Monday, January 27, 2014

Talk is cheap & so are you...

This past weekend while out to dinner with a big group, I got to thinking about money. You know, it's the one thing you get a couple times a month and then suddenly it disappears like a cruel magic trick, except this time it's not an illusion.  Hey David Copperfield, thanks for the false hope!

I think it's pretty safe to say that everyone knows at least one person in their social realm who is labeled as a certified cheap ass.  Before we start pointing fingers, let's not confuse cheap with frugal; since the economy went down like the Titanic, most people want to save a buck here and there - myself included.  Here is what typically happens when you dine out with a cheap person: they wash down an 8oz Filet with 4 Long Islands and guess what? They somehow forgot that their fancy piece of meat and top shelf brain eraser would require tax and tip?? Hmm.

When my friends and I go out, we take turns buying rounds because friends don't let friends drink on their dime for nothin', right? OR maybe, it's just easier that way; I don't know about anybody else, but I don't have patience for 2nd grade division when I'm trying to pay and the line behind me is 3 assholes deep.  In all seriousness though, I like to be generous (yet mindful) with my money; in these types of situations, a little goes a long way.  It's important to remember that being cheap isn't necessarily about money, it's about actions.  Aside from currency, generosity comes in many, many forms.  

A few months ago, I ran into an old friend from college.  I hadn't seen him in 5 years, and presumed him to be to be dead...which is the only logical conclusion we come to when people remove themselves from the Facebook scene (c'mon, you know it's true) What I remember about him most, aside from the fact that he coined the term 'Frostburg Bitties', which describes a woman whose 'boobs got fat' from drinking beer - was that he stole bottles of liquor from behind the bar.  So, the point I'm getting at is he was a cheap SOB - and sleazy.

Sleaze-E lived down the hall from me in college, so he was included in many pre-game sessions and post bar pizza pig-outs.  The thing is, he was conveniently around when someone was buying a round of shots; when it was his turn to do the same, he'd mysteriously disappear for hours, like the sauce had turned him into a phantom.  When it's time to go grab some grub, he's back like Poltergeist II, but wouldn't ya know his $$$ is still lost somewhere in the ghostly abyss.

Moving forward to present day, I run into him outside one of the many lame ass bars in Annapolis.  We do the whole 'OMG, haven't seen you in forever' song and dance and on we go inside.  The funny thing about time is that you think it changes most people for the better, but don't worry, we're getting to that.  We're standing at the bar and he asks me what I'm drinking, and I said 'I'm good with beer'.  I don't believe my eyes when I see him order TWO beers (he must have won the lottery) but what was even more hilariously shocking was when he proceeded to take a sip out of both bottles.  Ladies and gentlemen, that's correct - he was DOUBLE FISTING.  Double fisting booze is acceptable when you're either 21, a douche, or holding a drink for a friend in the bathroom.  In rare cases, like at an extremely crowded sporting event or concert...I'd give DF the green light, because time wasted waiting is a waste of time, or something like that.

                                                                              Look Ma, two hands!

While he's standing there, holding his beers like trophies, I was expecting him to belch like Barney Gumble. Instead he turned to me, asking if I ran marathons 'cause you have a nice body'.  After I threw up in my mouth, I knew it was time to round up the crew and leave the freak show that is Sleaze-E.  For several weeks, he messaged me asking if I wanted to come over and play wiffle ball, but my gut was telling me his version didn't involve a plastic bat and hollow ball.  Thankfully, he soon fell into oblivion again just like he did after graduation.

A couple of days before Christmas, I was sitting on a bench outside of the movie theater waiting for a friend when I suddenly feel eyes on me.  I look up and I'm 90% sure it's him. You know that feeling when you're near positive it's the person you think it is and the other 10% is you hoping it's not?  Yup - that happened.  He walks up slowly and is all like 'OH, I'm sorry, I thought you were someone I knew'.  My internal response to that statement was 'what the fuck?'  In the last couple of months, I grew another head and replaced my yeah, definitely not me.  I decided to make this absurd situation even more awkward by saying 'um, you do know me'.  With that said, his brief battle with amnesia ended and he made some idiotic remark about my hair looking different.

My mind was racing with various methods of escape when suddenly I was rescued - surprisingly by his date, who had just walked out of the bathroom.  It was a quick little introduction and as I wondered if he had the decency to pay for her ticket, she gave him the 'who the hell is that' look, and I was all 'Big Gulps huh? Welp, see ya later!' I wanted to tell her to run for her life, but who knows, maybe she likes wiffle ball.

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