Tuesday, February 28, 2006

Here she is.........Miss Buckhannon!

Well I must say: now that the buzz of recruitment is over it's time to move on to more pressing matters of the college bar scene: The Miss Buckhannon Pageant. Oh lord, you have no idea. Actually it's not a real pageant, so you can stop getting your resumes and headshots ready- you don't want this crown.

Scene: The lights go dim, the orchestra is warming up. All the sudden the stage lights flash on and William Shatner, or someone that looks like him, comes to centre-stage. Oh, the crowd "ooo's" and "ahh's" for tonight....is the night! *Cue cheesy pageant music*

"Ladies and gentlemen, I present to you: The 2006 Miss Buckhannon Pageant live from the K-Lounge along with satellite portions of our competition from stages at Ledbetter's and the Pickled Iguana!"

After a quick opening number to Sweet Cherry Pie the contestants are finally done straddling their boas and have returned back stage to get ready for the first part of this evening's competition....

Shatner: Ravishing! All ravishing! What lovely women! I cannot wait to see what unfolds in tonight competition!
Joan Rivers (really the lady with horrible emphysema): That's right Will! What an amazing bunch of ladies we have here with us tonight! All hailing from the bustling city of Buckhannon, WV, they are sure to razzle dazzle us with their talents and most of all- their beauty. Thankfully this is not a 'scholarship pageant' or we'd be in trouble!
Shatner: haha, these girls aren't hiding shit with their 4th grade reading level.
Joan Rivers: Alright, let's get down to business....we have narrowed down the contestants from 15 to 5. Let's begin with evening gown competition and then move directly to the talent competition.
Shatner: Good idea...wait...what? *covers microphone with hand* what the hell are you saying....I can't read lips bucko? OH OH.... *uncovers mic* I'm sorry folks, I would like to take this time to thank our sponsors! The Donut Shoppe, Wal-Mart (for these LOVE-ly decorations, and the Buckhannon Bowling Lanes- thank YOU for your sponsorship.
Joan Rivers: Well since we're thanking our sponsors- why don't we let our viewers at home know what our classy lasses are competing for?
Shatner: Oh you are a clever one aren't you?
Joan Rives: Oh you don't know the half of it. Look at my face- I am the mirror image of intelligence!
Shatner: oorrrr the mirror image of a woman who's been tucked and pulled to the point sheer madness. If your eyebrows got any higher you'd have two receding hairlines! But who's counting?!
Joan Rivers: *covers mic* I'm going to gut you like a fish after this shit is over...WELL here's our divine divas now!If chosen as our new Queen the lucky lady will receive $100 in coupons from the Phillip Morris Company to purchase cigarettes of her choice, along with a crown furnished by the local Burger King!
Shatner: oh fabulous! First up....we have Miss Main Street!

Ok cut. This is where I come in. It's my blog therefore it's my freakin' pageant. And I'm commentating the damned thing. So really that was all set-up for this crazy ass semester we've been having. The whole point of this- as with most of my past writings- is to call some people out- and since it's the Buckhannon Pageant.....you guessed it, we're going to be talking about townies and bars. College students to count in this too because we are transient townies whether we like it or not...at least it's not permanent. We might as well just call this 'The Townie Trend Spot'....I know you are on the edge of your seats; let's get down to business:


Up first on our runway (ahem, Main Street) is Miss Havisham.
I swear- it's not because I just finished reading Great Expectations in my Lit class....it's because this chick at the K-Nasty looked like Miss H. It was like I took every possible speck of what I had imagined her to look like from the reading and threw it on the corner bar stool with a pilled wool sweater and a Virginia Slim 120. Heavily blue lined eyes and white shadow completed the look along with 80's throw-back black stirrup pants and 10 bangle bracelets. I just don't understand why women cannot dress and apply make up to their age. It doens't mean looking old. If you apply makeup like an 18 year old you're going to like an 18 year old.....only aged 75 years.

Oh my gosh, everyone look...it's "I can't dance and wear mom pants" lady. *Smacks head* Ok so again we're at the K-Nasty. These three women (I'm guessing this was a 'girls' night out?') are downing 'cute little fruity' drinks and smoking cigarettes like they have never seen one before. Not to mention they're Kools. You'll get to smoke a cigarrette out of your throat way before the Vagina Slim's Lady. So there's a rule at the K-Lounge: no glassware on the dance floor. Why? Why do you have to do that to them, oh wise owners of K-Lounge? Don't you know people love to drink on the dance floor. $20 bucks people consume more alcohol dancing than they do sitting at the bar. And I'm shocked that drunk people can't pass sobriety tests when they get pulled over. I'm driving by thinking, "Hey didn't I see her dancing earlier?" So anyhow, these three chicks are dancing and they're doing this weird tootsie roll-esque thing where they slowly invert their legs and do the "Whoomp There It Is" round about thingie. They obviously must know what "it" is that we all were "whoomping" to back in junior high. Not to mention, if you ever wondered just how one wang chungs ask them, they were wang chunging all night. The key thing here is the outfits. I gotta hand it to them- they weren't dressed like slutty moms or anything, but notice how i said moms....they were all about the layering and the mom pants. Gold shiny tacky fabrics and wrap around sweater sets. Ugh....

Before we leave the K-Nasty, let's not neglect the people in the bathroom. First off: if you really have to go- and I stress really really have to go- don't worry about putting your cigarette out. There's asstrays IN each stall. The stall door is acutally about shoulder height to me. If you're talking to someone in the bathroom you gotta make sure they're atleast 3 feet away or they're gonna see over the top. How classy is that?! Alright, so I really really have to go. My roommate and I walk in and there's my favorite scene playing out: a chick fixing her makeup that has traveled down to her cheeks (from dancing?) and the token bathroom find- the girl who's crying. Most times we don't care why, who, or what self-inflicted situation she's gotten herself into this time. All you know is that she's crying AND she's in your way. What to do? What to do?

Me: Hey...umm excuse me...er..uh...sorry..me, bathroom....please?!
Her: *sniff sniff* Oh I'm sorry...*sniff sniff*
-----she doesn't move----
Me:Ok...don't mind me...*shoves past* hope everything's ok
---so i get to the stall and close the door and notice the level of the door. Great. I can see her...she can see me. FAB-ulous. Not to mention, I NEVER sit on public toilets. I have great balance and can hover with the best of 'em. But this door is SO low. and the distance between the door and the edge of the seat is literally a foot and a half. Oh god...ok...STOP CRYING I CAN'T CONCENTRATE! Ah....much better. Ok...now that I'm washing my hands I am home free. Oh no wait. It's let me tell you why I'm crying girl. OK she's a sweet girl. I was sincere when she was telling me what was going on. I genuinely cared- I've been there before. Fucking boys. But then later they're seen talking again and all that crying in the bathroom means nothing. I dont know it's none of my business. I just feel like I wasted 6.32 minutes listening to that shit if you're not going to do anything about it. Kick him to the curb girl or stop bitching.

Ok...just across the road is the new hot spot in town. The Pickled Iguana. Watch out there's a door man. It only seats about 15 people and there's enough room in the back for about 4 to play pool. BUT they let about 40 people in. Mad house. Shitty watered down drinks. That's why whenever at a place like that, I always go for bottled beer. You're guaranteed 12oz of uniform hops and barley. I've been there once...for about 10 minutes because the bartender was freakin me out and there were a bunch of bikers coming in. My favorite part about the Pickled Lizard is hands down the bathroom. Why you ask? Well, for one it's clean, or at least it was the first weekend it opened. There's hairspray and body splash on a little shelf too which is wonderful if you smell like a bar and hate the smell of smoke. After that the whole place goes to hell in a handbasket.
The bartender......apparently believes that if they make it in your size it looks good. She apparently does not think she's a centimeter over a size 8 either. She has a tattoo of a butterfly on her left breast...which she bases her outfits off of because they are low cut and way too tight. She even found a strapless bra for those melons! I'm impressed, seeing how I myself am far from flat-chested. However, it looks as though she took the Aqua Net company serious and literally has her hair so shellacked it could probably be throw into the ocean and yield a nice day's catch.
Next- the bar-top dancers. Will ye ever learn? Just because they have high ceilings does not mean it's a definite invitation to dance on the formica. When two drunk girls get on the bar it's like watching a drunk seasoned Cirque de Soleil performer walk the tight-rope. They begin with grabbing each other in ways they'd normally slap a man for attempting in between shouts of "I'm SO wasted." Then sporadically they stumble to the left and then to the right, and almost fall off before some dirty old man "accidentally" grabs them to "keep them from fallng." Ew. Dance ON the floor. What goes up must come down. I'd rather come down about 5 feet than fall almost 10 feet to the ground (when you had the height of the bar and your height).

Moving on, fashionistas we have so much to discuss!

Ledbetter's: my bar of choice. I heart Dusty and Casey. Good times are always in the equation as the night unfolds. So after I showed the door man my bank card for my ID (hey at least he knows I'm not skippin out on my tab!) I find my license and we are admitted. What? $3 pitchers? We'd be much obliged! We find a table and start drinking. And all the sudden I get this creepy feeling that we're being watched...oh wait we are. It's the jealous bitches at the front table. First off I didn't hear the song "Boom I got your boyfriend" playing when I came in, so turn the fuck around and stop looking at us- two guys and two girls sitting at the same table?! News flash- it happens.
I love it when girls talk about people and look at the person they're talking about while whispering about them. Who taught you to gossip?! See, the way I learned it was you did the "point and laugh" thing with out the point. If you're looking at me while you and your ugly friend are talking about me chances are I'm gonna see what you're doing. Why don't you just skip the bullshit and come tell ME why you just have to talk about me and my hot roomie. It's so obvious....and it's not cool. If I want to talk about someone this is how I do it:

*I'm sitting at the bar with Court and all the sudden I see someone do something be it strange, slutty, funny, cute or otherwise.....*
1. Take inventory of what I am seeing (in my head, not by glaring, staring, or busting out into immediate laughter- gossipping is done with more than one person- don't cheat them out of a hilarious retard making a fool of themself...they deserve to know too! If you gossipped alone it would just be 'observing.'
2. Give Court a nod as to say "hey I have something to tell you"
3. Court leans in, or if they are far enough away not to hear, I just start talking
4. I explain the 'object' and my feelings on it
5. We laugh our asses off....or another appropriate response. Laughter is sure to follow 99.99% of the time. The key here, is that the laughter is timed perfectly. We laugh only after leaning back to our normal places and take a slight pause, then erupt into a loud laugh.

Notice how I didn't mention anything about pointing, getting closer for a better look, or totally swinging around on your barstool to alert them to what you're doing. I'm not gonna lie- we talk about everyone. I have never been shy about that one. But if you're going to do it have some tact. One time I was at the bar and this person- who shall remain nameless for those of you with bad deductive reasoning skills- was talking about me and the best part of all was that I had my back to her getting a drink at the bar and she was literally right behind me. There's only about 4 Courtneys on this campus: one is me, one is my diamond- who is beside me- and the other two were not there. She also used my last name and my office. So yeah it was definitely me she was talking about. Nothing says "you're busted bitch" like being stopped mid-sentence when you come face to face with the person you are bitching about. Then as if it was a natural reaction, she hugs me and tells me how I'm doing such a wonderful job! Get a life....transparent bitch.

OK so back to the staring problem at Ledbetter's, these two girls who were talking about us did the chain-reaction gossip. This means they say something, the other person looks, then she looks again, then they tell someone else and they look, she looks, the other girls look, and bam...everyone within a 2-mile radius can see they're talking about someone. And just by following their line of vision you can see that it is us for sure. It took everything I had not to make a turn around motion with my finger then flip them the bird. I wish people still had polaroid cameras so I could have taken a picture of us and then dropped it off at their table with my autograph on it. Hey, I will be famous one day....

My next favorite townie- the ones who cannot seem to stay on the bar stools. It's as if they just forget they're not sitting in a normal chair. Most barstools you have to step up a little bit to get into them. These barstools in question have high backs on them and people still manage to fall off them. I dont get it. And when these babies fall they fall loud and hard. I also enjoy the person that falls out of the barstool then looks around real quick to find someone to blame it on and then goes, "Duuuuude...you knocked my stool over. What the hell?!" More like, "Duuuude....your candy ass is too drunk to sit in a chair, put your nasty exposed thong back in your jeans, go home and let someone else sit at the bar you waste of space."

Next up: Sage Coach.....is it just me or should it be STAGE Coach? There's western shit all over the place. Someone told me that the owners last name was 'Sage' and if so fine...makes total sense. This place used to be a theater then a bar called Club Chemistry- and trust me there was no chemisty unless you were 15 and liked to dance on a stripper pole while your dad's co-workers bought you shots all night. (It got busted and shut down.) So anyhow, big place, kinda nice. Big dancefloor- stripper pole is gone. The bartender is about 5 foot nothing, weighs about 85lbs, and I shit you not she could give Chuck Norris a run for his money. Super nice, but she doesn't take any shit.
They have this bar top table that is set out from the actual bar and it's like a run way for trampy townies. I especially vomitted in my mouth when two girls - one fat- and one with a skirt on hopped on that table and started dancing/stripping/groping/chugging drinks. It's bad enough that her friend's shirt keeps climbing up to show her stomach, but seeing that this girl's ass as she parades around on the table in a skirt is gross. Townies are gross.


So who's my winner? Who gets to be crowned Miss Buckhannon 2006? Come on now.....you think I could honestly pick between so many over-qualified candidates? Haha...not a chance.

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