (shy of the random beer gulp), which is quite depressing – what a waste of a cute outfit and hot makeup. Maybe when I return in three weeks, Kay and I will have just a little more luck. Cross your fingers. In the meantime, I guess I’m going to crawl under my blanket and have a nice ménage-a-trois with Jill, Miss Michigan, and myself.


Amalie Paris


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