Don't get me wrong. Tonight, Angeline is rocking a pair of skin tight jeans, a barely there halter top and some sky high heels. She is oozing sex and had she not been concentrating wasted energy on me, she would have made some other guy very happy to be having her attention.
Toward the end of the night as the band was playing one of their last songs, she tried to rope me into dancing with her. I politely declined, telling her it was probably not a good idea. She seemed to take the rejection gracefully but then promptly invited herself along when we all decided to hit Sally's. I should have just gone home but I really was starving and figured I could brave another half hour of Angeline.
So here we sit, and I'm trying to focus on slinging birds at pigs, keeping my attention half on the talk around the tables. It takes all of about five seconds for someone to mention Descartes and we are off and running.
I find it hilarious that when college students get drunk or high, we immediately start discussing philosophy. I mean, who gives a rat's ass about philosophy, but throw a little alcohol into the mix and suddenly everyone wants to pontificate.
We're all in a level 300 philosophy course called Seventeenth and Eighteenth Century Philosophers. Word around campus is that Dr. Anderson, who is about a hundred and twenty years old, basically sleeps through class and tells you exactly what will be on the final exam. The class is supposed to be a cake-walk. I sure hope so because I have damn good grades going into my senior year and I want to have an easy schedule so I can put more of my efforts into hockey.
"Well, I think dualism is a load of crap," I hear Mike say with flourish. He had a slight slur to his words. "If the mind exists independently of the brain, then how are physical memories created? Tell me how that makes sense."
"None of it makes sense," I mutter, my eyes still glued to my iPhone. No one even spares me a glance which is fine by me. My game is far more interesting that discussing Descartes.
"That's narrow sited on your part," Angeline scoffs. "Regardless, I find it more fascinating this concept of 'I think, therefore, I am'. I mean, that's pretty deep on a level I never bothered to think about before."
I am pretty sure Angeline has never thought about anything deeper than what designer jeans she will wear in the morning but I am impressed how she steers the subject away from the mind numbing philosophy of dualism.
I can see the waitress approaching from the corner of my eye but I don't look up as I am perilously close to breaking my high score. She stands there for several seconds while the conversation rages on, patiently waiting for a break in the expenditure of brain cells. When no one pauses to even take a breath, she gives a little clearing sound with her throat.
The table goes silent then I hear Angeline say in her most affronted voice, "Excuse me. But we are in the middle of an important discussion. Do you think it's appropriate to just interrupt us with the assumption we are ready for you?"
Everyone starts laughing hysterically, myself excluded. But I do give an inner smirk to myself and just shake my head. Angeline can dress someone down and make them feel about three inches tall in just a matter of seconds. It's a true art form of the criminally wealthy and insanely narcissistic.
Angeline isn't finished with her though. She turns to the rest of the table and says, "I guess we can't really fault her ignorance. I mean, she slings hash for a living. This conversation is probably a little over her head." She then breaks out into a fit of giggles that has me grinding my teeth together.
Okay, even I admit that's a pretty low blow but I don't say anything. I keep my head down, avoiding engagement with Angeline at all costs. She's drunk and she's mean. Not a good combination and I don't have it in me to fight with her tonight. Hell, that's one of the reasons I broke up with her. It just always seemed to be a fight.
Before Angeline can say anything, I hear the waitress reply, "I'm so sorry. It's just...I saw all of you sitting here, and well, forgive my ignorance, but I'm pretty sure Ockham's Razer says that among competing theories and all things being equal, the simplest theory is probably the correct one. I saw you had already looked at the menus and put them back down. Therefore, the simplest theory is that you are ready to order. Think of it this way... I think I saw you review the menus, therefore I am here to take your order. I mean, I know Ockham is a little before Descartes' time, but it's still a sound principle, don’t ya think?"
There's a moment of stunned silence and my eyes snap up to the waitress. This is the most interesting thing that's happened all night...Angeline getting her spite jammed back down her throat. The rest of the table bursts out in a fit of laughter at the waitress' cheekiness and I am sure that Angeline has to be fuming. But I don't look at her because when I look at our hash-slinging philosopher, my eyes go wide and I sharply inhale. She's stunning. No, unique. No... that's not it. Uniquely stunning...that's what she is.
She has dark blond hair that she wears up in a high ponytail. She's a natural blond. I can tell by the color of her eyebrows and I'm sure if I get her pants off, I can confirm that. The bottom four inches of her hair is dyed a pale, lavender color. She is sporting a silver ring through her left nostril and a small silver barbell through her right eyebrow. She's not wearing any makeup but she has that sort of natural beauty that should remain completely unadorned. Flawless complexion with the sexiest smattering of light freckles across her nose. Her eyes are a gorgeous hazel color that I bet get greener when she's angry or excited. Right now, they are swirling with mischief and she has full, pink lips that are smirking down at Angeline.