Snap. Crackle. And Splash.
Here’s a handy fact for all you bar-hopping ladies: there are some real assholes out there.
Duh.
OK, now here’s a little Flynn Fact: Throwing a drink in a man's face is best reserved for a deserving ex-boyfriend.
I know, I know. You’ve always wanted to do it. So did I. And then I did. And then the jerk threw his drink in my face. What the?
Clearly, he deserved it.
It was the day I completed my internship. I had NO idea what was next. I had been living in scared in New York for two and half months and now, I had nothing—no internship, no plan, no money, no job prospects. On the plus side: I had Clips! REAL WORLD EXPERIENCE! But still.
I’m sure I busted out with it because I don’t consider it to be a bullshit question. What you do is part of who you are. And asking questions is part of what I do. So I do it. Especially in my personal life. Asking questions keeps me from having to answer questions.
And with this guy I should have told him my name was Dakota and I was visiting from Walla Walla, Washington. Because we started arguing about something… Who knows, politics? Perhaps I was defending my popped-collar dissertation. I don’t know. But he went for the low blow. A blow so low, I don’t think I had witnessed it since third grade when my former best friend yelled, “You don’t know my mother’s maiden name!” I stopped being her friend after that because I had obviously overlooked the fact that she was an idiot.
So this guy…who was from like New Jersey…goes for that third grade “get em where their weak” tactic, with some mockery like, “Aw I dunno what I’m doing with my life. I did a little internship. ”
Splash!
Splash! Again!
Sable, my awesomely cool bad-guy-chasing friend: Come on, Bri. Let’s go.
Me: NO! He will go!
And he did. Ha!
The whole rooftop was starting. I had caused a scene. Awesome. Still. I won.
I think.
Flynn Fact #2: When you do something like the above, don’t tell your mother. She wasn’t happy.
Mom: You’re lucky that’s all that happened to you! You’re lucky he didn’t hit you!
Me: I think he would have been arrested if he hit me.
Mom: I read about this kind of stuff in the news.
Imette St. Guillen had been in the news.
Me: About girls getting beat up in bars?
Mom: YES! Well, I hope he didn’t have much of his drink left. I wouldn’t want it to get all over you.
Me: I do! I hope it was full! I hope he wasted his money!
Flynn Fact #3: But DO tell your father.
Later that night…
Dad: Say, have you been to any bars in New York?
Me: Don’t worry Dad! From now on I’ve reserved drink-throwing for ex-boyfriends.
Laughter? It seemed my father found this to be humorous.
Me: Wait, this is funny to you?
Dad: Yeah. I thought girls were going to do that to me a number of times. Next time, just don’t tell your mother.
Me: Point taken. Next time, Dad...you’ll be the first to know.
Duh.
OK, now here’s a little Flynn Fact: Throwing a drink in a man's face is best reserved for a deserving ex-boyfriend.
I know, I know. You’ve always wanted to do it. So did I. And then I did. And then the jerk threw his drink in my face. What the?
Clearly, he deserved it.
It was the day I completed my internship. I had NO idea what was next. I had been living in scared in New York for two and half months and now, I had nothing—no internship, no plan, no money, no job prospects. On the plus side: I had Clips! REAL WORLD EXPERIENCE! But still.
I’m sure I busted out with it because I don’t consider it to be a bullshit question. What you do is part of who you are. And asking questions is part of what I do. So I do it. Especially in my personal life. Asking questions keeps me from having to answer questions.
And with this guy I should have told him my name was Dakota and I was visiting from Walla Walla, Washington. Because we started arguing about something… Who knows, politics? Perhaps I was defending my popped-collar dissertation. I don’t know. But he went for the low blow. A blow so low, I don’t think I had witnessed it since third grade when my former best friend yelled, “You don’t know my mother’s maiden name!” I stopped being her friend after that because I had obviously overlooked the fact that she was an idiot.
So this guy…who was from like New Jersey…goes for that third grade “get em where their weak” tactic, with some mockery like, “Aw I dunno what I’m doing with my life. I did a little internship. ”
Splash!
Splash! Again!
Sable, my awesomely cool bad-guy-chasing friend: Come on, Bri. Let’s go.
Me: NO! He will go!
And he did. Ha!
The whole rooftop was starting. I had caused a scene. Awesome. Still. I won.
I think.
Flynn Fact #2: When you do something like the above, don’t tell your mother. She wasn’t happy.
Mom: You’re lucky that’s all that happened to you! You’re lucky he didn’t hit you!
Me: I think he would have been arrested if he hit me.
Mom: I read about this kind of stuff in the news.
Imette St. Guillen had been in the news.
Me: About girls getting beat up in bars?
Mom: YES! Well, I hope he didn’t have much of his drink left. I wouldn’t want it to get all over you.
Me: I do! I hope it was full! I hope he wasted his money!
Flynn Fact #3: But DO tell your father.
Later that night…
Dad: Say, have you been to any bars in New York?
Me: Don’t worry Dad! From now on I’ve reserved drink-throwing for ex-boyfriends.
Laughter? It seemed my father found this to be humorous.
Me: Wait, this is funny to you?
Dad: Yeah. I thought girls were going to do that to me a number of times. Next time, just don’t tell your mother.
Me: Point taken. Next time, Dad...you’ll be the first to know.
posted by flynn at 10:51 PM
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