Last night I got sick, really sick. It happens every once in awhile, where I break out into these bouts of sickness. You see, I suffer from JGS, more oftenly called Jersey Girl Syndrome. It’s actually fairly well-known disorder, but thankfully it’s contained to our small state.
Last night I went to a bar with Mandy. I hadn’t seen her all week and we needed to talk about the PK business, about her boys. It wasn’t really a bar I go to on a regular basis, usually because it draws a weird crowd. Last night was no different- there was some sort of a 55+ dance and karaoke party going on out on the porch, and the indoors crowd looked rouch, huddling along the bar with almost every eye on the Phillies game. The guys were either older and moderately trashy looking or younger and extremely trashy looking. Many of the younger guys had some scantily clad girl clinging to their sides, with dyed blonde hair, the kind of eyeshadow a girl has in third grade when she first starts wearing eyeshadow, and a vacant expression on her face. We only went to this bar because it happens to be three blocks from Mandy’s house.
Mands and I joined that lovely crowd at the bar and sat down next to one of the more mild pairs of trashy old men- the one beside me was wearing a Hawaiian shirt and sunglasses in the dark bar, his friend had on a tight black shirt that accentuated his saggy 60 some year old body. On the other side of them were the most extreme cases of trashy young guys. One had on a black wifebeater (I know, to a bar) trying to show off his muscles and hideous tattoos. He had more grease on him than the back burned of the bar. The guy with him had one of those Chinese print shirts, black with red dragons, and his ears had giant gauges in them. Sexy, right?
Mands and I both ordered vodka drinks, hers with Red Bull (she had a late night date) and mine with cranberry. Before I can even sip, the Phils scored another run. At this point they were 6-0. This is also when I start hearing the Extreme Trashy Guys yacking about how much the Phillies suck, how much they hate the Eagles, how shitty the Sixers are.
The Mildly Trashy Older Guys next to me were wildly arguing everything he said, laughing at the fact that these guys were Cowboys and Yankees fans in a Phillies bar. One of the, excuse me, assholes threw out the “you can’t even drink at the stadium” lines again and I turned and told him that you could, that they had bars in the stadiums, and that he had no idea what he was talking about. That’s where the trouble started brewing. He shot back some line that a preppy little girl like me had no idea what I was talking about.
Mandy threw out a low whistle and scooted her barstool a little away, full well expecting an explosion. My Jersey Girl Syndrome flared up. Within the next half hour, I had drank three of my cranberry and vodka drinks, asked the guy with gauged ears if he’d ever seen the scene in Disturbing Behavior where the guy has his nose ring ripped out (making a point to stare at his ears), insulted him to the degree that he was threatening me. The Mildly Trashy Older Guys loved this, prodding me the entire time, but told the guy that he wouldn’t live to lay a hand on me. Within twenty minutes the bouncer of the bar had to escort Gauged Ear Guy and Wifebeater Guido out, with nearby spectators clapping.