So I have a bit of an issue with computers and I forgot how to get into my blog. But I did! I had to email and ask and the nice person told me. Slash, they had a mix up with something and now I have 20 thousand gmail accounts and passwords. So now I can blog away. A lot.
I guess my life is dull and i haven't been up to much. I went out to Montauk this past weekend with a friend of a friend. It was a nice place, I think. I didn't see much of it during the day. It seems like a lot of kind of creepy older guys. For instance, the first night 4 of us were at the bar and the 2 other girls went to sit in a booth. (Apparently the smart move, because they were more "inaccessable.")
So I am talking to my "friend" who was with me, and this older man--I may say about 50--come and sits a seat away from him. I forgot the man's name, so let's call him David. That sounds like it could be right. So David sits down and offers us some pieces of a kit kat. He starts talking to the person I am with, and is spewing chocolate out as he talks. So my friend decides this is the optimal time for a cigarette. I say, "You know, i really don't think that this is a good time for you to smoke."
"Nah, don't worry. You'll be fine."
He gets up and leaves and I am left there with this man. This David. He moves down 3 stools so he is sitting almost on top of me.
He starts talking, and is so drunk I can barely make out what he is saying.
"Where you from?"
Me: "The Bronx."
"The Bronx?? I HATE the Yankees!"
Me: "Oh, well... I'm not actually ON the Yankees."
"Screw the Yankees..."
Me: "right."
"So if you are all the way out here, do you have a place to stay?"
Me: "yup, staying with my friend."
I point meaningfully at the door and stare longingly at it, willing my friend to walk back through the door.
"Oh, because you know what? Those girls next to you? They're BITCHES."
I turn to my left and see 3 young, pretty nice looking ladies.
Me: "Really? They look pretty nice to me."
"No, they're bitches. HEY BITCHES!"
They all ignore him and keep chatting and drinking their light beers.
"I know, because they are my cousins. BITCHES."
The entire time, the crackery chocolate is breaking free, flying from his lips. I shrink away.
"So you have a place to stay?"
Me: "uh, yes. As I said, I'm staying with my friend."
"Oh. Because if you need a place, you can stay with me. I'm a good guy."
Me: "yes, I bet."
"I mean, I tell you. You may wake up on a cold bathroom floor and have no idea where you are or how you got there..."
Me: "??????"
"...But your pants will BE ON. Your pants will STILL BE ON."
At this point I just stare.
Then he says something else and grabs onto my arm, so I shove him with my hands away from me and say, "yeah, no. No. Ok, stop."
Then my friend walks back in (for a fast smoker this seemed like a real eternity to have to wait for him) and this guy sees him coming in, gets up, and just leaves the bar.
The moral of this story is that smoking doesn't only hurt you, but it also really hurts your friends.
