I went to a party Saturday night, but the house was chock full of humorless, jaded hipsters. I like my hipsters jovial and care free. Can't one appreciate both the Velvet Underground and a good vagina joke? It was painful to watch how hard these people tried to act cool. I'm all for ironic detachment, but this was a party, not a midnight gathering around Andy Warhol's grave.
We didn't stay there long. We ended up at the Mag Bar, where the hipsters are happy to be drinking strong adult beverages. Maker's and Coke is a solid drink, people. I also saw my future wife there that night. Notice I said I "saw" her. I didn't meet her, but I will. I just have to show up again and hope she's there. Hey, it's a remote possibility. This isn't the unobtainable fantasy of a guy who has become so introverted he can't even approach a stranger when good and liquored up. Or maybe it is. Yeah, it is. Shut up.
At about 3am I was knocking on the front door of Erin's and Jason's house. Hey, the lights were on, and they party til the early dawn. They graciously turned down our late-night dining invite, so we headed to Denny's without them.
The Denny's near the campus of the University of Louisville, at 3:3o am on a weekend night, is a freakshow of Barnumian proportions. In fact, the Bearded Lady was there, as were her just as hairy but less famous sisters. I wouldn't have blinked if Martians had walked through the door.
Of course, it's always the "normal" looking ones you have to watch out for. Two vapid cleavage-showin' sorority girls sat at the table next to ours, leading to this snippet of conversation:
Girl one: "Where's (frat boy whose name escapes me)?"
Girl two: "Oh, he found out I've been cheating on him, so he called me a dirty whore or something."
Girl one: "He should just get over that."
Well, I only have a problem with his semantics. Unless she charged the other guy for sex, she's a dirty slut, not a dirty whore. In all fairness, though, anyone who dates this girl and thinks he's the only ship in the port is fooling himself.
I remember thinking, as I sat there eating my Fat Guy Breakfast Slam, that those girls would have been a damn hoot at the dour hipster party.
We didn't stay there long. We ended up at the Mag Bar, where the hipsters are happy to be drinking strong adult beverages. Maker's and Coke is a solid drink, people. I also saw my future wife there that night. Notice I said I "saw" her. I didn't meet her, but I will. I just have to show up again and hope she's there. Hey, it's a remote possibility. This isn't the unobtainable fantasy of a guy who has become so introverted he can't even approach a stranger when good and liquored up. Or maybe it is. Yeah, it is. Shut up.
At about 3am I was knocking on the front door of Erin's and Jason's house. Hey, the lights were on, and they party til the early dawn. They graciously turned down our late-night dining invite, so we headed to Denny's without them.
The Denny's near the campus of the University of Louisville, at 3:3o am on a weekend night, is a freakshow of Barnumian proportions. In fact, the Bearded Lady was there, as were her just as hairy but less famous sisters. I wouldn't have blinked if Martians had walked through the door.
Of course, it's always the "normal" looking ones you have to watch out for. Two vapid cleavage-showin' sorority girls sat at the table next to ours, leading to this snippet of conversation:
Girl one: "Where's (frat boy whose name escapes me)?"
Girl two: "Oh, he found out I've been cheating on him, so he called me a dirty whore or something."
Girl one: "He should just get over that."
Well, I only have a problem with his semantics. Unless she charged the other guy for sex, she's a dirty slut, not a dirty whore. In all fairness, though, anyone who dates this girl and thinks he's the only ship in the port is fooling himself.
I remember thinking, as I sat there eating my Fat Guy Breakfast Slam, that those girls would have been a damn hoot at the dour hipster party.
20 Comments:
I like the Moons Over My Hammy.
re: tits' comment- moons over my hammy is my favorite one, even though i can't really eat any of them.
sometimes i like to pick julius up right before my shower so his orange fur is on my skin and i call it "moons over my yammie."
Love the Oingo Boingo reference in the title.
My old girlfriend Margaret and I used to kid about the whole humorless hipster thing-- she used to joke that we threw the curve off on the fun scale.
Of course, we'd get loaded, have a lot of fun, then go home and get in a drunken argument. I guess the joke was on us.
I was going to express jealousy over your still being able to party like that, then I remembered that my co-best friend, who lives in Seattle (I live in Chicago) showed up at my door last night with a bottle of Jim Beam. It was, literally, a school night-- I'm a high school teacher. He and I are 41 and 45 respectively. We drank half the bottle and went to a bar. I was not a happy guy today.
The Fat Guy Breakfast Slam was tasty.
Have you ever noticed how no one ever intends to go to Denny's, you just "end up there"?
...and wouldn't you just love to see Tit's moons over your hammy?
The hipsters definitely need to get back to boingo.
Ahhh Denny's. It's always open.
The Dour Man's Party sounded like it lacked a monkey. A monkey always lightens the mood. Or so I've found.
You went to a party?
a friend of mine actually puked into her plate of food at Dennys.
Alcohol definitely was involved. Booze over my hammy, it was.
I love coming here. My surreal experiences seem so much less so when I read the other comments.
One of the more memorable bar time breakfast excursions I went on was culminated by a friend of mine leaning over and casually throwing up under the table.
He's lucky he missed my shoes.
Miss you!
I love to mess with dour hipsters. But I'm not as good at it as my friend Jim, who grabbed a plate off the buffet table at a party and shoved it under the dour hipsters' noses, and hooted in a hillbilly voice, "What'ya thinks is in this har dip? I think it's peanut butter and onions!"
They were completely at a loss. But I was amused. Especially when he caught one of the dour hipster girls coming out of the bathroom, yelled, "It's YOU!" and proceeded to give her a big bear hug in front of all the stuck-up onlookers she was trying to impress.
I like Übermilf's friend Jim very much.
I so wanna party with you! .. really?.. Barnumian??...
erin,
Did a large part of the crowd ignore the band and talk loudly? That happens everytime I've been to Headliners. It pisses me off.
tits,
you have some nice moons, and I'm sure your hammy is no slouch either.
vast,
they still have that, but now with ten percent more fried dough.
kendra,
I envy your cat.
johnny,
you live in Chicago? I love that town.
Did you make the kids do "busy work"?
dr c,
it was good. I was hoping that one girl's tits would just fall out, but you can't have everything.
ams,
is a Chrimbo a Christmas bimbo?
flounder,
I've only been to Denny's once for a non breakfast or late night meal. It was forgettable.
kate,
thanks a lot. I appreciate that.
monkey mc,
they do. and the Primitives.
monkey,
they would have dressed the monkey in black, like they did on Sprockets.
brooke,
yeah, and you totally weren't invited.
tracy,
yuck. Could anyone tell the difference?
melissa,
never mess with a woman's shoes.
rachel,
I'm still around and shit.
tumbleweed,
you were supposed to visit me and sex me up.
ubie,
I bet the dour hipsters in Chicago are even more so than the ones in Louisville. They all need to be put in their place.
monkey,
Jim does the Lord's work.
sindy,
let's party. Bring a can of whipped cream.
HA Tits! The first time I read that at 3am I laughed til the sun came up. I think it's 2 Moons.
The difference between whore and slut is of tantamount import to us females. There is such a difference between blowing the whole team for free and for cash.
"Okay guys, VERY QUIETLY do your worksheets while Mr. Yen lays his head on the desks an moans for a while."
I come from a hipster-ridden town too. I just call them Haircuts.
Or cunts.
So you like the Velvet Underground and the Primitives, and you're from Kentucky?
That makes no fuckin' sense to me at all, but as I said in my other comment - I like it.
(I found you through Steph's blog. And I will be checking in regularly from now on).
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