Panthers

This was back in 2002, before I met my soon to be wife who subsequently became my soon to be ex-wife.

My roommates, Tom and Nate, and I along with my Indian friend Rahul (which we all constantly mispronounced as Raul) went to the bars after much cajoling on mine and Rahul's part. Seems my roommates were getting pretty tired of going out for what were supposed to be group fun nights that always ended the same, that is with me leaving early with some girl, and they basically made me promise to spend the night hanging with them. Of course this was always my plan. Something I can honestly say is that I seldom, if ever, have a definitive plan for evenings at the bars.

We walked down to Lasalle's, a pretty big place (especially for Chico) that had an even bigger outdoor area in the back and always had a good gathering of chicks who were single, or otherwise didn't give a shit if they were actually dating someone at the time. We walked into a very packed night, the music was bumping, girls were dancing everywhere, and instantly we knew this was going to be a great night. I told Tom and Nate that Rahul and I would meet them on the back patio, and he and I proceeded to the bar so that he could help me get the first round of drinks (one good thing was that the four of us all drank whisky-cokes).

Rahul and I stepped up to the bar, and only after I stopped talking to him did I notice that this insanely hot dark-haired chick was standing next to me. Something about the night, my slight buzz from the whisky-cokes we had consumed at the house, and the atmosphere at the club had triggered a near instantaneous BPD surge in me, and I was electrified with energy and confidence. Without blinking I instantly smiled at her, pointed at her forearm, and said "Nice pussy".

Oh, right I forgot to mention that on the inside of her left forearm she had a full on tattoo of a black panther that went from wrist to elbow. Her immediate response to this very stupid introduction? "It moves." To which she licked the entire tattoo and rotated her hand so that, indeed, the panther looked like it was moving. Within 12 seconds I had just learned that a) she was hot, b) she apparently liked me enough to respond to my lame-ass pickup line, and c) she was Irish. That's right folks. Full-on Irish accent. I was now in overdrive.

Theresa, it was made clear to me, was in the States for school at Chico State for Social Work (bonus! She's a freak.) And was newly single (proof that even hot chicks can be dumped.) She was also ready to leave the bar, and was about to sign her credit card receipt. What to do....

"Rahul, take this $20 and buy the drinks for you guys, I am out of here." And the Irish lass and I left the club while Rahul blankly stared at me with a look of shock.

My roommates stopped going out with me, and instead I would have to meet up with them when I could find them out at the bars. Of course, it turned out later that the non-gay roommate became accomodating to the gay roommate when he consumed enough whisky, so perhaps their nights out together was for more than just ire at my frequent bailing on them?