"...You Can Get The Next Round."

Alright, this desperately needs to be addressed.

For years, I have been meeting up with friends to chill at bars and clubs nationwide. No matter what city or state I am in, I keep running into the same irksome situation.

First, a little information about wordsbytodd. I’m not a big drinker. I drink about once every two months. I get drunk about once every two years. Basically, I’m like your grandmother.

There are many reasons why I often do NOT partake in the drinking festivities. For one, I have a lot of fun while sober. Second, I like to drive my car and do not wish to start a DUI collection. I like to drive so I can leave if someone makes a scene and/or ruins the night, or in case I need to move to another spot, or if I need to give drunk friends a ride home, and mostly because I like to leave the party when I am ready and ensure that I sleep in my ridiculously comfortable bed. These days, my back and neck do not respond as favorably to a squeaky night’s sleep on a friend’s futon (or bunk bed).

Also receiving votes were:

1) not having a hangover

2) not falling down and ripping a hole in the knee of my pants

3) not spending $120 at the bar when I could be spending that money to buy records (or dinner for a woman that is not interested in me for anything other than free meals).

4) I am 97% less likely to crave and consume 7000 calories worth of cheese fries and strawberry shake from In-N-Out at 3:00 A.M. (ruining two weeks of workouts).

At any rate, I routinely pass on the sauce. Having only hung out with me my entire life, many of my friends still do not grasp this. Thus, more often than not, whenever my friends and I rendezvous, someone will, without asking, buy a round of drinks for the group.

Balls!

At this point, I am immediately obligated to drink (and also purchase) the same number of drinks as there are people in our faction.

(Example: If you are in a group of four people, you will receive three “free” drinks and then buy the fourth round of four---giving everyone an equal four drinks drank and paid for.)

So, to be clear, I would show up not wanting to drink AT ALL, and then my friends would do me the “favor” of making up my mind for me that I am getting inebriated + not driving home (legally anyway) + splitting a taxi fare + scrambling to find someone to take me back to get my car the next day…and that it will be costing me at least $50 to do so.

Thanks for doing me that “favor.”

Do me a real favor and buy your own alcohol. If I want something, I will buy it for myself. This way, if I want one drink, I only have to have one drink.

Why doesn’t this make sense to people?

I realize that, more often than not, people are just trying to be polite with this gesture. I realize it, and I also do not care.

Leave me out of it.

Do not EVER buy me a drink unless you are a female (that is NOT part of my entourage) and you have a dangerously low self-esteem.

You’re welcome,

-Todd

Over (6-3-09)

From time to time, people need to be notified (or reminded, depending) that some things are OVER-and will no longer be tolerated. Some of you may already be familiar with this idea if you read my “Over (10-26-08)” entry. Either way, I have officially added four more items to the list…

1 – The “Tapas” Discrepancy.

We all know that every time someone mentions a tapas restaurant, everyone thinks the person said “topless” (instead of “tapas”) because those two words sound a lot alike.

One, it’s not really all that funny.

Two, if any context clues are used whatsoever, it is easy to tell that when you and your friends are talking about making a reservation at a restaurant, they are probably not randomly inserting comments about shirtless females (with my friends it is slightly more difficult to tell, but still).

Bottom line:

1) Yes, the two words sound alike.

2) It was nothing more than “mildly amusing” the first time you heard it (61 years ago), so at this point it is

officially “zero funny.”

3) Stop laughing.

2 - Stud Finder.

For some reason, two hundred years later, when using a stud-finding device to locate a 2 x 4 in a wall, people still play the obvious “let’s see if we can find another stud around here besides me” line.

I have been dodging any and all light carpentry work situations and home improvement tv shows for the past 12 years in order to avoid this “joke.”

It is not funny, and everyone around you resents you for forcing them to muster a fake laugh when you drop this bomb. With any luck, those of you that read this will stop faking it and start giving these people the blank/bored/”really?” stare that they deserve. I mean, either that or just go ahead and punch them straight in the grill. In this situation, either option is acceptable.

3 - Closet Space.

There was a time before the sub-prime meltdown that I gave serious thought to becoming a real-estate agent. I decided against it solely because I knew I could not deal with showing heterosexual couples the closets in the master bedrooms, saying “As you can see, it’s a MONSTEROUSLY huge closet” and then having to handle hearing the guys say “Yeah, I might even be able to fit some of MY clothes in there (nervous laugh, nervous laugh, nervous laugh).”

I know me. And I know that if I put myself in this position, every guy that spoke these words would get slapped like a bitch (and I don’t see that helping me make any sales).

One day, I hope to purchase some property in another country. Given this, I DVR “House Hunters International” in an effort to keep current on real-estate around the globe. But, between this and #2, I may have to give up HGTV altogether.

Freaking “A”.

4 - The Osmonds.

Freak accidents and illnesses take thousands of unsuspecting (and suspecting) lives each year-yet somehow, after 95 years, both Donny and Marie Osmond are, as of yet, unscathed.

Inexplicably, these two are in their 90’s, healthier than your great-grandparents, still employed and still annoying everyone on a daily basis.

It is looking like there is no hope for disease, so please join me by crossing your fingers for a freak accident.

You’re welcome,

-Todd