…before i forget…

January 22, 2008

…one more Toy story from Oct. in which I’m mistaken for a British Photographer, hit on more than 4 times and escape ‘Death-by-Dancing-with-Fat-Man.’

The pick up lines used were of a quality I had never heard before, not even during my brief stint (many MANY moons ago) of wild child antics (AKA imbibing adult beverages) at dive bars on my college campus.  As the night progressed there was an inverse relationship between the increasing drunkenness and the declining quality of the pick up lines.  This is probably related in some way to the increasing amount of personal space he invaded, tho if I remember correctly, his paunch was big enough to get close to me before the rest of him followed (that’s a long winded way of saying he was quite fat.) Every time I had to use the toilet he would try and stop me and since I spent most of the night drinking Coke (which I hated back in the states) there were many trips and many awkward moments where I tried to pretend I didn’t hear the large, drunk, sweating, man following me around and talking loudly.

#1        Dude:  ‘Ahh, I have seen you before, I recognize you!  Do you remember me? You are British, you are a photographer for the British Magazine, you take pictures.”

Me:  Ummm, uh, I don’t recognize you, but yes, I am a photographer. (While thinking: ‘It’s too early to be drunk, maybe we’ve met before and don’t remember him n bloody hell, how do I look British?! Really?! Photographers take pictures?  No way dude, No way!!’)

Dude: No, you are British, I know you. In Baku I have seen you.’

Me: Ummm, no, I’m American; I have to go eat cabbage.  (In stressful situations I remember the Azeri words for Tomato and Cabbage)

#2         Dude:  “Ahh you are beautiful! You are English!!” (Making a very crude hand gesture)

            Me: “Thank you” (thinking: ‘Do English sport Marge Simpson poofy hair do’s?’)

            Dude:  “You are photographer, Isss know youuu!” (slurring)

            Me: No you don’t know me, your fat and ugly, go away. (over my shoulder as I walk further away)

#3        Dude: ‘I want to talk to you, you teach me English, yes? You are very beautiful!’ (He was talking to my chest/stomach region.  Last time I checked, my chest/stomach region doesn’t talk or hear for that matter.)

            Me:  NO!!!

             (Insert rude comments behind my back as I walk away) 

#4 (this one needs to be archived in the Bad Pick Up Lines Hall Of Fame, right up there with “Nice Shoes Wanna F—K?”)

            Dude:  What language do you speak? Do you speak? (Creepy mega unibrow wiggle)  We can speak together!’ (Creepy mega unibrow wiggle #2) (Makes last attempt to converse with my chest/stomach region in hopes they will speak the same language he does) ‘I will speeeak to you!’

            Me:    GO TO HELL!! I speak English, Idiot!’ (In Azeri, to his face) and ‘Fuck you’ (in English, under my breath while walking away)

 Bad form Dude, bad form. 

Apparently this only increased my attractiveness.  After the American Dance,(see October in retro)  I joined the other women in dancing Azeri Style (you wave/twist your arms and hands around a lot and the Azeri women look lovely…I however look like a hippy at Woodstock doing an interpretive dance of a Tree/Bird/Monkey while high)  And then it happened.  There was a hush, the lights were lowered, and suddenly, from across the distance came…Celion Dion and ‘Titanic’ (aka ‘My heart will go on’ which contrary to narrow-minded American thought is still the most popular, best, tops, lovely, amazing song to express and champion true love.)  Everyone, including the new couple (who were very cute together and very nice) hit the floor to slow dance. Someone took my arm and I was stupid enough to turn around. And yea it was the Dude, even more drunk and sweaty; he immediately grabbed me in a smelly (BO/onions/oil/Caspian fish) rank hug and started bobbing to the music while slurring “We will dance”.  Being smothered by a wet blanket and flailing around to Savage Garden was more preferable to me.  I led Dude over to where his drunk/sober buddies were watching/cheering him on, pushed Dude away, (very dramatically I might add) while telling him ‘go to hell, you should be ashamed’ (with a mean look) This did produce the desired result, the group of guys laughed at him and gave me thumbs up, while they chimed in telling him he was an uncultured looser and other Azeri insults, which I didn’t quite understand, but were certainly directed at Dude.(He was appropriately subdued and was bundled into a taxi before the final course of plov was served.) And…I went and hid in the bathroom for a good 20 min. hoping I hadn’t acquired a BO/onion/oil/Caspian fish smell.

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3 Responses to “…before i forget…”

  1. Mike said

    It might be time to learn how to say the Russian word ‘lesbianka’ in Azeri – and also how to recgnize the inevitable “you just haven’t had the right man” in the same. 🙂

  2. mcmacdonald said

    *sigh* you may be right…

  3. Kate said

    Oh my GOSH. HAhahahahahahahaha! Hee hee! I wish I was there.

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