Open Mic Douche, or Open Douche Night, or What You Will

On Monday night Billy and I went to this little club in Cambridge with our friends Dano and Matty for open mic night.  And I came to a conclusion.  How much I like a person performing at an open mic night is directly proportional to how little I think they get laid because of their performance.  That was convoluted.  I will illustrate my point thusly:

The first person we saw was this girl in cute boots and a knit hat that was artfully disheveled with her bangs poking out all cute.  Cute cute cute!  She looked kind of like Sarah Jessica Parker only not so rich.  And she played guitar.  My point being, it was pretty clear that she got some on a regular basis.  It was all too calculated.  So after SJP plays, a woman in her fifties with short gray hair comes up to play.  She’s wearing a big gray skirt, thick tights, and awkward, sensible clog-y shoes.  She has a really sad, deep voice.  This woman does not get a lot of youknowwhat.  The Sex.  Naturally I adore her.  She closes her eyes and sings songs about meadows and deer and shit.  I’m smitten.  Then this DOUCHETASTIC John Mayer-y guy gets up.  Ski hat, button-down shirt, nicely-fitting jeans.  So calculated.  I’m sure countless girls across the great city of Boston have massive ski hat crushes on him.  And you can tell he’s been trained as a singer.  He probably played his acoustic guitar at parties in college, just ’cause.  I disliked him intensely.  Also his songs were trite.  But that’s hardly the point.

Maybe it isn’t the getting-some ratio so much as the ski hat.  God I hated that ski hat.

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