(Disclaimer: The following actually happened. Seriously. I know it will be hard to believe, but trust me.)
Saturday night, I went to a Valentines Day party. Ordinarily, I would not share the details of these kinds of things, but since I really don't give a shit who I offend from that party, you're getting all the details. Its gonna be graphic. Its gonna be crude. But I'm not sparing the usual details I would spare. These people deserve it. So, on with it. And you bet.
This party was communicated to me thusly: a BYOB party where lots of cool people our age will be, including many ladies, and my buddy Cody had to go with his girlfriend but didn't know any other guys so I need to meet them there. So on my way over, I debate which beer to get. Sure, I could go cheap and get PBR or Busch Light, but instead I opt to get a case of Bud Light. Nice, classy beer that's acceptible anywhere from Country Clubs to Trailers/Shacks.
Everywhere except this place, apparently.
Seriously, I have never been anywhere where Bud Light is looked down upon. Or maybe its just that I generally avoid places where it might be. In any event, this was one of those places.
And I totally should have known it: the house was in Champions Club, which is home to some of the most expensive homes in Omaha and is adjacent to the private golf course where the Nationwide Tour's Omaha Classic is played. This is a course that, as far as I know, you can't even play without a membership. There literally are no greens fees -- you're either a member or you don't play.
So yeah, I go in with a case of Bud Light, and am greeted at the door by a guy who looks a hell of a lot like the snobby rude boyfriend in Wedding Crashers. And really, from every comedy of the last 20 years.
"Oh, great, Bud Light. Our dog is thirsty, awesome you thought of him."
Wow, OK. I immediately took out a can, opened it and took a drink. "Oh, that's for you? Sorry broseph, I haven't seen anyone actually drink that stuff before (smirks to his buddies). Here, let me take that from you."
They proceeded to take my beer to the kitchen, where it was placed on the counter. Not in the fridge -- because my "Trashy" beer might poison their Random-Imported-Beers-I-Cant-Pronounce.
That kind of crowd. Ouch.
I walk in and spot my buddy Cody and his girlfriend. Everyone else is the stereotypical rich society types: I'm fairly sure their socks cost more than my entire ensemble. Make that one of their socks -- I think when socks are that expensive, you don't buy a pair, you buy them separately a month apart to spread out the monetary damage. I find a seat by them, and proceed being myself. Taking the pulse of the room by talking, telling jokes, and other things of that nature. I told the Bob Costas Opening Ceremonies story about the 80s Pop Tunes, and was greeted with:
(Whore #1) "(whisper) Is that supposed to be funny? Yeah, oh my God, this one time my daddy took me to see David Bowie and he played like all of these old songs! And I was like oh my God, those songs are SO OLD! And you know what he said? Something about 80s pop tunes, I don't really remember. That's so funny, its totally the same thing."
(Random Skank #1) "You're so hilarious, Whore #1! (looking at me, rolling eyes) I can't believe you were watching the Olympics. That's so pedestrian."
And so it went for most of the next hour, just whores and skanks turning their noses at me and every story I told. All the while, I kept drinking my Bud Light. And dammit, that was some of the finest tasting Bud Light I've ever had the pleasure of drinking.
When it came time to break the seal, so to speak, I went to the bathroom. Which was some of the finest porcelin I've ever seen. Although, really, everyone takes a crap regardless of environs -- I've taken a duke in some pretty shady truck stops -- so does a bathroom really need marble, gold and such? In any event, I remember vividly looking skyward, hoping to channel the spirit of Cliff. Please, by all that is good, let me take a duke! And leave a floater! Please! Wasn't to be. So I settled for "missing" the bowl. Guys, you know what I mean.
The urge to do an Ace Ventura and soak my shirt, tear my pants leg and walk out yelling "Do NOT go in there! Whoooo!" was overwhelming. But I somehow managed to restrain myself.
Later, I brought up how I had been to the Creighton game that day.
(Roid Injecter #1) "Is that the first game you've ever been to or something? I've been to so many its not even a big deal, its not even a point of conversation anymore. They got beat anyway, they're so terrible this year."
"No, actually I've had season tickets for a few years now..."
(Pulsing-Vein-On-Neck-Guy #3) "Yeah, we've got a box. I've never sat out in the actual arena seats, it must be so terrible to sit out there among the crowd."
"Actually, my seats are pretty good, about 9 rows up from the court, behind the basket on the Creighton bench side."
(Roid Injecter #2) "YEAH, that's close (snickers). The worst seats I've ever sat in were courtside in the press row about 2 feet from the court. They were terrible, the walk to the bathroom was forever and you have to use the public bathrooms! (Gasping from the room!) I would never sit there again."
(Take-It-From-Behind-Guy #11) "Courtside totally sucks for that reason. If I couldn't sit in the box, I don't know why you'd even bother going. Watching here on the plasma is better than that."
And more conversation like that...
Bud Light continues tasting epically well...
My friend gives me looks continually like "I want to agree with you but I can't" and stuff...
I give him back the "You owe me beers: 3 no 6 no 12 BAKERS DOZEN!" look...
I get told "Is that funny? Really? You're amusing." by more girls than I care to rememeber...
Another trip to the bathroom, another prayer for a duke...
More friend looks of "I know you're dying but these are my girls friends, I can't say anything"...
More me with "Bakers Dozen, bitch" looks...
Nice art on the walls, lots of me talking about the pieces and being disagreed with in the most asinine ways...for instance, one particular piece was perportedly painted by their dog, when the detail was entirely too intricate for most humans I've known. "My dog is the reincarnation of Bob Ross. Only my Cassidy (the dog is seriously named after one of the Partridge Family) would never host a show on PBS."...
Another trip to the bathroom, and the first time I've openly rooted for anything named "DUKE" in my life. Thank you Christian Laettner...
Conversations about the genious of Tom Cruise and LRH...
Last of 12 Bud Lights is opened, and by buddy says we can go after I finish it. The night is going so smashingly well that I slam the drink in Guiness Record Time. And we head out.
I come home, its 3:30, and to vent I take down this website and replace it with this graphic on a plain black background, and seriously consider leaving it up for days:
If you manage to crack the code, don't take it personally. Its not meant for you. Not unless you consider Bud Light too trashy for your taste, are too good for courtside basketball tickets, think dogs can paint trees like the reincarCliffd Bob Ross, have bathrooms made of gold and marble, think David Bowie is an 80s Pop Band, don't get silly mainstream pop culture jokes, and actually think Paris Hilton is a role model for America's Youth. If you are that person, then yes, Go To Hell.
You bet.
Leave a comment