Dork Hierarchy

Let me start by saying, it was so good to have my friend from college in town this weekend! It felt like ages since I'd seen her. Good times. :)

Now for the weekend updates...

I give Friday evening four out of five stars. Loss of one star attributed to a friend, who will from now on be known as Buzzkill Biatch. Cruel, yes, but I couldn't think of a more suitable "b" word.

Dear Buzzkill Biatch,

When you make plans with someone, it's not necessary to confirm more than once, if that. There's nothing more annoying than receiving multiple confirmation emails, texts and calls from the same person.

When asked for your opinion of where to go out, don't say, "I'll go anywhere," when you really mean Harvey's is the only acceptable venue downtown. Granted, we would've vetoed your only choice anyway, but you lost all rights to bitch about bar destinations when you failed to speak up when given the chance. No one likes a whiner: "Drinks are too expensive." "Too crowded." "Meat market." "We should've gone to Harvey's."

There's this thing called buying rounds. I know, I know. The concept is a tad difficult to comprehend. You take turns footing the bill for everyone's drinks. When your turn rolls around, it's NOT cool to declare you're cut-off, decidedly switching to water. If, in fact, that is the case, you still offer to get a round for the others in your group. If all are done for the night, you assure them you owe them drinks next time you go out. And you follow-through.

Sincerely,

Your infuriated friends

Most memorable award of the evening goes to the two dorks at the Imperial Room. Generally, I use this term loosely, but these guys were the epitome of dorkdom. Amidst the sea of dorks, this duo stood out above the rest. We all got a good chuckle at their expense -- two petite dudes (both in glasses) huddled in the corner, sitting extremely close to one another. Buzzkill Biatch: "Check out the pointdexters."

It all began when Buzzkill Biatch decided to sit on one of two nearby vacant chairs. This gesture was on open invitation for a guy to make his move and naturally, a dork in the vicinity did just that. Wearing a track jacket sporting the popped collar, he plopped down on the adjacent chair -- leaving his married wingman standing.

The remaining three of us stood a few feet away, laughing at Married Wingman's tapered jeans and short sweater with undershirt hanging out. Eventually, my friend from out of town was summoned over to the dork group by Buzzkill Biatch, leaving myself and my friend as prey. We were anti-social by not joining the group, and boy, did we pay for it.

Pointdexter #1 and Pointdexter #2 walked up to us and asked if we wanted to dance. I couldn't look either in the eye, for fear I would die of laughter. We politely declined, saying we didn't dance, which prompted this smooth response from Pointdexter #1: "If I were Brad Pitt, you would dance." The fact he called himself unattractive, then dug himself an even deeper hole by comparing himself to Brad Pitt speaks volumes.

Pointdexter twins desperately tried to make small talk, but all I could concentrate on was keeping a straight face. Our other two friends witnessed what was going on and laughed at the situation -- they weren't about to save us! A close second to the Brad Pitt comment, the best part was we later found out the respective dorks (tapered jeans and all), simultaneously felt compelled to point out Pointdexter #1 and Pointdexter #2, saying, "Look at those dorks!" Hence, the Dork Hierarchy.