I am drunked and I am afraid I was very much the DMH this evening.
First it was the guy “from Detroit who got dropped off on the interstate” (he’s gonna be honest with me here) and “he needs just a little bit of change”.
Now, this SAME GUY approached PVDD the other day with the SAME STORY, and as you can imagine, PVDD was having none of it. So when he asked me, “Sister, you got some extra change?” I was shaking my head before he even finished. So he says, “I don’t believe you.”
I’m sorry, what was that?
You “don’t believe me?”
“Well, let me tell YOU, brother, I give a FUCK if you beleive me. You’ve been telling the same story for five days and it’s getting old. So move on. Brother.”
The dude bothers like six other people in my bar before PVDD kicks him out.
Next, I’m sitting in the car, waiting for PVDD to get off work, and there’s this guy outside and he’s talking to some poor drunk dude, and he’s going on and on and on and on and onwith this vigilante bullshit about how he’s going to go kill all the child molesters and how this country is going to shit and blah blah blah, and basically he’s intruding on my solitaire game that I’m playing on my phone.
Can’t have that. No, sirree.
So the two female bartenders are outside smoking and I decide that this, really, is enough and the dude needs to shut the fuck up.
So I lay on the horn.
Not a nice little beep, mind you, but a long, drawn-out honk that practically screams “SHUT UP!” and then an extra “SHUT THE FUCK UP!” in there somewhere. I then heave myself out of the vehicle, making sure to drag on the cig before walking myself over there, where LoudAss is making his anti-child molesting views understood loud and clear, and interrupt him mid-diatribe.
“Excuse me. Excuse me.” He’s still kind of talking, but the poor drunk dude turns to look at me. Unfortunately I am in full-force DMH mode and pay him no mind whatsoever.
“Dude, that is enough. Enough. Shut the fuck up, get in your car, go away. Enough. ENOUGH.”
The drunk dude turns to him and says, “Yeah, man, it’s time for you to go. Really. I’ve been patient, it’s time for you to leave.”
And to my everlasting shock and dismay, “drunk dude” is actually PVDD. ProfessorVonDoctorDaddy, my boyfriend, and I thought he was just some drunk dude corralled by this vigilante motherfucker, and I just went charging in there like nobody’s business and told the dude to shut the fuck up.
I should mention that PVDD was sporting a large red lipgloss kiss on both cheeks, bestowed by yours truly earlier in the evening, and he was wearing them proudly both during the ejection of Detroit and the shutting up of LoudAss. It is a measure of his masculinity that neither of these two irritating assholes saw fit to mention this to him, rather, they seemed to leave the vicinity rather quickly after each incident.
So there you have it. Not only can I not keep my mouth shut, but I can’t recognize my boyfriend when in full-on DMH mode.
Sad. But beautiful in a strange way, really.