Tuesday, August 30, 2011

Bar-flies Beware.

So it's not breaking news that I've had my share of awkward encounters. I'm also not the daintiest, or most graceful girl--I dropped out of ballet after five days at the ripe age of 7. I tried my hand at gymnastics, only to discover that I was not only freakishly tall for a 9 year old, but apparently a little too heavy as well. I can tell you from experience; it was incredibly difficult to do a back-hand-spring when you fear not only that your jolly-green-giant stature is going to prematurely hit the ground, but that you'll also accidentally snap the instructor's petite frame in two. Then there was also that other move. The Split. Or what I like to call: "Satan's cruel joke for long-legged, pre-pubescent husky girls". Once my groin, legs, and undeveloped hips had twisted into some weird combination that resulted in getting my body down onto the floor, (in increments of multiple jarring, bungling movements,) the chances of me getting back up into what they called "ready-position" was basically next to impossible.

"Courtney, do you want to try another round on the bars?" 
"Uhhh nope. No thanks coach, I think I'm good just like this."

Needless to say, I never really made it back into "ready position." While I clearly never excelled in the realm of back-flips and the high-beam, at least over the years I learned I could run, skip, jump, and walk like a normal human being without crushing or maiming another person. Most of the time. Sure, I've had my moments where I've tripped, run into a sliding glass door (or two), but I would have liked to think I could generally walk in a straight line without physically hurting a fellow walker. Well, this assumption changed last week. 

Around a year ago, Sean and I started going to Kahuna's in Deerfield Beach on Wednesdays. The fat kid inside me loves the insanely delicious wings, and the indebted-for-life-recently-graduated-student in me loves the insanely cheap drinks. The specials start at 4pm, and so like two hungry pit bulls who have just spotted a quadriplegic bunny rabbit, we usually descend on the beachfront bar & grill at around 3:58pm. There's a little surfboard table outside where we usually claim our territory and post up for the rest of the evening. 

"We'll have 20 wings, 10 Kahuna flavored, 10 Teryaki. And an order of fries. And 7 PBR's. And everything behind the bar and in your kitchen. RARRRARRRAR!!"

At Kahuna's, the people-watching is phenomenal, and usually every week we get at least one memorable character who would be worthy of their own biography on A&E, or at least a cameo on The Jersey Shore. It never fails. (One fine fellow affectionately refers to Sean as "O Captain my Captain" and told me I would be better off as a stewardess on a boat, because of the big, pearly-white chiclets in my mouth.) We're usually the ones watching, not the ones who have somehow made a spectacle of themselves. However, on this fateful day, one little unsuspecting blonde patron had no idea that one of these two pit bulls was about to (unintentionally) be ALL. UP. in her grill.

About half-way into a fun yet uneventful Wednesday evening, nature called, as it so often does once you start drinking, and so I figured I should probably answer. As soon as I began walking (a straight line, mind you), I realized nature wasn't just calling. It was more like nature had become that psycho ex-girlfriend that was calling, texting, and pressing *67 and then calling again. 

ring ring. RING RING RING. RING RING RING!!!!

I was somehow tactfully (and very quickly) maneuvering my way through this crowd of people when I heard someone call my name from the bar. At this point, my mind understood that my whole body had to slightly pause in order for me to turn my head and acknowledge whoever had shouted my name. But apparently, my legs didn't get the memo--they kept moving since they had sensed the, ahem, impending urgency.

Here was where it all went downhill. so. very. fast. As my legs continued walking, my head caught up with the situation that I had to keep my eyes on the prize. I quickly turned my head so I could be looking where I was walking, so as not to run into my fellow bar-goers. Unfortunately, that is EXACTLY what I did. This poor, unassuming blonde girl had just moved directly into my line of fire. But not only did I nearly trample this girl, our foreheads collided in a swift, violent way that could only be described...

as a full-throttled HEAD-BUTT.

I had quite literally just headbutted another girl. In the animal world, I'm pretty sure this is how fatal fights typically begin. Luckily, we were both too stunned to engage in any kind of battle. And even luckier for me, said girl was three-sheets to the wind, and just died laughing where she stood. I was still incredibly mortified, and had begun to apologize profusely...but then nature began to violently push the re-dial button. By the time I had gotten the words "OHMYGODI'MSOSORRY, I'MACLUMSYMORON" out of my mouth, she had stumbled her way out of the front door, and my legs had moved me toward the much-needed destination.

I was pretty much traumatized for the rest of that evening, and was terrified to go back inside: I had the fear I would either A) accidentally assault someone else with my forehead B) run into (no pun intended) the same little blonde girl I had slammed with my big head earlier that evening. From now on, I will always look where I'm going, and make sure all body parts are accounted for when doing so.

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