Ms. Most Likely to Suck Ten Cocks

Boy, the Marina sure does get a lot of crap. It's the whippin' boy of S.F., full of people we look down our noses at and see as one big fraternity and/or sorority party. I remind myself of this every time I head there. I tell myself that I should treat each resident as an individual and not be judgmental, and that to point out how lame Marina types are is not only stale, but also a symptom of sarcastic, hipper-than-thou journalism with which I hate to be associated.

Then I actually go to the Marina, and all bets are off. Jesus, that place is lame. But why is it that "normal" people who seem kind of shallow make my hair stand on end? It's not as if they ran off to the circus with my mama or something. Do I secretly wish I looked like they do? Hmmm. Do I envy their homogeneous camaraderie? Maybe. Do I wish I were in their socioeconomic group? Hell, yes.

I've figured it out: Everyone needs someone to put down. Liberals in this city criticize conservatives, metal bands talk smack about dance bands, and hipsters piss on Marina people. It's not nice. We're like the Kool Klux Klan, draped in sheets we saw in Dwell.

I sat at Kelley's Tavern in the Marina/Cow Hollow area while I figured this stuff out. What it really comes down to is that I don't feel like I fit into this neighborhood. But I don't feel like I fit in most places, so why the Marina is any different, I don't know — except that I can put down the people there to try to feel better about myself.

I was with two friends and one of their cousins, who was visiting from New Zealand. When these friends go to bars, they frequently head to the Marina, and have no idea that lame people like me find it lame. To them, the guys are cute and the drinks are strong.

"When in Rome," I told myself, and ordered a beer. Then I promptly began to take the piss out of the Kiwi. He was a baby, just 21. I knew from my extensive Flight of the Conchords viewing that people from New Zealand pronounce "e" like "i," which made for a viry intiristing ivining.

"You want a hiffeweizen?" I asked the guy with my best New Zealand accent. He was too busy eyeballing some comely tan chick's buttcrack at the bar. Yes, friends, we have finally reached the point in fashion where a buttcrack is sexy. "I bit she's game," I told him.

"Rilly?" he asked, all young, naive, horny, and foreign.

"Rilly," I replied. I then took a seat in a booth and gave the entire place a gander. It was a weeknight. I have made the mistake of coming here on a weekend, when it was so packed I could beerly move. Tonight a gaggle of girls were in the back, some dudes were lined up at the bar, and the bartender was a competent gent with one of those unreadable faces: was he miserable or glad to be there? Hard to say.

The Kiwi had a name like Mugwump or Pnochit or something — I meant to write it down, but never did. It was a Maori word that meant "gift." The dude was whiter than an elderberry flower, so I thought his name was kind of odd. It would be like calling your pasty kid Running Beaver or something. Still, it was probably a good "in" to talk to the chick with the buttcrack, and I encouraged him to play it up.

Kelley's Tavern — or KT's, as it is affectionately called — is quite cozy. I dare say it has the perfect layout. It reminds me of a Boston bar, with wood and good lighting and some guy named Norm at the end of it, only Norm isn't obese or over 30 and he is probably a whiz at Halo 3 when he's not out shopping for new Diesel jeans.

I tried to talk to Mugwump about his homeland, asking about Heavenly Creatures, sheep, and Crowded House. Of the three, he had heard only of sheep. My two friends were embroiled in a conversation about their co-worker, so I sat back, resigned to feeling left out on not only a micro level but also a macro level. I don't usually compare myself to other people, but when I am in the Marina, it is all I can do. I feel like I am 16.

Since I was back in my teens, I decided to go around the room and vote for class favorites. I had to start with Best Looking, of course. There really weren't any males who would fit the bill, but Buttcrack could probably carry the scepter for the womenfolk.

Okay, Most Likely to Succeed ... aha. That would be the guy with the computer company T-shirt and the nice watch. My guess was that he just got out of school and was being recruited by all sorts of businesses. Biggest Flirt? Hmmm, how about the rather plain gal wearing a ton of makeup who tried to make the bartender laugh? He sort of did, in a I-better-be-nice-or-she-won't-tip kind of way. Gawd, a million of these people could be Most Athletic; it was hard to choose just one. Finally I came to Best Sense of Humor. I actually won that in high school. My sense of humor developed out of feeling like I didn't belong and wanting to make an impression. Not much has changed, especially on this night, so I decided to hand myself that accolade again. I toasted myself and finished my drink.

1
 
2
 
All
 
Next Page »
 
My Voice Nation Help
0 comments
Sort: Newest | Oldest
 

Concert Calendar

  • April
  • Mon
    21
  • Tue
    22
  • Wed
    23
  • Thu
    24
  • Fri
    25
  • Sat
    26
  • Sun
    27
San Francisco Event Tickets
©2014 SF Weekly, LP, All rights reserved.
Loading...