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January 02, 2009

My New Year's Eve Shenanigans

So since New Year's Eve was a Wednesday, my bar had karaoke, as per usual. I went to sing, right? Because that's what I do. I said "Flashdance," but Johnny heard "Last Dance" and oh ha ha, silly mistake. I'll sing it anyway! Wheeee! Well, Brad and Laura thought they would come up and dance with me, which is terribly distracting and I can't sing for shit when I'm laughing. Well, I'm an idiot because when I got up to sing, I left my phone on the bar. I do this all the time and don't even think about it since there is ALWAYS someone I know sitting there. My phone isn't even that super. It doesn't have a touch screen, it's not an iPhone or a Blackberry, so I don't know what would be so appealing about it. So, as you have probably guessed by now, I get back to my seat and my phone's gone. We search. I'm upset. I ask everyone sitting around us if they saw anything, including Laura's ex-boyfriend Ricky, who was sitting there the whole time. Everybody's clueless. Bartenders didn't see anything, nobody saw anything.

So I'm freaking out. Brad is so kind, he gives me like, $150 to replace the phone. I'm in tears. I go up to the karaoke dudes and I ask them to announce a $100 reward if they just return the phone to the front desk. I spent midnight sobbing up by the hostess stand just praying that someone returns it. My makeup's wrecked, I'm upset, I'm pissed off. So I go to the bathroom and clean up. I go sit back down and I'm just.... sad. Laura is like, "It's here. IT'S HERE. It's gotta be!" And I'm all, "WHO STEALS A PHONE? Who does this? $100 is way more than they'd get for it selling it, right?" I'm so upset. I don't have a landline phone, I don't have anybody's phone numbers memorized, my master list is at work. I just keep repeating "Who steals a phone?" and "Who would do this?" Ricky tries to encourage me by saying that I could just get a new phone and put the old SIM card in the new phone. I'm like, "How the hell am I gonna put the old SIM card in the new phone if the old SIM card is in my phone and I don't know where the hell that phone is right now!?" Ricky? Maybe not so smart.

I borrow Brad's phone. And I'm just calling over and over and over. I'm thinking that if someone STOLE it, they would turn it off. But it wasn't off since it would ring and ring and ring and then go to voicemail. So I'm thinking that someone just picked it up or it fell weird behind the bar or something. I'm thinking someone will see, hear, or feel something since I always have it on vibrate.

Ricky puts on his coat like he's about to leave and hugs me from behind, which is kind of inappropriate since this is the second time I've met him and we were not friendly last time, and we weren't buddy buddy friendly this time either. He is not a friend, and in fact, I've always found him to be creepy and a gross invader of personal space. And he didn't need to be touching me. However. He says to me, "It'll turn up." And then. On a whim, I reach back with my left hand.... and what do I feel? Vibrations. I stand up and turn around....

"What is in your pocket?" He's all, "Huh?" I'm like, "WHAT'S IN YOUR JACKET, DO YOU HAVE MY PHONE, FUCKER?" Again. Ricky. Maybe not so smart.

This is where the rage sets in, so details are a little fuzzy because rage does that to you.

He's all "WHAAAAAAT? I didn't do anything!" I'm like, "I felt your jacket vibrate, WHAT'S IN YOUR JACKET?" So I try to get into his jacket pockets and he falls down on the ground like a little bitch. I take this opportunity to corner him and check one of his pockets. Somehow, there materializes a wall of three men, shoulder to shoulder, in between him and me. I think it was Brad, Zack (a manager), and Josh. Again, fuzzy rage memories.

He gets up. I am yelling at him, "WHAT IS IN YOUR POCKET!?" This wall of men was in my way. Normally, a wall of men is a very good thing, but this time, I had to get around them before he escaped, because he was definitely trying to get out of this situation. They were all facing him, so they didn't see me coming. I grab him again and I think he fell down. I may have knocked his drunk ass down, I'm not really sure.

I managed to get my hands in both of his outside pockets and found nothing, but his jacket was still vibrating (yay phone). At this point, management plus a few others are there and trying to hold me back. I'm having none of it. The rage. It is powerful. So he's down on the ground like a motherfucking pussy and I manage to get my hand inside his inside pocket and pull out my phone.

"WHAT IS THIS, MOTHERFUCKER? WHO STEALS A PHONE YOU FUCKING IDIOT?" *kick to the ribs*

OK, now I'm really really being restrained. Three dudes are holding me back and Ricky* gets escorted out of the bar. My friend Brad follows him out there and apparently tackled his face into the curb and introduced his forearm to the back of Ricky's neck, at which point HE had to be restrained or there was going to be police involved. According to witnesses, Ricky was still denying any wrongdoing, even with his face planted into a curb, and even though I pulled my phone out of his jacket AND EVERYBODY SAW IT. Sheesh.

I didn't see that part because I was made to sit down and drink a glass of water by two strapping young men who were very nice and kinda cute and had nice biceps. I know they had nice biceps because they had to use those to get me to sit down. One of them told me he was scared for the other guy and the other one said after the rage cloud had lifted, he could see that I was actually kinda cute. I meant to say, "Oh thanks, my name's Dianna. What's yours?" But instead, it came out, "Who the fuck are you?" I didn't mean to. The rage has lingering effects. That guy was my new year's smooch.


So that was my NYE drama. I got my phone back, Ricky is banned from the bar forever, and I have an entire gaggle of real-life white knights whom I shall forever buy beers for (thank goodness 2 of them live out of town). Oh and I got to kiss a cute boy. So there's that, too.


*Changing the names to protect the innocent only happens when you're innocent, fuckface

 

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