Male cheerleaders: An exposé.

This past weekend (4th of July!) I again adventured to the strange land in the South… That’s right, Arkansas. While I was there I was once again reminded why I did not choose to attend college there.

As it turns out, 78% of those that graduate from Arkansas end up being raging douche bags. That’s a fact. Luckily my Dad was exempt from this frightening statistic.

Not having anything better to do, I went to a little shindig with my parents. Those kids know how to party, let me tell you. Sometimes I can barely handle the drinks my Dad sends my way. Those two are not playing tea party when the liquor comes out. While there I met a gem of a man. His spiked hair was a dead giveaway of how our interaction was going to go down. The first thing this crater face said to me was, “By the way, you’re sunburned. You forgot to turn over. You have to turn over. Tuuuuurn oooooover.”

Of my many qualms with this statement I was irked that he began a statement with “by the way.” This was his beginning line and he began as if we had already been involved in a conversation. We had not. He then asked me where I went to school. When I told him he sighed and said, “I would never let my girls go there.” The kicker to this conversation was when he divulged that he was, in fact, a male cheerleader in college. Need I say more? What a freaking loser. He explained it as his way to travel with the football team… So basically you’re an Arkansas Razorback groupie? Cool. Woo freaking pig sooie.

As we all know my boyfriend, Jake is working at a fireworks tent. As if his life isn’t miserable enough living in a camper in a gas station parking lot, his phone was stolen Monday evening. Some asshole was with his children and was trying to work Jake over. It’s a good thing I wasn’t there. I would have given that penny pincher (not to be confused with penny pitcher) a piece of my estrogen filled mind.

After this creep stole his phone, Jake called it several times. The idiot answers. Jake offered him money or free fireworks to no avail. Johnny-Do-Good was too belligerent (bellige, I like to say) to talk.

Speaking of bellige, I had another fun night last night. It was my friend Mary Anna’s birthday so we went out like there was going to be an actual vampire/werewolf war. June’s friend Audrey came into town, whom I have grown to love. We were wine sisters last night, to say the least.

While at the sketchiest bar in town, Audrey and I decided we would like another drink. While waiting to be served, the bartender was pouring two hefty Jagermeister shots, which would make even a hairy-chested sailor barf. After discussing the last failed attempt I had at taking Jager bombs, the bartender told us the shots were for us from the “gentleman” at the end of the bar.

Audrey took her shot and mine without even a blushed complexion. That’s when I knew things were going to get serious. This man was king of the crop. He was at a creepy college town bar… alone. After buying us the sickest shots in the history of bartending, he wouldn’t even look us in the eye. After having several drinks of my own, I can only partially remember what this statuesque man looked like. I tried to make eye contact but it just wasn’t happening. Not interested. Why was I going out of my way to look at this creeper? I don’t know.

“Ew. That ugly guy just bought us shots,” Audrey said. Wise words from a wise woman. As it turns out, the guy was a taller version of one of Santa’s elves. He, however, did not have pointy ears or rosy cheeks. Basically this guy was just a tall midget, or as my mom would say, a leprechaun (by accidental fallacy, of course). Here’s my question. Did this character think we were going to walk up to him after a licorice shot and say something along the lines of, “Hey stud muffin, wanna get out of here?” NO. Dream on, freak. I bet this guy was a male cheerleader, too. A brand of man I steer clear of.

Some time later, after the shots had kicked in Audrey greeted me with another pearl of wisdom. “Anna, we are SO beautiful.” After reviewing a photo album of pictures from last night I can definitely agree that at one point or another in the night we were beautiful. Sadly, at this point I believe we were more along the lines of hoochie, sweaty, and possibly slurring. It didn't stop Dopey from buying us several more shots and sending them down the bar. Keep 'em coming, I won't tell Santa.

Stay classy.