It’s been a busy week, my liver, wallet and sense of responsibility all hate me.

Let’s start with Thursday.

How to get kicked out of Moondoggies, again…..

You’re probably thinking, “Now Steven, haven’t I heard this story before??” No. Shut up, you don’t know anything about me. And yes, I have regaled you with a story before of how I got kicked out of the ever classy establishment that is Moondoggies on a Thursday night, but believe it or not it happen again. And again, it wasn’t my fault, well it  mostly wasn’t my fault.

Here’s the story about the first time

This Thursday was going to be a big night, epic even. It was the “gangs” first Thursday in a few months, which is a ridiculously long time for us. And you knew it was going to be a big Thursday because there was even a work email sent out notifying the cool kids that shenanigans were going down.

So anyways, I’m 1 to 2 to 7 beers deep at this point, and anyone that knows me, knows I have the bladder of a 12 year of girl. I pee approximately every 17 minutes when I’m drinking. I should probably see a doctor, but I figure it’s actually some type of super power right? I mean my body has the ability to process beer into pee almost instantly. But I digress…..So I’m line to pee, again, probably about 4 people deep outside the entrance to the actual bathroom. My friend Tyler gloriously walks out from the bathroom, says hello, and joking says “Don’t pee on the walls like last time, try not to get kicked out”, we laughed, he walked on. I’m now 3 people deep, doing the pee dance when a guy in the typical “PB Douche” uniform (dark button up shirt, stone washed jeans and backwards black hat) starts making his way to the entrance of the bathroom, disregarding the 6 people deep line. In my head I’m thinking “Alllll hell to no!”, and of course it’s just in my head, because I’m super passive aggressive. As dude walks by he trips on my foot, and stumbles a bit…….JACKPOT…..my opportunity to slide in a sarcastic snide comment, since that’s the only thing I’ve got going for me in this situation as he’s about to cut the line to pee. I sarcastically and smugly tell this douche attempting to cut the line, “Wow, drunk much?”. He cuts back, making a B line straight towards me and says “Excuse me, what?” in a very inquisitive voice. At this point I’ve got some liquid courage in me so I responded like I was talking to my 95 year old great grand mother. You know the style, where you talk slower, and louder and nod your head to ever word. Yeah. I did that. I came back with “WOW…….DRUNK…..MUCH?” Ha. Take that line cutter, I’d like to see him come back with something half as witty. What was his response you ask? His response, kind of caught me off guard, he responded with “That’s it you’re out of here!”. It caught me off guard because I didn’t know random line cutters could kick people out of the bar. Was he making like a citizens arrest, but of people in bars? After further investigation and better lighting I noticed he was wearing a Moondoggies “I work here” type if shirt. Fml. I’m no rookie to Moondoggies, that’s why I know the bar issued uniform is a tan short sleeve button up shirt, but this guy must have worn his other shirt today. Of course. Next thing I know I been shoved through the dance floor, flash light shinning on my head, all the mean while I’m trying to finish my Dos XX before I reach the door. I was tossed. Ejected. Laughing the entire time. All before 11:30pm. Only me. Only Moondoggies.

Worst part is, I still had to pee, bad. I got 24 hour Mexican and called it night.

“I thought you would be white”

Two nights later I was out in PB once again, hanging out with some friends at Moondoggies. Actually there was a streak of 6 days last week where I had been to Moondoggies for drinks for 4 of them. No. You have a problem. Anyways I was at Moondoggies,  when I got a tweet from @mikeythejerk

Mike’s a cool kid from my MBA classes, seems to be out and about in PB more than me. Respect. So those of you not familiar with twitter, the tweet above also included a picture in the message, so I opened up the picture. …

I continued with my night, regretting I didn’t go meet up with Mike and said girl at Shore Club. Especially since I love me some Shore Club.  I was walking to my car down Garnett and I hear a guy yell “Single Steve!” I turn and see Mike’s friend Nick, I’ve met before at a bar crawl. He’s stumbling down the street with this taller, attractive girl, he introduces me to her as “this is Single Steve from the blogs”, she lets out a small excited scream and gives me a big old bear hug. That’s like 3^rd base in my book. She introduces herself as Sarah, she’s nice and bit tipsy.

Ah ha! This was the girl from the photo earlier!  She does exists! And…. she’s a lot taller than I expected. Well, taller than me. I’m only 5’9, so that’s not really hard to do.

Sarah and Nick are embracing, and drunkenly swaying, Nick and I start talking about blah blah blah how was night, blah blah, when Sarah sways over in my direction, still hanging onto Nick for balance and says “You don’t look like I expected you to”. Hahaha!

What!? I asked her what she expected me to look like, she said “I thought you would be white”. Again, what!? Ha! I guess my blogs make me sound white? I feel like I drop the “I’m Mexican, ole!” joke, every now and then. At least enough so people who don’t know me in “real life”, would gather I’m Mexican? Or maybe she assumes Mexican’s aren’t as funny as white people. Which might be true. Which would make sense, because anyone that knows me, knows I’m the worst Mexican ever.

Then she starts talking about “I’m attracted to Single Steve, but not Real Life Steve”, haha! That’s literally, literally a direct quote. I wasn’t upset by her drunk honest comment, I was actually pretty flattered. I mean she’s attracted to this “Single Steve” character she made up in her head, who was white, probably taller and really funny. I actually feel bad I ruined her perception of this Single Steve she made me out to be in her head, by meeting Real Life Steve. Oh well.

And this point I made my exit, wondering how many other readers think I’m white? Or have some other perception of me of what I might look like, or how I would act in real life?

Speaking of twitter, you need to follow me. Not just because I’m an egotistical asshole and the more followers I have the easier I go to sleep. It’s because if you want to know the real Single Steve, I highly recommend it. I tweet many many times a day and mostly without a filter. Where my facebook status are extremely filtered and occur one ever two days or so.

I know twitter sounds like the dumbest thing in the whole wide world, but once I got on it, I’m more hooked than facebook. Yeah. I said it, more than facebook.

Follow me at:
http://twitter.com/SingleSteve

I went on an okcupid.com last week,  it was no bueno. I’ll write about that next.

Thoughts? Feelings? Concerns?

Comment. It makes me happy.

Invite your friends to blog. I bet they’ll like it.

Halloween has come and gone, and people have been begging me to update my happenings since. Well that’s not true, no one actually asked me anything, but I’m going to fucking tell you anyways. Sorry, I know, no need to swear.

My Halloween actually wasn’t all to wild and crazy kids. I was in Washington DC for work, at an engineering conference where I was the “grown up”. I know right. Me, the “grown up”. I gave some workshops, did some company recruiting, did some binge drinking, a good time had by all.

Actually here’s a secret between you and me, I had to a give a workshop to about 40 student engineers one day of the conference at 3:45 in the afternoon, apparently I went out a little too big the night before because I still hung over and felt like death. No worries, I totally rocked the presentation, but ran to bathroom and puked 2.5 seconds after it ended. Yeah, I’m an adult. Public speaking is my specialty, probably my best skill, regardless of what state my liver is in. And that’s a fact.

My Halloween was interesting…moral of the story is I walked back to my hotel 2 miles in the rain at 5:00am in a short sleeve shirt, in the city where I had no idea where I was going. I was navigating on the rising sun back to my hotel.  Unfortunately the story isn’t as awesome as your hoping. I wasn’t doing the walk of shame because I just hooked up with major babes, nope. I was walking back to my hotel at 5:00am because that was a better option than waking up on a strangers couch dressed as Space Ghost. I walked into my hotel where students were gathering in the lobby to catch their shuttles for the airport. They were probably wondering why the guy that interviewed them yesterday was stumbling in at 6am, soaking wet in a short sleeve shirt. Me too. Me too….

I got back to San Diego and immediately saw a flood of Facebook albums bursting with Halloween photos. And me being the creep I am, of course went through all of them. I pulled out a few to make fun of, sorry if you know these people. Remember I’m “Single Steve”, just a internet personality, who’s kind of dick.

For your pleasure:

So as all of us red blooded Americans know, a couple weeks ago was the fantastic holiday of 4^th of July. Historically we know this as the day we teamed up with Will Smith to beat the aliens.
Actually, I’m sorry, I was trying to impress you. I don’t know what it means. I’ll be honest, I don’t think anyone knows what it means anymore. Scholars maintain that the translation was lost hundreds of years ago. . . .

I had a fantastic 4^th of July. A friend was hosting a celebrations of celebrations down in Mission Bay, sporting 1500 jello shots, tons o beer and the promise of good times to be had by all. At this annual event someone is crowned “King Of The Bay”, this prestigious award goes to most ridiculous drunk fool in attendance. Candidates are identified early and someone volunteers to be your “sponsors”. Sponsors are responsible for making sure their candidate for King of the Bay gets as drunk as possible and acts a fool. I was obviously identified early because of my great drinking potential and taken in by last years King of the Bay. Tough shoes to fill, this guy was passed out and puking on himself 11:00am. He tried his hardest, passing me jello shot after jello shot, beer after beer, but unfortunately(thankfully?) I didn’t win this years title as King Of The Bay. That went to co-worker and friend Ryan, who was crowned for his bear like ability to drunk tackle people. I think it’s for the better. There’s always next year?

Although. . . . I did find out my camera is not water proof. Yeah. It’s true. I discovered this shortly after going swimming in the ocean. ISH!
This is when I decided I needed:

But seriously. They have insurance for fire, water damage and earth quakes, but not for drunk “freak” accidents? I’m willing to bet more stuff has been broken, lost, dropped into drinks, or accidentally taken into ocean then fire and water damage combined.

I will gladly pay a monthly premium to said insurance company if they’re willing to cover me for my drunk shenanigans. Although I’m sure my monthly rate would be pretty high since I’m probably considered an extremely high risk liability. Probably equivalent to the guy that’s had 4 DUI’s and 8 speeding tickets trying to get driving insurance. The monthly rate would probably be based on how often you go out a week, drinks had a night and the number of times you’ve woken up with carne asada in your pockets.
The insurance claim would look like this:

See. Simple as pie. Bada Bing, Bada Boom. I submit the paper work, drinking insurance company gives me a new phone, or camera and it’s a win/win situation. Right?

ALSO, I want to be compensated for NON-monetary things.

Such as drunk text messages and drunk dials I made the night before. You heard me:
I want to be paid restitution for drunk dials and drunk text made.

I wake up in the morning, typically on my friends couch with my shoes on, and the first thing going through my head is “who did I text/dial” and “what did I say”. How sweet would it be, to actually get compensation based on my level of embarrassment that I feel from my drunken text/dials from the night before? Not only would it be based on the number of different drunk text/dials sent, but content as well.

For example:

So there it is. This is what I want. All I want is to be covered for my stupid actions when I drink. Not too much to ask?

2^nd Group: “Because you’re not fucking tall enough already”

Maybe this is just a personal gripe, because I have inferior Mexican genes and stopped growing at the awesome height of 5’8. I know I’m not tall, but I know I HAVE TO be taller than some population of females in San Diego. Even if it’s a minority group, I know the group exists because I’ve seen girls, with my own short eyes, who are shorter than me during the day. At the bars at night, it’s a different story. I feel like when I go to the bars, girls that normally are 5’3 will some how magically appear to be 6’5 at bars. F THAT! They use dirty girl magic as seen in the diagram below.

3^rd Group: “Team Asia!!”
Mostly this just applies to my southern California readers and in which case you already know EXACTLY what I’m talking about. This is in reference to the extremely high Asian population and their presence in intimidating numbers. I’m not saying I don’t like Asian girls, I’m just saying where you see one, you’ll see 13. They travel in hordes. I would be less intimidated to approach this horde of 13 Asian girls if they diversified their friends. Like if I saw they had a Mexican friend, I would think “hey they like Mexicans, they even have a Mexican friend to prove it”. But instead I’m thinking “Man, Asian’s only like Asians. See all there friends are Asians.” I feel like I fucking need to know karate to infiltrate this group of girls. Hi Ya!
(I promise I’m not racist. . . . I mean I used to eat Panda Express like 3 times a day in college,that has to count for something)

4th Group: “The Bad Dancer!?”
I love to dance, but hate bad dancers. Seen below is only a few examples:

There it is. Let me know your thoughts. Anyone know how I spread my blog to more people. I want to do more, but not if it’s just for my own enjoyment. Hollar!