On Saturday I had drinks with Liz. I was, shall we say, in No Mood. We had just gone chanting which is supposed to relax you and make you happy to be alive. It instead made me want to do bodily harm to people. Specifically the dude sitting next to me who corrected my pronunciation during a chant. Apparently I was saying a D instead of a G. So I stopped chanting and instead had long and involved fantasies wherein I poked him in the eye and called him a dirty hippie. This I think was not the point of chanting but it brought me joy so whatever. After this Liz decided I needed vodka post haste. Lots of it. Preferably in a funnel directed towards my mouth.
So off we went to an odd Polish bar, got the vodka and sat down. This is when we encountered a real and true example of LA Douche Bag. He danced in the middle of the bar, poorly. The man clearly thought that he should be on So You Think You Can Dance and perhaps due to too much Polish vodka thought the bar was actually an audition stage. It was not. It was a mildly crowded bar with no one else dancing. He did the arm wave, he did the I'm going to slide on my feet poorly, he did the really unattractive butt wiggle. He spilled his drink on me. He thought everyone was watching him, impressed. Perhaps others were, as perhaps others were mentally slow, but I? I had elaborate fantasies about poking him in the eye which really brought the night full circle.
On the giant plus side the bar had a huge TV which showed the Olympics. I really, really love the Olympics. Liz found out just how much when during the women's relay I screamed 'Pick it up Torres!', out loud, at a bar. For a while though I had convinced her to scream out 'USA!' with me, but then we got silver and thus didn't yell and instead had more vodka which I think was ultimately the right choice.