"Because I like money", she said in response after I asked why she promotes shooters.
My reaction was probably like that of a brick wall to a ping pong ball.
Quiet. Unmoved.
"Is that it?", I thought to myself; "That's the best she can do?".
She looked at me, smiling, clearly awaiting some reaction.
I nodded, turned, and walked back to the group of people we were sitting with.
A few minutes later, another one shows up.
"Paying for studies" - Ah! That's a fair enough answer.
"I'm a student" - also fair.
But working at a club promoting aweful-tasting cocktails just because you have an affinity to the stuff that makes the world go round is, in my opinion, like making mad love on the beach at a beautiful sunset... To a goat.
A little strange.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Checking the GPS for the nearest chinese take-away joint is proving unsatisfying.
Ultimately, the decision is made for a change of menu.
The steak-house is fairly upmarket, featuring a live two-man show they call a "band".
Within, there are two large tables accompanied by probably about 50 people.
Outside, on the balcony, we quietly analyse the guests inside from our much smaller table.
We politely inform a few of the ladies on their smoke break that they may join us on their next break for some company.
Some time later, we're accompanied by two ladies.
The numbers grow with a constant trickle of ladies from the large table.
Like water droplets gathering within a colossal storm cloud.
And what a storm it was.
"I regret having asked", I thought. They were here for... (wait for it...)
[drum roll]
A church group social.
Shit.
This might possibly explain why there was a slight feeling of discomfort after I told my religious jokes.
Guys from the original table were "casting devious stares in our direction".
Within just a few hours, chaos ruled.
Non-smokers were smokers. Church-folk were swearing like troopers.
To my dismay, while chatting, one of the ladies who had too much to drink let loose a tempest of gas from her mouth..
I laughed nervously.
She decided to tell her sob story about her last relationship, not able to understand why she was dumped.
Trying to understand her and listen to her slurring sentence, she released it.
La Pièce de résistance...
A fart that left no doubt as to its identity.
Imagine my expression.
"SERIOUSLY?"
We were even invited (yes, strange people, late at night) to one of the ladies' houses for drinks.
Turns out these ladies were all baggage-mongers.
Divorced, kids, issues and some apparent obsession with having to touch people when talking to them...
"Okay lady, the first 17 high-fives were enough already"
So, apart from the older stories of having dated a few crazies in my time - it seems I'm wearing a large sign to attract the people with a propensity for drama or strange behaviour.
Or older ladies who like to grab my ass in both hands and show it to their friends...
Something like when a store has a sale on. Or the universal symbol for the toilets.
Unless, aptly pointed out by a friend recently, I have an uncanny ability to bring it out?
Across the more recent women that I've met (short and medium term), the last weekend appears to have restored at least some level of normalcy to my opinon of the female society.
Except for the girl wearing the black and white zebra top (whose name I forgot) on Friday night.
Her hair-lipped quasimodo-like "friend" seemed to have some issues with me chatting to her.
She was bold enough to give me her number.
After seeing her "windsurfing" on the dance floor with her "friend", I decided it might be best to throw this one back. Let's avoid the crazy shit for a while.
My best friend pointed out that perhaps I intimidate the women I meet.
Although it's plausible, I can't imagine why.
He says it's because I cook fancy dishes, speak French, play guitar, Scuba dive, into photography.
There are guys out there that do the same, or better. Do they have the same experiences?
I think in my next story, I'm going to list ways to identify The Crazy.
All we want, as guys, is for women to be themselves.
No need to overcomplicate things by trying so hard to be someone else.
It's unsustainable.
That way, if a woman is part of the crazy, we'll know within a short time.
I'll admit, there are probably guys out there too that belong to The Crazy.
These people should wear signs. Name tags maybe. "Hi, I'm the crazy".
Partial Solution: A friend of mine mentioned recently that perhaps we should run around social gatherings with rolls of stick-on dots in various colours.
The colour coding will apply to various features.
Maybe a little green dot sticker should be quietly placed on the women we know belong to "The Crazy".
So to all you women out there reading this - if you're actually taking offence to my thoughts, maybe the shoe fits... Your green sticker is on the way.
