DUI Basics

No, not driving under the influence - it's for dialing under the influence.

Friday night I witnessed the greatest DUI extravaganza since my second year in college when my neurotic roommate spent an evening with a bottle of cheap wine and her old phone book calling every man she'd ever dated and asking why they didn't love her and what exactly was wrong with her. Yes, it was one train wreck I couldn't turn away from.

So Friday night I headed up to Santa Barbara for a much-needed "Girl's night out". Cringe if you must but it is something we single 30-somethings do every now and then to remind ourselves that we are way better off than most of our friends.

I met D early for some sushi and gossip. The plan was to have a few (read: seven) rolls, some saki, and head downtown to meet four other friends around 9:00. We arrived at 9:15 and quickly found S and P sipping water in a dark corner. S and P didn't want to shell out the $9 a drink at the hoity toity bar they'd chosen. You know these types of girls - they want to appear as though they have money and not a care in the world so they can attract a wealthy and confident man when in reality they can't loosen up enough to spend $9 on a cocktail rather than a new tube of lip gloss. It irritated me a bit because I'd rather go somewhere casual and get a $5 drink and relax. Of course, men don't go to these bars to meet women because men don't want to be stuck spending $9 on a drink for a girl they are not guaranteed to get laid by. In the end, the girls end up irritated albeit well-hydrated and the men go to a seedy establishment with $5 drinks and the more likely prospect of a roll in the hay with a less attractive but less demanding woman. And so goes Friday night in Santa Barbara.

At the hoity toity place, D and I ordered a drink each. In the meantime, S, D and P began telling me about T, who I had never met but would be joining us shortly. Turns out, no one had anything good to say about T. When I posed the question of why they had invited her they all looked at me like I was crazy. Maybe I am - I just don't see the point in sitting around a bar, drinking water, waiting for someone I have nothing good to say about. Turns out T, who seemed quite nice to me, was stuck outside waiting in line while we were inside talking trash about her and how she was so inconsiderate being late and all. Girls are funny that way.

After D and I finished our drinks we wanted to head to a karaoke bar uptown. The rest of the girls, now numbering four (T had brought a friend), scoffed at actually being seen in a karaoke bar and insisted on heading over to Joe's for "another drink". Off we hobbled in our expensive-but-unnoticed shoes.

Joe's was packed. I mean wall-to-wall people. It was loud, hot, and crowded. We headed for the bar and were completely unable to attract the attention of anyone who cared to bring our respective round of waters. It was then that I had one of those moments where you see how ridiculous your situation is - standing in a sea of drunken college students with several miserable 10-years-past-college friends trying to get the attention of an overworked bartender so he can overcharge you for a watered down vodka-cranberry. After that epiphany I grabbed D and told her we needed to head out - girl's night was over.

We escaped Joe's to find a row of taxicabs out front. The lead cab was a minivan with fuzzy dice hanging from the rearview mirror. D did not want to take the minivan because she thought it was embarassing. Really folks, how does the cab you take embarass you? We hopped into the 1987 minivan - you know, the box-on-wheels kind, to find the inside was totally pimped out. It looked like a limo inside. We praised our cab driver, Edgar, on the plush interior, questioned him about how many people had fornicated en route, and eventually arrived at our destination in good spirits. Of course, D started screeching when Edgar pulled over because she did not want to be seen exiting a cab in front of a karaoke bar. Again, makes no sense to me. Rather, it shows we are responsible, right? So there we were on the curb, exiting our pimped our Astrovan, complete with....WTF? Spinners!!! Yes, our cab driver had put spinners on his taxi. I don't understand spinners and I especially don't understand them on an old minivan taxi. D was shocked and embarassed as I laughed at the absurdity of spinners on a cab. Come to think of it, that green velvet sofa in the back of my truck would have been a nice tip for good old Edgar.

We hung out at the karaoke bar for a couple of hours, mingling and laughing at the crooners. I attempted to flirt with a younger guy but he was spending way too much time fondling a cue ball and I determined he was either tripping on acid or autistic. Too bad because he was pretty hot. Anyhow, at some point in that time span, unbeknownst to me, D crossed the line from healthy buzz to ridiculous drunk. I found her outside smoking a cigarette with the gay bartender discussing, and displaying, her boob job. Thank god a cab was in the neighborhood and we were able to escape.

So we made it back to D's car and I was fine to drive so I asked for her keys. She went in her purse, got them out, stuck them in her mouth, then kept searching for the keys. I pointed out that they were in her mouth and she suddenly sucked on them seductively then handed them to me. It was disturbing. Then she pointed to the left and said "We need to go to Jack In The Box for onion rings". Jack was actually to the right, but that's splitting hairs when you're dealing with a key sucker now, isn't it?

I got her in the car and that's when it started...the drunk dialing extravaganza of 2005. She called at least five people, leaving long, hiccuping, belly-laughing messages. One message even made the web over at MB's blog. Yes, I am the voice of reason in that message. The blathering woman is D.

The drunk dialing continued through the night - lasting until about 2 am, or whenever the onion rings were gone. Each of the calls was pretty much the same "Heeeeeey so-and-so, this is D and I'm drunk. I just sucked my keys and don't know why. What are you doing? Okay, talk to you later, Bye." The thing is, in between about every third syllable you need to insert a guffaw or a hiccup, or both. The best part was when she got ahold of another drunk and they had a conversation for an hour. I just watched an laughed - because we know we've all been there.

As for me, I crashed on D's sofa for a few hours and headed home. On the way home I pondered the evolution of the drunk dial with the advent of cell phones. I am certain drunk dialing is on the rise. In fact, the cell phone companies ought to make new peak hours from 1:30 am to 3:30 am to capitalize on all the drunk dialers out there. Better yet, someone ought to make a website for messages left by drunk dialers. Now that would be a good blog.