Sockgirlie's Blog: Randy's Last Hurrah (Complete With A Man Farting On Me)

I wish I was making up that parenthetical sidenote, but I am not. We'll get to that.

Let's start with the fact that our new summer pal Randy was spending his last day here on Friday before heading home to Baton Rouge on Saturday. We've had some great times with him while he was here this summer on an internship, and I'm going to miss him lots. He's also become an integral part of Bar Tuesdays, (he only missed the first one) so those will be a little bit emptier without him. But as all good things must come to an end, we had to say goodbye to Randy(are you listening, R. Kelly? Because the new Trapped in the Closet chapters that I've seen so far are quite subpar. When I start having issues with the storyline after letting the whole Big Man/Bridget thing slide, you know it's a problem. And I love that it's not even trying to be a song anymore. C'mon, R. Kelly - you can do better. Just have the whole thing be about Randolph and his pot belly, because I love him.).

Of course, what would saying goodbye be without a last hurrah?

We started with a Bonus Bar night on Wednesday night. Randy and I had both seen this bar in the town where we work and knew we had to go there one night:

Oh, A Rock & A Hard Place, you held such promise! Just look at it! My bathroom is bigger than that. People at work told me that they often hold meat raffles there, so that was even more of an incentive for me to go. Sadly, I still do not know quite what a meat raffle was since we showed up at A Rock & A Hard Place on Wednesday night only to find it CLOSED. The sign said it was open every night from 5PM on, but it LIED. We all stood there quite saddened by this turn of events until we remembered that we had driven by this place earlier:

We thought that looked like a good place to try, so we headed down that way. Unfortunately, we were all a little upset to find out that the inside of The Friendly Tap was impeccably clean. Randy couldn't believe that there wasn't a speck of dust on any of the air conditioning vents. What gives, Friendly Tap? You looked so suspect on the outside - why you gotta be so clean? Oh, fine - we liked you anyway. After all, the place lived up to its name, with the bartender and other patrons as friendly as could be. I even got a free soda out of the deal. We found out that the bar was owned by a guy who is a manager in the WWE, so the walls were covered in wrestling pictures and paraphernalia, which prompted Randy to comment, "Hey, at least there are pictures of half-naked bitches." There were also lots of pictures of Andre the Giant, who used to come to the Friendly Tap quite often. Frito felt a bit of pride hanging out in a place that was frequented by Fezzik. I like to think "overwhelmed by pride" is the reason that he and Randy decided that they wanted to snap into a Slim Jim at the Friendly Tap:

Frito and Tommy also reigned on the Playmaker game:

Their key to success? Play the X-rated games with the pictures of half naked women that you have to find the differences in, since they're not distracted by the women. Smart play! While they played, I turned the tables on Randy, who I nicknamed the Cheek-Kissing Bandit, since he likes to do that in pictures:

After our round at the Friendly Tap, we decided to look for a seedier bar since Randy wanted a last dive bar night before he went home. Luckily for us, a place simply called "Beer Mug" was right down the street:

Hanging down from the bottom of the sign? A dead leprechaun windsock. Poor leprechaun.

I'm only going to gloss over the awesomeness that was the Beer Mug, since we've now added it to the Bar Tuesdays list because it was so great. It will get a proper write-up then, but let me just quickly list some of the things that make the place rule: A jar of pickled eggs behind the bar a la Moe's Tavern, $6.25 for a round of 3 beers and a soda, a "lucky chair" raffle for a free drink every night, the smell of mothballs in the air, a table of guys playing poker in the corner:

And Brenda. Oh, how we loved Brenda. I think she is our favorite Lovable Local so far. Brenda played Akon and T-Pain on the jukebox (which had previously been playing classic rock all night) and started dancing all around the place and humping a pole in the middle of the floor. Then she tried to climb up on the pool table to dance, but the bartender yelled at her. She tried to get me to dance with her, but I politely declined since I was enjoying just being an observer. And taking notes, of course. I usually write down the things that I don't want to forget on Bar Tuesdays, and Frito calls me Nancy Drew whenever I whip out my notebook. Tommy has an even better nickname for me when I do this, which is Rita Skeeter:

Now I want Rita Skeeter's magical pen.

Anyhoo, so we had a great time at Beer Mug and will be back there VERY soon. After all, it's the first bar that has actually had Appetite For Destruction on the jukebox. All of the other bars have Use Your Illusion II, which makes no sense to me. I was very happy to finally have the chance to play Mr. Brownstone. I called Paul on our way home to tell him about the bar, and as soon as I said the phrase "pickled eggs," he stated, "I am going there tomorrow." We'll be back Beer Mug, and we're bringing a crew - be ready.

Is it time for the fart story yet?

Ah, yes it is.

On Friday night, Randy wanted to go to a gay bar downtown after his night out with the interns, so we all met up down there. We spent the first part of the night doing karaoke upstairs, but then moved downstairs to the dance floor when it started to get jumping in there. The majority of the crowd in this place is gay men, so at some points I was one of the only girls on the dance floor, if not the only one. So I'm dancing with my five boys, just having fun, and then out of nowhere this guy moves in and starts dancing with me. I was a little perplexed as to why he'd come up to dance with me instead of one of the five cute boys that I was with, but I was having fun, so I just went with it. He kind of smelled musty, like patchouli (I thought he was Indian in the Mohinder way [not hot like Mohinder, just Indian like him and not like Geronimo], but Frito thought he kind of looked Iraqi [ME: Ah, a Sayid.]), but the patchouli thing wasn't strong, so I didn't mind it that much. That was, until he started to fart. At first, I wasn't sure that it was him, but really - the smell arrived shortly after he did, and I knew it wasn't any of my boys (who were on all sides of us) since I saw each of their faces react when the scent would reach each one. If I wasn't so disgusted, I would have been laughing hysterically. Then the guy starts trying to move in even closer, which wasn't much more possible, and he starts trying to nuzzle my neck. While still farting. I was horrified. I just quickly turned my head to block neck access as if it were part of my dancing and tried to get the attention of my boys to give them the "Help me!" look. However, Michael was behind me on a platform in Deborah Cox mode, and the rest of them were too distracted trying to move away from the scent to notice me. (DAVID: We're being crop dusted, y'all!) When I tried to look to one side to catch Frito's eye, I ended up with Farty in my face, trying to lean in to kiss me. That's when I just flicked my head away and stopped dancing, making the universal "Wow, it's too hot in here, I need to go get some air" gesture and face, so the guy thankfully got the hint and disappeared with his stanky ass. Gross! Who does that?? And is this guy doing the whole going to a gay bar to pick up with straight women who go with their gay friends thing? And then thinks that FARTING ON THEM and trying to nuzzle their necks and kiss them is going to work? Once again, I say: Gross!

Ew.

The rest of the night was thankfully much better, and we went to Denny's afterwards so Randy could get the cheese fries that he was craving:

Look at those things - they're like a heart attack on a platter! But Randy enjoyed them, which was the main point of the night. Also? At least he didn't get farted on by a sweaty, patchouli-smelling, non-hot Sayid. We'll miss you, cutie pie!