Six Things I Did on Friday Night

1. When Crowley's, our come-as-you-ahh local waterin' hole, suddenly became overrun with 22-year-old girls in sparkly tank tops because of a plumbing problem at a nearby hoochie bar, I suffered them silently for awhile until, finally, I couldn't deal with the screechiest, nakedest, drunkest one of them all and I decided to treat her like the civilized creature she is and engage her in a conversation kicked her in the ass. From my bar stool. She whipped around and glared at Mardi, who was next to me, stunned. I said, "Oh my gosh! I'm so sorry!" She immediately softened. "Oh, that's okay! I thought someone did it on purpose!" I said, "I actually did. I'm really sorry. I couldn't help it." She couldn't make out what I was saying over the music and just smiled and nodded. I felt much better. Turns out assault can be kind of liberating.

2. Some guy was chatting up Mardi and asked what I did for a living. I told him I was a heart surgeon and he looked appropriately impressed. "Wow! You save lives!" I smiled, trying my best to look both humble and brilliant. "Every day."

3. Some other guy was chatting up Mardi and pontificating about how he likes to "go down." I interjected to ask him if he also likes to go up. He hadn't heard of this before but was intrigued. So I made some shit up and told him that women love it.

4. I decided that messing with the heads of Mardi's man candy is my new favorite hobby.

5. I changed my MySpace song to High on You by Survivor. That's right I did. Let me tell you 'bout the girl I met last night...

6. I finally emerged from my grief and said, "Come on, people! She wasn't our generation's Marilyn freakin' Monroe! She was some crazy golddigger who was always high, and the media's trying to be so respectful like we didn't all mock her while she was alive!" "Rest in peace, Anna N." Really, though, I only wish her reality show was still on the air. I'd totally sit there for awhile and watch footage of an empty house with half-full Trimspa bottles and Howard K. Stern occasionally wandering through.

Mocking the dead? Assaulting people in bars? Teaching strange men sexual positions that don't exist? Giving props to one of the most horrific 80s soft rock bands? And all in one night? I'm going straight to hell.