You smirkin’ at me in my own house?!

So it’s a Saturday night in CoMo and me and my bros are ready to go out broing.

After I get off work, Little Guy and I went out to eat with our friends Funny Man, Defibulator, TJ Broshie and TJ Broshie’s girlfriend. The night started off great when our waitress, Olivia, told Defibulator that they didn’t have any more pulled pork after he had ordered it. She said it would take 15 minutes longer to get some more. That was totally fine, because it gave us more time to bro it up for the chicks at the table next to us. That decision got progressively worse as the night went on.
For starters, these girls were out celebrating a birthday. Two, apparently. They all made the birthday girls wear tiaras. I wanted to walk up, take the tiara off her head, snap it and say, “Happy Birthday from me. Now you don’t have to look like an idiot anymore.” I wasn’t quite bro enough to actually do it, though. Then, while we’re still waiting for Defibulator’s food, the girls break into song. It’s one of my least favorites: Happy Birthday. I fight through it. The girls didn’t even harmonize at the end. I am pissed.
Turns out, Olivia apparently had to find a pig, kill it, clean it, cook it, shred it, put the sauce on it, bake the bun and then put it on the plate. It took an extra 40-45 minutes for her to get him his food. Clearly, everyone else had finished their meals. So we stayed with Defibulator while he ate because we’re good people. Olivia struggled all night. Refills were hard to come by, interaction was scarce, and service was downright shitty. After she finally got Defibulator’s pulled pork sandwich, he reminded her he had ordered coleslaw with it. She went back to the kitchen and we saw her walking out ten minutes later with said slaw. She proceeded to drop it, shatter the bowl and spill coleslaw all over the floor. Then she lied to us and told us they had to find more coleslaw because they were out. Doubt it. Funny Guy put it best: I don’t think they keep coleslaw spread out all over the restaurant. It’s probably in one place. Everything finally works out as best it can at this point and we leave. Needless to say, Olivia didn’t get a great tip.

After our two-hour meal, we return to our house. Funny Guy’s roommate, who (for confidentiality’s sake) we will call “Pat,” is at a party just down the street from us. This seems like the perfect plan so that we can walk back home. Me and my bros are smart and safe. As we always say, “Safety first, then teamwork.”
We walk down to the party and just walk through the door. There are some freaking BROs there. I’m talking button-downs, gelled hair, chests out, taking pics of themselves for facebook. I think they made Swan look un-Bro.
We do what you should do when bro-crashing a party: just party with our friends and pound. It’s going well. We’re just hanging out with TJ Broshie, Swan, Little Guy, Funny Guy and another friend, Jersey. We’re just chilling, macking on all the babes, clearly. I get bored with my friends, so I decide I will go study how to be as bro as the guys in the kitchen. I see the guy who lives there. His name is Matt and I feel like he could be my bro mentor. He’s got loafers, khakis, a plain white shirt and he’s drinking out of a sweet MU mug.
I introduce myself. He stares at me. I shake his hand. He continues staring. Matt decides that he shouldn’t say anything back, but he just wants to mean-mug me the rest of the night. Apparently this 5′ 6″ 130-pound scrawny bro wants to size me up (for the record, I’m 6′ 3″ 225). He meets Little Guy and tells him he needs to “fucking chill out” after he was kind enough to say hey. Little Guy’s a little littler, so I guess Matt has a sweet new target. But does he go after Little Guy first? Of course not. I am in the kitchen watching “Pat” and Funny Guy play beer pong. Someone asks where Little Guy is. I say he’s macking on some chicks on the couch (you know, the usual). I hear a bro-tastic voice behind me. It’s Matt. The exchange goes as follows…
Matt: What the fuck did you say? You wanna leave?
Me: (no words) *Turn around to see who he’s yelling at*
Matt: What the fuck dude? You talking shit about them?
Me: Talking shit about who?
Matt: You talking shit about my girls?
Me: I don’t even know who they are. I was saying my roommate is over there.
Matt: Yeah that’s what I fucking thought.
Me: Sounds good.
So clearly, Matt and I are off to a great start. He must think the best way for me to learn to be a bro is to get into a bro-battle with him. Trial by fire. I get it. I can dig it.
Little Guy comes over into the kitchen with me. We’re just hanging out, minding our business. Matt’s still staring. We make eye contact. I give him a head nod to let him know I understand what he’s doing and that I really appreciate it. Then this guy in a plaid button-down with frosted tips walks over to us. We’ll call him Dr. Douche. This is our exchange…
Dr. Douche: Hey Professor Plum. You need to leave.
Side note: I’m wearing purple.
Me: Good one. Why?
Dr. Douche: I was just told to come over and tell the guy in the purple he had to leave.
Me: Why?
Little Guy: Who told you to kick him out?
Dr. Douche: He just told me that you guys gotta go.
Me and Little Guy: Who told you that?
Dr. Douche: He’s outside taking a piss so he can’t come in.
Little Guy: Well tell him to come let us know why we have to leave.
Dr. Douche (turning to Matt, who is five steps away the whole time): Matt, come here.
Matt: You guys have been talking shit all night so you can fucking leave.
Me: I didn’t say anything about you except for the fact that you tried to fight me for no reason.
Matt: Exactly.
Me: Excuse me?
Matt’s friends come and pull him away to the other side of the table.
Little Guy: Dude bro chill.
Matt: This is my fucking house.
Little Guy: Listen, man. I don’t know what you’re mad about. We live right down the street, we came to have a good time, we introduced ourselves. We’re trying to be polite.
Matt: You guys are fucking talking shit.
The last four lines are said about five more times.
Matt and Little Guy stop talking. Matt’s roommate comes over to us and apologizes for him. She makes some bad excuses for why he’s mad at us. None of them are logical. Everyone keeps saying it’s his birthday. I don’t care…I hate birthdays anyway. Another chick tries to tell me she understands both sides of the argument. I tell her there’s only one side. She makes illogical defense of Matt again. It’s impossible to have educated debates with women – they don’t understand logic. Luckily, things begin to cool down. Little Guy’s even smiling!
Matt sprints over and two-hand shoves Little Guy in the chest, screaming, “YOU SMIRKIN’ AT ME IN MY OWN HOUSE?!” A few people hold Matt back. A couple of Matt’s bros ask Little Guy to leave. He continues to be rational with them. It still doesn’t work. Matt flies through his bros and gets another girly tap to Little Guy’s pecks. He’s such a badass.
We decide that since we’re so freaking bro that we can just go to another party. We do. But before I leave, I make sure to thank Matt for his hospitality. He’s talking to his roommate, who occasionally “holds hands” with “Pat”. We later discover that this is part of the reason he doesn’t like us. Oh well. He’s a douche. I interrupt Matt and Kelsey. I give Matt a head nod – the universal bro sign – to let him know I feel more bro already. Then I thank Kelsey for having us. I wanted to hug Matt, but he’s so scrawny that I fear I may break him. Our bro-ing is over for now.

We go to another party and are welcomed with open arms. The way it should be for bros like us. We have a good time, mingle, make friends and make the party more fun. All is well with the universe. Then we return home and find Funny Guy, Jersey and Defibulator at our house. We decide to go to Waffle House. Great decision!
Luckily Swan is sober, so he can drive us. We pump Miley’s “Party in the USA” on the way there and do the dance. Other drivers love us. We go to our favorite Columbia Waffle House. The waitress remembers me. She calls me “Bacon Links” because I ordered it once. Her name is Kim. She is nice.
Little Guy and Swan step outside for a moment. Another Waffle House regular steps outside at the same time. He’s a carnie. He and Little Guy bond. Apparently he breeds goldfish. Class class class.
We eat, pay and leave. It was heavenly. A bro-tastic finish to a bro-nomenal night.

I hope Matt can read this entry so he knows how much I appreciate his bro lessons and mentoring. Without him, I couldn’t have gotten to where I am now.


~ by nchaney3 on September 27, 2009.

One Response to “You smirkin’ at me in my own house?!”

  1. Bro bro bro bro…..

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