My Friends Are Weird

Last night I was surrounded by a bunch of lunatics. I sat next to them at the bar. They were my friends.

I have a new friend, but I haven't decided on a name for him yet. He is either going to be called "Blue Willie" - which he'll hate - or "Supermodel" - which he'll love. His dashing good looks and fashion sense would earn him the latter moniker. His love for a special drink he created would earn him the first nickname. Either way, he is sure to have a strong opinion, and I have no doubt he'll be letting me know what he thinks.

I'll say this for him, he seems to fit in quite well with my other friends. Last night at CC Slaughters, he screamed when we got the high score in Word Dojo while playing the Megatouch video game at the bar. The Handsome Prince actually insulted him a couple times, so I know he's won THP's heart. (If he likes you, he's mean to you.) My new friend, I've realized, can be really impossible sometimes. He seems to like arguing with me. This morning I told him I found his demeanor to be interesting. His reply was very agitated, "You're the one with a demeanor." True, that.

Poor guy. If he is looking for a fight, he's looking to the wrong person. I am the ultimate peacemaker. I don't fight. I shrug and say, "whatever". If I were any more laid back, I'd be in a coma. Still, Blue Willie/Supermodel entertains me - he makes me laugh - he's quirky and fun.

Meanwhile, back at the asylum, Auburn Pisces leaned over the bar and gave our poor bartender hell because they had the wrong type of margarita mix. She, like my new friend, can be pretty feisty. Her philosophy is that she should get exactly the type of margarita mix she wants because she "pays the goddamn light bill at CC's". According to her, I pay the mortgage for the entire building that houses the bar.

As my new friend was screaming about our high score and telling Nair horror stories, Auburn Pisces held our bartender hostage to The Great Margarita Mix Debate. I glanced over to see my best friend, The Handsome Prince, having problems with his bar stool. He hung his backpack over the stool, which caused the stool to tip over each and every time THP stood up. He stood up approximately every two minutes. Then his stool would crash to the floor, so he'd pick it up, sit down for a couple minutes, and get up again to repeat the process.

Ms. Karma, gulping sipping gin and tonic, attempted to keep the peace. That is what she and I do best. Our shared mission is to help keep our friends under control and make sure that everyone is happy. Making sure everyone is happy is impossible. Why do you think we drink so much?

The Math Whiz just sat there looking cool and sexy. He chews gum while he drinks. I think he does it just so he can show off his gorgeous smile. The Math Whiz is completely unflappable. His cool demeanor (Shut up. You're the one with the demeanor) is the stabilizing influence my little group of lunatics needs. Plus, he's so hot he makes us all look good just by sitting with us at the bar. His job is to be the one not drooling and babbling incessantly, which is an important role in any social group.

Last night, during a debate about the title of Sharon Stone's full frontal movie debut, I brought another friend into the madness. After twelve rounds of ruling out "Fatal Attraction" as the movie title, I had to use my "Phone-A-Friend" option and brought Rick into the center ring of our circus. Thanks, Rick, for clearing up the confusion. Once we established the movie title (Basic Instinct) we were able to move on to tipping over stools, harassing bartenders and stories about Nair.

I know this post makes me sound like I'm the sane one of the group. But I will confess that I have issues of my own. For the past several mornings, an awful thing happens everytime I go into the bathroom after I get up. I leave the bathroom with Sinead O'Connor's song "Black Boys on Mopeds" running through my head, and I don't know why. If you haven't heard the song, the lyrics start with, "Margaret Thatcher on TV. Shocked by the deaths that took place in Beijing. It seems strange that she should be offended. The same orders are given by her..."

There are no pictures of mopeds or black boys in the bathroom. I checked the Vanity Fair magazine sitting open next to the toilet. There is no mention of Margaret Thatcher on the page. I do not know why this song is haunting me. I haven't heard it for years and don't even own a copy of it. Apparently, I'm a lunatic too. So, I'm in great company.