When giving up becomes an option...

  Pacing the floors on a blustery evening, boredom getting the best of me. Pissed about the cold. Pissed about politics. Pissed about being pissed about cold and politics. Gotta get outta the house.

  The past couple of days I drove past a place called Humperdinks. The sign says "Sports Bar" and "Home of the Nacho Fries"... Nacho fries? Bet yer ass I'm gonna try that.

  Already getting stoked about a new and "exotic" item to eat, I feel my mood lighten considerably. Nod to myself and think "See, you're just not a domesticated animal."  Feels good to be on the prowl.

 The bar was dark. Expansive. Not too loud. Had a hint of tobacco smoke and urinal cake upon entering.
Not a big crowd, but a few smaller crowds tucked into the corners. The bar top was empty. Dude behind the bar in his mid twenties watching ESPN, waiting for a customer.

  Pull up a chair and order my standard domestic brew. Being ever so engaging I try to spark a conversation with the bar keep. He's an idiot. A dumb jock type who was cool in high school yet never learned anything outside of first and tens. This is an uncomfortable position for me, usually you can count on the tender to keep you company while you take down the first few, alone. Not so in this situation.

  So as we silently watch the reruns of Sportscenter together, I'm missing my wingman, Rex. Rex was a "Helluvatime". Simply one of the greatest humans to walk the earth. Many of those miles he walked, we walked together. Rex had a thing for Tequila. I hate Tequila. So for memories sake I tell the keep to give me two shots. One with salt, one with out. Salts for me, Rex didn't need the salt. I take the saltless down and struggle. Lime. Compose myself. Salted next. Lime. In serious trouble of exiting the 12 dollars worth of Tequila I just ingested, I breathe deep. Exhale slowly... Compose myself... Need a smoke.

  I get off my stool and put on my jacket. Bartender is confused and starts to ring me up.  I say "No no, im just stepping out for a smoke." He says "You can smoke in here." I counter with, "Do you Smoke?"  "NO!" with a disgusted look he tells me. "Good for you, I'm doing you a favor." Confusion is written across his face like a name tag. Before I step outside I order up some of them "Nacho Fries". He informs me that the kitchen is closed... You're shittin me right? Not to worry, I'll be right back I tell him.

  Outside in frigid air, watching the traffic go by, I hate this place. Considering heading home after a listless beginning to this evening, I decide to plot my next move from inside. Decisions are better made while comfortably warm.

  Coming back inside, dead set on leaving. I see a pair of blondes shooting pool. Renewed interest in this place in an instant. Where were these two when I showed up? Never mind that, I wasn't looking for a reason other than "Nacho Fries" to be here when I first arrived. Its an easy miss.

  Back to the bar for a refill, beer only this time. I start in on the "How do I approach these to ladies correctly" march. It's always a tough call. Regardless of attraction, if they want to be left alone, or play that card, you're advances will be seen as a nuisance.

  I lead in with the "Hey wow! You're pretty good!" bullshit. Total sarcasm behind my tone. They catch it and laugh along.
  They're nice. Funny and one is quite attractive. This is going well so I offer to buy drinks. Tequila all around! (For you Rex) No struggle with my shot, they enjoyed theirs.

 They feel the need to hit the jukebox. My request for some Dwight Yoakam is met with laughter. I was serious... So they weren't into country, no big deal. Lil Wayne it is, mixed in with some other shit I've never heard... Feeling dated at this point, I try to remember when the last time I had watched MTV was? Couldn't... Do people still watch MTV? I don't know these answers. Fuck it.

  My turn to rack, I proceed in telling these ladies I'm terrible at pool. Which is true. I make up reasons like "I'm too tall to play pool." and "I was terrible at geometry." Laughter again. Confidence in your short comings is never a bad thing.

  Blasting balls around the table, more drinks and more terrible music, I'm really enjoying myself until... She walks in...

  Now She, is gonna take a little bit of back story to explain......

  Last spring when I first arrived here in the DFW I was bouncing around, as far as different areas of the metroplex. Uptown, Downtown and the Outskirts. I found myself heading back to the outskirts more and more. The suburb was called Sachse. A couple of bars that were suited toward the "biker" crowd around here. I felt akin to the place because there were dirtbags everywhere. I get along with dirtbags really well.

  I became friends with the owner of the best bar out there. She's funny, got a lot of money but woefully unattractive. Not that I'm quick to judge or place myself on a pedestal, but I wouldn't have had sexual relations with this woman on my worst day. Knowing damn well that if I did, I would sink even lower in my own self pity and consider punching my own ticket...

  With that said, our friendship continues to prosper. I'm invited to events that she puts on, such as the "White Trash Beer Bash". And one of my favorites, the "Trash Can Punch". I'm making friends quick, and she just so happens to be friends with a redheaded 6 footer that I'd love to get filthy with. All of that aside.

  Late one evening she sends me a text. Too drunk to drive and needs a ride. No problem, a friend needs my assistance, I'm there.

 Pick her up from her own bar and she wants to head to another... I'm reluctant at first but she tells me the 6 footer will be there. Sold.

  We show up at the bar, everyone she usually hangsout with is there. The short version of her crowd is 2 douche bags, a skank and a hot chick.  The hot chick is the 6 footer.

  The bar we went to is awesome. Its early summer by this point and hot as hell still at 12am. We're on a patio type area that had fans and a misting spray engulfing us. Conversation is good and everyone is having fun.

  Out of my normal routine I keep it conservative, two beers and a shot. I've got to work the next day and need to be on site at sunrise. "She" is wasted. The bar is closing and our waiter comes around with the ticket. "She" tosses it towards me, I read it, 112 dollars... I toss it back. I simply tell her I'm not buying all these drinks. She's instantly pissed. 2 douche bags and a skank give me questioning stares... Hot chick falls in rank and asks me why I'm not gonna pay... Is the fix in? Am I being duped? I think so. I politely tell them to "fuck off" buy their own goddamn drinks and get up to leave.

  She comes up quick with her card, pays for everyone else and the scene is just awkward... The "friends" I've been making are no "friends" at all.

  The double douche bags, skank and a hot chick file out quickly. I'm stuck with "She" and a ride home that I dread providing.

  No words are uttered heading to her house, which is gigantic. Bitch is rich... "She" is, by all accounts passed out. Shaking my head, feeling sorry for myself I have to peel her out of my truck and damn near carry her into her house. Once we breach the doorway, "She" comes alive! Starts tearing at my clothing, grabbing all over, telling me "She sees the look in my eyes!"... What fucking look?!!!I'm literally fighting for my life and or dignity. I'm hand slapping her hands off of me while trying to make a break for the door.

  Bitch is big. Like real big. Has a hold of me and isn't letting go. Suddenly, in my fury of hand slaps she tackles me to the couch.. Having been a wrestler in school, instinct kicked in. I'm going down, shits getting real, as soon as my back hits the couch I roll to my right and "She" is dumped to the floor.

 I spring up off the floor with my dignity clutched close to my chest and run! I'm running back to my truck, a thousand thoughts racing through my head... WHY! WHY! I keep asking myself... Everything was golden. Making new friends, hot chick in the crowd... Attempted clowning at the bar, and now this...

 Having successfully eluded the rapey bar owner, driving like a felon in a stolen car I hit the freeway. Calming down, the weight of the events crushing down around me. I'm overwhelmed. Cant fucking believe that just happened... To top it off, I'm heading northbound and a wicked thunderstorm is on the horizon. Wicked lightning strikes dance across the sky. So fitting. Leave an utter disaster, just to drive right towards another...

  Back story summed up...

  Two douche bags bring up the rear, proceeded by the skank and the hot chick. Her whole crew.

  Panic. We make eye contact and immediately "She" charges my way. You mother fucker! this and that. You stuck me with your tab! blah blah blah. You got me drunk and tried to FUCK me!

  Oh no she didn't.

  Never being one for a loss of words, nor being ill-equipped to defend myself, I'm completely and utterly speechless. I look to the two blonds Ive been mingling with they're giving me their unabated looks of disgust.

  Can you blame them? Crazy ugly just roles in and owns the dude who was trying to get to know them?

  Ouch. Ruthless. Total bitch.

  In what seemed like one motion, I grab for my wallet and throw the tender a fifty. No change needed, for I'm redefining "B Line" for the door.

  Son of bitch! Once again, the felon in a stolen car, I'm on the freeway. Northbound. No thunderstorm to speak of but goddammit.

  A metropolis of almost 7 million people. A good 30 miles away from her bar. Just wanting these "Nacho Fries"... Such is my luck.