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Friday, August 6, 2010

And Remember: They Can Smell Fear

Let’s not kid ourselves. We know why we are here. It’s Friday, and there’s a rumor going around that my iPod, set on shuffle and played during my bus commute, predicts the future.

What? What do you mean I started that rumor myself?

Tommy Gun by The Clash
Heart Attack and Vine by Tom Waits
LDN by Lily Allen
Rubberband Man by The Spinners
Heavy Cross by Gossip
Respect Yourself by The Staple Singers
I Feel It All by Feist

To tell you the truth, this one has me stumped; and generally, when I am stumped, I try to stay indoors and apply liberal internal doses of margaritas and/or guacamole.

Either one will cure just about anything that ails you.

And should you find yourself, as my neighbors to the North would say, oot and aboot this weekend – perhaps in search of a well-made margarita – let me give you some advice.

Mind yourself in the bar bathrooms.

While I have limited first-hand knowledge of the men’s facilities (the old Stasiu’s in my neighborhood has an art deco marble urinal from the ‘20s that is equal parts impressive and disgusting), I can tell you that the women’s room is no place for the unwary.

First thing to remember? Odds are good that everyone in the bathroom is drunk.

Second thing to remember? Any issues the occupants of said bathroom have with themselves, their bodies, their liquor, their boyfriends, or people who look just like you are likely to come out.

Let me give you an example.

You walk into the bar’s bathroom. It’s somewhere around midnight and you are one cheerful, friendly SOB. The unsteady and unsmiling woman staring at herself in the mirror over one of the two sinks in the room closes one eye so as to get a more accurate look at you and says bitterly, “Well, you look pleased with yourself”.

Do you:
A. Confide that you’ve recently lost 10 pounds.
B. Tell her to mind her own business.
C. Ignore her.
D. Recognize that she's having a hard day and probably just needs a friend.
E. Get out fast and don’t look back.

The answer is E: Get out fast and don’t look back.

But wait! you exclaim. I haven’t washed my hands!

This is true. You’ve not washed your hands. I suggest you either hit up a woman with a purse for the Purell she’s surely carrying or keep your fingers out of your mouth for the rest of the evening because you, my friend, may have just encountered a Swamp Heifer, a thoroughly dangerous and unpredictable beast.

Don’t let the title fool you. The Swamp Heifer inhabits all regions of the world, not just the swamps, and she doesn’t always have the girth – or the intellect – of a heifer.

But what, exactly, are we looking for when watching for the wild Swamp Heifer?

Confusing but true, Swamp Heifers are either dramatically overweight or pathetically under-weight and often travel in pairs. Like the tiny birds that live on the backs of the much larger hippo, the smaller Swamp Heifers often do the bidding of the larger ones and, presumably, keep them free of ticks.

A Swamp Heifer is always drunk.

A Swamp Heifer does not have a discriminating palate where her drinks are concerned. Just keep ‘em cheap and keep ‘em coming.

A Swamp Heifer’s clothing eventually comes off during the course of the night, whether it appears to be on purpose or not. This includes pants that fall enough in the back to reveal a thong (also known as a “whale tail”), a shirt’s shoulder that falls down to reveal more skin than is palatable, or shoes that are removed and left under a table somewhere so their owner can dance barefoot.

A Swamp Heifer’s dancing style consists primarily of raising one arm above her head and shouting “Wooooooooooooooooo!” This is usually accompanied by pseudo-stripper moves that have nothing to do with the beat and everything to do with her future aspirations.

A Swamp Heifer is always loud. Whether ordering another drink, screaming “I love this song! It’s about me!’ or announcing at ear-splitting decibels that she’s “gotta pee”, there’s no concern that a Swamp Heifer will go unnoticed.

Swamp Heifers are often missing teeth. Whether as a result of meth use or a lack of dental insurance, it’s hard to say, but it seems to have no effect on her ability to attract her male counterpart…

A Swamp Heifer is looking to get laid or fight. No man, no line into the bathroom is safe. An SH without a boyfriend is on the prowl and will be giving away lap-dances right after her next shot. An SH with a boyfriend is a jealous woman and assumes the worst at all times. The man you stood next to at the bar for a full two minutes while you ordered a beer, the one you didn’t notice? That was her man, and she’s going to be coming at you later in the evening.

Which brings us back to the bathrooms – and, now that I think about it, one of the reasons that women sometimes travel in pairs.

Forewarned is forearmed.

Stay safe out there.


Pearl said...

I'm not sure what you just said there, but I'm going to assume that it was good.

Thank you!

powdergirl said...

Everywhere I go lately, there's a Swamp Heifer. Tubing down the river? SH ties to my raft(seriously). Sipping cocktails at the local watering hole? SH pulls up a chair. Loitering at a public beach? SH falls onto the edge of my mat and starts drooling out her life story. Ask the ipod this: Why me?

It has been a series of gross encounters. Its bad enough they want to talk(slur) to me, but why can't they keep their clothes in place? Its awful to behold all those loose folds of stray flesh flopping around in punctuation to the very dullest of life stories, and what's with that fixed gaze they all have in common? AND why are they so loud when they have nothing of interest to slobber about, I hate loud voices, Pearl, they hurt my ears.

Or they CRY for chrissake Pearl, they CRY. Why do they insist on wearing mascara when they must know they're going to get drunk and cry?

I can't take it anymore, if they can put a man on the moon, why can't they put all the Swamp Heifers there too?

Sorry to go on and on, you've hit a soft spot : )

Casey Freeland said...

That, Pearl, is foreign spam, the best kind of spam ever!

After reading this, I promise I will never use a ladies bar bathroom.. again.

You'd think there would be more of that in the guys corner. All those open opportunities to hit each other with stray pee shots. But that's just not the case.

Watch out for the Rubberband Man. He's a dick.


WrathofDawn said...

The pedant in me doth protest. Perhaps some of my fellow Canadians say "oot" and "aboot," although I have never met any who do, but I can assure you that here in the East we do not mis-pronounce these words and say "owt" and "abowt" just like any other self-respecting North American.

We do say, "How's it goin', buddy? Whaddya at?" and "Yer hair's like mops and brooms!" or "Did you get dragged through a bush backwards?" and "What time do you call this to streel in?" or "What a sleveen!" but we do not say, "oot."

Am bravely fighing off the "Rubberband Man" ear worm, but I fear I will not be able to get it oot of my head.


Charlotte Ann said...

oh Hell! After reading this, not only will I avoid those bathrooms, but I don't want to ever even ENTER a bar again.

Pearl said...

powdergirl, ah. The fixed gaze. I'd forgotten. Slightly crossed, slightly glazed...

Casey, Mmmm. Foreign spam. :-)

Wrath of Dawn, I may have painted my Canadian friends with a very broad brush. :-) The ones above Minnesota do tend to say oot and aboot, but probably not all, huh? It IS a very large country, isn't it?
What does "what time do you call this streel in?" mean?! What's a "streel"? What's a "sleveen"?!

Charlotte, don't let the Swamp Heifer scare you off bars! Just keep a weather eye out!

Anonymous said...

You know what 平幸蔡婉玲杰 actually said...

Pearl is funny woman with funny cats, we marry now.

His obvious lack of proper punctuation makes him an outcast, of course.


Symdaddy said...

Ah gan oot 'n aboot 'n ah divvent live in Canada hinney!

'n a divvent gan in the ladies bogs neeva.

A translation is will be made available if required.

Lisa said...

I am taking note. Now I just need to leave the house so I can avoid these types of creatures. Wait - I mean. Really - I have all my teeth, never give away lap dances and I never ever ever yell whoooooo! while swinging my good arm over my head.

Pearl said...

Sweet Cheeks, thank God! A translationn at last. And let's not be too hasty to turn this fella away. :-)

Symdaddy, would you believe that, reading your comment, I could actually hear you in my head? I love that sort of thing. :-)

Lisa, I will personally buy you two beers when you come out. :-)

Anything Fits A Naked Man said...

I had no idea of these swamp heifers that you speak of! Oh, wait, maybe that's because I'm one of those OTHER people you speak of, the kind that stays home and self-administers a lot of MARGARITAS!!

Thanks for the warning, just the same!!

Douglas said...

Do I detect a bit of jealousy in this story? A bit of resentment over the ability of these "swamp heifers' to live life freely and completely (if a little snockered)?

Should I tell you about the telco supervisor, Stefanie Powers look-alike, who shocked me by morphing into one of those "swamp heifers"? I was in love...

When I was young and single, these women were not only fair game but primary targets. And much appreciated after a long time at sea (say... two days).

You bring the Margaritas, I'll make the Guacamole. I make a mean Guacamole that'll cure tonsillitis on contact and replace that morning after brown taste with a morning after fiery green taste.

Mandy said...


*Raises arm.*

*Pelvic thrusts.*

Helena said...

Oh hey, new favorite quote:

"This is usually accompanied by pseudo-stripper moves that have nothing to do with the beat and everything to do with her future aspirations."


vanilla said...

Reciprocation of your visit to my blog. And well worth my time. The things I've not learned by avoiding bars. And perhaps saved my teeth and my gorgeous physiognomy.

Fun account of an evening out!

Anonymous said...

Feist, you say? Yes indeed! And did you mention something about my play-list? Uhmmmmmmm...

Jocelyn said...

Sometimes Swamp Heifer has a nine-year-old kid at home, too: slightly neglected and altogether too good at tucking Mom in.

Just to refresh your memory: my kids are 7 and 10, so shut up.

Lynn said...

I always wondered what they were called!
I love your writings. Just read the whole cyber=page.

Herding Cats said...

I never knew they had a name, but Swamp Heifers will have to do!

Gigi said...

You kill, me Pearl. Kill me! In a good way, I mean. And all your commentators also kill me. It's a wonder I ever post my little comments.

It's a good thing I stay in - cause I am sure I'd be attacked by one of these - it just goes without saying, because that's they way my luck rolls.

Anonymous said...

I know her. I've never dated her, but thousands of others have. Her favorite spot for an assignation is the nearest grassy spot to the bar. You've probably seen her there.

a Broad said...

They are "swamp heifers"???
Finally, I know what they are called.
I had this happen, not long ago... here.. where it should be safe.. not in a bar either .. I was minding my own business.. smiling as I do ( mindless idiotic smile of happy to be aliveness) and some woman was sitting on the park bench.
Looked normal. Clean ... ish.
I smiled as I walked by and .... she started screaming at me.
Even the dog ran, looking behind him ... good god, a swam heifer in Argentina.. who woulda thunk it.
Thank you Pearl.. I learn something from you every day ..

Ms Sparrow said...

I had one of your Swamp Heifers come into the clinic where I volunteer. It's 8 am and here she comes wearing a shocking pink shoulder-length dacron wig, an exceeding tight tube top and a hip-hugger mini skirt (or maybe it was just another tube top) over her ample proportions. She topped this off with inch-long false eyelashes and garish makeup. I'm pretty sure she wasn't there for a colonoscopy!

Fred Miller said...

I highly recommend fine marble for urinal construction. All urinals are disgusting. They might as well be impressive if possible. That is also a goal I strive for in writing.

Kelley said...

Ha! Love the label "swamp heifer"! You forgot to add that a swamp heifer is surely a chain smoker. I'm NOT saying all smokers are swamp heifers but I'm pretty sure all swamp heifers are smokers. Am I right or am I right?

Tempo said...

I recognise the Swamp Heifer alright...but here in OZ we call them Bush Pigs. I'm sure you will understand the reference.
Have a good weekend Pearl

Barbara Blundell said...

I think I must be a Swamp Heifer

CatLadyLarew said...

Swamp Heifers! A perfect moniker and a perfect description. Scary bovines, those!

GTChristie said...

That Chinese thing is blogspam and probably will get you a trojan horse. Best if you delete that thing so nobody can get swamp heifered. Just so you know. Cheers!