The Drunken Blog

Have you ever made up a nickname for somebody based on some feature of their wardrobe? I have. Sweatpants is what I was original enough to come up with. If you can’t figure out what she wore to earn that title, well, congratulations for at least being able to read, I suppose. Anyway, Sweatpants is one of those girls that is super involved in school. I wasn’t so involved in school, but Jeff was, so our paths crossed. Every time our paths crossed, though, she wore sweatpants.

I made a comment about this, and it’s eventually how I came to remember her. Jeff would say that she was coming out, and my memory would cycle through people that I knew, and then it would click, “Oh, you mean Sweatpants!” One time she came out and she actually wasn’t wearing sweatpants, and you know what? it was a night and day difference – she looked great not wearing sweatpants. I was stunned at this realization, I mean, I didn’t think that such an insignificant piece of clothing could make such a dramatic difference, but apparently it can. I, of course, mention this to Jeff.

Fast forward a bit. Jeff’s harbor is having a big shindig, so he invites me and Sweatpants out for a night of free drinking and free food, followed by some sailing the next day. I jokingly tell Jeff, in confidence, that she better not bring any sweatpants. Jeff apparently thought that I meant that I would tell him that, and he would relay the message to Sweatpants. Jeff sends her a text message along the lines of, “Justin says don’t even bring any sweatpants.”

She didn’t wear sweatpants, which was nice, and after several drinks (they had Sam Adams Summer Ale on tap) Jeff pointed that out to her. I believe the conversation went something like, “Justin thinks you look a lot better when you are not wearing sweatpants.” I felt like a real dick, and I felt since then that things have been awkward between us.

That awkwardness was truly put to the test on her 21^st birthday. Jeff got a facebook invite for this party, which was upstairs in The Firehouse, a crappy bar in Fairfax. I didn’t get invited, and I didn’t particularly feel like crashing the party, but Jeff assured me that he talked to Sweatpants, and she said to bring whoever he wanted. So it’s Jeff, Watnee, and me, we walk into the bar and head upstairs, which was closed off for a private event. We walk into the room and there is a table set up and there is Sweatpants with her family and a few intimate friends. This could not have gone any worse.

Everybody was just finishing up dinner when we rolled in. We froze like three dear in the headlights. I mean, this is her 21^st birthday, and she’s having an intimate dinner. To say this was not what I was expecting would be an understatement. Luckily there is another table set up (a bar table) so we sit there and just sort of wait for everybody to finish. We order drinks as soon as a waiter walks by. They finish their food, and then Sweatpants and her family abruptly leave, abandoning the guests. It was a little weird, but probably for the best that they left like they did.

This event pretty much cemented my awkward feeling around Sweatpants.

Fast forward to the other night. I see Sweatpants and she actually starts talking to me, pointing out the fact that she wasn’t wearing sweatpants. I apologized profusely, but she just sort of brushed it off. I would like to think that because of my “tough love” regarding my commenting on her sweatpants, I managed to make her realize that there is a time and place for sweatpants, and that time is not always, and the place is not everywhere, and because of me she wears more attractive clothing and was able to find an attractive guy and just have an all around improved quality of life. That is probably a gross overstatement, and I probably had nothing to do with her change of wardrobe habits, assuming her habits have actually changed.

But, the reason that I just told this entire story was to setup what happened after I left bar.

There is a car that is pulled over, and there is a cop at the window talking to the people inside. I took a gander in and it’s my good friend Sweatpants in the passenger seat. I decided that the sweatpants moniker had worn through (not that I ever called her that to her face), so I yelled her name, with the cop standing right there. I don’t know if she noticed me or not, but the cop did. I believe his exact words were, “Push on.”

I took his advice and quickly left. I just sort of assumed that I would be able to talk to the passenger, because she’s obviously not the one in trouble for drunk driving. That’s apparently not the case.

I later found out they were pulled over for drunk driving (which I had already assumed). The guy driving blew a .19 (the legal limit being .08). He was more than double the legal limit, and they let him go.  Granted, they didn’t let him drive home (they made Sweatpants do it - isn’t it kind of funny that she had less than half the BAC as him, but he still felt more confident to drive than him?). I joke a lot on this site about drunk driving, I make light of it a lot, but a DUI is a serious thing, it’s an automatic night in jail, and you usually get your license suspended, in addition to paying a hefty fine, and that guy somehow managed to dodge a bullet. Well, more power to him, I suppose.

Other posts by Justin

This entry was posted on Saturday, February 24th, 2007 at 8:41 am and is filed under observations, girls . You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.