As most of you are aware, the moustache is the greatest piece of facial hair in the history of man. Honestly look at the great men who’ve had a moustache and see if they aren’t awesome, I dare you. So with the month of November came about the work contest of Movember. Short version: we each put in $5 and the one with the best mo wins. I decided to go with the chopper style and it came off more as child molester. So I made the attempt to enter the Invercargill “night life” with an awesome member of the beard family.
I decided that landing a hot chick with a moustache was going to be difficult, but my hopes were high because well I’m awesome. The first night out I realized that it might be a bigger task that I’d imagined. This particular Friday night had all the makings to be one of legend.
Pint Size, the twins, and yours truly started the night at the house with our version of pregaming. A few rousing rounds of “Name that tune” (a musical drinking game that I highly encourage. Here’s what you need:
1) Plenty of Alcohol, useful to all drinking games
2) A knowledge of many songs that have at least at one time been considered good or popular
3) An Itunes library full of said songs
4) At least enough people who have #2 to make it competitive
Got all these? Good. Next you make sure it’s good and loud and everybody is paying attention. Have one person in charge of music and controlling the shuffle feature. The object of the game is to name the song title and artist the quickest. If you do, everybody else drinks. If nobody gets it then the person controlling the songs makes everybody else drink. Sound like fun? Yes, so go out and try it.) and a round of Goon of Misfortune. By the end of Goon, we were ready to hit town.
Pint Size, Counter, and I grab a taxi and we’re off to a pub that has a band. I still have no idea who this band was but they played decent enough songs, which they made sound country/western, and we were on the way to having a good night. I then noticed something very strange. Sitting one table over from us were some girls and one of them was very pregnant. Now I’m not a big believer in people being pregnant (seriously use protection) but I had to give some mad respect to this chick. Who wants to sit at home on a Friday night just because they are soon to give birth. I decide to strike up a conversation, one of the friends was kind of hot, and talk to them for a little while. Time goes on and this kind of hot girl ends up being very rude to me. Honestly, get on your level. She’s the best looking option in the bar so I decide to try to use her rudeness to my advantage. A little more conversation and I simply ask her to dance. She says she can’t because she was there on a date with some guy. He appeared to be about 60 and she was mid to late 20s. I have never been so confused in my life. This seems like a lost cause.
We take a trip outside to get some fresh air when my wingwomen step up for me. There are a couple of women outside that are pretty decent looking and would, at least by Invercargill standards, pass as cougars. Moustance and cougar, sounds like a good combo to me. One of them (we’ll call her Amy) keeps telling me how cute I am and how I’m going to be “trouble.” All I can think is Jackpot! Kind of hot even came out and sat next to me for a minute and attempted to distract me for a few minutes before leaving in a huff. How dare I blow her off? Again, get on your level.
Anyways, the night wears on and each new whiskey drink tastes better than the last. It gets down to me and the two chicks outside when one of them (who was bitching about the guy she was talking to being an ass to her) says “all I want to do is have some random sex.” A smarter me just goes home with her at that point, but the other one looked better (damn standards). Pint Size and Counter had taken off, giving me a thumbs up on the way out, and Amy was about ready to leave. I had been listening to this girl talk about her child and her problems for a little while and figured this was going to pay off in the end. We walk out to get a cab when she says she will just walk home. A little making out later she keeps saying that she can’t go home with me tonight because she has some “loose ends to tie up” (not again). I then go into my best 2 minute drill. I am throwing out everything I can think of. The classics like “I really could use some company in this strange city” and “It’s too late for you to be walking home by yourself.” No luck. She leaves and I get a phone number. My guess was she’s married and miserable. Oh well, there’s always tomorrow and there’s always more whiskey.
The next night started out in a similar way. More drinking and more of us ready to go out and see what this town could offer. This time, Axel is going to join us. Always a good time when she decides to come out. Counter looks online and sees that the best band in Invercargill is playing at this rednecky bar on the outskirts of town. We have gone to see this band a few times and needless to say, they know us. We are those people who yell for them to play certain songs (mainly Freebird) and they seem annoyed to have such loyal fans.
We arrive there to see a decent crowd and we’re all a little tipsy. More drinking and some dancing later I see Pint Size talking to these two friends of hers who appear to be there by themselves and they have just finished off their third jug. I walk over and put on my best Alabama accent. It seems to be working when I find out that they are both married and just having a girls night out. I don’t remember how but the next thing I know I try to talk them into a three way. As my face stung from the slap it had just received I headed back to my table.
We headed outside when I see yet another pregnant chick, this drinking and smoking a cigarette. Sound parenting there. So I go over to her and her friends and strike up a conversation. Once again the accent gets a reaction. This time from a girl who might have been as bat shit crazy as anybody I’ve ever met (DIBS!!!). After an arm wrestling match we go inside to dance. I show off my sweet dance moves and she gets even drunker and crazier as we dance. I hesitated for a second (went to the pisser) and when I came back she had disappeared. It seems that I’m just not destined to pull with a chopper moustache. Or so I thought.
I proceed to get too drunk to stand and we continue to annoy the band. I am then propositioned as the redneck bar is closing. Normally I would at least give this a little thought because well I’m easy, but one look was all I needed. This woman, and I mean woman, probably was attractive at some point. However the effects of an active life had left this probably 60 year old a little worse for the wear. I actually flat out said no (first time for everything) and somehow managed to not get a drink thrown in my face.
We share a cab with a very large Maori guy and head back home to spend the next few days with massive headaches. A disappointing weekend but lots of fun none the less. One piece of advice, the moustache is not a good wingman.
We went out again the next weekend with a few of Pint Size’s friends (including Silent and Sammy) but that’s another story.
Happy Thanksgiving everybody. My parents came into town a few days ago so I will have to take it easy for a couple of weeks. Hope you’ve enjoyed these and I’ll be back up to my crazy ways soon.
Zack
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